From b077b6105edbf37c6e6f435bf23168bd3a586da8 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: unknown Date: Wed, 15 Jul 2015 13:51:41 +0100 Subject: [PATCH] .gitignore created by brackets-git extension --- .gitignore | 5 + Dark Ways2.doc | Bin 0 -> 890368 bytes Dark Ways2.html | 5758 +++++++++++++++++ Dark Ways2.txt | 5753 ++++++++++++++++ build/Full Proof/META-INF/container.xml | 6 + build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ak.jpg | Bin 0 -> 10612 bytes build/Full Proof/OEBPS/bio.xhtml | 60 + build/Full Proof/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml | 42 + build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml | 772 +++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml | 649 ++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch03.xhtml | 465 ++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml | 646 ++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch05.xhtml | 734 +++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch06.xhtml | 588 ++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch07.xhtml | 580 ++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch08.xhtml | 815 +++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch09.xhtml | 854 +++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch10.xhtml | 543 ++ build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch11.xhtml | 498 ++ build/Full 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b/Dark Ways2.html new file mode 100644 index 0000000..680d426 --- /dev/null +++ b/Dark Ways2.html @@ -0,0 +1,5758 @@ + + + + + + + +

PROLOGUE

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What has gone before…

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It was time to make a hard decision. Jack Flint knew that.

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Since the day he and Kerry Malone stumbled through the ring of standing stones in Cromwath Blackwood they had faced real danger time and time again.

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When they stepped between the ancient stones, they found themselves on a bloodied battlefield in the legendary world of Temair. There, they had befriended chieftain’s daughter, Corriwen Redthorn, and fought their way across the country, harried by Scree ogres and by the mad Mandrake’s henchmen, and guided by the ancient Book of Ways.

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It was in Temair that Jack first found clues to the identity of the father he had never met; the first bearer of the mysterious heartstone that Jack now wore around his neck. He gradually realised that his father had been a traveller between the worlds, a hero who fought on the side of good. A Journeyman.

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Then Jack, Kerry and Corriwen had faced the devastating power behind Mandrake’s reign of evil: The supernatural entity known as the Morrigan.

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In the final confrontation they had barely escaped with their lives, but in the battle with the Morrigan, Corriwen was thrown through the mystical gate and vanished into another world. Jack and Kerry set of to rescue her, and found themselves in Eirinn, a world Jack only knew from myths he had read in old books.

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And Eirinn was no less perilous than Temair. Dermott the Wolf and his dark spellbinder Fainn hunted them from one side of the land to the other in pursuit of the Harp of Tara.

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It was not they met Hedda the Scatha, the ferocious warrior woman, that Jack, Kerry and Corriwen and Connor, the rightful King of Eirinn, decided to stop running and fight back. Hedda had befriended Jack’s father, the Journeyman Hero whose task was to protect the mythic worlds. She gave Jack a new-forged sword, identical to the one his father had wielded and Jack decided that his own quest would be to find him, no matter what dangers he might have to face.

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With the help of friends they had made in the fight against Dermott and Fainn, they faced their enemies near the magical Tara Hill where the harp’s song summoned the Sky Queen, the ancient goddess of peace and harmony.

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On Tara Hill Jack was given yet another clue about his long lost father, the first bearer of the mysterious heartstone which Jack now wore at his neck..

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Now, back in the ring of standing stones, His mind was up. It was no easy decision for a boy.

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But whatever the cost, Jack would venture once through the mythic gates…and this time he would travel alone.

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CHAPTER 1.

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Jack swallowed a dry lump in his throat as he turned away from his friends towards the gate between the old stones.

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It was his decision to go, and to go alone.

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“You don’t have to,†Kerry protested.

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“I do. And Corriwen has to get home again. To her own world.â€

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They were in the ring of stones in Cromwath Blackwood. The heartstone lay on the carved rock, nestled in the niche that had been cut so long ago nobody could remember. Jack knew how to do it now, how to open those gates. The gates would only stay open for a few minutes more. He snatched up the heartstone and looped the chain around his neck.

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“It’s that way,†he said, pointing to the southernmost opening.

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The words of the Sky Queen came back to him. Find the door into summer.

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That was his first step. And then after that, he had to find another gateway.

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He turned the heartstone in the niche.

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Moonlight shone behind him. Twilight before him. On his left he could see the rock in Temair where Mandrake had met his gruesome end. The man-shape could still be made out, covered now with lichen and moss. To Jack’s right, was brilliant sunlight and the smell of roses and wild honey sweet on the air.

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The door into summer.

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There was no time to waste. He snatched up the heartstone and looped the chain around his neck. Faint lights sparkled and danced in each doorway. Time was running fast.

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He hugged Kerry and Corriwen tight, blinking back tears, then without a word he turned .

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Faint lights sparkled and danced in each doorway. Time was running fast. Without a word he stepped into the unknown.

+ +

In an instant he was gone, as if he had never been. Between the stones colours spangled and shifted and an eerie sound whistled, like high swifts in cold air.

+ + +

Kerry stood with his arm around Corriwen.

+ +

“I don’t want to go home,†he wailed. “There’s nothing for me there. Oh freak! This isn’t fair.â€

+ +

“But he wants to do it alone,†Corriwen replied.

+ +

“No he doesn’t. He just thinks it would be dangerous.â€

+ +

“We’ve faced danger before. The three of us together.â€

+ +

“That’s right. So we have! We can’t let that eejit do it by himself, can we?â€

+ +

Jack’s closest friends clasped hands, looked in each other’s eyes.

+ +

And then they were running fast towards the door into summer.

+ +

***

+ +

Blinding flashes seared Jack’s eyes and he experienced that familiar sensation of being turned completely inside out, with every nerve pulled like spiderwebs, every cell split and scattered in a void. Colours raced past him as if he was falling down a well that went on forever. Cold shuddered through him like spears of ice.

+ +

Then there was a twisting sensation and he was on his knees, hauling for breath and gagging against the nausea that bubbled up from deep inside.

+ +

It took him a moment to realise he was kneeling in the sunshine and the air was warm and clean.

+ +

The door into summer.

+ +

Behind him, the standing stones stood out against a deep blue sky, each smooth and polished, carved with strange figures and stranger script, but Jack knew each figure and each word was part of the power that let the gates open and close. Between them, the air twisted and warped, spangling with strange luminescence. Beyond the stones, grass swayed in the light breeze. Somewhere high above, a lark soared.

+ +

Still gripping the long sword tight, the gift from Hedda the warrior woman, Jack raised himself to his feet and looked around. Pollen scented the air. In the distance, rolling hills faded in summer haze. A perfect day in any world.

+ +

Yet Jack Flint thought he had never felt so completely alone in his life.

+ +

He let out a slow breath.

+ +

“Well,†he said to himself. “That’s it now. I’m here.â€

+ +

Wherever here was.

+ +

He took a tentative step forward, then another, until he reached a stream. There, he knelt down, cupped a hand and took a sip. The water was cold and refreshing. He dabbed at his eyes, wiping away tears that had come unbidden and refused to be blinked back.

+ +

Ahead of him, somewhere in this world, was something that would lead him to his goal. It was here, he now believed, that he would find the route to his past. The route to the father he had never known.

+ +

This was not Corriwen’s quest, nor Kerry's. Though Corriwen’s only brother lay dead at Mandrake’s hands on the slaughterfield in Temair. Though Kerry's father was clicking his heels in Drumbain Jail back home after his failed poaching attempt almost destroyed the old bridge. They had their own destinies to seek, and he would not lead them into more danger.

+ +

Jack’s father, Jonathan Cullian Flint might be alive and he might be dead, but his son had to know for sure, had to discover the truth.

+ +

He stood again, ready to take the first steps on his journey in this new world.

+ +

Before he could take a step, the air was rent apart by a sudden screech. In a second it rose to a crescendo, like a jet racing up a runway. Then something struck him with such force he stumbled back, twisting to grab his sword.

+ +

“Wha…?â€

+ +

Something else hit him and sent him tumbling to land on his backside.

+ +

The screech suddenly stopped. A hollow pop sucked out what breath he had left in his lungs. He struggled against the weight and something struggled against him.

+ +

“Jeez, Jack,†Kerry Malone bawled in his ear. “I’m just never going to get used to going through those gates.â€

+ +

A small hand grabbed his own and heaved him to his feet as his vision cleared.

+ +

“Are you all right?†Corriwen sounded concerned.

+ +

She spoke softly in his ear. Jack shook his head to steady himself. Corriwen and Kerry faced him on the grass. And beyond the two stones, the spangling lights were gone. All he could see were hills rolling away in the distance. The gate was closed.

+ +

“What are you two doing here?â€

+ +

“Aw, Jack,†Kerry said. “What else could we do? You know you’ll just get into a mess if we’re not here to watch your back.â€

+ +

“One for all,†Corriwen said earnestly. “Isn’t that what you said?â€

+ +

“And each for everybody else,†Kerry interjected. “Like always.â€

+ +

“You were supposed to go home!â€

+ +

“Yeah, right. And let you have all the fun?â€

+ +

Even Corriwen laughed. “We talked,†she said. “Temair will still be Temair without me for a while.â€

+ +

“And there’s not much for me back home,†Kerry added. “I’m a nobody there. Here I’m…hell, I don’t even know where this is.â€

+ +

He looked around him, smelling the nectar on the air, feeling the sun on his face.

+ +

“But it sure is a whole lot better than the other places you took me to. No bodies, no monsters. And it’s warm!â€

+ +

He knuckled Jack on the shoulder. “It’s like being on holiday, and we’re due a break, don’t you think? This place looks just great.â€

+ +

Jack was speechless. He felt tears prick in his eyes again and this time he just managed to blink them away. Without a word he dropped the sword and swung his arms around both of them, hugging them tight.

+ +

“Oh, quit that,†Kerry protested. “You’ll have me blubberin’ for sure.â€

+ +

---

+

It was some time in the afternoon, Kerry guessed from where the sun sat low in the sky, and they hadn’t wandered far from the two standing stones.

+ +

“I love this place,†Kerry said. He’d taken Corriwen down to the stream and shown her how to catch fish, poacher-style with his bare hands, tickling them out from under the banks and flat stones.

+ +

“They swim right into your hands,†he said, between mouthfuls of freshly cooked fish that might have been trout but were as pink inside as salmon. The brushwood fire glowed and gave off a scent aroma of herbs. Above it, in the aromatic smoke, three fat fish were cooking slowly to a rich brown. “This is paradise, I swear.â€

+ +

Corriwen had collected nuts from a grove on the hillside, and black damsons as big as apples from the shrubs alongside the stream. She sighed and leant back against a smooth river-stone.

+ +

“It is peaceful,†she said. Jack had to agree, but under his thought came another. Yes, but will it stay that way?

+ +

As if sensing the thought, Corriwen glanced at him curiously.

+ +

“I think we should try to find out where we are,†Jack said.

+ +

“Yeah,†Kerry chuckled. “Get out the old sat-nav!â€

+ +

Corriwen gave him one of her puzzled looks and both boys laughed.

+ +

“You’d never believe me if I told you what that was,†Kerry said.

+ +

Jack had been putting off the moment, content to be with Corriwen and Kerry. Today had felt like a picnic and they’d needed a break, for sure. But now he reached into his satchel and drew out the old book, feeling its weight in his hands.

+ +

The ancient leather binding was as familiar to him now as all the books on the shelf beside his bed back home, though none was as mysterious or as important.

+ +

The Book of Ways to twisted in his palm, as if it contained a life of its own and the front cover flipped open to let the leaves whirr of their own volition until they stopped on a blank page.

+ +

Kerry and Corriwen crowded close, watching intently as old script gradually appeared on the page, line by line. Jack looked at Kerry. “You read it, if you like.â€

+ +

When the words stopped etching themselves Kerry began to speak.

+ +

The Farward Gate of Uaine dear

+

The Summerland so Fair and Clear

+

But Journeyman should well step light

+

For mischief stalks the bleak of night.

+

Spell miscast for binder’s gain

+

Summons shadow, summons bane.

+ +

Set face and foot to Westward path

+

And shelter fast from bale-moon wrath

+

Journeyman must face his fate

+

For nowhere now stands homeward gate

+

In darkness deep waits darkness old

+

And peril waits who seeks his goal.

+ +

Kerry stopped, and for a moment there was silence.

+ +

“Not very promising,†Jack finally said.

+ +

“It never is,†Kerry responded. “I wish just once it would tell us straight. And maybe it’s got it wrong. This place seems okay to me.â€

+ +

“And Temair was once your oh-kay too,†Corriwen interrupted. “But where there’s good, there is always bad.â€

+ +

“Maybe not as bad as before,†Jack said, though his mind kept repeating the words from the second verse: Nowhere now stands homeward gate.

+ +

He felt those fingers of uncertainty creep on the skin of his back. He had come on a quest, hoping he had chosen the right gate. If he was wrong…if there was no way back…

+ +

Jack shook the thought away and closed the book

+ +

“I think the holiday is over,†he said.

+ + + +

CHAPTER 2

+ +

+

The sun and hovered on the horizon before finally sank from view. A bright flicker of green was followed by a wave of strange purple light which rolled across the sky.

+ +

“Weird,†Kerry said.

+ +

“That sometimes happens,†Jack said. “The green flash at sunset. I read it somewhere.â€

+ +

“Not that.†Kerry was looking towards where the sun had set. He pointed. Jack and Corriwen stood beside him.

+ +

Behind them, the sky was silken black and dotted with stars and a full moon glowed silver. But in the distance ahead, a bruised haze swelled on the horizon, and swirling like oil on a stagnant pool.

+ +

“Is that a storm coming on? Everywhere we go, there's always a freakin’ storm. You’d think we could get a break!â€

+ +

“I don’t like this,†Corriwen whispered, almost to herself. Jack nodded. He looked around them as a breeze began to rise, bringing with it the faint whiff of burning.

+ +

“We’re a bit exposed here,†he said.

+ +

Kerry drew his eyes away from the strange haze. “I saw some trees over the hill,†he said. “Maybe we should shelter there for the night.â€

+ +

The line in the Book of Ways echoed in Jack’s mind: For mischief stalks the bleak of night.

+ +

“Sooner the better.†Corriwen packed the remaining food into their bags. Jack stashed the Book and gathered his sword and the amberhorn bow while Kerry wrapped the smoked fish in big leaves then trotted down to a pool in the stream and hacked out an armful of tall bulrushes.

+ +

“Torches,†he explained to no-one in particular. “They burn.â€

+ +

“Good thinking,†Jack said. Kerry was always practical. They made their way fast up the slope to the coppice which covered the crest, while the purple haze expanded like a dark squall towards them. They were only a few yards from the shelter of the overhanging boughs when Kerry stopped abruptly.

+ +

“What is it?†Corriwen said, peering ahead into the shadows. From the corner of his eye, Jack caught a silver flicker and knew that she had drawn her knives.

+ +

“Not there,†Kerry said. He pointed over her head and the three of them looked up at the sky.

+ +

The dark tinge was beginning to brush past the full moon, casting oily shadows over its face. As it thickened, the silver faded to violet. For a long moment the moon was completely obscured, and then it waxed bright again.

+ +

But now it glared down at them, red as blood, its surface seeming to writhe.

+ +

“Jeez Jack,†Kerry breathed. “It’s just like…â€

+ +

“The night we saw Billy Robbins,†Jack finished for him. The night – it seemed to long ago now - that Billy Robbins had hunted them through the trees behind the Major’s home, the moon had turned blood red. And with it had come an awful living darkness that had oozed its way into the Major’s study and caused their fearful flight through the tunnel into Cromwath Blackwood and on through the gates to another world.

+ +

Under that red moon, the Nightshades had ripped into their own world and come hunting for them. Jack knew now that they were searching for the mystical heartstone he bore.

+ +

“Nightshades,“ Kerry whispered. “Do you think they’re from here?â€

+ +

Cold prickles made the hair on Jack’s neck stand on end. Below his collar-bone, the heartstone shuddered, giving him a warning.

+ +

Corriwen made a quick gesture with her fingers. Jack didn’t know what it meant, but he could guess. She was warding off something bad.

+ +

“Come on,†he said, gripping her by the elbow. “Let’s get into cover.â€

+ +

He turned one last time. Behind him, the Farward Gate reflected the blood-light, two red pillars.

+ +

Ahead of him them, Kerry stumbled. Jack heard the crack of dry wood snapping.

+ +

“What’s up?â€

+ +

“Some kind of fence,†Kerry said. “I fell over it.â€

+ +

Corriwen helped Kerry to his feet. Two halves of a thin branch hung from a pair of slender uprights. It was part of a frail barrier, though what it could have corralled Jack couldn’t imagine. Small corn-dolls, woven from golden straw, hung from the horizontal struts, dancing in the odd light.

+ +

“Stupid place to put a fence,†Kerry said, stepping gingerly towards the trees. Under the first leafy boughs, they were out of the direct glare of the red moon and Jack felt less nervous. They moved on until they found a small dell. Kerry collected some twigs and pulled out the little lighter that had already served them well in two worlds. He bent over the pile, flicked the lighter and jerked back as a six-inch flame almost singed his eyebrows.

+ +

“Nearly blinded myself there,†he said, rubbing his eye. “The adjuster must be jammed.â€

+ +

He managed to start the fire and used the flames to ignite the bulrush heads before jamming the stalks into the ground to give them more light.

+ +

They sat close together in silence, each with their own thoughts, each peering now and again into the gloom beyond the glow of the torches.

+ +

“What do you think the Book was trying to say?†Kerry's question broke the silence,

+ +

Jack closed his eyes, recalling each word, the way he’d remembered lines of poetry in school.

+ +

“This place must be Uaine.â€

+ +

“Ooh-waine?â€

+ +

“That’s how you say it. I remember it from the legends. It’s old, anyway. I think it was a magical place.â€

+ +

“It seemed that when we first came,†Corriwen said. She shivered. The breeze, even in the trees was colder now despite the heat from the fire. “Now it doesn’t feel right.â€

+ +

“Mischief stalks the bleak of night,†Jack recited. He could feel the heartstone pulse slowly on his chest. “And shelter fast from bale moon wrath.â€

+ +

“Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun and games,†Kerry said.

+ +

“No,†Jack said flatly. “But it got the moon right, so we have to be on guard tonight.â€

+ +

“You bet,†Kerry said. “I don’t think I could sleep anyway.â€

+ +

But in half an hour, Kerry was curled up close to the embers, head on his backpack, snoring softly. Jack and Corriwen faced each other beside the fire. Jack noticed the flickering flame made her hair gleam. She reached into her bag, pulled out some of the big nuts, and threw one to Jack.

+ +

“You bear the key to all worlds. That’s what the Sky Lady said.â€

+ +

Jack nodded. “I think I knew that already. She called me Journeyman. That’s what my father was. But she couldn’t tell me where he had gone. I’ve got to find that out for myself.â€

+ +

Now your own quest begins, the lady had told him.

+ +

“She said to find the door into summer. And then the door into night. Whatever that means.â€

+ +

He ignored the goosebumps rising on his skin and smiled at her. “But we’ll find out soon enough.†He stretched out a hand and took hers.

+ +

“At least I’m not alone.â€

+ +

“No, Jack. We wouldn’t let that happen.†She smiled back at him. “One for all.â€

+ +

He was about to respond with Kerry's usual reply when a sudden cry startled both of them.

+ +

Kerry rolled and was on his knees in an instant, eyes wide and bewildered.

+ +

“Bad dream?†Jack asked.

+ +

Kerry nodded, short of breath. He rubbed his eyes with shaky hands.

+ +

“Just like when I was little. I used to dream there were things under the bed, crawling out to get me. It scared me to death.â€

+ +

“But you’re not in your bed,†Jack said.

+ +

“Something hit me,†Kerry said. “Was it you?â€

+ +

“Don’t be daft,†Jack said, but as he did, he heard a soft thumping sound. Kerry jerked backwards.

+ +

“Did you see that?†He pointed at his backpack. The thud came again and the backpack bucked of its of accord.

+ +

“A bristlehog,†Corriwen said. “It must have crawled in.†She giggled. “Just don’t eat it. They’re foul, and I should know.â€

+ +

Kerry drew his short-sword and eased it under the flap, flicked the blade and the bag opened flat. Something moved inside and he bent closer to warily peer in.

+ +

One of the fat trout that had been cooking in the smoke flopped out and quivered on the ground, its milky white eye stared blindly up. Its tail flipped up, once, twice. Kerry really jerked back this time.

+ +

“This isn’t happening!†He rapped his head with a knuckle, realised he wasn’t dreaming and looked, pale-faced at the others. “It’s dead. How can it be…?â€

+ +

Corriwen squawked and her hand opened. The nut dropped, rolled between the stones around the fire and for a second everybody’s attention was away from the impossibly flopping fish. The nutshell cracked open and a pair of black legs poked through as a big black spider, scraped its way out. Its legs pawed the air and two glittering fangs raised up, little drips of poison forming at their tips. It moved in a blur of legs and ran up Corriwen’s ankle, red eyes glittering.

+ +

Without a pause Kerry swung his blade and flicked the spider off into the fire where it stumbled around sizzling until it crumpled into a smoking ball.

+ +

“Something’s wrong here,†Kerry said shakily. The dead trout flipped again, its mouth opening and snapping shut. Two rows of jagged piranha-like teeth gnashed together with every snap; teeth that had not been there when Kerry hauled them from the stream.

+ +

The fish convulsed again, landing near Kerry's foot and the teeth would have taken a chunk out of him if he hadn’t kicked it away fast. Corriwen snatched up a hot stone and clobbered it flat before it could move again.

+ +

Way beyond the firelight, in the deep gloom of the trees, a low moan, like an animal in pain, came through the darkness, breaking into stuttering gasps as it echoed from tree to tree.

+ +

….mischief stalks the bleak of night…Jack thought the Book had got that dead right.

+ +

He got to his feet and then Corriwen was at his side. Kerry joined them so they stood back to back, shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready.

+ +

“This is as bad as being in the open,†Kerry whispered. Beyond the firelight, the low moan shivered through the forest and under that, even deeper still, a hungry grunting sound of some beast on the hunt.

+ +

One of the bulrush torches guttered and sent a trail of smoke twirling up. It writhed and then condensed slowly until they could make out what seemed to be a gargoyle face. A long tendril oozed out, became a thin hand that snatched at Corriwen’s neck. Jack pulled her back before it could touch her. The ghastly face stretched into an evil grin before the breeze wafted it away.

+ +

“Was that real?†Corriwen asked, shuddering.

+ +

“I don’t know,†Jack whispered.

+ +

“That freakin’ fish was real,†Kerry said. “Nearly had my foot off. It was like a shark.â€

+ +

In the shadows, Jack thought he could detect movement and the heartstone began to quiver. Kerry felt him tense.

+ +

“I really don’t think we should stay here,†he whispered.

+ +

“It might be worse out there,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“No,†Jack said clearly. “I can see things in the shadows. I don’t know what they are, but I’ve got a bad feeling.†His sword was drawn, the Scatha’s blade, razor sharp and deadly, but somehow he thought even this sword might be useless against the things that moved in the night. “The heartstone’s beating like a drum.â€

+ +

A dozen yards away, one of the shadows uncoiled in a fast, loping movement. Two pale eyes opened in the gloom, wide spaced and sickly yellow and instantly Jack had a flashback of the memory the Sky Lady had unlocked in his mind - shadow beasts with those same haunting eyes had pursued them through the dark towards the stone pillars. He’d only been a baby then, but the memory was clear and powerful.

+ +

Something moved out there. Another pair of eyes opened, headlights in the dark. Jack glimpsed a flash of what might have been teeth. The creature leapt over dead branches towards them, lithe as a cat, growling in whatever it had for a throat.

+ +

Jack tried to tell himself he must be imagining this all of this, but the heartstone was vibrating fast on his chest and he knew they had to run, and run fast.

+ +

Sword out, he pulled Corriwen close.

+ +

“I think they’ll try to surround us,†he said. He and Kerry still wore the boots Rune the Cluricaun had made for them in Eirinn, boots that lent them the speed they needed. But Corriwen didn’t have that benefit. She’d been a captive when they met Rune.

+ +

“Get ready to run.†He said, sensing her nod in agreement.

+ +

“Take Corrie’s arm,†he told Kerry. “We need speed.â€

+ +

Something moved in a slither of black It was so close that Jack caught a gagging whiff of rotten meat. Kerry snatched up one of the bulrush torches and jammed it into the embers of their fire. It flared in a whoosh of flame and blazed a fiery arc as he swung it around. The shadows drew back. Feral eyes snapped shut.

+ +

“Now!†Jack cried, grabbing Corriwen’s wrist. They raced out of the clearing, heading back in the direction they had come.

+ +

They had barely run twenty paces when Jack realised something was wrong. They weren’t going fast enough.

+ +

“The boots don’t work here,†he gasped.

+ +

“My feet do!†Kerry bawled back at him. “Just run!â€

+ +

They sprinted, dodging looming trunks, aware all the time of the pursuit behind them, until they burst out of the trees and raced down the hill. They used the downslope to give them momentum, feet thudding, hearts pounding, gaining distance on the moving shadows. Some distance ahead, under the red light of the strange moon, Jack could just make out a cluster of buildings. Without a pause, he veered towards it. Kerry and Corriwen must have seen it too, because they followed right on his heels.

+ +

The chance of shelter gave them that added impetus they needed and in mere seconds the houses loomed ahead of them. There must be people here, Jack thought. They’ll help us.

+ +

Twenty yards away from the nearest house, Kerry crashed through an unseen barrier and fell headlong. Jack grabbed him by the hood, pulled him to his feet and they dived between two cottages and along a narrow, cobbled street.

+ +

Behind them, Jack could hear the scrabbling of nails or claws on the cobbles. He imagined a long, sinuous arm stretch out to grab and rip, but he pushed that thought away.

+ +

They scooted up the street, searching for somewhere to hide, but every door, every shutter was closed tight. There were no lights on anywhere, no sign of life at all.

+ +

Jack swung round a bend, dodged up a narrower alley. He saw a barn-like structure and made straight for its door. With luck, it crashed open. As soon as Kerry was through, he turned and slammed the door shut. Corriwen groped for the cross-bar latch and wedged it home. Just as it clocked into the wooden slot, something hit the door hard enough to send splinters flying. They stood together, hardly daring to breathe while the thing scratched and growled in the darkness outside. After what seemed an age, they heard it move away.

+ +

Jack let out a deep breath.

+ +

“I think it’s gone.â€

+ +

Somewhere in the distance a baby cried. A child’s wail came ringing through the darkness. A man’s angry voice silenced it and then all went quiet.

+ +

“I sure don’t want to meet those things again,†Kerry said. “I’m staying awake for sure.â€

+ +

And he was still awake in the morning when the villagers came and seized them.

+

+ CHAPTER 3

+ + +

The red glow drained from the sky and real darkness fell. Nothing stirred in the village. In the barn, the Jack, Kerry and Corriwen huddled together, listening intently, but all they heard was the faint squeak of a mouse deep in the hay, and their own quiet breathing.

+ +

An hour later, the first glimmer of dawn broke, sending rays of light through the narrow cracks on the barn wall, real daylight now, to Jack’s relief, not the poisonous glow of the bale moon.

+ +

All three were tired from lack of sleep as they roused themselves, stretching stiff joints, when sounds outside told them the village was waking up. Warily they edged to the wall and Jack put an eye to a crack. In the street, men were gathering, talking loudly amongst themselves. A group of them ran up an alley and came back with a piece of broken branch. Then the shouting started. One big man came along with two small dogs on a leash. They snuffled around in the alley then began to bark, dragging the handler across the cobbles straight to the barn.

+ +

“We’d better go say hello,†Kerry said. “If it wasn’t for this place, we’d have been up the creek with a hole in the boat and no paddle.â€

+ +

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when the barn door almost fell off its hinges, and half a dozen men came barging in. Jack stood up on the hay bales and one of the men cried out in alarm before the rest of them rushed forward and grabbed him.

+ +

“Hey,†Kerry shouted, as Jack struggled in their clutches. “There’s no call for that.â€

+ +

Corriwen twisted and kicked as two brawny men hauled her off the hay, but to no avail. These were big farming types, dressed in leathers and rough plaids. The three of them had no chance.

+ +

“Bring them out,†one of them growled. He snatched Jack’s jerkin and dragged him forward.

+ +

“You brought the nightshades,†he snarled. “Let them in, you did. You’ll pay for that.â€

+ +

“We didn’t bring anything,†Jack began, but before he could finish a big hand and clamped over his mouth.

+ +

“Save it, trespasser. You cost us dear.â€

+ +

And with that the three of them were bundled out of the barn and frog-marched up the street, while men, women and children watched them go by, with sullen angry eyes.

+ +

Corriwen managed to pull free enough to speak.

+ +

“You’ve made a mistake. We didn’t bring these things. They hunted us.â€

+ +

“Aye, and you broke the Rowan Ring,†the big man spat. “Here and at the coppice. You know the penalty for that.â€

+ +

Kerry managed to get a breath. “We don’t know anything. We’ve just arrived here. We don’t even know where here is.â€

+ +

He grimaced at Jack. “And here was I thinking this place was pretty cool.â€

+ +

They were hauled to a big wooden building which Jack assumed was the meeting-hall. The villagers crowded in as Jack, Kerry and Corriwen were shoved towards a stout table. From behind it a squat bearded man glared at them.

+ +

“What are they?†the head man asked. “Dwarves or sprites?â€

+ +

He pointed at Jack. “You boy. What’s your ilk and where from?â€

+ +

“I’m Jack Flint, from Scotland.â€

+ +

“Never heard of you, nor your Scotland either, and I know everybody in these parts.â€

+ +

He banged a hand on the table. “I bring this testing to order. Three strangers stand accused. Who speaks against them?â€

+ +

“I do, Master Boru.†A woman came forward. She bore a wicker basket and laid it on the table, opened its lid and drew out a brown speckled egg which she cracked open. Something grey and leathery rolled out. Huge red eyes slowly opened and the beak gaped, showing two lines of tiny sharp teeth. The creature looked more lizard than chicken.

+ +

“They brought the nightshades,†the woman said. “And now my chickens are sprite-sick.â€

+ +

A thin man came forward. “They broke the sacred Rowan Ring. Not a nut or fruit left on a tree.â€

+ +

Jack stood up straight, as tall as he could get, and still felt small against the men who surrounded them.

+ +

“Don’t we get a chance to speak?â€

+ +

“You get a chance to answer what you’re asked,†Boru said. He delved under the table and drew out Jack’s long sword. Corriwen’s knives, the bow and Kerry's short-sword followed suit. Jack gasped when he saw the heartstone join them on the table. He hadn’t even felt them take it in the struggle.

+ +

“Now where, I’m wondering, would you get blades as good as this?†Boru asked. “Not around here, I’m sure of that. No man but hold-keepers may carry such. They are forfeit.â€

+ +

“They’re ours,†Kerry said. “You’ve no right.â€

+ +

“I’ll be the judge of who owns what.†Boru growled. He raised Jack’s sword, admiring the fine blade. He ran a thumb down an edge then started back when a thin trickle of blood ran down to his wrist.

+ +

“Sorcery wrought, for sure,†he declared. “I’ve never seen its match. This was either stolen or bought for service to the dark.â€

+ +

He glared across at them. “You come here and break the Rowan Ring and come armed with sorceren blades. And we don’t even know what you are.â€

+ +

“We’re people,†Jack said. “People like you.â€

+ +

“Ha. So you say,†the headman rasped. “None travel Uaine under the bale-moon. None but the demon-touched.â€

+ +

He jabbed a finger at Jack. “Or the fiend-friend.â€

+ +

“They hunted us,†Jack protested. “We just ran for shelter.â€

+ +

“I say you’re outlanders,†Boru retorted. “Outlanders come for mischief.â€

+ +

“We’re nothing of the sort…†Corriwen began to protest. But Boru snatched up the heartstone on its chain and raised it high. People gasped and made signs with their hands

+ +

“Black heart! Just like your own.â€

+ +

A murmur of approval went round the hall. A voice called from the back.

+ +

“I say send them back to the pit they crawled from!â€

+ +

All around them the crowd muttered consent. The headman stood. “For breaking the Rowan-Ring and bringing shades and sprites, there is but one penalty. Take them out and give them back to the dark.â€

+ +

“What’s the penalty?†Kerry demanded. “We didn’t do anything.â€

+ +

A hand clamped over his mouth to cut off his words and they were dragged away, unable to fight or protest. The villagers followed their progress as they were half-carried and half frogmarched out of the hamlet, up a narrow track to a small hill barely a mile from the village where several stout wooden posts had been driven into the ground.

+ +

Their captors pushed them against the posts and quickly tied their wrists securely behind them. That done, the villagers turned and went back down the track.

+ +

“I think we’re in a real heap of trouble,†Kerry said when they had all gone.

+ +

“They are afraid,†Corriwen said. “People were like that with Mandrake.â€

+ +

Jack’s heart felt as if it had sunk into his boots. Their weapons were gone, but worse that that, the Book of Ways was back in the village, and the head man now had the heartstone. The three of them were tied to posts on a hill, completely defenceless. A long and uncomfortable day lay ahead of them.

+ +

And after that, the night.

+ + +

“There are circles everywhere,†Corriwen said. The boys followed her gaze and saw fertile fields and little orchards on the flatland at the bottom of the hill. Each field, each orchard and coppice was surrounded by a fragile fence of thin branches.

+ +

“Must be some sort of protection,†Jack said.

+ +

“From the nightshades,†Kerry added. “We have to get ourselves out of here.â€

+ +

He leaned out past Jack. “Corrie, you don’t happen to have a knife in your boot?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “Not even the clever little one Jack gave me.â€

+ +

Corriwen twisted and turned against her bonds, though it was clear she’d never break them. Jack and Kerry did the same, but soon the rising heat of the day, combined with hunger and thirst, tired them out. They sagged despondently against their bonds as morning became afternoon and then the shadows began to lengthen.

+ +

A scraping sound startled Jack to sudden awareness. He twisted round, half expecting to see some animal creeping towards him, but it was Corriwen who’d made the noise. She sucked in her breath and wriggled round until she was facing Jack and Kerry.

+ +

“I remembered Tig and Tag, the Acrobats in Eirinn,†she said. “They taught me a few things when we escaped from Wolfen Castle. I think we have a chance… maybe.â€

+ +

With that, she bent forward, leaning out from the post as far as the bindings would allow. Both boys heard her muscles and ligaments creak as she pressed to the limit of endurance and Jack saw her face twist into a mask of concentration and effort.

+

“What’s she doing?â€

+ +

Jack shushed him to silence.

+ +

Corriwen’s arms were now pointing directly behind her and Jack thought if she pushed any further, they might pop out of the sockets at her shoulders. Very slowly she forced her body forward. Jack winced at the sound of tendons stretched to their limit, but Corriwen ignored her pain, and inch by inch, she began to walk her feet backwards up the rough wood surface, her head was almost touching the ground.

+ +

“Sun’s almost gone,†Kerry said anxiously. Above them, the moon was still silver, but they had seen that before and seen it change.

+ +

The dark so quickly it took them by surprise, and again the weird green flash rolled across the sky.

+ +

“I can’t…†Corriwen wailed. “I can’t reach.â€

+ +

Somewhere in the distance, something big and wild howled, startling all three of them.

+

Corriwen moaned and Jack heard a distinct snap. Then all of a sudden he saw her edge away from the post. She paused, gasping like an exhausted animal, then stood up.

+ +

Only now she was facing the stake. Somehow she had managed to loop herself through her own arms. Then she winked at him and Jack’s heart began to pound as she began to shin up the post. It seemed to take forever until she finally got both hands over the top.

+ +

“Yes!†They both heard her hiss of triumph.

+ +

Closer now, the big animal howled again.

+ +

A purple wave rolled across the face of the moon and as it had the previous night, it turned red, glaring down at them with a face of blood. Bale moon!

+ +

Corriwen slid down the post and ran across to Jack and Kerry. Her hands were still tied in front of her, and one shoulder was raised higher than the other, oddly askew. Jack knew she must have dislocated her own shoulder to get free. She scrabbled about on the ground until she found a rough stone and then began to saw at Jack’s bindings.

+ +

“Do Kerry first,†he hissed.

+ +

“Don’t be daft,†Kerry said. Corriwen ignored them and scraped away until Jack felt the rope break and he lurched forward. Instantly Corriwen was behind Kerry and sawing fast as the purple sky deepened to real night and out there, beyond the hill, the low moaning sound echoed in the dark, and further out, barely audible, the feral growling of nightshades on the hunt.

+ +

Kerry rubbed his wrists and then hugged Corriwen tight. She winced in pain, but bore with it. “You’re a genius,†he told her.

+ +

“Tell her in the morning,†Jack said, pulling him away. “Now we really have to move.â€

+ +

And as dark shapes came slouching past the barricades at the fields at the base of the hill, Jack, Kerry and Corriwen began to run in the opposite direction.

+

+ CHAPTER 4

+ +

The smell of burning followed them as they ran from the nightshades. Ahead was a small stand of trees which would offer very little cover. Jack knew they couldn’t keep running all night.

+ +

Yet couldn’t stop either, not in the open and unarmed, he thought, as they crested the hill and down the other side.

+ +

“We should go back to the village,†Kerry said.

+ +

“There’s no haven there,†Corriwen countered. She was hugging one elbow tight as she ran, obviously slowed by the pain.

+ +

“Save your breath,†Jack ordered. “And keep running!â€

+ +

He felt defenceless without the great sword and the heartstone. The sword had felt a part of him since the first time he’d held it in Eirinn, when he stood alongside Hedda the Scatha facing the charging cavalry.

+ +

And the heartstone, his father’s talisman, that had a power all of its own. The key to worlds.

+ +

As they raced down the far side of the hill they could hear the creatures behind, howling like hyenas over a kill. Hyenas would be bad enough, but the unearthly shadow shapes – the nightshades,– were so unnatural, so fundamentally wrong, that it stirred the deepest terrors inside his mind.

+ +

He had been carried as a baby as the shades had hounded them through a forest. The recollection spurred a supernatural fear, one that he didn’t believe he would ever want to face again.

+ +

Suddenly a truly savage howl shuddered the night and startled all three of them.

+ +

“What the freak is that?“

+ +

Jack didn’t have the breath to respond. The howling soared high and then subsided into a vicious snarl. Another blared, closer in, but this time even louder, closer. Much too close.

+ +

“Surrounding us,†Corriwen gasped. “They’re fast.“

+ +

From the corner of his eye, Jack thought he saw a pale shape running low about a hundred yards away.

+ +

He swerved and Kerry and Corriwen followed. They found themselves racing towards the edge of a thick forest.

+ +

“No way,†Kerry blurted. “Not again!â€

+ +

He tried to veer away. It was understandable. They had been in forests so often before in other worlds and in each one they had faced terrible dangers.

+ +

Jack risked a glance behind him and saw the dark shadows creeping over the hill like a rising tide. They had no choice but to run for the trees. Jack grabbed Kerry's arm and swung him back.

+ +

The trees enfolded them in shadows and the three ran in the dark, hands outstretched as they went, careening into saplings and through tangles of fern.

+ +

Now the howling was really close. Something heavy crashed through undergrowth.

+ +

Spider-webs caught at Corriwen’s hair, parting with sinewy snaps. Ghostly moths whirred around their heads but they still pushed on, over a rise and then across a shallow stream.

+ +

Kerry crouched fast and came up with two heavy rocks. Jack scrabbled around for a stout branch and when his fingers found one, he heaved a sight of relief. It was not ideal, but it was something to fight with.

+ +

He hoped. But there was every possibility that the nightshades, just couldn’t be fought. If the villagers barricaded themselves in at night and huddled, afraid, until dawn, how could three youngsters do better?

+ +

He pushed Corriwen ahead of him, aware of her ragged breathing, knowing she was hurt and tiring even more than he was, but he made sure he and Kerry were between her and what was coming. They barged through, tripping and sliding while thorns and splinters spiked their exposed skin.

+ +

The snarl was so loud it caused them all to jump. Kerry turned, one stone raised. Something flitted between the trees, just a flash of grey. It growled again, deep and throaty and came in fast on their flank.

+ +

“It’s getting ahead of us,†Jack said.

+ +

Kerry launched a stone at the fleeting shape, a good throw that missed the creature by only a few feet and smacked against a trunk.

+ +

The animal snarled again, ferocious and hungry. Then, from their right, an almost identical snarl told them there were two of them, closing in from either side.

+ +

Just ahead, a massive tree blocked their way, but Jack pushed Corriwen towards it. They stumbled over tangled roots until they came hard up against a trunk as wide as a wagon.

+ +

Corriwen instinctively reached for her knives. Her fingers hooked on empty sheaths, and she hissed in anger and dismay.

+ +

Jack took a second to check out the tree. Thick branches grew from the trunk, low enough to reach.

+ +

“Lets get our backs to the tree,†he said. “They’re closing in. I don’t think Corrie can any further.â€

+ +

His heart seemed to be stuck in his throat, but there was nothing for it. At least it might give Corriwen a chance, and he owed her that, after all they’d been through together; after she’d willingly stepped through the gateway to stand by him. At least he could fight for her, he told himself. He leaned against the trunk and laced his fingers together, forming a stirrup.

+ +

“Climb, Corrie,†he urged. “Maybe these things can’t.â€

+ +

She didn’t hesitate. She got one foot in his hands and she grunted with the effort and the sudden wrench of pain in her shoulder as he boosted her up to the first branch. Beside him, Kerry launched another other stone. It crashed through the ferns and hit another tree with a gunshot crack.

+ +

“Missed again!â€

+ +

“You next,†Jack said urgently. “Come on man! They’re closing in.â€

+ +

He braced his legs to take Kerry's weight when from above, Corriwen called down.

+ +

“There’s a light. I can see it from here.â€

+ +

“What’s that?â€

+ +

“It’s a cottage. A woodsman’s hut.â€

+ +

The beasts were approaching more slowly now. Jack saw a flicker of red as their eyes reflected shards of moonlight that managed to pierce the foliage. They growled softly as they closed in.

+ +

Corriwen clambered down from above and Jack caught her with both hands.

+ +

“It is a cottage,†she repeated, excited. “In a clearing. I think we can make it.â€

+ +

Jack and Kerry rounded the tree and saw the winking light not far ahead of them. Corriwen ran for it and they followed her, Kerry a couple of steps ahead of Jack, who kept a tight grip of only weapon they now had, ready to defend them all.

+ +

The clearing opened abruptly before them, wide enough to let in moonlight and Jack saw they were running across a carpet of moss and leaves towards the light in the cottage. The scent of woodsmoke drifted in the air told him somebody was home, and that spurred him on..

+ +

The gibbering sound of the nightshades had faded away, but the big beasts were now so close Jack could smell them. He whirled, branch raised, and saw them clearly now, hackles raised in spikes and eyes drawn into slits. Long fangs showed in twin snarls.

+ +

Kerry snatched at his hood and pulled him along. The animals howled in unison and Jack needed no further urging.

+ +

Corriwen was twenty yards ahead, silhouetted in the light from a small window. Grey smoke spiralled from a crooked chimney of the ramshackle cottage. The boys followed her as fast as they could, all the time fearing those sharp fangs might close on their necks.

+ +

The door was wooden, splintered in places. Corriwen hit it with all her weight, bounced, yelped in pain and fell backwards. She sprang up and hammered with the flat of her hand.

+ +

“Open up. Please open.â€

+ +

On the edge of the clearing, the hounds, or wolves, snapped and snarled, but came no closer, and that alone made Jack’s skin twitch.

+ +

If they were afraid to approach…

+ +

The thought was immediately cut short when Corriwen pushed the door again and it swung open. Her momentum carried her forward, and them with her. All three landed in a heap inside.

+ +

“Close it quick!†Jack cried, trying to untangle himself. Kerry clambered up and swung the door shut. Jack helped Corriwen to her feet and looked around.

+ +

The cottage was tiny, cramped and cluttered. Cobwebs festooned old rafters. A fire glowed in a grate and above the embers a black pot hung from chains. It bubbled in the heat, giving off a meaty aroma of stew.

+ +

On rickety shelves around the crooked walls, translucent jars of coloured glass held an assortment of creatures, magnified in the liquid they floated in. Frogs and toads; spiders and beetles, and bits of other things that none of them could identify. A rough-hewn table was covered with mixing bowls and grinders and a heavy carving knife was jammed point-first into the surface. More knives hung from hooks.

+ +

“I don’t like this,†Kerry said, eying the array of knives. “It’s like a witch’s den.â€

+ +

“Better than out there,†Corriwen whispered. Jack thought she sounded more hopeful than confident, but said nothing. He took it all in, the weird creatures in the jars, the pot bubbling away, and wondered if they had escaped from one danger and into another. This place reminded him of Hanzel and Gretel in a fairytale forest.

+ +

And the black house in the forest of Temair.

+ +

Then a hand reached past him, a hand with long thin fingers, stained bright scarlet, and touched Kerry on the shoulder.

+ +

Kerry let out a wail of pure fright as a hooded figure bent towards him.

+ +

“Don’t eat me!†He yelped.

+ +

A pair of deeply shadowed eyes peered out from under an old black cowl.

+ +

“Eat you?†It was an old woman’s voice. Grey hair hung down on either side of her face. “What a disgusting thing to say!â€

+ +

She pulled him closer, inspecting him. “And besides, there’s hardly a pick on you worth chewing on.â€

+ +

Without turning, the woman spoke again. “You might as well put that knife down, my dear. You could cut yourself.â€

+ +

Very slowly Corriwen lowered the knife back to the table. She’d moved so fast that Jack hadn’t even seen her snatch it up..

+ +

“Now, young travellers,†the woman said. “I think you’ve had quite a night of it, eh?â€

+ +

+ CHAPTER 5

+ + +

The old woman flipped back her hood, letting tangled grey hair spill over her shoulders. Jack’s eyes were fixed on the scarlet stains on her hands. Her nails were blood red. He still gripped the branch in both hands, wondering where she’d come from, who she was, and mostly about those red fingers.

+ +

She raised both eyebrows.

+ +

“And you, young man. Go put that log in the pile. Can’t be wasting good firewood.â€

+ +

With that she released Kerry and swept fingers through her hair, pulled it back and quickly knotted it in a bun, which made her less dishevelled.

+ +

“Oh, where are my manners?†When she straightened up, she was tall and lean, with sharp features and lines around eyes that were so green they seemed to glare in the firelight. “Come in, come in. Sit down.â€

+ +

She gestured to some stools around the table. “Bring them closer to the fire and warm yourselves. You children look ready to drop.â€

+ +

Kerry picked up two stools, while keeping his eyes fixed warily on the woman. Jack took a third. As he carried it closer to the fireplace, he saw the little door ajar on its hinges. He hadn’t heard it open, hadn’t heard the woman’s approach. She caught his glance and nodded slightly. The door slowly swung shut with a muffled thud, making Jack start.

+ +

Kerry and Corriwen exchanged glances. She had put the sharp knife down, but kept her hand close.

+ +

“Oh, it’s so nice to have visitors,†the woman said smiling at them. “Young visitors!â€

+

Jack saw Kerry's look of apprehension. He felt just the same.

+ +

“It’s been such a long time since anybody bothered to come visit old Megrin and now here’s three of you, all alone in the darkwood.â€

+ +

When she smiled, wrinkles made big creases on her skin, deepened by the shadows.

+ +

“Not a good place to go stumbling when the sun’s down. Yet here you all are.â€

+ +

She shooed them forward. “Go on, sit down and take the weight off your feet. You’ve come a long way.â€

+ +

Further than she could imagine, Jack thought. But how could she know they’d been travelling?

+ +

Tentatively they sat while she bustled about on the other side of the room. A tall broom was angled against a wall, the kind you would find in a fairy-tale. An ancient rocking chair swung back and forth as if she’d just got up from it, even though she hadn’t been sitting.

+ +

“Simple fare is all I have,†she said, her back to them. “But good food and sure to fatten you up.†She turned quickly and beamed at them.

+ +

Kerry looked at Jack nervously. Fatten us! He mouthed it silently. Jack got the message.

+ +

Maybe she was just an old woman, but there was something in the way she moved that made her seem somehow powerful, and maybe dangerous too. As she poured a thick liquid into three stone beakers, a faint scratching noise came from outside.

+ +

She opened a small shutter and two lithe white animals scurried in. They ran down the wall, landed on her hand and disappeared up her sleeve, fast as rats.

+ +

“Slink and Slither,†she said. “Always up to mischief. You two been a-wandering, have you? Guide our new friends to our hideaway, did you?â€

+ +

Now Jack looked wide-eyed at Kerry. Whatever had howled and snarled in the forest might have been pale, but they were hardly little polecats. They’d been big and fierce and they had hemmed them in on either side, forcing them to hear in one direction…straight towards the old woman’s home.

+ +

Megrin deftly sliced a loaf of bread that smelt as if it was fresh from the oven. Despite his misgivings, Jack felt his mouth water and his stomach grumble.

+ +

“Go on, go on. Don’t stand on ceremony,†she urged.

+ +

The three of them looked suspiciously at the food, each not sure quite what to do.

+ +

Before any of them moved, the old woman was suddenly behind them, faster than anyone her age should have been able to move. It took them all by surprise.

+ +

She bent over Corriwen and her long fingers stroked her cheek.

+ +

“All out of breath you are, my dear.†Corriwen tried to turn around, but the gnarled fingers of the other hand had latched on to her shoulder. Jack gauged the distance to the knives hanging on hooks, ready to move. He and Kerry were already on their feet.

+ +

“And you’re all bent out of shape, are you not?â€

+ +

The red-stained fingers trailed down Corriwen’s cheek, on to her neck, then both hands were on her shoulders. They gripped tight, nails digging in hard. Corriwen yelped.

+ +

“Leave her alone…!†The words were out of Kerry's mouth before he could stop himself.

+ +

The fingers twisted and the blood drained out of Corriwen’s face. Jack heard a loud, click and then the old woman’s hands moved back to cup Corriwen’s cheeks again.

+ +

Corriwen let out a long shuddery sigh and Megrin beamed at her.

+ +

“Painful, I know, but better cruel to be kind to fix a wrenched socket.†The colour slowly crept back to Corriwen’s face.

+ +

“Back together again, good as new,†Megrin said. “Now, first things first. And you might as well sit down and eat, for no harm will come to you under my roof.â€

+ +

Corriwen gingerly rubbed the shoulder, then grinned. She nodded and sat back down. Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

+ +

“Brave girl,†the old woman said softly. “Now, to introductions. I’m Megrin Willow of Foresthaven. I’m good with potions and simples and a few other things, and this is my place, my wildwood.â€

+ +

Taking encouragement from Corriwen’s nod, Jack took the lead and they all introduced themselves.

+ +

“Now eat. And don’t worry, there’s no potions and you won’t turn into frogs overnight, as some people fear. I’m used to that nonsense. Sit a while and fill yourselves. It’s a long time until the dawn, and we have all sorts of matters to discuss and discover.â€

+

+

She watched with satisfaction as they fell on the food until there was nothing left but crumbs, then hauled the big pot off the coals, ladled out a broth as thick as stew and sat on her rocker as they devoured that too.

+

+

“I was expecting you any moment,†she finally said when they’d eaten their fill. “You’re far, far from home…and you have lost what you had, am I right?â€

+ +

“How do you know?†Jack began.

+ +

She laughed, a high and tinkly giggle that made her sound much younger than she looked.

+ +

“Oh, some of us have a knack for knowing,†she said. She leaned forward and jutted a red finger at Jack. “I saw you come through the gateway, of course. You first, and then your friends soon after. And I knew you’d come visiting, sure as day.â€

+ +

“We were hunted,†Kerry said. “There’s things out there. Horrible things chasing us. And then we hid in a village, but they found us and tied us up. Out in the open.â€

+ +

“And that’s how this young darling hurt herself,†Megrin said. “Quite the heroine, I think.â€

+ +

“She sure is,†Kerry agreed, with feeling. “Once, when we were in Eirinn, she…â€

+ +

Jack kicked his ankle. Once Kerry got talking it was hard to rein him in, and Jack needed to know more about this old woman before he told her anything about themselves or the other worlds they’d visited. Kerry shut up. Megrin seemed not to notice.

+ +

“Ah well, you’ve met the Malahain, and not for the first time, I imagine. The people here call them Nightshades. Foul little imps they are. And you can see that all’s not well in Uaine, not when the sun goes down.â€

+ +

“The moon turns red and foul,†Corriwen said. “like…†she pointed at Megrin’s fingers. “Like blood.â€

+ +

Megrin raised both hands, saw the stains and burst into a peal of laughter.

+ +

“Blood? That’s what you thought? No wonder you were all backward about coming forward! What did you think, that I’d butcher you in your boots?â€

+ +

“Something like that,†Kerry said, still not quite sure she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

+ +

“Oh, don’t be daft. I’ve never eaten a boy who didn’t deserve it. Not for weeks anyway.â€

+ +

Kerry's jaw dropped. Megrin’s hand reached out and he cringed back. All she did was ruffle his hair.

+ +

“Oh, I’m just having my bit of fun, young man. No, my dear, you were a bit earlier than I expected. I was mixing a potion for a wife who’s due tomorrow. She’s afraid she might be imp-touched and her baby born a changeling. But that mixture does stain like stink, I can tell you.â€

+ +

She rocked back again, still chuckling.

+ +

“Best laugh I’ve had in a long time,†she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “And you,†she pointed at Kerry. “Don’t eat me!“

+ +

Megrin was off again, giggling so helplessly she began to cough and splutter until Jack found the nerve to stand and clap her on the back.

+ +

Kerry glared. “It’s all right for you, in here with the light. But we got chased by ghoullies, caught by nutcases and then hunted by ghoullies all over again. And then you come sneaking up with your hands all red.â€

+ +

She howled with laughter again until tears streamed down both her cheeks.

+ +

“Oh, I needed that. A good laugh clears the cobwebs. And now, what was I saying?â€

+ +

“When the sun goes down?†Corriwen prompted.

+ +

“Ah yes, so I was. Well, you’ve seen for yourselves. Things have come to a pretty pass and that’s why I was waiting for you.â€

+ +

“For us?†Jack leant forward. He didn’t understand what she meant or why she might have been waiting for them.

+ +

“Of course. I’ve expected you for some time.†She stood up and beckoned them towards a narrow window. Outside, silver beams lanced down. Here in the clearing, the moon was no longer red and angry.

+ +

Megrin took a candle from the table, snuffed it out, and let the smoke drift up the clear window pane. Almost immediately their reflections fogged out and the window became opaque.

+ +

As if began to clear, despite the dark outside, they could see daylight. Sunlight. And the tall standing stones of the Farward Gate of Uaine.

+ +

“My window on the world,†Megrin said. “I don’t often leave Foresthaven. This allows me to see what’s happening in the world. And what has happened before.â€

+ +

She breathed on the glass, then drew some curved lines on the condensation before using the heat of the candle to evaporate it.

+ +

This time the light was different. They watched fascinated as Jack hurtled out from the stones and stumbled to his knees on green grass. Seconds later, the air between the pillars twisted and spangled and Kerry and Corriwen came tumbling through and bowled him flat.

+ +

“It’s been a while since a traveller came through that gate, and now here you are. Three of you. That means it’s time to put on my own travelling cloak.â€

+ +

At the mention of a traveller, Jack’s heart thumped hard and a multitude of questions leapt into his mind. His father had been a traveller between the worlds. A Journeyman. Had she seen him? Did she know him?

+ +

Megrin held a finger to his lips before he could ask.

+ +

She clasped Jack’s arm and drew him closer to the fire. “It’s a long story,†she said. “But we have the night ahead.â€

+ +

+ CHAPTER 6

+ + +

“Thin places,†Megrin began.

+ +

Jack and Kerry exchanged surprised glances. Major Macbeth, Jack’s guardian had spoken of e thin places on that first fateful night when their journey had begun. That night they had fled from the horde of nightshades and come tumbling through the Farward Gate to Temair.

+ +

Megrin smiled as if she had read their thoughts. Jack wasn’t quite sure that she hadn’t.

+ +

“Thin places,†she repeated. “Where worlds meet. Where there’s always the danger that evil things, things from dark worlds, will try to break through to bring their shadows with them. A battle that’s been fought forever, and always will be, but I imagine you know all this already.â€

+ +

Jack and Kerry both nodded tentatively. From what the Major had told them, the thin places where worlds joined could sometimes let evil through. And in their travels, they had seen evil a-plenty. They waited for her to go on.

+ +

“The thin place on Uaine was breached some time ago, but we, the Geasan didn’t know it then.â€

+ +

“What’s a Geasan?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“Oh, the council of enchanters. Those who know the old ways and keep them alive. Anyway, we had our work cut out, believe you me. But the dark forces, and the nightshades they have unleashed in our summerland, are gaining strength.

+ +

“And what we need now is another Journeyman,†Megrin said quietly. “To do the Sky Queen’s work and stand against those dark forces.â€

+ +

Jack felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She looked him in the eye.

+ +

“Yes, Jack Flint. Another Journeyman. And that shouldn’t surprise you.â€

+ +

“I came to find my father,†he blurted, unable to hold it back.

+ +

Now Megrin smiled, but there was sadness in her expression.

+ +

“You have come a long way, and I don’t know if I can help you on that quest. Jonathan Flint, ah, there was a fine man.â€

+ +

Jack’s heart began to hammer. He bit his tongue, forcing himself to listen.

+ +

“I met him and his lady, Lauralen, many years ago. They came to the Summerland, deeply in love, to live a while on the edge of the sea where they could watch both sunrise and sunset. It was a peaceful time then.

+ +

“But then, oh then, came foolishness and ambition. Greed and envy, and the thin place in a man’s mind was breached, and in came the darkness.â€

+ +

“What happened to them?†Jack couldn’t hold back. It was the first time he had heard the name Lauralen. Could only be the mother he had never known?

+ +

“The Journeyman made it his quest to hold the breach. And for a time the evil was thwarted and held at bay. But then something happened, in a very dark place where even the Geasan cannot see, and Jonathan and his lady, they…â€

+ +

She paused, searching for the words. “They were no more seen in Uaine.â€

+ +

“Like, they vanished?†Kerry asked. Corriwen just listened entranced.

+ +

“They were never seen again. The Geasan-Eril, the enchanters council have worked long and hard to find out why.â€

+ +

“The lady,†Jack said almost unable to get the words out through the powerful emotions that flooded him. “Lauralen? Could she have been my…â€

+ +

“Your mother? Oh, yes. I’m sure of that. You have her grace and your father’s eyes.

+ +

“But what happened? Who…When?†Questions tumbled in a torrent. Megrin held a hand up.

+ +

“We’ll get to that before dawn, Jack Flint. Now let me do the talking.â€

+ +

Megrin sat back in her rocking chair and began to speak. Her voice changed, became deeper and more serious than before:

+

+

For a long time, Uaine had been blessed with peace and harmony.

+ +

But as night follows day, darkness always opposes the light. In all worlds it has been so, ever since the beginning. Always, the dark seeks thin places where it can break and wreak its malice. The servants of the Sky Queen use what power they have to hold it at bay.

+ +

And when it does break through, the Journeyman is summoned. How, only the Sky Queen knows. She chooses a good man as her champion, and his quest is ever to turn back the dark and preserve the light.

+ +

Before he became Journeyman, Jonathan Flint travelled here many years before. A boy not much older than yourself, Jack Flint, on a mission of his own. He came through the Farward Gate, searching for his friend Thomas Lynn, a boy who had fallen into another world, who knows where. He had sought him in other worlds and would not give up. Perhaps that was why he was chosen.

+

+

Jack and Kerry exchanged another look. The story of Thomas Lynn who had disappeared in Cromwath Blackwood decades ago, and then reappeared dreadfully injured and completely mad, was a local legend back home. Nobody really believed it was true.

+ +

When he returned with his lady, Summer still ruled in Uaine. But not for long. The Copperplates of Uaine, long scattered and hidden in secret places, has fallen into the wrong hands, and now it has been put back together and used to open the dark way down.

+ +

The time has now come to remedy that.

+ +

Kerry couldn’t help himself. “What are the Copperplates?â€

+ +

“One and twenty leaves of a great book, each hidden and protected by a geas, a powerful spell. One and twenty enchantments woven by a Geasan in ages long past, the enchantments that together brought peace and plenty to Uaine.â€

+ +

“Don’t tell me somebody’s nicked them?â€

+ +

She raised her eyebrows in question.

+ +

“Swiped…I mean stolen them.â€

+ +

“A good guess, Kerry Malone. Someone has indeed…er, swiped them. The Journeyman took on the quest of bringing them back after night-stalkers brought their foul mischief. Now Uaine lives in terror of the darkness, and that darkness is spreading ever wider. We fear it will flow over the whole world like a tide.â€

+ +

“So why can’t you get these Copperplates back?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“Oh, don’t think we haven’t tried. But the one who found them, and brought them together, he was the most powerful Geasan of us all. Except for one.â€

+ +

“Like a warlock?â€

+ +

“A spellmaker, spellbinder. The seventh son of a seventh son. Once a good man too, but turned and twisted by the power of the Copperplates to dark thoughts and darker ways. I do know, for I’m the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. And he is my brother.â€

+ +

She sat back and swept her gaze over all three, expecting more questions but they waited for her to speak.

+ +

“Now here you travellers are.â€

+ +

“I came to find my father,†Jack said, trying to explain that he had plans of his own, plans that didn’t involve Copperplates or spellbinders or anything else. Yet, somehow, he knew he was about to get sucked into this world’s affairs. The Book of Ways had made it clear that he had to pay his passage.

+ +

“And we came to help him,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“Yeah,†Kerry pitched in. “All for one and each for everybody else.â€

+ +

“A good sentiment,†Megrin said. “Three friends good and true. And on a quest.

+ +

“We have to go west,†Kerry blurted. “The Book of Ways said…†He looked at Jack, wondering if he’d said too much, but Jack didn’t bother trying to hush him up.

+ +

“But we lost it,†Corriwen broke in. “It guides us and they stole it. And our swords.â€

+ +

“And something else?†Megrin asked gently.

+ +

Jack nodded. “My father’s heartstone.â€

+ +

“Ah, the fairyglass heart. I wondered if it would come back. And if it’s here, then all is not lost. Not by a long way. Not that it’s going to be easy, mind. But that’s for tomorrow and the days to come.

+ +

“Now I’ve done my share of talking, its your turn. I want to hear your story.â€

+ +

Jack began to talk, describing the night of the Halloween party when the creeping dark had swallowed Billy Robbins and then hunted them through the passageways under the Major’s house to Cromwath Blackwood and through the ring of standing stones to Temair.

+ +

“Then we met Corrie,†Kerry said. “And she was in big trouble.â€

+ +

They couldn’t stop him as he told how they’d fled across Temair, hunted by creatures Jack had only read about in legends, the final apocalyptic clash with the Morrigan, then the perils when they found themselves in Eirinn.

+ +

“And then,†Jack said. “I came here to search for my father. I told them to stay behind, because if my father couldn’t make it back, then there had to be something stopping him, something dangerous.â€

+ +

He tried to frown, but couldn’t.

+ +

“But they followed me through and first thing we know is there’s things in the dark hunting us down and then the villagers caught us and stole the heartstone and our weapons.â€

+ +

“And the Book of ways,†Corriwen said. “They said we were evil and tied us up for the nightshades.â€

+ +

Jack looked at Megrin. “I have to get the heart back, and the Book of Ways. And I want the sword that Hedda the Scatha made. If I find my father, he can use it.â€

+ +

“If..†Megrin shook her head and got up from her chair.

+ +

“ I think you should get a night’s rest by the fire. You’ve had a hard day.â€

+ +

She laid down thick reed mats near the hearth and began to douse the oil-lamp wicks.

+ +

“Get some sleep and give me some quiet time to think. I have a birthing to attend in the early hours. We’ll talk in the morning.â€

+ +

She disappeared silently. Jack, Kerry and Corriwen settled down wearily to rest. Very soon they were asleep together by the glow of embers.

+ +

+

+ +

+ CHAPTER 7

+ +

+

Jack woke early from vague dreams where he hunted shadows. Kerry snored lightly, curled up beside the hearth. Corrie smiled in her sleep, hugging herself tight. Jack wondered what she was dreaming of. He could feel her breath on his cheek.

+ +

In the quiet of the dawn he thought about what Megrin had told him. His father had been here – might still be. But first, Jack knew he had to recover the Heartstone. It was the key to all worlds, and somehow Jack knew it was also the key in the search for his father.

+ +

Kerry snorted and woke with a start. He looked around, bewildered for a moment, then got up and went straight for the cooking pot to help himself to a ladle of broth.

+ +

“Where’s the wicked witch of the west?â€

+ +

Corriwen stirred, stretched and got up slowly. They breakfasted on the food while they talked about their next move. Jack was adamant.

+ +

“I’m not going anywhere without what they stole.â€

+ +

“It won’t be easy,†Kerry said.

+ +

“Nothing ever is,†Corriwen said thoughtfully. “But we have met worse difficulties. They might be many, but they are not fighters.â€

+ +

“They’ve got the weapons,†Kerry countered.

+ +

“Then we make our own,†Jack said. “We got Corriwen out of Wolfen Castle, remember? We could sneak in to the village.â€

+ +

“Rune’s boots had magic then,†Kerry argued.

+ +

Corrie clapped him on the shoulder. “If you don’t want to come….,†she teased.

+ +

Kerry's face went scarlet. “I never said I wasn’t coming! I was just pointing out that…

+

oh, never mind. All for one and that stuff, right?â€

+ +

By mid-morning, when Megrin had not appeared, they set out on their own.

+ +

In daylight the forest was a haven of sun-dappled glades, a far cry from the threatening shadowed place it had been at night. Searched around a sapling grove for material for weapons.. Kerry found three smooth stones in the stream and worked carefully to bind them together. Jack had seen him weave fish-traps and snares back home but it still amazed him how clever and deft he could be. In less than fifteen minutes Kerry held up the stones for inspection, each dangling from a stout braid of twine. They clacked together.

+ +

“It’s what Connor used. Can’t remember what he called it, but it works a treat.â€

+ +

He grinned. “Although I still wish I had my sling.â€

+ +

Jack was working on his own weapon, bending a piece of ash-wood into a curve. He already had four good arrows made from straight hazel, and although he had nothing to tip them with, he whittled their ends into points. They might do some damage if they had to. Corriwen had borrowed a big knife and used it to cut a good length of timber for a staff. She left two stubs of branches at the forked end and cut the base into a point. Jack hadn’t witnessed her first fight on Eirinn when the horsemen had tried to capture Connor, the crippled boy who was the rightful king of Eirinn. When Connor had relayed the story of how she had used a staff to unseat one of the hunters, he had almost burst with admiration.

+ +

“Tooled up and ready for anything,†Kerry said, swinging his make-shift bolas.

+ +

“We might not need it,†Jack said hopefully. Corriwen spun her staff, said nothing at all, but she had a resolute look in her eye.

+ +

They moved out from the trees and into rolling pastures. As they passed the first coppice into which they had fled, Jack saw the trees there were in a sorry state. Leaves wilted, infested with galls and mildew. The smell of rot was rank on the air.

+ +

“Did we do that?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“Not us,†Jack said. “We didn’t know about the barriers, but they seem to work. Whatever these night-shade things are, I don’t want them touching any of us.â€

+ +

“At least we know how to protect ourselves,†Corriwen said. “We should carry rowan with us always.â€

+ +

“And hopefully it works on humans,†Kerry added.

+ +

They made their way carefully until they came a hill from which they could see the village. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet.

+ +

“We should find somewhere to hide,†Jack suggested. “Then sneak in tonight.â€

+ +

“How will we find our stuff?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“We scout around for the head man. He’s got our weapons.â€

+ +

Silently they sneaked down the hill in single file. They pushed through a hedgerow.

+ +

And the bull that charged out from a corner of the field put paid to all their plans.

+ +

***

+ +

All Jack got was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. He jerked around and saw pair of horns, sharp as daggers and as wide as a two-arm span, were pointed straight at his chest.

+ +

“Freak…..†Kerry blurted. Jack slammed Corriwen with his shoulder, tumbling her off to the side. Kerry vanished in a green streak. Everything blurred.

+ +

The bull hit the hedge like a train, snapping branches and twigs which flew in all directions. It bellowed as its momentum carried it forward, crashing almost through the thorns.

+ +

Kerry was nowhere to be seen. Jack found himself twenty yards away with no clear idea of how he had got there. Corriwen was half-way across the field. The last time Jack had seen her, she was rolling away on the grass. Now she was on her feet, staff held out and feet braced like a small warrior. Jack backed towards her, eyes on the bull.

+ +

It bellowed again, its feet ploughing the earth as it tried to free itself and come at them again, but somehow those big horns had wedged themselves behind the branches of the thorn-bushes. It shook them in futile fury as it twisted its head from side to side, but stayed stuck fast.

+ +

“I’m up here,†Kerry called. He lowered himself from a thin tree towering above the hedge and let himself drop a fair distance to the ground, bounced lightly and came running across.

+ +

“What happened?†Corriwen asked. “You hit me and then I was….all of a sudden…here.â€

+ +

“Rune’s boots!†Kerry jumped up and down. “The old girl must have fixed them. magicked them back.â€

+ +

“But Rune didn’t make a pair for me,†Corrie said.

+ +

“Maybe she did something to yours too.â€

+ +

“Good old her, then,†Kerry's grin was truly ear to ear. “This is totally brilliant.â€

+ +

Before he could say anything more, someone bawled on the other side of the hedge. Two men came clambering over a gate, big farming types. One had a long-handled spade, and the other a hooked blade on a pole. It looked like some kind of harvesting tool.

+ +

The three of them tried to make a dash for cover, but too late.

+ +

“It’s them fiend-friends.“ One farmer cried. “They lived the night.â€

+ +

“So much for the element of surprise,†Jack muttered. The villagers raised their tools and came charging at them. Flight was the only option.

+ +

CHAPTER 8

+ + +

The noise of pursuit attracted the rest of the villagers as Jack, Kerry and Corriwen came haring down the field, with the two angry farmers in loud, lumbering pursuit.

+ +

“Megrin must have done something to the boots,†Jack cried. “We’ve got speed back.â€

+ +

“So have I,†Corriwen said, keeping pace as they streaked away. “Good magic!â€

+ +

They skidded to a halt beside a pigpen. Somebody had left a scythe against the fence. Kerry snatched it up.

+ +

“Frying pan and fire spring to mind,†he said.

+ +

Boru, the headman came pushing forward through the crowd, that had gathered, accompanied by several young men. He wore the Scatha’s sword on his belt and walked with a swagger. The young men, who were clearly his sons were each armed with the rest of their weapons: Kerry's sword, Jack’s amberhorn bow and Corriwen’s twin knives.

+ +

The other villagers made the evil-eye signs with their fingers and shrank back. Jack could hear them talk in stage whispers.

+ +

“How could they have lived the night?â€

+ +

“They truly must be fiend-friend.â€

+ +

“Demon-touched, I say. That’s the only way they’d survive the nightshades.â€

+ +

“Should have killed them first and fed them to their own.â€

+ +

The boy with the amberhorn bow fixed an arrow and drew back. Jack stood firm. Even from this distance he could see the chief’s son’s aim was way off. He was no archer. Kerry swung the bolas slowly. Corriwen grasped her stave and eyed Boru’s sons

+ +

“Put down your arms,†Boru called out. “You’ll never get away alive.â€

+ +

“Yeah, like you didn’t already try to kill us last night!†Kerry's temper was rising already.

+ +

“We’ve come for our property,†Jack said. “Give it back and we’ll go away.â€

+ +

Boru drew the Scatha’s sword. Jack knew his father had wielded its twin on Temair, before Jack was born, in the first battle with the Morrigan.

+ +

“These weapons are forfeit,†Boru said, swinging the great blade back and forth. “And your lives are too.â€

+ +

He took a step forward. His sons spread out to surround the little group.

+ +

Jack held up the ash bow. “One move and your son gets an arrow in the eye. And for you, I’ll send the nightshades.. Nightshades that don’t care about your rowan barrier.â€

+ +

He turned slightly, gave Kerry a nod. Instantly Kerry understood. He wheeled away, whirling the spade around his head and raced along the barrier, slashing with the scythe at the upright posts. They splintered like matchwood all along the front of the village. A whole section of the rowan fence lay scattered.

+ +

The crowd let out a collective gasp. Kerry spun back and placed himself between Jack and Corriwen before anyone had time to react.

+ +

“Where’s your protection now?†Jack asked. “I swear I’ll cut all of it before dark, and you’ll never get it built in time.â€

+ +

Kerry took Jack’s lead: “And I can conjure up even worse than that. You’ve never met the Scree, have you? Or the Fell Runners. And there’s huge Cluricauns that’ll suck your eyes out and roast your children.â€

+ +

He waved scythe spade theatrically. “And they’re all coming for you tonight!â€

+ +

Corriwen suppressed a smile. She started doing a strange little strut, waving her fingers about and chanting in her own tongue.

+ +

“She’s bringing out dayshades,†Jack cried. “They’re even worse.â€

+ +

The crowd fell back further, leaving Boru and his kin standing at the front.

+ +

“They’re not getting this sword,†Boru growled through gritted teeth. “I can sell it for two plough-horses at least.â€

+ +

Some of the worried villagers protested.

+ +

“But if they bring the ’shades….â€

+ +

“Not if they’re dead, they won’t!â€

+ +

Jack watched as the men argued amongst themselves. The women looked scared. The chief held up the sword.

+ +

“You want this?†He challenged. “You’ve no powers in the sunlight,

+ +

He turned to the strapping lad next to him.

+ +

“There’s but three of them, with a scythe and a toy bow. “

+ +

“We can take them, Da,†his son replied. He wielded Kerry's short-sword, but it was clear he was not used to the weapon. The boy with the bow was still aiming off to Jack’s left.

+ +

Jack pulled Kerry and Corriwen close and whispered to them. Now he knew he had one advantage that Boru didn’t suspect. Kerry passed the scythe to him and began to swing his bolas. Jack stepped forward. His heart was beating fast, but he knew with the element of surprise gone there was nothing else for it. He had to have the firestone heart and the Book of Ways, the only inheritance he’d ever had from his father.

+ +

Boru also took a pace, a broad-shouldered Goliath compared to Jack’s slight frame. He glanced contemptuously at the rustic tool.

+ +

“You think you can, strangeling?â€

+ +

“I can try,†Jack said, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. Whatever magic Megrin had wrought as they slept, they now had the speed they needed. Maybe that was all they had, but it might be enough. Jack crossed his fingers.

+ +

“Come on then,†Boru snarled. “Let’s see what you’re made of. I’ll fillet you where you stand.â€

+ +

With that he let out a bellow and charged forward. Kerry suddenly darted off to the right in a brown blur. The motion took Boru by surprise. He instinctively turned his head. Jack ducked under the swinging blade and jabbed hard with the back of the scythe. It caught Boru hard on the shin.

+ +

He roared in surprise and pain and Jack was past him in a flash. On his flank, Kerry was a streak of motion. Jack saw the three rocks of the bolas swing up and he heard sound like a hammer-blow, then the big fellow who had Kerry's sword was down flat.

+ +

The sword now in Kerry's own hand.

+ +

Boru hopped about on other leg, then spun very quickly. He grunted with the effort as he hacked wildly. Even as he ducked under the swing, he saw Corriwen sprint out on the other side and use her staff as a fulcrum. She leapt from the ground like a pole-vaulter and her heels caught two of Boru’s sons each on the chin. Her knives went tumbling away as they staggered back. In an instant she was on her feet and both knives were hers again.

+ +

There might be outnumbered still, but the odds now were a little better.

+ +

The sword hissed past Jack’s ear. Boru was in mid turn. Without thinking, Jack thrust the scythe between his legs and pulled hard. Boru’s feet came off the ground and he fell with a heavy a thump.

+ +

But before any of them could react, two of his sons hauled him upright and he launched himself with a roar back into the fight, slashing and hacking wildly. Jack jinked left and right, forgetting about the other opponents as he dodged the swinging sword.

+ +

As if in slow motion, he caught the unmistakeable twang of a loosed bowstring. He turned as saw the arrow coming right for his chest.

+ +

Corriwen shrieked a warning, too late.

+ +

Boru roared like a bull and the great sword flashed in the sun as it whirled in his hands.

+ +

For an instant, everything froze in Jack’s mind. His feet refused to move as the arrow cut the air, straight and surprisingly true.

+ +

Jack braced himself for impact.

+ +

Then the Scatha’s sword swung down in front of him. Right over his heart.

+ +

The deadly arrow hit the blade with a ring of metal and shattered. The lethal barb spun away and stuck into the earth.

+ +

Boru howled in surprise as the sword jerked out of his two-handed grip, whirred over his head and came down to land point-first between Jack’s feet.

+ +

“Sorcery!†A voice from the crowd showed both awe and fear.

+ +

Jack grasped the hilt and held the sword high, sensing the power within it.

+ +

Nobody moved. A strange silence reigned for several minutes as Jack stood there, barely breathing.

+ +

He swung his eyes across his erstwhile opponents. The boy with the bow very slowly put it down on the ground. Boru was bleeding from his shin and gingerly rubbing both hands together as if he’d scalded them.

+ +

“You have seen what we can do,†Jack finally spoke up. “We could do worse.â€

+ +

“Yeah,†Kerry added. “A whole lot worse.-â€

+ +

“Do you really want us to do worse?â€

+ +

A child sobbing in the crowd. A woman called out: “No. Please. Just leave us alone.â€

+ +

Jack kept his eyes fixed on Boru.â€Then give us our belongings and we will go.â€

+ +

“And no funny stuff,†Kerry said, brandishing his short-sword with obvious relish. “Any tricks and we’ll send the Leprechauns tonight, and they’re the worst of all. No kidding!â€

+ +

Boru glowered, still wringing his hands and ignoring the wound on his knee. His eyes were fixed on the magnificent sword but he made no move to retrieve it.

+ +

He muttered to his nearest son, who turned back into the village. When he returned with their packs he put them down on the ground in front of them. Kerry and Corriwen snatched them up fast.

+ +

“A good decision,†she said, as Kerry checked their bags.

+ +

“The book’s here,†he said, turning to leave.

+ +

“And the heart?†Jack asked urgently.

+ +

Before Kerry could reply a man’s hoarse voice broke in.

+

+

“Fiend-friends in the daylight!â€

+ +

He strode in front of Boru, an apparition in a long tattered cloak, tangled hair hanging down his back. Around his head, a kind of hat woven from evergreen leaves sat like a crown and dangling from the ragged leathers he wore were small skulls of every sort, hawks and falcons, rabbits and stoats. On his chest a wildcat skull showed long thin fangs. He carried a long stave decorated with dried bird’s claws and rabbits feet and other things Jack couldn’t guess at.

+ +

“What’s he?†Kerry asked. “The local scarecrow?â€

+ +

“Or witch-doctor,†Jack said.

+ +

“You know the law, Boru,†the strange fellow rasped. “They lived the night, which proves the rule,†he croaked. “Kill them all!â€

+ +

He saw the weapons in their hands.

+ +

“What’s this? You gave them back.â€

+ +

“No they didn’t, rag-a-bones,†Kerry shot back. “We took them. Any objections?â€

+ +

Corriwen tried and failed to suppress a giggle.

+ +

A look of consternation passed across the man’s face. He drew himself up to his full scrawny height. In the slight breeze they could smell cow dung and stale raw-hide. It wasn’t pleasant.

+ +

He glared at Boru. “I don’t know what sorcery they worked on you, but it won’t work on a spellcaster.â€

+ +

He shrugged off the cloak. Immediately Jack saw the black heartstone gleaming on its chain at his neck.

+ +

“We came for the heart,†he said. “Hand it over and we’ll go away.â€

+ +

The man’s gnarled hand grabbed the heart tight. His knuckles went white.

+ +

“I feel it’s power, shade-bringer,†he cried. “I will make use of it. What was yours is now mine.â€

+ +

Riggon held up his skull-staff. “Begone strangelings, before I cast a curse on you.â€

+ +

“Do your worst, ragged arse,†Kerry cried. “You couldn’t scare a mouse.â€

+ +

“Come on Jack, let’s grab the heart and get out of here.â€

+ +

He stepped forward; Jack and Corriwen did the same. Riggon held up the staff and began a low guttural chant, shaking the dry bones. As he did so, the air around them seemed to thicken, the way it had done in the Black Barrow on Temair before they came face to face with the nightmare of the Morrigan.

+ +

“What the heck…?†Kerry's voice sounded thick and glutinous.

+ +

Jack took another step and it felt as if he was wading in deep water. The great sword suddenly felt heavy and awkward. It was difficult to breathe. One more step and the water felt like treacle, cloying around him, weighing him down.

+ +

Riggon’s face began to waver as if seen through rough glass.

+ +

Jack saw a dark shape pass in front of him.

+ +

It took Jack a second to recognise old Megrin in her black cowl and long shawl. She was bent with age and her fingers grasped a sturdy stick.

+ +

As soon as she passed, the strange thickness in the air vanished completely. Jack finished his step, almost sprawled forward. Close by, he heard Kerry curse very sincerely.

+ +

+ CHAPTER 9

+ + +

“A magician’s trick,†Megrin said. “Simple, not bad for a beginner.â€

+ +

The ragged man reeled back as if struck

+ +

“It’s Old Meg-o-the-woods.†A woman in the crowd broke a sudden silence.

+ +

“That was no trick, crone. I am Grisan here. The spellcaster.â€

+ +

“Grisan, eh,†Megan cackled. “And what’s your name, son?â€

+ +

Riggon’s face seemed to swell with anger. He raised his skull rattle and shook it vigorously. A hush went around the crowd yet again.

+ +

Megrin stepped towards him, completely unfazed.

+ +

“You better put that away before you do yourself a mischief. Can’t have beginners playing about with earthy magic. Oh, and what’s that smell? You never heard of washing?â€

+ +

“Beginner? Me, a beginner? Who are you to call me a beginner, old woman? I am Riggon the spellcaster. I could turn you into a toad. Or worse.

+ +

Megrin cackled again, this time with laughter. Somebody in the crowd giggled nervously.

+ +

“You would turn me into a toad? I could do better than that. I could make you smell like a man and not reek like a pig in a sty. But it might be hard work. I’ve smelt dungheaps more fragrant.â€

+ +

This time the laughter was more natural. It rippled through the gathering.

+ +

Kerry stepped forward, sword drawn. Jack and Corriwen were right beside him and ready to act.

+ +

Riggon held up the heartstone on its chain. “I’ll use this,†he cried. “It has power!â€

+ +

He spun on his heel to face the villagers. It took a second for him to realise their eyes were fixed behind him. He turned back and his eyes opened so wide they could have popped out.

+ +

Around Megrin’s feet, grass, twigs and leaves were spinning off the ground. A sudden wind moaned, whipping her tattered shawl and cowl.

+ +

Megrin began to straighten from her stooped posture. Jack felt Corriwen’s hand grip his arm.

+ +

Riggon raised the heartstone and shook his charm-stick again.

+ +

But Megrin kept, uncoiling until, amazingly, she towered over the ragged shaman.

+ +

Her hood fell back and even Kerry gasped in amazement when he saw her hair that had been straggly and grey, become long and straight and gleaming silver down her back. Her tattered shawl flapped in the wind, shedding scraps of material until it was torn away. Now Megrin stood before them in a long cloak that could have been made of summer gossamer with a fur hood of pure white.

+ +

The old gnarled stick in her hand had become a slender carved staff, as tall as Megrin herself, richly polished.

+ +

The transformation took everybody by surprise, not least the ragged man whose feet seemed welded to the ground, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

+ +

She turned to Jack who was flanked by Kerry and Corriwen. Then she winked at them.

+ +

Megrin fixed Riggon with emerald eyes. She didn’t move, but in an instant he was squealing like a piglet.

+ +

And the fingers of his hand began to smoke and melt.

+ +

His hand jerked up. The heartstone went flying into the air.

+ +

Two pure white shapes came plummeting down. All Jack heard was a whirr of feathers as a pair of goshawks, white as snow, snatched the heartstone’s chain from the air, banked their wings and soared towards him. Their talons opened and the heartstone was softly draped on his neck.

+ +

He felt whole again.

+ +

“Neat. Absolutely neat, man,†Kerry said, to nobody in particular. Corriwen still held Jack’s wrist.

+ +

Megrin stood tall and silent, silver hair catching the sunlight. Riggon got to his feet, his right hand hooked into a claw.

+ +

“Witch woman!†He backed away from her, but still shook the skulls in her direction. She still said nothing for a moment, then pointed a long finger at him.

+ +

She swept her gaze along the crowd of villagers. “Some of you know me. The old ones. Your mothers knew me. I am Megrin Wildwillow of Foresthaven.

+ +

“And I am the Geasan, who has watched over you since before your father’s father’s father was a child. The Geasan always keep watch.â€

+ +

She put both hands on her hips and shook her head, like an exasperated mother scolding children.

+ +

“You should have come to me before, rather than listen to the prattle of this prancing pile of rags.â€

+ +

She tossed her hair contemptuously: “This will keep the shades at bay a while.â€

+ +

Her right hand came up and pointed directly at the Shaman yet again.

+ +

“Root and grow. Root and branch.â€

+ +

Riggon stopped dead as if his feet had suddenly stuck to the earth. He looked down at them and as he did, a small boy in the crowd pointed at him.

+ +

“His hat Ma. See his hat!â€

+ +

Every eye followed. Riggon stood paralysed. For a moment, the hat of twisted rowan fronds seemed to have turned into a circlet of writhing snakes but then it became clear that the woven twigs were sending out new shoots. In an instant, they had covered Riggon’s face, except for his gaping eyes, then grew down in thin tendrils, over his shoulders, wrapping around and along his arms, and snaking round the stick and its skulls.

+ +

As all eyes watched, his toes elongated like burrowing worms and drilled themselves between the blades of grass and pebbles, forcing the surface heave and clump as they rooted themselves deep.

+ +

His outstretched arms, encased in leaves were flung out on either side, expanding as they reached for the edges of rowan barrier that had encircled the village.

+ +

As soon as the green leaves touched the first upright, new buds swelled up its entire length, burst and let bright springtime leaves unfurl and the magic continued along the crosspiece, down the other post. The slender barrier of branches took root and burst into life yard by yard until it completely surrounded the whole village.

+ +

Megrin finally lowered her hand. “There, that should do it,†she said. Kerry couldn’t help himself. He just started clapping his hands together in wild applause, watched by the terrified villagers who stood, mouths agape.

+ +

Megrin took two spaces towards the assembly. They all shrank back in alarm.

+ +

“Oh, behave yourselves!†Megrin said impatiently. “Now you’ve got real protection. A living wall, which the shades won’t cross. And you won’t need any amateur skull-shaking to keep you safe.â€

+ +

She paused, began to turn away, then faced them again. “You did my young friends a great disservice. Think on that when travellers seek refuge and safety. Welcome them and succour them in days to come…

+ +

“…unless you want me to wither your rowan hedge.â€

+ +

“Oh no, please!†A woman’s thin voice cried.

+ +

The crowd all looked at Boru, expecting some action from their head-man.

+ +

He coughed and shuffled forward. “Yes….my lady. We will turn none away.â€

+ +

“See that you don’t. And if you are tempted to be inhospitable to the traveller, remember your spellcaster. Think on that.â€

+ +

And with that she turned her head and walked away, summoning Jack, Corriwen and Kerry with a brief nod of her head.

+ +

“Now come on, young friends. We have a meeting to attend and a long way to travel.â€

+ +

+ CHAPTER 10

+ +

Jack tugged at Megrin’s sleeve when they caught up with her on the road heading west.

+ +

“Where are you going?†he asked.

+ +

“With you, of course,†she replied. “Don’t you have a quest?â€

+ +

“You don’t have to come with us. We know which way to go.†Jack didn’t want to sound ungrateful for her help or her hospitality, but he was reluctant to draw anyone else into his search. Already Kerry and Corriwen had faced dangers on his behalf.

+ +

“Ah,†Megrin responded. “Will you know what to do when you get there?â€

+ +

She stopped on the road and looked down into his eyes. “You will be a good journeyman, Jack Flint, and a good journeyman takes help when it’s offered. We all do the Sky Queen’s work.â€

+ +

“I just want to find my father,†Jack said. “I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.â€

+ +

Now Megrin smiled. “Good for you. A nice thought. But your quest is more than you think. It is bound with Uaine’s future and the righting of wrong. As is mine. Uaine is my world, and Bodron is my brother. I would not have you and Kerry and Corriwen face him without my help.â€

+ +

She patted him on the shoulder. “If you could find him, that is. He’ll hide himself well.â€

+ +

Before Jack could respond, Kerry interrupted.

+ +

“Are you just going to leave him like that?†he asked. “The witchdoctor guy?â€

+ +

Megrin turned. They were only a mile out from the village and the green barrier of living trees could still be clearly seen.

+ +

“Oh, for a while anyway.†She smiled mischievously. “This way he can do some good and no mischief.â€

+ +

As they walked alongside her Jack noticed that the gossamer cloak and white fur hood were slowly darkening to the drab colours she had worn when they first met her. But she wasn’t bent like an old woman any more, and she walked with a determined air, using her carved staff like a hiker. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, Jack got the impression that she was skimming over the ground, rather than treading it.

+ +

“What’s happened to your cloak?†Corriwen was curious.

+ +

Megrin smiled again. “That was just for show, you know. But you wouldn’t expect me to travel in my summer best, would you? I prefer to slip into something more comfortable.

+ +

A few moments before, the hood was still discernible, but now Jack could see it was gradually transforming itself into an old shawl which covered her hair, and was tucked into the front of her long dark coat.

+ +

As they walked, Jack marvelled at how quickly they covered distance. The farmland gave way to moor and then hills which rose ever steeper as the road carried them higher, until they were walking in low clouds. Here, the air was cold and damp and a wind picked up, driving rain and sleet into their faces.

+ +

They were hungry and tired when Megrin called a halt. Jack saw they were on a windswept summit where three standing stones formed the legs of a colossal table, bearing a wide flat capstone in weather-worn granite. Beyond, where the sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon, the sky was a dark smudge on the horizon, the same purple shade they had seen in the night when the moon turned to angry red and the shadows came oozing out from dark places.

+ +

She herded them towards the shelter. Jack held back, eying the megalith with suspicion.

+ +

“Do you plan to brave the wind and sleet alone tonight?â€

+ +

“I’m wary of standing stones,†he said. “Every time we go through them we end up in trouble.â€

+ +

“I’m with Jack on that,†Kerry said. Corriwen nodded her agreement.

+ +

Megrin chuckled, stooping to get under the capstone, and took her shawl off, letting her silver hair spill down her shoulders.

+ +

“That’s the Faery Gates you’re talking about. The gates between.“ She beckoned them to join her. “This is a Bor-Dion, as they say in the old tongue, a resting place carved from the hill and set here to shelter the weary.â€

+ +

Jack stepped forward. As soon as he was under the capstone the wind died, although, beyond the massive pillars he could see the tussock-grass and heather bent almost flat by its force. He allowed himself to relax and the cold began to seep out of his bones.

+ +

“They built well, the old people,†Megrin said. “And cast their geas to ward off harm.â€

+ +

“I’m just glad to be out of the freakin weather,†Kerry said, slumping down on the dry earth beside a small circle of stones where previous travellers had lit a fire. “It’s like being back in Scotland home in winter. All drizzle and sleetâ€

+ +

He looked at Jack: “I’m frozen stiff. I thought this was supposed to be the summerland!â€

+ +

“Uaine is the summerland,†Megrin interjected. “But you know that all is not well here. The time has come to rectify that. If we can.â€

+ +

Kerry set about gathering wind-blown leaves and twigs which he crumpled together in the old hearth. Corriwen shook the rain from her hair and laid her cloak out to dry.

+ +

“Where are we going?†Jack asked. “And what are we supposed to do?â€

+ +

Kerry flicked his little lighter to try to set the damp leaves alight. The flame flared out like a blowlamp again and he yelped as it scorched his thumb.

+ +

“Why don’t you consult that book of yours?†Megrin replied. “It’s led you on the right path so far.â€

+ +

Jack wasn’t surprised she knew of the Book of Ways. There was a lot more to Megrin than he had suspected at first. He squatted down and drew the ancient book from his pack.

+ +

Kerry cursed under his breath and sucked his thumb, unable to set fire to the wet leaves. Megrin glanced across at him, frowned, then closed her eyes for a moment. She pointed a long finger at the unpromising pile of kindling and when she opened her eyes again, Jack saw them flash brightly for a mere fraction of a second.

+ +

Something whickered past him, an invisible twist in the air. He felt it clearly on his cheek, like a hot breath of dry wind. The firewood burst into flame with a sudden whoosh.

+ +

Kerry jerked back with a cry of alarm and fell hard with his feet in the air, frantically rubbing at his eyes. Looked up at Megrin who still stood with her finger pointing.

+ +

“You’ve burnt my eyebrows right off,†he yelled. “You could have blinded me!â€

+ +

Corriwen burst into peals of laughter. As Kerry rolled on the ground she slumped against Jack, helpless with mirth. Tears streamed down her face and he felt her convulse against him. It was the first in a long time that Jack had heard her really laugh.

+ +

“Oh stop,†she cried, when she managed to get a breath. “I can’t take any more!â€

+ +

Kerry pulled his hands away from his eyes, glared up at them: “And what are you laughing at?â€

+ +

Jack felt the laughter bubbled up inside him until his knees started to shake and he could take Corriwen’s weight no longer. They sagged to the ground, holding on to each other.

+ +

“There’s nothing funny in getting blinded,†Kerry snorted. “Freakin’ witchy magic!â€

+ +

But that only set them off again until they were both knotted in a heap, unable to stop.

+ +

“A pair of kids, so you are,†Kerry said. “We’re supposed to be on serious business here!â€

+ +

***

+

When the laughter began to subside, Jack sat up and rubbed his eyes. Every now and then Corriwen would give a little giggle which she was unable to suppress, even when she clamped a hand over her mouth.

+ +

“OK, OK,†Jack said. “I’m laughed out and my stomach’s sore.â€

+ +

“Yeah, very funny,†Kerry said. He looked up at Megrin who seemed to have caught the laughter infection and couldn’t but smile. “Next time you should give me some warning instead of blowing me to smithereens.â€

+ +

“I’ll try to remember, Master Kerry,†she said as she opened a little cloth bag and produced some of the bread and meat left over from the night before. “Now, about that serious business….â€

+ +

Jack held the Book of Ways in both hands as the leather cover opened slowly and the pages purred until they stopped at a blank page. The words began to appear. Megrin leant over them as they huddled to read.

+ +

Road now leads to ring of power

+

Ever on to shadow glower

+

Heroes may be tested sore

+

Journeyman returns once more.

+ +

Heed the wise, yet follow heart

+

Journeyman must then depart

+

To face the weird of evil bane

+

Ever on to madness reign.

+ +

When they were done, Jack let the book close in his hands.

+ +

“It doesn’t look good,†he said.

+ +

“It never did before,†Corriwen said, as brightly as she could, but both Jack and Kerry could read her. She knew there was trouble ahead, but she was ready to meet it. “And aren’t we still whole?â€

+ +

“I don’t like this madness thing,†Kerry said. “And I don’t want to be tested sore again.â€

+ +

Jack managed a smile. “I told you to stay behind. This is my problem.â€

+ +

“Ah, how much you must learn, Jack Flint,†Megrin interrupted. “I saw you all come through the gate a long time ago. The three of you as one. There’s power in the number, the unshakeable triangle.â€

+ +

“It’s like I keep telling them,†Kerry said. “All for one and each for everybody else! But I still don’t like this madness thing. I don’t like mad folk.â€

+ +

Megrin ushered them round the fire and they sat around its glow, breaking off generous hunks of meat and bread. Megrin waited patiently until they had eaten their fill. The fire would die down every now and again but she would gesture with her fingers and it would flare hot again. Kerry remained wary, but somehow he managed to anticipate her and pulled back from the hearth. Though she tried, Corriwen failed to hide her mirth.

+ +

“This ring of power,†Jack said, thinking about what they had just read. “It sounds like something in a book I once read. It was a magic ring that made you invisible. Do you know what the ring is?â€

+ +

“I do,†Megrin said. “And it is not the kind of ring that will fit your finger. It’s our destination. I knew that before your book told you. It is where I am supposed to take you…first.â€

+ +

“And then what?†Kerry wanted to know.

+ +

“Then, if you are still as determined as you seem to be, we will go into the unknown.â€

+ +

“If it helps me find my father, I’ll go anywhere,†Jack asserted. “The Book says the journeyman returns once more. So where he’s gone, that’s where I’m going.â€

+ +

Without explanation, Corriwen gave Jack a quick, tight hug. “And we’re with you.â€

+ +

“Me too,†Kerry agreed. “Though I still don’t like this madness stuff.â€

+ +

“Well said, all three!†When Megrin smiled, she didn’t look at all like an old woman.

+ +

***

+ +

It was warm and dry under their shelter, and the fire stayed hot in the hearth.

+ +

Outside, night fell quickly and the moon shone down on them, silvering the ancient stone pillars. But when Kerry excused himself stepped out of the shelter not long after sunset, he returned with a puzzled expression on his face.

+ +

“The moon’s all red again,†he said.

+ +

Jack and Corriwen looked up, exchanged glances, then turned to Kerry.

+ +

“I mean, out there it’s gone all bloody. From in here it’s just the same as usual.â€

+ +

“The old stones protect us,†Megrin explained. She stood between two pillars and raised her hands to shoulder height in front of her. Jack thought he saw two white shapes flutter out into the dark, but couldn’t be sure.

+ +

“A little extra protection won’t go amiss,†she said. “Now, it’s time to rest, for we have a journey in the morning.â€

+ +

She settled down, huddled herself into her cloak and became as still as stone. The three travellers crouched by the fire, tired, but unable to sleep yet. Corriwen sat and used her leather belt to strop her blades until they gleamed.

+ +

“I’m glad she’s on our side,†Kerry said, nodding towards where Megrin was sitting. “Gave me a fright at first, but she’s pretty cool.â€

+ +

“Apart from burning your eyebrows off,†Corriwen said, keeping her face straight.

+ +

Jack leant back against the pillar, absently cradling the heartstone in his hand, listening to them banter back and forth, and soon the voices faded and he fell into a sleep.

+ +

***

+

He jerked awake suddenly, his heart hammering. The heartstone throbbed. For a moment he was bewildered, unable to comprehend where he was. Kerry and Corriwen were huddled together by the fire, and Megrin was still a shadow.

+ +

Out in the dark, something grunted, so low it felt like a tremble in the ground and Jack’s skin puckered all down his spine. Slowly he eased himself round the pillar and looked out into the night.

+ +

The two wolves were back, white hackles bristling in stiff quills, pacing a perimeter barely a hundred paces away from where Jack crouched.

+ +

Beyond, the night was dark, but reddened by a faint glow from the angry moon, and in its shadows, other shadows loped and squirmed in a heaving mass. Now and then, yellow eyes would blare in the dark.

+ +

The image of those eyes hunting him through the darkwood came back all of a sudden and he held tight to the heartstone.

+ +

But the white wolves padded back and forth, back and forth, silent as ghosts, and the nightshades came no closer.

+ +

Jack shrank back, wishing to see no more.

+ +

Megrin spoke in a whisper, and her voice startled him.

+ +

“This is just the beginning,†she said. “We are on the far edge of what is to come. Worse things will face you.â€

+ +

“That’s what the Book of Ways said,†Jack murmured, his heart quailing at the thought of what might be worse than those terrifying things. “It’s never wrong.â€

+ +

“And you still want to go on?â€

+ +

“I must go on,†he replied. “I’ve come this far.â€

+ +

“You have a brave heart, Jack Flint. A journeyman’s son. A journeyman now.â€

+ +

The heartstone pulsed slowly and he laid his hand on the hilt of the Scatha’s great sword. A small vibration ran through his nerves, and he felt comforted.

+ +

“Nothing can breach the Bor-dion,†Megrin said. “Not even the nightshades. And we are well guarded until morning.â€

+ +

In the dark, she reached out and touched Jack’s cheek. Her hand felt warm and soft. Like the hand of a mother, he thought, even though he had never known that touch. It soothed his apprehension.

+ +

Soon he was fast asleep.

+ + + +

+

+

Chapter 11.

+

+

“Now is the time to tell you more,†Megrin said. “So you know what you might be up against.â€

+ +

The morning was bright and clear as Jack, Kerry and Corriwen listened intently. The four travellers had shared the bread and meat and drank clear water from an ice-cold rivulet, sitting around the hearth stones.

+ +

“My brother Bodron was once a good man,†Megrin said. “And as adept a spellbinder as I ever knew. He was a leader among the council of enchanters, the Geasan-eril. But if he had a flaw, it was that he wanted more.“

+ +

“He was always seeking new ways, always wanting to be perfect, to be the best. As if being a Geasan is a contest, like wresting and racing. Nobody knows on whom the Sky Queen will bestow her gifts, nor why. The Geasan are what we are, and we do what we do.

+ +

“Ambition can become a thin place for the dark to break through, and I am afraid my brother Bodron’s ambition developed a crack that grew ever wider under the force of dark tides. Through that fissure a shadow power slipped through to Uaine.

+ +

“As I told you, the Copperplates, the one and twenty spells, were hidden after the great binding spell was complete. Together, made Uaine the summerland of peace and tranquillity. But for every good, there is an evil.

+ +

“Bodron kept secret his quest for the Copperplates, but he them out all across Uaine.

+ +

“I don’t get it,†Kerry interrupted. “If these spells made everything good, why would they have to be hidden. Wouldn’t they make things better now?â€

+ +

“So you might think,†Megrin agreed. “But if I were to make a mixture of henbane and milkwort and a few other things, then it might help a woman who wants a child. Yet if I mix the ingredients in a different way, then I could make a poison that would kill a man dead. It is all in the weave. That’s the way with great enchantments. Each has to fit with the other in the right way. Bring them together in other ways, and bad things can happen. And we of the Geasan fear the worst.â€

+ +

“What would be the worst?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“The worst would be if the Copperplate spells were woven in such a way that they would undo all the good they have done and open a way for dark forces to break through and cast an evil shadow over Uaine.â€

+ +

“I saw shadows last night,†Jack said. “They were alive.“

+ +

“They are just manifestations of the dark forces,†Megrin said. “What we fear is that what created them might break through. Something very old and very evil.â€

+ +

Her face was suddenly filled with concern and sadness.

+ +

“I fear my brother has opened the Dark Way.â€

+ +

“The Dark Way to where?â€

+ +

“To the lands of the lost. The underworld. The realm of the damned.â€

+ +

***

+

From the slope of the final hill, the great circle below them was impressive, even at a distance. Despite the sunshine, far in the west, the purple smudge on the horizon still swelled and contracted like a vast heart.

+ +

It was the circle, however, that grabbed their attention. It sat on a flat, green plain, like an arena that dominated the landscape. Jack shaded his eyes and studied it. Small figures moved close to great pillars, which gave him an idea of its size.

+ +

It had not been there when they breasted the rise. Jack knew that for certain. The plain had stretched away unbroken towards a far ridge. At first, the dark tide in the distance had held his attention, but as they began to descend something shimmered in Jack’s peripheral vision.

+ +

When he looked directly at it, he saw nothing at all. He half turned and again, the shimmering was there, in peripheral vision, like a sliver of glass catching the light.

+ +

Corriwen noticed it too. She kept turning her head, pausing, then looking back.

+ +

“Something’s there,†she whispered. “But it eludes me.â€

+ +

But further they descended, the more solid the image became, condensing, it seemed from the very air until finally they were close enough for a shape to materialise, like a mirage, in the middle of the plain where no shape had been before.

+ +

Tall brown pillars were set in a wide circle, roofed in what looked, from their vantage point, like thick turf. By the time they were half-way down the hill, the apparition seemed solid, rooted in the earth, as if it had stood there a long time.

+ +

As they descended, the more solid the image became, condensing, until they could make out tall brown pillars, roofed in what looked, like thick turf.

+ +

“What is that?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“Our destination…for today,†Megrin said. She had declined to elaborate any further on what she had said in the morning about her brother and the Dark Way. They had covered a lot of ground, not stopping to rest at the other Bor-dion shelters they had passed on their travels, and as they moved ever westwards, the heartstone’s beat gathered strength. That told Jack they were getting closer to danger, but he didn’t need the heartstone to tell him that. They all knew it.

+ +

They just didn’t know exactly what the danger would be.

+ +

“I thought it might be,†Kerry said. “But what is it?â€

+ +

“It’s where the Geasan-Eril sits.â€

+ +

Corriwen nodded. “The Council of Enchanters.â€

+ +

“So that’s what the Book meant,†Jack said. “The Road now leads to ring of power.“

+ +

“You mean that place is full of wizards and warlocks and the like?†Kerry seemed to like that idea.

+ +

Megrin laughed. “Wait and find out, Kerry Malone. This is the first time the Geasan-Eril have met for a long time. What they – and we – decide will determine the future of Uaine. And yours.â€

+ +

“I could have guessed that,†Jack said under his breath. Corriwen took his hand and held it tight as they walked towards the circle, not knowing what to expect or what they were supposed to do.

+ +

***

+ +

Jack could feel pure power radiate from the place. The heartstone now shivered against him-. The hilt of the great sword tingled in his grip. The hairs on his arms stood on end and goose-bumps tickled up and down his spine.

+ +

“Do you feel it?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“It’s like electric pylons,†Kerry said. Corriwen looked at him for an explanation, but she had come to except there were things in their world she could never understand. “When you walk under them on a wet day you can hear them sizzle. It’s making my skin crawl. And one of my fillings is giving me toothache.â€

+ +

“It is magic,†she said. “Real magic.â€

+ +

“Hey Jack, remember that big Vandergraf generator in school? The one that made your hair stand up….?â€

+ +

Jack wasn’t listening. His eyes followed Megrin. She seemed to glide over the grass of the plain and her ragged shawl and coat were changing again, lightening in the sunshine. A half-smile played on her lips and her attention was focussed so completely on what was ahead of them that she seemed unaware of anything else.

+ +

“The power.†Corriwen pointed to the vast pillared circle. “It’s coming from there. And from Megrin too.â€

+ +

It was only when they were within a few hundred yards that they saw this was no edifice, enchanted or otherwise, standing on the plain. It was indeed a ring, a ring of ancient trees, straight and tall, with bark as red as Scots pine and muscular roots dug deep into the earth. Branches high overhead tangled and twisted together so thickly that they formed an almost solid roof, save for a few places where shafts of sunlight speared through.

+ +

Between the great trunks, at first glance, it looked as if the roof were suspended on a scaffold of pure light.

+ +

They stopped to marvel.

+ +

“It’s like Stonehenge,†Jack said. “Except it’s been planted.â€

+ +

They paused in front of two giant trees. Their bark was gnarled with thick burrs which formed strange shapes like carvings, and protrusions that in some places looked like faces eroded by years.

+ +

“It’s like the ring in Cromwath Blackwood,†Kerry said, impressed. “But bigger. Much bigger.â€

+ +

Corriwen reached to lay a hand on a buttressed root. Jack saw the bark flex and ripple and Corrie jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned.

+ +

She turned wide eyes on them. “It’s alive,†she said. “Like Sappeling Wood.â€

+ +

For a second, Jack expected to see one of the face-shapes turn towards him and for great brown eyes to creak open and regard him, the way the Leprechauns had in the deep forest of Temair. The trunk swelled almost imperceptibly, then subsided, as if the tree had taken a long, slow breath.

+ +

The heartstone sang a pure, high note and he stopped dead, unable to take another step.

+ +

It was as if he’d walked into a soft, yet impenetrable barrier. Electricity seemed to crackle all around him.

+ +

A voice whispered in his mind.

+ +

“Who enters, traveller?†It sounded as if it sang, as soft as a breeze. “And what do you seek?â€

+ +

He felt as if he was gently pushed backwards. Kerry was still walking forward and crashed into him. He reeled back, holding his nose. Corriwen caught him before he fell.

+ +

Jack’s hand was on the heartstone. It was warm now, almost hot to the touch, as if the power in the air was somehow charging it up.

+ +

“Jack…†he said without speaking, unable to prevent himself. “Jack Flint.â€

+ +

The warm voice embraced him again. “You are known here….. Journeyman.â€

+ +

The great tree nearest him shuddered, and a stream of scented pine needles showered down in a green blizzard. Megrin turned, now dressed in her white cloak, her staff straight once more and intricately carved. She smiled at him, then beckoned him forward.

+ +

There was a gentle sound, like wet fabric tearing, and a strange rubbery sensation as whatever invisible barrier had held him now gave way.

+ +

He walked in to the vast living arena with Corriwen and Kerry close behind.

+ +

Megrin was ahead of them, now walking slowly, beyond the opening space. Jack took two strides to follow her. She held her hand out to Jack and clasped his fingers.

+ +

“You feel the power,†she said. “It called to me. This is home to me and mine. It welcomes you with kindness.â€

+ +

“It’s like Cromwath Blackwood,†Jack whispered. “Much bigger when you’re inside.â€

+ +

Yet despite the tingling on his skin, Jack felt none of the kind of threat they had sensed inside the walled forest back home, when they had first run from the creeping dark and found themselves inside the ring of stones.

+ +

The heartstone was singing its soft note, but it seemed to resonate in harmony with this place, as if it too, had found a home.

+ +

“I heard it,†Jack said. “It spoke inside my head.â€

+ +

“I never heard anything,†Kerry said, both hands clapped his face. “I nearly busted my nose on the back of your head. I’m still seeing stars!â€

+ +

Megrin winked at him, touched his nose with one finger. Kerry jerked back as if he’d been stung, then a big smile spread across his face.

+ +

“All better now?â€

+ +

Kerry dabbed gingerly, then rubbed at where his nose had taken a knock`. “Much better.â€

+ +

There was not a breath of wind inside this magical amphitheatre, yet the heady fragrance of summer blossom hung in the air. And it was like a vast pillared hall. From outside, it was just a ring of trees. Inside, the forest seemed to stretch forever.

+ +

“It’s like Cromwath Blackwood,†Kerry whispered. “Different inside. Much biggerâ€

+ +

Yet despite the tingling on his skin, Jack felt none of the kind of threat they had sensed inside the walled forest back home, when they had run from the creeping dark and found themselves inside the ring of stones.

+ +

The heartstone itself was still singing its soft note, but it seemed to resonate in harmony with this place, as if it too, had found a home.

+ +

They followed Megrin past gleaming pillars of light that sparkled with pollen, and straight trunks that reached for a canopy that was now hidden from view. A clear crystal stream burbled past as they crossed a fairy bridge until at last they came to a second ring of trees and Megrin stopped.

+ +

Beyond her, Jack saw the circle of shivering aspens, silver leaves dancing in unison.

+ +

And inside the circle, gauzy shapes drifted like phantoms, as if they floated in mist.

+ +

“I must leave you here now,†Megrin said. “I can’t take you further unless the Eril decides.â€

+ +

She pointed to the stream and to the red and purple berries that swelled on a low shrub overhanging the water.

+ +

“Eat and drink,†she said. “Get your strength back. You might need it.â€

+ +

With that she turned and walked towards the aspen circle, passed between two silver trunks and faded from sight.

+ +

Kerry knelt down beside the little brook, lowered his head to drink.

+ +

The Jack and Corriwen watched in amazement as a little pillar of water rose up from the surface like a fountain. Kerry paused, then bent to drink from it and when he was done, the fountain subsided as if it had never been.

+ +

“Oh, man,†he said. “You have to taste this stuff,†He grinned delightedly as he wiped his lips.

+ +

Corrie plucked a juicy berry from the bush. Jack heard it pop softly between her teeth and she closed her eyes and sighed with pure delight.

+ + +

CHAPTER 12

+ + +

Under the spreading boughs the air shimmered like summer heat on a long road and Jack felt the sizzle and crackle of power like an electrical charge. Kerry's tousled hair stood briefly on end. Corriwen sucked in her breath. Jack felt a strange sensation, like the inside-out feeling he got when they came through the Farward Gate.

+ +

Megrin led them on, walking slowly. Jack thought he caught glimpses of shapes gliding in the dappled light between the vast trunks, but he couldn’t be sure. Kerry had his head cocked to the side, as if listening.

+ +

Then a voice spoke softly in Jack’s head.

+ +

“Welcome, traveller.†He stopped. Kerry and Corriwen did too.

+ +

“Who said that?†Kerry asked, looking around.

+ +

The shimmering air seemed spangled with glittering pollen, as if a million tiny fireflies swarmed just beyond where Megrin was walking. The golden particles swirled in magical eddies and coalesced into shapes that were gauzy and indistinct, but in moments, Jack could see figures standing in a wide circle. As Megrin joined it, her own solidity seemed to fade as she merged into it.

+ +

Kerry took a step forward, but Jack touched his arm and held him back. Something told him this was as far as they should go. He could see sparkling light ripple through Megrin’s form.

+ +

“Megrin Wildwillow,†the voice spoke again. “It has been a long wait, but we are one again.â€

+ +

“Long enough,†Megrin said. Like the other voice, hers spoke inside Jack’s head. “But worth the wait.â€

+ +

“You have brought the Journeyman.†It was a statement, not a question.

+ +

“The Journeyman, son of Jonathan Cullian Flint. Bearer of the faery-stone heart. And his heart-friends stand with him.â€

+ +

“Welcome all.†The voice was neither male nor female, but it was gentle and warm. “Welcome Jack Flint. Your father was ever a friend to Uaine. We owe you our gratitude and our aid.â€

+ +

“We have kept the dark at bay as much as we are able,†Megrin said. “Yet it spreads. What may follow may be the end for Uaine and all worlds. Now is the time to face it. To heal the breach.â€

+ +

“We are as one on this,†the disembodied voice replied. “The Copperplates have been usurped, their purpose corrupted. We sense that Bodron has unlocked the gate to the lost lands. Sooner or later, it will swing open, and then all will be lost.â€

+ +

“I will guide them into Bodron’s Domain,†Megrin said, “and do what I can to stem my brother’s will. Speed is of the essence now. I need to share the power of the Geasan I need light to overcome the dark. And I need the Geasan Eril to build a nether-way, to let us pass through the shadow-fields.â€

+ +

She let her request sink in before she spoke again. “This is a matter of destiny. The Journeyman and his friends are part of this quest. I will lead them to where they need to go, to Bodron’s holdfast. And there I will face Bodron myself.â€

+ +

“We cannot see beyond the dark. The future is clouded. Would you take these young travellers to their doom?â€

+ +

“I must go,†Jack said aloud. He hadn’t meant to speak, but some compulsion took over.

+ +

“My father went there and he never came back. I have to find him.â€

+ +

“That we know, Journeyman. Your sorrows are ours. Yet there is a power in Bodron’s holdfast that is greater than our own. Would you face it?â€

+ +

“I must,†Jack repeated.

+ +

“And your companions?â€

+ +

“Where Jack goes,†Corriwen spoke up. “I go.â€

+ +

“Me too,†Kerry said stoutly.

+ +

“So be it. You bear the Journeyman’s heartstone. Pray it protects you.â€

+ +

The voice faded to silence. Megrin still stood in the circle where the spangling lights wove around figures that seemed not quite solid, yet emanated power. She beckoned to Jack. Kerry and Corriwen followed him as he walked towards the circle. The magical light seemed to sizzle on his skin as he passed through the perimeter. They joined him at its centre, wide eyed with wonder.

+ +

All around them, wise old faces looked on them kindly, yet with sadness. The heartstone thrummed as it picked up the energy within the ring of spellbinders.

+ +

Megrin came to join them. She raised her staff. Its carved head suddenly glowed with unearthly light.

+ +

“Open the way through the darkness,†she said aloud.

+ +

For a moment there was silence, followed by the soft hum of many voices in harmony, a harmony that swelled louder as it gained strength. Jack felt jolts of energy tingle on the nerves of his fingers and down his spine.

+ +

The air before them wavered, as if heated from below, and a harsh ripping sound almost drowned out the voices. A space opened in the air, yawning dark, like the mouth of a tunnel.

+ +

The dust at their feet was sucked into what seemed like black emptiness with no light, no shade. It was an emptiness so profound it hurt the eyes to stare into it.

+ +

It looked like a rip in the fabric of the world. Like an opening between this place and somewhere else: somewhere shadowed and bleak.

+ +

Jack knew that’s exactly what it was.

+ +

Thin places. The words formed in his mind. Between here and…where?

+ +

The mouth swelled and contracted like a living thing.

+ +

Megrin put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and ushered them forward towards the mouth. Corriwen gripped Jack’s arm. Kerry looked transfixed and when Jack pulled him forward, his feet seemed glued to the ground. Jack tugged a little harder and Kerry followed dumbly. Together they edged towards the void unable to look away.

+ + +

They stepped inside and the sound of voices was abruptly cut off. The magical light vanished and they stood in a silent gloom.

+ +

CHAPTER 13

+ + + +

.

+ +

They were in a tunnel. Its translucent walls squeezed rhythmically as if they were in the belly of some monstrous beast. Ahead darkness stretched into the distance.

+ +

Megrin strode an ahead and they Jack hurried to follow. The walls squeezed in on them, contracting in powerful rhythms, propelling them further and faster.

+ +

Corriwen caught a movement in peripheral vision and when she turned she saw something move, a shape beyond the outer surface of the tunnel. Kerry noticed it too and cringed away.

+ +

The creature loomed in fast and pressed itself against the pulsing wall and Jack saw a flat snout and a wide mouth, and then he almost lost his footing when it pushed against the yielding wall, stretching it outwards like a rubber membrane.

+ +

Corriwen reared away, instinctively drawing her knife.

+ +

Jack pulled her forward. The creature, whatever it was, drew back and the tunnel wall smoothed out again. Ahead of them, Megrin slowed her pace and waited for them to catch up. She drew them close.

+ +

“Whatever you see is…beyond.†She said. In the strange atmosphere of this place, her words seemed distant, struggling through the thin air. “These things are not of our world. We have the protection of the Geasan. You can’t come to harm here.â€

+ +

“Not yet,†Corriwen said softy, though she did not seem afraid. She had faced danger before with courage and determination. Jack knew they would all need courage, because wherever this strange between-way led, they were sure to find danger at the far side.

+ +

“Always looking on the bright side, Corrie.†Kerry joked, managing to raise a smile. “You could try to be optimistic for once.â€

+ +

“A good sentiment,†Megrin said. “Let’s just try to do that.â€

+ +

They slogged on, down what seemed to be an endless, pulsating wormhole until finally Jack became aware of a change in the air and an alteration in the deep beat that resonated all through this between way. The burning smell was faint at first, but it strengthened with every step they took until it began to make his eyes water and Kerry sneezed explosively.

+ +

Megrin halted abruptly and spread her arms to ensure they stayed behind her.

+ +

The far mouth of the tunnel yawned ahead of her. “The end of the road,†she said.

+ +

“Good,†Kerry let out a long breath. “This is as bad as the misty way in Eirinn. Remember? All those scary things in the fog.â€

+ +

They stepped out into a strange twilight filled with shadows and half-seen things that fluttered on bat wings. Behind them the mouth of the tunnel rolled around on itself like a living thing. Megrin led them away from it and they watched as the opening abruptly contracted like the pupil of an eye. A sound of inrushing air soared to a scream and then the between-way vanished completely.

+ +

There was no way back. Jack stood for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Somewhere ahead of them they would find Bodron’s keep and whatever had brought the nightshades to infest Uaine. There, Jack hoped, he would find the answers to his questions.

+ +

There would be danger, but he had his friends beside him, and that was a comfort. But he also knew that they had come into this because of their friendship for him.

+ +

Kerry's father was clicking his heels in jail for poaching salmon. Corriwen’s father was dead at the hands of the mad Mandrake.

+ +

Yet they had followed him to stand at his side, and they were now his responsibility. This was his quest, not theirs. If they had put themselves on the line, then he would do everything in his power to protect them from harm.

+ +

And danger did lie in wait for them. The heartstone told him that. It was vibrating so fast, Jack was afraid it might shatter.

+ +

***

+ +

They were on a stony, winding road. Barren land, strewn with dry rocks stretched out on either side of them before it vanished in gloom. Overhead, a purple sky loomed heavy and oppressive. No stars twinkled, but a harsh red moon glared down, tinting the empty land in bloody hues.

+ +

Kerry shivered. “Maybe that wormhole wasn’t so bad after all.â€

+ +

“Where are we?†Jack asked.

+ +

“Within Bodron’s reach,†Megrin stated.

+ +

“It’s a bad place,†Corriwen said. “It makes my skin crawl.â€

+ +

“And bound to get worse an’ all,†Kerry added. “Another fine mess you’ve got us into!â€

+ +

Jack shot him a concerned look, but Kerry was smiling his mischievous grin the one he used to disguise his fear and relieve the tension. He shrugged his shoulders.

+ +

“Just whistling past the graveyard,†he said. “We’ve seen worse.â€

+ +

“I don’t know about that.†Corriwen shuddered now, and not from cold. “I feel evil all around.â€

+ +

“All for one and each for everybody else,†Kerry said. “They haven’t beaten us yet.â€

+ +

“Another good sentiment,†Megrin approved. “But this is just the beginning, and not even the Geasan-Eril know what we’re walking into. It’s as hidden from them as it is from me. But we are in Bodron’s territory, for sure.â€

+ +

She looked ahead of them, towards where the darkness rolled like tar.

+ +

“And what bane has he wrought on this land?†Her voice sounded bleak and sad.

+ +

“Well, I’m sure we’re going to find out fast,†Kerry said. “Now can we get off this road? It’s really creeping me out!â€

+ +

The track was cracked underfoot as if large things had pounded it. No plants grew on its verges, not even nettles, though withered tendrils of what might have been deformed weeds crumpled to dust as they walked. Here and there, clumps of slimy mushrooms glistened in the moonlight and small things with many legs and glittering eyes scuttled between the bare rocks and sometimes stopped to watch them pass.

+ +

Beyond the roadside, on either side, where the land disappeared in the murk, Jack could see two pale shapes, indistinct but a visible contrast. They padded slowly, keeping pace with the travellers on the road. Jack hadn’t seen them appear, but their presence was reassuring.

+ +

The further they walked, the darker it became, though the moon stayed above them, bloated and red, an angry face in an angry sky.

+ +

“Perhaps we should wait for morning,†Corriwen suggested.

+ +

“That’ll be a long wait,†Megrin replied. “This place hasn’t seen morning for a long time.â€

+ +

“Who’d be daft enough to want that?†Kerry sounded incredulous.

+ +

“Who indeed!†was all Megrin said. She paused on the road. “And why?â€

+ +

Night crowded closer on either side, so thick it seemed to have texture. Every now and again, Jack would catch a hint of movement in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, his eyes couldn’t fix on anything, although he was sure that things were moving out there. Corriwen and Kerry stayed close, nervously looking to either side. Jack shared their apprehension, but Megrin seemed fully focussed on the way forward. She reminded him of Hedda, the warrior woman of Eirinn, composed and ready. Jack wished he had some of her composure.

+ +

They stopped beyond a curve where the road cut between two rocky outcrops.

+ +

And there it was.

+ + +

Bodron’s Keep.

+ +

It stood out like a wart; black stone towers cast long shadows; rugged battlements were set like teeth along a rim of cracked and fissured walls; slitted windows stared blindly out. Around the outer edge, a moat reflected the moon in streaks of red.

+ +

A single stone bridge spanned the moat. Even at this distance, the keep emanated such a sense of threat that it seemed alive and waiting. A line from a school play sprung to Jack’s mind…something wicked this way comes.

+ +

Except they were heading towards the something wicked.

+ +

Kerry blew out between pursed lips, half sigh, half whistle. “Well, it sure isn’t Disneyworld.â€

+ +

Both Megrin and Corriwen looked at him curiously. Jack struggled to force a smile.

+ +

“You got that right.â€

+ +

“Bodron’s Keep,†Megrin said.

+ +

“What a dump,†Kerry said.

+ +

“It looks wicked.“ Corriwen’s voice sounded thin. Jack shot her a glance of surprise. She’d used the very word he’d been thinking.

+ +

“Do we really have to go in there?†Jack wasn’t sure if he’d spoken the words aloud, but every instinct made him want to turn back, find a way to daylight and sunshine. None of the others reacted and he was glad he had only thought it. He felt the profound evil within this old keep reach out for him. It felt as if he was being smothered.

+ +

The road led straight towards it, across a lifeless plain. It was the most uninviting place on any world.

+ +

They were all glad of the blue light that glowed on Megrin’s carved staff as they followed the road towards the ancient walls. Darkness on either side hemmed them in. Jack was sure he could see things moving inside the shadows and, in his head, he thought he could hear the same kind of chittering he and Kerry had fled from on that Halloween night when they had first stepped through the stone ring in Cromwath Blackwood. His hand stayed firmly on the hilt of his sword.

+ +

Shadows pressed them forward, until they were on the arch of the ancient bridge. Below them, the water was stagnant and slimy. It gave off a sickly smell.

+ +

“It’s like the bogs in Eirinn,†Corriwen said, peering over the parapet.

+ +

“Worse than that. It stinks like the bogs in school,†Kerry said. He held thumb and fingers over his nose. “When they’re blocked up.â€

+ +

Something moved under the surface, causing it to bulge in an oily ripple. Kerry shrank back but whatever it was stayed hidden. In its wake, thick black bubbles expanded. They grew to the size of beach-balls and then, with faint liquid sounds, they broke from the surface began to float up, first one, then three, then a dozen, wobbling as they rose.

+ +

“Creepy balloons,†Kerry said, shuddering. He raised the short-sword and touched the tip against the nearest one. It exploded with a loud pop and a swirl of green gas billowed out, twisting in the air.

+ +

Corriwen gave a cry of alarm.

+ +

Something that looked like a hand made out of vapour, reached out like a striking snake. Fingers spread like talons, aiming straight at Corriwen’s eyes.

+ +

“Jeez….!†Kerry gasped. He shouldered her aside, but not before the smoky claw drew itself across Corriwen’s cheek. Three livid lines slanted down her skin to the corner of her mouth, as stark as new tattoos. She screwed eyes tight and hissed in pain.

+ +

More bubbles were bursting now in glutinous sequence, belching out clouds of vapour that swirled and metamorphosed in front of their eyes into wispy shapes that stretched out towards them.

+ +

Corriwen groaned, one hand clapped to her injured cheek.

+ +

“It burns,†she gasped. “But it’s as cold as ice.â€

+ +

Megrin was at Corriwen’s side in an instant, her face filled with concern. She brought her staff closer and examined the lines in its glow.

+ +

“Bear with the hurt if you can until I can attend to that,†she said.

+ +

Corriwen nodded and pushed on, saying nothing. Jack and Kerry backed away from the edge as the writhing shapes spun silently in the thick air, crowding up from the water.

+ +

“What are these things?†Kerry’s voice was tight.

+ +

“Nothing living,†Megrin said.

+ +

“They look alive to me.â€

+ +

“Illusion, that’s all,†Megrin said. “But their touch is cold enough to chill the soul…and freeze the heart.â€

+ +

Jack pulled Kerry in to the centre of the bridge. He glanced back and now he saw the darkness had crept slowly towards the edge of the moat.

+ +

“Move, now,†Megrin commanded. She raised her staff and held it high. Sapphire light blazed out and immediately the dark shadow shrank back. The vaporous entities that hovered over the bridge burst apart in the light and faded like smoke in the wind.

+ +

“There’s a geas on this place,†she said. “A binding.â€

+ +

“A what?†Jack’s eyes were fixed on the misty things dissipating over the water.

+ +

“A barrage-spell. This place wants no visitors.â€

+ +

“We guessed that,†Kerry said. “No welcome mat, no flags.â€

+ +

“There are bound to be more tricks,†Megrin added, but before she could continue, the bridge gave an almighty shudder. Heavy slabs on the parapet were thrown into the air and fell into the moat, sending up a foul-smelling spray.

+ +

“We should move,†Megrin said quickly.

+ +

“No kidding!â€

+ +

Jack rapped his knuckles on the back of Kerry's head.

+ +

“Don’t get smart…just move.“

+ +

“At least one of you has sense.â€

+ +

“Two of us,†Corriwen snorted. She grabbed Kerry's arm and dragged him along beside her. He went quietly. And quickly.

+ +

The bridge lurched again. A zig-zag crack snaked its way between their feet and ripped up the centre of the bridge.

+ +

“Maybe we should move.†Kerry squirmed out of Corriwen’s grip and took her hand. “Come on,†he said. “Race you to the other side.â€

+ +

Megrin hurried them on as pieces of masonry tumbled off the bridge. She braced herself against the balustrade and looked down into the water and saw the ridged back of something scaly and powerful broke the surface.

+ +

She muttered under her breath and reached into her cloak. Then with a quick motion, shook the contents of a small pouch onto the water.

+ +

As soon as they hit the surface, blue flames shot across the moat. A deep bellow echoed up from under the arch. Jack got a glimpse of toad-like eyes and a toothless mouth big enough to swallow a man. It bellowed again, then dived under the water and shot away along the moat, so fast that the water foamed and swamped over the banks. Megrin waited until it vanished in the gloom.

+ +

They moved quickly over the arch of the bridge which continued to lurch from side to side as it began to break apart. The cracks underfoot widened in a series of harsh cracks. Jack raced for the far side, in step with Kerry and Corriwen as the whole structure began to buckle.

+ +

Megrin seized Corriwen’s hand and virtually dragged her the rest of the way to the other side of the moat. Behind them, the water was now a wall of flames. More stonework slid off and then the bridge’s back broke. It slumped down in two halves, before it subsided slowly into the water and disappeared.

+

+

“Looks like we’ve just burnt our bridge,†Kerry said.

+ + + + + + +

+ CHAPTER 14

+ + + +

Bodron’s Keep. It glowered down at them.

+ +

The walls loomed high, like sea-cliffs, reaching for the oppressive sky. Massive stone blocks, piled on another, solid and set. Contorted ivy dug roots into cracks and grizzled the face in straggly growth.

+ +

From somewhere unseen, a great bell tolled, an unearthly sound. It seemed to come from deep below their feet.

+ +

“Where’s the door?†Kerry asked.

+ +

There seemed to be no door in the wall, even though the cobbled road from this side of the bridge led directly to it. Jack craned back to scan the battlements overhead. A narrow tower stretched even higher, and dark things flew around it. He couldn’t tell if they were birds or bats, but they seemed too big to be either.

+ +

A motion high above caught his eye, but when he looked directly at where it had been, he could see nothing but shadows. He sensed a presence. Something was staring down, examining him with cold malevolence. Its gaze was a palpable slither and he shuddered. The heartstone shivered too. The invisible touch made him feel somehow contaminated.

+ +

Megrin approached the wall and held up her staff, before reaching to touch the cold stone with an expression of distaste. Corriwen turned towards the moat, both knives ready, in case anything hauled itself out of the water where flickers of flame exploded the bubbles that burst on the surface where the bridge had stood.

+ +

Megrin closed her eyes, one hand pressed on the wall. Jack heard her mutter again, though her words were incomprehensible.

+ +

The ground shuddered, sending ripples across the moat. Megrin spoke again, louder this time. Another shudder, and a grinding sound of stone on stone.

+ +

The tight-knit blocks began to twist and warp, some pushing out, others shrinking back, changing shape as they moved. Jack stood beside Kerry and Corrriwen and watched fascinated as the rumbling scrape amplified until the ground trembled so powerfully they had to hold on to each other for balance. The stonework ground apart, block by block, until a high arched entrance became clearly visible.

+ +

On either side, each curve arced up to a keystone carved into a skull. Beyond, a massive door studded with nails barred the way. A heavy knocker the size of a wreath was etched with grotesque faces whose bulging eyes flickered in the half-light.

+ +

“How do we get in,†Kerry asked. “Just knock?â€

+ +

Megrin didn’t respond. She raised the staff and slammed its end against the heavy door.

+

A loud creak of old metal split the air. Small puffs of rust erupted from massive hinges and very slowly, the door opened.

+ +

At first, Jack could see only darkness inside. He wrinkled his nose against the stale smell of must and damp, the smell of an old house that’s been empty for too long. Yet as the darkness receded, faint lights appeared and gradually grew brighter until they could make out the flicker of torches on high walls.

+ +

Megrin silently took it all in, one hand held up to let them know she wanted them to stay back.

+ +

“Don’t believe what you see, or what you hear†she said. “This is no earthly place, that’s for certain. We’d say it was weird-bound.“

+ +

“You got that right,†Kerry said. “Weird’s the word for it

+ +

“Wait here,†Megrin instructed, then walked slowly forward into a wide hall. Her footsteps, at first loud and echoing, faded to complete silence after only a few paces. She stopped, listening. They all strained to hear, tense and alert.

+ +

There was no sound, but Jack could sense a palpable threat. He could tell by their stance that Kerry and Corriwen felt something too. The air was still. Dust festooned cobwebs that hung like drapes. But for the torches on the walls, the hall looked as if it had lain empty for years.

+ +

But it was not empty, Jack knew. Something waited in there. Something old. Something hungry. Had his father really been here? Had he faced it?

+ +

Did he die here?

+ +

Jack pushed that thought away. This was no time for negative thinking.

+ +

But I wish he was here with us, he thought, I really do. Jack had no real memory of his father, but he imagined him to be strong and wise and capable. Somebody who would show him the right thing to do.

+ +

Kerry spoke, and brought Jack back to the present..

+ +

“I don’t like this place at all.†His voice was higher than normal.

+ +

“Me neither,†Corriwen agreed. “I wish we still had the bridge…just in case.â€

+ +

The words were barely out of her mouth when they heard a low moan from behind them. They spun as one, but whatever had made the noise remained hidden.

+ +

“I don’t like the sound of that either,†Kerry said. “Maybe we should go inside.â€

+ +

“She wants us to wait,†Corriwen cautioned, gesturing towards Megrin.

+ +

Jack forced himself forward until he was under the carved skull. The torchlight sent wavering shadows snaking across the floor, casting a dozen thin silhouettes of Megrin behind her.

+ +

“Maybe it’s okay,†Kerry said. His tone said he didn’t believe it was.

+ +

Before Jack could reply, the air in front of them, began to waver like a mirage Megrin’s shape blurred, as if seen through smoky glass and to Jack’s sudden alarm, she seemed to grow fainter and fainter, until Jack could see the flickering lamps right through her. Her trail of shadows shrank and vanished.

+ +

“What the…?†He took a step forward.

+ +

Suddenly everything went dark and for an instant, Jack thought he must have gone blind.

+ +

“What happened?†Kerry's voice came from close to his shoulder. “Who turned the lights out?†Jack heard the scrape of metal on leather and knew that Kerry had drawn his blade.

+ +

Corriwen’s hand groped and found his arm.

+ +

“She just vanished,†Jack said. “And I can’t see a thing.â€

+ +

For a moment there was silence.

+ +

“Well,†Kerry said. His voice sounded oddly muffled. “We can’t hang around here. We either go in and put the lights on, or we get back out to whatever’s waiting for us.â€

+ +

“Go in,†Corriwen said. “Whatever’s happened to her, she might need our help.â€

+ +

She pushed Jack forward and followed on.

+ +

The air felt thick in his chest. It seemed to congeal around him and his lungs protested as he tried to draw breath. A sensation of drowning flooded him with panic. Kerry gasped, reached for him and clasped his arm.

+ +

“Can’t breathe…â€

+ +

Jack forced himself to take another step, but the thick air wrapped itself around him like a membrane

+ +

He struggled on, wading against the pressure that first felt like muddy water then dragged like glue. With a huge effort, he managed to drag his right hand up to the heartstone. Its familiar pulse beat in his palm. Kerry's voice had faded to a drone that seemed far away, but Corriwen’s hand was still on his shoulder. Maybe it was the heartstone or her touch that let him summon up the strength he needed.

+ +

Inch by inch, acting on pure instinct, he drew the great sword from its sheath and managed to raise the blade until it was upright in front of his eyes. Again, without conscious thought, as if moved by some benevolent guidance, he raised the heartstone and touched it to the obsidian gem at the base of the hilt.

+ +

There was a blinding flash and an electric sizzle that juddered through him. A ripping sound rent the air. Suddenly they were all tumbling forward as the invisible barrier gave way.

+ +

Light stabbed Jack’s eyes and he clenched them tight as he clattered, still gripping the sword, to the stone floor. Corriwen landed on top of him, slamming out what little breath he had in a painful whoosh. Kerry cursed eloquently, dropped his sword with a loud clang, and groped for Jack’s arm.

+ +

“Can’t see a thing!â€

+ +

Jack slowly opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the glare.

+ +

Now he saw the hall was different to what they had seen from outside. Thick candles flickered on the walls where tallow torches had hung before. A long table stretched from one end of the hall to the other. It was laden with plates and goblets, trenchers piled high with all sorts of food. A high-backed chair sat empty at the far end.

+ +

But of Megrin Willow, there was no sign.

+ +

“Maybe it’s such a bad place after all,†Kerry said, eyeing the food hungrily. He sounded relieved, or even just hopeful. “Just look at that spread!â€

+ +

He started forward, licking his lips, but Jack pulled him back.

+ +

“No,†he said. Kerry stopped, eyes fixed longingly on the abundance of food. “We’re not welcome here. It’s a trick.â€

+ +

“Where is Megrin?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“We saw her disappear,†Jack replied. “I don’t know what happened. But she warned us, not to believe what we see.â€

+ +

He pointed at the long table. “That’s a trick. It wants us to eat.â€

+ +

It. Not Bodron. IT. Something else, the presence on the battlements. The hunger. Something inside him told him it had not been human.

+ +

“You think it’s poisoned?â€

+ +

“I don’t know. But we daren’t touch it.â€

+ +

“It?â€

+ +

“Whatever lurks here,†Corriwen said softly.

+ +

“Something is watching us,†Jack said, and Corriwen nodded agreement. All around them the high walls were festooned with old tapestries, depicting battlegrounds and hunting scenes. Carved stone gargoyles stared down at them from contorted, ugly faces. The odour of cooked food was tantalising, but underneath it, Jack could smell something else, something mouldy and stale, that he couldn’t quite identify. It send a little shudder up his spine.

+ +

Kerry jerked his head left and right. “Don’t say that. You’re giving me even worse heeby-jeebies than I’ve already got.â€

+ +

“Just let’s be careful. I’d like to know where Megrin went.â€

+ +

“Maybe she’s found her brother,†Kerry said hopefully. “Having tea and dunkin’ biscuits and a nice old chinwag.â€

+ +

“Maybe,†Jack said. “But somehow I don’t think she’d just up and leave us.â€

+ +

At the far end of the hall, another arched doorway led out. Jack moved towards it, with Kerry and Corriwen very close behind, past the laden banqueting table, ignoring the goblets and the steaming trenchers. The meal was laid for a large gathering, but there was nobody here but them. It felt disturbingly wrong.

+ +

“Are we supposed to guess who’s coming for dinner?â€

+ +

Corriwen shushed Kerry to silence. She knew he talked more when he was nervous. They were just past the host’s high seat when the sensation of being watched came on so powerfully she turned mid stride. Jack heard a small gasp.

+ +

He followed her gaze and started back with a sharp intake of breath. Kerry did exactly the same.

+ +

The gargoyles on the walls had moved. That was unmistakeable. When they had come in, the contorted creatures had all been facing them in the doorway, still as death, but grotesque all the same. Now they had swivelled to keep stony eyes glaring at them.

+ +

“Just a trick,†Kerry said. “Has to be a trick, hasn’t it? Some sort of clockwork? There’s probably a switch behind the wall.â€

+ +

He was talking too fast, and his voice had raised an octave. In Kerry, that was scary enough.

+ +

The gargoyles stared hungrily, but they didn’t move.

+ +

“They’re just stone.†Jack muttered, more in hope than certainty. “They can’t hurt us.â€

+ +

But he kept his eyes fixed on them just the same as the three of them backed out of the door and swung it shut against those eyes.

+ +

Kerry sagged against the wall. “I hate creepy stuff like that. Even if it is a trick.â€

+ +

Now they were in some sort of dimly-lit antechamber, in which three smaller doors were set in the bare walls.

+ +

“Which way now?†Corriwen was pale.

+ +

“Good question.†In this place, Jack’s keen sense of direction was no use. They had a choice of three. For no particular reason, he was drawn towards the middle door.

+ +

It opened into a long, unlit tunnel with a curved roof. Warily, Jack crept on, Corriwen and Kerry close behind, trying to make no sound as they groped their way down the narrow confines.

+ +

Without warning, a powerful noise boomed out, like the beat of a monstrous heart.

+ +

Doom…doom…

+ +

Not a heartbeat. Footsteps. Huge footsteps. The ground trembled again and the walls shook.

+ +

A low snarl echoed from the distance, deep as a fog-horn.

+ +

“Jeez….!†Kerry was backing off, tugging Corriwen with him.

+ +

Now Jack turned and they all ran back the way they had come.

+ +

Kerry barged into the door first, tumbled out, and rolled fast to his feet again. Jack pushed Corriwen past him then turned and slammed the door shut behind them just as a mighty weight crashed against it. Little splinters shot out, but the timber held.

+ +

“Whatever that was…†Kerry said. “I never want to see it.â€

+ +

Behind the door, whatever it was snarled again and thudded angrily against it. They backed away, weapons out.

+ +

Corriwen cocked her head. “I heard something else. What’s that?â€

+ +

The crashing on the door had been so loud that Jack had heard nothing, but when he turned to listen, another sound came clearly.

+ +

“It’s back in the big room,†Kerry said, moving towards the door they had first some through.

+ +

And it was. The sound of men talking loudly and laughing. Kerry grinned, relief apparent on his face.

+ +

Before Jack could stop him, he was at the door, turning the latch, pushing it wide.

+ +

A banquet was in full swing. They stood together in the doorway just watching.

+ +

The previously empty benches were now crowded with men in leather jerkins and tall hats, quaffing from the goblets they had seen when they passed, laughing and shouting to one another across the table while they gorged themselves on food and drink.

+ +

Kerry actually drooled. Jack felt his own stomach rumble. But his mind was racing. The hall had been empty before. Now the table was crowded with men. What men? Bodron’s men? Bodron’s minions?

+ +

“You think we’re invited?†Kerry asked.

+ +

As soon as he spoke, the roistering died. Every man at the table turned towards them. An uncomfortable silence stretched out. Then one of the men at the end of the table stood up, raised a goblet.

+ +

“We have guests,†he said. “Young guests.â€

+ +

His fellows nodded and smiled, raising their own drinks in a sort of welcome.

+ +

Jack felt a familiar tingle ripple up and down his spine, as the heartstone pulsed hard. He held his arm out, to block Kerry, but there was no need. Kerry stopped dead in his tracks and Jack actually saw the hairs rise up on the back of his neck. His mouth opened and shut several times and no sound came out.

+ +

Something moved. Then the deep rumble of something colossal taking a slow breath. A gust of wind came from nowhere and instantly snuffed out all the candles along one wall and in that moment the scene flickered and fragmented in front of their eyes. Then everything snapped into sudden clarity.

+ +

Gargoyles clustered around the table; not men in tall hats. Gargoyles

+ +

The man who had stood and raised his glass was no longer a man, but a warted creature with a flat face and bulging yellow eyes. In its hand – its claw – it held a dripping piece of raw meat. Beside it, a green nightmare with scales all over its face giggled madly.

+ +

But worse than this vision, something moved in the high-backed chair at the head of the table. Its back was to them, but they could hear its shuddering breath.

+ +

Jack saw two leathery wings began to unfold, very slowly, membranes stretched across long thin bones. Bats wings…Jack thought…dragon wings.

+ +

A coil like a thick snake wrapped the carved chair legs, ridged and shiny and ending in a barbed point. Jack felt his breath back up in his lungs and lock tight. He heard Corriwen whimper, a faint sound of pure terror. Kerry's throat clicked drily as if he choking.

+ +

The beast in the carved began to turn its unseen head towards them.

+ +

“No…..†Kerry managed to get the word out. Jack was aware of Corriwen tugging at his belt. His knees felt weak and watery and he began to sag under the weight of the awful terror that ratcheted through him.

+ +

The face of a nightmare was turning to face him and somehow he knew with dread certainty that if he looked in that great dark eye the shock of it might stop his heart.

+ +

Look at me!

+ +

A scrapy voice commanded inside his head. Look in my eyes.

+ +

A paralysis of dread froze his muscles.

+ +

Then Corriwen jerked him backwards. Kerry was already, running for the door. Corriwen spun and followed but Jack felt a terrible compulsion to turn back and look into that dead eye and be lost forever. He forced himself to keep moving despite the gravity of the beast’s will dragging on him.

+ +

The foul connection between him and it seemed to stretch like rubber as he fought against it. When Jack reached the doorway, its hold on him snapped and he was catapulted through the door.

+ +

Then he was falling. Tumbling and rolling down a long flight of wooden steps, crashing, elbows and knees, shoulder and hip, down and down until he hit something solid and everything went black.

+ + + + +

+ CHAPTER 15

+ + +

Megrin Willow walked slowly through the torchlit chamber. All of her fine-honed senses probed ahead and around her.

+ +

This place was awash with power.

+ +

The very air was thick with it. It tingled and itched on her skin like St Elmo’s fire before a lightning storm. The walls were old and crumbling. Cracks laced up like withered ivy. Old swords, rusted and pitted, hung from hooks.

+ +

It looked old, and it felt old. But Megrin knew all was illusion here. Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing at all.

+ +

She stopped in the centre of the hall and looked down at the floor, aware that the doorway she had come through was gone, as if it had never been. Behind her the wall was blank and solid.

+ +

At her feet a circular design had been cut into the stones, a broad ring, etched into twenty one segments, each of which bearing words and symbols in an ancient language that few on Uaine knew.

+ +

She understood immediately that these were the symbols that were written in the copperplates, the great spell that had brought peace, prosperity and protection to Uaine down the generations. Each of the copperplate spells had been powerful in its own right. Together, carefully assembled in the proper order, the sum was greater than the whole….a binding powerful enough to affect, and protect, the whole of Uaine.

+ +

Now, as she neared that source of power, she could feel it pressing down on her.

+ +

But this new binding was not the blessing of old.

+ +

This was something much darker.

+ +

She took two steps forward and stood in the centre of the carved circle. It was just stone, no power here, or if there ever was, it had faded with the ages. She closed her eyes and when she did, she heard the sound of laughter, low and mocking, some way distant. Under her feet, the flagstones shifted with her weight.

+ +

Megrin looked down and saw thin cracks spiderwebbing away from her and the floor in the circle began to shale and crumble. It felt as if she was standing on sand undermined by a tide and she sensed her feet sink a little into it.

+ +

The sound of gleeful laughter came again, a low, jeering chuckle. It sounded unearthly and profoundly wicked.

+ +

Yet beyond that, so faint it was a whisper in her mind, she heard a child’s voice, a soft sound that reached into her heart and squeezed it gently. She didn’t know why it did.

+ +

She stamped her staff down, once, twice, felt it bite into stone turned to powder. She sank a little further, feeling the grains clog her sandals, hissing as it sucked at her. In mere seconds she was knee-deep and sinking deeper.

+ +

“Enough,†she said. Her staff wreathed itself in light, dimmed, brightened again and she felt raised one foot against the pull, and when she placed it down again, it felt a little more solid.

+ +

“Enough!†This time louder, more commanding. She took another step, ignoring the drag that tried to trip her, and then another, while the sandy grains congealed and solidified until by the time she reached the edge of the circle, she was standing on solid stone once more.

+ +

“Childish games,†she muttered under her breath. “What next, I wonder?â€

+ +

A metallic clang rang out. She turned and saw one of the swords jangling on the wall, its rusty blade waggling as if knocked by an invisible hand. More than that, she felt a change in the atmosphere, and instinctively pulled her staff close, held it with both hands.

+ +

All of the old weapons began to swing and jangle, setting up a cacophony of tuneless bells.

+ +

The long sword came spinning off the wall, whoop-whoop-whoop as if thrown by that same invisible hand. Before she could move, another flew off its hook, and another, and another.

+ +

They came whirring at her, from all angles, blurring as they flew.

+ +

Illusion, maybe, she thought, but some illusions could be made real.

+ +

In the last split second, before the first sword spun in at neck height, its rusty blade still sharp enough to take her head clean off, she raised the staff high.

+ +

The sword shattered into a thousand sparks of white-hot metal that trailed blue smoke as they fell in a searing shower.

+ +

Megrin kept her stance, eyes closed in total concentration and felt her power rive through the staff.

+ +

The longsword stopped dead in the air as if it had hit a barrier and fragmented into rusty shrapnel that shot high and low and left pock-marks on the walls. She turned slowly, almost serenely, murmurring in the old tongue as the ancient blades whirled in to smash and shatter against a force too strong even for iron to breach.

+ +

Pieces of metal, shards and little solidified drops of iron were scattered all across the floor.

+ +

Megrin shook her head, more irritated than anything else.

+ +

“A cheap trick,†she muttered. “The village Grisan could have done better.â€

+ +

But she knew this was just the beginning of a game to be played out in this dismal place. She also knew it was a dangerous game, and one that she might not survive, because she was up against a power equal to her own, and perhaps now stronger. And darker.

+ +

For an instant, she regretted bringing those three children here to the nightmare that was Bodron’s holdgard.

+ +

Yet all down the years, she had known they would come, and known it would come to this. What was written in the cast runes could not be unwritten.

+ +

Slowly she lowered her staff until it touched the floor again. Her knuckles were white as she gripped it tight.

+ +

She closed her eyes and began to speak in the old tongue, a powerful incantation of summoning.

+ +

When it was finished, she opened her eyes and started straight ahead.

+ +

“Now, Bodron, brother of mine…..come!â€

+ +

Somewhere distant, heavy footfalls sent vibrations through the floor, strong enough for her to feel.

+ +

And she heard them approach…doom…doom…DOOM.

+ + + +

***

+

Kerry ran. He couldn’t help it. The revellers at the table had changed. In the blink of an eye, the eyes that had turned towards him were pale and clouded, set in the bloated faces of the dead men he had seen when they stumbled through the slaughterfield of Temair.

+ +

The stench of rotten meat was so thick on the air he began to gag.

+ +

And then those wings had spread out on either side of the high-backed chair while the dead things gobbled and tore at raw flesh.

+ +

Great black feathered wings unfolded with a schick-schick sound until they stretched out on either side, and then, its head began to turn. All he saw was the shiny curve of a huge beak as it began to edge round the chair and he got a glimpse of a crater of an eye socket.

+ +

Roak, his mind jabbered, even if the word couldn’t get past his dry throat. The carrion bird of Temair, the kind that had hounded them from the slaughterfield and attacked them time and again, under the command of the dread Morrigan.

+ +

Primitive fear made him run. He snatched Corriwen’s arm and dragged her away, pushing her ahead of him. She went through the door and vanished. His own momentum carried him out doorway and without warning the floor dropped away at a mad angle.

+ +

He went down the slope, unable to stop or even slow himself as the floor curved down like a funnel towards shadows. Behind him, a rasping caw echoed in his ears and sent another shiver down his spine. He tripped, lost his balance and tumbled forward to land heavily on his shoulders with such a jolt that all his breath was punched out. He lay in pain, unable to catch his breath, while the dark all around him was spangled with little purple sparks that slowly faded.

+ +

Finally Kerry got himself to his hands and knees, whooping in great gulps until the dizziness passed and then he was able to groan at the pain in his back and shoulder. He was kneeling on damp earth in a space not much wider than his shoulders. A faint light showed him roots poking through overhead, and a mass of cobwebs stretched like sails from floor to ceiling. Something with many legs scuttled over his fingers and he snatched them back.

+ +

Guilt washed over him. He had left Jack and somehow he lost Corriwen, and that was worse, much worse than finding himself in this hole in the ground. He balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his temples in anger and frustration until reason began to take hold again.

+ +

He had to find a way out of here and find them both. They needed him - that he was sure of.

+ +

Kerry drew the short sword and began to slash his way through the clinging cobwebs, ignoring the things that scuttled around his feet, not knowing where he was going, but relieved to be simply going.

+ +

Then a voice spoke in his ear making him jump so suddenly his head cracked off a gnarled root above and almost floored him.

+ +

Water comes…water goes…water rises…water flows…it was almost a sing-song.

+

+

He twisted round, trying to find the source.

+ +

But then he heard something else and his heart turned to stone.

+ +

It was the sound of running water. It was far off and distant and at first he thought the tunnel might lead to open air beside a river with a waterfall.

+ +

But there was something in that sound, something awfully familiar.

+ +

Not a waterfall….

+

+

In an instant, he was back in the darkness under the Morrigan’s black barrow on Temair, listening to the terrible roar of water rushing towards him.

+ +

“Oh Jeez!â€

+ +

Then he felt the walls shudder and a sudden punch of compressed air against his back as the crash of water soared to a crescendo.

+ +

And he was running, running in the dark, slashing through the cobwebs hardly aware of the walls blurring past him and the roots slapping his head. Behind him, the flood snarled and bellowed, gaining on him.

+

***

+ +

Corriwen tumbled through the doorway. Kerry had snagged her sleeve and swung her ahead of him while the image of the thing in the high chair was still burned into her mind.

+ +

A peeling skull, mad eyes rolling in its sockets…impossible! But something in that glare had pierced to her soul with such foul intensity that she almost fainted.

+ +

The room had tilted. Then Kerry had pushed her ahead of him and she’d tumbled through the doorway, spinning dizzily, flying, heels over head in a grey nothingness.

+ +

Her stomach heaved and she felt nausea rise up to her throat as she flailed for balance. Miraculously, she landed on her feet and then she landed, stumbled forward and stopped, heart thudding.

+ +

It took her a few seconds to realise that the castle walls were gone; that there was no doorway, no slope, nothing at all. Nothing but a pearly mist that spread out around her in every direction.

+ +

She stood still, trying to take it in, to make some sense of it, to find some object she could focus her eyes on, but there was nothing but a featureless sea of grey. It stretched to the far horizon – if there was a horizon - and Corriwen was not even sure of that.

+ +

There was no sound except her own breathing and the beat of her heart. She took a step forward, feeling a spongy surface under her foot. If she made any noise, it was damped to silence by the thick mist.

+ +

A sudden sense of isolation swamped her in this emptiness and awful silence.

+ +

Jack Flint and Kerry Malone were not here. She couldn’t sense them, as she had always been able to do before when she was in danger. Even as a prisoner in Eirinn she had been sure in the knowledge that they would come for her. Something in her heart had told her they would come, and it had been right.

+ +

But how could they find her here?

+

+

Corriwen began to walk, picking any direction because they were all the same. She trudged on, for what might have been hours, trying to find something, anything in the emptiness. The mist curled around her legs, but she was scared to stop and unable to sit and rest because then the mist would be over her head and she did not want that, not at all.

+ +

The further she walked, the more she came to fear that she could be stuck in this grey place, alone, forever.

+ +

Some time later, a shiver down her spine told her that she was not alone.

+ +

Corriwen heard it, but she couldn’t see it, and that was worst of all.

+ +

The mist had thickened and deepened and was now up to her waist. She tried to reach her mind out to Jack and Kerry, but there was no sense of any contact.

+ +

Then, in the thick silence, she heard a sound, a low growl.

+ +

She turned in a full circle, spine tingling, trying to locate it, but there was nothing to be seen in the sea of grey. Both her knives were out and ready.

+ +

The growl became a deep guttural grunt, too much like the bristleback boars the Scree ogres had sent to hunt her through the forests of Temair, but it was more savage than that. All she heard in it was an slavering hunger.

+ +

She backed away, hoping she backed in the right direction, then turned and began to run, desperately searching for somewhere to hide.

+ +

The unseen thing could be anywhere at all. The mist hid everything below waist level and she felt like a swimmer in dangerous water, waiting for unseen jaws to open.

+ +

The creature grunted again, and she knew it has sensed her, smelt her perhaps. Now it was coming for her.

+ +

Panic swelled and she tried to force it down. Corriwen veered to the left, then to the right, trying to shake off her pursuer, but no matter how she turned, it was always within earshot. The mist did little to muffle that hungry growl. Now it was loud, much too loud and she knew that it would soon be on her and she would be fighting for her life.

+ +

***

+ +

In the middle of the great chamber, the air writhed, and grey smoke began to thicken and solidify until it became a gauzy staircase that led straight ahead, up and up until it vanished in the distance.

+ +

The footsteps grew steadily louder. She felt her heart quicken and commanded it to slow. This was time for resolve, not apprehension.

+ +

Megrin saw a shape appear high on the staircase.

+ +

He stopped, a man in a black cowl which hid his eyes and shadowed his face.

+ +

Bodron.

+

+

His breath was a slow, dry rasp as he descended. Bony knuckles tightened on a staff made of black wood. He raised his head and she looked into eyes which seemed devoid of any humanity.

+ +

Those eyes were not her brother’s eyes. They stared out from some hell where no light ever reached.

+ +

“Megrin,†Bodron spoke. Behind him, the strange staircase began to shimmer into the vapour from which it had emerged and it slowly vanished.

+ +

“Bodron…brother.“ She felt as if her throat was desert-dry. “It has been a long time…too long to be alone in this place.â€

+ +

“So you pay a visit. How….sisterly. And what message have the Geasan-eril sent you to deliver?â€

+ +

The eyes fixed her with a black stare. His face was bloodless as marble and lined with deep creases. How, she wondered, did he know she had been sent?

+ +

As if he could read her thoughts Bodron spoke again. “I have eyes in the night. They keep me well informed. So what does the council of spellbinders want of me?â€

+ +

“They want you to put an end to this darkness. And they require you to give up the Copperplates.â€

+ +

Bodron’s sudden laugh echoed all round the chamber.

+ +

“I am on the far edge of Uaine here, far from the concerns of your spellbinders. Why should they interfere with my work?â€

+ +

“Because your…work is spreading out over the summerland. Don’t you know what is happening throughout Uaine? The shadow from this place is spreading like disease. Nightshades are loose in the dark, infesting field and forest, town and village.â€

+ +

“Nightshades? Mere shadows. Surely your council fears no shadow.â€

+ +

“It is what power brought them to Uaine that concerns us. What dark power have you raised from beneath and brought among us. The Copperplates have been turned to evil purpose. We shall have them, and we shall try to undo what damage you have wrought. Close the nether-gate you have unlocked.â€

+ +

Bodron was silent for a moment. Then he chuckled, a low, cold sound that was so unlike the Bodron she had known as a child.

+ +

“I spent a lifetime searching for these talismans,†he finally said. “But I found them. They are mine.“

+ +

“Not yours, brother. They belong to Uaine and always have, since the first great spellbinding.â€

+ +

“Not great enough, obviously,†he sneered. “Since I alone was able to gather them all and achieve for myself what took one and twenty of the greatest Geasan.“

+ +

“Always the ambitious one. You were indeed a great Spellbinder, Bodron. Why would you want more, when the power is a sacred gift from the Sky Queen?â€

+ +

“Your Sky Queen is long gone from the worlds. She wields no power here. There are others as powerful as she ever was.â€

+ +

“But why would you want to interfere with the good of Uaine?â€

+ +

“What do I care for Uaine? I have more pressing matters. “ He paused, , and then, his voice changed, just enough to give Megrin the merest hint of the person that used to be her brother. “…I…needed the Copperplates.â€

+ +

Bodron’s mouth snapped shut, as if he wanted to bite back the words. His frame shook violently and he doubled over. He gasped as if in pain and then slowly unfolded until he was standing straight again, eyes once more hidden by the cowl.

+ +

“Begone…witch!†It came out in a deep, beastly growl, and a cold shudder ran through Megrin. She bent forward, trying to see into those hidden eyes. He raised his head. Their eyes met and she recoiled as if she’d been struck.

+ +

“You are not Bodron,†she cried. “Who are you? What are you?â€

+ +

“I am your brother as ever was.†The voice came from the shadows, it echoed as if there was more than one speaker. “And yet I am more.“

+ +

“Not…my…. brother,†she repeated. Her own voice sounded strangled and she felt her throat constrict as if an icy hand had clamped on her neck. A cold oozed through her and as the pressure on her throat tightened, her vision began to blur and waver.

+ +

Bodron had not moved, but somehow he had reached out to her. She closed her eyes and fought back against the dark power, concentrating on the invisible stranglehold. She groaned with the effort, sagging to her knees. Then the pressure was gone, and she lurched forward, gasping for air.

+ +

“Begone,†the shadowed figure commanded. For a second Megrin felt compelled to turn away.

+ +

She forced herself to resist. “Not without the Copperplates.â€

+ +

Bodron laughed again, a cacophony of voices overlapping one another.

+ +

“Take them,†he rumbled. “If your power is equal to mine. And know this: I already have what you brought me.â€

+ +

It raised the black staff and described a circle in the air. Within it, a hazy image slowly came to focus.

+ +

And she saw Jack Flint painfully pull himself upright.

+ +

The heartstone dangled clearly from the open neck of his tunic.

+ + + + +

CHAPTER 16

+ +

Kerry was running, running in the dark, slashing through the cobwebs that tried to hold him back, hardly aware of the walls blurring past him and the roots slapping his head.

+ +

Behind him, a raging flood snarled and bellowed, gaining on him despite his speed.

+ +

“Height,†he thought, “Need to climb!â€

+ +

But the burrow-like tunnel was level. He was caught here, with water at his back and nothing but shadows ahead. He ran and ran, ran for his life, biting down on the panic that threatened to swamp him just as easily as that surging flow would if it caught him.

+ +

He barged through another veil of webs. Ahead of him, the tunnel forked, left and right.

+ +

In his head, the voice spoke again. He didn’t recognise any words, but it seemed to touch something real. Without hesitation he threw himself right. This tunnel was even narrower than the first, earthen walls scraping his shoulders, trying to slow him down. He hunched tight and ran on, feet thudding, heart thumping.

+ +

“Jump….!“ Another wordless command.

+ +

Without thinking, Kerry leapt….and leapt clean over a yawning hole. His feet hit crumbling earth on the far side but he managed to scramble forward before he slipped into black depths. Behind him, the roar was deafening, pushing him forward with enormous pressure in this confined space.

+ +

Then, miraculously, the path began to rise. A surge of hope swelled. Maybe…just maybe he could get high enough.

+ +

He couldn’t even risk a glance behind. There was not an instant to lose. Already the air was moist and he could feel a cold droplet spray on the back of his neck. Just yards behind him, he could sense the water catching up, a raging beast set to pounce.

+ +

He was up the slope, slowing down not one bit. Froth surged around his feet and he knew that in one second he’d be slammed forward, then swallowed. He screwed up his eyes in dread anticipation, forced one last huge effort from his legs…

+ + + + +

***

+

Jack’s head throbbed. His whole body was one big bruise, or so it felt. Carefully he uncurled. For a moment looping vertigo made his vision blur and he closed his eyes tight until it went away.

+ +

He sat up, as the horrific memory of gargoyles and the creature with great leathery wings came back to him.

+ +

Jack shook the vision from his mind, not wanting to relive that moment or the, mindless terror he had felt.

+ +

He tried to work out where he was. Corriwen and Kerry had been ahead of him, moving fast. He had run for the door, feeling the pull of that creature’s will.

+ +

And then he had been falling, crashing down until everything faded. He looked groggily around, but there was no sign of his friends. He called for them by name, but heard only his voice reverberating from stone walls then fading to silence.

+ +

He forced himself to his feet, checking to ensure he still wore the heartstone, and that he still had the great sword and the leather bag with the Book of Ways inside.

+ +

Then he braced himself against a wall and took in his surroundings. He was on a wide spiral stairwell. There was no banister of any sort, and each dusty wooden tread was fixed into the wall, without any other support. It felt flimsy and unsafe.

+ +

He risked getting closer to the edge of the stairs and looked up. The stairs spiralled for an impossible distance before they disappeared in murk and dust. Vertigo made him sway on the brink and he backed away. He felt trapped and confined and totally alone.

+ +

The steps below him took several turns before they reached a stone floor. It was darker down there, but logic told him he should take the lesser distance so, hugging the wall, he descended carefully, until he reached the bottom and a blank, circular wall. A dead end.

+ +

In the centre of the floor there was a rusted metal grate with thick bars on what looked like the top of an ancient well, fastened by a single hoop. Jack approached it cautiously and peered down, expecting to see his reflection in water. But there was nothing. The well seemed to go down as far as the stairway ascended.

+ +

Yet something was down there. The heartstone squeezed against him, just as a low vibration reverberated from the depths.

+ +

Jack forced himself back, fighting a curious compulsion to stay and see what it could be. He turned and scrambled up the steps, two at a time, as the steps creaked and dipped alarmingly under his weight. When he thought he had gained enough height, he crawled forward until he could see back down.

+ +

Something hit the grate with such force the heavy bars jumped upwards. It clanged back down again and from behind them, came a ferocious roar.

+ +

Jack recoiled, wondering if there was anywhere inside Bodron’s domain that wasn’t haunted by beasts and nightmares. Did Megrin’s brother have monsters lying in wait at every turn? Jack couldn’t answer that question, but he knew he’d have to assume so, if he had any chance of staying alive in this terrible place.

+ +

Creature in the well crashed again at the grate and Jack was convinced it was only a matter of time before the old metal gave way. He needed to get some more distance.

+ +

Jack continued up the stairway for another ten turns before he risked stopping to look up, hoping to see a doorway or a landing. But there was nothing. Only the flimsy spiral steps going up and up until they disappeared in the distance.

+ +

Far below he heard the gate snap open and crash back against the floor and the trapped beast, now free, bellowed in triumph. Almost immediately, Jack heard the hard thud of its weight on the treads. It sounded more like hooves than feet, but he didn’t chance looking down. Ahead of him the staircase climbed impossibly high and he knew he couldn’t keep running forever.

+ +

He suddenly recalled Megrin’s warning

+ +

Don’t believe what you see, or what you hear. This is no earthly place, that’s for certain. We’d say it was weird-bound.

+ +

Think, he ordered himself – though not daring yet to pause on the stairs, because behind him he could hear the clatter of hooves on the treads and they sounded even louder than before. Think……!

+ +

“Don’t believe what you see or hear.†He spoke the words aloud. “She means it’s not real.â€

+ +

What he’d seen in the great chamber, when it turned to look at him, it had felt real. It seemed to reach inside his soul.

+ +

Jack caught his breath and listened. The clatter of running hooves was closer now. He shouldered the satchel, grasped the hilt of the sword and started climbing again, as fast as he could, and then he forced himself to stop. Quickly he unhitched the satchel and drew out the Book of Ways, placed it on a step, and tried to ignore the thud-thud-thud from below.

+ +

The Book opened words began to scroll across the page.

+ +

As Jack bent to read, the letters squirmed and changed, a jumble of characters impossible to read. He tried to focus on them, but it made his head ache. The letters spun and separated, crawling over the page like ants.

+ +

Almost desperately, he reached into his tunic and drew out the Heartstone, cupped both hands around it, and looked at the open book through the smoky glass.

+ +

The lines on the page jumped into clarity and he read:

+ +

Journeyman finds all confusion

+

Caught in snare of bale illusion

+

Friend is lost in shadow land

+

Testing time is now at hand

+

Spellbind storm approaches swift

+

Heart will summon friend adrift.

+ +

He stared at the words, willing them to make sense. They always had before, even if the message was at first unclear. Below him, the beast on the stairs howled and its clattering hooves sent shudders up the wooden steps.

+ +

The book snapped shut.

+ +

All confusion…bale illusion.

+ +

And Megrin’s words were fresh and clear. Don’t believe.

+ +

He closed his eyes, pressed the heartstone on his forehead, feeling its heat. He pictured himself, with Kerry and Corriwen together in sunlight on the lush grass of Uaine. The heart beat in time with his own pulse.

+ +

“I believe…in my friends. I believe in the sword…..and in the Book of Ways!â€

+ +

His voice rose: “I believe in the Sky Queen. I believe in the Heartstone. All of them are real.â€

+ +

He turned on the stair, eyes closed, but now facing down the spiral.

+ +

“But I don’t believe in you!“

+ +

The howl soared to a scream.

+ +

“I… + DON’T… BELIEVE!â€

+ +

A wave of pressure blasted up from below, rattling the flimsy wooden steps, and a rumbling vibration shuddered the walls.

+ +

Jack pressed the heart tight on his skin.

+ +

“Corriwen,†he cried aloud. “Kerry! Can you hear me?â€

+ +

The stone wall beside him wavered like the surface of a pool. Above him, high overhead, the walls convulsed and a section of the stairway popped free and came tumbling down.

+ +

“Corriwen!â€

+ +

And suddenly he could see her in the gleam of the heartstone, stumbling in a mist that was up to her chest, a mist that seemed to stretch to the far horizon and keep going. She cocked her head, as if she heard him too.

+ +

Jack concentrated hard. He imagined he heard her voice, thin and muffled in the mist.

+ +

And behind that voice, the sound of something that growled like predator.

+ +

Corriwen was turning around wildly, trying to locate the sound that Jack had heard.

+ +

“Run..Corrie. Run to me!â€

+ +

Under his feet, a powerful tremor shook the staircase and it began to disintegrate. The treads vibrated like springs and some of those higher up began to work themselves free. They simply dropped, one on another, like dominoes.

+ +

Jack opened his eyes and saw them plummet towards him in an avalanche of dusty wood. A noise like thunder swelled louder and louder as they slammed into lower ones and knocked them free, until all he could see was a mass of broken wood falling so fast it swept everything away.

+ +

And there was no way for him to escape.

+ + + + +

+ +

+

CHAPTER 17

+ + +

Kerry ran for his life.

+ +

The roar of rushing water filled the passageway. In another second he’d be slammed forward, then swallowed. He forced one last huge effort from his legs.

+ +

And ten paces ahead, the passage came to a sudden dead end.

+ +

The voice in his head ordered him to leap.

+

+

A desperate cry escaped him as he instinctively obeyed, before an enormous weight hit him square in the back and threw him straight at the blank wall.

+ +

He was flying, rolling, tumbling. Helpless.

+ +

An deafening screech like ripping metal pierced the roar of water. A blinding light seared his eyes and all his breath was punched out of him again. He kept rolling and the light flashed in pulses as he went and he knew that this must be what it is like at the very end. Just a flickering light and no pain.

+ +

He tumbled on warm softness until his momentum slowed and he lay, face down. He closed his eyes, feeling gentle heat on his back and for a moment he thought: That wasn’t too bad.

+ +

All around him, the sweet scent of flowers filled still air. Somewhere close, a little stream burbled over pebbles. Small birds sang clear musical notes.

+ +

Kerry lay still, giving himself to the warmth. He opened his eyes and saw vivid green all around him until it began to fade in a constellation of little stars that sparked and winked in his vision.

+ +

Then his lungs kicked back to life in a powerful lurch that rolled him onto his back and he whooped in a huge breath of clean fresh air. The little stars vanished and the green returned. Overhead, a bright sun beamed down on him and an iridescent dragonfly slowly buzzed past his face.

+ +

“Heaven,†he mumbled, getting slowly to his knees. “Has to be.â€

+ +

He’d never really thought about heaven before. But if this is what it felt like, then it wasn’t too bad at all. He patted himself down, surprised that he was unhurt and unbroken, and further surprised that he still wore his tunic and the short-sword in its scabbard. He was on a low slope covered in rich grass that smelt of lush growth. Further down, a crystal stream sang its watery notes as it licked around the roots of small trees.

+ +

Kerry made his way there and eased down beside the clear water. His throat was dry and he lowered his face to drink.

+ +

Before his lips reached the surface, the water rippled as if stirred by an invisible hand, and to his amazement, a little fountain frothed up to meet him, just as it had done when they entered the Geasan circle. He let the cool water cleanse his throat, drinking deep until his thirst was completely slaked.

+ +

“Thanks,†he whispered, pushing back to squat on the bank. Fat, silver trout lazed in a pool dappled by bright sun. Beside his head, an overhanging branch bore small fruits and as he reached for one, it swelled into a golden globe the size of an apple. It almost fell into his hand and when he bit into it, sweet juice spurted on his tongue with such intensity that he felt as if he was tasting it with his whole body.

+ +

He ate it in a few bites, feeling strength and well-being flow through him, then sat back, deliciously replete.

+ +

Overhead, a little breeze shivered the leaves and their rustling sounded so much like a whispered voice that he could almost make out the words.

+

+

Something moved in the corner of his eye, a little shimmer of motion that made him turn quickly, but when he did, there was nothing to see.

+ +

“Big trout and a nice stream,†he spoke aloud. “Could be worse.â€

+ +

Another motion on the far bank snagged his attention, and when he looked, all he could see was a flight of lacewings catching sunbeams.

+ +

But there had been something. He could sense it, and what was more, he could feel eyes upon him.

+ +

He breathed in slowly, savouring the clean air, then cupped his face in his hands, opening his fingers just enough to let light in. He waited like that for five minutes, not moving.

+ +

Then he saw it.

+ +

The air beside the fruit-bush wavered like a mirage on a hot road. Behind it the leaves seemed to tremble and dance, and then a small form slowly began to take shape. Between his fingers, he strained to see what it was. There was a shape, but it was translucent and he could make out the leaves and flowers directly behind it. He kept his head down, and very slowly, as if from the sparkling air itself, a form condensed, becoming more opaque.

+ +

And there she was, a small figure sitting on a smooth stone, bare feet at the edge of the water. She had hair the colour of summer corn and wide, lustrous brown eyes, an elfin face. Her elbows rested on her knees and her chin was cupped in both hands.

+ +

At first Kerry thought the reflections in the stream were catching her eyes, but then he saw that the lustrous brown was flecked with gold highlights that sparkled magically as she regarded him.

+ +

Very slowly, so as not to scare her away, he lowered his fingers and their eyes met. A little jolt that he couldn’t quite explain ran through him.

+ +

“Hello!†It was all he could think of saying.

+ +

She started at him silently, with those incredible eyes holding him.

+ +

“Are you an angel?†Kerry began. She shook her head.

+ +

“A fairy? Something like that?â€

+ +

Now she smiled and the eyes sparkled even brighter.

+ +

“I am Rionna. This is my place.â€

+ +

“Hi Rionna. I’m Kerry. At least I was Kerry. I don’t know what I am now. Is this like heaven? Or limbo?â€

+ +

“It’s my place,†she said, still smiling. “I brought you here.â€

+ +

She stood up, a slender little thing, barefoot and wearing a simple green shift, hair in long twin braids. She walked across the shallows towards him, making neither sound nor splash, and knelt in front of him.

+ +

“You were in…danger,†she said. “I felt your fear. Here there is no fear.â€

+ +

Very tentatively she reached a delicate hand and touched his.

+ +

“Welcome Kerry. Safe in Rionna’s haven.â€

+ +

“I don’t know how you did it…but thanks. I’m sort of scared of water. I can’t swim.â€

+ +

She came closer, examining his face. Her free hand touched him on the side of his nose.

+ +

“What are these things? These marks?â€

+ +

At first he was taken aback and touched his skin where she did. Their fingers met and another strange little jolt made him shiver.

+ +

“Oh, these? They’re freckles. I get them all the time, being Irish. You want to see me in summer. I’m like a freakin’ leopard.â€

+ +

She held his hand, her fingers warm yet gripping strongly.

+ +

“I knew you would come. I never saw a Kerry before.â€

+ +

“Oh, no. I’m just a boy.â€

+ +

She frowned, puzzled. “A boy?â€

+ +

“Yes. Just a kid. Well, a bit more than a kid. But not a man. Not yet.â€

+ +

He grinned. “You mean to say you never met a boy before?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “I never met anyone before.â€

+ +

“Well, just wait until you meet my friends.â€

+ +

Rionna leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. She smelt of apple-blossom.

+ +

“What is a friend?â€

+ +

***

+

Oh Bodron, what have you done?

+ +

Megrin fixed her eyes on him, standing motionless, while her mind roamed along dark corridors and narrow passages, through halls and rooms until, at last, she found a place high in Bodron’s Keep that her mind could not perceive. It was wreathed in a miasma of night.

+ +

This must where he kept the Copperplates. A secret place swathed in a hiding-spell.

+ +

She would have to find it, find the ancient Copperplates and then work out a way to reverse what Bodron had done.

+ +

And she had to find out what Bodron had done to Jack Flint, or what he planned for him. That plan, she knew, must involve the Journeyman’s heartstone. Bodron meant to have it, and if he could corrupt its power as he had done with the Copperplates, who knew what might be unleashed.

+ +

“Begone…witch.“ Bodron raised his staff again and orange snakes of weird light coursed around it.

+ +

Without warning Megrin was slammed backwards by a force so powerful it felt as if all her bones would shatter, but in a split second she had recovered d her wits and held her own staff upright.

+ +

Stop!

+ +

One word of command and all motion ceased.

+ +

The cowled figure turned and was striding away from her. Blue fire licked around the carved head of her staff and she sent it outwards in a searing bolt. It wrapped itself around Bodron’s receding form. He halted in mid-stride and she felt his enormous power as he fought against her. For a brief moment she was connected to the evil within him and felt utter revulsion and the strain of holding the binding-spell was so enormous she cried out. He turned to face her.

+ +

“You think your puny tricks can hold me?â€

+ +

Under his hood, she saw a sly and hungry grin.

+ +

He lowered his head and began to chant. “Raging fire and bubbling stone…†Megrin heard those words clearly.

+ +

Bodron stamped one foot…and the whole chamber shook. Where his heel came down, a fissure opened in the stone floor, zig-zagging towards her. Yellow smoke hissed up and oozed gouts of molten stone flowed across the floor, trapping her against the wall.

+ +

“River water, cool and clear.†Megrin sang aloud as she cast her own spell.

+ +

Her staff writhed in her hands. Bolts of blue light arced between its head and the stone wall and where they touched, cold water jetted from a dozen holes, cascading on to the molten rock in an eruption of sound and steam.

+ +

“Enough, Bodron,†Megrin cried. “Give up what you have stolen from Uaine.â€

+ +

He laughed a high cackle and spun on his heel.

+ +

The walls around her buckled and heaved, splitting the masonry apart. From the holes in the stonework, misshapen things began to crawl out, yellow-eyed and scaled. Some spread leathery wings and took flight. Others crawled to the floor like spiders. Some had curved beaks, others had gaping mouths lined with teeth, each of them a vision from hell.

+ +

Megrin quenched the fear that flared within her. These things were not real, not alive, yet within Bodron’s domain, even the unreal could take shape and substance.

+ +

She shook the sleeves of her long coat. Two white cats landed on their feet beside her, her familiars, big as bobcats, purring with anticipation.

+ +

The nightmares of Bodron’s creation surged forward.

+ +

Megrin raised her staff.

+ +

Beaks and mouths gaped, talons opened as the apparitions attacked.

+ +

Megrin’s familiars leapt, their own claws unsheathed. They met the onslaught in a flurry of motion, ripping and rending as the attacking horde hooked and stabbed, trying to reach Megrin.

+ +

Bodron turned away, his demonic laughter still booming over the screeching of the abominable creations as they were torn to pieces by the familiars and blasted from the air by the shafts from Megrin’s staff.

+ +

She was too busy battling in the corner to stop him from leaving.

+ +

***

+ +

High above Jack, the steps cascaded down, knocking more and more free as they came, dislodging the stones that held them in place. He forced himself flat against the wall despite the certainty that it could not shield him from the cascading debris.

+ +

He back on his fear and held the heartstone to his eyes. Again through its crystal, he could see Corriwen running in the mist.

+ +

Behind her, Jack could see a grey, powerful shape in pursuit. Its back was ridged with horny scales and its mouth opened to show rows of red teeth. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t need to know.

+ +

“Run, Corriwen.†He cried. “Run!â€

+ +

He saw her cock her head as if she’d heard his shout.

+ +

“Jack? Jack?“ her voice was muffled.

+ +

“Run Corrie. Run to my voice!“

+ +

Jack couldn’t hear himself above the thunder of the collapsing stairway, but he knew Corriwen had heard him.

+ +

“Where are you Jack? I can’t see you.â€

+ +

Behind her the beast snorted and wheeled around on thick legs. Jack saw scarlet eyes as it swung its head in Corriwen’s direction, and then it suddenly accelerated its pace, heading directly for her.

+ +

“To my voice, Corrie. Come on!â€

+ +

She didn’t turn to look behind. She simply ran, ran like the wind, clasping her knives tightly on either side, her cape billowing behind her.

+ +

He could see her more clearly now, face pale, red hair whipped back, mouth agape as she gasped for breath.

+ +

The monster was closer now now, fifteen yards behind. Ten yards. Jack kept calling, to give her a direction.

+ +

She put on a last spurt of speed, racing directly towards Jack, while above him, ton after ton of splintering wood and crumbling masonry smashed into the stairs, almost throwing him off balance.

+ +

Corriwen was yelling his name, high and desperate.

+ +

Jack urged her on, willed her towards him. He pressed hard against the cold stone wall.

+ +

Without warning, it gave under the pressure. His arms sank into it and he stumbled forward as the stone simply dissolved.

+

+

And suiddenly Corriwen was there in front of him, yelling for him. Behind her the monster bunched ropy muscles, ready to pounce. Corriwen slammed into him with such force he was thrown backwards.

+ +

He felt himself pass through a filmy surface. Claws ripped through it with a horrendous tearing sound, making great grooves.

+ +

They were out of the mist and back on the other side of the wall. An avalanche of timber and masonry came crashing down towards them as they tumbled over and over and over. Jack saw one massive block whirl in the air, cannoning from wall to wall, expanding in his vision as it bulleted towards them. He managed to twist, getting himself between the plummeting rock and Corriwen’s fragile frame, even as he realised this would make no difference at all.

+ +

A huge weight clubbed him. He thought he heard his bones breaking like thin sticks and a searing orange light exploded behind his eyes.

+ +

And then Jack and Corriwen were bouncing along on damp grass. When they finally stopped they lay there together, panting like hunted animals.

+ +

Jack groggily raised himself to his elbows, trying to get his sight to focus. His head began to clear and he saw, a short distance away, the dim light of a candle glowing behind the window-pane in Megrin’s woodland cottage.

+ + +

CHAPTER 18

+ + +

For a long while, all Jack could do was hold tight to Corriwen. She was trembling almost as much as he was in the aftermath. He kept thinking she was safe from the beast in the mist and that somehow they had both survived the collapse of the vast stairway.

+ +

“Are you okay?†her asked Corriwen finally.

+ +

“I don’t know yet. But if you hadn’t found me, I don’t think I would be. Like Kerry would say, a goner?â€

+ +

She looked up at him. “Where is Kerry?â€

+ +

“I don’t know. I thought he would be with you.â€

+ +

Corriwen shook her head. “No. I thought. Oh no! Is he still …?â€

+ +

She didn’t finish the sentence as the awful realisation hit both them . Somehow they had escaped from Bodron’s keep, but Kerry was still lost in that nightmare.

+ +

“How did we get out?†Corriwen was still confused.

+ +

“I don’t know. Megrin said there was a spell to keep people away. Maybe it spat us out.â€

+ +

“Then we must find a way back there. We have to find Kerry.â€

+ +

Jack nodded, though his heart sank at the thought of how long it might take to find their way to Bodron’s keep, and how long Kerry could survive within it.

+ +

“We need time to think,†he said. He turned her around and that’s when she noticed the cottage in the forest clearing.

+ +

“Look! It’s Megrin’s house.â€

+ +

“I know,†Jack said. “Back where we started. How we got here I don’t know, but we’re a long way from Bodron’s place.â€

+ +

He looked around at the dark shadows in the forest. Overhead the moon was back an angry red colour. “We should get inside. We can’t be out here at night.â€

+ +

She grabbed his hand tightly and together they approached the wooden door.

+ +

It slowly creaked open as they stepped up to it. Corriwen started back, clutching Jack’s arm. He cautiously peered inside, inhaling the aroma of warm food cooking on an open fire.

+ +

A movement beside the hearth caught his eye. Megrin’s old chair was rocking slowly back and forth. Jack drew Corriwen with him into the cottage.

+ +

“Who’s there?†The rocking chair creaked and Megrin raised herself out of it, using her staff as a support.

+ +

When she turned to look at them, Corriwen gasped in alarm.

+ +

Megrin looked old, much older than she had when they had first met. Her hair, then silvery grey, was now a tangle of white, and deep lines etched her face. Her staff was fire-blackened and badly splintered.

+ +

“Oh! Children. You made it out. Thank the stars. Thank the stars indeed.â€

+ +

“What happened to you?†Jack asked, his thoughts in a whirl of confusion.

+ +

Megrin drew a hand wearily across her brow, and she swayed as though she were tired beyond exhaustion.

+ +

“It was you Bodron wanted. The Copperplates were just bait for you and your heartstone.â€

+ +

She lowered herself back into her seat. “He knows its power and covets it. Like me, he knew you would come through the faerie-gate, and he waited a long time.â€

+ +

“We don’t know how we got back here,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“The heartstone protected you,†Megrin replied. Her skin was almost translucent, and her voice barely more than a whisper.

+ +

“He hunted you, through all his illusions. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. He has grown too strong, with the power of the Copperplates. I fought him, and he almost finished me. There hasn’t been a Geasan killed in Uaine for a thousand years and more, but he almost succeeded. His own sister too!â€

+ +

“We’ve lost Kerry,†Corriwen blurted out. “We have to go back for him.â€

+ +

Jack looked around the little cottage. The table was set for three places, and once again he was reminded how like something out of a children’s fairy tale it was.

+ +

“Kerry?†Megrin sounded confused, as if exhaustion had clouded her memory. “Oh yes…the other boy. Is he not with you?â€

+ +

“We were in a big hall. There were awful things in there and we ran. I last saw him going through the door. Then I lost him.â€

+ +

Megrin sighed. “He’s not here. I don’t know where he might be. Bodron cast a geas on me and I found myself back here, as if I had never even been in that dark place.â€

+ +

She ran a gaunt hand down her face. “But I know I have been there. The pain of it still wracks me.â€

+ +

Corriwen moved towards her and wrapped her arms around the old woman. She felt so thin and weak it seemed her bones might break. Corriwen’s shuddered at the touch of the old woman’s wasted frame and pulled away quickly.

+ +

“So…drained,†Megrin whispered. “Thank you my dear, for sharing your warmth and your strength. At least you are safe here.â€

+

+

“But Kerry isn’t,†Jack said urgently. “We have to go back for him.â€

+ +

The old woman shook her head. “I fear he may be lost. Bodron’s power is too great.â€

+ +

“No!†Corriwen gasped, her face pale. “Not Kerry. “He can’t be.â€

+ +

Megrin’s eyes met Jack’s with an expression of deep sorrow and regret. His heart felt suddenly leaden. The thought of Kerry - he couldn’t even bring himself to say that word -was just too much to bear.

+ +

“Sit,†Megrin said kindly. “Come and eat. Save your strength.â€

+ +

She ushered Corriwen to the table. Jack followed, numb with worry. Megrin sat at the end, in front of the third plate and spooned some stew out into wooden bowls.

+ +

The heartstone pulsed hard on his chest.

+ +

Something is wrong, he thought. Something’s badly wrong.

+ +

He tried to reassure himself. Maybe it was just the shock of realising that they had escaped from the nightmare and Kerry was still trapped within it, perhaps still from beasts and monsters. Maybe they had caught him. Maybe….all of this was tumbling through Jack’s mind in a confusing and frightening maelstrom.

+

+

“Eat, Jack Flint. Before it gets cold.â€

+ +

Jack looked down at the bowl, filled to the brim with stew and vegetables. It would normally be appealing and it seemed a long times since he had eaten, but Jack had no appetite. Corriwen fidgeted on her stool, pale in the firelight, unable to stay still. He could tell she wanted to move, to fight. To do something.

+ +

“Eat up, girl,†Megrin urged.

+ +

On the table, a basket was filled to the brim with scones still hot from the oven and golden-crusted loaves of bread.

+ +

Something’s wrong here, Jack’s inner voice insisted, although he couldn’t work out what. The heartstone was still beating fast. Corriwen’s eyes met his across the table. They were full of questions, but Jack’s mind was still reeling with his fear for Kerry and the sensation of something badly amiss that he couldn’t get his thoughts in order.

+ +

“You really should eat the food,†Megrin said. Her voice sounded rough, as if she had a cold coming on. “And rest the night here, where it’s safe.â€

+ +

“How can I eat?†he said. “Kerry’s still in there!â€

+ +

Jack pushed the stool back. He crossed to the little window.

+ +

“Where are you going? Come back to the table.†Megrin croaked the words now. “Get back and eat the food. I spent so long baking and cooking for you.â€

+ +

Three plates…The thought struck him as more odd than Megrin’s suddenly querulous tone of voice. He looked through the window pane.

+ +

What he saw made him gasp in horror. He saw the great hall from Bodron’s Keep through the glass. Grotesque imps were carousing around the table, tearing at whatever came to hand, and stuffing it into their mouths in disgusting handfuls.

+ +

And in the tall chair, with its back to him, a dark and huddled shape began to turn again, turn to stare directly at him. Jack felt as if he’d been speared with ice.

+ +

“Oh!†He couldn’t manage anything else and spun away.

+ +

“I told you to get back,†Megrin snapped. Her voice was rough as sand.

+ +

Jack spun away from the window. Illusion he told himself. Just a picture. They were here in Megrin’s cottage. Or was that too an illusion?

+ +

The hairs on his neck were standing on, and Corriwen’s eyes, when they saw his face, were wide with alarm.

+ +

“What’s wrong with you, boy? Have you no respect at all?†Megrin’s hand found his shoulder and her fingers tightened hard, digging in at his collarbone with such strength that Jack winced.

+ +

He squirmed away saw something glitter in tar-black eyes. She grinned, showing a row of long yellow-stained teeth. Jack’s heart leapt to his throat.

+ +

Corriwen let out a sudden cry and pushed back from the table.

+ +

From her bowl, fat maggots began to crawl their way over the rim, twitching.

+ +

“What’s happening…?†One of the maggots slipped onto the surface and burst open. A green liquid spilled out, hissing as it ate into the wood.

+ +

Something moved in Jack’s bowl. A piece of meat inched slowly out of the broth and from it hatched a big hairy fly that clawed its way out and then sat regarding him, rubbing its forelegs together with a dry scraping sound.

+ +

Jack backed away. Corriwen’s hands were shaking.

+ +

“Eat,†Megrin snarled. “Eat the damned food, you ungrateful wretches.â€

+ +

Her voice had strengthened. It now sounded as deep hoarse as a man’s.

+ +

They both turned to face her. Corriwen gasped again.

+ +

Megrin was standing now, both hands on the table. Knotted, calloused hands covered in black hairs. Her nails were long and horny and her face was bloated and studded with dark blisters.

+ +

But her eyes! Her eyes were black as coals and empty as space.

+ +

Jack recoiled from them. Not Megrin! His mind yammered. Whatever it was, it had lured them into a trap. Sudden fury made him want to pick up something and kill it.

+ +

Instinctively pushed Corriwen behind him while the thing that was not Megrin began to laugh, a deep, booming sound that made the walls shudder. The blisters on its face began to crack and split. Its skin peeled away and any resemblance to Megrin Willow was gone.

+ +

A tall, bearded man wreathed in a smoky shadow stood in front of them. It flickered and wavered, merging from one form to another, until all Jack could see was a black pulsating shape that sucked the light from the room. From it emanated a powerful sensation of hate and anger. It wrapped around Jack in a cloak of such utter foulness he thought he would never be free of it.

+ +

“Jack!†he heard Corriwen’s voice, far off. He hardly felt her tugging at his hood as a long arm stretched towards him, reaching with a many-jointed claw, towards the heartstone on his chest.

+ +

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

+ + +

CHAPTER 19

+ + +

“What do you mean you never had a friend?â€

+ +

Kerry was lying comfortably, his weight on one elbow, on the bank of the stream. The girl with gold-flecked eyes sat elfin-like, face cupped in both hands, studying him with great intensity.

+ +

At first he thought he must be dead and that she had to be an angel.

+ +

The last thing he could remember was running in the tunnel and then the water slamming him in the back. The next he was lying on warm grass. All around him, the sweet scent of flowers filled still air. Somewhere close, a little stream burbled over pebbles. Birds sang clear in musical notes.

+ +

And then he’d seen the girl, a slight figure sitting on a smooth stone, bare feet at the edge of the water. She had hair the colour of summer corn and wide, lustrous brown eyes. Her elbows rested on her knees and her chin was cupped in both hands.

+ +

“Hello!†It was all he could think of saying.

+ +

She stared at him silently.

+ +

“Are you an angel?†Kerry had begun. She shook her head.

+ +

“A fairy? Something like that?â€

+ +

He was completely baffled. How he had suddenly arrived here was a mystery. Wherever here was.

+ +

The girl smiled and her eyes sparkled.

+ +

“I am Rionna. This is my place.â€

+ +

“Hi Rionna. I’m Kerry. At least I was Kerry. I don’t know what I am now. Is this like heaven? Or limbo?â€

+ +

“It’s my place,†she said, still smiling. “I brought you here.â€

+ +

She walked across the shallow water towards him, making neither sound nor splash, and knelt in front of him.

+ +

“You were in…danger,†she said. “I felt your fear. It called to me. Here there is no fear.â€

+ +

Very tentatively she reached a delicate hand and touched his.

+ +

“Welcome Kerry. Safe in Rionna’s haven.â€

+ +

“I don’t know how you did it, but thanks. I’m awfully scared of water. I can’t swim.â€

+ +

She leant closer, examining his face. Her free hand touched him on the side of his nose.

+ +

“What are these things? These marks?â€

+ +

At first he was taken aback and touched his skin where she did. Their fingers met and a strange jolt sent a shiver up his arm.

+ +

“Oh, these? They’re freckles. I get them all the time, being Irish. You want to see me in summer. I’m like a freakin’ leopard.â€

+ +

She held his hand, her fingers warm.

+ +

“I knew someone would come, one day. I am glad it is you. I never saw a Kerry before.â€

+ +

“Oh, no. I’m just a boy.â€

+ +

She frowned, puzzled. “A boy?â€

+ +

“Yes. Just a kid. Well, a bit more than a kid. But not a man. Not yet.â€

+ +

He grinned. “You mean to say you never met a boy before?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “I never met anyone before.â€

+ +

“Well, just wait until you meet my friends.â€

+ +

Rionna leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. She smelt of apple-blossom.

+ +

“What is a friend?â€

+ +

“What? You mean you never had a friend?†Kerry repeated incredulously. “I mean, everybody’s got friends. I’ve got Jack and Corriwen. Best friends I ever had.â€

+ +

“Where are they?â€

+ +

“I dunno. We were in this room and I…I…saw horrible things. I just grabbed Corrie and pushed her out. I’ve been scared before, but this was different. It was like every bad thing in the world was going to happen. If I hadn’t ran, I think I’d have dropped on the spot.â€

+ +

He lowered his head. “But Corrie wasn’t outside and I fell down a hole. And Jack, well I don’t know what’s happened. I shouldn’t have left him, but I couldn’t help it.

+ +

“It makes fear,†she said. “It makes terror and it feeds on it.â€

+ +

“What does? The thing in the chair? I saw - at least I thought I saw - a Roak. It’s a big carrion bird from Temair. But this wasn’t any Roak, believe me. It was the worst thing ever, times ten. It reached right into me, honestly it did.â€

+ +

“It only shows what it wants you to see,†Rionna said. “It’s a soul-eater. That’s why I sang this haven. It’s where I come to be free of it, out from its shadow.â€

+ +

Kerry sat up, now even more confused. “I don’t think I got any of that. You mean you live in there? In that nightmare castle? And you sang this place?â€

+ +

“I made a song in my heart,†she said. “I sang here into being. Here is peace and safety. Beyond is madness. I have watched it grow strong and dark, and I have hidden from it for a long time.â€

+ +

“Jeez, if you can sing a place like this into existence, you’d be a smash hit at karaoke. That’s a fine talent you’ve got.â€

+ +

“I heard you, felt your fear. It sowed the nightmare in your heart and your heart cried out to me. I urged you on and you came.â€

+ +

“That was you?†He recalled the sing-song in his head. Water comes…water goes…water rises…water flows… “I thought I’d flipped my lid.â€

+ +

She looked at him, uncomprehending. Kerry grinned. “Gone loony. Pure mental.†He made a clockwise sign with his finger at his temple, but she didn’t seem to have a clue what he meant.

+ +

“What about Jack and Corrie? What happened to them. “

+ +

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I only heard you. You were in tune. You must have a good heart.â€

+ +

Kerry blushed. “No. That’s Jack Flint you’re thinking about. He’s the good guy. The Journeyman.“

+ +

She smiled at him. “Maybe, but your heart is true, and it called to me. That’s why I opened a way.â€

+ +

He gave her his hand and she clasped it.

+ +

“I appreciate it, I really do. Another step and I’d have been a goner. An ex-Kerry.â€

+ +

She laughed, clear and innocent. Kerry got the impression she didn’t do that too often.

+ +

“And it’s a lovely place you got here. Look at the size of those trout! One of them would feed a family.â€

+ +

She laughed again and turned to look into the water. He saw her lips move and one of the big fish peeled away from the far bank and swam to the shallows, then gave a little flip and beached itself on the shingle.

+ +

“For you,†she said.

+

+

He shook his head and nudged the trout back.

+ +

“That one looked tasty for sure, but it wouldn’t be sporting, would it? Now if I could do that back home, I’d have no need of hooks and lines,â€

+ +

“What is this home?â€

+ +

“Oh, that’s where I come from. Me and Jack, we’re from Scotland, but there’s this ring of standing stones, and when you go through…â€

+ +

And once he started, he found he couldn’t stop telling her of how they’d stumbled between the stones, desperately trying to escape the shadow that had pursued them into Cromwath Blackwood to Temair, and how they had found Corriwen. He told her all of their adventures while she listened, fascinated.

+ +

“A great hero you must be, Kerry,†Rionna said when he’d finished. “And to have such friends. I knew you had a good heart.â€

+ +

“I can’t believe I left them. To tell the truth, I was scared rigid. After I saw that thing, I was right out the door. Quick as a blink. Next second, I was in a tunnel with all that water at my back.â€

+ +

Kerry sat up to face her again. “What exactly is this thing?â€

+ +

“Something brought from the underworlds to Uaine. I remember sunshine and stars when I was but little, but they are long gone. This brought the darkness.â€

+ +

“But what is it? We were told it’s got something to do with Copperplates, which I don’t know much about. They were stolen by some magician guy called Bodron.â€

+ +

Rionna lowered her head and closed her eyes for a second. To Kerry it felt as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun.

+ +

When she started to speak, Kerry just sat still and listened.

+

***

+

“Bodron is….was…my father,†Rionna began. “I barely remember him now, as he was, before he opened the Dark Way.

+ +

“And then everything changed.

+ +

“I remember my mother – she was beautiful. Golden hair and shining eyes. She died when I was very little.

+ +

“I didn’t know it then, but I know now, that he cast a binding on her so that she lay still and never changed, and he beseeched the Sky Queen to bring her back, but she never answered.

+ +

“And from his despair came anger, dark anger. I was just a baby, but I could sense his rage and was afraid of it. An old woman nursed me then, and but for her, I might have starved.

+ +

“Then my father travelled to far places, and when he returned he was very different. Something burned in his soul. He brought us to this old keep to begin his work.

+ +

“That is when the darkness came.â€

+ +

Rionna paused. Her eyes were wide, but Kerry could see they were focused far in the past. He sat quietly and waited for her to continue.

+ +

“By the time I had learned to walk, I found a way to travel between places. Perhaps a gift from my mother, who was a Geasan woman from a far world beyond the standing gates. And it is just as well. Because what came with the darkness was cold as death and hungry too. The keep became a place of shadows and strange things. And there were shades in the shadows, unseen things of foul intent and evil mischief. They are loose in Uaine and poison the night.â€

+ +

“We’ve met some of them,†Kerry interrupted, without meaning to do so. She didn’t seem to hear him.

+ +

“I could wander unseen and slip between, to where I wanted to go. I would sit with my mother in the secret place where she lay, pale as a cloud, and hope that perhaps she might draw a breath and free my father from his bane. But she never did.

+ +

“From my hidden place, I watched him work night after day, consulting the shining pages that he had sought in far-off places, until one day he found a way to put them in order.

+ +

“I remember the change in the air at that moment. The dead coals in the hearth burst into orange flame, though the air turned cold, and in the middle of his chamber, appeared a a dark pit that led to who knows where. “From it, something emerged, something that defied the eye, hurt the soul.

+ +

“I had read his scripts, and I knew that this was a beast of dark places summoned to Uaine. And it brought its own minions, the nightshades.

+ +

“From that day I lived in fear and hid in the between places until I learned to make this haven with my song. Not even that demon can find me here.â€

+ +

“But why did your father want to conjure up a creepy monster?â€

+ +

“Because he thought the Sky Queen had abandoned him. He summoned a lord of darkness and promised it Uaine if it would give my mother back to life.â€

+ +

“And did it work?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “What soul has gone to Tir-nan-Og may never return. She moved, the way a statue might move, but never talked. If this was life, then it wasn’t how we would think it. Whatever came from that pit was in her, and her shape stalked the halls and passageways at night when the moon turned to blood.

+ +

“And it searched for me with a hunger I could feel in my soul, and from that day I have hidden.â€

+ +

“Just as well,†Kerry said.

+ +

“A long time to be alone,†Rionna said, “but here in my song-place, I have peace. While in my father’s world, the beast waits and waits.â€

+ +

“For what?†Kerry asked, bemused.

+ +

“For the Talisman. I would listen to my father talk to himself – talk to it. The demon has promised him that the empty thing that walks the shadows will be given true life when it has the Heart of Worlds in its possession.

+ +

“The heart?†Kerry sat up quickly. He only knew of one heart, the one Jack wore round his neck.

+ +

“Yes. The key to worlds. An ancient thing that will allow the beast to bind Uaine to its black place and build a gateway for its legions. There are two hearts, each pure, created by the Sky Queen in olden times. It already has one of them. When it has its twin, then the gates of the underworlds will be thrown open. After that, madness and terror.â€

+ +

“It’s Jack’s heart!†Kerry couldn’t stop himself. “The Key to Worlds. It’s the Journeyman’s heart.â€

+ +

“You know of it?â€

+ +

“Know of it. Jeez, I’ve seen it. I’ve held it. The Morrigan nearly killed me for it. Jack got it from his father.â€

+ +

“And it is here in Uaine?â€

+ +

“It’s in your father’s castle. ’Cos that’s where Jack is, him and Corrie Redthorn.â€

+ +

Rionna’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Then he is in awful danger, Kerry. I know from my father’s scripts that he almost had both hearts in his possession, many years ago, and would have had it but for the courage of the bearer, who fought the shades and escaped.â€

+ +

“That must have been Jack’s dad. Jack was just a baby at the time.â€

+ +

“It will not fail this time. It has waited and waited, as my father has weakened and weakened until I see nothing of himself at all, just the dark hunger he has raised from the pit.â€

+ +

Kerry got to his feet, and offered a hand to help her up. The sun was warm on his back and the scent of flowers filled the clean air. He would have given anything to stay a while in Rionna’s secret world. Almost anything.

+ +

“Listen, Rionna. I’d love to hang about here, but I have to find Jack. I left him in that hall, with those…those things. I just ran away, and I know he’d never do that to me.â€

+ +

Kerry felt tears sting his eyes and blinked them back. “I’m so ashamed. So I have to find him, no matter what.â€

+ +

“There is only danger where he is.â€

+ +

“I’ve done danger before.†He raised his face and pugnaciously stuck out his chin. “I was nearly a goner too many times to count, but you can’t keep the Irish down. Jack’s my friend. The best you could ask for. I have to get back and help him.â€

+ +

Rionna smiled up at him, slender and elfin, and her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

+ +

“I knew you were a hero, Kerry-the-traveller. I have waited so long to meet a friend.â€

+ +

She took him by the hand and led him alongside the brook. A short distance downstream, she stopped at a place where a smooth rock overhung a deep pool. Still holding tight to his hand, she raised her own hand over the water and Kerry heard a pure sound, not unlike the crystal clear song of the golden harp on Tara Hill. She motioned him to look down.

+ +

The water swirled, and far down below the surface, an image began to take shape.

+ +

In the depths, he saw Jack Flint and Corriwen Redthorn approach Megrin’s forest cottage.

+ +

A shadow passed over the water and when it cleared he saw them again, though now they were standing by a table, clutching each other. For an instant he was so surprised that he didn’t recognise the place, but he recognised the look of horror on their faces.

+ +

On the very edge of the scene, he saw Megrin reaching out towards them as the skin of her face peeled away in papery strips. Underneath it was something as dark as night.

+ +

Jack’s heartstone glinted as a long tendril reached from the dark, forming a claw-like hand.

+ +

Kerry jumped to his feet. Rionna’s song cut off instantly, and below him, Kerry saw the scene freeze into a horrific tableau where Jack’s eyes were fixed on the reaching claw, Corriwen’s face was half-turned, one hand tight on Jack’s arm, and the grasping claw hovered inches away from the Journeyman’s heartstone.

+ +

“It’s not where you think,†Rionna said.

+ +

“I have to help them. How do I get out of here?â€

+ +

She looked at him, her eyes glowing.

+ +

“There is terrible danger. I saw the heartstone. The demon has seen it too and covets it, and I fear for all of Uaine if it succeeds. It will stop at nothing.â€

+ +

“Well, I’ve got to stop it,“ Kerry cried. “And to hell with the danger. That’s my friends it’s messing with.â€

+ +

She nodded, motioned to him to look down, and began her song again, making small gestures with her free hand. The surface of the water rippled, followed the direction of her delicate fingers until it looked like a miniature version of a great whirlpool.

+ +

Kerry looked down into a galaxy of glittering stars slowly revolve in the depths. In the centre of them all, he saw the familiar crown of five bright stars,

+ +

“The Corona,†he whispered. “The Sky Queen’s crown.â€

+ +

Starlight sent beams of luminescence up from the surface until Kerry and Rionna were bathed in the light.

+ +

Rionna reached out, and the light wove around her fingers in strings of energy which she gathered together and wound until her hands blazed. It was as if she had harvested the light of a thousand winking stars and gathered it to herself.

+ +

“Come, Kerry,†she said softly, taking him by the hand and pulling him down the slope to a little reed bed at the edge of the pool. She lowered the pulsing light almost to the surface, and one by one, the reeds curled around the light, weaving themselves into a basket, stalk by stalk until the light was contained within its fragile nest.

+ +

Rionna led him back to the rock overlooking the water and began to sing softly again as the ball of light in her hand sent colours spiralling across her face.

+ +

Kerry looked down again and saw Jack Flint shrink back from the reaching claw, one hand scrabbling for the great sword on his belt and the other moving to cover the heartstone. Corriwen was pushing past him, slashing with her glittering knife in a slow-motion dance.

+ +

“You wish to face this?†Rionna asked, and Kerry sensed the question in is head, for her crystal song still filled the air.

+ +

“I have to,†Kerry replied. His throat was dry and made his voice croak.

+ +

“I knew you had a good heart,†Rionna said. “You will need help.â€

+ +

Without pause, she tugged at his hand, towards the deep water. Kerry was taken by surprise as he felt his weight tip forward and then he was dropping.

+ +

“I can’t swim…..†he blurted as the surface came up to meet him.

+ +

Together they plunged into pool.

+ +

Kerry gasped for air. None would come. He felt himself tumble into icy cold.

+ +

“I can’t swim!†His voice stretched out long and hollow. But Rionna’s fingers were still clamped tightly to his wrist. His lungs hitched as he searched for breath.

+ +

Then they were not in water. They were flying, tumbling down through circles of luminescence. Rionna turned to him and smiled. Her free hand reached out and stroked his cheek as if to soothe his fears.

+ +

When her fingers touched him, Kerry landed hard on his feet, with such force he was driven to his knees and a shock of impact jolted through his bones. His ears popped and air flooded his lungs. Warm, smoky air, maybe, but air. He knelt on solid ground, whooping like an exhausted runner.

+ +

“Quick,†Rionna urged. “We must move. No time to waste.â€

+ +

She hauled him upright and then they were racing down a dark passage very like the one where he had heard the bestial grunt in the dark.

+ +

“Where are we? This isn’t Megrin’s house.â€

+ +

“That was an enchantment. Nothing is real in this place. But what’s not real can still harm.â€

+ +

“You’re worse than the Book of Ways,†Kerry said. “All riddles.â€

+ +

They came to an old door and Rionna pushed it open.

+ +

Kerry just had time to see Jack Flint cringe back from the claw, as Corriwen reached past his shoulder and slashed. The knife went through it as if through smoke but the claw still stretched out towards the heartstone.

+ +

***

+ +

“Jack!â€

+ +

Kerry appeared right by his shoulder. Jack saw him stumble forward, almost into the creature’s reach.

+ +

Then a small figure pushed past him, lithe as a cat. Jack glimpse a pale face and wide eyes. A girl.

+ +

She tore at something in her hands. Pieces of green reed shredded in her fingers and then a sudden light exploded, so blinding and fierce that everything stood out in black and white. The heartstone seemed to suck the light into itself. Jack felt its heat on his chest.

+ +

The twisting shape hissed like a snake. It gave Jack the second he needed to draw his sword. He swung it just as the claw snatched for the stone again and felt the blade shudder as it pierced the mass of shadow. An ear-splitting shriek ruptured the air.

+ +

The light in the girl’s cupped hands arced between the sword and the heartstone and the shape dark began to shrink back into itself. The shriek rose to a hurricane roar as shards of light stabbed out from the sword blade.

+ +

Jack held the sword steady, his face lit up by the girl’s magical light.

+ +

And with that, the creature was gone. Nothing remained but smoke and a reek of sulphur on the air.

+ +

Jack slowly lowered his sword, and he sank to his knees, totally drained.

+ +

There was a long silence before anyone spoke. Finally it was Kerry who did.

+ +

“Another fine mess we had to get you out of.â€

+ + + + + + + +

+ CHAPTER 20

+ + +

Megrin – the real Megrin - wiped her brow on her sleeve, resting for a moment whilst the remaining murderous apparitions crumbled to dust and were gone as if they had never been. Whether they had been real, or conjured illusions, even Megrin could not tell. But she knew that whatever they were, they had only served as a distraction to keep her here; to separate her from Jack Flint and the stone talisman that he carried.

+ +

The boy was her main concern - him and his friends. But it was Jack Flint who was particularly important because of what he carried. The Journeyman’s heartstone.

+ +

Megrin closed her eyes and let her senses reach out, through stone and timber. In her mind she kept the image of a deep and secret chamber, hidden in wreaths of enchantment that proved too strong a barrier to her own powers.

+ +

That, she was sure, was where she would find the power that brought the shadows to Uaine. The power that was now using her brother’s form for its own malevolent purpose.

+

Megrin strode forward, using her staff for balance over the tumbled masonry, feet kicking up little puffs of dust, the last remnants of the imps or devils that had been summoned to hold her. She reached the place where the foot of the staircase had been.

+ +

There was nothing here now. Even Bodron’s guttural laugh could no longer be heard.

+ +

Her mind was unable to locate any of her young friends, which meant one of two things. Either they were not inside Bodron’s Keep, or that they were and they had been taken to somewhere beyond her reach.

+ +

Beyond an arched doorway, a corridor forked left and right. She chose the left hand path. It descended into shadows. She felt her heart trip faster as she walked down.

+ +

***

+ +

The sword slipped from Jack’s fingers and sent up sparks when it clanged on the flagstones.

+ +

“Kerry!†Jack cried.

+ +

He leapt up and grabbed Kerry by the front of his tunic, bunching the material in his fists as he dragged him forward. His face was red and his voice tight with emotion as he shook him back and forth.

+ +

“Where the hell have you been?â€

+ +

Kerry's jaw dropped in amazement. But before he could say a word, Jack pulled him close, threw his arms around him and squeezed him in such a bear hug he felt his ears pop;.

+ +

“Jeez man,†Jack said, right in his ear. “We thought you were a goner!â€

+ +

Relief surged through Jack. The thought of losing Kerry, his best friend since childhood had defied description.

+ +

“I very nearly was, believe me,†Kerry began. But now Corriwen had her arms around his neck and squeezed him even tighter. Tears ran unashamedly down her cheeks.

+ +

“Hang on, hang on. Let me breathe.†Kerry tried to pull back, laughing and gasping at the same time. Jack loosened his grip and released him. Even in the dark, he could see Kerry was blushing deep red.

+ +

“How did you get here?†Jack wanted to know. “And who’s the girl?â€

+ +

“And where is here?†Corriwen butted in. She looked around at walls hung with shredded tapestries. “We were in Megrin’s place and she…she changed into…â€

+ +

“I know. We saw you. Me and Rionna. We came to help.â€

+ +

“You and who?â€

+ +

Kerry turned. Rionna had backed into a corner where she was hidden in shadows.

+ +

“Rionna…come here and meet Jack and Corrie.†He reached for her and gently drew her forward into the light.

+ +

Jack stared at Rionna. This elfin girl had come between him and the shadowed monster, blinding it with light. She had given him his chance.

+ +

“Rionna, this is Jack Flint and Corriwen Redthorn. My best friends. Guys, this is Rionna, and if it wasn’t for her, you’d be mincemeat by now. Me too. She knew what to do. She’s brilliant.

+ +

“Slow down,†Jack said. “Back up. Who is she? Where’s she from?â€

+ +

Kerry was too excited to stop. “We jumped into the water and we came to help you.â€

+ +

“Yeah sure,†Jack said. “Kerry Malone jumped in water? Not in a million years.â€

+ +

“Well, Rionna pulled me, actually. But honest, that’s how we got here. Rionna’s got this place. It’s magic. Really beautiful.†He put an arm round her shoulder and drew her closer. “Isn’t that right?â€

+ +

The girl nodded slowly.

+ +

“But who is she?†Corriwen asked, “And how did you find her?â€

+ +

“She’s Bodron’s daughter.â€

+ +

“Bodron’s daughter?†Jack shrank back, his mind running into overdrive. Was this another trick? Another illusion? Would she suddenly change into something else? His hand automatically went to his sword and fumbled with the empty scabbard.

+

+

The girl’s face went slack with dismay.

+ +

“How could you bring her? Look at everything he’s done. You don’t even know if she’s real! She could be a trick, just like Megrin was.â€

+ +

Rionna tried to shrink back into the shadows again, but Kerry held her wrist.

+ +

“She’s real all right,†Kerry retorted. “And don’t forget, she’s just saved your hide. And mine too. You should be grateful, so you should.â€

+ +

“But Bodron’s daughter…†Jack looked from Kerry to the girl. He couldn’t understand how Kerry could have been so stupid as to bring the enemy into their midst. He had trusted people before and been wrong. Jack’s head was still spinning from the horror of what had happened in Megrin’s cottage and now the shock of finding themselves back in Bodron’s Keep.

+ +

“So what if she is his daughter?†Kerry snorted. “Megrin’s her aunt isn’t she? And look at me. My dad’s in jail, but that doesn’t make me a crook, does it?â€

+ +

Before Jack could reply, Kerry went charging on.

+ +

“No buts Jack. Not this time.†He put his arm around Rionna’s shoulders again, and held her protectively. “She’s with me. With us. We got a new friend. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would you.â€

+ +

Kerry's free hand was bunched, as if he was ready to fight. “She brought the corona-light with her. That’s what chased the monster away. She saved all of us.â€

+ +

The girl found her voice. It was soft, but very clear, almost musical.

+ +

“Bodron was my father. But he brought something into this world that infested him, sucked out the man that he was. That is what you should fear, for I have feared it all my life. But if Kerry asks, then I will help you.â€

+ +

She drew back behind Kerry again. Corriwen stepped forward.

+ +

“Forgive us, Rionna, Bodron’s-daughter,†she said. She took the girl’s hands and raised them to her own cheeks.

+ +

“If you saved Kerry, then we are in your debt. And you helped us when we needed it most. The Redthorn always repay.â€

+ +

Rionna smiled shyly.

+ +

Kerry stared at Jack, whose hand was on the heartstone, hiding it from view. Jack finally nodded and took his hand away. The heartstone gleamed with its own deep life.

+ +

“I’m sorry, Kerry,†Jack finally spoke. “For what I said. And to Rionna. My head’s all screwed up and confused.â€

+ +

“Confused? I was scared to death. But she’s the real McCoy, is Rionna. Wait till you see her place. Man, the size of the fish! And fruit that tastes like nothing on earth.â€

+ +

Jack picked up his sword and sheathed it. Kerry was right. The girl was not responsible for what her father had done, and now she too was an orphan as much as Corriwen Redthorn. He placed his hand on Rionna’s. Her fingers trembled.

+ +

“Rionna. I’m very sorry for what I said. Any friend of Kerry's is a friend of ours. I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but I’m awfully glad you did .â€

+ +

She looked into his eyes.

+ +

“You are Jack, the journeyman. The heartstone-holder.†She held his hand surprisingly tightly. “Come to save Uaine.â€

+ +

“I don’t know if I can. Or if anybody can.â€

+ +

“If you cannot, then no-one can. I see into your heart, and it is true.â€

+ +

This time it was Jack’s turn to blush to his roots.

+ +

Kerry stepped forward. “Okay, Jack. Enough of the smooth talk. You can’t steal all the girls.â€

+ +

And suddenly the three friends burst into gales of laughter that was more a release of tension than anything else. Rionna just stared at them as if they had gone mad.

+ +

***

+

The laughter took a while to subside, and despite the circumstances, they felt strengthened by it. It was the one natural thing in this unnatural place.

+ +

They found a small chamber where Kerry had managed to light the wick of an old oil lamp. The feeble light made their faces glow in the gloom.

+ +

“So what next?†Kerry spoke, but all eyes were on Jack.

+ +

“We have two choices. Get the hell out of here – if we can even find a way out - or stay and find these Copperplates. They’re the answer.â€

+ +

“That’s no choice, Jack Flint, and you know it,†Corriwen snorted. “You didn’t venture alone through the faerie gate just to run away.â€

+ +

“No. I didn’t,†Jack replied.

+ +

“But it’s not just the Copperplates,†Kerry butted in. “It’s the heartstone too. That’s what Bodron wants. There’s two of them, and he’s already got one of them. Rionna told me.â€

+ +

Jack turned to Rionna. “Two heartstones? What’s this about?â€

+ +

“There are two heartstones,†Rionna explained. “I read it in his scripts. They are they key to all worlds. My father used the Copperplates to unlock the Dark Way. With the heartstones he can throw the gates open and let the demons from below into Uaine.â€

+ +

“Why would he want to do that?â€

+ +

“Because he is no longer my father. What came through the nether gate is now in him. It works its will through him.â€

+ +

“So what now?†Kerry repeated.

+ +

“I think it’s going to get really dangerous. I have to let you know the options.â€

+ +

“We know the options, Jack,†Kerry retorted. “We knew them on Temair and in Eirinn. We came with you no matter what. What’s the difference here?â€

+ +

“The difference is that I don’t know how to fight this,†Jack said. He was supposed to the one with the answers, but all he had were questions. “In Temair and in Eirinn, we knew what we were up against. We could see them. But how do you fight illusions? We don’t even know where we are or where we have to go.â€

+ +

“You could ask the Book of Ways,†Corriwen suggested. “It might tell us.â€

+ +

“I hope so, because I’m all out of ideas at the moment. We thought everything was okay until Megrin started to change into something…â€

+ +

“It wasn’t Megrin,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“It was a demon,†Rionna said. “Something conjured up from the underplace.â€

+

“It was like being in a nightmare,†Jack said.

+ +

“I know. Like when I used to have nightmares about thing with scaly claws hiding under my bed. And that’s what I saw sitting at that table, eating raw bloody meat. Scared the bejasus out of me.â€

+ +

“Will you get it back?†Rionna asked.

+ +

“Get what back?â€

+ +

“Your bejasus?â€

+ +

And for a second time, the three of them fell about laughing helplessly while Rionna watched them wide eyed and bewildered.

+ + +

“If we go on,†Jack continued, “and if we do find Megrin, then we will have to face him. Rionna’s father.â€

+ +

“I think it would be better for him to be free of its tyranny,†Rionna said. Her face was filled with sad acceptance. “One way or another.â€

+ +

“Consult the book,†Corriwen insisted again.

+ +

Jack sat down and the others joined him. He set the Book of Ways on the floor in front of them. It opened immediately and the pages whirred in succession as if stirred by a wind, then stopped.

+ +

They waited, but the page remained blank.

+ +

“Maybe the battery died,†Kerry said, trying lighten the mood.

+ +

Something dripped from above their heads. Jack caught a blur of movement.

+ +

A crimson blot appeared on the top of the page.

+ +

“What…?†Jack smelled the coppery scent of blood. As he fixed his eyes on the thick blot, it welled even thicker.

+ +

“Blood,†Corriwen hissed. Kerry was looking up, trying to see where it had come from, but there was no stain on the arched ceiling.

+ +

Jack concentrated on the page. The blot became a trickle, sluggishly moving across the page and then a line of it streaked diagonally downwards, as if drawn by a sharp nail. Jack jerked back.

+ +

Another line slashed two semi-circles on the first. It was a capital B. And without pause the invisible nail scrawled one word.

+ +

+ BLOOD.

+ +

Then it began to scrawl faster and faster until the page was filled with bloody words in jagged letters.

+ +

Blood to drink and flesh to rend

+

Children suffer ‘til the end

+

Feast on terror, feast on fright

+

Feast on eyes bereft of sight

+

Too late to flee, too late to run

+

The dying time has now begun

+

Mortal souls forever lost

+

The hour has come to pay the cost

+ +

“Jeez….†Kerry muttered.

+ +

“The writing’s all different,†Jack said aghast. “This can’t be right. It’s always warned us before, but that’s a threat!â€

+ +

And as he spoke the line of blood zig-zagged in a series of jolting lines beneath which a new line of words appeared like knife-slashed wounds

+ +

You are NOW + MINE!

+ +

The Book of Ways shuddered. Acrid fumes rose up from the violent lines of verse, and two tongues of flame appeared. The page began to burn through.

+ +

The Book bucked. Its leather covers flapped up and down. before Jack could move the Book snapped shut with the force of a hammer-blow.

+ +

For a moment all went still, but it was not over. The cover slowly creaked open again. Jack held his breath as the pages whirred once more. He expected to see a charred ruin, but instead when the pages stopped, all he saw was some fine ash that blew off the page like dust, leaving a clean blank leaf. He could see no other damage at all.

+ +

Now, new words began to appear on the pages, and this time they were written in the old familiar script.

+

+

Follow terror, follow fright

+

Walk beyond the darkest night

+

Fear behind, fear before

+

On until the final door

+

Madness there holds evil sway

+

Horror waits for mortal prey

+

Find the hidden secret room

+

Journeyman must face his doom

+ +

Jack looked up. His face was sickly pale.

+ +

“That’s the real message,†he said shakily. “The other one…that was from whatever is doing all this. It’s playing games with us.â€

+ +

“The second message is bad enough,†Kerry said.

+ +

For a long time, nobody spoke. Jack closed his eyes and rubbed them slowly, as if he was very tired.

+ +

“Well, we know where to go,†he finally said.

+ +

“I don’t understand,†Corriwen whispered.

+ +

“We just keep walking. The worse it gets, the closer we’ll be.â€

+ +

Kerry put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gripped tight.

+ +

“All for one,†he said. “We’re still with you.â€

+ + + + + + + +

CHAPTER 23

+ +

Megrin had reached out with her mind for Jack Flint and his friends and found only a void that made her heart sink with despair. For hours she stumbled through passages and tunnels, and as she descended, the hot smell of sulphur mixed with the dank reek of decay, in a foul mixture that would make a lesser human choke.

+ +

It was closer now, wreathed in shadows. Not Bodron. It was something from the shadowed underworld, something that had come through the dark way. It was powerful and completely devoid of any human quality.

+ +

The walked carefully on, almost feeling her way towards the source when there was a sudden shudder under her feet and in the fabric of the thick air. The jolt sent seismic tremors through the ground and she realised that something had happened.

+ +

She stopped in the gloom and slowed her breath. And then she felt it.

+ +

Jack Flint and his friends were here. They were far away, Jack and Kerry and Corriwen Redthorn, and still inside Bodron’s black reach. While her heart lurched at the thought of them in danger, a part of her surged in the knowledge that they were still alive.

+

+

It meant that the heartstone’s bearer was still pursuing his quest, as she had foreseen. His friends would be behind him every step of the way, no matter where it led.

+ +

It was that bravery and determination in the hearts of these three young people, that she had long known would be the only salvation for Uaine.

+ +

Megrin walked on towards whatever awaited her in the deep tunnels under Bodron’s keep.

+ +

She wanted to face Bodron before Jack Flint did, because he needed the heartstone to complete his master’s plans.

+ +

And that could mean only one thing. The final opening of the Dark Way between Uaine and the shadowlands below.

+ +

It could mean the end of everything.

+ +

***

+ +

“The worse it gets, the closer we’ll be,†Jack repeated, as they walked along the narrow tunnel.

+ +

It had been bad already, and none of them knew how bad it could get. But his friends were with him and that lent him courage.

+ +

“Which way then?†Kerry asked, when they reached a place where several passageways intersected. Jack didn’t reply for a moment, then he turned slowly from left to right, in almost a full circle. He stopped and pointed to the left.

+ +

“That way,†he said.

+ +

“How do you know?†Rionna’s voice was a whisper in the gloom.

+ +

“I don’t know how. I think the heartstone knows where danger lies.â€

+ +

“I’m scared already,†Kerry admitted. His short-sword was out, but he had a fair idea it wouldn’t be much good against nightmares.

+ +

He’d much rather be on the banks of Rionna’s stream, catching trout with his bare hands and soaking up the sun. In fact, he told himself, he’d rather be anywhere at all.

+ +

“Might as well get it over with,†he added, even though his heart was pounding. “Just as long as I don’t meet the monster with claws from under my bed, I’ll be fine.â€

+ +

He walked behind the others, guarding their backs, with Rionna ahead and Corriwen close on Jack’s heels. There wasn’t room to walk side by side

+ +

The tunnel sloped down in a slow spiral, and as they descended, the air grew thicker. Corriwen held the little oil-lamp at shoulder-height and the tiny flame allowed Jack to see a couple of feet ahead, but no more.

+ +

The heartstone pulsed steadily, stronger than before. Jack bit back his apprehension and led them on, while the walls grew narrower still until his shoulders scraped against them on either side.

+ +

“We can’t go much further,†Corriwen said. “It’s getting too narrow.â€

+ +

“I can feel the ground shake,†Kerry said. “That can’t be good.â€

+ +

Jack had felt the tremors underfoot. He prayed that they would get through this before the roof came down and buried them all. He forced his feet to keep walking until a blast of hot air came barrelling at them from ahead and snuffed the lamp out.

+ +

Darkness engulfed them and Jack felt a powerful sense of claustrophobia. The scorched air buffeted them and passed on. For a second there was silence, followed by an odd rasping sound, like hoarse whispers in the distance.

+ +

“Light,†Jack hissed. “We need light.â€

+ +

A spark told him Kerry's flint lighter was doing its best and then flame whooshed into life. He re-lit the lamp. Jack turned to lead on.

+ +

Fine gauzy threads scraped past his face, snagging stickily on his skin. All around, filaments stretched in zig-zag patterns, a cat’s cradle of strings that criss-crossed from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. Jack touched one and it stuck to his hand like glue. He tugged hard and it yielded, stretching the other threads in soft vibrations of sound.

+ +

Above them something scraped on stone. Corriwen raised the lamp and looked up.

+ +

Four pairs of red eyes reflected the tiny flame. Pin-points in the shadows.

+ +

“Oh, Jack,†Kerry whispered. “I know what that is.â€

+ +

“What?â€

+ +

Before Kerry could reply, the eyes moved, and fast. Something the size of a big rat bounded along one silken thread, making it twang as it moved. Jack glimpsed a number of pinioning legs and before he could yell a warning, a huge spider leapt from the web and landed square on Corriwen’s head.

+ +

Her scream of pure horror cut Jack like a knife. He had never heard Corriwen scream before.

+ +

For an instant Jack was rooted to the spot. He saw the spider’s its legs flex as it raised a grotesque head. He saw two yellow curves below the four eyes as it braced itself to strike.

+ +

Corriwen whirled and her free hand swung up to bat the thing away.

+ +

“Get it off me! Get if off!â€

+ +

Her desperate cry broke Jack’s paralysis. The great sword shot out before even knew he had moved and sliced the bloated spider in half with one clean sweep just before the fangs plunged into Corriwen’s eyes.

+ +

Corriwen shuddered and stumbled back, tangled in a strand which broke from its anchor on the wall and whipped round her leg, sending her sprawling. The whole web thrummed like a bass string, making all the thick threads vibrate in unison.

+ +

Overhead, what looked like thin twigs waved in the air from hollows in the stonework. Jack saw them and snatched at Corriwen’s hand, dragging her upright. The web was still snagged round her ankle and as she moved, it set up a strange harmonic in the strings.

+ +

“Are you okay?†Jack asked.

+ +

“I’ve had better days,†she gasped. “But I’ll live.â€

+ +

“Don’t worry,†Kerry snorted. “They’re only bugs.â€

+ +

Above his head two of the thin twigs curved down to tap rhythmically on web. Then something even bigger than the first hauled out from its hole in the stone, fangs dripping. Another monstrous spider launched itself, swinging on its own silk, eyes as red as flame.

+ +

It lurched across the web. Jack recoiled when saw a fat body as big as a cat, trailing sticky lines. On the opposite side, two more emerged, and came scrabbling towards them.

+ +

Corriwen slashed at the web. It took two swings to cut the sticky line. Kerry jabbed his sword at the scuttling spider, but it dodged to the side as if it read his mind. It landed just above his head then pounced, faster than the eye could follow. Jointed legs snagged on either side of his shoulders. Kerry yelped and threw his shoulders against the wall, hoping to crush the thing, but just as quickly it crawled into his head, holding tight with hairy legs.

+ +

Corriwen’s knife flashed in front of Kerry's eyes and split the thing’s pulsing abdomen. A spray of fine silk hosed out. She swung again and the knife cut straight through the narrow waist, and the spider dropped like a melon to splatter on the floor.

+ +

Corriwen glanced at Kerry. His face white, but he managed a half-smile and gave her a thumbs up.

+ +

“Spiderwoman saves the day!â€

+ +

“Only bugs!†she retorted, stepping close to give him a fast peck on his nose. “All bravado.â€

+ +

“Back,†Jack yelled. His sword cut an arc in the air, slicing through the web. It parted with a snap and two spiders catapulted off. Kerry speared one on the point of his blade. The other disappeared into the shadows.

+ +

“Back where?†Corriwen asked. She looked around wildly, searching for a way to escape, but there were no exits.

+ +

“We have to get out.†Rionna cried. She was unarmed and defenceless. There were hordes of spiders all over the web, and more emerging from holes, a mass of scuttling legs and glittering eyes.

+ +

Then a truly monstrous spider came scrambling down the wall, eyes glaring, fangs up and ready to strike. It was knee-high and covered in spiked hairs.

+ +

Jack braced himself to meet it head on. The heartstone kicked against his breast.

+ +

He slashed the blade down. The creature dodged it, quick as a flash. It launched itself into the air. Jack managed to hit it with the flat of the sword and it thudded against the wall, bounced and came straight at Kerry who ducked in pure reflex. As it flew over him, it trailed a skein of wet web which dropped around his shoulders. Then the spider swung in a circle, wrapping Kerry's head in a mass of sticky threads.

+ +

Jack dashed forward, trying to stab, while the thing spun round and around until Kerry's head was shrouded and his muffled cry could hardly be heard. Jack paused, waiting for a chance to kill it without harming Kerry, while that the pure note made his ears ring. Corriwen was half-turned, eyes wide, both knives trying to slash at Kerry's attacker.

+ +

Then another sound, even more powerful and clear, soared to overwhelm the heartstone. The walls shuddered and Jack felt the floor shiver under his feet.

+

+

Rionna was standing stock still, hands clamped against her temples, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Her mouth was open wide and the sound that came from it vibrated the walls.

+ +

When the sound rose to a crescendo, the big spider twitched and then it froze, still hunched on Kerry's back, fangs an inch from his neck. In a split second of clarity Jack lunged past Kerry's head, stabbing right between those fangs, straight and true, up to the hilt.

+ +

As Jack pushed Kerry to the side, he felt an acid bite as the spider-blood sprayed across the skin of his arm. With a desperate effort, he spun around, dragging the spider away. It flew off the sword and hit the wall with a pulpy crack and fell dead.

+ +

Beside him, Jack saw Corriwen’s blades flicker as she jabbed and slashed, right and left, quick and expert, as limber as a ballerina, making each thrust count. Kerry got back to his feet and clawed at the web around his face until he was free and took a huge breath of air. When he stopped panting he swung again and lashed out in fury scattering the scuttling creatures right and left.

+ +

Rionna’s song soared to an incredible peak, and in front of her, Jack saw the walls were shimmering in and out of focus, like ripples on water.

+ +

Suddenly she dashed forward and grabbed Corriwen’s wrist.

+ +

“Come on,†she cried. “There’s no time.â€

+ +

She dragged Corriwen with her, straight for the wavering wall. It seemed to swallow them in the blink of an eye.

+ +

Jack swung his blade, clearing a path through the wave of monstrous spiders, feeling his feet splash in puddles of their blood. He hacked at the webs until he reached the spot where Corriwen and Rionna had vanished, turned and hauled at Kerry and they both slumped against the wall.

+ +

Everything went black as they fell into it.

+ +

For a second he had a dizzying sense of weightlessness.

+ +

The next thing he knew, there were flames all around him.

+ + + + + + +

+ CHAPTER 23

+ + + +

The heat was so intense Jack could feel the hairs on his eyebrows twist as they scorched.

+ +

Gouts of flame spurted all them and the blast-furnace roar was louder than any jet engine Jack had ever heard. Black fumes rolled over them, clogging their throats and lungs as they dodged pillars of fire, stumbling, half-blinded, choking and coughing.

+ +

“Where are we now?†Kerry rasped. Corriwen was bent over in a fit of coughing. Jack held her arm.

+ +

“I don’t know where this is,†Rionna admitted. “I had no time to seek a haven. I sang blind and here we are.â€

+ +

The pillars of fire rose to a blinding white as they watched, then faded to orange before roaring back up to full height and heat as if some monstrous bellows deep underground were pumping in and out.

+ +

Beyond where they stood together, Jack saw a fissure which split the chamber from floor to ceiling. With every pulse of flame, billowing smoke was sucked into it. It had to lead somewhere, he thought.

+ +

He pulled the others close so they could hear him above the noise, and even then he had to shout. “I think there’s a way out. When the flare dies down, we can get through that crack.

+ +

“Let’s go for it then.†Kerry looked Jack in the eye. “Just don’t get it wrong, or we’re toast.â€

+ +

Jack stood up. He told Corriwen to hold on to his sword-belt. Rionna gripped Corriwen’s cape. Kerry had nothing to hold on to, but he stayed only a step behind.

+ +

As soon as the flare reached its peak, Jack told them all to run. He led the way and for one moment it looked as if he would run straight into the pillar of fire, but when he was only steps away from the searing heat, the flame shrank back down into the vent. Jack had timed it exactly right. He leapt over it, dragging Corriwen with him. Rionna was swung off her feet. Kerry snatched the neck of her tunic in mid-leap and held her upright, like a rag-doll.

+ +

Blistering heat struck Jack’s face like a physical wave and was so bright it seared their eyes. Kerry heard a gout of flame explode behind him as he ran after the others. Hot air blasted at his back, pushing all of them even faster into the fissure until it abruptly widened and they stumbled out.

+ +

“That was too close,†Kerry gasped. “I think my backside’s barbecued.â€

+ +

“But we made it,†Jack said.

+ +

“To where?†Corriwen asked. She was looking out into a vast cavern. In its centre three colossal pillars stood in a triangle and on top of them, like a tabletop, lay a massive flat stone.

+ +

Underneath it, a profound darkness.

+ +

High above them, like a darkening sky, Jack could see a mass of cloud or smoke turning in a slow circle like the eye of a storm. Bolts of lightning sparked within it.

+ +

A sudden blast of wind struck them hard. Corriwen was knocked off her feet before Kerry had a chance to grab her hand. Jack and Rionna were bowled after them, but Kerry managed to snag his fingers in a crack and held on. Corriwen slammed into him, then Jack and Rionna, and still Kerry held tight.

+ +

The shrieking gale buffeted them against the rock wall before it began to abate. The storm overhead them kept spinning in a dark spiral.

+ +

Corriwen helped Rionna to her feet and looked across the cavern.

+ +

“Look there!†She pointed to the far side of the great chamber.

+ +

On the wall directly opposite, shimmering lines of blue light spread filaments of luminescence on the wall. From the centre of the light, a small figure emerged, walking slowly. From her posture, even at that distance, Jack recognised Megrin and relief surged through him until he saw what she was up against.

+ +

Megrin held her staff raised high in both hands as she walked towards the stone table. The light flickered from its carved head as blinding shards of lightning forked down at her from the vortex. Megrin didn’t flinch, but held her staff steady so that the deadly bolts struck an invisible barrier above her head.

+ +

The smell of scorched stone drifted thick on the air. Kerry sneezed violently and held a hand over his nose..

+ +

“You come to your doom, witch.†A voice so loud and deep it made the rock resonate.

+ +

“And still I come,†Megrin’s reply came clear and strong. “I will not leave until I have what you have stolen from Uaine.â€

+ +

“You will never leave this place, spellbinder. This is your final destination.â€

+ +

“Show yourself. Your tricks could not stop me before. They will not now.â€

+ +

He laughed. An unseen presence, but his laugh was powerful and vicious. It did not sound human.

+ +

“Where is he?†Corriwen asked, scanning the chamber. On its chain around Jack’s neck, the heartstone was thrumming once more. He could hear it loud in his head.

+ +

Megrin strode forward, straight towards the stone table in the centre of the chamber.

+

+

Between the upright pillars, Jack caught a movement. The dark underneath the table-stone swirled and from its depths he saw another figure appear.

+ +

He was tall, much taller than Megrin, and thin, and he clutched a long black staff. His face was hidden in deep shadows under a cowl, but his hands showed white as bone. He reminded Jack of Fainn the mad Spellbinder of Wolfen Castle, and not only in his appearance. Jack sensed evil radiate from him, and an emptiness that was the complete absence of any human quality.

+ +

Jack understood now what Rionna had meant. This might have been her father once, but what he was now, Jack couldn’t begin to guess.

+ +

Megrin continued towards the shadowy figure, her head held high. Her adversary remained in the shadow under the stone. He raised a thin hand and pointed his forefinger. They heard him chant a string of guttural words and then thunder exploded and Megrin was blasted backwards off her feet. Before she could move, the ground around her began to writhe and buckle. The stone mounds swelled and elongated into slender shapes. They branched at their tips and began to flex.

+ +

“Hands!†Jack heard the disbelief in Corriwen’s voice.

+ +

But they were hands. Hands of moving stone that reached for Megrin, pinioning her arms and legs, smothering her in their grip.

+ +

“We have to help her,†Corriwen cried. Before Jack could stop her she was off and running, but he knew it was the wrong thing to do. He knew they needed to stop for a moment and think.

+ +

Corriwen had forced his hand. She was twenty paces away before he reacted and then he too was running, drawing his sword as he hared after her.

+

***

+

Kerry saw the cowled figure turn towards him and Rionna. Its black staff pointed directly at them. Something unseen whickered past his ear and hit the wall behind them. Kerry turned to take Rionna’s hand and follow Jack and Corrie across the chamber.

+ +

Then he saw Rionna’s face was white with shock.

+ +

A tall shadow oozed from the stone wall, taking shape as it approached. Kerry saw a wizened woman in tattered rags reach and take Rionna by the shoulders. A face as dry and cracked as old parchment bent towards her as a slit mouth opened.

+ +

“My little girl,†it said in a voice like shifting sand. “Come back to find your mother.â€

+ +

Kerry saw that what he had thought were deep-set eyes were not eyes at all, just sunken pits in a crumbling skull. Hanks of straggly grey hair had fallen off in patches and stuck to its mouldering hood. The hands were long and skeletal, covered in a thin membrane that looked as if it would flake to powder at a touch.

+ +

“Good child….†It hissed. “Loving child.â€

+ +

Rionna stood frozen. She looked as if she might simply faint with fright.

+ +

The apparition drew Rionna into its embrace.

+ +

“Come and love your mother, child. Be with me now.â€

+ +

Rionna seemed to wilt. Her knees buckled and her body slumped. For a moment Kerry was too stunned to move as he saw Rionna’s cheeks draw into hollows. Her skin seemed to dry out like a fallen leaf in hot sun.

+ +

“It’s killing her!†The thought jolted him out of his paralysis. The thing, whatever it was, whatever it had been, was sucking the life from her. Even as he watched, the gaunt abomination seemed to fill out as if it was feeding on Rionna’s very life.

+ +

A huge anger, more powerful than any he had felt in his life, surged through him.

+ +

“Get your filthy hands off her,†he bawled, leaping forward and drawing his short-sword in one practiced motion. He closed the distance in four paces, angling the point upwards and thrusting straight-armed.

+ +

The blade went through it with hardly any resistance at all. Dry dust puffed out where the sword had pierced. Kerry drew back and stabbed again. The monstrosity turned its peeling face towards him and its mouth opened, showing a black hole lined with long, brown teeth. Rionna’s breathing sounded ragged and desperate as the spectre drew her closer still.

+ +

“I said…†He stabbed again, and again and again… “leave…. her…alone!“

+ +

The mangy cloak was puckered with holes, but Kerry's attack appeared to have no other effect. It was still turned towards him, sunken sockets regarding him mercilessly. Rionna was sagging now, and disappearing into the tatters and Kerry suddenly knew that if this dead thing enveloped her, she’d be lost forever.

+ +

He swung the sword down in a slant, wanting to cut the apparition in half.

+ +

A long arm snapped out and bony fingers clenched around his throat.

+ +

Kerry gasped as his breath was instantly cut off. And then, shockingly, he was swung right off his feet. The sword spun from his hand and clanged on the floor. The hand that held him drew him forward, right up close to the mummified skull. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as the fingers squeezed tight. He could smell musty dry rot and mould. Up close, dusty cobwebs hung from the straggly hair. The grip tightened and he felt his vision begin to waver.

+ +

The mouth opened even wider, only inches away from his eyes. Cracked lips pulled back to reveal long teeth.

+ +

Kerry panicked. He was helpless in the inexorable grasp, hands flailing for anything to use to break free. He fumbled in his pocket, wishing he had his penknife, or a rock, or anything sharp. All he found was the little lighter that he’d used to light the lamp in the tunnel. Like a drowning man, he clutched at it and drew it free. Maybe he could jam it in the eye socket.

+ +

But instinct took over. His thumb found the little wheel and snapped down. Sparks jumped. A whoosh of flame leapt from his fingers and raced up the tattered threads of its cloak.

+ +

It made a wavery whump sound, the way the marsh gas had ignited in the bogs of Eirinn. In an instant, the shoulders and cowl were wreathed in crackling fire. Flames stuttered along the sleeve of the hand that held him by the throat. He saw them coming straight for his eyes, twisted and kicked, and suddenly he was falling free. He landed on his feet, spun towards the burning shape, ignoring the sudden heat and snatched at Rionna’s almost-hidden form. His fingers found her slender arms and he threw them both to the side while the dead thing that had caught them both spun faster and faster, hissing like a steam vent and collapsing in on itself as the updraught fanned the flames.

+ +

Rionna shivered against him, and he held her tight as she gasped great breaths and warmth began to return to her body. Then she burst into sudden tears.

+ +

“Don’t,†Kerry said hoarsely. His throat felt as if it had been squeezed flat. “That wasn’t your mother.â€

+ +

She sobbed against him.

+ +

“It’s a trick,†he insisted. “It’s all a trick. You said yourself….it gets in your head and twists everything.â€

+ +

He felt her nod her agreement into the curve of his neck.

+ +

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. Cross my heart and hope to die.â€

+ +

She raised her head to look at him with those luminous eyes. But before either of them had a chance to speak, on the far side of the chamber Corriwen Redthorn screamed like a banshee.

+ +

***

+ +

Jack and Corriwen ran a murderous gauntlet, blasted by jagged shrapnel from where bolts of lightning struck the ground. The stone hands were dragging Megrin down. She desperately reached for her staff, but it lay just beyond her grasp.

+ +

Corriwen launched herself at the mass of stone imprisoning Megrin and began to hammer at the rocky fingers with the hilt of her knife. Jack went after the staff, but it spun away and he stumbled.

+ +

It rolled further away from him, then rose into the air, spinning slowly as it gained height and floated towards the darkness underneath the table stone where her adversary stood.

+ +

The cowled figure beckoned silently and Megrin’s staff soared towards him. In seconds it would be within his grasp.

+ +

Jack knew he had to do something, and fast.

+ +

On top the stone slab, something polished reflected light back into his eyes, dazzling him for an instant. He screwed his eyes up against the glare and ran for Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Corriwen saw a streak of motion. One second Jack was turning. The next he was a blur, given miraculous speed by Rune’s boots. He leapt for the staff, hands stretched above him. She saw his fingers snatch at it in the air.

+ +

Jack’s whole body shuddered as he grabbed the staff just before Bodron reached for it. A huge shock ran through him and he almost lost his grip.

+ +

Corriwen heard his cry of surprise and pain, and saw him fall to the ground, the staff firmly clenched in both hands.

+ +

The hooded figure roared.

+ + + + + + + + +

CHAPTER 23

+ + + +

Jack’s knees buckled as he hit the ground. Bodron roared again, and the cavern walls shook. He pointed the black staff and forks of orange light stabbed at Jack who twisted and rolled while flares exploded all around him. Megrin’s staff bucked and juddered in his grasp as it dragged him forward, but he held on tight, even though the friction burned the skin of his hands. Kerry yelled a warning as Jack tried to dig his heels in the ground, straining against the force that pulled him inexorably towards where Bodron stood waiting in the shadow.

+ +

When he was almost under the table stone, skeletal fingers reached forward, but not for Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Jack tried to squirm away when he saw the heartstone on its chain had slipped from his tunic. And whatever power Bodron exerted on Jack was also pulling the stone, for it had swung out, almost a foot away from Jack’s face. Bodron’s eyes blazed like headlights and Jack saw that though he might have human shape, those eyes burned with hell-fire.

+ +

“Bring it to me!†The glee in Bodron’s voice was unmistakeable.

+ +

“Never!†Jack grated. He groaned with the strain as he tried to pull back from Bodron’s reaching hand, and fumbled desperately for the great sword hilt. He would never give up his father’s heartstone. Not without a fight.

+ +

Kerry knew the fiend wanted the Journeyman’s heartstone. They had been through enough to know that if it got it, then everything was lost.

+ +

Jack Flint was the best friend he had ever had. The best anybody ever had. He had saved Kerry's life a dozen times or more. And Kerry had come through the gate to Uaine because he didn’t want Jack Flint to face danger alone.

+ +

A hot anger burned inside him. If Jack ever needed him, he needed him now.

+ +

As he started to run towards where Jack struggled, Kerry scooped up a heavy piece of rock. With his free hand he unshipped his sling from his belt, fitted the rock in the cradle and swung it around his head.

+ +

Ahead of him, something on top of the table-stone caught the lightning flash and sent a blinding beam into his eyes. Kerry squinted and tried to ignore it. He braced himself, torqued his shoulders and launched the stone with all his strength.

+ +

Behind him he could hear Corriwen yelling but he ignored that too and threw himself headlong at Jack in a flying tackle that knocked him sideways. Jack landed hard, with Kerry on top of him. Megrin’s staff was jarred from of his grip and tumbled away. As they disentangled themselves two pale shapes resolved into the two white goshawks that swooped down, talons agape and seized it.

+ +

The rock took Bodron between the eyes. He staggered backwards, arms flailing and as he stumbled into the shadow he lost his grip on the black staff.

+ +

Corriwen and Rionna watched in amazement as the darkness under the stone enveloped Bodron, folding around him until he vanished from sight. The ground heaved.

+ +

Corriwen saw the dark mass pulse. Its blistered surface began to swell into bloated tendrils that inflated and burst free. Where they landed, they twisted and elongated. She saw the tendrils become jointed arms and legs that flexed and straightened, supporting thin warted bodies on top of which wizened heads glared with blinkless yellow eyes.

+ +

She shrieked a warning.

+ +

Both Jack and Kerry turned and froze.

+ +

The pieces of the dark mass had become shapes from Jacks deepest nightmares. In an instant he was catapulted back to his memory to the desperate race through the forest, a baby in his father’s arms, while pale-eyed shadows hounded them every step of the way towards the homeward gate.

+ +

“What in the name of - “ Kerry blurted.

+ +

Those eyes fixed on them hungrily. Long arms reached out. Two-clawed toes scrabbled on stone.

+ +

Nightshades.

+ +

Behind them, Bodron emerged from the enfolding dark and Jack saw that he had changed utterly. He loomed twice as tall. His face was contorted, his skin swelling and puckering as if something inside was trying to get out. Under the cowl his eyes were aflame.

+ +

“Journeyman…†Bodron’s voice rumbled. It pointed a long finger at Jack.

+ +

“Journeyman’s whelp. I destroyed your father long ago and sent him where none return. But you bear that which I desire. Give it to me now and you might still have life, of a kind.â€

+ +

A fierce anger erupted in Jack’s chest. This beast was responsible for it all. The loss of his father; the years of uncertainty and mystery. And the darkness that infested Uaine. Before he spit out a response, it spoke again.

+ +

“Or my nightshades will feast, and I will have it then.â€

+ +

“Not a chance,†Kerry cried. “You’ll have to take it from his cold, dead hands. If you can!â€

+ +

“Thanks, Kerry,†Jack groaned.

+ +

“No problem. I heard it in a movie. The good guys won.â€

+ +

The demon rumbled again. “Deny me and suffer forever. It was I who sent the nightshades to herd you to the stone gates. It was I who brought you here. You are mine.â€

+ +

Jack drew the great sword, unsure whether it would be of any use as Bodron and the shades stalked towards them.

+ +

“I came here of my own free will,†he cried, quivering, not with fear, but anger. “You didn’t bring me. The Sky Queen sent me. I came to find my father. But now I am here to take my revenge for what you have done.â€

+ +

The heartstone throbbed violently. Jack’s sword was in his hands and surging with its own life.

+ +

“You are nothing. Just smoke and mirrors. You don’t belong in any world.â€

+ +

He and Kerry stood shoulder to shoulder. Kerry reached a hand and clasped his arm.

+ +

“Sorry Jack. About your dad.†Even as the nightshades advanced, he squeezed Jack’s arm tight, a gesture of solidarity. “Let’s do it for him. We’re in a corner. The only way out is to do it to them before they do it to us.â€

+ +

“The only way,†Jack repeated, nodding. His chin was set, knuckles white.

+ +

Corriwen cried out a warning. Something flicked over Jack’s shoulder and hit the nearest shade between its narrow shoulders. The arrow struck with no sound. And no obvious effect. It passed through the shade and emerged on the other side to drop uselessly to the ground.

+ +

Then suddenly behind Jack and Kerry, something exploded. When Jack spun around, ready to defend himself he saw Megrin was on her feet. Her face was expressionless and calm.

+ +

The stone hands that had pinned her down were flying away in fragments. She had her staff in her hands and blue fire ran up and down its length. The two white birds wheeled above her.

+ +

Corriwen was on one knee. She drew Jack’s amberhorn bow back as she searched for another target. Before she could shoot, Megrin touched her on the shoulder and made a sign over Jack’s quiver of black arrows. A dazzling light arced between the staff and the obsidian arrowheads.

+ +

“Fight darkness with light,†she said softly. “It is always so.â€

+ +

Corriwen nodded. She drew back until the feather-flights brushed her cheek and let loose. A blue streak that flashed between Jack and Kerry as the arrow took the nearest nightshade in its bulging eye. It screamed. Black fumes poured out from its eye and its head to melted like tar.

+ +

Behind it Bodron snarled in fury.

+ +

Corriwen aimed again, feeling a strange sense of energy pass from the glowing arrow, through the bow, to her fingers. More nightshades surged forward, claws reaching for Jack and Kerry.

+ +

Jack attacked the horde, slashing his sword right and left. As he sliced down on the crown of the nearest nightshade, it felt to as if he hit solid stone, but the blade didn’t falter. It made a sickly crunch and drove right down between the eyes. The two halves of the hideous head fell apart like a cut fruit.

+ +

Kerry tried to launch a heavy rock but as he swung back, a claw reached for him and grabbed his wrist with inhuman strength. A shock of cold riveted up his arm and then all sensation faded, and the sling dropped from his numb fingers. His arm was still outstretched but as rigid as wood.

+ +

Jack whirled to help him and in one fluid motion, severed the claw that gripped Kerry's arm, then spun away to face the rest of them. Kerry sank to his knees as the cold surged through his veins.

+ +

Rionna rushed to him, oblivious to the danger. She snatched the claw that still gripped Kerry's arm, tugged it free and let it drop to the ground. It hit with a wet splat and collapsed into shiny black rivulets that soaked into cracks in the stone. She put her hands round Kerry's chest and tried to drag him away.

+ +

Bodron suddenly leapt at them and his mighty hand clamped on Rionna’s head. He lifted her effortlessly up to his eye level.

+ +

“Traitor!†His voice was a vicious snarl. “The spellbinder’s own spawn betrays him.â€

+ +

Bodron swung its staff down with deadly force.

+ +

Kerry yelled out, still on his knees. He drew his short-sword left-handed and stabbed upwards into Bodron’s armpit. As the point struck its mark, Kerry was smashed backwards and fell to the ground, twitching. He lay unable to move as baleful orange light rippled over him in fiery snakes.

+ +

Rionna’s eyes were wide with terror as she faced her father. He was now unrecognisable as anything human. The black staff swung towards her.

+ +

Then Megrin’s staff shot out and stopped it, inches from her face. Sparks of brilliant light exploded where the two staffs touched. Bodron’s grip on Rionna’s head opened and she fell away.

+ +

Jack desperately slashed at the nightshades. From beyond the melee, Corriwen launched arrow after arrow, watching the creatures implode and melt, and Jack began to think they might have a chance.

+ +

But he was backed into a corner, jabbing and hacking and with every strike, the nightshades shrank back only a little, and then surged forward, barricading him tightly against the chamber wall.

+ +

Corriwen stopped shooting. Despite her skill with the bow, there was now too much of a risk of hitting Jack as the nightshades crowded in on him. She drew both knives and ran forward to fight by his side, but before she reached him, they them suddenly pushed forward until Jack was completely lost from view.

+ +

Jack was surrounded by glaring eyes and hooking claws, squeezed in tight against the stone and without enough space to swing the sword. A long, bony claw reached for the heartstone.

+ +

Corriwen’s heart kicked and she screeched a warning.

+ +

Reacting on pure instinct Jack suddenly launched himself over the heads of the nightshades. Corriwen saw him suddenly appear over the mass of attackers as they closed in. Thin arms, quick as striking snakes, tried to hook him from the air, but not quick enough. One claw shot out, but it only snagged the satchel that swung from Jack’s shoulders. Something ripped, but his momentum powered him on.

+ +

Rune’s boots made Jack fly like an acrobat, tumbling through the air. The sword-blade reflected the blue and orange light from where Megrin and Bodron were locked together in blistering streams of their own power.

+ +

Jack landed, light as a cat. He turned fast, expecting to see nightshades surging after him and it took him a second to realise that he was not on the ground.

+ +

He could see Megrin and Bodron far below him. Corriwen was running towards Kerry and Rionna. Jack was high above them, high on the flat table stone supported by the three immense rock pillars.

+ +

Whatever had almost blinded him before now glinted in the corner of his vision and when he turned he saw a circle of burnished metal pages each etched with intricate figures and strange script.

+ +

The Copperplates.

+

+

He knew they could be nothing else.

+ +

They blazed with supernatural power. Twenty-one gleaming plates of copper. Not standing, but somehow hovering in a perfect circle. Directly above them, the dark storm spun slowly, crackling with lightning.

+ +

Jack stepped forward towards the centre of the table-stone.

+ +

***

+ +

Coriwen reached Kerry and Rionna. She pointed up at the great table stone.

+ +

“Bodron’s too strong,†Kerry cried. “Can you shoot him?â€

+ +

“They are too close,†Rionna said. “She is binding him….it.“

+ +

But Corriwen ignored them, still pointing up at the stones.

+ +

“Look…up there.â€

+ +

Kerry and Rionna raised their heads and saw Jack high on the table-stone. He held the great sword out in front of him. Around him, polished metal gleamed. They saw him walk forward, towards the centre of the stone.

+ +

And then he disappeared completely.

+ + + + + + + +

+ CHAPTER 25

+ + +

Jack started towards the centre of the circle. The copperplates hung suspended, each polished surface facing him. The sword was still in Jack’s hand and the heartstone vibrated against his ribs.

+ +

The beauty of the gleaming metal plates and the intricate patterns etched on their surfaces drew him in to their core. He was helpless to resist.

+ +

When as he stepped within the circle, everything beyond the Copperplates faded away. He could sense immense power surging around him.

+ +

Jack looked in the surface of one of the plates. For an instant he saw himself reflected in its depths and his vision blurred. He felt a sudden dizzy sensation and without warning a blinding pain exploded between his eyes. He cried out as everything went black.

+ +

He floated up to the surface, struggling for breath. Behind him the falls of Temair thundered to foam. He gasped a breath and went under again, searching for Kerry who had fallen with him. Down into the depths he swam, while slender creatures with wide eyes swam around and he felt amongst the weeds until he found something. He grabbed at it, pulled himself lower…

+ +

Kerry's pale face swayed in the current, mouth wide, eyes colourless, staring at him with contempt.

+ +

Jack jerked back in horror, swallowed a mouthful of bitter water…

+ +

…and he was on the shifting slab on the brimstone flow in Temair’s badlands. Corriwen reached for his hand to help him but he didn’t risk taking it and she slipped backwards into the fire. Steam hissed and he saw her flesh burn away as she sank into it until all he could see were her accusing eyes…

+ +

He cringed from the sight, then found himself at the bottom of the stairwell in the Major’s house back home. The Major’s shotgun lay rusted beside a pile of bones. A skull glared blindly at him, and a babble of voices clamoured in his head.

+ +

“You let me drown!†Kerry's voice was cold and watery.

+

+

“No! I’d never let you !†The words formed in Jack mind but wouldn’t come out.

+

+

“You could have saved me…†Corriwen was a whisper in his ear.

+ +

“Please. No!â€

+

+

“You brought the darkness into my home…†The Major accused him.

+ +

Jack moaned and clapped his hands over his ears to banish the voices. Something punched him in the belly. Punched again. Hit a third time.

+ +

His eyes opened….

+ +

And he was out of the nightmare, still on the table stone. Now the Copperplates were spinning around him in a slow a circle, like parts of gleaming carousel, matching the swirling storm high overhead. Jack could feel their collective power shunt around him and through him.

+ +

A fourth blow to the stomach almost knocked the wind from him and he raised himself up on two hands.

+ +

The satchel was jerking violently, kicking hard just under his ribs. The straps had worked themselves loose.

+ +

“Nightmare!†Jack tried to tell himself. Rionna had told them that the dark power fed on the fear it created in human minds. Within the ring of the Copperplates, that power seemed magnified a hundredfold. It had reached into his mind, seeking out his worst terrors and made them real.

+ +

Whatever controlled these ancient talismans had the power to drive a world to the edge of madness. He had to stop Bodron.

+ +

Jack scrambled away, not wanting to see what might crawl out of the bag. But as he stood up, he saw Bodron twist away from Megrin and point his black staff up at him. As he did so, the Copperplates began to whirl faster and faster, like shining blades cutting the air and worse, the circle was shrinking, squeezing in on him.

+ +

At the edge of his vision, the gargoyle creatures were now clambering over the rim of the table-stone. The Nightshades had found him again

+ +

He was trapped. As the copperplates closed in, he realised he was helpless. Jack sank to his haunches, sword drawn, ready to roll under the whirling plates, even if he had to face the Nightshades. As he did so, his bag bucked again.

+ +

The Book of Ways tumbled out. Its old leather cover flipped open.

+ +

Without warning, the whirling Copperplates broke formation. Overhead a jagged fork of lightning stabbed down into the stone. Jack was almost hurled off his feet. One plate came slashing towards him. He rolled and it sliced a bare inch past his head. Thrown off balance, Jack tried to steady himself. His hand landed on The Book of Ways.

+ +

The heartstone throbbed with a power that surged through Jack and arced between his fingers and the pages of the Book.

+ +

Another of the Copperplates lanced in at him, straight at his eyes.

+ +

The Book bucked in his hands, pages whirring, but he was hardly aware of it as the Copperplate spun in like a blade whistling toward him through the air.

+ +

Before he could move, the Book of Ways leapt up and snapped shut on it with a sound like a hammer-blow. The force pushed Jack backwards, but he managed to hold on to the book’s spine. It bucked again, like a living thing, almost throwing him off balance and when it opened again, Jack saw a flash of gold that quickly faded to white. The Copperplate’s symbols stood out starkly on the page and then sank into the surface, leaving it clean and white again.

+ +

The Book suddenly felt heavy in his hands, as if it had absorbed a great weight. Jack’s fingers tingled. Another copperplate came streaking towards him. The Book opened to meet it and it vanished into the snapping pages.

+ +

One by one, while thunder roared and nightshades hovered, ready to pounce, the spinning copperplates whirred in at Jack and the book rose to meet them and swallow them in its pages.

+ +

When it had captured the last of them, the Book’s weight forced Jack to his knees. For one last time, the cover opened again, the old pages now blazing with searing white light. The Book lifted from his hands as it shot out a blinding beam which speared upwards towards the centre of the swirling black storm overhead.

+ +

For a second, the air around him seemed to crystallise. Then whole world exploded

+

+

The blast was so bright, Jack could see the bones of his hand through his skin and flesh. A sound like a hundred jet engines cracked the solid rock high overhead.

+ +

The nightshades were caught in a blast of intense heat and turned to vapour in the blink of an eye.

+ +

Huge stalactites speared down and shattered to a million flying shards. Jack looked up and saw an enormous spear of rock coming straight for him. He jerked backwards and it struck the table stone with such force the platform cracked in two.

+ +

Jack felt the whole structure tilt slowly. Instinctively he leapt off, sword in one hand, Book in the other and landed on solid ground as the massive stone structure collapsed. All around the great chamber, the rock walls began to melt and flow.

+ +

Bodron screamed in impotent fury. His back arched and his mouth yawned like a cave. Behind him the table-stone slumped into the dark pit. From every fissure in the shattered rock of the great cavern, shadows streamed out and flowed into the ever widening crater.

+ +

The Journeyman’s sword vibrated in harmony with the heartstone’s steady pulse. Jack ran to where Kerry huddled with Corriwen and Rionna as huge stones tumbled from on high to be swallowed by the dark. The ground bucked and heaved and he and Kerry held tight to the two girls to keep them on their feet.

+ +

Megrin was chanting now, her green eyes locked on Bodron’s.

+ +

“Back to the pit where you belong!†Her voice gained strength. “Beast of the darkness. And never return to the world of light!

+ +

“Hag! I will take you with me.†Bodron roared. His eyes blazed as he raised his staff.

+ +

Jack saw his chance while Bodron’s attention was fixed on Megrin. This was the beast, the demon that had killed his father. The monster that had sent the nightshades after them.

+ +

When he started forward, Kerry realised what he was about to attempt and tried to hold him back. Jack twisted out of his grip and ran. He leapt over mounds of fallen stone, dodging tumbling rocks, his eyes fixed on the demonic face.

+ +

The sword flashed as he thrust upwards and stabbed with all his strength. The blade went through the black cloak, up under the ribs until its bloodied point came through the shoulder of Bodron’s raised arm. The demon’s claw hand jerked open and the black staff fell to the ground.

+ +

The burning eyes widened in shock and surprise. They turned away from Megrin swung down to where Jack stood, both hands on the sword’s hilt. They fixed on him with such malevolence and hatred that Jack felt it shudder through him.

+ +

He shrank back from the power of Bodron’s fury and the blade pulled free.

+ +

Megrin’s staff flared and as the others watched, its light spun around Bodron as he tottered backwards. Around him, a dark aura began to form, oozing from his eyes and mouth, and as it intensified, so he shrank. As the aura writhed and swelled, Bodron’s form withered and crumpled.

+ +

The shadowed shape oozing from Bodron’s withered body was being sucked towards the dark pit and Bodron sagged to the ground.

+ +

All the life-force was draining out of him, his hands little more than papery skin and bones. His cowl slipped back and Jack was close enough to see a wizened face with sparse white hair and eyes sunk deep into hollows.

+ +

He turned his head to look beyond Jack and those eyes found Rionna. There was no recognition in them. There was nothing left of the man who had once been her father.

+ +

The ground lurched again and the darkness from the pit expanded outwards to swallow Bodron completely. As Jack ran back to the others as the ground began to sink under him and suddenly there was nothing solid under their feet.

+ +

Megrin cried a warning. Jack tried to stab the sword into the ground to stop them from slipping, but Kerry slid into him, dragging Rionna with him. Corriwen lost her footing and they all began to slide towards the yawning crater. Jack snatched desperately for Corriwen’s hand.

+ +

Megrin was too far away to help. She saw the darkness expand and consume them. In one last desperate act she threw her staff with all her strength. It soared up and then plummeted into the centre of the black maelstrom into which her young friends had disappeared.

+ +

There was a blinding flash and the rock walls all around disintegrated and turned to dust. To Megrin’s amazement, the black hole began to close. In an instant it shrank to a single point, then it shut completely. All noise died.

+ +

Megrin found herself standing alone on a barren moorland in the far west of Uaine. Above her, the sky was clear and blue and the sun shone bright and warm.

+ +

There was no sign of Jack Flint, Kerry Malone or Corriwen Redthorn, or of her niece, Bodron’s daughter Rionna.

+ + + +

+ CHAPTER 26

+ + +

To Jack it seemed as if they fell forever.

+ +

They all fell together. If they screamed, none heard it as they were rolled dizzily inside a dark tornado.

+ +

Jack’s last memory was a wide circle of light that raced away from him at astonishing speed until it was just a dot which vanished in an instant and then there was nothing to see.

+ +

Faster and faster they spun, clinging desperately to one another, down and down and down. The darkness was heavy, so heavy that it pressed down on them. The air grew thick so that it was almost impossible to breathe. Jack felt his consciousness fade.

+ +

Some time later, maybe a long time later, he awoke, still holding Corriwen’s hand, still falling, but now they were descending fast on a steep slope as smooth as glass. It took Jack a little while to realise that he was awake, and not in the middle of some nightmare, and when he realised that they were sliding, he tried to dig his heels in to slow his momentum.

+ +

Nothing happened. He stabbed down with the sword-blade, holding it like an ice-axe. Its point sent out a blaze of sparks as it cut a furrow in the surface, slowing them just a little.

+ +

As they slid further the glassy surface became grainy, like fine sand. Jack forced the blade in harder and gradually their speed diminished as the slope began to level out.

+ +

Eventually they ground to a halt, surrounded by the dust kicked up by their passage. Here, everything was silent. Some distance away, in the direction they had been travelling, Jack could make out a deep, ominous red glow. It was the only light he could see.

+ +

Gingerly, he got to his feet and sheathed the sword. He helped Corriwen up, feeling as if his whole body was covered in bruises. Kerry rolled over and he and Rionna managed to stand. Every footstep sent up a cloud of fine dust that smelt of old cinders.

+ +

“What happened?†Kerry asked groggily.

+ +

“The ground opened,†Corriwen said. “It sucked us down.â€

+ +

“All I remember is Jack up on the stone, and everything flashing around him.â€

+ +

“The Copperplates,†Rionna said. Jack nodded.

+ +

“They came for me and the Book swallowed them. I don’t know how.â€

+ +

“And you killed that…that demon,†Rionna said.

+ +

“I don’t know if you can kill something like that,†Jack said. “But I had to do something. I think I just distracted it, and Megrin did the rest.â€

+ +

Corriwen touched him on the shoulder. “But you faced it, Jack. I saw you. You were the Journeyman for certain.â€

+

+

Before Jack could respond, Kerry piped up. “I’m not even going to ask where we are, but I don’t like it already. It stinks.â€

+ +

“At least we’re alive,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“Don’t be so sure,†Kerry mumbled, breaking into a fit of coughing as the dust rasped his throat.

+ +

“We fell a long way into the pit,†Rionna said. “This must be the nether-lands, the realm of the night-shades. I read my father’s old scripts. This seems to fit.â€

+ +

“I think Bodron used the Copperplates to open the Dark Way. Megrin says its like a wormhole between here and Uaine. The Book stopped them.†He patted the satchel. “It’s got power of its own.â€

+ +

“So can it get us out of here?â€

+ +

“I don’t know,†Jack said honestly. He believed Rionna’s explanation, but he still wasn’t sure of exactly where they were. In his heart he was sure he had led them to the end of the road, and the end of his quest. Bodron had already told him he had destroyed his father. Now, thanks to him they were all at the bottom of a fathomless pit.

+ +

It had all been for nothing. That realisation settled on him like a dead weight.

+ +

“Brilliant,†Kerry said with weary sarcasm. He began to lead the way down the slope, slip-sliding over shards of what looked like fire-blackened pottery, until they got near the base where the red glow was brighter.

+ +

“Aw jeez!â€

+ +

Kerry picked up something, held it up, and Jack realised that they had been sliding down neither shale nor pottery shards. In his hand Kerry held a skull fragment, the forehead and two empty sockets. They were at the bottom of a vast hill of crushed and broken bones.

+ +

Jack shuddered. There was no way any of them wanted to climb back up that slope. He was about to lead them forward towards the red glow when a high-pitched noise from far above stopped him in his tracks. They all looked up into the darkness. The sound grew louder and higher, like a siren. Something sparked brightly as it fell towards them. Jack pulled Corriwen aside. Kerry snatched at Rionna, but she held her ground as the mysterious light plunged towards her.

+ +

At the last second she raised both hands and caught Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Faint blue fire still rippled along its length. Its light reflected in her wide eyes.

+ +

Corriwen said. “She must have dropped it.â€

+ +

“Maybe she closed the gate with it,†Rionna said. She planted the staff between her feet. “Perhaps the sun now shines in Uaine.â€

+ +

“That’s all very well,†Kerry snorted. “But it sure isn’t shining down here.â€

+ +

Jack said nothing. He was thinking now. The Major had told him – and it seemed like years ago now – that there were no such things as coincidences, not in serious matters anyway. All of the wise folk they had met on their adventures had agreed on that.

+ +

The fact that he carried the Heartstone and the Book of Ways had proved not to be a coincidence. The heart had saved him many times on Temair and Eirinn. The Book of Ways had always led them true…and now it had consumed the Copperplates to stem their power. He and Kerry had met Corriwen Redthorn and together they had won through in Temair and in Eirinn. Now they had met Rionna, Bodron’s daughter, who had brought Kerry to save them from the nightmare illusion in Megrin’s cottage.

+ +

Jack’s eyes were fixed on Megrin’s staff, which Rionna held in both hands. Now they had the staff, and whatever power it might have left in it.

+ +

It couldn’t be a coincidence. There must, he told himself, be a purpose.

+ +

And if there was a purpose, then there was hope. Maybe there was a way out of this.

+

Maybe…..

+ +

***

+

Behind them, a vast mound of broken bones. Ahead, the eerie glow and forward was the only direction they could take. The nearer they got to it, the thicker the fumes and the hotter it became.

+ +

As they came to the edge of a red pit, Jack realised there was nowhere to go and his heart sank. It was vast, a great hole from which smoke belched and fires far below glowed like lava.

+ +

“This is it,†Kerry said, looking down at the fiery pit. “Dead end.â€

+ +

“There must be a way out,†Corriwen said, but her voice was far from certain. She looked at Jack for confirmation.

+ +

Jack drew the Book of Ways from his bag. He laid it flat on the ground and watched as it flipped open. The pages whirred and then stopped. As he had on the table-stone he caught a glint of coppery gold and then the page turned white again.

+ +

The old script began to write itself.

+ +

Far from all the worlds of man

+

Journeyman must venture on

+

Brave the fire in circles steep

+

Brave the dark in cavern deep

+

Two deadly trials must you face

+

Until you find the final place

+

To meet the doom so long foretold

+

Yet traveller must now be bold

+

Whence none returned to tell the tale

+

With heartstone, book and staff prevail.

+

+

Kerry, Corriwen and Rionna all looked at him, waiting for his reaction. Jack rubbed his chin, thinking. The book had confirmed one thing: Megrin’s staff was here for a purpose. As he had thought, there were no coincidences.

+ +

“I don’t like the none-returned part,†Kerry said.

+ +

“None returned so far,†Corriwen countered, with more confidence than she felt. “We’ve won through until now, haven’t we?â€

+ +

“Well, I can’t see a way out of here.â€

+ +

Jack wasn’t listening. The words were running through his head. It had told them to venture on, which meant they couldn’t go back. But the last line kept repeating itself, like a mantra.

+ +

With heartstone, book and staff prevail.

+

+

There must be hope, he told himself. There must. Jack edged towards the rim of the fiery pit, holding his arm against his face to ward off the heat. He looked down.

+ +

Circles down.

+ +

He had to rub his eyes several times before he finally saw it. A narrow trackway made its way down in a spiral. It was little more than a ledge, but it followed the sides of the pit in a corkscrew shape into the depths. And just where it began to disappear into the fumes, Jack saw what he was looking for. A dark shape in the blasted stone. A hole in the rock. A cave. An exit?

+ +

He beckoned to Kerry. Corriwen and Rionna followed and Jack showed them the ledge and the hole in the cauldron wall.

+ +

“It’s a chance,†he said. “I don’t know how good, but it’s a chance. And I believe the book.â€

+ +

“Me too,†Kerry said. “But one slip and we’re toast.â€

+ +

“Just don’t slip,†Corriwen warned him. “Or I’ll not be pleased!â€

+ +

“That’s all the warning I need, kid,†Kerry grinned. “I’d rather face fire.â€

+ +

“Get serious,†Jack said. “That’s just what we have to do. And be careful.â€

+ +

They picked up their gear and Jack led the descent, followed the rim until they reached the narrow path. They made their way down, pressing themselves against the rock, both for safety and to shield themselves a little from the searing updraught of heat.

+ +

The distance was further than it had appeared from above. It took more than an hour of slow progress to get down to the level of the fissure.

+

***

+

It was no natural cavern, they soon discovered. Two ancient pillars marked an entrance, or an exit. Once inside, the four of them walked until they were far enough from the direct heat to begin to cool a little. Corriwen heard the splash of water and followed the sound until she found a small pool.

+ +

All four of them got down on their knees and drank until they could drink no more. Kerry ducked his head right under until he needed to breathe and came up spluttering.

+ +

“I never tasted water as good as that in my whole life,†he declared. “Even in Rionna’s world.â€

+ +

He was getting to his feet, when a voice boomed out without warning:

+ +

“Who dares trespass?â€

+

+

Kerry got such a fright, he jerked back, missed his footing and fell on his backside in the middle of the pool.

+ + +

+ CHAPTER 27

+ + + +

Jack could hear it breathing, rough and ragged as old leaking bellows, and wondered why none of them had noticed it before. A shape loomed some distance ahead of them.

+ +

“Answer!â€

+ +

“We’re just passing through,†Kerry said nervously.

+ +

“None traverse this low road.†The voice echoed from wall to wall. “Save those who answer true.â€

+ +

Jack edged forward. Corriwen was at his side. Rionna held the staff up. It gave off a faint blue illumination, just enough to make out the shape in front of them twice as tall as a man, but squat and rough, as though it might have been made of stone itself. Two great horns twisted over its hooded eyes.

+ +

“Who are you?†Jack asked. He stood at the edge of what seemed like another pit which yawned between them and the massive presence.

+ +

“I am the Crom Cruach. It is my doom to guard the low road. I judge who passes by, and who stays.â€

+ +

“We can’t stay,†Kerry piped up, shaking water from his boot. “We’re on a mission.â€

+ +

“You are at the end of your journey, or the beginning. Answer me thrice and you may pass. Fail and you remain forever with the lost.â€

+ +

With that, a grinding rumble filled the air. They all turned in alarm.

+ +

The two pillars at the mouth of the cavern moved slowly towards each other. Jack saw they were not pillars, but the edges of two massive doors.

+ +

“Wait!â€

+ +

“I wait for no mortal.â€

+ +

“But you haven’t asked the questions.â€

+ +

“Ah, the impetuosity of man. I had….forgotten the haste of mortals.â€

+ +

The creature bent forward and now that his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, Jack saw that it was not squatting as he had thought, but sitting hard against the cave wall. Both of its colossal arms were manacled to three heavy chains. Its moss-covered legs were pinioned to the rock floor by bands of stone. Whatever the Crom Cruach was, it was a prisoner here.

+ +

“Answer me three riddles, and you may pass. Fail one and your journey ends here.â€

+ +

“Go for it, Jack,†Kerry urged. “You’re the brains.â€

+ +

A long silence followed, broken only by the ragged breathing of the Crom Cruach. Its head sunk to its chest, as if the horns were too heavy to carry. Then it spoke:

+ +

“I always run, though lie abed.

+

My mouth is furthest from my head

+

The only time you see me still

+

Is in the grip of winter chill.â€

+

+

As soon as the verse ended, the grinding sound started again behind them. Inch by inch, the doors began to crawl towards each other. The grinding sound was like a clock ticking off the seconds. He closed his eyes, repeating the rhyme to himself over and over again. The heartstone pulsed warm in his grip.

+ +

When he opened his eyes, Kerry was looking at him with urgent expectancy.

+ +

Jack smiled confidently. “You’re a river. Always flowing. Under ice in winter. And the river mouth is at the sea, far from the headwaters.â€

+ +

The grinding of the doors stopped. Kerry wiped sweat from his forehead.

+ +

The creature flexed huge muscles and heaved on the chain. They all looked and saw, rising up from the depths, a single black pillar a yard wide. It reached the height of the rim and stopped.

+ +

“It’s a stepping stone,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“Only one,†Kerry observed. “We need more than that.â€

+ +

“We all have to think,†Jack said, “and think hard. Don’t just leave it up to me, because I could be wrong. And if I am, then we’ll be stuck here. We have to get them right, every one, because that door will close anyway.â€

+ +

The guardian leant back against the wall, lowered its great head yet again. Its voice boomed out once more:

+ +

In poor man’s green and drab I flee

+

To travel wide the distant sea

+

And after many season turns

+

In silver mail a king returns.

+

+

The doors began to grind together. Jack gripped the heartstone, willing images to come. All he could see was Kerry, lying on his front beside the stream waiting for a fish to swim close. Nothing else would come. He tried to concentrate, read something into the mental picture.

+ +

Behind them the doors rumbled. Corriwen put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, but despite it, Jack could find no solution.

+ +

“Easy peasy,†Kerry snorted. “Even I know that one.â€

+ +

“Well, be quick,†Corriwen ordered.

+ +

“I’m a fisherman, and you’re a salmon, aren’t you? You start out a little green parr and go off to sea, and come back a big silver king of the river and just ready for the pot.â€

+ +

The doors halted again. The guardian began to haul on the second chain and inch by inch, the second pillar rose up from the darkness and locked into place. Between them, the darkness seemed to descend forever.

+ +

Kerry punched the air, grinning from ear to ear. Rionna grabbed his hand and held it tight.

+ +

“Not such a darn fool after all, eh?â€

+ +

Jack checked the doors. They were a mere yard apart. This time they would meet each other and close the cave-mouth completely. Now everything depended on the final question.

+ +

It came before he was ready for it.

+ + +

If you give me, give me free

+

Yet in giving, still keep me

+

Trade me not for fame or token

+

Be unworthy if I’m broken.

+ +

“Jeez,†Kerry breathed. “That’s a tough one.â€

+ +

Jack pressed the heartstone to his forehead eyes closed in concentration. The seconds ticked away.;

+ +

“Come on, Jack,†Kerry whispered. “You can do it.â€

+ +

The only image that came was of Corriwen high in the cage of Wolfen Castle in Eirinn, when she had stood up for the boy who was her fellow captive. But what that meant, he couldn’t imagine. Nothing else would come.

+ +

Behind them, the doors crashed together. This was it. They were trapped. And Jack could not think of the answer to this riddle.

+ +

Corriwen touched him on the shoulder.

+ +

“I learned at my father’s knee,†she said. “For he and my brother were men of honour and taught me well.â€

+ +

“Taught you what?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“That to be a Redthorn is to be always true. True to your heart and true to your word.â€

+ +

She turned to the creature on the far side of the chasm.

+ +

“You are a promise,†she called in a clear voice. “A promise freely given and always kept. A promise never to be broken.

+ +

For a long moment, the only sound was the rumbling breath in the shadows. Then they saw the great arms reach again and the chain groaned under tension, link by link. A third pillar rose up from the depth of the pit.

+ +

“What a babe!†Kerry grinned from ear to ear. He got one arm around Corriwen’s neck and hugged her tight.

+ +

“No time for that,†Jack told him. They couldn’t go back. They had only one choice. “Come on!â€

+ +

Without a pause, he leaped onto the first pillar, trusting his own speed and balance, and made it to the far side of the chasm. Corriwen followed, light as a cat. Kerry took Rionna’s hand and together they used the pillars as stepping stones.

+ +

The horned creature sat still, breathing raggedly. Up close, they could see it had a broad and bestial face. Its hands were huge and horny, but its great feet bore cloven hooves. There was a gap between it and the wall, leading to a narrow passage. It was the only way past.

+ +

“May we pass?†Jack thought he’d better ask.

+ +

“You answered,†it rumbled.

+ +

“Where does this lead to?â€

+ +

“Your doom, child. Doom for every mortal.†It sounded as old as time and very, very weary.

+ +

They began to skirt past it, wary of those powerful hands that might reach out and smash them flat. But it didn’t even move. Behind them, the three pillars slowly sunk down out of sight and the chains rattled up again.

+ +

Kerry led the way to the passage, but Rionna paused beside the guardian. Two red eyes regarded her from a hideously wrinkled face.

+ +

“You are trapped here. How long?â€

+ +

“So long, I have no memory of it.â€

+ +

“Can’t you break free?â€

+ +

“If I could, I would. I long for movement.â€

+ +

She turned to Jack. “No creature should be chained.â€

+ +

Jack looked at the clamps that pinned its legs to the floor. They were old and eroded, but still solid.

+ +

“If I help you, would you help us?â€

+ +

“Help you? How?â€

+ +

“We face another trial. Do you know what it is?†He drew the great sword. Before the thing could reply, Jack brought the blade down on the centre of the clamps. Sparks flew and the old stone broke into pieces.

+ +

The creature let out a long slow sigh. Its hooves scraped on the stone.

+ +

“So good! So good to move.†It swung its head towards him. “Hear me now. Two brothers guard two doors. One door leads to burning fire. The other lets you pass. You may ask one question.â€

+ +

“What question?â€

+ +

“You decide. But be warned. One tells only the truth. The other only lies.â€

+ +

“Brilliant,†Jack muttered under his breath.

+ +

“And another thing. Find the means to pay your way, or sleep forever.â€

+ +

“That’s it?â€

+ +

“I can say no more.â€

+ +

It stretched its legs out and brought them up again. Its eyes rolled beneath the twisted horns. It sighed again. “So good to move.â€

+ +

Jack and Rionna turned away and left the old monster to what pleasure it could find.

+ +

***

+

The brothers were not at all what Jack expected. As the path descended further into the old rock, he explained to the others what the guardian had said.

+ +

“We have to think carefully. We only get one chance at this.â€

+ +

“Doesn’t sound very fair to me,†Kerry grumbled.

+ +

“This is not a place of fairness,†Rionna said. “We are beyond the good in the under-place.â€

+ +

“Well, the big horny guy at least did us a favour. That has to count for something.â€

+ +

An hour later, they came to a dead end. Two stone doors stood facing each other. On each was carved an identical face, both covered in lichens and cobwebs. As they approached, two pairs of stone eyes slowly opened and regarded them coldly.

+ +

“One lies,†Jack said. “The other tells only the truth.â€

+ +

“So how do we work out the safe door?â€

+ +

“We ask the right question.â€

+ +

“But they will both give the same answer,†Corriwen protested. “If you ask which way is safe, each will claim that it is their door.â€

+ +

“That’s the test,†Jack said, gloomily. He had been thinking about this as they walked, and had so far failed to come up with an answer. “It’s just another riddle.â€

+ +

“One lies and the other speaks true,†Rionna said, almost whispering. “But that is their weakness too.â€

+ +

“How so?â€

+ +

“Each knows what the other will say, whether true or false. And therefore each will give the same answer to only one question. And that answer will be wrong.

+ +

She planted Megrin’s staff down between her toes and faced the left-hand door. When she spoke, her voice was clear and sure.

+ +

“If I ask your brother which door leads to fire, what would he say?â€

+ +

The stone eyes looked at her. The features began to twist and writhe with a rough, grinding sound. The mouth opened slowly and a gravelly voice replied.

+ +

“He would say my door way leads there-to.â€

+ +

“Then we choose your door too,†Rionna said before anyone could stop her. Kerry's breath drew in sharply.

+ +

For a long moment there was silence, then, a puff of dust trickled out from a crack in the wall which gradually widened as they watched.

+ +

The door opened and a chilling blast of air almost took their breath away.

+ +

“No flames,†Kerry said, letting his breath out slowly. “But I still don’t get it. How did you know?â€

+ +

“The answer would be the same,†Rionna said. “No matter which brother you ask. The liar will lie, but the answer would still be the same.â€

+ +

“It’s going to take me forever to work that one out,†Kerry admitted.

+ +

Together they walked through the portal. It swung shut behind them with a heavy, final thud.

+ +

And they found themselves standing on the bank of a bleak, dark river.

+ +

+ CHAPTER 28

+ +

+

In front of them, fathomless water flowed fast. How wide this river was, they couldn’t tell. They huddled on a narrow embankment facing the water, the only small piece of flat ground with their backs pressed against the cliff.

+ +

“So where do we go from here?†Kerry turned to face the wall. The door had closed seamlessly. There was no line or crack to show that it had ever opened.

+ +

Jack edged towards the flow full of doubt again. They were trapped once more, unless they chanced the fast current and that was impossible. Kerry couldn’t swim. He didn’t know about Rionna, and even so, the current was too strong.

+ +

A movement below the surface caught his eye. Corriwen got to her knees and peered down. Jack saw her shoulders stiffen and she backed away. They all looked into the depths and saw pallid faces swaying slowly in the current.

+ +

They were crowded together, row upon row. Their eyes were closed and long hair and ragged clothing waved like river weed.

+ +

“I don’t know,†Jack sighed wearily. The prospect of swimming the dark river was scary enough, but the idea of getting into the water with those multitudes of senseless pale things, well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

+ +

“Wait,†Rionna said. “Something comes. I hear it.â€

+ +

Jack strained to listen. The river murmured as it rippled past, like muffled voices. He cupped a hand to his ear.

+ +

Then he heard a different noise, something he thought he recognised. It was the faint sound of water lapping against a surface. It was just the kind of sound he’d heard at the harbour back home when a breeze drove waves against moored boats.

+ +

Now he peered out and a shape began to materialise, approaching through the low mist.

+ +

For an instant, he thought it was a man walking on water, tall and thin. The figure glided slowly and steadily. They watched apprehensively as it came closer.

+ +

“It’s a woman,†Corriwen whispered.

+ +

And it was. She stood very straight, floating serenely through the fog, as pallid as the things under the water. Her hair was white, skin like marble and lips deathly pale. Her fingers were long, almost fleshless. Her eyes had no colour at all as they gazed down at them expressionlessly.

+ +

As she came nearer, Jack saw that she stood in the stern of a flat boat. In her hands she held a long paddle as a rudder. The boat arrowed across the river, against the current, though it had neither oars nor sail.

+ +

Jack took a brave step forward.

+ +

“Can you take us across the river?â€

+ +

She turned her eyes on him, seeming to look through him. Jack wasn’t sure if she’d heard him. Up close, she appeared insubstantial, as if she was made from the fog itself. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

+ +

“Pay the passage. None cross without payment. Those who stay sleep forever in the depths.â€

+ +

Jack recalled what the horned guardian had said in the cavern. Find the means to pay your way, or sleep forever.

+ +

“I can pay,†he said, delving into the pocket. He drew out a gold coin that Rune the Cluricaun had given him in Eirinn. The five stars of the Corona constellation gleamed on its polished surface, the sign of the Sky Queen.

+ +

She bent over him, empty eyes fixed on the coin.

+ +

“Her coin has no value here,†she whispered, her voice hollow. “And one would not pay passage for four.â€

+ +

“You could give us children’s rates,†Kerry said. “How about half-fare?â€

+ +

The ferrywoman closed her eyes and the boat moved away from the bank.

+ +

“Wait,†Corriwen cried. “I have coin!â€

+ +

She slung her pack from her shoulder delved inside and drew out a leather purse.

+ +

“When we escaped Dermott's men, we took weapons and horses…and their money.â€

+ +

She rummaged, feeling with her fingers then drew them out. “We spent some on bread. But maybe there is enough.â€

+ +

Four small coins lay on her palm. They were chipped and worn with age, but they were silver, which was plain to see. Jack hoped the woman would accept the money.

+ +

The ferrywoman held out a slender hand. Corriwen dropped the coins into it. They made no sound at all. Her fingers closed and when they opened again, the four coins had vanished.

+ +

“Passage paid,†the woman whispered. “Embark.â€

+ +

They filed aboard. Almost immediately, the boat turned away and they were cutting across the current. The little bank behind them faded into the mist. Under the surface of the water, the ghostly beings swayed dreamily. Kerry couldn’t draw his eyes away from them and his knuckles were white on the gunwale.

+ +

Jack couldn’t tell how far they travelled in silence, huddled together for warmth and comfort. At some point, he knew he must have dozed, for he started awake when the low prow nudged a shallow bank. He was stiff and weary.

+ +

They had reached the far side of the river. He helped Corriwen and Rionna out onto the bank. Kerry followed with their packs and dumped them at their feet. He turned and saw the boat and the ferrywoman already turning from the bank.

+ +

“Creepy old lady,†Kerry said.

+ +

Overhead, the sky was now an unearthly red and the landscape brown and parched. It stretched into the far distance. As far as Jack could see, nothing living grew here.

+ +

They stood together, looking at miles of scorched earth, littered with craters and bare rocks which jutted up like stumps of old teeth.

+ +

“Any idea where we are?†Kerry asked, not expecting an answer.

+ +

Jack scanned the barren lands and all he saw was desolation. He wondered if his father had made the journey to this awful place before them.

+ +

Could he have survived here for so long?

+ +

As soon as that thought struck him, Jack wondered in the four of them could survive here at all. They had made it thus far, survived everything that the nightshades and Bodron’s spellbinding could throw at them. Yet this lifeless place looked as if it could swallow them up and leave no trace. He closed his eyes, weary and beset by doubt. Kerry and Corriwen would look to him for guidance and he could think of nothing except finding a way home, if there was a way home.

+ +

Corriwen touched him on the shoulder and he turned to her.

+ +

“I can see something up ahead,†she said, pointing. Jack stood close to follow her direction. Far out, where the seared land met the red sky, there was a faint smudge of darkness. It could have been a hill, or a storm or a cloud, but there was nothing to gauge distance by.

+ +

Kerry bent down to open his pack. He pulled out his water canteen and took a sip, then passed it around and they all drank gratefully.

+ +

He began to lay out his weapons: the short sword, the old sling the Major had given him, and the bolas with its three weights that Connor had shown him how to use. Corriwen sat beside him and stropped her blades on her leather belt.

+ +

“I think we’ve run out of luck,†Kerry said flatly. “The Book said there was no way home.â€

+ +

Corriwen interjected: “Maybe it’s wrong this time.â€

+ +

“Maybe your father was here,†Kerry said softly. “And maybe he just didn’t …..â€

+ +

Kerry didn’t say the word, but everybody knew what he meant.

+ +

The heartstone pulsed very gently. Jack’s fingers closed around it and its slow beat somehow ignited a spark of hope within him. The Journeyman’s stone still had some power here, maybe something to tell him. Jack suddenly thought that if he truly believed his father was dead, then this had all been for nothing, all the dangers and all the fear. He did not want to think he had led his friends through all that for no reason.

+ +

And he did not really want to consider the possibility that after battling through Temair and Eirinn and now Uaine, that there hadn’t been a real purpose in all their travels.

+ +

Hadn’t the Sky Queen had spoken to him on Tara Hill? She had told him to find the gateway into summer and he had done so, to find himself in Uaine.

+ +

Everything they had done, every turn, every battle, had led them here.

+ +

There are no coincidences, he told himself. No coincidences.

+ +

There must be a purpose, he told himself. If his father had found his way to this dreadful place, then Jack Flint would find him. And then, no matter what it took, he would help his friends find a way to get home.

+ +

Jack took out the Book of Ways and laid it on a dry flat stone. They watched as it opened its pages and flicked through almost to the very end. Jack thought for a second it would just snap shut, but it stopped at the final page.

+ +

An omen, he thought. We are near the end.

+ +

When the words finally appeared, they were red as the sky, red as blood.

+ +

For Journeyman the End of Ways

+

To stand at brink of the End of Days

+

The foulest foe lies here await

+

And traveller meets final fate

+

In darkest place, whence none return

+

Yet one is four and four is one

+

Light and life may still be won

+ +

Heart and soul may ever quail

+

Four as one may yet prevail

+

Prepare to meet the evil bane

+

That dwells on terror, fear and pain

+

Hold hard to faith in mortal fight

+

As dark prepares to smother light

+

And plunge all worlds to deepest night.

+ + +

“Well, there’s no mistaking that,†Kerry said, running a finger up his sword-blade. “And I get the four-is-one bit. One for all and each for everybody else, right?â€

+ +

“It’s ever thus,†Corriwen solemnly agreed.

+ +

“At least it says there’s a chance,†Jack said. That flicker of hope flared brighter. “Light and life may still be won.â€

+ +

“Except for the evil bane part,†Kerry said. He looked at the short-sword. “I wish we had something better. Like a tommy-gun or a tank. Or one of those apache heli-choppers from the movies.â€

+ +

Rionna and Corriwen looked at him blankly. Jack forced a wry grin. He patted the hilt of the broadsword.

+ +

“We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got,†he said. “Come on, let’s go.â€

+ + +

CHAPTER 26

+ + +

A desert wind scoured them with millions of sharp grains and dust-devils spun towards them in squadrons of small tornadoes, ripping at their skin, shrieking like demons as they passed. Jack led them on, trudging mile after mile until they reached a tall rock outcrop.

+ +

Corriwen walked round the rock. It was taller than they were, and worn from years of wind-blown sand. On its lee side, old lichens formed a thin dry skin.

+ +

“This looks like a statue,†she observed.

+ +

It did look like an old statue. Like a kneeling man, head bowed. But it was so worn there were no features, just a vague shape.

+ +

“It’s just shape cut by the wind,†Jack said. “It’ll wear it away to nothing eventually.â€

+ +

A few hundred yards further, another stone stood out on the sand.

+ +

“That’s definitely a statue,†Kerry said, pointing up at it. “Look, you can make out the eyes and nose.â€

+ +

It towered over them, broad and solid. It was clearly the carved figure of a man, standing with feet apart and arms by his sides. His face was tilted upwards and the mouth opened in an eternal, silent cry.

+ +

“Who’d put statues out here?†Kerry asked. “That guy looks as if he’s been blasted between the eyes.â€

+ +

It was worn and cracked, corroded by the wind, but unmistakeably a human. The figure looked as if he was in perpetual agony. Jack was glad when it was behind them and they walked wards, guided by the steady beat of the heartstone. The further they walked, the stronger came a smell of burning and hot stone, and with each step, Jack felt a sense of oppression settle heavier on him.

+ +

Beyond the sand, the ground became bare rock, riven with cracks. Tremors shuddered under their feet and pieces of stone shaled off to fall in noisy avalanches. Misshapen creatures clambered in and out of the fissures and gaped hungrily at them, but came no closer.

+ +

When they reached another statue, exhausted and footsore. Kerry fetched the canteen and they all drank gratefully. This figure was less eroded than the last, as if it had been carved more recently. The man was down on one knee, head bowed, resting his weight on a wide-bladed sword. He looked every inch the warrior. But for the worn stony surface, he looked as if he might wake, get to his feet and do battle.

+ +

“Looks like a tough guy,†Kerry said.

+ +

“He reminds me of my brother,†Corriwen said. “He was a fine warrior.â€

+ +

Kerry screwed the lid back on the canteen. “That’s the water half-done. We won’t get much further.â€

+ +

Jack looked ahead. The dark smudge on the horizon was noticeably closer, but in the hot, dry air, its shape wavered like a mirage and he couldn’t tell whether it was a hill or a distant mountain. As they got closer it began to look ominously like the Black Tomb in Temair where Mandrake raised the Morrigan and her terrible power from eons of sleep.

+ +

Corriwen shaded her eyes and stared at it sombrely, lips compressed. Jack understood how she felt. Neither she nor Kerry nor himself would ever forget the nightmare time they’d spent within the Morrigan’s lair. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her attention. Corriwen tried to smile, but there was nothing much to smile about.

+ +

Another, final statue stood out like a sentinel. When they reached it, they stopped and looked up at the tall figure. This last one could have been carved only yesterday. Every detail of the man was etched with such craftsmanship that even the weave of his cloak and tunic were clear to see. He stood with one hand held high. In the other he grasped a long, jagged spear.

+ +

Jack looked at the statue’s face, strong and handsome, with a short beard and hair held back by a braided band. Its stone eyes stared ahead blindly. He looked at the spear and his heart did a double-thump.

+ +

Hedda, the Scatha warrior woman of Eirinn had wielded a great spear she called the Gae-bolg, a deadly weapon with great barbs raking forward like thorns. This was an exact replica. He stepped nearer, marvelling at the similarity.

+ +

“It’s Hedda’s spear,†Kerry said. “Exactly the same, even down to the spikes.â€

+ +

“It’s an awful weapon,†Rionna said. She reached out to touch it and as she did, Megrin’s staff flared with electric blue light. Jack felt the heartstone vibrate and the great sword trembled in his hand. He moved to pull Rionna back, but she turned unexpectedly and his fingers touched the stone hand that wielded the spear.

+ +

The heartstone flashed. A spark leapt between his fingers and the statue’s hand. It seared through every nerve of his body. White light exploded behind his eyes and all sound and vision faded.

+ +

Jack staggered backwards, buckling at the knees. Kerry caught him before he fell.

+ +

“Jeez, Jack, what happened?â€

+ +

The ground shuddered. Out on the plain, thin cracks opened in crazy zig-zags. In the far distance, thunder rolled across the sky and lightning forked upwards.

+ +

As Jack’s vision began to clear, Kerry was yelling something in his ear. For a few moments he didn’t know where he was. The heartstone was vibrating, thrumming hard. The great sword felt as if it was trying to leap out of the scabbard.

+ +

A harsh crack, like a gunshot, rang out and Corriwen let out a cry. Jack felt Kerry haul him backwards.

+ +

“It’s going to fall,†he bawled, pointing at the statue.

+ +

Another crack rent the air, and another, and then a whole fusillade of them.

+ +

“Watch out!†Corriwen grabbed the back of his tunic and she and Kerry dragged Jack back.

+ +

“What’s happening?â€

+ +

There was a pop in his ears and sound came back with great clarity.

+ +

And then the statue moved.

+ +

The raised arm flexed. Pieces of stone broke off. The mouth opened in a snarl. The spear swung forward. Shards flew off in all directions.

+ +

The man-shape took a step forward. It swayed and shook its head. Then the grey stone began to change colour in a terrifying transformation.

+ +

Jack saw the weave of the cloak fold and sway, turning from solid stone to a green fabric. The grey hand opened and closed and became flesh-coloured.

+ +

“It’s alive,†Rionna cried. The blue light was flickering up and down the length of Megrin’s staff. At the sound of her voice, the living statue turned towards her. Its beard was now jet black and the hair dark and streaked with grey. But the eyes, though they were wide open, remained the colour of polished stone.

+ +

The statue let out a low cry and swung the spear towards them. Jack swept Rionna out of the path of the savage point.

+ +

The figure spun again, stabbing blindly and the spear-point slashed through the hood of Kerry's tunic as if it were paper. Kerry yelped, dodged away, fell over his back-pack and sprawled on the stony ground.

+ +

Jack dashed forward and slammed the spear down with the sword. Another jolt of power sizzled up the blade and into his arm with such a shock he almost dropped it. The blind fighter stalled. Kerry found his feet, the bolas in his hand, the three stones whirling on their strings. He threw it and the weights wrapped the strings round their opponents legs.

+ +

The moving statue bellowed again, a great cry echoing over the barren plain, as it tried to take a step and fell headlong with an almighty crash. But still it managed to kick out, almost catching Corriwen on the side of the head, and quickly freed its legs from the entanglement. It was back on its feet in a flash.

+ +

“To hell with this,†Kerry bawled. “It can’t even see us.â€

+ +

With that, he bent scooped up a stone, slotted it into his sling and let fly. The rock caught the man on the back of the head. He went down on one knee, shook his head violently. Jack saw two small objects spin away.

+ +

The statue turned and when he did, his eyes were open and they were piercing blue. The eyes found his and locked on. A line of blood trickled down the man’s cheek.

+ +

“Who are you?†he asked, in a Scottish accent almost exactly like the Major’s. “And what in all the worlds are you doing with my sword?â€

+ + +

+ CHAPTER 27

+ + +

“What do you mean your sword?†Kerry had another rock in the sling, ready to launch.

+ +

“It’s my sword,†Jack asserted. The mysterious shock of power still tingled up and down his arm. The warrior was tall and broad-shouldered, arms taut with muscle, and scarred from many a fight. There was something strangely familiar about him.

+ +

The man’s blue eyes held him fast.

+ +

“You stole it, lad. How you did it and how you came to be in this place, I don’t know. But I’ll have it back now.â€

+ +

“Yeah, right,†Kerry sneered. “It’s four to one, and we’ve beaten worse than you. Many a time.â€

+ +

“I must be dreaming this,†the big man said. “Illusions, have to be.â€

+ +

His free hand went to his forehead and he swayed a little. “You’re imps. Changelings.â€

+ +

“We’re not,†Jack countered. Corriwen had moved to the side in a flanking motion. Kerry's sword was at the ready. “We’re real. But I’m not sure you are.â€

+ +

“Your speech is familiar. Where are you from and how did you get here?â€

+ +

“We’re from very far away,†Kerry butted in. “And we’re on a mission. So just let us pass and we’ll be on our way.â€

+ +

The man’s eyes flicked from Kerry to Corriwen and back to Jack.

+ +

“That is my sword. There’s only one other like it.â€

+ +

“We know that,†Corriwen said. “The other one’s mine.â€

+ +

The man kept staring, measuring Jack with his eyes. Then he saw the amberhorn bow slung on Jack’s shoulder.

+ +

“And where did you get that bow? It’s not the work of anyone in Uaine.â€

+ +

He looked at Rionna. “And you, girl. I’ve seen that staff before. It belongs to a friend of mine. How did you come by it?â€

+ +

Jack held a hand up, playing for time. Sudden, unexpected emotions were churning inside him. “Hold on. One minute ago you were a statue and now you’re asking all the questions.â€

+ +

The man froze. His blue eyes were fixed below Jack’s chin. The spear-point was suddenly at Jack’s throat where his tunic opened. Jack hadn’t even seen it move.

+ +

The man’s face was slack with shock or surprise. He looked as if he’d been kicked,

+ +

“The stone. On the chain. How did you come by it?â€

+ +

He jabbed the spear and Jack could feel the sharp point digging into his skin.

+ +

“Just who are you? What are you?â€

+ +

“My name is Jack Flint.â€

+ +

“And he’s the Journeyman,†Kerry added. “Appointed by the Sky Queen to fight her battles, so just you watch out.â€

+ +

The spear dropped to the ground. The man let out a groan and sank to his knees as if all the strength had drained from him. Now his face was a picture of anguish.

+ +

“Jack….Jack…“

+ +

Tears sprung to his blue eyes and spilled freely spilled down the man’s cheeks. In that moment Jack knew. His heart felt as if it was about to burst.

+ +

“Oh…oh my…how many years?“

+ +

“He’s fourteen,†Kerry piped up. “Same as me.â€

+ +

“Fourteen years…Jack…†The man’s voice choked. “You don’t know me. Couldn’t know me.â€

+ +

Corriwen and Kerry gaped in astonishment as realisation dawned on them. Their eyes turned to Jack and they saw his eyes sparkle, his expression rapt.

+ +

“I think I do,†Jack whispered.

+ +

“I am Jonathan Cullian Flint. I put that heartstone around your neck and carried you through the Homeward Gate to safety. It seems only like yesterday.â€

+ +

He closed his eyes. “Fourteen years! Fourteen lost years.â€

+ +

Jack’s tears streamed down his own cheeks. Jonathan Cullian Flint reached out to him and Jack walked into his father’s tight embrace.

+ + +

CHAPTER 28

+ +

Jack could hardly believe that he had found his father. He still hadn’t quite taken in the fact that the statue on the red plain had begun to move, begun to fight and become human. Not just any human, the man he had dreamt of finding for so long. It was all just too much to take in.

+ +

As Jonathan Flint led them to a rocky crevasse, Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off the man he barely knew, but had only dreamt about. Now he was confused and uncertain of what to say, what to ask.

+ +

A thousand questions crowded his mind. Where had he been? Why had he abandoned him in the ring of standing stones as a baby? What had happened to his mother?

+ +

As they climbed down into the fissure. Jonathan Flint moved stiffly, as if he hadn’t used muscles in a long time. Jack took in his tall frame, the scars on his strong arms and the dark hair which fell over the brow, so like his own.

+ +

He had always tried to picture his father, but the image was never distinct. He had no memory of his face, just a hazy recollection of strength and protection. He had never imagined him as a cloaked and armed warrior.

+ +

By the time they reached the shelter, the shock and emotion overwhelmed Jack and he sank down, utterly exhausted. His father leant back against the rock and closed his eyes for a moment. Corriwen, Kerry and Rionna stood uncertainly close by, not wishing to intrude, but after a moment Jonathan Flint opened his eyes again. He took Jack’s hand in his, cupping it tightly as if to re-assure himself that the hand was real, then beckoned the others forward and asked their names.

+ +

“Corriwen Redthorn, Kerrigan Malone, Rionna Willow. I don’t know you, not yet, but I can see you are friends of my son, and my guess is you’ve followed a hard road at his side. For that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.â€

+ +

He squeezed Jack’s hand again, motioning the others to sit, turned to his son and said: “Forgive me for losing your childhood.â€

+ +

Jack tried to speak, but his father held up his free hand to hush him.

+ +

“But it was a desperate time,†Jack’s father said. “A truly desperate time, and I wanted you to live, no matter the cost.â€

+

***

+

It was supposed to be a peaceful time, Jonathan Flint began. All the worlds were in harmony. At least for a while.

+ +

We came to Uaine because of all the worlds of men, it was the most beautiful. The Copperplate binding spell had brought lasting harmony for generations. We made a home where we could watch the sunrise and sunset and hear the waves on the shore. As beautiful a place as ever there was.

+ +

Just after you were born, Jack, Bodron gathered the Copperplates, Uaine’s talismans. He brought the spells together and found ways to change them, hoping to gain the secrets of their power. Yet power can be used for good or evil, and the greater the power, the greater the evil.

+ +

Bodron corrupted the great spells and he summoned up a Shadowlord. Perhaps he thought his summoning would give him power over it and he could make it his creature. But Bodron was wrong. The Shadowlord had the greater power, Bodron became its puppet, spreading fear and nightmare across this world.

+ +

That was when the Geasan summoned me to ask for my help. But when I was at their council, the nightshades came in their hordes and I discovered the Shadowlord’s true purpose. It wanted the heartstone keys, and sent its nightshades to search for them.

+ +

When I returned home your mother was gone, taken by the Shadowlord’s minions.

+ +

But despite the peril she found herself in, alone with her baby, she had kept you safe. She hid you in a secret place beyond nightshades’ reach.

+ +

It was then that I knew I had to get you, and the heartstone, to safety, because my next quest was to find your mother. If the Shadowlord had her, then it also had the white heartstone, the twin of the one you wear on your neck. With both, its power would be vast, and irresistible and I could not risk that.

+ +

They pursued us all the way to the Homeward Gate, and only luck and the Sky Queen’s protection got me to Cromwath Blackwood. I put the heart around your neck because I knew it would be safe with the Major, at least for a while.

+ +

I promised you I would come back for you. It was the only promise I ever made that I never kept.

+ +

But I promise you this. If she is still alive, I will find your mother and bring her out of this evil place.

+ +

***

+

For a long time there was silence while Jack took in his father’s story. Back in her wildwood, Megrin had mentioned his mother. Since the major could tell him nothing of her, Jack had assumed she had died when he was born.

+ +

Now he had found his father and discovered that he had a mother who might still be alive. It was almost too much to take in at the one time.

+ +

Kerry, Corriwen and Rionna had listened eagerly to the tale. Later, when they had fallen into exhausted asleep, huddled together in the crevice, Jonathan Flint drew Jack closer to share his warmth.

+ +

“The Major never told me anything,†Jack finally said. “He said I had to wait until I was older.â€

+ +

“That’s as it should be,†Jonathan Flint agreed. “The secrets of the worlds and the gateways must be guarded at all costs. I discovered them by accident when I was just a boy of your age. My friend Tom Lynn and I explored Cromwath Blackwood and found the ring of stones. Tom stepped through and vanished. I searched for him for a long time in some very strange places.â€

+ +

“So that story is real? Tom Lynn came back ten years later, and he hadn’t aged a day. But his mind was gone, so people say.â€

+ +

“There are some terrible places beyond the gates. Places where madness and terror hold sway. I have been to some. I was luckier, because in all my travels, I was being led towards the heartstone and the Book of Ways which allowed me to find my way back to the Homeward Gate, and I also learned that the Heartstone and the Book were created in the dawn of time to let the journeyman open the ways to all the worlds.

+ +

“This I learned from the Great Dagda after I helped him save Eirinn from the Morrigan’s sea-ogres. That was when I met your mother, the Lady Lauralen. She is the daughter of the Dagda and the Sky Queen, and she loved me enough to stay by my side in the mortal worlds.â€

+ +

“That’s why the lady said it,†Jack said, remembering the magical meeting with the Sky Queen on Tara Hill. “Heart of my heart, she told me.â€

+ +

“That’s because you are. Blood of her blood. And she has been guiding you. She is all that is good, in the constant fight against all that is evil.â€

+ +

Jack told his father everything of his childhood in the Major’s old house and his long friendship with Kerry Malone, days at school and fishing with Kerry in the streams. He told of that Halloween night when the moving darkness had engulfed the Major’s house and how the old man had kept it at bay while they escaped down the stairs to the secret passageway and found themselves hunted through Cromwath Blackwood.

+ +

Jonathan Flint listened intently as Jack recounted their adventures with Corriwen in Temair and their battles with Dermott and his Spellbinder Fainn in Eirinn, and then Kerry and Corriwen’s decision to follow him on his final quest.

+ +

He smiled proudly as his son recounted the meeting with Megrin and their journey to Bodron’s keep, finding Rionna, and the nightmare time in the Keep before the great fight with the Monster that Bodron had become.

+ +

“It was the Book that saved us,†Jack said. “It swallowed the Copperplates. We fought Bodron, all four of us, and Megrin too. Then everything went crazy and we slid into the pit and here we are.â€

+ +

Jack paused, thinking for a moment. Then he took the heartstone from his neck, drew out the great sword and offered both to his father.

+ +

“These belong to the Journeyman,†he said. “You take them.â€

+ +

Jonathan Flint was choked with emotion.

+ +

“No, Jack. My time is done. I have been in these Shadowlands too long. You have earned the sword and the name.

+ +

“The Great Dark Lord, the master of all Shadowlords, reigns supreme here and I have fought him many times in all his guises. The last I remember, he showed me his true shape and turned his eyes on me and I felt my blood turn to stone. “Since then, nothing. Until something unfroze me and I could move again.â€

+ +

“It was the heartstone,†Jack said. “The Journeyman’s heart.â€

+ +

“It’s your heart, Journeyman.â€

+ + + +

+ +

CHAPTER 29

+ + +

The Dark Tower reached into the red sky. The closer they got, the more the heartstone shuddered. With every step, Jack was overwhelmed by a feeling of oppression.

+ +

It stood, bleak as a tombstone. Around it, purple clouds swirled, and from high ledges, bat-winged things swooped and shrieked.

+ +

“It is waiting,†Jonathan Flint said, “because it knows the heartstone is near.â€

+ +

“Then maybe we should take it as far away from here as we can,†Kerry said.

+ +

“No,†Jack countered. “The Book said we had a chance to defeat it. With staff, book and heart, prevail. We’ve faced so much we can’t give up now.â€

+ +

His father gave him a measuring look, true pride shone in his eyes. “Perhaps not much of a chance,†he said. “But a chance all the same. Remember those petrified heroes, turned to stone by its dead eyes, long ago. As I was. I fought it and beat it back, again and again, and each time it came out to do battle it was stronger. It has the strength of all the souls it has stolen. “It will use everything it has against us.â€

+ +

When they finally reached the great bastion, standing in its shadow, Jack saw that the walls were not as featureless as they had appeared. Their surface was intricately carved with thousands of human skulls, row upon row, blindly leering at all who approached.

+ +

Kerry stretched out his hand to touch one of the carvings and then jerked back with a cry of alarm as the skull’s gaping mouth suddenly snapped shut.

+ +

Corriwen’s hands were shaking. She clasped Rionna’s hand, feeling a powerful sense of dread swell inside her.

+

“I feel its foulness,†she said. “Like death. Like disease.â€

+ +

“There’s no way in,†Jack said, scanning the walls.

+ +

“Good,†Kerry muttered. “Whatever’s in there should stay there.â€

+ +

“But I must find a way,†Jonathan Flint said. He strode towards the wall, and stabbed his long spear into a hanging jaw. The skull rolled out onto the ground at their feet, jaw opening and closing as if trying to speak.

+ +

For a moment nothing moved and then, without warning that part of the wall collapsed in a roar of skull grinding on skull. Jonathan Flint turned fast and swept them away from an avalanche of bone.

+ +

A white dust took several minutes to clear. Corriwen and Rionna kept their arms over their mouths and noses so as not to breathe any of it in. Before them was a gap that cut through the skull wall.

+ +

“I think a way has been opened for us,†Jack’s father said. He bent down and looked at them all. “I have to go in there, but you should wait here.â€

+ +

Jack shook his head, though his heart was pounding. “No. If you’re going, so am I. We’ve come this far.â€

+ +

Kerry stood with him, shoulder to shoulder m.

+ +

“And I go with Jack,†he said. “Always have, always will.â€

+ +

“And I too,†Corriwen declared. Rionna said nothing. She held tight to Corriwen’s hand and nodded silently.

+ +

Jonathan Flint took in a slow breath, turned, and walked into the fissure that led inside.

+ +

Beyond the wall, nothing felt right. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and shivers ran down his back. Kerry's face was pale he looked as though he might faint. Corriwen muttered under her breath and Jack knew she was trying to ward off evil with a chant from Temair. This place reeked of rot and decay. All around them, they could hear a low moaning, the sound of a thousand people in despair, but they walked on. Jonathan Flint led the way, with the great spear on his shoulder, ready for battle. Kerry had loaded his sling and held the short-sword in one hand.

+ +

Four is one... Jack repeated the words from the Book to himself. And now five. They had to stay together, because whatever waited for them, waited with foul intent. And it wouldn’t wait long.

+ +

Jack concentrated his thoughts on his mother, whose face he could not even recall. Please let her be alive, he whispered. His father clamped a hand on his shoulder. Despite his fear, despite the apprehension that clenched his stomach, that one touch gave him strength.

+

+

“You have grown to be the man I always hoped,†Jonathan Flint said in a soft voice. “If I don’t get the chance later, you should know that now.â€

+ +

Jack nodded, but he was too tense, too scared, to feel anything at all.

+ +

The breach in the wall opened into a vast amphitheatre, surrounded by a maze of passages. In the centre of this arena, a dark mound rose like an ancient tomb. Red light flickered, the only illumination. Rasping whispers invaded Jack’s thoughts in words he could not understand. Corriwen clamped her hands to her ears, to block out the voices, but to no avail.

+ +

Jack followed close behind his father, as they worked their way through the maze, with Kerry at his shoulder, keeping Corriwen and Rionna behind them. As they walked the whispers became a low moaning as if the walls had soaked eons of suffering and pain.

+ +

The sound increased with every step and troubling images flickered across Jack’s consciousness: images of blood and death; of shadowy things grinning from corners; of some dark beast hunched and turning to fix him with dreadful eyes.

+ +

Kerry shuddered. “I’m getting awful nightmares. I think I’m going mad.â€

+ +

“It is toying with us,†Jack’s father said. “Wearing us down.â€

+ +

Corriwen clapped her hands to her eyes. “Get out of my mind…get out of me!â€

+ +

When she took her hands away, her cheeks were streaked with tears. Rionna put her arm around her shoulders. To Kerry, she seemed the least affected, and he knew it was because she spent her life protecting herself from dark forces.

+ +

The black mound hunched in the distance as they walked from the maze into the open.

+ +

Without warning, three hooded shapes came at them from nowhere, shrieking like banshees.

+ +

Nightshades. In an instant Jack was back at the Major’s house while the living dark flowed through the rooms like a disease. Shadowmasters.

+ +

In seconds, the spectres were amongst them. Jack felt their numbing cold as he leapt to the side, instinctively swinging his sword. He glimpsed a wavering shape that seemed almost insubstantial, and within it, a skeletal face. The hand that reached for him was long and bony.

+ +

“Don’t let them touch you!†The darkness had touched him when he first fled through the ringstones, a foul contagion that had had to be burned out of his flesh.

+ +

Jonathan Flint’s spear jabbed, once, twice, fast strikes. The spectre screamed and when Jack’s father pulled the spearpoint out, it folded in upon itself, disintegrating to fluttering scraps.

+ +

Kerry and Corriwen were twisting and turning, Kerry hitting where he could and Corriwen trying to strike with a deadly arrow. The spectres were fast, but the pair were faster, keeping just out of reach.

+ +

Corriwen drew Jack’s bow and aimed. The arrow caught the spectre in its centre, slowing it down just enough for Kerry to slash down with the short sword. Purple sparks ran up and down his blade and he cried out in pain. Jonathan Flint stepped in and slammed his spear deep within the writhing figure. He pinned it to the ground, savagely twisting the weapon until it stopped moving.

+ +

The third assailant came screeching at Rionna. She raised Megrin’s staff and a jolt of blue light stopped the attack in mid-flight. Jack stepped past her and lashed out with the great sword. When the blade sliced, he felt a shock run up his arm, followed by an icy sensation of deep cold. He pulled the blade out and the nightshade imploded with a hiss.

+ +

As they stood together, breathing hard, the shrouded figures on the ground crumpled into tatters that swirled around as if stirred by a wind and then drifted away.

+ +

That’s just the start, Jack thought to himself.

+ +

His father turned to him. “It was too easy. They were here to hold us up.â€

+ +

Jack nodded. It had been just the start. Before he could say anything, Kerry cocked his head.

+ +

“Something’s coming.â€

+ +

“I hear it, “ Corriwen said. She looked around wildly. Jack heard a faint scratching noise, like insects scuttling in a cellar. They all drew together, trying vainly to hear where it was coming from. The noise got louder with every second.

+ +

Kerry saw it first. Jack though he could see grey shadow sweeping across the tangle of passageways. The heartstone throbbed, even more powerfully than before. Jonathan Flint raised his arm protectively to push them behind him.

+ +

Then Jack saw it was no shadow, but a tide of creatures leaping and clambering along the walls of the maze, like a swarm of rats, but much bigger, and too fast for rats.

+ +

“I don’t like this,†Kerry muttered, reaching again for his sword. “There’s millions of them.â€

+ +

Creatures came streaming like ants from all around, and there was nowhere to run. They were all shapes and sizes. Some with great pale eyes and some with no eyes at all, or mouths in the middle of thin chests. Some had two legs, some four and some six. Some had scales and others had slimy, oozing skin. But they all had one purpose and that was to destroy the five people who stood facing them.

+ +

Jack drew his sword with one hand. His left clutched the heartstone but as soon as he touched it a clear voice spoke, deep inside his head.

+ +

Heart of my heart…soul of my soul.

+ +

The words the Sky Queen had used rang in his mind. His heart thudded. The voice was clear and gentle, like the Sky Queen’s, but different. He opened his fingers and stared at the heartstone. It rippled with light. Vibrant colours spangled under its polished surface. Despite the approaching wave of horrors, he couldn’t draw his eyes away. The light held him.

+ +

Corriwen was saying something to him, but barely heard her. The sound of the advancing creatures had faded to the background. Colours flashed in front of his eyes and in their midst a face began to form.

+ +

It was a heart-shaped, slender face with long, spun-gold hair. As majestic as the Sky Queen had been on Tara Hill, but younger.

+ +

You returned. My journeyman. The voice came from deep inside him.

+ +

She was beautiful.

+

+

Her eyes were closed, as if she was in deep sleep, but her voice, clear as crystal, tugged at him. A powerful sensation of love swept over him, and in that moment he knew that this was his mother.

+ +

With a great effort, he dragged his attention away from the vision. The repulsive swarm of contorted creatures was still pouring towards them, shrieking and hissing. Jonathan Flint stalked forward to meet them, spear at the ready. Jack ran after him and grabbed his wrist.

+ +

“She called me!â€

+ +

His father stopped in his tracks. His attention had been fixed on the advancing horde, but he turned to his son. Jack gripped him tight.

+ +

“My mother. She called me. I must find her.â€

+ +

Before Jonathan Flint could reply, Jack pressed the great sword into his free hand.

+ +

“Stay alive,†he begged. “I will find her. For us.â€

+ +

With that he spun on his heel, not waiting to see his father’s reaction or risk him holding him back. He hurried towards his friends. Corriwen and Kerry were staring at the multitude, tense and ready to fight. Rionna watched the three of them, lit by the soft glow from Megrin’s staff.

+ +

“I have to go,†Jack told them. “Watch his back. Don’t let them get him, not now.â€

+ +

“You can’t leave us now,†Kerry protested. “Where are you going?â€

+ +

“My mother,†Jack said. “She is alive.â€

+ +

“How do you know?†Corriwen kept her eyes on the advancing monsters.

+ +

Jack raised the heart. “She spoke to me. I saw her.â€

+ +

“Then go,†Corriwen said resolutely. “Find her. End your quest.â€

+ +

Kerry agreed. “Yeah, Jack. Don’t you worry,†he said, with more bravado than certainty. His voice was shaky. “The things under my bed were ten times worse. We’ll maulicate these boogers.â€

+ +

“We stand here,†Corriwen said very seriously. “Friends to the end.â€

+ +

Jack hugged them both hard, stepped towards Rionna who had Megrin’s staff braced in both hands.

+ +

“I need light,†he said. Rionna closed her eyes. He heard that faint clear note and the staff suddenly blazed with its blue fire. Rionna offered the staff to Jack and he took it in his hand and walked towards the squat stone mound in the centre of the amphitheatre, clutching the heartstone in his other hand.

+ +

When he touched it, the wall dissolved under his fingers, shrinking from his warmth.

+

He stepped forward and time seemed to stop. Behind him the cacophony of the approaching creatures slowed to a deep rumble and faded to silence. All Jack could hear was the beat of his own heart. For a few seconds he was in total darkness, then Megrin’s light flared bright, illuminating a small circle around him.

+ + +

+ CHAPTER 30

+ + + +

There was danger here, and it was all around. Jack could feel it. Foul images of death and destruction came to him again: bloody battlefields, carrion roaks, mouldering skeletons, all the horrors that had been or might still be to come.

+ +

Get out. Get OUT.

+ +

A command inside his head sent him reeling and something cold as death enveloped him in a sensation of dank decay. Another image began to form in his mind.

+ +

He saw his father with Kerry and Corriwen at his side as a vast army of monstrosities overwhelmed them, biting and ripping and tearing.

+ +

Get out. The foul voice screamed. There is nothing for you here. Run! Save them!

+

+

Jack couldn’t tell whether the voice was real or illusion, but he fought against it. He closed his eyes and forced himself to picture his own thoughts: His friendship with Kerry. The day they saved Corriwen. The touch of his father’s hand. The warmth of his mother’s heart. It took a great effort of will, but these clean and pure memories began to overcome the foul invasion and the voice and the horrific images began to fade.

+ +

Over and above the cold whisperings, he could hear something else, and it sounded like the beat of another human heart.

+ +

Jack held Megrin’s staff high. Gauzy shapes moved around him, now silent as moths and barely visible. Jack sensed their baleful hatred, but continued into the darkness until a glimmer of other light began to glow ahead of him.

+ +

The whispering voices died away. Megrin’s light grew stronger and Jack felt the atmosphere change. The ground trembled, but he kept his grip on the heartstone as he edged forward.

+ +

In front of him, a silvery light grew in intensity. Tangles of moving darkness surrounded it in coils, but as Jack approached, the glow strengthened.

+ +

And then Jack saw her.

+ +

His heart leapt into his throat and left him breathless and dizzy. At first he thought it was just a floating illumination, but as he stepped nearer it began to take form. It was a woman, still as death, wrapped in a cocoon of sparkling light.

+ +

She was pale, as if carved from marble. She floated, suspended within the light which played on her delicate features, making her long fair hair gleam. Both hands were crossed over her chest and at her throat pulsed another heartstone, cut and polished just like the one Jack held, but this one clear as a diamond and aglow with white light.

+ +

Jack felt as if his heart would burst.

+ +

Heart of my heart. The gentle voice spoke within him. Soul of my soul.

+ +

Jack gripped the heartstone. It beat steadily, matching the pulse of the crystal heart. His feet moved of their own accord and brought him closer.

+ +

You come at last…

+ +

He heard the words, and felt the joy in them. It matched the joy that swelled inside his own chest.

+ +

…to bring me back…

+ +

He bent towards his mother. Silver light tinkled as if the dust in the air were charged with power. He took her hands in his. They were cold as stone and there was no sign of life.

+ +

Some compulsion made him lean further until he was only inches away from her perfect face.

+ +

And the two heartstones touched.

+ +

Light blazed so brightly that he felt it sear through every nerve in his body. In that moment Jack was overwhelmed by a flood of images and memories as the white radiance sizzled through every nerve.

+ +

He saw his mother and father walking on a beach towards the rising sun. He saw the dark shadow envelop their home and he watched the final, desperate battle with the nightshades. He saw his father lift him from a cradle and fight his way out, while a great pit opened, taking his mother into darkness.

+ +

He heard the banshee screeches of the things that hunted them through woodland until they reached the stone gate. He felt again the twist as his father stepped through. He heard him blow on his horn and wrap him tight, with the heartstone and the book of ways secured in the blanket.

+ +

The memories streamed through his mind, surging with colour and images, flooding him with knowledge of his mother and father and their lives, and what had brought them both to this place where all roads ended.

+ +

In the brilliant radiance, a soft hand cupped his face. In the brilliant light she now stood before him, tall and slender. Wide blue eyes regarded him and in them he saw infinite wisdom. Tears coursed down her sculpted cheeks. Her hands slid around his shoulders and brought him into her warmth.

+ +

“My baby,†she said, through her tears. “My boy. My journeyman.â€

+ +

He moved into her embrace and the two heartstones came together again. Light soared to such an intensity that all darkness fled. All around them, the prison which had held her all of his life, disintegrated under the force of the heartpower.

+ +

They stood together, mother and son, each holding tight to the other, while the Tor surrounding them crumbled to dust and blew away.

+ +

Jack’s mother closed her eyes. She whispered softly and the blazing light slowly faded and Jack saw they were back in the middle of the amphitheatre.

+ +

His father stood tall with the great sword. Kerry, Corriwen and Rionna were behind him.

+ +

And the hordes of the obscene, misshapen creatures that had hunched and lurched towards them were still as statues, frozen in a moment of time.

+ +

Jack heard a ringing in his ears and sound came back, the growling and chittering of the grotesque army and the scuttle of claws on the ground.

+ + +

+ CHAPTER 31

+ + +

“It begins,†his mother said, barely more than a whisper. “And it ends here.â€

+ +

As if she had called out to him, Jack’s father turned towards them. Their eyes met and held. Neither his mother nor father them spoke, but Jack saw the love and regret in his father’s gaze.

+ +

He mouthed one word that was swallowed in the noise from the tide of grotesque creatures surging across the arena.

+ +

Lauralen.

+

+

Jonathan Flint looked at his son, and Jack felt that same love encompass him. His father nodded slowly, just once. But in that small gesture he managed to convey so much. Jack knew his father thanking him for bringing Lauralen Flint back. And he sensed the father and son bond that he had dreamt about since childhood. For the second time that day Jack’s heart felt as if it would burst.

+ +

Kerry turned and when he saw the fair haired woman his eyes grew so wide they looked as if they might pop out.

+ +

“Wow!†It was all he could manage.

+ +

Corriwen just gazed at her as if Jack’s mother was an apparition. Jack still wasn’t sure she was not.

+ +

“The Great Lord of Darkness comes,†Lauralen said.

+ +

“First we have to fight these beasties,†Kerry finally found his tongue. Jack passed the glowing staff back to Rionna.

+ +

Jonathan Flint swept his gaze around them all.

+ +

“We stand here,†he said. “I wish it were different. But such is fate.†His voice was steady and calm.

+ +

“Always for the light,†said Lauralen, just as calmly. She showed no fear. “Always for the right. It was ever thus.â€

+ +

Jack’s father turned to face the approaching creatures. As he swung up the great sword Jack thought it fit his hand as if it were made for him.

+ +

The horde of sprites, slowed their advance. For a moment, all Jack could hear was the scratching of claws on stony ground. Corriwen readied her bow. Kerry was muttering something to himself. It took Jack a moment to recognise it was the poem that he had helped him learn at school. It was about Robert the Bruce at the battle of Bannockburn.

+ +

Now’s the day and now’s the hour, see the front of battle glower.

+

+

Kerry had his shortsword in one hand and swung the heavy bolas in the other.

+ +

Ready as I’m ever going to be, he breathed. But I’d rather be fishing any day of the week.

+ +

Lauralen Flint silently handed Megrin’s staff to Rionna who gripped it tight.

+ +

Jack expected the creatures to come surging towards them at any moment, but they did not. Instead, they began to mill together, forming a tight pack.

+ +

“What are they doing?†Corriwen’s voice was tight with tension.

+ +

They surged together, piling one on top of the other, forming a mound of arms and legs and claws and tails.

+ +

Jack’s mother stood calmly. The heartstone gleamed at her neck, pulsing in time with the one Jack wore.

+ +

The heap of wriggling bodies began to change shape. All the hideous creatures merged together, sinking into each other until there was just a featureless shape in front of them.

+ +

“Is that it?†Kerry asked. “Are they dead?â€

+ +

As if in reply, the mound gave an enormous shudder. Jack watched in horror as it expanded, growing upwards into a pillar until it towered above them.

+ +

A huge head swelled upon massive shoulders. Its toes grew into curved claws, two upon each foot. Fingers stretched into long, hooked talons. Horns grew on its head, spiralling and ridged like a monstrous ram.

+ +

A mouth opened, showing row upon row of jagged black teeth and from it boomed a mighty, triumphant laugh that echoed madly around the walls of the amphitheatre.

+ +

Jonathan Flint had turned to face it. Kerry looked at Jack and his eyes were bright with apprehension. Corriwen had drawn the bow, ready to shoot. Rionna had raised Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Jack realised with dismay that neither he nor his mother were armed. They had nothing but the two heartstones. Jack felt his own heartstone beat stronger.

+ +

The beast laughed again, and the ground heaved. It raised its arms and spread them out on either side. Flames burst into life and raced up and down its body, twisting around its arms and legs.

+ +

It swung a vast arm around and pointed a claw at Jonathan Flint. A bolt of fire exploded out. Jack’s father disappeared in gout of flame, and Jack cried out in alarm.

+ +

Then he saw him, twenty yards distant, unscathed.

+ +

Where he had stood, the rock was flowing white-hot. The reek of burning filled the air.

+

Jonathan Flint was moving fast.

+ +

His spear was at his shoulder. Jonathan Flint’s back arched and he launched it straight at the fiery shape. Where it struck, tongues of flame gouted out and Jack saw the monster stagger.

+ +

It can be hurt, he thought.

+ +

Two clawed hands swung round and gripped the spear. Fire surged between the hands, but the great weapon did not burn. Grunting, it pulled the spear free. The puncture holes in its body spewed burning liquid and acrid fumes.

+ +

But Jonathan Flint was still moving, swinging the Scatha’s sword in his right hand. Kerry and Corriwen, to Jack’s amazement, were on his heels. He made to follow them, but his mother pressed on his shoulder.

+ +

“Wait,†she said softly, and that word carried an enormous weight of command. Jack froze. Lauralen Flint placed her free hand on Rionna’s head and together they stood, watching the deadly battle. Jack was jittering with the need to fight with his friends and at his father’s back, but the hand on his shoulder made him stay.

+

+

Jack’s father ducked under a mighty arm as it came sweeping down at him. The sword flashed, slashed, and a huge claw tumbled away and landed with a thump. Kerry had been veering to the left and the claw missed him by a whisker.

+ +

Corriwen raised her bow. She was moving fast, a red-headed streak. One arrow shot out and stabbed between the jagged teeth. Foul steam billowed and it roared again.

+ +

It swung at her and a sizzling jolt traced her as she dashed away, scoring the ground in puffs of vapour.

+ +

Kerry jinked past the twitching claw. Without warning it flipped over scuttled after him, a nightmare on four claws and a hooked thumb, moving with spider-like speed.

+ +

He let out a yell of fright and ran as the thing scrabbled after him, trailing blood that sizzled as it hit the ground. Corriwen launched another arrow, again high on the monster’s body, just as Kerry blundered between its legs. Briefly distracted, it missed a slashing grab for him. Instinctively Kerry jabbed and the sword turned pink then flopped like a wilted leaf. A vast hoof raised over his head and stamped down again. For a second, Jack saw Kerry disappear in a cloud of fumes and then he was out the other side, ducking and rolling as it stamped again, so hard that the whole dark world trembled.

+ +

Jack watched with pride as his friends and his father fought the monstrosity. He was desperate to run in and help them, to do something other than watch, but his mother’s hand stayed firmly on his shoulder.

+ +

Corriwen launched another arrow and another, shooting and reloading fast. They spiked around its hideous face, but the beast brushed them off and came at her. She leapt aside and Jonathan Flint strode in again with the great sword. It seemed to blaze with light as he slashed right and left, tearing huge gouges in the monster’s thighs, gouges that formed mouths with jagged teeth that gnashed in fury.

+ +

Kerry found Jonathan Flint’s spear. It looked much too big for him but he managed it nonetheless. Jack’s father was up close and slashing madly. Everywhere he cut, another mouth opened to scream at him. Kerry ran to his side, with the spear raised up. Jack’s father stabbed hard and the beast faltered, giving Kerry the chance to put all his strength into one hard lunge.

+ +

It staggered, bellowing. Jack watched in amazement as it rocked back and then began to tumble forward. It happened as if in slow motion. Jonathan Flint grabbed Kerry's hood and hauled him back just as the behemoth toppled and hit the ground with enormous force.

+ +

“Is it dead,†Rionna asked.

+ +

“No,†Lauralen said. “The great beast can never die, for he is not alive as we know it. He is the sum of all the evil he has gathered to himself.â€

+ +

Now Jonathan Flint, Corriwen and Kerry were backing off. The beast was on all fours, scoring gouges in the ground. It seemed to curl into itself. The hand that had chased Kerry crawled towards it, clawed its way up and sank back into its warty skin.

+ +

Before their eyes, the arms and legs shrank back into the main body until all they could see was a twitching mass.

+ +

“It’s changing again,†Rionna said.

+ +

“Stand by me,†Lauralen told. “Now we play our part. We have two heartstones and you have more power than you know. We will need all of it.â€

+ +

Jack saw the surface of the mass rip wide open and what emerged made his stomach clench. At first it was a writhing mass of worms, wriggling and looping and slimy, like branched tentacles, except that each one ended in a head that was grotesquely human. It uncoiled, still swelling and the tentacles hardened into jointed limbs. The head, on a long, segmented neck, reminded Jack of a preying mantis. Great wings opened and beat the air.

+ +

A voice spoke in Jack’s head.

+ +

Lost forever, mortal. The voice was like rot and sickness. He felt it deep inside him and he shuddered. Your pain will be eternal. I will burn you for all time and feast on your anguish.

+ +

Jack clapped his hands to his head, staggering under the mental assault.

+ +

His mother laid a soft hand on his head and the sensation faded until he could open his eyes once more. The heartstones thrummed together in powerful harmony.

+ +

“Begone.†Her voice was clear. “You will never have him.â€

+

+

Give me what I will have. Give it now and he will suffer less. The Mailachan Mhor commands.

+ +

“You are no Great Lord,†she said. Jack could hear the words but couldn’t see her lips move. “You are the king of nothingness.â€

+ +

I will bring perpetual night and pain. I will ravage! I will cover all in darkness.

+ +

The great wings whooped in the air. Its neck stretched out towards them, head swelling and contorting, bent to the ground.

+ +

Jack watched in horror as a great eye began to open. He could see fire swirling under the scaly eyelid. His mother made no move.

+ +

The eye creaked open. Rionna let out a small cry. Jack saw the ground shrivel under the power of the gaze.

+ +

Something thudded at Jack’s side. His hand found the satchel. His other hand went to the heartstone and its throbbing rippled through him. His fingers opened the bag and touched the Book of Ways. Before he knew it, it was in his hand.

+ +

His mother reached and grasped Megrin’s staff with one hand on top of Rionna’s. In her other, she raised the crystal heartstone. Instinctively Jack imitated her. He held his own heartstone up before him. The Book twisted in his hand.

+ +

The awful head came up and as it swung towards them, Jack got a glimpse of the eternal evil in that gaze. He thought he might fall down and die.

+ +

His mother stepped in front of Rionna and the eye turned to follow her. It was almost completely open, as red as boiling lava. Rocks burst asunder as it began to focus.

+ +

Jonathan Flint ran in, sword raised. The eye swivelled towards him.

+ +

Megrin’s staff suddenly blazed with incandescent white light. A jolt of power blasted out from the monster’s eye, a beam of pure night. Every nerve in Jack’s body shrivelled, and an intense cold shuddered through his bones.

+ +

Megrin’s light met the creature’s dead-light head on. Lauralen Flint held the staff in a firm grip, eyes wide, concentrating. The Book of Ways twisted again in Jack’s hand. A strange, juddering sound throbbed where the two lights met. Darkness tried to engulf Megrin’s light, but Jack’s mother held firm.

+ +

Lauralen Flint held up her heartstone.

+ +

And Megrin’s light winked out. The monstrous beast roared in triumph.

+

Jack’s heart lurched. But suddenly the Book of Ways opened in his numbed hand, just as the beast’s glare blasted straight at his mother.

+ +

A blast struck the crystal heartstone with such force that the air about them seemed to rip to shreds.

+ +

The heartstone glowed. It beat once, twice. And the deathly blast leapt from her stone to Jack’s in a beam of blue. He felt it strike, amazed that he was not instantly incinerated.

+ +

The heartstone turned the light yet again. A beam stabbed down and hit the open book. Pure copper on the page turned to gold and the darklight, now a line of brilliant white was hurled back in the direction it had come.

+ +

It struck the beast right in the glaring eye.

+ +

Then the devil got a taste of his own. The light from the Copperplates melted the eye in its socket. The great beast juddered and its wings froze in mid-beat. Its foul head bent backwards and the mouth gaped like a cave-mouth. A deep, hollow rumble rolled over them and then the mouth closed with a crash.

+ +

Jack’s mother stood watching, heartstone in her hand.

+ +

The beast swayed on its horny feet, and Jack watched in fascination as its movement began to slow until it was almost still.

+ +

A sudden wind whipped up the sand around them, swirling around the monster. As the grains struck it. The wind gained strength, but they stood firm, holding on to one another as the creature swayed in the blast and then toppled backwards and crashed to the ground….

+ +

It shattered into a million fragments that crumbled to dust which was swept away by the gale. The wind died as quickly as it had begun and they stood, six of them together, in a land scoured clean.

+ +

All around them was emptiness, no rocks, no stone, no amphitheatre, nothing.

+ +

Jack’s mother let out a long sigh and took his hand in hers.

+ +

Jonathan Flint came up beside them, wrapped his arms around both of them.

+ +

“You came back,†Lauralen said.

+

+ + + +

+ CHAPTER 32

+ + +

“Find our way,†Lauralen Flint had asked. Rionna, still holding the staff, bent her head and began to sing, so softly that Jack could barely hear her. Kerry and Corriwen stood with them, not yet able to comprehend that it was all over.

+ +

Far out in the emptiness, a faint curve on the horizon showed a pale arch. Lauralen smiled.

+ +

“You have more in you that you could guess,†she told Rionna. “Uaine will be glad of it in days to come.â€

+ +

When they finally stood before the archway, Jack could see green fields on the far side, flowers and bright sunshine. The faint call of songbirds welcomed them.

+ +

Megrin stood alone. Behind her, all that remained of Bodron’s hold-fast were a few mossy mounds, as if they had crumbled centuries ago.

+ +

Rionna stepped forward with the staff and offered it to her.

+ +

“Oh no, my dear,†Megrin said. “It fits your hand better. A new generation brings new life to Uaine.â€

+ + + +

***

+ +

Now Jack Flint knew who he was.

+ +

They had woken to a new dawn. Dew was like diamonds on the grass. His mother roused him with a touch on his cheek, took him by the hand and led him through the morning glades, to a small forest lake. A gentle mist floated over the surface and nothing stirred.

+ +

They sat by the water in silence, not needing to speak, not then, as the sun began to rise. Finally, Lauralen Flint rose to her feet and walked – Jack always remembered thinking that she had glided – to the edge of the lake.

+ +

The rising sun shone on her golden hair and made it glow. Jack was reminded of the time Corriwen had dived through the sky over the edge of the waterfall in Temair and thinking it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. His mother was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

+ +

The new light made her long gown seem gauzy and he could see damselflies beyond her as they silently skimmed the surface. For an instant, his vision seemed to waver then jump into startling focus.

+ +

She caught his look and an expression of aching sadness flitted across her face.

+ +

“What’s wrong?†Jack broke the silence. “There’s something happening!â€

+ +

She nodded. He stared at her. He could see the reeds on the far bank, still woven with mist, but he could see them faintly behind her, as if she was becoming wispy and insubstantial.

+ +

Lauralen Flint knelt in front of her son and took his hands in hers. Her skin felt like gossamer, as if it was hardly there at all. Then she spoke.

+ +

“Since our heartstones touched, there have been no secrets between us. All is revealed, your life, your father’s and my own. The lives we have lived, the lives we now share. I have seen you grow, and I have lived your adventures, my son, Journeyman of my heart.

+ +

“And now it is time.â€

+ +

“I don’t understand.! What’s wrong? You’re…you’re disappearing!â€

+ +

“You came for me, and together we prevailed. All of us. Your father and your fine friends and yourself. And the fight will go on. I know you are your father’s son and I will always be with you, in the heartstone and in your heart.â€

+ +

The sun sparkled on the water. It sparkled through her hair and through her eyes, as if she was filled with diamonds.

+ +

Jack was shaking his head, unable to speak, dreading what she might say.

+ +

“We were too long in the nether-world. The binding spell I wove let me sleep in timeless safety where the beast could not reach me. It lured you down to its depths to bring the two hearts together and destroy them. It would have been the end of everything.

+ +

“But we prevailed and there will be harmony across the worlds, until the next evil arises. That will be your quest. Who knows where, or when, but the Journeyman must journey. The battle always waits.

+ +

“But we are no longer of the worlds of the living. Your father and I must travel on, and we must go now.â€

+ +

“No!†Jack was aghast. His heart hammered against his ribs. A pain stabbed behind his eyes.

+ +

His father stepped out from the edge of the trees, as tall and strong as he had been when the statue on the red plain had shed its skin of stone. He held Hedda’s magnificent sword in its scabbard. The great horn Jack had heard him blow when he was just a baby, was slung on his shoulder,

+ +

“Yes, Jack. Our time is gone and another world waits for us.â€

+ +

“What world?†Jack was panicking. His heart beat wildly. Desperate anguish rose like bile deep inside him. “Don’t go. I’ve just found you! You can’t leave me now!â€

+ +

Jonathan Flint strapped the sword to Jack’s waist, weighed the horn on his son’s neck and put both hands on his shoulders.

+ +

“Don’t go,†Jack pleaded. Tears welled up in his eyes.

+ +

“Know that you are always with us, and will be with us again.†Jack could see the reflected dew through his father’s face. Jonathan Flint was fading too.

+ +

“But where are you going?â€

+ +

“You know the place. From your books.â€

+ +

Jack backed away, shaking his head.

+ +

On the far side of the lake, mist was beginning to roll out past the reeds and on to a grassy bank. It began to coil slowly into twin, translucent pillars.

+ +

“Tir –Nan-Og!†Realisation struck him like a blow. “The land of the young!â€

+ +

Between the pillars, a clear light shone.

+ +

“Walk with us,†his father said gently.

+ +

Jack shook his head. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. Words tried to get out but choked in his throat. The world seemed to spin.

+ +

His mother took his hand. Jonathan Flint put his arm around Jack’s shoulders, but Jack could hardly feel its weight or his mother’s touch. It was as if they were hardly in this world at all. Together they led him round the water towards the shining gateway.

+ +

By now, his mother’s face was almost translucent. But her eyes were the clearest blue, and regarded him with such profound love that his heart almost stopped.

+ +

Beyond the gateway a smooth road meandered to a little bridge over a stream. On the far side, rolling green fields stretched into the distance.

+ +

Across the fields, hundreds people were walking towards the bridge. They looked like the kind of people, the old Celtic heroes and heroines that Jack had read about in the books he’d loved. Their faces were wreathed in smiles and they looked at peace.

+ +

They came over the fields to welcome the Lady Lauralen and Jonathan Cullian Flint to Tir-Nan-Og.

+ +

Jack’s mother kissed him on the forehead. It was like a breath of air. His father’s hand was a featherweight on his shoulder and then it was gone.

+ +

Together they walked through the shining gateway, as their son watched them leave, and the sunlight of that other place made them whole again. They crossed the bridge and then they turned.

+ +

Jack’s father nodded to him and waved his hand in silent farewell. His mother smiled.

+ +

Then the pillars turned back into mist and the gateway was gone.

+ +

Jack Flint was alone.

+ +

+ CHAPTER 33

+ +

Jack picked up the great sword and slung the amberhorn bow on his back. Corriwen had sheathed her knives. Kerry's short-sword was gone, lost in the battle, but he still had his sling. Rionna walked with Megrin’s staff and they approached the Homeward Gate of Uaine.

+ +

Kerry stopped some distance away. Between the carved stone pillars the air twisted and shimmered like a mirage. Beyond them stood the Cromwath Ringstones, and home.

+ +

But Kerry walked no further. Jack already knew.

+ +

For a while he had been utterly alone with his thoughts, feeling he would die from loss and grief. He thought the pain of it would never stop. His heart felt as if it had been wrenched out of him. Corriwen, Kerry and Rionna left him to grieve and he sat for a long time on a hill beyond the forest, lost in his own memories.

+ +

Now he was facing a second loss.

+ +

“I need a break, Jack,†Kerry had said, pleading for Jack’s understanding. “Honestly I do. “Back there, back home I’m just the bottom of the heap. Just the raggedy-arsed Irish rascal. There’s nothing for me there.â€

+ +

Jack felt his stomach clench again. He wouldn’t take losing Kerry too.

+ +

“But after all we’ve been through,†he began. “You can’t just…walk away.â€

+ +

“Who said I’m walking away? I never said that! I just want to sit down and not have to run or fight all the time. Jeez, Jack, we’re not even fifteen. I want to enjoy myself for a bit.â€

+ +

“Why not enjoy it back home?â€

+ +

“Because all the other places we’ve been, I’ve been somebody. Even if it was somebody everybody wanted to kill. Over there, I’m nobody.â€

+ +

“I spoke to Rionna and I want to see her place. Look around, you know? Spend some time fishing. Maybe have a picnic.â€

+ +

“But something else is going to happen,†Jack said. “Some time. Who knows when? And I’ll need you with me.â€

+ +

“I didn’t say I’m quitting,†Kerry assured him, eyes bright with tears that he brushed away angrily. “No way Jack. Just let me have some time to catch my breath where things aren’t always trying to do me in. When you need me, I’ll be right there.â€

+ +

Kerry grabbed him in a tight hug and held him close.

+ +

“You and me and Corrie. All for one and each for everybody else. Same as always.â€

+ +

“I’ll come for you when the time’s right,†Jack said.

+ +

“I’ll be there.â€

+

***

+ +

Jack Flint and Corriwen Redthorn stepped through the Homeward Gate.

+ +

There were thirteen standing stones and twelve gateways between them. They stood together inside the ring.

+ +

“It’s that one,†Jack pointed, preparing himself for this parting.

+ +

“I know where it is,†she replied, eyes bright. “But that’s not the way for me. Temair doesn’t need me. You do.â€

+ +

Corriwen strode forward and held him tight.

+ +

“My place is at your side. I knew it from the start. Who knows when the next fight will be, the next quest. You need me at your back, and that’s where I’ll be.â€

+ +

She smiled at him.

+ +

“Always.â€

+ + + +

+ CHAPTER 34

+ +

Epilogue.

+

+ + +

On a bright autumn day, a boy and a girl sat on the high wall that surrounded a very old woodland. The leaves were gold and the sun reflected silver from the estuary far down the hill.

+ +

High above, a jet drew a line of white across a clear sky and the girl stared at it as it arched above them, eyes wide and full of wonder.

+ +

Jack Flint had put the heartstone into its niche and watched the sun and moon flick eastwards across the sky as the key to worlds turned the clock back and back until he knew he had arrived at the beginning of his journeys.

+ +

As they sat on the wall, he took the great horn in his hands, raised it to his lips and sent out a deep booming note that echoed across the valleys on the peninsula where he had grown up.

+ +

“Might as well let the Major know we’re coming,†he said. “And with luck, he’ll get the kettle on.â€

+ +

They clambered down and began to cross the field to the big house.

+ +

“You’ll love it here. A soft bed, good food. Great books. And the Major, well, he’s special. He was my father’s best friend.â€

+ +

When thought of his father, Jack’s voice almost dried up, but he swallowed hard, then flashed Corriwen a warm smile. It would take him a while to come to terms; and to let his heart heal. But he would there.

+ +

Jack took Corriwen’s arm, and together they walked in sunshine towards home.

+ + +

THE END

+

+ + + + + diff --git a/Dark Ways2.txt b/Dark Ways2.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3c8bfd --- /dev/null +++ b/Dark Ways2.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5753 @@ + THE DARK WAYS

+

+

PROLOGUE

+

+

What has gone before…

+ +

It was time to make a hard decision. Jack Flint knew that.

+ +

Since the day he and Kerry Malone stumbled through the ring of standing stones in Cromwath Blackwood they had faced real danger time and time again.

+ +

When they stepped between the ancient stones, they found themselves on a bloodied battlefield in the legendary world of Temair. There, they had befriended chieftain’s daughter, Corriwen Redthorn, and fought their way across the country, harried by Scree ogres and by the mad Mandrake’s henchmen, and guided by the ancient Book of Ways.

+ +

It was in Temair that Jack first found clues to the identity of the father he had never met; the first bearer of the mysterious heartstone that Jack now wore around his neck. He gradually realised that his father had been a traveller between the worlds, a hero who fought on the side of good. A Journeyman.

+

+

Then Jack, Kerry and Corriwen had faced the devastating power behind Mandrake’s reign of evil: The supernatural entity known as the Morrigan.

+ +

In the final confrontation they had barely escaped with their lives, but in the battle with the Morrigan, Corriwen was thrown through the mystical gate and vanished into another world. Jack and Kerry set of to rescue her, and found themselves in Eirinn, a world Jack only knew from myths he had read in old books.

+ +

And Eirinn was no less perilous than Temair. Dermott the Wolf and his dark spellbinder Fainn hunted them from one side of the land to the other in pursuit of the Harp of Tara.

+ +

It was not they met Hedda the Scatha, the ferocious warrior woman, that Jack, Kerry and Corriwen and Connor, the rightful King of Eirinn, decided to stop running and fight back. Hedda had befriended Jack’s father, the Journeyman Hero whose task was to protect the mythic worlds. She gave Jack a new-forged sword, identical to the one his father had wielded and Jack decided that his own quest would be to find him, no matter what dangers he might have to face.

+ +

With the help of friends they had made in the fight against Dermott and Fainn, they faced their enemies near the magical Tara Hill where the harp’s song summoned the Sky Queen, the ancient goddess of peace and harmony.

+ +

On Tara Hill Jack was given yet another clue about his long lost father, the first bearer of the mysterious heartstone which Jack now wore at his neck..

+ +

Now, back in the ring of standing stones, His mind was up. It was no easy decision for a boy.

+ +

But whatever the cost, Jack would venture once through the mythic gates…and this time he would travel alone.

+

+

+

+

CHAPTER 1.

+ +

Jack swallowed a dry lump in his throat as he turned away from his friends towards the gate between the old stones.

+ +

It was his decision to go, and to go alone.

+ +

“You don’t have to,†Kerry protested.

+ +

“I do. And Corriwen has to get home again. To her own world.â€

+ +

They were in the ring of stones in Cromwath Blackwood. The heartstone lay on the carved rock, nestled in the niche that had been cut so long ago nobody could remember. Jack knew how to do it now, how to open those gates. The gates would only stay open for a few minutes more. He snatched up the heartstone and looped the chain around his neck.

+ +

“It’s that way,†he said, pointing to the southernmost opening.

+ +

The words of the Sky Queen came back to him. Find the door into summer.

+ +

That was his first step. And then after that, he had to find another gateway.

+ +

He turned the heartstone in the niche.

+ +

Moonlight shone behind him. Twilight before him. On his left he could see the rock in Temair where Mandrake had met his gruesome end. The man-shape could still be made out, covered now with lichen and moss. To Jack’s right, was brilliant sunlight and the smell of roses and wild honey sweet on the air.

+ +

The door into summer.

+ +

There was no time to waste. He snatched up the heartstone and looped the chain around his neck. Faint lights sparkled and danced in each doorway. Time was running fast.

+

He hugged Kerry and Corriwen tight, blinking back tears, then without a word he turned .

+ +

Faint lights sparkled and danced in each doorway. Time was running fast. Without a word he stepped into the unknown.

+ +

In an instant he was gone, as if he had never been. Between the stones colours spangled and shifted and an eerie sound whistled, like high swifts in cold air.

+ + +

Kerry stood with his arm around Corriwen.

+ +

“I don’t want to go home,†he wailed. “There’s nothing for me there. Oh freak! This isn’t fair.â€

+ +

“But he wants to do it alone,†Corriwen replied.

+ +

“No he doesn’t. He just thinks it would be dangerous.â€

+ +

“We’ve faced danger before. The three of us together.â€

+ +

“That’s right. So we have! We can’t let that eejit do it by himself, can we?â€

+ +

Jack’s closest friends clasped hands, looked in each other’s eyes.

+ +

And then they were running fast towards the door into summer.

+ +

***

+ +

Blinding flashes seared Jack’s eyes and he experienced that familiar sensation of being turned completely inside out, with every nerve pulled like spiderwebs, every cell split and scattered in a void. Colours raced past him as if he was falling down a well that went on forever. Cold shuddered through him like spears of ice.

+ +

Then there was a twisting sensation and he was on his knees, hauling for breath and gagging against the nausea that bubbled up from deep inside.

+ +

It took him a moment to realise he was kneeling in the sunshine and the air was warm and clean.

+ +

The door into summer.

+ +

Behind him, the standing stones stood out against a deep blue sky, each smooth and polished, carved with strange figures and stranger script, but Jack knew each figure and each word was part of the power that let the gates open and close. Between them, the air twisted and warped, spangling with strange luminescence. Beyond the stones, grass swayed in the light breeze. Somewhere high above, a lark soared.

+ +

Still gripping the long sword tight, the gift from Hedda the warrior woman, Jack raised himself to his feet and looked around. Pollen scented the air. In the distance, rolling hills faded in summer haze. A perfect day in any world.

+ +

Yet Jack Flint thought he had never felt so completely alone in his life.

+ +

He let out a slow breath.

+ +

“Well,†he said to himself. “That’s it now. I’m here.â€

+ +

Wherever here was.

+ +

He took a tentative step forward, then another, until he reached a stream. There, he knelt down, cupped a hand and took a sip. The water was cold and refreshing. He dabbed at his eyes, wiping away tears that had come unbidden and refused to be blinked back.

+ +

Ahead of him, somewhere in this world, was something that would lead him to his goal. It was here, he now believed, that he would find the route to his past. The route to the father he had never known.

+ +

This was not Corriwen’s quest, nor Kerry's. Though Corriwen’s only brother lay dead at Mandrake’s hands on the slaughterfield in Temair. Though Kerry's father was clicking his heels in Drumbain Jail back home after his failed poaching attempt almost destroyed the old bridge. They had their own destinies to seek, and he would not lead them into more danger.

+ +

Jack’s father, Jonathan Cullian Flint might be alive and he might be dead, but his son had to know for sure, had to discover the truth.

+ +

He stood again, ready to take the first steps on his journey in this new world.

+ +

Before he could take a step, the air was rent apart by a sudden screech. In a second it rose to a crescendo, like a jet racing up a runway. Then something struck him with such force he stumbled back, twisting to grab his sword.

+ +

“Wha…?â€

+ +

Something else hit him and sent him tumbling to land on his backside.

+ +

The screech suddenly stopped. A hollow pop sucked out what breath he had left in his lungs. He struggled against the weight and something struggled against him.

+ +

“Jeez, Jack,†Kerry Malone bawled in his ear. “I’m just never going to get used to going through those gates.â€

+ +

A small hand grabbed his own and heaved him to his feet as his vision cleared.

+ +

“Are you all right?†Corriwen sounded concerned.

+ +

She spoke softly in his ear. Jack shook his head to steady himself. Corriwen and Kerry faced him on the grass. And beyond the two stones, the spangling lights were gone. All he could see were hills rolling away in the distance. The gate was closed.

+ +

“What are you two doing here?â€

+ +

“Aw, Jack,†Kerry said. “What else could we do? You know you’ll just get into a mess if we’re not here to watch your back.â€

+ +

“One for all,†Corriwen said earnestly. “Isn’t that what you said?â€

+ +

“And each for everybody else,†Kerry interjected. “Like always.â€

+ +

“You were supposed to go home!â€

+ +

“Yeah, right. And let you have all the fun?â€

+ +

Even Corriwen laughed. “We talked,†she said. “Temair will still be Temair without me for a while.â€

+ +

“And there’s not much for me back home,†Kerry added. “I’m a nobody there. Here I’m…hell, I don’t even know where this is.â€

+ +

He looked around him, smelling the nectar on the air, feeling the sun on his face.

+ +

“But it sure is a whole lot better than the other places you took me to. No bodies, no monsters. And it’s warm!â€

+ +

He knuckled Jack on the shoulder. “It’s like being on holiday, and we’re due a break, don’t you think? This place looks just great.â€

+ +

Jack was speechless. He felt tears prick in his eyes again and this time he just managed to blink them away. Without a word he dropped the sword and swung his arms around both of them, hugging them tight.

+ +

“Oh, quit that,†Kerry protested. “You’ll have me blubberin’ for sure.â€

+ +

---

+

It was some time in the afternoon, Kerry guessed from where the sun sat low in the sky, and they hadn’t wandered far from the two standing stones.

+ +

“I love this place,†Kerry said. He’d taken Corriwen down to the stream and shown her how to catch fish, poacher-style with his bare hands, tickling them out from under the banks and flat stones.

+ +

“They swim right into your hands,†he said, between mouthfuls of freshly cooked fish that might have been trout but were as pink inside as salmon. The brushwood fire glowed and gave off a scent aroma of herbs. Above it, in the aromatic smoke, three fat fish were cooking slowly to a rich brown. “This is paradise, I swear.â€

+ +

Corriwen had collected nuts from a grove on the hillside, and black damsons as big as apples from the shrubs alongside the stream. She sighed and leant back against a smooth river-stone.

+ +

“It is peaceful,†she said. Jack had to agree, but under his thought came another. Yes, but will it stay that way?

+ +

As if sensing the thought, Corriwen glanced at him curiously.

+ +

“I think we should try to find out where we are,†Jack said.

+ +

“Yeah,†Kerry chuckled. “Get out the old sat-nav!â€

+ +

Corriwen gave him one of her puzzled looks and both boys laughed.

+ +

“You’d never believe me if I told you what that was,†Kerry said.

+ +

Jack had been putting off the moment, content to be with Corriwen and Kerry. Today had felt like a picnic and they’d needed a break, for sure. But now he reached into his satchel and drew out the old book, feeling its weight in his hands.

+ +

The ancient leather binding was as familiar to him now as all the books on the shelf beside his bed back home, though none was as mysterious or as important.

+ +

The Book of Ways to twisted in his palm, as if it contained a life of its own and the front cover flipped open to let the leaves whirr of their own volition until they stopped on a blank page.

+ +

Kerry and Corriwen crowded close, watching intently as old script gradually appeared on the page, line by line. Jack looked at Kerry. “You read it, if you like.â€

+ +

When the words stopped etching themselves Kerry began to speak.

+ +

The Farward Gate of Uaine dear

+

The Summerland so Fair and Clear

+

But Journeyman should well step light

+

For mischief stalks the bleak of night.

+

Spell miscast for binder’s gain

+

Summons shadow, summons bane.

+ +

Set face and foot to Westward path

+

And shelter fast from bale-moon wrath

+

Journeyman must face his fate

+

For nowhere now stands homeward gate

+

In darkness deep waits darkness old

+

And peril waits who seeks his goal.

+ +

Kerry stopped, and for a moment there was silence.

+ +

“Not very promising,†Jack finally said.

+ +

“It never is,†Kerry responded. “I wish just once it would tell us straight. And maybe it’s got it wrong. This place seems okay to me.â€

+ +

“And Temair was once your oh-kay too,†Corriwen interrupted. “But where there’s good, there is always bad.â€

+ +

“Maybe not as bad as before,†Jack said, though his mind kept repeating the words from the second verse: Nowhere now stands homeward gate.

+ +

He felt those fingers of uncertainty creep on the skin of his back. He had come on a quest, hoping he had chosen the right gate. If he was wrong…if there was no way back…

+ +

Jack shook the thought away and closed the book

+ +

“I think the holiday is over,†he said.

+ + + +

CHAPTER 2

+ +

+

The sun and hovered on the horizon before finally sank from view. A bright flicker of green was followed by a wave of strange purple light which rolled across the sky.

+ +

“Weird,†Kerry said.

+ +

“That sometimes happens,†Jack said. “The green flash at sunset. I read it somewhere.â€

+ +

“Not that.†Kerry was looking towards where the sun had set. He pointed. Jack and Corriwen stood beside him.

+ +

Behind them, the sky was silken black and dotted with stars and a full moon glowed silver. But in the distance ahead, a bruised haze swelled on the horizon, and swirling like oil on a stagnant pool.

+ +

“Is that a storm coming on? Everywhere we go, there's always a freakin’ storm. You’d think we could get a break!â€

+ +

“I don’t like this,†Corriwen whispered, almost to herself. Jack nodded. He looked around them as a breeze began to rise, bringing with it the faint whiff of burning.

+ +

“We’re a bit exposed here,†he said.

+ +

Kerry drew his eyes away from the strange haze. “I saw some trees over the hill,†he said. “Maybe we should shelter there for the night.â€

+ +

The line in the Book of Ways echoed in Jack’s mind: For mischief stalks the bleak of night.

+ +

“Sooner the better.†Corriwen packed the remaining food into their bags. Jack stashed the Book and gathered his sword and the amberhorn bow while Kerry wrapped the smoked fish in big leaves then trotted down to a pool in the stream and hacked out an armful of tall bulrushes.

+ +

“Torches,†he explained to no-one in particular. “They burn.â€

+ +

“Good thinking,†Jack said. Kerry was always practical. They made their way fast up the slope to the coppice which covered the crest, while the purple haze expanded like a dark squall towards them. They were only a few yards from the shelter of the overhanging boughs when Kerry stopped abruptly.

+ +

“What is it?†Corriwen said, peering ahead into the shadows. From the corner of his eye, Jack caught a silver flicker and knew that she had drawn her knives.

+ +

“Not there,†Kerry said. He pointed over her head and the three of them looked up at the sky.

+ +

The dark tinge was beginning to brush past the full moon, casting oily shadows over its face. As it thickened, the silver faded to violet. For a long moment the moon was completely obscured, and then it waxed bright again.

+ +

But now it glared down at them, red as blood, its surface seeming to writhe.

+ +

“Jeez Jack,†Kerry breathed. “It’s just like…â€

+ +

“The night we saw Billy Robbins,†Jack finished for him. The night – it seemed to long ago now - that Billy Robbins had hunted them through the trees behind the Major’s home, the moon had turned blood red. And with it had come an awful living darkness that had oozed its way into the Major’s study and caused their fearful flight through the tunnel into Cromwath Blackwood and on through the gates to another world.

+ +

Under that red moon, the Nightshades had ripped into their own world and come hunting for them. Jack knew now that they were searching for the mystical heartstone he bore.

+ +

“Nightshades,“ Kerry whispered. “Do you think they’re from here?â€

+ +

Cold prickles made the hair on Jack’s neck stand on end. Below his collar-bone, the heartstone shuddered, giving him a warning.

+ +

Corriwen made a quick gesture with her fingers. Jack didn’t know what it meant, but he could guess. She was warding off something bad.

+ +

“Come on,†he said, gripping her by the elbow. “Let’s get into cover.â€

+ +

He turned one last time. Behind him, the Farward Gate reflected the blood-light, two red pillars.

+ +

Ahead of him them, Kerry stumbled. Jack heard the crack of dry wood snapping.

+ +

“What’s up?â€

+ +

“Some kind of fence,†Kerry said. “I fell over it.â€

+ +

Corriwen helped Kerry to his feet. Two halves of a thin branch hung from a pair of slender uprights. It was part of a frail barrier, though what it could have corralled Jack couldn’t imagine. Small corn-dolls, woven from golden straw, hung from the horizontal struts, dancing in the odd light.

+ +

“Stupid place to put a fence,†Kerry said, stepping gingerly towards the trees. Under the first leafy boughs, they were out of the direct glare of the red moon and Jack felt less nervous. They moved on until they found a small dell. Kerry collected some twigs and pulled out the little lighter that had already served them well in two worlds. He bent over the pile, flicked the lighter and jerked back as a six-inch flame almost singed his eyebrows.

+ +

“Nearly blinded myself there,†he said, rubbing his eye. “The adjuster must be jammed.â€

+ +

He managed to start the fire and used the flames to ignite the bulrush heads before jamming the stalks into the ground to give them more light.

+ +

They sat close together in silence, each with their own thoughts, each peering now and again into the gloom beyond the glow of the torches.

+ +

“What do you think the Book was trying to say?†Kerry's question broke the silence,

+ +

Jack closed his eyes, recalling each word, the way he’d remembered lines of poetry in school.

+ +

“This place must be Uaine.â€

+ +

“Ooh-waine?â€

+ +

“That’s how you say it. I remember it from the legends. It’s old, anyway. I think it was a magical place.â€

+ +

“It seemed that when we first came,†Corriwen said. She shivered. The breeze, even in the trees was colder now despite the heat from the fire. “Now it doesn’t feel right.â€

+ +

“Mischief stalks the bleak of night,†Jack recited. He could feel the heartstone pulse slowly on his chest. “And shelter fast from bale moon wrath.â€

+ +

“Doesn’t sound like a lot of fun and games,†Kerry said.

+ +

“No,†Jack said flatly. “But it got the moon right, so we have to be on guard tonight.â€

+ +

“You bet,†Kerry said. “I don’t think I could sleep anyway.â€

+ +

But in half an hour, Kerry was curled up close to the embers, head on his backpack, snoring softly. Jack and Corriwen faced each other beside the fire. Jack noticed the flickering flame made her hair gleam. She reached into her bag, pulled out some of the big nuts, and threw one to Jack.

+ +

“You bear the key to all worlds. That’s what the Sky Lady said.â€

+ +

Jack nodded. “I think I knew that already. She called me Journeyman. That’s what my father was. But she couldn’t tell me where he had gone. I’ve got to find that out for myself.â€

+ +

Now your own quest begins, the lady had told him.

+ +

“She said to find the door into summer. And then the door into night. Whatever that means.â€

+ +

He ignored the goosebumps rising on his skin and smiled at her. “But we’ll find out soon enough.†He stretched out a hand and took hers.

+ +

“At least I’m not alone.â€

+ +

“No, Jack. We wouldn’t let that happen.†She smiled back at him. “One for all.â€

+ +

He was about to respond with Kerry's usual reply when a sudden cry startled both of them.

+ +

Kerry rolled and was on his knees in an instant, eyes wide and bewildered.

+ +

“Bad dream?†Jack asked.

+ +

Kerry nodded, short of breath. He rubbed his eyes with shaky hands.

+ +

“Just like when I was little. I used to dream there were things under the bed, crawling out to get me. It scared me to death.â€

+ +

“But you’re not in your bed,†Jack said.

+ +

“Something hit me,†Kerry said. “Was it you?â€

+ +

“Don’t be daft,†Jack said, but as he did, he heard a soft thumping sound. Kerry jerked backwards.

+ +

“Did you see that?†He pointed at his backpack. The thud came again and the backpack bucked of its of accord.

+ +

“A bristlehog,†Corriwen said. “It must have crawled in.†She giggled. “Just don’t eat it. They’re foul, and I should know.â€

+ +

Kerry drew his short-sword and eased it under the flap, flicked the blade and the bag opened flat. Something moved inside and he bent closer to warily peer in.

+ +

One of the fat trout that had been cooking in the smoke flopped out and quivered on the ground, its milky white eye stared blindly up. Its tail flipped up, once, twice. Kerry really jerked back this time.

+ +

“This isn’t happening!†He rapped his head with a knuckle, realised he wasn’t dreaming and looked, pale-faced at the others. “It’s dead. How can it be…?â€

+ +

Corriwen squawked and her hand opened. The nut dropped, rolled between the stones around the fire and for a second everybody’s attention was away from the impossibly flopping fish. The nutshell cracked open and a pair of black legs poked through as a big black spider, scraped its way out. Its legs pawed the air and two glittering fangs raised up, little drips of poison forming at their tips. It moved in a blur of legs and ran up Corriwen’s ankle, red eyes glittering.

+ +

Without a pause Kerry swung his blade and flicked the spider off into the fire where it stumbled around sizzling until it crumpled into a smoking ball.

+ +

“Something’s wrong here,†Kerry said shakily. The dead trout flipped again, its mouth opening and snapping shut. Two rows of jagged piranha-like teeth gnashed together with every snap; teeth that had not been there when Kerry hauled them from the stream.

+ +

The fish convulsed again, landing near Kerry's foot and the teeth would have taken a chunk out of him if he hadn’t kicked it away fast. Corriwen snatched up a hot stone and clobbered it flat before it could move again.

+ +

Way beyond the firelight, in the deep gloom of the trees, a low moan, like an animal in pain, came through the darkness, breaking into stuttering gasps as it echoed from tree to tree.

+ +

….mischief stalks the bleak of night…Jack thought the Book had got that dead right.

+ +

He got to his feet and then Corriwen was at his side. Kerry joined them so they stood back to back, shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready.

+ +

“This is as bad as being in the open,†Kerry whispered. Beyond the firelight, the low moan shivered through the forest and under that, even deeper still, a hungry grunting sound of some beast on the hunt.

+ +

One of the bulrush torches guttered and sent a trail of smoke twirling up. It writhed and then condensed slowly until they could make out what seemed to be a gargoyle face. A long tendril oozed out, became a thin hand that snatched at Corriwen’s neck. Jack pulled her back before it could touch her. The ghastly face stretched into an evil grin before the breeze wafted it away.

+ +

“Was that real?†Corriwen asked, shuddering.

+ +

“I don’t know,†Jack whispered.

+ +

“That freakin’ fish was real,†Kerry said. “Nearly had my foot off. It was like a shark.â€

+ +

In the shadows, Jack thought he could detect movement and the heartstone began to quiver. Kerry felt him tense.

+ +

“I really don’t think we should stay here,†he whispered.

+ +

“It might be worse out there,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“No,†Jack said clearly. “I can see things in the shadows. I don’t know what they are, but I’ve got a bad feeling.†His sword was drawn, the Scatha’s blade, razor sharp and deadly, but somehow he thought even this sword might be useless against the things that moved in the night. “The heartstone’s beating like a drum.â€

+ +

A dozen yards away, one of the shadows uncoiled in a fast, loping movement. Two pale eyes opened in the gloom, wide spaced and sickly yellow and instantly Jack had a flashback of the memory the Sky Lady had unlocked in his mind - shadow beasts with those same haunting eyes had pursued them through the dark towards the stone pillars. He’d only been a baby then, but the memory was clear and powerful.

+ +

Something moved out there. Another pair of eyes opened, headlights in the dark. Jack glimpsed a flash of what might have been teeth. The creature leapt over dead branches towards them, lithe as a cat, growling in whatever it had for a throat.

+ +

Jack tried to tell himself he must be imagining this all of this, but the heartstone was vibrating fast on his chest and he knew they had to run, and run fast.

+ +

Sword out, he pulled Corriwen close.

+ +

“I think they’ll try to surround us,†he said. He and Kerry still wore the boots Rune the Cluricaun had made for them in Eirinn, boots that lent them the speed they needed. But Corriwen didn’t have that benefit. She’d been a captive when they met Rune.

+ +

“Get ready to run.†He said, sensing her nod in agreement.

+ +

“Take Corrie’s arm,†he told Kerry. “We need speed.â€

+ +

Something moved in a slither of black It was so close that Jack caught a gagging whiff of rotten meat. Kerry snatched up one of the bulrush torches and jammed it into the embers of their fire. It flared in a whoosh of flame and blazed a fiery arc as he swung it around. The shadows drew back. Feral eyes snapped shut.

+ +

“Now!†Jack cried, grabbing Corriwen’s wrist. They raced out of the clearing, heading back in the direction they had come.

+ +

They had barely run twenty paces when Jack realised something was wrong. They weren’t going fast enough.

+ +

“The boots don’t work here,†he gasped.

+ +

“My feet do!†Kerry bawled back at him. “Just run!â€

+ +

They sprinted, dodging looming trunks, aware all the time of the pursuit behind them, until they burst out of the trees and raced down the hill. They used the downslope to give them momentum, feet thudding, hearts pounding, gaining distance on the moving shadows. Some distance ahead, under the red light of the strange moon, Jack could just make out a cluster of buildings. Without a pause, he veered towards it. Kerry and Corriwen must have seen it too, because they followed right on his heels.

+ +

The chance of shelter gave them that added impetus they needed and in mere seconds the houses loomed ahead of them. There must be people here, Jack thought. They’ll help us.

+ +

Twenty yards away from the nearest house, Kerry crashed through an unseen barrier and fell headlong. Jack grabbed him by the hood, pulled him to his feet and they dived between two cottages and along a narrow, cobbled street.

+ +

Behind them, Jack could hear the scrabbling of nails or claws on the cobbles. He imagined a long, sinuous arm stretch out to grab and rip, but he pushed that thought away.

+ +

They scooted up the street, searching for somewhere to hide, but every door, every shutter was closed tight. There were no lights on anywhere, no sign of life at all.

+ +

Jack swung round a bend, dodged up a narrower alley. He saw a barn-like structure and made straight for its door. With luck, it crashed open. As soon as Kerry was through, he turned and slammed the door shut. Corriwen groped for the cross-bar latch and wedged it home. Just as it clocked into the wooden slot, something hit the door hard enough to send splinters flying. They stood together, hardly daring to breathe while the thing scratched and growled in the darkness outside. After what seemed an age, they heard it move away.

+ +

Jack let out a deep breath.

+ +

“I think it’s gone.â€

+ +

Somewhere in the distance a baby cried. A child’s wail came ringing through the darkness. A man’s angry voice silenced it and then all went quiet.

+ +

“I sure don’t want to meet those things again,†Kerry said. “I’m staying awake for sure.â€

+ +

And he was still awake in the morning when the villagers came and seized them.

+

+CHAPTER 3

+ + +

The red glow drained from the sky and real darkness fell. Nothing stirred in the village. In the barn, the Jack, Kerry and Corriwen huddled together, listening intently, but all they heard was the faint squeak of a mouse deep in the hay, and their own quiet breathing.

+ +

An hour later, the first glimmer of dawn broke, sending rays of light through the narrow cracks on the barn wall, real daylight now, to Jack’s relief, not the poisonous glow of the bale moon.

+ +

All three were tired from lack of sleep as they roused themselves, stretching stiff joints, when sounds outside told them the village was waking up. Warily they edged to the wall and Jack put an eye to a crack. In the street, men were gathering, talking loudly amongst themselves. A group of them ran up an alley and came back with a piece of broken branch. Then the shouting started. One big man came along with two small dogs on a leash. They snuffled around in the alley then began to bark, dragging the handler across the cobbles straight to the barn.

+ +

“We’d better go say hello,†Kerry said. “If it wasn’t for this place, we’d have been up the creek with a hole in the boat and no paddle.â€

+ +

No sooner were the words out of his mouth when the barn door almost fell off its hinges, and half a dozen men came barging in. Jack stood up on the hay bales and one of the men cried out in alarm before the rest of them rushed forward and grabbed him.

+ +

“Hey,†Kerry shouted, as Jack struggled in their clutches. “There’s no call for that.â€

+ +

Corriwen twisted and kicked as two brawny men hauled her off the hay, but to no avail. These were big farming types, dressed in leathers and rough plaids. The three of them had no chance.

+ +

“Bring them out,†one of them growled. He snatched Jack’s jerkin and dragged him forward.

+ +

“You brought the nightshades,†he snarled. “Let them in, you did. You’ll pay for that.â€

+ +

“We didn’t bring anything,†Jack began, but before he could finish a big hand and clamped over his mouth.

+ +

“Save it, trespasser. You cost us dear.â€

+ +

And with that the three of them were bundled out of the barn and frog-marched up the street, while men, women and children watched them go by, with sullen angry eyes.

+ +

Corriwen managed to pull free enough to speak.

+ +

“You’ve made a mistake. We didn’t bring these things. They hunted us.â€

+ +

“Aye, and you broke the Rowan Ring,†the big man spat. “Here and at the coppice. You know the penalty for that.â€

+ +

Kerry managed to get a breath. “We don’t know anything. We’ve just arrived here. We don’t even know where here is.â€

+ +

He grimaced at Jack. “And here was I thinking this place was pretty cool.â€

+ +

They were hauled to a big wooden building which Jack assumed was the meeting-hall. The villagers crowded in as Jack, Kerry and Corriwen were shoved towards a stout table. From behind it a squat bearded man glared at them.

+ +

“What are they?†the head man asked. “Dwarves or sprites?â€

+ +

He pointed at Jack. “You boy. What’s your ilk and where from?â€

+ +

“I’m Jack Flint, from Scotland.â€

+ +

“Never heard of you, nor your Scotland either, and I know everybody in these parts.â€

+ +

He banged a hand on the table. “I bring this testing to order. Three strangers stand accused. Who speaks against them?â€

+ +

“I do, Master Boru.†A woman came forward. She bore a wicker basket and laid it on the table, opened its lid and drew out a brown speckled egg which she cracked open. Something grey and leathery rolled out. Huge red eyes slowly opened and the beak gaped, showing two lines of tiny sharp teeth. The creature looked more lizard than chicken.

+ +

“They brought the nightshades,†the woman said. “And now my chickens are sprite-sick.â€

+ +

A thin man came forward. “They broke the sacred Rowan Ring. Not a nut or fruit left on a tree.â€

+ +

Jack stood up straight, as tall as he could get, and still felt small against the men who surrounded them.

+ +

“Don’t we get a chance to speak?â€

+ +

“You get a chance to answer what you’re asked,†Boru said. He delved under the table and drew out Jack’s long sword. Corriwen’s knives, the bow and Kerry's short-sword followed suit. Jack gasped when he saw the heartstone join them on the table. He hadn’t even felt them take it in the struggle.

+ +

“Now where, I’m wondering, would you get blades as good as this?†Boru asked. “Not around here, I’m sure of that. No man but hold-keepers may carry such. They are forfeit.â€

+ +

“They’re ours,†Kerry said. “You’ve no right.â€

+ +

“I’ll be the judge of who owns what.†Boru growled. He raised Jack’s sword, admiring the fine blade. He ran a thumb down an edge then started back when a thin trickle of blood ran down to his wrist.

+ +

“Sorcery wrought, for sure,†he declared. “I’ve never seen its match. This was either stolen or bought for service to the dark.â€

+ +

He glared across at them. “You come here and break the Rowan Ring and come armed with sorceren blades. And we don’t even know what you are.â€

+ +

“We’re people,†Jack said. “People like you.â€

+ +

“Ha. So you say,†the headman rasped. “None travel Uaine under the bale-moon. None but the demon-touched.â€

+ +

He jabbed a finger at Jack. “Or the fiend-friend.â€

+ +

“They hunted us,†Jack protested. “We just ran for shelter.â€

+ +

“I say you’re outlanders,†Boru retorted. “Outlanders come for mischief.â€

+ +

“We’re nothing of the sort…†Corriwen began to protest. But Boru snatched up the heartstone on its chain and raised it high. People gasped and made signs with their hands

+ +

“Black heart! Just like your own.â€

+ +

A murmur of approval went round the hall. A voice called from the back.

+ +

“I say send them back to the pit they crawled from!â€

+ +

All around them the crowd muttered consent. The headman stood. “For breaking the Rowan-Ring and bringing shades and sprites, there is but one penalty. Take them out and give them back to the dark.â€

+ +

“What’s the penalty?†Kerry demanded. “We didn’t do anything.â€

+ +

A hand clamped over his mouth to cut off his words and they were dragged away, unable to fight or protest. The villagers followed their progress as they were half-carried and half frogmarched out of the hamlet, up a narrow track to a small hill barely a mile from the village where several stout wooden posts had been driven into the ground.

+ +

Their captors pushed them against the posts and quickly tied their wrists securely behind them. That done, the villagers turned and went back down the track.

+ +

“I think we’re in a real heap of trouble,†Kerry said when they had all gone.

+ +

“They are afraid,†Corriwen said. “People were like that with Mandrake.â€

+ +

Jack’s heart felt as if it had sunk into his boots. Their weapons were gone, but worse that that, the Book of Ways was back in the village, and the head man now had the heartstone. The three of them were tied to posts on a hill, completely defenceless. A long and uncomfortable day lay ahead of them.

+ +

And after that, the night.

+ + +

“There are circles everywhere,†Corriwen said. The boys followed her gaze and saw fertile fields and little orchards on the flatland at the bottom of the hill. Each field, each orchard and coppice was surrounded by a fragile fence of thin branches.

+ +

“Must be some sort of protection,†Jack said.

+ +

“From the nightshades,†Kerry added. “We have to get ourselves out of here.â€

+ +

He leaned out past Jack. “Corrie, you don’t happen to have a knife in your boot?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “Not even the clever little one Jack gave me.â€

+ +

Corriwen twisted and turned against her bonds, though it was clear she’d never break them. Jack and Kerry did the same, but soon the rising heat of the day, combined with hunger and thirst, tired them out. They sagged despondently against their bonds as morning became afternoon and then the shadows began to lengthen.

+ +

A scraping sound startled Jack to sudden awareness. He twisted round, half expecting to see some animal creeping towards him, but it was Corriwen who’d made the noise. She sucked in her breath and wriggled round until she was facing Jack and Kerry.

+ +

“I remembered Tig and Tag, the Acrobats in Eirinn,†she said. “They taught me a few things when we escaped from Wolfen Castle. I think we have a chance… maybe.â€

+ +

With that, she bent forward, leaning out from the post as far as the bindings would allow. Both boys heard her muscles and ligaments creak as she pressed to the limit of endurance and Jack saw her face twist into a mask of concentration and effort.

+

“What’s she doing?â€

+ +

Jack shushed him to silence.

+ +

Corriwen’s arms were now pointing directly behind her and Jack thought if she pushed any further, they might pop out of the sockets at her shoulders. Very slowly she forced her body forward. Jack winced at the sound of tendons stretched to their limit, but Corriwen ignored her pain, and inch by inch, she began to walk her feet backwards up the rough wood surface, her head was almost touching the ground.

+ +

“Sun’s almost gone,†Kerry said anxiously. Above them, the moon was still silver, but they had seen that before and seen it change.

+ +

The dark so quickly it took them by surprise, and again the weird green flash rolled across the sky.

+ +

“I can’t…†Corriwen wailed. “I can’t reach.â€

+ +

Somewhere in the distance, something big and wild howled, startling all three of them.

+

Corriwen moaned and Jack heard a distinct snap. Then all of a sudden he saw her edge away from the post. She paused, gasping like an exhausted animal, then stood up.

+ +

Only now she was facing the stake. Somehow she had managed to loop herself through her own arms. Then she winked at him and Jack’s heart began to pound as she began to shin up the post. It seemed to take forever until she finally got both hands over the top.

+ +

“Yes!†They both heard her hiss of triumph.

+ +

Closer now, the big animal howled again.

+ +

A purple wave rolled across the face of the moon and as it had the previous night, it turned red, glaring down at them with a face of blood. Bale moon!

+ +

Corriwen slid down the post and ran across to Jack and Kerry. Her hands were still tied in front of her, and one shoulder was raised higher than the other, oddly askew. Jack knew she must have dislocated her own shoulder to get free. She scrabbled about on the ground until she found a rough stone and then began to saw at Jack’s bindings.

+ +

“Do Kerry first,†he hissed.

+ +

“Don’t be daft,†Kerry said. Corriwen ignored them and scraped away until Jack felt the rope break and he lurched forward. Instantly Corriwen was behind Kerry and sawing fast as the purple sky deepened to real night and out there, beyond the hill, the low moaning sound echoed in the dark, and further out, barely audible, the feral growling of nightshades on the hunt.

+ +

Kerry rubbed his wrists and then hugged Corriwen tight. She winced in pain, but bore with it. “You’re a genius,†he told her.

+ +

“Tell her in the morning,†Jack said, pulling him away. “Now we really have to move.â€

+ +

And as dark shapes came slouching past the barricades at the fields at the base of the hill, Jack, Kerry and Corriwen began to run in the opposite direction.

+

+CHAPTER 4

+ +

The smell of burning followed them as they ran from the nightshades. Ahead was a small stand of trees which would offer very little cover. Jack knew they couldn’t keep running all night.

+ +

Yet couldn’t stop either, not in the open and unarmed, he thought, as they crested the hill and down the other side.

+ +

“We should go back to the village,†Kerry said.

+ +

“There’s no haven there,†Corriwen countered. She was hugging one elbow tight as she ran, obviously slowed by the pain.

+ +

“Save your breath,†Jack ordered. “And keep running!â€

+ +

He felt defenceless without the great sword and the heartstone. The sword had felt a part of him since the first time he’d held it in Eirinn, when he stood alongside Hedda the Scatha facing the charging cavalry.

+ +

And the heartstone, his father’s talisman, that had a power all of its own. The key to worlds.

+ +

As they raced down the far side of the hill they could hear the creatures behind, howling like hyenas over a kill. Hyenas would be bad enough, but the unearthly shadow shapes – the nightshades,– were so unnatural, so fundamentally wrong, that it stirred the deepest terrors inside his mind.

+ +

He had been carried as a baby as the shades had hounded them through a forest. The recollection spurred a supernatural fear, one that he didn’t believe he would ever want to face again.

+ +

Suddenly a truly savage howl shuddered the night and startled all three of them.

+ +

“What the freak is that?“

+ +

Jack didn’t have the breath to respond. The howling soared high and then subsided into a vicious snarl. Another blared, closer in, but this time even louder, closer. Much too close.

+ +

“Surrounding us,†Corriwen gasped. “They’re fast.“

+ +

From the corner of his eye, Jack thought he saw a pale shape running low about a hundred yards away.

+ +

He swerved and Kerry and Corriwen followed. They found themselves racing towards the edge of a thick forest.

+ +

“No way,†Kerry blurted. “Not again!â€

+ +

He tried to veer away. It was understandable. They had been in forests so often before in other worlds and in each one they had faced terrible dangers.

+ +

Jack risked a glance behind him and saw the dark shadows creeping over the hill like a rising tide. They had no choice but to run for the trees. Jack grabbed Kerry's arm and swung him back.

+ +

The trees enfolded them in shadows and the three ran in the dark, hands outstretched as they went, careening into saplings and through tangles of fern.

+ +

Now the howling was really close. Something heavy crashed through undergrowth.

+ +

Spider-webs caught at Corriwen’s hair, parting with sinewy snaps. Ghostly moths whirred around their heads but they still pushed on, over a rise and then across a shallow stream.

+ +

Kerry crouched fast and came up with two heavy rocks. Jack scrabbled around for a stout branch and when his fingers found one, he heaved a sight of relief. It was not ideal, but it was something to fight with.

+ +

He hoped. But there was every possibility that the nightshades, just couldn’t be fought. If the villagers barricaded themselves in at night and huddled, afraid, until dawn, how could three youngsters do better?

+ +

He pushed Corriwen ahead of him, aware of her ragged breathing, knowing she was hurt and tiring even more than he was, but he made sure he and Kerry were between her and what was coming. They barged through, tripping and sliding while thorns and splinters spiked their exposed skin.

+ +

The snarl was so loud it caused them all to jump. Kerry turned, one stone raised. Something flitted between the trees, just a flash of grey. It growled again, deep and throaty and came in fast on their flank.

+ +

“It’s getting ahead of us,†Jack said.

+ +

Kerry launched a stone at the fleeting shape, a good throw that missed the creature by only a few feet and smacked against a trunk.

+ +

The animal snarled again, ferocious and hungry. Then, from their right, an almost identical snarl told them there were two of them, closing in from either side.

+ +

Just ahead, a massive tree blocked their way, but Jack pushed Corriwen towards it. They stumbled over tangled roots until they came hard up against a trunk as wide as a wagon.

+ +

Corriwen instinctively reached for her knives. Her fingers hooked on empty sheaths, and she hissed in anger and dismay.

+ +

Jack took a second to check out the tree. Thick branches grew from the trunk, low enough to reach.

+ +

“Lets get our backs to the tree,†he said. “They’re closing in. I don’t think Corrie can any further.â€

+ +

His heart seemed to be stuck in his throat, but there was nothing for it. At least it might give Corriwen a chance, and he owed her that, after all they’d been through together; after she’d willingly stepped through the gateway to stand by him. At least he could fight for her, he told himself. He leaned against the trunk and laced his fingers together, forming a stirrup.

+ +

“Climb, Corrie,†he urged. “Maybe these things can’t.â€

+ +

She didn’t hesitate. She got one foot in his hands and she grunted with the effort and the sudden wrench of pain in her shoulder as he boosted her up to the first branch. Beside him, Kerry launched another other stone. It crashed through the ferns and hit another tree with a gunshot crack.

+ +

“Missed again!â€

+ +

“You next,†Jack said urgently. “Come on man! They’re closing in.â€

+ +

He braced his legs to take Kerry's weight when from above, Corriwen called down.

+ +

“There’s a light. I can see it from here.â€

+ +

“What’s that?â€

+ +

“It’s a cottage. A woodsman’s hut.â€

+ +

The beasts were approaching more slowly now. Jack saw a flicker of red as their eyes reflected shards of moonlight that managed to pierce the foliage. They growled softly as they closed in.

+ +

Corriwen clambered down from above and Jack caught her with both hands.

+ +

“It is a cottage,†she repeated, excited. “In a clearing. I think we can make it.â€

+ +

Jack and Kerry rounded the tree and saw the winking light not far ahead of them. Corriwen ran for it and they followed her, Kerry a couple of steps ahead of Jack, who kept a tight grip of only weapon they now had, ready to defend them all.

+ +

The clearing opened abruptly before them, wide enough to let in moonlight and Jack saw they were running across a carpet of moss and leaves towards the light in the cottage. The scent of woodsmoke drifted in the air told him somebody was home, and that spurred him on..

+ +

The gibbering sound of the nightshades had faded away, but the big beasts were now so close Jack could smell them. He whirled, branch raised, and saw them clearly now, hackles raised in spikes and eyes drawn into slits. Long fangs showed in twin snarls.

+ +

Kerry snatched at his hood and pulled him along. The animals howled in unison and Jack needed no further urging.

+ +

Corriwen was twenty yards ahead, silhouetted in the light from a small window. Grey smoke spiralled from a crooked chimney of the ramshackle cottage. The boys followed her as fast as they could, all the time fearing those sharp fangs might close on their necks.

+ +

The door was wooden, splintered in places. Corriwen hit it with all her weight, bounced, yelped in pain and fell backwards. She sprang up and hammered with the flat of her hand.

+ +

“Open up. Please open.â€

+ +

On the edge of the clearing, the hounds, or wolves, snapped and snarled, but came no closer, and that alone made Jack’s skin twitch.

+ +

If they were afraid to approach…

+ +

The thought was immediately cut short when Corriwen pushed the door again and it swung open. Her momentum carried her forward, and them with her. All three landed in a heap inside.

+ +

“Close it quick!†Jack cried, trying to untangle himself. Kerry clambered up and swung the door shut. Jack helped Corriwen to her feet and looked around.

+ +

The cottage was tiny, cramped and cluttered. Cobwebs festooned old rafters. A fire glowed in a grate and above the embers a black pot hung from chains. It bubbled in the heat, giving off a meaty aroma of stew.

+ +

On rickety shelves around the crooked walls, translucent jars of coloured glass held an assortment of creatures, magnified in the liquid they floated in. Frogs and toads; spiders and beetles, and bits of other things that none of them could identify. A rough-hewn table was covered with mixing bowls and grinders and a heavy carving knife was jammed point-first into the surface. More knives hung from hooks.

+ +

“I don’t like this,†Kerry said, eying the array of knives. “It’s like a witch’s den.â€

+ +

“Better than out there,†Corriwen whispered. Jack thought she sounded more hopeful than confident, but said nothing. He took it all in, the weird creatures in the jars, the pot bubbling away, and wondered if they had escaped from one danger and into another. This place reminded him of Hanzel and Gretel in a fairytale forest.

+ +

And the black house in the forest of Temair.

+ +

Then a hand reached past him, a hand with long thin fingers, stained bright scarlet, and touched Kerry on the shoulder.

+ +

Kerry let out a wail of pure fright as a hooded figure bent towards him.

+ +

“Don’t eat me!†He yelped.

+ +

A pair of deeply shadowed eyes peered out from under an old black cowl.

+ +

“Eat you?†It was an old woman’s voice. Grey hair hung down on either side of her face. “What a disgusting thing to say!â€

+ +

She pulled him closer, inspecting him. “And besides, there’s hardly a pick on you worth chewing on.â€

+ +

Without turning, the woman spoke again. “You might as well put that knife down, my dear. You could cut yourself.â€

+ +

Very slowly Corriwen lowered the knife back to the table. She’d moved so fast that Jack hadn’t even seen her snatch it up..

+ +

“Now, young travellers,†the woman said. “I think you’ve had quite a night of it, eh?â€

+ +

+CHAPTER 5

+ + +

The old woman flipped back her hood, letting tangled grey hair spill over her shoulders. Jack’s eyes were fixed on the scarlet stains on her hands. Her nails were blood red. He still gripped the branch in both hands, wondering where she’d come from, who she was, and mostly about those red fingers.

+ +

She raised both eyebrows.

+ +

“And you, young man. Go put that log in the pile. Can’t be wasting good firewood.â€

+ +

With that she released Kerry and swept fingers through her hair, pulled it back and quickly knotted it in a bun, which made her less dishevelled.

+ +

“Oh, where are my manners?†When she straightened up, she was tall and lean, with sharp features and lines around eyes that were so green they seemed to glare in the firelight. “Come in, come in. Sit down.â€

+ +

She gestured to some stools around the table. “Bring them closer to the fire and warm yourselves. You children look ready to drop.â€

+ +

Kerry picked up two stools, while keeping his eyes fixed warily on the woman. Jack took a third. As he carried it closer to the fireplace, he saw the little door ajar on its hinges. He hadn’t heard it open, hadn’t heard the woman’s approach. She caught his glance and nodded slightly. The door slowly swung shut with a muffled thud, making Jack start.

+ +

Kerry and Corriwen exchanged glances. She had put the sharp knife down, but kept her hand close.

+ +

“Oh, it’s so nice to have visitors,†the woman said smiling at them. “Young visitors!â€

+

Jack saw Kerry's look of apprehension. He felt just the same.

+ +

“It’s been such a long time since anybody bothered to come visit old Megrin and now here’s three of you, all alone in the darkwood.â€

+ +

When she smiled, wrinkles made big creases on her skin, deepened by the shadows.

+ +

“Not a good place to go stumbling when the sun’s down. Yet here you all are.â€

+ +

She shooed them forward. “Go on, sit down and take the weight off your feet. You’ve come a long way.â€

+ +

Further than she could imagine, Jack thought. But how could she know they’d been travelling?

+ +

Tentatively they sat while she bustled about on the other side of the room. A tall broom was angled against a wall, the kind you would find in a fairy-tale. An ancient rocking chair swung back and forth as if she’d just got up from it, even though she hadn’t been sitting.

+ +

“Simple fare is all I have,†she said, her back to them. “But good food and sure to fatten you up.†She turned quickly and beamed at them.

+ +

Kerry looked at Jack nervously. Fatten us! He mouthed it silently. Jack got the message.

+ +

Maybe she was just an old woman, but there was something in the way she moved that made her seem somehow powerful, and maybe dangerous too. As she poured a thick liquid into three stone beakers, a faint scratching noise came from outside.

+ +

She opened a small shutter and two lithe white animals scurried in. They ran down the wall, landed on her hand and disappeared up her sleeve, fast as rats.

+ +

“Slink and Slither,†she said. “Always up to mischief. You two been a-wandering, have you? Guide our new friends to our hideaway, did you?â€

+ +

Now Jack looked wide-eyed at Kerry. Whatever had howled and snarled in the forest might have been pale, but they were hardly little polecats. They’d been big and fierce and they had hemmed them in on either side, forcing them to hear in one direction…straight towards the old woman’s home.

+ +

Megrin deftly sliced a loaf of bread that smelt as if it was fresh from the oven. Despite his misgivings, Jack felt his mouth water and his stomach grumble.

+ +

“Go on, go on. Don’t stand on ceremony,†she urged.

+ +

The three of them looked suspiciously at the food, each not sure quite what to do.

+ +

Before any of them moved, the old woman was suddenly behind them, faster than anyone her age should have been able to move. It took them all by surprise.

+ +

She bent over Corriwen and her long fingers stroked her cheek.

+ +

“All out of breath you are, my dear.†Corriwen tried to turn around, but the gnarled fingers of the other hand had latched on to her shoulder. Jack gauged the distance to the knives hanging on hooks, ready to move. He and Kerry were already on their feet.

+ +

“And you’re all bent out of shape, are you not?â€

+ +

The red-stained fingers trailed down Corriwen’s cheek, on to her neck, then both hands were on her shoulders. They gripped tight, nails digging in hard. Corriwen yelped.

+ +

“Leave her alone…!†The words were out of Kerry's mouth before he could stop himself.

+ +

The fingers twisted and the blood drained out of Corriwen’s face. Jack heard a loud, click and then the old woman’s hands moved back to cup Corriwen’s cheeks again.

+ +

Corriwen let out a long shuddery sigh and Megrin beamed at her.

+ +

“Painful, I know, but better cruel to be kind to fix a wrenched socket.†The colour slowly crept back to Corriwen’s face.

+ +

“Back together again, good as new,†Megrin said. “Now, first things first. And you might as well sit down and eat, for no harm will come to you under my roof.â€

+ +

Corriwen gingerly rubbed the shoulder, then grinned. She nodded and sat back down. Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

+ +

“Brave girl,†the old woman said softly. “Now, to introductions. I’m Megrin Willow of Foresthaven. I’m good with potions and simples and a few other things, and this is my place, my wildwood.â€

+ +

Taking encouragement from Corriwen’s nod, Jack took the lead and they all introduced themselves.

+ +

“Now eat. And don’t worry, there’s no potions and you won’t turn into frogs overnight, as some people fear. I’m used to that nonsense. Sit a while and fill yourselves. It’s a long time until the dawn, and we have all sorts of matters to discuss and discover.â€

+

+

She watched with satisfaction as they fell on the food until there was nothing left but crumbs, then hauled the big pot off the coals, ladled out a broth as thick as stew and sat on her rocker as they devoured that too.

+

+

“I was expecting you any moment,†she finally said when they’d eaten their fill. “You’re far, far from home…and you have lost what you had, am I right?â€

+ +

“How do you know?†Jack began.

+ +

She laughed, a high and tinkly giggle that made her sound much younger than she looked.

+ +

“Oh, some of us have a knack for knowing,†she said. She leaned forward and jutted a red finger at Jack. “I saw you come through the gateway, of course. You first, and then your friends soon after. And I knew you’d come visiting, sure as day.â€

+ +

“We were hunted,†Kerry said. “There’s things out there. Horrible things chasing us. And then we hid in a village, but they found us and tied us up. Out in the open.â€

+ +

“And that’s how this young darling hurt herself,†Megrin said. “Quite the heroine, I think.â€

+ +

“She sure is,†Kerry agreed, with feeling. “Once, when we were in Eirinn, she…â€

+ +

Jack kicked his ankle. Once Kerry got talking it was hard to rein him in, and Jack needed to know more about this old woman before he told her anything about themselves or the other worlds they’d visited. Kerry shut up. Megrin seemed not to notice.

+ +

“Ah well, you’ve met the Malahain, and not for the first time, I imagine. The people here call them Nightshades. Foul little imps they are. And you can see that all’s not well in Uaine, not when the sun goes down.â€

+ +

“The moon turns red and foul,†Corriwen said. “like…†she pointed at Megrin’s fingers. “Like blood.â€

+ +

Megrin raised both hands, saw the stains and burst into a peal of laughter.

+ +

“Blood? That’s what you thought? No wonder you were all backward about coming forward! What did you think, that I’d butcher you in your boots?â€

+ +

“Something like that,†Kerry said, still not quite sure she couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

+ +

“Oh, don’t be daft. I’ve never eaten a boy who didn’t deserve it. Not for weeks anyway.â€

+ +

Kerry's jaw dropped. Megrin’s hand reached out and he cringed back. All she did was ruffle his hair.

+ +

“Oh, I’m just having my bit of fun, young man. No, my dear, you were a bit earlier than I expected. I was mixing a potion for a wife who’s due tomorrow. She’s afraid she might be imp-touched and her baby born a changeling. But that mixture does stain like stink, I can tell you.â€

+ +

She rocked back again, still chuckling.

+ +

“Best laugh I’ve had in a long time,†she said, wiping a tear from her eye. “And you,†she pointed at Kerry. “Don’t eat me!“

+ +

Megrin was off again, giggling so helplessly she began to cough and splutter until Jack found the nerve to stand and clap her on the back.

+ +

Kerry glared. “It’s all right for you, in here with the light. But we got chased by ghoullies, caught by nutcases and then hunted by ghoullies all over again. And then you come sneaking up with your hands all red.â€

+ +

She howled with laughter again until tears streamed down both her cheeks.

+ +

“Oh, I needed that. A good laugh clears the cobwebs. And now, what was I saying?â€

+ +

“When the sun goes down?†Corriwen prompted.

+ +

“Ah yes, so I was. Well, you’ve seen for yourselves. Things have come to a pretty pass and that’s why I was waiting for you.â€

+ +

“For us?†Jack leant forward. He didn’t understand what she meant or why she might have been waiting for them.

+ +

“Of course. I’ve expected you for some time.†She stood up and beckoned them towards a narrow window. Outside, silver beams lanced down. Here in the clearing, the moon was no longer red and angry.

+ +

Megrin took a candle from the table, snuffed it out, and let the smoke drift up the clear window pane. Almost immediately their reflections fogged out and the window became opaque.

+ +

As if began to clear, despite the dark outside, they could see daylight. Sunlight. And the tall standing stones of the Farward Gate of Uaine.

+ +

“My window on the world,†Megrin said. “I don’t often leave Foresthaven. This allows me to see what’s happening in the world. And what has happened before.â€

+ +

She breathed on the glass, then drew some curved lines on the condensation before using the heat of the candle to evaporate it.

+ +

This time the light was different. They watched fascinated as Jack hurtled out from the stones and stumbled to his knees on green grass. Seconds later, the air between the pillars twisted and spangled and Kerry and Corriwen came tumbling through and bowled him flat.

+ +

“It’s been a while since a traveller came through that gate, and now here you are. Three of you. That means it’s time to put on my own travelling cloak.â€

+ +

At the mention of a traveller, Jack’s heart thumped hard and a multitude of questions leapt into his mind. His father had been a traveller between the worlds. A Journeyman. Had she seen him? Did she know him?

+ +

Megrin held a finger to his lips before he could ask.

+ +

She clasped Jack’s arm and drew him closer to the fire. “It’s a long story,†she said. “But we have the night ahead.â€

+ +

+CHAPTER 6

+ + +

“Thin places,†Megrin began.

+ +

Jack and Kerry exchanged surprised glances. Major Macbeth, Jack’s guardian had spoken of e thin places on that first fateful night when their journey had begun. That night they had fled from the horde of nightshades and come tumbling through the Farward Gate to Temair.

+ +

Megrin smiled as if she had read their thoughts. Jack wasn’t quite sure that she hadn’t.

+ +

“Thin places,†she repeated. “Where worlds meet. Where there’s always the danger that evil things, things from dark worlds, will try to break through to bring their shadows with them. A battle that’s been fought forever, and always will be, but I imagine you know all this already.â€

+ +

Jack and Kerry both nodded tentatively. From what the Major had told them, the thin places where worlds joined could sometimes let evil through. And in their travels, they had seen evil a-plenty. They waited for her to go on.

+ +

“The thin place on Uaine was breached some time ago, but we, the Geasan didn’t know it then.â€

+ +

“What’s a Geasan?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“Oh, the council of enchanters. Those who know the old ways and keep them alive. Anyway, we had our work cut out, believe you me. But the dark forces, and the nightshades they have unleashed in our summerland, are gaining strength.

+ +

“And what we need now is another Journeyman,†Megrin said quietly. “To do the Sky Queen’s work and stand against those dark forces.â€

+ +

Jack felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. She looked him in the eye.

+ +

“Yes, Jack Flint. Another Journeyman. And that shouldn’t surprise you.â€

+ +

“I came to find my father,†he blurted, unable to hold it back.

+ +

Now Megrin smiled, but there was sadness in her expression.

+ +

“You have come a long way, and I don’t know if I can help you on that quest. Jonathan Flint, ah, there was a fine man.â€

+ +

Jack’s heart began to hammer. He bit his tongue, forcing himself to listen.

+ +

“I met him and his lady, Lauralen, many years ago. They came to the Summerland, deeply in love, to live a while on the edge of the sea where they could watch both sunrise and sunset. It was a peaceful time then.

+ +

“But then, oh then, came foolishness and ambition. Greed and envy, and the thin place in a man’s mind was breached, and in came the darkness.â€

+ +

“What happened to them?†Jack couldn’t hold back. It was the first time he had heard the name Lauralen. Could only be the mother he had never known?

+ +

“The Journeyman made it his quest to hold the breach. And for a time the evil was thwarted and held at bay. But then something happened, in a very dark place where even the Geasan cannot see, and Jonathan and his lady, they…â€

+ +

She paused, searching for the words. “They were no more seen in Uaine.â€

+ +

“Like, they vanished?†Kerry asked. Corriwen just listened entranced.

+ +

“They were never seen again. The Geasan-Eril, the enchanters council have worked long and hard to find out why.â€

+ +

“The lady,†Jack said almost unable to get the words out through the powerful emotions that flooded him. “Lauralen? Could she have been my…â€

+ +

“Your mother? Oh, yes. I’m sure of that. You have her grace and your father’s eyes.

+ +

“But what happened? Who…When?†Questions tumbled in a torrent. Megrin held a hand up.

+ +

“We’ll get to that before dawn, Jack Flint. Now let me do the talking.â€

+ +

Megrin sat back in her rocking chair and began to speak. Her voice changed, became deeper and more serious than before:

+

+

For a long time, Uaine had been blessed with peace and harmony.

+ +

But as night follows day, darkness always opposes the light. In all worlds it has been so, ever since the beginning. Always, the dark seeks thin places where it can break and wreak its malice. The servants of the Sky Queen use what power they have to hold it at bay.

+ +

And when it does break through, the Journeyman is summoned. How, only the Sky Queen knows. She chooses a good man as her champion, and his quest is ever to turn back the dark and preserve the light.

+ +

Before he became Journeyman, Jonathan Flint travelled here many years before. A boy not much older than yourself, Jack Flint, on a mission of his own. He came through the Farward Gate, searching for his friend Thomas Lynn, a boy who had fallen into another world, who knows where. He had sought him in other worlds and would not give up. Perhaps that was why he was chosen.

+

+

Jack and Kerry exchanged another look. The story of Thomas Lynn who had disappeared in Cromwath Blackwood decades ago, and then reappeared dreadfully injured and completely mad, was a local legend back home. Nobody really believed it was true.

+ +

When he returned with his lady, Summer still ruled in Uaine. But not for long. The Copperplates of Uaine, long scattered and hidden in secret places, has fallen into the wrong hands, and now it has been put back together and used to open the dark way down.

+ +

The time has now come to remedy that.

+ +

Kerry couldn’t help himself. “What are the Copperplates?â€

+ +

“One and twenty leaves of a great book, each hidden and protected by a geas, a powerful spell. One and twenty enchantments woven by a Geasan in ages long past, the enchantments that together brought peace and plenty to Uaine.â€

+ +

“Don’t tell me somebody’s nicked them?â€

+ +

She raised her eyebrows in question.

+ +

“Swiped…I mean stolen them.â€

+ +

“A good guess, Kerry Malone. Someone has indeed…er, swiped them. The Journeyman took on the quest of bringing them back after night-stalkers brought their foul mischief. Now Uaine lives in terror of the darkness, and that darkness is spreading ever wider. We fear it will flow over the whole world like a tide.â€

+ +

“So why can’t you get these Copperplates back?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“Oh, don’t think we haven’t tried. But the one who found them, and brought them together, he was the most powerful Geasan of us all. Except for one.â€

+ +

“Like a warlock?â€

+ +

“A spellmaker, spellbinder. The seventh son of a seventh son. Once a good man too, but turned and twisted by the power of the Copperplates to dark thoughts and darker ways. I do know, for I’m the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. And he is my brother.â€

+ +

She sat back and swept her gaze over all three, expecting more questions but they waited for her to speak.

+ +

“Now here you travellers are.â€

+ +

“I came to find my father,†Jack said, trying to explain that he had plans of his own, plans that didn’t involve Copperplates or spellbinders or anything else. Yet, somehow, he knew he was about to get sucked into this world’s affairs. The Book of Ways had made it clear that he had to pay his passage.

+ +

“And we came to help him,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“Yeah,†Kerry pitched in. “All for one and each for everybody else.â€

+ +

“A good sentiment,†Megrin said. “Three friends good and true. And on a quest.

+ +

“We have to go west,†Kerry blurted. “The Book of Ways said…†He looked at Jack, wondering if he’d said too much, but Jack didn’t bother trying to hush him up.

+ +

“But we lost it,†Corriwen broke in. “It guides us and they stole it. And our swords.â€

+ +

“And something else?†Megrin asked gently.

+ +

Jack nodded. “My father’s heartstone.â€

+ +

“Ah, the fairyglass heart. I wondered if it would come back. And if it’s here, then all is not lost. Not by a long way. Not that it’s going to be easy, mind. But that’s for tomorrow and the days to come.

+ +

“Now I’ve done my share of talking, its your turn. I want to hear your story.â€

+ +

Jack began to talk, describing the night of the Halloween party when the creeping dark had swallowed Billy Robbins and then hunted them through the passageways under the Major’s house to Cromwath Blackwood and through the ring of standing stones to Temair.

+ +

“Then we met Corrie,†Kerry said. “And she was in big trouble.â€

+ +

They couldn’t stop him as he told how they’d fled across Temair, hunted by creatures Jack had only read about in legends, the final apocalyptic clash with the Morrigan, then the perils when they found themselves in Eirinn.

+ +

“And then,†Jack said. “I came here to search for my father. I told them to stay behind, because if my father couldn’t make it back, then there had to be something stopping him, something dangerous.â€

+ +

He tried to frown, but couldn’t.

+ +

“But they followed me through and first thing we know is there’s things in the dark hunting us down and then the villagers caught us and stole the heartstone and our weapons.â€

+ +

“And the Book of ways,†Corriwen said. “They said we were evil and tied us up for the nightshades.â€

+ +

Jack looked at Megrin. “I have to get the heart back, and the Book of Ways. And I want the sword that Hedda the Scatha made. If I find my father, he can use it.â€

+ +

“If..†Megrin shook her head and got up from her chair.

+ +

“ I think you should get a night’s rest by the fire. You’ve had a hard day.â€

+ +

She laid down thick reed mats near the hearth and began to douse the oil-lamp wicks.

+ +

“Get some sleep and give me some quiet time to think. I have a birthing to attend in the early hours. We’ll talk in the morning.â€

+ +

She disappeared silently. Jack, Kerry and Corriwen settled down wearily to rest. Very soon they were asleep together by the glow of embers.

+ +

+

+ +

+CHAPTER 7

+ +

+

Jack woke early from vague dreams where he hunted shadows. Kerry snored lightly, curled up beside the hearth. Corrie smiled in her sleep, hugging herself tight. Jack wondered what she was dreaming of. He could feel her breath on his cheek.

+ +

In the quiet of the dawn he thought about what Megrin had told him. His father had been here – might still be. But first, Jack knew he had to recover the Heartstone. It was the key to all worlds, and somehow Jack knew it was also the key in the search for his father.

+ +

Kerry snorted and woke with a start. He looked around, bewildered for a moment, then got up and went straight for the cooking pot to help himself to a ladle of broth.

+ +

“Where’s the wicked witch of the west?â€

+ +

Corriwen stirred, stretched and got up slowly. They breakfasted on the food while they talked about their next move. Jack was adamant.

+ +

“I’m not going anywhere without what they stole.â€

+ +

“It won’t be easy,†Kerry said.

+ +

“Nothing ever is,†Corriwen said thoughtfully. “But we have met worse difficulties. They might be many, but they are not fighters.â€

+ +

“They’ve got the weapons,†Kerry countered.

+ +

“Then we make our own,†Jack said. “We got Corriwen out of Wolfen Castle, remember? We could sneak in to the village.â€

+ +

“Rune’s boots had magic then,†Kerry argued.

+ +

Corrie clapped him on the shoulder. “If you don’t want to come….,†she teased.

+ +

Kerry's face went scarlet. “I never said I wasn’t coming! I was just pointing out that…

+

oh, never mind. All for one and that stuff, right?â€

+ +

By mid-morning, when Megrin had not appeared, they set out on their own.

+ +

In daylight the forest was a haven of sun-dappled glades, a far cry from the threatening shadowed place it had been at night. Searched around a sapling grove for material for weapons.. Kerry found three smooth stones in the stream and worked carefully to bind them together. Jack had seen him weave fish-traps and snares back home but it still amazed him how clever and deft he could be. In less than fifteen minutes Kerry held up the stones for inspection, each dangling from a stout braid of twine. They clacked together.

+ +

“It’s what Connor used. Can’t remember what he called it, but it works a treat.â€

+ +

He grinned. “Although I still wish I had my sling.â€

+ +

Jack was working on his own weapon, bending a piece of ash-wood into a curve. He already had four good arrows made from straight hazel, and although he had nothing to tip them with, he whittled their ends into points. They might do some damage if they had to. Corriwen had borrowed a big knife and used it to cut a good length of timber for a staff. She left two stubs of branches at the forked end and cut the base into a point. Jack hadn’t witnessed her first fight on Eirinn when the horsemen had tried to capture Connor, the crippled boy who was the rightful king of Eirinn. When Connor had relayed the story of how she had used a staff to unseat one of the hunters, he had almost burst with admiration.

+ +

“Tooled up and ready for anything,†Kerry said, swinging his make-shift bolas.

+ +

“We might not need it,†Jack said hopefully. Corriwen spun her staff, said nothing at all, but she had a resolute look in her eye.

+ +

They moved out from the trees and into rolling pastures. As they passed the first coppice into which they had fled, Jack saw the trees there were in a sorry state. Leaves wilted, infested with galls and mildew. The smell of rot was rank on the air.

+ +

“Did we do that?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“Not us,†Jack said. “We didn’t know about the barriers, but they seem to work. Whatever these night-shade things are, I don’t want them touching any of us.â€

+ +

“At least we know how to protect ourselves,†Corriwen said. “We should carry rowan with us always.â€

+ +

“And hopefully it works on humans,†Kerry added.

+ +

They made their way carefully until they came a hill from which they could see the village. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet.

+ +

“We should find somewhere to hide,†Jack suggested. “Then sneak in tonight.â€

+ +

“How will we find our stuff?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“We scout around for the head man. He’s got our weapons.â€

+ +

Silently they sneaked down the hill in single file. They pushed through a hedgerow.

+ +

And the bull that charged out from a corner of the field put paid to all their plans.

+ +

***

+ +

All Jack got was a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. He jerked around and saw pair of horns, sharp as daggers and as wide as a two-arm span, were pointed straight at his chest.

+ +

“Freak…..†Kerry blurted. Jack slammed Corriwen with his shoulder, tumbling her off to the side. Kerry vanished in a green streak. Everything blurred.

+ +

The bull hit the hedge like a train, snapping branches and twigs which flew in all directions. It bellowed as its momentum carried it forward, crashing almost through the thorns.

+ +

Kerry was nowhere to be seen. Jack found himself twenty yards away with no clear idea of how he had got there. Corriwen was half-way across the field. The last time Jack had seen her, she was rolling away on the grass. Now she was on her feet, staff held out and feet braced like a small warrior. Jack backed towards her, eyes on the bull.

+ +

It bellowed again, its feet ploughing the earth as it tried to free itself and come at them again, but somehow those big horns had wedged themselves behind the branches of the thorn-bushes. It shook them in futile fury as it twisted its head from side to side, but stayed stuck fast.

+ +

“I’m up here,†Kerry called. He lowered himself from a thin tree towering above the hedge and let himself drop a fair distance to the ground, bounced lightly and came running across.

+ +

“What happened?†Corriwen asked. “You hit me and then I was….all of a sudden…here.â€

+ +

“Rune’s boots!†Kerry jumped up and down. “The old girl must have fixed them. magicked them back.â€

+ +

“But Rune didn’t make a pair for me,†Corrie said.

+ +

“Maybe she did something to yours too.â€

+ +

“Good old her, then,†Kerry's grin was truly ear to ear. “This is totally brilliant.â€

+ +

Before he could say anything more, someone bawled on the other side of the hedge. Two men came clambering over a gate, big farming types. One had a long-handled spade, and the other a hooked blade on a pole. It looked like some kind of harvesting tool.

+ +

The three of them tried to make a dash for cover, but too late.

+ +

“It’s them fiend-friends.“ One farmer cried. “They lived the night.â€

+ +

“So much for the element of surprise,†Jack muttered. The villagers raised their tools and came charging at them. Flight was the only option.

+ +

CHAPTER 8

+ + +

The noise of pursuit attracted the rest of the villagers as Jack, Kerry and Corriwen came haring down the field, with the two angry farmers in loud, lumbering pursuit.

+ +

“Megrin must have done something to the boots,†Jack cried. “We’ve got speed back.â€

+ +

“So have I,†Corriwen said, keeping pace as they streaked away. “Good magic!â€

+ +

They skidded to a halt beside a pigpen. Somebody had left a scythe against the fence. Kerry snatched it up.

+ +

“Frying pan and fire spring to mind,†he said.

+ +

Boru, the headman came pushing forward through the crowd, that had gathered, accompanied by several young men. He wore the Scatha’s sword on his belt and walked with a swagger. The young men, who were clearly his sons were each armed with the rest of their weapons: Kerry's sword, Jack’s amberhorn bow and Corriwen’s twin knives.

+ +

The other villagers made the evil-eye signs with their fingers and shrank back. Jack could hear them talk in stage whispers.

+ +

“How could they have lived the night?â€

+ +

“They truly must be fiend-friend.â€

+ +

“Demon-touched, I say. That’s the only way they’d survive the nightshades.â€

+ +

“Should have killed them first and fed them to their own.â€

+ +

The boy with the amberhorn bow fixed an arrow and drew back. Jack stood firm. Even from this distance he could see the chief’s son’s aim was way off. He was no archer. Kerry swung the bolas slowly. Corriwen grasped her stave and eyed Boru’s sons

+ +

“Put down your arms,†Boru called out. “You’ll never get away alive.â€

+ +

“Yeah, like you didn’t already try to kill us last night!†Kerry's temper was rising already.

+ +

“We’ve come for our property,†Jack said. “Give it back and we’ll go away.â€

+ +

Boru drew the Scatha’s sword. Jack knew his father had wielded its twin on Temair, before Jack was born, in the first battle with the Morrigan.

+ +

“These weapons are forfeit,†Boru said, swinging the great blade back and forth. “And your lives are too.â€

+ +

He took a step forward. His sons spread out to surround the little group.

+ +

Jack held up the ash bow. “One move and your son gets an arrow in the eye. And for you, I’ll send the nightshades.. Nightshades that don’t care about your rowan barrier.â€

+ +

He turned slightly, gave Kerry a nod. Instantly Kerry understood. He wheeled away, whirling the spade around his head and raced along the barrier, slashing with the scythe at the upright posts. They splintered like matchwood all along the front of the village. A whole section of the rowan fence lay scattered.

+ +

The crowd let out a collective gasp. Kerry spun back and placed himself between Jack and Corriwen before anyone had time to react.

+ +

“Where’s your protection now?†Jack asked. “I swear I’ll cut all of it before dark, and you’ll never get it built in time.â€

+ +

Kerry took Jack’s lead: “And I can conjure up even worse than that. You’ve never met the Scree, have you? Or the Fell Runners. And there’s huge Cluricauns that’ll suck your eyes out and roast your children.â€

+ +

He waved scythe spade theatrically. “And they’re all coming for you tonight!â€

+ +

Corriwen suppressed a smile. She started doing a strange little strut, waving her fingers about and chanting in her own tongue.

+ +

“She’s bringing out dayshades,†Jack cried. “They’re even worse.â€

+ +

The crowd fell back further, leaving Boru and his kin standing at the front.

+ +

“They’re not getting this sword,†Boru growled through gritted teeth. “I can sell it for two plough-horses at least.â€

+ +

Some of the worried villagers protested.

+ +

“But if they bring the ’shades….â€

+ +

“Not if they’re dead, they won’t!â€

+ +

Jack watched as the men argued amongst themselves. The women looked scared. The chief held up the sword.

+ +

“You want this?†He challenged. “You’ve no powers in the sunlight,

+ +

He turned to the strapping lad next to him.

+ +

“There’s but three of them, with a scythe and a toy bow. “

+ +

“We can take them, Da,†his son replied. He wielded Kerry's short-sword, but it was clear he was not used to the weapon. The boy with the bow was still aiming off to Jack’s left.

+ +

Jack pulled Kerry and Corriwen close and whispered to them. Now he knew he had one advantage that Boru didn’t suspect. Kerry passed the scythe to him and began to swing his bolas. Jack stepped forward. His heart was beating fast, but he knew with the element of surprise gone there was nothing else for it. He had to have the firestone heart and the Book of Ways, the only inheritance he’d ever had from his father.

+ +

Boru also took a pace, a broad-shouldered Goliath compared to Jack’s slight frame. He glanced contemptuously at the rustic tool.

+ +

“You think you can, strangeling?â€

+ +

“I can try,†Jack said, trying to keep the shake out of his voice. Whatever magic Megrin had wrought as they slept, they now had the speed they needed. Maybe that was all they had, but it might be enough. Jack crossed his fingers.

+ +

“Come on then,†Boru snarled. “Let’s see what you’re made of. I’ll fillet you where you stand.â€

+ +

With that he let out a bellow and charged forward. Kerry suddenly darted off to the right in a brown blur. The motion took Boru by surprise. He instinctively turned his head. Jack ducked under the swinging blade and jabbed hard with the back of the scythe. It caught Boru hard on the shin.

+ +

He roared in surprise and pain and Jack was past him in a flash. On his flank, Kerry was a streak of motion. Jack saw the three rocks of the bolas swing up and he heard sound like a hammer-blow, then the big fellow who had Kerry's sword was down flat.

+ +

The sword now in Kerry's own hand.

+ +

Boru hopped about on other leg, then spun very quickly. He grunted with the effort as he hacked wildly. Even as he ducked under the swing, he saw Corriwen sprint out on the other side and use her staff as a fulcrum. She leapt from the ground like a pole-vaulter and her heels caught two of Boru’s sons each on the chin. Her knives went tumbling away as they staggered back. In an instant she was on her feet and both knives were hers again.

+ +

There might be outnumbered still, but the odds now were a little better.

+ +

The sword hissed past Jack’s ear. Boru was in mid turn. Without thinking, Jack thrust the scythe between his legs and pulled hard. Boru’s feet came off the ground and he fell with a heavy a thump.

+ +

But before any of them could react, two of his sons hauled him upright and he launched himself with a roar back into the fight, slashing and hacking wildly. Jack jinked left and right, forgetting about the other opponents as he dodged the swinging sword.

+ +

As if in slow motion, he caught the unmistakeable twang of a loosed bowstring. He turned as saw the arrow coming right for his chest.

+ +

Corriwen shrieked a warning, too late.

+ +

Boru roared like a bull and the great sword flashed in the sun as it whirled in his hands.

+ +

For an instant, everything froze in Jack’s mind. His feet refused to move as the arrow cut the air, straight and surprisingly true.

+ +

Jack braced himself for impact.

+ +

Then the Scatha’s sword swung down in front of him. Right over his heart.

+ +

The deadly arrow hit the blade with a ring of metal and shattered. The lethal barb spun away and stuck into the earth.

+ +

Boru howled in surprise as the sword jerked out of his two-handed grip, whirred over his head and came down to land point-first between Jack’s feet.

+ +

“Sorcery!†A voice from the crowd showed both awe and fear.

+ +

Jack grasped the hilt and held the sword high, sensing the power within it.

+ +

Nobody moved. A strange silence reigned for several minutes as Jack stood there, barely breathing.

+ +

He swung his eyes across his erstwhile opponents. The boy with the bow very slowly put it down on the ground. Boru was bleeding from his shin and gingerly rubbing both hands together as if he’d scalded them.

+ +

“You have seen what we can do,†Jack finally spoke up. “We could do worse.â€

+ +

“Yeah,†Kerry added. “A whole lot worse.-â€

+ +

“Do you really want us to do worse?â€

+ +

A child sobbing in the crowd. A woman called out: “No. Please. Just leave us alone.â€

+ +

Jack kept his eyes fixed on Boru.â€Then give us our belongings and we will go.â€

+ +

“And no funny stuff,†Kerry said, brandishing his short-sword with obvious relish. “Any tricks and we’ll send the Leprechauns tonight, and they’re the worst of all. No kidding!â€

+ +

Boru glowered, still wringing his hands and ignoring the wound on his knee. His eyes were fixed on the magnificent sword but he made no move to retrieve it.

+ +

He muttered to his nearest son, who turned back into the village. When he returned with their packs he put them down on the ground in front of them. Kerry and Corriwen snatched them up fast.

+ +

“A good decision,†she said, as Kerry checked their bags.

+ +

“The book’s here,†he said, turning to leave.

+ +

“And the heart?†Jack asked urgently.

+ +

Before Kerry could reply a man’s hoarse voice broke in.

+

+

“Fiend-friends in the daylight!â€

+ +

He strode in front of Boru, an apparition in a long tattered cloak, tangled hair hanging down his back. Around his head, a kind of hat woven from evergreen leaves sat like a crown and dangling from the ragged leathers he wore were small skulls of every sort, hawks and falcons, rabbits and stoats. On his chest a wildcat skull showed long thin fangs. He carried a long stave decorated with dried bird’s claws and rabbits feet and other things Jack couldn’t guess at.

+ +

“What’s he?†Kerry asked. “The local scarecrow?â€

+ +

“Or witch-doctor,†Jack said.

+ +

“You know the law, Boru,†the strange fellow rasped. “They lived the night, which proves the rule,†he croaked. “Kill them all!â€

+ +

He saw the weapons in their hands.

+ +

“What’s this? You gave them back.â€

+ +

“No they didn’t, rag-a-bones,†Kerry shot back. “We took them. Any objections?â€

+ +

Corriwen tried and failed to suppress a giggle.

+ +

A look of consternation passed across the man’s face. He drew himself up to his full scrawny height. In the slight breeze they could smell cow dung and stale raw-hide. It wasn’t pleasant.

+ +

He glared at Boru. “I don’t know what sorcery they worked on you, but it won’t work on a spellcaster.â€

+ +

He shrugged off the cloak. Immediately Jack saw the black heartstone gleaming on its chain at his neck.

+ +

“We came for the heart,†he said. “Hand it over and we’ll go away.â€

+ +

The man’s gnarled hand grabbed the heart tight. His knuckles went white.

+ +

“I feel it’s power, shade-bringer,†he cried. “I will make use of it. What was yours is now mine.â€

+ +

Riggon held up his skull-staff. “Begone strangelings, before I cast a curse on you.â€

+ +

“Do your worst, ragged arse,†Kerry cried. “You couldn’t scare a mouse.â€

+ +

“Come on Jack, let’s grab the heart and get out of here.â€

+ +

He stepped forward; Jack and Corriwen did the same. Riggon held up the staff and began a low guttural chant, shaking the dry bones. As he did so, the air around them seemed to thicken, the way it had done in the Black Barrow on Temair before they came face to face with the nightmare of the Morrigan.

+ +

“What the heck…?†Kerry's voice sounded thick and glutinous.

+ +

Jack took another step and it felt as if he was wading in deep water. The great sword suddenly felt heavy and awkward. It was difficult to breathe. One more step and the water felt like treacle, cloying around him, weighing him down.

+ +

Riggon’s face began to waver as if seen through rough glass.

+ +

Jack saw a dark shape pass in front of him.

+ +

It took Jack a second to recognise old Megrin in her black cowl and long shawl. She was bent with age and her fingers grasped a sturdy stick.

+ +

As soon as she passed, the strange thickness in the air vanished completely. Jack finished his step, almost sprawled forward. Close by, he heard Kerry curse very sincerely.

+ +

+CHAPTER 9

+ + +

“A magician’s trick,†Megrin said. “Simple, not bad for a beginner.â€

+ +

The ragged man reeled back as if struck

+ +

“It’s Old Meg-o-the-woods.†A woman in the crowd broke a sudden silence.

+ +

“That was no trick, crone. I am Grisan here. The spellcaster.â€

+ +

“Grisan, eh,†Megan cackled. “And what’s your name, son?â€

+ +

Riggon’s face seemed to swell with anger. He raised his skull rattle and shook it vigorously. A hush went around the crowd yet again.

+ +

Megrin stepped towards him, completely unfazed.

+ +

“You better put that away before you do yourself a mischief. Can’t have beginners playing about with earthy magic. Oh, and what’s that smell? You never heard of washing?â€

+ +

“Beginner? Me, a beginner? Who are you to call me a beginner, old woman? I am Riggon the spellcaster. I could turn you into a toad. Or worse.

+ +

Megrin cackled again, this time with laughter. Somebody in the crowd giggled nervously.

+ +

“You would turn me into a toad? I could do better than that. I could make you smell like a man and not reek like a pig in a sty. But it might be hard work. I’ve smelt dungheaps more fragrant.â€

+ +

This time the laughter was more natural. It rippled through the gathering.

+ +

Kerry stepped forward, sword drawn. Jack and Corriwen were right beside him and ready to act.

+ +

Riggon held up the heartstone on its chain. “I’ll use this,†he cried. “It has power!â€

+ +

He spun on his heel to face the villagers. It took a second for him to realise their eyes were fixed behind him. He turned back and his eyes opened so wide they could have popped out.

+ +

Around Megrin’s feet, grass, twigs and leaves were spinning off the ground. A sudden wind moaned, whipping her tattered shawl and cowl.

+ +

Megrin began to straighten from her stooped posture. Jack felt Corriwen’s hand grip his arm.

+ +

Riggon raised the heartstone and shook his charm-stick again.

+ +

But Megrin kept, uncoiling until, amazingly, she towered over the ragged shaman.

+ +

Her hood fell back and even Kerry gasped in amazement when he saw her hair that had been straggly and grey, become long and straight and gleaming silver down her back. Her tattered shawl flapped in the wind, shedding scraps of material until it was torn away. Now Megrin stood before them in a long cloak that could have been made of summer gossamer with a fur hood of pure white.

+ +

The old gnarled stick in her hand had become a slender carved staff, as tall as Megrin herself, richly polished.

+ +

The transformation took everybody by surprise, not least the ragged man whose feet seemed welded to the ground, his mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

+ +

She turned to Jack who was flanked by Kerry and Corriwen. Then she winked at them.

+ +

Megrin fixed Riggon with emerald eyes. She didn’t move, but in an instant he was squealing like a piglet.

+ +

And the fingers of his hand began to smoke and melt.

+ +

His hand jerked up. The heartstone went flying into the air.

+ +

Two pure white shapes came plummeting down. All Jack heard was a whirr of feathers as a pair of goshawks, white as snow, snatched the heartstone’s chain from the air, banked their wings and soared towards him. Their talons opened and the heartstone was softly draped on his neck.

+ +

He felt whole again.

+ +

“Neat. Absolutely neat, man,†Kerry said, to nobody in particular. Corriwen still held Jack’s wrist.

+ +

Megrin stood tall and silent, silver hair catching the sunlight. Riggon got to his feet, his right hand hooked into a claw.

+ +

“Witch woman!†He backed away from her, but still shook the skulls in her direction. She still said nothing for a moment, then pointed a long finger at him.

+ +

She swept her gaze along the crowd of villagers. “Some of you know me. The old ones. Your mothers knew me. I am Megrin Wildwillow of Foresthaven.

+ +

“And I am the Geasan, who has watched over you since before your father’s father’s father was a child. The Geasan always keep watch.â€

+ +

She put both hands on her hips and shook her head, like an exasperated mother scolding children.

+ +

“You should have come to me before, rather than listen to the prattle of this prancing pile of rags.â€

+ +

She tossed her hair contemptuously: “This will keep the shades at bay a while.â€

+ +

Her right hand came up and pointed directly at the Shaman yet again.

+ +

“Root and grow. Root and branch.â€

+ +

Riggon stopped dead as if his feet had suddenly stuck to the earth. He looked down at them and as he did, a small boy in the crowd pointed at him.

+ +

“His hat Ma. See his hat!â€

+ +

Every eye followed. Riggon stood paralysed. For a moment, the hat of twisted rowan fronds seemed to have turned into a circlet of writhing snakes but then it became clear that the woven twigs were sending out new shoots. In an instant, they had covered Riggon’s face, except for his gaping eyes, then grew down in thin tendrils, over his shoulders, wrapping around and along his arms, and snaking round the stick and its skulls.

+ +

As all eyes watched, his toes elongated like burrowing worms and drilled themselves between the blades of grass and pebbles, forcing the surface heave and clump as they rooted themselves deep.

+ +

His outstretched arms, encased in leaves were flung out on either side, expanding as they reached for the edges of rowan barrier that had encircled the village.

+ +

As soon as the green leaves touched the first upright, new buds swelled up its entire length, burst and let bright springtime leaves unfurl and the magic continued along the crosspiece, down the other post. The slender barrier of branches took root and burst into life yard by yard until it completely surrounded the whole village.

+ +

Megrin finally lowered her hand. “There, that should do it,†she said. Kerry couldn’t help himself. He just started clapping his hands together in wild applause, watched by the terrified villagers who stood, mouths agape.

+ +

Megrin took two spaces towards the assembly. They all shrank back in alarm.

+ +

“Oh, behave yourselves!†Megrin said impatiently. “Now you’ve got real protection. A living wall, which the shades won’t cross. And you won’t need any amateur skull-shaking to keep you safe.â€

+ +

She paused, began to turn away, then faced them again. “You did my young friends a great disservice. Think on that when travellers seek refuge and safety. Welcome them and succour them in days to come…

+ +

“…unless you want me to wither your rowan hedge.â€

+ +

“Oh no, please!†A woman’s thin voice cried.

+ +

The crowd all looked at Boru, expecting some action from their head-man.

+ +

He coughed and shuffled forward. “Yes….my lady. We will turn none away.â€

+ +

“See that you don’t. And if you are tempted to be inhospitable to the traveller, remember your spellcaster. Think on that.â€

+ +

And with that she turned her head and walked away, summoning Jack, Corriwen and Kerry with a brief nod of her head.

+ +

“Now come on, young friends. We have a meeting to attend and a long way to travel.â€

+ +

+ CHAPTER 10

+ +

Jack tugged at Megrin’s sleeve when they caught up with her on the road heading west.

+ +

“Where are you going?†he asked.

+ +

“With you, of course,†she replied. “Don’t you have a quest?â€

+ +

“You don’t have to come with us. We know which way to go.†Jack didn’t want to sound ungrateful for her help or her hospitality, but he was reluctant to draw anyone else into his search. Already Kerry and Corriwen had faced dangers on his behalf.

+ +

“Ah,†Megrin responded. “Will you know what to do when you get there?â€

+ +

She stopped on the road and looked down into his eyes. “You will be a good journeyman, Jack Flint, and a good journeyman takes help when it’s offered. We all do the Sky Queen’s work.â€

+ +

“I just want to find my father,†Jack said. “I don’t want anybody else to get hurt.â€

+ +

Now Megrin smiled. “Good for you. A nice thought. But your quest is more than you think. It is bound with Uaine’s future and the righting of wrong. As is mine. Uaine is my world, and Bodron is my brother. I would not have you and Kerry and Corriwen face him without my help.â€

+ +

She patted him on the shoulder. “If you could find him, that is. He’ll hide himself well.â€

+ +

Before Jack could respond, Kerry interrupted.

+ +

“Are you just going to leave him like that?†he asked. “The witchdoctor guy?â€

+ +

Megrin turned. They were only a mile out from the village and the green barrier of living trees could still be clearly seen.

+ +

“Oh, for a while anyway.†She smiled mischievously. “This way he can do some good and no mischief.â€

+ +

As they walked alongside her Jack noticed that the gossamer cloak and white fur hood were slowly darkening to the drab colours she had worn when they first met her. But she wasn’t bent like an old woman any more, and she walked with a determined air, using her carved staff like a hiker. Sometimes, from the corner of his eye, Jack got the impression that she was skimming over the ground, rather than treading it.

+ +

“What’s happened to your cloak?†Corriwen was curious.

+ +

Megrin smiled again. “That was just for show, you know. But you wouldn’t expect me to travel in my summer best, would you? I prefer to slip into something more comfortable.

+ +

A few moments before, the hood was still discernible, but now Jack could see it was gradually transforming itself into an old shawl which covered her hair, and was tucked into the front of her long dark coat.

+ +

As they walked, Jack marvelled at how quickly they covered distance. The farmland gave way to moor and then hills which rose ever steeper as the road carried them higher, until they were walking in low clouds. Here, the air was cold and damp and a wind picked up, driving rain and sleet into their faces.

+ +

They were hungry and tired when Megrin called a halt. Jack saw they were on a windswept summit where three standing stones formed the legs of a colossal table, bearing a wide flat capstone in weather-worn granite. Beyond, where the sun was slowly sinking towards the horizon, the sky was a dark smudge on the horizon, the same purple shade they had seen in the night when the moon turned to angry red and the shadows came oozing out from dark places.

+ +

She herded them towards the shelter. Jack held back, eying the megalith with suspicion.

+ +

“Do you plan to brave the wind and sleet alone tonight?â€

+ +

“I’m wary of standing stones,†he said. “Every time we go through them we end up in trouble.â€

+ +

“I’m with Jack on that,†Kerry said. Corriwen nodded her agreement.

+ +

Megrin chuckled, stooping to get under the capstone, and took her shawl off, letting her silver hair spill down her shoulders.

+ +

“That’s the Faery Gates you’re talking about. The gates between.“ She beckoned them to join her. “This is a Bor-Dion, as they say in the old tongue, a resting place carved from the hill and set here to shelter the weary.â€

+ +

Jack stepped forward. As soon as he was under the capstone the wind died, although, beyond the massive pillars he could see the tussock-grass and heather bent almost flat by its force. He allowed himself to relax and the cold began to seep out of his bones.

+ +

“They built well, the old people,†Megrin said. “And cast their geas to ward off harm.â€

+ +

“I’m just glad to be out of the freakin weather,†Kerry said, slumping down on the dry earth beside a small circle of stones where previous travellers had lit a fire. “It’s like being back in Scotland home in winter. All drizzle and sleetâ€

+ +

He looked at Jack: “I’m frozen stiff. I thought this was supposed to be the summerland!â€

+ +

“Uaine is the summerland,†Megrin interjected. “But you know that all is not well here. The time has come to rectify that. If we can.â€

+ +

Kerry set about gathering wind-blown leaves and twigs which he crumpled together in the old hearth. Corriwen shook the rain from her hair and laid her cloak out to dry.

+ +

“Where are we going?†Jack asked. “And what are we supposed to do?â€

+ +

Kerry flicked his little lighter to try to set the damp leaves alight. The flame flared out like a blowlamp again and he yelped as it scorched his thumb.

+ +

“Why don’t you consult that book of yours?†Megrin replied. “It’s led you on the right path so far.â€

+ +

Jack wasn’t surprised she knew of the Book of Ways. There was a lot more to Megrin than he had suspected at first. He squatted down and drew the ancient book from his pack.

+ +

Kerry cursed under his breath and sucked his thumb, unable to set fire to the wet leaves. Megrin glanced across at him, frowned, then closed her eyes for a moment. She pointed a long finger at the unpromising pile of kindling and when she opened her eyes again, Jack saw them flash brightly for a mere fraction of a second.

+ +

Something whickered past him, an invisible twist in the air. He felt it clearly on his cheek, like a hot breath of dry wind. The firewood burst into flame with a sudden whoosh.

+ +

Kerry jerked back with a cry of alarm and fell hard with his feet in the air, frantically rubbing at his eyes. Looked up at Megrin who still stood with her finger pointing.

+ +

“You’ve burnt my eyebrows right off,†he yelled. “You could have blinded me!â€

+ +

Corriwen burst into peals of laughter. As Kerry rolled on the ground she slumped against Jack, helpless with mirth. Tears streamed down her face and he felt her convulse against him. It was the first in a long time that Jack had heard her really laugh.

+ +

“Oh stop,†she cried, when she managed to get a breath. “I can’t take any more!â€

+ +

Kerry pulled his hands away from his eyes, glared up at them: “And what are you laughing at?â€

+ +

Jack felt the laughter bubbled up inside him until his knees started to shake and he could take Corriwen’s weight no longer. They sagged to the ground, holding on to each other.

+ +

“There’s nothing funny in getting blinded,†Kerry snorted. “Freakin’ witchy magic!â€

+ +

But that only set them off again until they were both knotted in a heap, unable to stop.

+ +

“A pair of kids, so you are,†Kerry said. “We’re supposed to be on serious business here!â€

+ +

***

+

When the laughter began to subside, Jack sat up and rubbed his eyes. Every now and then Corriwen would give a little giggle which she was unable to suppress, even when she clamped a hand over her mouth.

+ +

“OK, OK,†Jack said. “I’m laughed out and my stomach’s sore.â€

+ +

“Yeah, very funny,†Kerry said. He looked up at Megrin who seemed to have caught the laughter infection and couldn’t but smile. “Next time you should give me some warning instead of blowing me to smithereens.â€

+ +

“I’ll try to remember, Master Kerry,†she said as she opened a little cloth bag and produced some of the bread and meat left over from the night before. “Now, about that serious business….â€

+ +

Jack held the Book of Ways in both hands as the leather cover opened slowly and the pages purred until they stopped at a blank page. The words began to appear. Megrin leant over them as they huddled to read.

+ +

Road now leads to ring of power

+

Ever on to shadow glower

+

Heroes may be tested sore

+

Journeyman returns once more.

+ +

Heed the wise, yet follow heart

+

Journeyman must then depart

+

To face the weird of evil bane

+

Ever on to madness reign.

+ +

When they were done, Jack let the book close in his hands.

+ +

“It doesn’t look good,†he said.

+ +

“It never did before,†Corriwen said, as brightly as she could, but both Jack and Kerry could read her. She knew there was trouble ahead, but she was ready to meet it. “And aren’t we still whole?â€

+ +

“I don’t like this madness thing,†Kerry said. “And I don’t want to be tested sore again.â€

+ +

Jack managed a smile. “I told you to stay behind. This is my problem.â€

+ +

“Ah, how much you must learn, Jack Flint,†Megrin interrupted. “I saw you all come through the gate a long time ago. The three of you as one. There’s power in the number, the unshakeable triangle.â€

+ +

“It’s like I keep telling them,†Kerry said. “All for one and each for everybody else! But I still don’t like this madness thing. I don’t like mad folk.â€

+ +

Megrin ushered them round the fire and they sat around its glow, breaking off generous hunks of meat and bread. Megrin waited patiently until they had eaten their fill. The fire would die down every now and again but she would gesture with her fingers and it would flare hot again. Kerry remained wary, but somehow he managed to anticipate her and pulled back from the hearth. Though she tried, Corriwen failed to hide her mirth.

+ +

“This ring of power,†Jack said, thinking about what they had just read. “It sounds like something in a book I once read. It was a magic ring that made you invisible. Do you know what the ring is?â€

+ +

“I do,†Megrin said. “And it is not the kind of ring that will fit your finger. It’s our destination. I knew that before your book told you. It is where I am supposed to take you…first.â€

+ +

“And then what?†Kerry wanted to know.

+ +

“Then, if you are still as determined as you seem to be, we will go into the unknown.â€

+ +

“If it helps me find my father, I’ll go anywhere,†Jack asserted. “The Book says the journeyman returns once more. So where he’s gone, that’s where I’m going.â€

+ +

Without explanation, Corriwen gave Jack a quick, tight hug. “And we’re with you.â€

+ +

“Me too,†Kerry agreed. “Though I still don’t like this madness stuff.â€

+ +

“Well said, all three!†When Megrin smiled, she didn’t look at all like an old woman.

+ +

***

+ +

It was warm and dry under their shelter, and the fire stayed hot in the hearth.

+ +

Outside, night fell quickly and the moon shone down on them, silvering the ancient stone pillars. But when Kerry excused himself stepped out of the shelter not long after sunset, he returned with a puzzled expression on his face.

+ +

“The moon’s all red again,†he said.

+ +

Jack and Corriwen looked up, exchanged glances, then turned to Kerry.

+ +

“I mean, out there it’s gone all bloody. From in here it’s just the same as usual.â€

+ +

“The old stones protect us,†Megrin explained. She stood between two pillars and raised her hands to shoulder height in front of her. Jack thought he saw two white shapes flutter out into the dark, but couldn’t be sure.

+ +

“A little extra protection won’t go amiss,†she said. “Now, it’s time to rest, for we have a journey in the morning.â€

+ +

She settled down, huddled herself into her cloak and became as still as stone. The three travellers crouched by the fire, tired, but unable to sleep yet. Corriwen sat and used her leather belt to strop her blades until they gleamed.

+ +

“I’m glad she’s on our side,†Kerry said, nodding towards where Megrin was sitting. “Gave me a fright at first, but she’s pretty cool.â€

+ +

“Apart from burning your eyebrows off,†Corriwen said, keeping her face straight.

+ +

Jack leant back against the pillar, absently cradling the heartstone in his hand, listening to them banter back and forth, and soon the voices faded and he fell into a sleep.

+ +

***

+

He jerked awake suddenly, his heart hammering. The heartstone throbbed. For a moment he was bewildered, unable to comprehend where he was. Kerry and Corriwen were huddled together by the fire, and Megrin was still a shadow.

+ +

Out in the dark, something grunted, so low it felt like a tremble in the ground and Jack’s skin puckered all down his spine. Slowly he eased himself round the pillar and looked out into the night.

+ +

The two wolves were back, white hackles bristling in stiff quills, pacing a perimeter barely a hundred paces away from where Jack crouched.

+ +

Beyond, the night was dark, but reddened by a faint glow from the angry moon, and in its shadows, other shadows loped and squirmed in a heaving mass. Now and then, yellow eyes would blare in the dark.

+ +

The image of those eyes hunting him through the darkwood came back all of a sudden and he held tight to the heartstone.

+ +

But the white wolves padded back and forth, back and forth, silent as ghosts, and the nightshades came no closer.

+ +

Jack shrank back, wishing to see no more.

+ +

Megrin spoke in a whisper, and her voice startled him.

+ +

“This is just the beginning,†she said. “We are on the far edge of what is to come. Worse things will face you.â€

+ +

“That’s what the Book of Ways said,†Jack murmured, his heart quailing at the thought of what might be worse than those terrifying things. “It’s never wrong.â€

+ +

“And you still want to go on?â€

+ +

“I must go on,†he replied. “I’ve come this far.â€

+ +

“You have a brave heart, Jack Flint. A journeyman’s son. A journeyman now.â€

+ +

The heartstone pulsed slowly and he laid his hand on the hilt of the Scatha’s great sword. A small vibration ran through his nerves, and he felt comforted.

+ +

“Nothing can breach the Bor-dion,†Megrin said. “Not even the nightshades. And we are well guarded until morning.â€

+ +

In the dark, she reached out and touched Jack’s cheek. Her hand felt warm and soft. Like the hand of a mother, he thought, even though he had never known that touch. It soothed his apprehension.

+ +

Soon he was fast asleep.

+ + + +

+

+

Chapter 11.

+

+

“Now is the time to tell you more,†Megrin said. “So you know what you might be up against.â€

+ +

The morning was bright and clear as Jack, Kerry and Corriwen listened intently. The four travellers had shared the bread and meat and drank clear water from an ice-cold rivulet, sitting around the hearth stones.

+ +

“My brother Bodron was once a good man,†Megrin said. “And as adept a spellbinder as I ever knew. He was a leader among the council of enchanters, the Geasan-eril. But if he had a flaw, it was that he wanted more.“

+ +

“He was always seeking new ways, always wanting to be perfect, to be the best. As if being a Geasan is a contest, like wresting and racing. Nobody knows on whom the Sky Queen will bestow her gifts, nor why. The Geasan are what we are, and we do what we do.

+ +

“Ambition can become a thin place for the dark to break through, and I am afraid my brother Bodron’s ambition developed a crack that grew ever wider under the force of dark tides. Through that fissure a shadow power slipped through to Uaine.

+ +

“As I told you, the Copperplates, the one and twenty spells, were hidden after the great binding spell was complete. Together, made Uaine the summerland of peace and tranquillity. But for every good, there is an evil.

+ +

“Bodron kept secret his quest for the Copperplates, but he them out all across Uaine.

+ +

“I don’t get it,†Kerry interrupted. “If these spells made everything good, why would they have to be hidden. Wouldn’t they make things better now?â€

+ +

“So you might think,†Megrin agreed. “But if I were to make a mixture of henbane and milkwort and a few other things, then it might help a woman who wants a child. Yet if I mix the ingredients in a different way, then I could make a poison that would kill a man dead. It is all in the weave. That’s the way with great enchantments. Each has to fit with the other in the right way. Bring them together in other ways, and bad things can happen. And we of the Geasan fear the worst.â€

+ +

“What would be the worst?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“The worst would be if the Copperplate spells were woven in such a way that they would undo all the good they have done and open a way for dark forces to break through and cast an evil shadow over Uaine.â€

+ +

“I saw shadows last night,†Jack said. “They were alive.“

+ +

“They are just manifestations of the dark forces,†Megrin said. “What we fear is that what created them might break through. Something very old and very evil.â€

+ +

Her face was suddenly filled with concern and sadness.

+ +

“I fear my brother has opened the Dark Way.â€

+ +

“The Dark Way to where?â€

+ +

“To the lands of the lost. The underworld. The realm of the damned.â€

+ +

***

+

From the slope of the final hill, the great circle below them was impressive, even at a distance. Despite the sunshine, far in the west, the purple smudge on the horizon still swelled and contracted like a vast heart.

+ +

It was the circle, however, that grabbed their attention. It sat on a flat, green plain, like an arena that dominated the landscape. Jack shaded his eyes and studied it. Small figures moved close to great pillars, which gave him an idea of its size.

+ +

It had not been there when they breasted the rise. Jack knew that for certain. The plain had stretched away unbroken towards a far ridge. At first, the dark tide in the distance had held his attention, but as they began to descend something shimmered in Jack’s peripheral vision.

+ +

When he looked directly at it, he saw nothing at all. He half turned and again, the shimmering was there, in peripheral vision, like a sliver of glass catching the light.

+ +

Corriwen noticed it too. She kept turning her head, pausing, then looking back.

+ +

“Something’s there,†she whispered. “But it eludes me.â€

+ +

But further they descended, the more solid the image became, condensing, it seemed from the very air until finally they were close enough for a shape to materialise, like a mirage, in the middle of the plain where no shape had been before.

+ +

Tall brown pillars were set in a wide circle, roofed in what looked, from their vantage point, like thick turf. By the time they were half-way down the hill, the apparition seemed solid, rooted in the earth, as if it had stood there a long time.

+ +

As they descended, the more solid the image became, condensing, until they could make out tall brown pillars, roofed in what looked, like thick turf.

+ +

“What is that?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“Our destination…for today,†Megrin said. She had declined to elaborate any further on what she had said in the morning about her brother and the Dark Way. They had covered a lot of ground, not stopping to rest at the other Bor-dion shelters they had passed on their travels, and as they moved ever westwards, the heartstone’s beat gathered strength. That told Jack they were getting closer to danger, but he didn’t need the heartstone to tell him that. They all knew it.

+ +

They just didn’t know exactly what the danger would be.

+ +

“I thought it might be,†Kerry said. “But what is it?â€

+ +

“It’s where the Geasan-Eril sits.â€

+ +

Corriwen nodded. “The Council of Enchanters.â€

+ +

“So that’s what the Book meant,†Jack said. “The Road now leads to ring of power.“

+ +

“You mean that place is full of wizards and warlocks and the like?†Kerry seemed to like that idea.

+ +

Megrin laughed. “Wait and find out, Kerry Malone. This is the first time the Geasan-Eril have met for a long time. What they – and we – decide will determine the future of Uaine. And yours.â€

+ +

“I could have guessed that,†Jack said under his breath. Corriwen took his hand and held it tight as they walked towards the circle, not knowing what to expect or what they were supposed to do.

+ +

***

+ +

Jack could feel pure power radiate from the place. The heartstone now shivered against him-. The hilt of the great sword tingled in his grip. The hairs on his arms stood on end and goose-bumps tickled up and down his spine.

+ +

“Do you feel it?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“It’s like electric pylons,†Kerry said. Corriwen looked at him for an explanation, but she had come to except there were things in their world she could never understand. “When you walk under them on a wet day you can hear them sizzle. It’s making my skin crawl. And one of my fillings is giving me toothache.â€

+ +

“It is magic,†she said. “Real magic.â€

+ +

“Hey Jack, remember that big Vandergraf generator in school? The one that made your hair stand up….?â€

+ +

Jack wasn’t listening. His eyes followed Megrin. She seemed to glide over the grass of the plain and her ragged shawl and coat were changing again, lightening in the sunshine. A half-smile played on her lips and her attention was focussed so completely on what was ahead of them that she seemed unaware of anything else.

+ +

“The power.†Corriwen pointed to the vast pillared circle. “It’s coming from there. And from Megrin too.â€

+ +

It was only when they were within a few hundred yards that they saw this was no edifice, enchanted or otherwise, standing on the plain. It was indeed a ring, a ring of ancient trees, straight and tall, with bark as red as Scots pine and muscular roots dug deep into the earth. Branches high overhead tangled and twisted together so thickly that they formed an almost solid roof, save for a few places where shafts of sunlight speared through.

+ +

Between the great trunks, at first glance, it looked as if the roof were suspended on a scaffold of pure light.

+ +

They stopped to marvel.

+ +

“It’s like Stonehenge,†Jack said. “Except it’s been planted.â€

+ +

They paused in front of two giant trees. Their bark was gnarled with thick burrs which formed strange shapes like carvings, and protrusions that in some places looked like faces eroded by years.

+ +

“It’s like the ring in Cromwath Blackwood,†Kerry said, impressed. “But bigger. Much bigger.â€

+ +

Corriwen reached to lay a hand on a buttressed root. Jack saw the bark flex and ripple and Corrie jerked her hand back as if she’d been burned.

+ +

She turned wide eyes on them. “It’s alive,†she said. “Like Sappeling Wood.â€

+ +

For a second, Jack expected to see one of the face-shapes turn towards him and for great brown eyes to creak open and regard him, the way the Leprechauns had in the deep forest of Temair. The trunk swelled almost imperceptibly, then subsided, as if the tree had taken a long, slow breath.

+ +

The heartstone sang a pure, high note and he stopped dead, unable to take another step.

+ +

It was as if he’d walked into a soft, yet impenetrable barrier. Electricity seemed to crackle all around him.

+ +

A voice whispered in his mind.

+ +

“Who enters, traveller?†It sounded as if it sang, as soft as a breeze. “And what do you seek?â€

+ +

He felt as if he was gently pushed backwards. Kerry was still walking forward and crashed into him. He reeled back, holding his nose. Corriwen caught him before he fell.

+ +

Jack’s hand was on the heartstone. It was warm now, almost hot to the touch, as if the power in the air was somehow charging it up.

+ +

“Jack…†he said without speaking, unable to prevent himself. “Jack Flint.â€

+ +

The warm voice embraced him again. “You are known here….. Journeyman.â€

+ +

The great tree nearest him shuddered, and a stream of scented pine needles showered down in a green blizzard. Megrin turned, now dressed in her white cloak, her staff straight once more and intricately carved. She smiled at him, then beckoned him forward.

+ +

There was a gentle sound, like wet fabric tearing, and a strange rubbery sensation as whatever invisible barrier had held him now gave way.

+ +

He walked in to the vast living arena with Corriwen and Kerry close behind.

+ +

Megrin was ahead of them, now walking slowly, beyond the opening space. Jack took two strides to follow her. She held her hand out to Jack and clasped his fingers.

+ +

“You feel the power,†she said. “It called to me. This is home to me and mine. It welcomes you with kindness.â€

+ +

“It’s like Cromwath Blackwood,†Jack whispered. “Much bigger when you’re inside.â€

+ +

Yet despite the tingling on his skin, Jack felt none of the kind of threat they had sensed inside the walled forest back home, when they had first run from the creeping dark and found themselves inside the ring of stones.

+ +

The heartstone was singing its soft note, but it seemed to resonate in harmony with this place, as if it too, had found a home.

+ +

“I heard it,†Jack said. “It spoke inside my head.â€

+ +

“I never heard anything,†Kerry said, both hands clapped his face. “I nearly busted my nose on the back of your head. I’m still seeing stars!â€

+ +

Megrin winked at him, touched his nose with one finger. Kerry jerked back as if he’d been stung, then a big smile spread across his face.

+ +

“All better now?â€

+ +

Kerry dabbed gingerly, then rubbed at where his nose had taken a knock`. “Much better.â€

+ +

There was not a breath of wind inside this magical amphitheatre, yet the heady fragrance of summer blossom hung in the air. And it was like a vast pillared hall. From outside, it was just a ring of trees. Inside, the forest seemed to stretch forever.

+ +

“It’s like Cromwath Blackwood,†Kerry whispered. “Different inside. Much biggerâ€

+ +

Yet despite the tingling on his skin, Jack felt none of the kind of threat they had sensed inside the walled forest back home, when they had run from the creeping dark and found themselves inside the ring of stones.

+ +

The heartstone itself was still singing its soft note, but it seemed to resonate in harmony with this place, as if it too, had found a home.

+ +

They followed Megrin past gleaming pillars of light that sparkled with pollen, and straight trunks that reached for a canopy that was now hidden from view. A clear crystal stream burbled past as they crossed a fairy bridge until at last they came to a second ring of trees and Megrin stopped.

+ +

Beyond her, Jack saw the circle of shivering aspens, silver leaves dancing in unison.

+ +

And inside the circle, gauzy shapes drifted like phantoms, as if they floated in mist.

+ +

“I must leave you here now,†Megrin said. “I can’t take you further unless the Eril decides.â€

+ +

She pointed to the stream and to the red and purple berries that swelled on a low shrub overhanging the water.

+ +

“Eat and drink,†she said. “Get your strength back. You might need it.â€

+ +

With that she turned and walked towards the aspen circle, passed between two silver trunks and faded from sight.

+ +

Kerry knelt down beside the little brook, lowered his head to drink.

+ +

The Jack and Corriwen watched in amazement as a little pillar of water rose up from the surface like a fountain. Kerry paused, then bent to drink from it and when he was done, the fountain subsided as if it had never been.

+ +

“Oh, man,†he said. “You have to taste this stuff,†He grinned delightedly as he wiped his lips.

+ +

Corrie plucked a juicy berry from the bush. Jack heard it pop softly between her teeth and she closed her eyes and sighed with pure delight.

+ + +

CHAPTER 12

+ + +

Under the spreading boughs the air shimmered like summer heat on a long road and Jack felt the sizzle and crackle of power like an electrical charge. Kerry's tousled hair stood briefly on end. Corriwen sucked in her breath. Jack felt a strange sensation, like the inside-out feeling he got when they came through the Farward Gate.

+ +

Megrin led them on, walking slowly. Jack thought he caught glimpses of shapes gliding in the dappled light between the vast trunks, but he couldn’t be sure. Kerry had his head cocked to the side, as if listening.

+ +

Then a voice spoke softly in Jack’s head.

+ +

“Welcome, traveller.†He stopped. Kerry and Corriwen did too.

+ +

“Who said that?†Kerry asked, looking around.

+ +

The shimmering air seemed spangled with glittering pollen, as if a million tiny fireflies swarmed just beyond where Megrin was walking. The golden particles swirled in magical eddies and coalesced into shapes that were gauzy and indistinct, but in moments, Jack could see figures standing in a wide circle. As Megrin joined it, her own solidity seemed to fade as she merged into it.

+ +

Kerry took a step forward, but Jack touched his arm and held him back. Something told him this was as far as they should go. He could see sparkling light ripple through Megrin’s form.

+ +

“Megrin Wildwillow,†the voice spoke again. “It has been a long wait, but we are one again.â€

+ +

“Long enough,†Megrin said. Like the other voice, hers spoke inside Jack’s head. “But worth the wait.â€

+ +

“You have brought the Journeyman.†It was a statement, not a question.

+ +

“The Journeyman, son of Jonathan Cullian Flint. Bearer of the faery-stone heart. And his heart-friends stand with him.â€

+ +

“Welcome all.†The voice was neither male nor female, but it was gentle and warm. “Welcome Jack Flint. Your father was ever a friend to Uaine. We owe you our gratitude and our aid.â€

+ +

“We have kept the dark at bay as much as we are able,†Megrin said. “Yet it spreads. What may follow may be the end for Uaine and all worlds. Now is the time to face it. To heal the breach.â€

+ +

“We are as one on this,†the disembodied voice replied. “The Copperplates have been usurped, their purpose corrupted. We sense that Bodron has unlocked the gate to the lost lands. Sooner or later, it will swing open, and then all will be lost.â€

+ +

“I will guide them into Bodron’s Domain,†Megrin said, “and do what I can to stem my brother’s will. Speed is of the essence now. I need to share the power of the Geasan I need light to overcome the dark. And I need the Geasan Eril to build a nether-way, to let us pass through the shadow-fields.â€

+ +

She let her request sink in before she spoke again. “This is a matter of destiny. The Journeyman and his friends are part of this quest. I will lead them to where they need to go, to Bodron’s holdfast. And there I will face Bodron myself.â€

+ +

“We cannot see beyond the dark. The future is clouded. Would you take these young travellers to their doom?â€

+ +

“I must go,†Jack said aloud. He hadn’t meant to speak, but some compulsion took over.

+ +

“My father went there and he never came back. I have to find him.â€

+ +

“That we know, Journeyman. Your sorrows are ours. Yet there is a power in Bodron’s holdfast that is greater than our own. Would you face it?â€

+ +

“I must,†Jack repeated.

+ +

“And your companions?â€

+ +

“Where Jack goes,†Corriwen spoke up. “I go.â€

+ +

“Me too,†Kerry said stoutly.

+ +

“So be it. You bear the Journeyman’s heartstone. Pray it protects you.â€

+ +

The voice faded to silence. Megrin still stood in the circle where the spangling lights wove around figures that seemed not quite solid, yet emanated power. She beckoned to Jack. Kerry and Corriwen followed him as he walked towards the circle. The magical light seemed to sizzle on his skin as he passed through the perimeter. They joined him at its centre, wide eyed with wonder.

+ +

All around them, wise old faces looked on them kindly, yet with sadness. The heartstone thrummed as it picked up the energy within the ring of spellbinders.

+ +

Megrin came to join them. She raised her staff. Its carved head suddenly glowed with unearthly light.

+ +

“Open the way through the darkness,†she said aloud.

+ +

For a moment there was silence, followed by the soft hum of many voices in harmony, a harmony that swelled louder as it gained strength. Jack felt jolts of energy tingle on the nerves of his fingers and down his spine.

+ +

The air before them wavered, as if heated from below, and a harsh ripping sound almost drowned out the voices. A space opened in the air, yawning dark, like the mouth of a tunnel.

+ +

The dust at their feet was sucked into what seemed like black emptiness with no light, no shade. It was an emptiness so profound it hurt the eyes to stare into it.

+ +

It looked like a rip in the fabric of the world. Like an opening between this place and somewhere else: somewhere shadowed and bleak.

+ +

Jack knew that’s exactly what it was.

+ +

Thin places. The words formed in his mind. Between here and…where?

+ +

The mouth swelled and contracted like a living thing.

+ +

Megrin put her hand on Jack’s shoulder and ushered them forward towards the mouth. Corriwen gripped Jack’s arm. Kerry looked transfixed and when Jack pulled him forward, his feet seemed glued to the ground. Jack tugged a little harder and Kerry followed dumbly. Together they edged towards the void unable to look away.

+ + +

They stepped inside and the sound of voices was abruptly cut off. The magical light vanished and they stood in a silent gloom.

+ +

CHAPTER 13

+ + + +

.

+ +

They were in a tunnel. Its translucent walls squeezed rhythmically as if they were in the belly of some monstrous beast. Ahead darkness stretched into the distance.

+ +

Megrin strode an ahead and they Jack hurried to follow. The walls squeezed in on them, contracting in powerful rhythms, propelling them further and faster.

+ +

Corriwen caught a movement in peripheral vision and when she turned she saw something move, a shape beyond the outer surface of the tunnel. Kerry noticed it too and cringed away.

+ +

The creature loomed in fast and pressed itself against the pulsing wall and Jack saw a flat snout and a wide mouth, and then he almost lost his footing when it pushed against the yielding wall, stretching it outwards like a rubber membrane.

+ +

Corriwen reared away, instinctively drawing her knife.

+ +

Jack pulled her forward. The creature, whatever it was, drew back and the tunnel wall smoothed out again. Ahead of them, Megrin slowed her pace and waited for them to catch up. She drew them close.

+ +

“Whatever you see is…beyond.†She said. In the strange atmosphere of this place, her words seemed distant, struggling through the thin air. “These things are not of our world. We have the protection of the Geasan. You can’t come to harm here.â€

+ +

“Not yet,†Corriwen said softy, though she did not seem afraid. She had faced danger before with courage and determination. Jack knew they would all need courage, because wherever this strange between-way led, they were sure to find danger at the far side.

+ +

“Always looking on the bright side, Corrie.†Kerry joked, managing to raise a smile. “You could try to be optimistic for once.â€

+ +

“A good sentiment,†Megrin said. “Let’s just try to do that.â€

+ +

They slogged on, down what seemed to be an endless, pulsating wormhole until finally Jack became aware of a change in the air and an alteration in the deep beat that resonated all through this between way. The burning smell was faint at first, but it strengthened with every step they took until it began to make his eyes water and Kerry sneezed explosively.

+ +

Megrin halted abruptly and spread her arms to ensure they stayed behind her.

+ +

The far mouth of the tunnel yawned ahead of her. “The end of the road,†she said.

+ +

“Good,†Kerry let out a long breath. “This is as bad as the misty way in Eirinn. Remember? All those scary things in the fog.â€

+ +

They stepped out into a strange twilight filled with shadows and half-seen things that fluttered on bat wings. Behind them the mouth of the tunnel rolled around on itself like a living thing. Megrin led them away from it and they watched as the opening abruptly contracted like the pupil of an eye. A sound of inrushing air soared to a scream and then the between-way vanished completely.

+ +

There was no way back. Jack stood for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. Somewhere ahead of them they would find Bodron’s keep and whatever had brought the nightshades to infest Uaine. There, Jack hoped, he would find the answers to his questions.

+ +

There would be danger, but he had his friends beside him, and that was a comfort. But he also knew that they had come into this because of their friendship for him.

+ +

Kerry's father was clicking his heels in jail for poaching salmon. Corriwen’s father was dead at the hands of the mad Mandrake.

+ +

Yet they had followed him to stand at his side, and they were now his responsibility. This was his quest, not theirs. If they had put themselves on the line, then he would do everything in his power to protect them from harm.

+ +

And danger did lie in wait for them. The heartstone told him that. It was vibrating so fast, Jack was afraid it might shatter.

+ +

***

+ +

They were on a stony, winding road. Barren land, strewn with dry rocks stretched out on either side of them before it vanished in gloom. Overhead, a purple sky loomed heavy and oppressive. No stars twinkled, but a harsh red moon glared down, tinting the empty land in bloody hues.

+ +

Kerry shivered. “Maybe that wormhole wasn’t so bad after all.â€

+ +

“Where are we?†Jack asked.

+ +

“Within Bodron’s reach,†Megrin stated.

+ +

“It’s a bad place,†Corriwen said. “It makes my skin crawl.â€

+ +

“And bound to get worse an’ all,†Kerry added. “Another fine mess you’ve got us into!â€

+ +

Jack shot him a concerned look, but Kerry was smiling his mischievous grin the one he used to disguise his fear and relieve the tension. He shrugged his shoulders.

+ +

“Just whistling past the graveyard,†he said. “We’ve seen worse.â€

+ +

“I don’t know about that.†Corriwen shuddered now, and not from cold. “I feel evil all around.â€

+ +

“All for one and each for everybody else,†Kerry said. “They haven’t beaten us yet.â€

+ +

“Another good sentiment,†Megrin approved. “But this is just the beginning, and not even the Geasan-Eril know what we’re walking into. It’s as hidden from them as it is from me. But we are in Bodron’s territory, for sure.â€

+ +

She looked ahead of them, towards where the darkness rolled like tar.

+ +

“And what bane has he wrought on this land?†Her voice sounded bleak and sad.

+ +

“Well, I’m sure we’re going to find out fast,†Kerry said. “Now can we get off this road? It’s really creeping me out!â€

+ +

The track was cracked underfoot as if large things had pounded it. No plants grew on its verges, not even nettles, though withered tendrils of what might have been deformed weeds crumpled to dust as they walked. Here and there, clumps of slimy mushrooms glistened in the moonlight and small things with many legs and glittering eyes scuttled between the bare rocks and sometimes stopped to watch them pass.

+ +

Beyond the roadside, on either side, where the land disappeared in the murk, Jack could see two pale shapes, indistinct but a visible contrast. They padded slowly, keeping pace with the travellers on the road. Jack hadn’t seen them appear, but their presence was reassuring.

+ +

The further they walked, the darker it became, though the moon stayed above them, bloated and red, an angry face in an angry sky.

+ +

“Perhaps we should wait for morning,†Corriwen suggested.

+ +

“That’ll be a long wait,†Megrin replied. “This place hasn’t seen morning for a long time.â€

+ +

“Who’d be daft enough to want that?†Kerry sounded incredulous.

+ +

“Who indeed!†was all Megrin said. She paused on the road. “And why?â€

+ +

Night crowded closer on either side, so thick it seemed to have texture. Every now and again, Jack would catch a hint of movement in the corner of his eye, but when he turned to look, his eyes couldn’t fix on anything, although he was sure that things were moving out there. Corriwen and Kerry stayed close, nervously looking to either side. Jack shared their apprehension, but Megrin seemed fully focussed on the way forward. She reminded him of Hedda, the warrior woman of Eirinn, composed and ready. Jack wished he had some of her composure.

+ +

They stopped beyond a curve where the road cut between two rocky outcrops.

+ +

And there it was.

+ + +

Bodron’s Keep.

+ +

It stood out like a wart; black stone towers cast long shadows; rugged battlements were set like teeth along a rim of cracked and fissured walls; slitted windows stared blindly out. Around the outer edge, a moat reflected the moon in streaks of red.

+ +

A single stone bridge spanned the moat. Even at this distance, the keep emanated such a sense of threat that it seemed alive and waiting. A line from a school play sprung to Jack’s mind…something wicked this way comes.

+ +

Except they were heading towards the something wicked.

+ +

Kerry blew out between pursed lips, half sigh, half whistle. “Well, it sure isn’t Disneyworld.â€

+ +

Both Megrin and Corriwen looked at him curiously. Jack struggled to force a smile.

+ +

“You got that right.â€

+ +

“Bodron’s Keep,†Megrin said.

+ +

“What a dump,†Kerry said.

+ +

“It looks wicked.“ Corriwen’s voice sounded thin. Jack shot her a glance of surprise. She’d used the very word he’d been thinking.

+ +

“Do we really have to go in there?†Jack wasn’t sure if he’d spoken the words aloud, but every instinct made him want to turn back, find a way to daylight and sunshine. None of the others reacted and he was glad he had only thought it. He felt the profound evil within this old keep reach out for him. It felt as if he was being smothered.

+ +

The road led straight towards it, across a lifeless plain. It was the most uninviting place on any world.

+ +

They were all glad of the blue light that glowed on Megrin’s carved staff as they followed the road towards the ancient walls. Darkness on either side hemmed them in. Jack was sure he could see things moving inside the shadows and, in his head, he thought he could hear the same kind of chittering he and Kerry had fled from on that Halloween night when they had first stepped through the stone ring in Cromwath Blackwood. His hand stayed firmly on the hilt of his sword.

+ +

Shadows pressed them forward, until they were on the arch of the ancient bridge. Below them, the water was stagnant and slimy. It gave off a sickly smell.

+ +

“It’s like the bogs in Eirinn,†Corriwen said, peering over the parapet.

+ +

“Worse than that. It stinks like the bogs in school,†Kerry said. He held thumb and fingers over his nose. “When they’re blocked up.â€

+ +

Something moved under the surface, causing it to bulge in an oily ripple. Kerry shrank back but whatever it was stayed hidden. In its wake, thick black bubbles expanded. They grew to the size of beach-balls and then, with faint liquid sounds, they broke from the surface began to float up, first one, then three, then a dozen, wobbling as they rose.

+ +

“Creepy balloons,†Kerry said, shuddering. He raised the short-sword and touched the tip against the nearest one. It exploded with a loud pop and a swirl of green gas billowed out, twisting in the air.

+ +

Corriwen gave a cry of alarm.

+ +

Something that looked like a hand made out of vapour, reached out like a striking snake. Fingers spread like talons, aiming straight at Corriwen’s eyes.

+ +

“Jeez….!†Kerry gasped. He shouldered her aside, but not before the smoky claw drew itself across Corriwen’s cheek. Three livid lines slanted down her skin to the corner of her mouth, as stark as new tattoos. She screwed eyes tight and hissed in pain.

+ +

More bubbles were bursting now in glutinous sequence, belching out clouds of vapour that swirled and metamorphosed in front of their eyes into wispy shapes that stretched out towards them.

+ +

Corriwen groaned, one hand clapped to her injured cheek.

+ +

“It burns,†she gasped. “But it’s as cold as ice.â€

+ +

Megrin was at Corriwen’s side in an instant, her face filled with concern. She brought her staff closer and examined the lines in its glow.

+ +

“Bear with the hurt if you can until I can attend to that,†she said.

+ +

Corriwen nodded and pushed on, saying nothing. Jack and Kerry backed away from the edge as the writhing shapes spun silently in the thick air, crowding up from the water.

+ +

“What are these things?†Kerry’s voice was tight.

+ +

“Nothing living,†Megrin said.

+ +

“They look alive to me.â€

+ +

“Illusion, that’s all,†Megrin said. “But their touch is cold enough to chill the soul…and freeze the heart.â€

+ +

Jack pulled Kerry in to the centre of the bridge. He glanced back and now he saw the darkness had crept slowly towards the edge of the moat.

+ +

“Move, now,†Megrin commanded. She raised her staff and held it high. Sapphire light blazed out and immediately the dark shadow shrank back. The vaporous entities that hovered over the bridge burst apart in the light and faded like smoke in the wind.

+ +

“There’s a geas on this place,†she said. “A binding.â€

+ +

“A what?†Jack’s eyes were fixed on the misty things dissipating over the water.

+ +

“A barrage-spell. This place wants no visitors.â€

+ +

“We guessed that,†Kerry said. “No welcome mat, no flags.â€

+ +

“There are bound to be more tricks,†Megrin added, but before she could continue, the bridge gave an almighty shudder. Heavy slabs on the parapet were thrown into the air and fell into the moat, sending up a foul-smelling spray.

+ +

“We should move,†Megrin said quickly.

+ +

“No kidding!â€

+ +

Jack rapped his knuckles on the back of Kerry's head.

+ +

“Don’t get smart…just move.“

+ +

“At least one of you has sense.â€

+ +

“Two of us,†Corriwen snorted. She grabbed Kerry's arm and dragged him along beside her. He went quietly. And quickly.

+ +

The bridge lurched again. A zig-zag crack snaked its way between their feet and ripped up the centre of the bridge.

+ +

“Maybe we should move.†Kerry squirmed out of Corriwen’s grip and took her hand. “Come on,†he said. “Race you to the other side.â€

+ +

Megrin hurried them on as pieces of masonry tumbled off the bridge. She braced herself against the balustrade and looked down into the water and saw the ridged back of something scaly and powerful broke the surface.

+ +

She muttered under her breath and reached into her cloak. Then with a quick motion, shook the contents of a small pouch onto the water.

+ +

As soon as they hit the surface, blue flames shot across the moat. A deep bellow echoed up from under the arch. Jack got a glimpse of toad-like eyes and a toothless mouth big enough to swallow a man. It bellowed again, then dived under the water and shot away along the moat, so fast that the water foamed and swamped over the banks. Megrin waited until it vanished in the gloom.

+ +

They moved quickly over the arch of the bridge which continued to lurch from side to side as it began to break apart. The cracks underfoot widened in a series of harsh cracks. Jack raced for the far side, in step with Kerry and Corriwen as the whole structure began to buckle.

+ +

Megrin seized Corriwen’s hand and virtually dragged her the rest of the way to the other side of the moat. Behind them, the water was now a wall of flames. More stonework slid off and then the bridge’s back broke. It slumped down in two halves, before it subsided slowly into the water and disappeared.

+

+

“Looks like we’ve just burnt our bridge,†Kerry said.

+ + + + + + +

+ CHAPTER 14

+ + + +

Bodron’s Keep. It glowered down at them.

+ +

The walls loomed high, like sea-cliffs, reaching for the oppressive sky. Massive stone blocks, piled on another, solid and set. Contorted ivy dug roots into cracks and grizzled the face in straggly growth.

+ +

From somewhere unseen, a great bell tolled, an unearthly sound. It seemed to come from deep below their feet.

+ +

“Where’s the door?†Kerry asked.

+ +

There seemed to be no door in the wall, even though the cobbled road from this side of the bridge led directly to it. Jack craned back to scan the battlements overhead. A narrow tower stretched even higher, and dark things flew around it. He couldn’t tell if they were birds or bats, but they seemed too big to be either.

+ +

A motion high above caught his eye, but when he looked directly at where it had been, he could see nothing but shadows. He sensed a presence. Something was staring down, examining him with cold malevolence. Its gaze was a palpable slither and he shuddered. The heartstone shivered too. The invisible touch made him feel somehow contaminated.

+ +

Megrin approached the wall and held up her staff, before reaching to touch the cold stone with an expression of distaste. Corriwen turned towards the moat, both knives ready, in case anything hauled itself out of the water where flickers of flame exploded the bubbles that burst on the surface where the bridge had stood.

+ +

Megrin closed her eyes, one hand pressed on the wall. Jack heard her mutter again, though her words were incomprehensible.

+ +

The ground shuddered, sending ripples across the moat. Megrin spoke again, louder this time. Another shudder, and a grinding sound of stone on stone.

+ +

The tight-knit blocks began to twist and warp, some pushing out, others shrinking back, changing shape as they moved. Jack stood beside Kerry and Corrriwen and watched fascinated as the rumbling scrape amplified until the ground trembled so powerfully they had to hold on to each other for balance. The stonework ground apart, block by block, until a high arched entrance became clearly visible.

+ +

On either side, each curve arced up to a keystone carved into a skull. Beyond, a massive door studded with nails barred the way. A heavy knocker the size of a wreath was etched with grotesque faces whose bulging eyes flickered in the half-light.

+ +

“How do we get in,†Kerry asked. “Just knock?â€

+ +

Megrin didn’t respond. She raised the staff and slammed its end against the heavy door.

+

A loud creak of old metal split the air. Small puffs of rust erupted from massive hinges and very slowly, the door opened.

+ +

At first, Jack could see only darkness inside. He wrinkled his nose against the stale smell of must and damp, the smell of an old house that’s been empty for too long. Yet as the darkness receded, faint lights appeared and gradually grew brighter until they could make out the flicker of torches on high walls.

+ +

Megrin silently took it all in, one hand held up to let them know she wanted them to stay back.

+ +

“Don’t believe what you see, or what you hear†she said. “This is no earthly place, that’s for certain. We’d say it was weird-bound.“

+ +

“You got that right,†Kerry said. “Weird’s the word for it

+ +

“Wait here,†Megrin instructed, then walked slowly forward into a wide hall. Her footsteps, at first loud and echoing, faded to complete silence after only a few paces. She stopped, listening. They all strained to hear, tense and alert.

+ +

There was no sound, but Jack could sense a palpable threat. He could tell by their stance that Kerry and Corriwen felt something too. The air was still. Dust festooned cobwebs that hung like drapes. But for the torches on the walls, the hall looked as if it had lain empty for years.

+ +

But it was not empty, Jack knew. Something waited in there. Something old. Something hungry. Had his father really been here? Had he faced it?

+ +

Did he die here?

+ +

Jack pushed that thought away. This was no time for negative thinking.

+ +

But I wish he was here with us, he thought, I really do. Jack had no real memory of his father, but he imagined him to be strong and wise and capable. Somebody who would show him the right thing to do.

+ +

Kerry spoke, and brought Jack back to the present..

+ +

“I don’t like this place at all.†His voice was higher than normal.

+ +

“Me neither,†Corriwen agreed. “I wish we still had the bridge…just in case.â€

+ +

The words were barely out of her mouth when they heard a low moan from behind them. They spun as one, but whatever had made the noise remained hidden.

+ +

“I don’t like the sound of that either,†Kerry said. “Maybe we should go inside.â€

+ +

“She wants us to wait,†Corriwen cautioned, gesturing towards Megrin.

+ +

Jack forced himself forward until he was under the carved skull. The torchlight sent wavering shadows snaking across the floor, casting a dozen thin silhouettes of Megrin behind her.

+ +

“Maybe it’s okay,†Kerry said. His tone said he didn’t believe it was.

+ +

Before Jack could reply, the air in front of them, began to waver like a mirage Megrin’s shape blurred, as if seen through smoky glass and to Jack’s sudden alarm, she seemed to grow fainter and fainter, until Jack could see the flickering lamps right through her. Her trail of shadows shrank and vanished.

+ +

“What the…?†He took a step forward.

+ +

Suddenly everything went dark and for an instant, Jack thought he must have gone blind.

+ +

“What happened?†Kerry's voice came from close to his shoulder. “Who turned the lights out?†Jack heard the scrape of metal on leather and knew that Kerry had drawn his blade.

+ +

Corriwen’s hand groped and found his arm.

+ +

“She just vanished,†Jack said. “And I can’t see a thing.â€

+ +

For a moment there was silence.

+ +

“Well,†Kerry said. His voice sounded oddly muffled. “We can’t hang around here. We either go in and put the lights on, or we get back out to whatever’s waiting for us.â€

+ +

“Go in,†Corriwen said. “Whatever’s happened to her, she might need our help.â€

+ +

She pushed Jack forward and followed on.

+ +

The air felt thick in his chest. It seemed to congeal around him and his lungs protested as he tried to draw breath. A sensation of drowning flooded him with panic. Kerry gasped, reached for him and clasped his arm.

+ +

“Can’t breathe…â€

+ +

Jack forced himself to take another step, but the thick air wrapped itself around him like a membrane

+ +

He struggled on, wading against the pressure that first felt like muddy water then dragged like glue. With a huge effort, he managed to drag his right hand up to the heartstone. Its familiar pulse beat in his palm. Kerry's voice had faded to a drone that seemed far away, but Corriwen’s hand was still on his shoulder. Maybe it was the heartstone or her touch that let him summon up the strength he needed.

+ +

Inch by inch, acting on pure instinct, he drew the great sword from its sheath and managed to raise the blade until it was upright in front of his eyes. Again, without conscious thought, as if moved by some benevolent guidance, he raised the heartstone and touched it to the obsidian gem at the base of the hilt.

+ +

There was a blinding flash and an electric sizzle that juddered through him. A ripping sound rent the air. Suddenly they were all tumbling forward as the invisible barrier gave way.

+ +

Light stabbed Jack’s eyes and he clenched them tight as he clattered, still gripping the sword, to the stone floor. Corriwen landed on top of him, slamming out what little breath he had in a painful whoosh. Kerry cursed eloquently, dropped his sword with a loud clang, and groped for Jack’s arm.

+ +

“Can’t see a thing!â€

+ +

Jack slowly opened his eyes, letting them adjust to the glare.

+ +

Now he saw the hall was different to what they had seen from outside. Thick candles flickered on the walls where tallow torches had hung before. A long table stretched from one end of the hall to the other. It was laden with plates and goblets, trenchers piled high with all sorts of food. A high-backed chair sat empty at the far end.

+ +

But of Megrin Willow, there was no sign.

+ +

“Maybe it’s such a bad place after all,†Kerry said, eyeing the food hungrily. He sounded relieved, or even just hopeful. “Just look at that spread!â€

+ +

He started forward, licking his lips, but Jack pulled him back.

+ +

“No,†he said. Kerry stopped, eyes fixed longingly on the abundance of food. “We’re not welcome here. It’s a trick.â€

+ +

“Where is Megrin?†Corriwen asked.

+ +

“We saw her disappear,†Jack replied. “I don’t know what happened. But she warned us, not to believe what we see.â€

+ +

He pointed at the long table. “That’s a trick. It wants us to eat.â€

+ +

It. Not Bodron. IT. Something else, the presence on the battlements. The hunger. Something inside him told him it had not been human.

+ +

“You think it’s poisoned?â€

+ +

“I don’t know. But we daren’t touch it.â€

+ +

“It?â€

+ +

“Whatever lurks here,†Corriwen said softly.

+ +

“Something is watching us,†Jack said, and Corriwen nodded agreement. All around them the high walls were festooned with old tapestries, depicting battlegrounds and hunting scenes. Carved stone gargoyles stared down at them from contorted, ugly faces. The odour of cooked food was tantalising, but underneath it, Jack could smell something else, something mouldy and stale, that he couldn’t quite identify. It send a little shudder up his spine.

+ +

Kerry jerked his head left and right. “Don’t say that. You’re giving me even worse heeby-jeebies than I’ve already got.â€

+ +

“Just let’s be careful. I’d like to know where Megrin went.â€

+ +

“Maybe she’s found her brother,†Kerry said hopefully. “Having tea and dunkin’ biscuits and a nice old chinwag.â€

+ +

“Maybe,†Jack said. “But somehow I don’t think she’d just up and leave us.â€

+ +

At the far end of the hall, another arched doorway led out. Jack moved towards it, with Kerry and Corriwen very close behind, past the laden banqueting table, ignoring the goblets and the steaming trenchers. The meal was laid for a large gathering, but there was nobody here but them. It felt disturbingly wrong.

+ +

“Are we supposed to guess who’s coming for dinner?â€

+ +

Corriwen shushed Kerry to silence. She knew he talked more when he was nervous. They were just past the host’s high seat when the sensation of being watched came on so powerfully she turned mid stride. Jack heard a small gasp.

+ +

He followed her gaze and started back with a sharp intake of breath. Kerry did exactly the same.

+ +

The gargoyles on the walls had moved. That was unmistakeable. When they had come in, the contorted creatures had all been facing them in the doorway, still as death, but grotesque all the same. Now they had swivelled to keep stony eyes glaring at them.

+ +

“Just a trick,†Kerry said. “Has to be a trick, hasn’t it? Some sort of clockwork? There’s probably a switch behind the wall.â€

+ +

He was talking too fast, and his voice had raised an octave. In Kerry, that was scary enough.

+ +

The gargoyles stared hungrily, but they didn’t move.

+ +

“They’re just stone.†Jack muttered, more in hope than certainty. “They can’t hurt us.â€

+ +

But he kept his eyes fixed on them just the same as the three of them backed out of the door and swung it shut against those eyes.

+ +

Kerry sagged against the wall. “I hate creepy stuff like that. Even if it is a trick.â€

+ +

Now they were in some sort of dimly-lit antechamber, in which three smaller doors were set in the bare walls.

+ +

“Which way now?†Corriwen was pale.

+ +

“Good question.†In this place, Jack’s keen sense of direction was no use. They had a choice of three. For no particular reason, he was drawn towards the middle door.

+ +

It opened into a long, unlit tunnel with a curved roof. Warily, Jack crept on, Corriwen and Kerry close behind, trying to make no sound as they groped their way down the narrow confines.

+ +

Without warning, a powerful noise boomed out, like the beat of a monstrous heart.

+ +

Doom…doom…

+ +

Not a heartbeat. Footsteps. Huge footsteps. The ground trembled again and the walls shook.

+ +

A low snarl echoed from the distance, deep as a fog-horn.

+ +

“Jeez….!†Kerry was backing off, tugging Corriwen with him.

+ +

Now Jack turned and they all ran back the way they had come.

+ +

Kerry barged into the door first, tumbled out, and rolled fast to his feet again. Jack pushed Corriwen past him then turned and slammed the door shut behind them just as a mighty weight crashed against it. Little splinters shot out, but the timber held.

+ +

“Whatever that was…†Kerry said. “I never want to see it.â€

+ +

Behind the door, whatever it was snarled again and thudded angrily against it. They backed away, weapons out.

+ +

Corriwen cocked her head. “I heard something else. What’s that?â€

+ +

The crashing on the door had been so loud that Jack had heard nothing, but when he turned to listen, another sound came clearly.

+ +

“It’s back in the big room,†Kerry said, moving towards the door they had first some through.

+ +

And it was. The sound of men talking loudly and laughing. Kerry grinned, relief apparent on his face.

+ +

Before Jack could stop him, he was at the door, turning the latch, pushing it wide.

+ +

A banquet was in full swing. They stood together in the doorway just watching.

+ +

The previously empty benches were now crowded with men in leather jerkins and tall hats, quaffing from the goblets they had seen when they passed, laughing and shouting to one another across the table while they gorged themselves on food and drink.

+ +

Kerry actually drooled. Jack felt his own stomach rumble. But his mind was racing. The hall had been empty before. Now the table was crowded with men. What men? Bodron’s men? Bodron’s minions?

+ +

“You think we’re invited?†Kerry asked.

+ +

As soon as he spoke, the roistering died. Every man at the table turned towards them. An uncomfortable silence stretched out. Then one of the men at the end of the table stood up, raised a goblet.

+ +

“We have guests,†he said. “Young guests.â€

+ +

His fellows nodded and smiled, raising their own drinks in a sort of welcome.

+ +

Jack felt a familiar tingle ripple up and down his spine, as the heartstone pulsed hard. He held his arm out, to block Kerry, but there was no need. Kerry stopped dead in his tracks and Jack actually saw the hairs rise up on the back of his neck. His mouth opened and shut several times and no sound came out.

+ +

Something moved. Then the deep rumble of something colossal taking a slow breath. A gust of wind came from nowhere and instantly snuffed out all the candles along one wall and in that moment the scene flickered and fragmented in front of their eyes. Then everything snapped into sudden clarity.

+ +

Gargoyles clustered around the table; not men in tall hats. Gargoyles

+ +

The man who had stood and raised his glass was no longer a man, but a warted creature with a flat face and bulging yellow eyes. In its hand – its claw – it held a dripping piece of raw meat. Beside it, a green nightmare with scales all over its face giggled madly.

+ +

But worse than this vision, something moved in the high-backed chair at the head of the table. Its back was to them, but they could hear its shuddering breath.

+ +

Jack saw two leathery wings began to unfold, very slowly, membranes stretched across long thin bones. Bats wings…Jack thought…dragon wings.

+ +

A coil like a thick snake wrapped the carved chair legs, ridged and shiny and ending in a barbed point. Jack felt his breath back up in his lungs and lock tight. He heard Corriwen whimper, a faint sound of pure terror. Kerry's throat clicked drily as if he choking.

+ +

The beast in the carved began to turn its unseen head towards them.

+ +

“No…..†Kerry managed to get the word out. Jack was aware of Corriwen tugging at his belt. His knees felt weak and watery and he began to sag under the weight of the awful terror that ratcheted through him.

+ +

The face of a nightmare was turning to face him and somehow he knew with dread certainty that if he looked in that great dark eye the shock of it might stop his heart.

+ +

Look at me!

+ +

A scrapy voice commanded inside his head. Look in my eyes.

+ +

A paralysis of dread froze his muscles.

+ +

Then Corriwen jerked him backwards. Kerry was already, running for the door. Corriwen spun and followed but Jack felt a terrible compulsion to turn back and look into that dead eye and be lost forever. He forced himself to keep moving despite the gravity of the beast’s will dragging on him.

+ +

The foul connection between him and it seemed to stretch like rubber as he fought against it. When Jack reached the doorway, its hold on him snapped and he was catapulted through the door.

+ +

Then he was falling. Tumbling and rolling down a long flight of wooden steps, crashing, elbows and knees, shoulder and hip, down and down until he hit something solid and everything went black.

+ + + + +

+CHAPTER 15

+ + +

Megrin Willow walked slowly through the torchlit chamber. All of her fine-honed senses probed ahead and around her.

+ +

This place was awash with power.

+ +

The very air was thick with it. It tingled and itched on her skin like St Elmo’s fire before a lightning storm. The walls were old and crumbling. Cracks laced up like withered ivy. Old swords, rusted and pitted, hung from hooks.

+ +

It looked old, and it felt old. But Megrin knew all was illusion here. Nothing was as it seemed. Nothing at all.

+ +

She stopped in the centre of the hall and looked down at the floor, aware that the doorway she had come through was gone, as if it had never been. Behind her the wall was blank and solid.

+ +

At her feet a circular design had been cut into the stones, a broad ring, etched into twenty one segments, each of which bearing words and symbols in an ancient language that few on Uaine knew.

+ +

She understood immediately that these were the symbols that were written in the copperplates, the great spell that had brought peace, prosperity and protection to Uaine down the generations. Each of the copperplate spells had been powerful in its own right. Together, carefully assembled in the proper order, the sum was greater than the whole….a binding powerful enough to affect, and protect, the whole of Uaine.

+ +

Now, as she neared that source of power, she could feel it pressing down on her.

+ +

But this new binding was not the blessing of old.

+ +

This was something much darker.

+ +

She took two steps forward and stood in the centre of the carved circle. It was just stone, no power here, or if there ever was, it had faded with the ages. She closed her eyes and when she did, she heard the sound of laughter, low and mocking, some way distant. Under her feet, the flagstones shifted with her weight.

+ +

Megrin looked down and saw thin cracks spiderwebbing away from her and the floor in the circle began to shale and crumble. It felt as if she was standing on sand undermined by a tide and she sensed her feet sink a little into it.

+ +

The sound of gleeful laughter came again, a low, jeering chuckle. It sounded unearthly and profoundly wicked.

+ +

Yet beyond that, so faint it was a whisper in her mind, she heard a child’s voice, a soft sound that reached into her heart and squeezed it gently. She didn’t know why it did.

+ +

She stamped her staff down, once, twice, felt it bite into stone turned to powder. She sank a little further, feeling the grains clog her sandals, hissing as it sucked at her. In mere seconds she was knee-deep and sinking deeper.

+ +

“Enough,†she said. Her staff wreathed itself in light, dimmed, brightened again and she felt raised one foot against the pull, and when she placed it down again, it felt a little more solid.

+ +

“Enough!†This time louder, more commanding. She took another step, ignoring the drag that tried to trip her, and then another, while the sandy grains congealed and solidified until by the time she reached the edge of the circle, she was standing on solid stone once more.

+ +

“Childish games,†she muttered under her breath. “What next, I wonder?â€

+ +

A metallic clang rang out. She turned and saw one of the swords jangling on the wall, its rusty blade waggling as if knocked by an invisible hand. More than that, she felt a change in the atmosphere, and instinctively pulled her staff close, held it with both hands.

+ +

All of the old weapons began to swing and jangle, setting up a cacophony of tuneless bells.

+ +

The long sword came spinning off the wall, whoop-whoop-whoop as if thrown by that same invisible hand. Before she could move, another flew off its hook, and another, and another.

+ +

They came whirring at her, from all angles, blurring as they flew.

+ +

Illusion, maybe, she thought, but some illusions could be made real.

+ +

In the last split second, before the first sword spun in at neck height, its rusty blade still sharp enough to take her head clean off, she raised the staff high.

+ +

The sword shattered into a thousand sparks of white-hot metal that trailed blue smoke as they fell in a searing shower.

+ +

Megrin kept her stance, eyes closed in total concentration and felt her power rive through the staff.

+ +

The longsword stopped dead in the air as if it had hit a barrier and fragmented into rusty shrapnel that shot high and low and left pock-marks on the walls. She turned slowly, almost serenely, murmurring in the old tongue as the ancient blades whirled in to smash and shatter against a force too strong even for iron to breach.

+ +

Pieces of metal, shards and little solidified drops of iron were scattered all across the floor.

+ +

Megrin shook her head, more irritated than anything else.

+ +

“A cheap trick,†she muttered. “The village Grisan could have done better.â€

+ +

But she knew this was just the beginning of a game to be played out in this dismal place. She also knew it was a dangerous game, and one that she might not survive, because she was up against a power equal to her own, and perhaps now stronger. And darker.

+ +

For an instant, she regretted bringing those three children here to the nightmare that was Bodron’s holdgard.

+ +

Yet all down the years, she had known they would come, and known it would come to this. What was written in the cast runes could not be unwritten.

+ +

Slowly she lowered her staff until it touched the floor again. Her knuckles were white as she gripped it tight.

+ +

She closed her eyes and began to speak in the old tongue, a powerful incantation of summoning.

+ +

When it was finished, she opened her eyes and started straight ahead.

+ +

“Now, Bodron, brother of mine…..come!â€

+ +

Somewhere distant, heavy footfalls sent vibrations through the floor, strong enough for her to feel.

+ +

And she heard them approach…doom…doom…DOOM.

+ + + +

***

+

Kerry ran. He couldn’t help it. The revellers at the table had changed. In the blink of an eye, the eyes that had turned towards him were pale and clouded, set in the bloated faces of the dead men he had seen when they stumbled through the slaughterfield of Temair.

+ +

The stench of rotten meat was so thick on the air he began to gag.

+ +

And then those wings had spread out on either side of the high-backed chair while the dead things gobbled and tore at raw flesh.

+ +

Great black feathered wings unfolded with a schick-schick sound until they stretched out on either side, and then, its head began to turn. All he saw was the shiny curve of a huge beak as it began to edge round the chair and he got a glimpse of a crater of an eye socket.

+ +

Roak, his mind jabbered, even if the word couldn’t get past his dry throat. The carrion bird of Temair, the kind that had hounded them from the slaughterfield and attacked them time and again, under the command of the dread Morrigan.

+ +

Primitive fear made him run. He snatched Corriwen’s arm and dragged her away, pushing her ahead of him. She went through the door and vanished. His own momentum carried him out doorway and without warning the floor dropped away at a mad angle.

+ +

He went down the slope, unable to stop or even slow himself as the floor curved down like a funnel towards shadows. Behind him, a rasping caw echoed in his ears and sent another shiver down his spine. He tripped, lost his balance and tumbled forward to land heavily on his shoulders with such a jolt that all his breath was punched out. He lay in pain, unable to catch his breath, while the dark all around him was spangled with little purple sparks that slowly faded.

+ +

Finally Kerry got himself to his hands and knees, whooping in great gulps until the dizziness passed and then he was able to groan at the pain in his back and shoulder. He was kneeling on damp earth in a space not much wider than his shoulders. A faint light showed him roots poking through overhead, and a mass of cobwebs stretched like sails from floor to ceiling. Something with many legs scuttled over his fingers and he snatched them back.

+ +

Guilt washed over him. He had left Jack and somehow he lost Corriwen, and that was worse, much worse than finding himself in this hole in the ground. He balled his hands into fists and pressed them against his temples in anger and frustration until reason began to take hold again.

+ +

He had to find a way out of here and find them both. They needed him - that he was sure of.

+ +

Kerry drew the short sword and began to slash his way through the clinging cobwebs, ignoring the things that scuttled around his feet, not knowing where he was going, but relieved to be simply going.

+ +

Then a voice spoke in his ear making him jump so suddenly his head cracked off a gnarled root above and almost floored him.

+ +

Water comes…water goes…water rises…water flows…it was almost a sing-song.

+

+

He twisted round, trying to find the source.

+ +

But then he heard something else and his heart turned to stone.

+ +

It was the sound of running water. It was far off and distant and at first he thought the tunnel might lead to open air beside a river with a waterfall.

+ +

But there was something in that sound, something awfully familiar.

+ +

Not a waterfall….

+

+

In an instant, he was back in the darkness under the Morrigan’s black barrow on Temair, listening to the terrible roar of water rushing towards him.

+ +

“Oh Jeez!â€

+ +

Then he felt the walls shudder and a sudden punch of compressed air against his back as the crash of water soared to a crescendo.

+ +

And he was running, running in the dark, slashing through the cobwebs hardly aware of the walls blurring past him and the roots slapping his head. Behind him, the flood snarled and bellowed, gaining on him.

+

***

+ +

Corriwen tumbled through the doorway. Kerry had snagged her sleeve and swung her ahead of him while the image of the thing in the high chair was still burned into her mind.

+ +

A peeling skull, mad eyes rolling in its sockets…impossible! But something in that glare had pierced to her soul with such foul intensity that she almost fainted.

+ +

The room had tilted. Then Kerry had pushed her ahead of him and she’d tumbled through the doorway, spinning dizzily, flying, heels over head in a grey nothingness.

+ +

Her stomach heaved and she felt nausea rise up to her throat as she flailed for balance. Miraculously, she landed on her feet and then she landed, stumbled forward and stopped, heart thudding.

+ +

It took her a few seconds to realise that the castle walls were gone; that there was no doorway, no slope, nothing at all. Nothing but a pearly mist that spread out around her in every direction.

+ +

She stood still, trying to take it in, to make some sense of it, to find some object she could focus her eyes on, but there was nothing but a featureless sea of grey. It stretched to the far horizon – if there was a horizon - and Corriwen was not even sure of that.

+ +

There was no sound except her own breathing and the beat of her heart. She took a step forward, feeling a spongy surface under her foot. If she made any noise, it was damped to silence by the thick mist.

+ +

A sudden sense of isolation swamped her in this emptiness and awful silence.

+ +

Jack Flint and Kerry Malone were not here. She couldn’t sense them, as she had always been able to do before when she was in danger. Even as a prisoner in Eirinn she had been sure in the knowledge that they would come for her. Something in her heart had told her they would come, and it had been right.

+ +

But how could they find her here?

+

+

Corriwen began to walk, picking any direction because they were all the same. She trudged on, for what might have been hours, trying to find something, anything in the emptiness. The mist curled around her legs, but she was scared to stop and unable to sit and rest because then the mist would be over her head and she did not want that, not at all.

+ +

The further she walked, the more she came to fear that she could be stuck in this grey place, alone, forever.

+ +

Some time later, a shiver down her spine told her that she was not alone.

+ +

Corriwen heard it, but she couldn’t see it, and that was worst of all.

+ +

The mist had thickened and deepened and was now up to her waist. She tried to reach her mind out to Jack and Kerry, but there was no sense of any contact.

+ +

Then, in the thick silence, she heard a sound, a low growl.

+ +

She turned in a full circle, spine tingling, trying to locate it, but there was nothing to be seen in the sea of grey. Both her knives were out and ready.

+ +

The growl became a deep guttural grunt, too much like the bristleback boars the Scree ogres had sent to hunt her through the forests of Temair, but it was more savage than that. All she heard in it was an slavering hunger.

+ +

She backed away, hoping she backed in the right direction, then turned and began to run, desperately searching for somewhere to hide.

+ +

The unseen thing could be anywhere at all. The mist hid everything below waist level and she felt like a swimmer in dangerous water, waiting for unseen jaws to open.

+ +

The creature grunted again, and she knew it has sensed her, smelt her perhaps. Now it was coming for her.

+ +

Panic swelled and she tried to force it down. Corriwen veered to the left, then to the right, trying to shake off her pursuer, but no matter how she turned, it was always within earshot. The mist did little to muffle that hungry growl. Now it was loud, much too loud and she knew that it would soon be on her and she would be fighting for her life.

+ +

***

+ +

In the middle of the great chamber, the air writhed, and grey smoke began to thicken and solidify until it became a gauzy staircase that led straight ahead, up and up until it vanished in the distance.

+ +

The footsteps grew steadily louder. She felt her heart quicken and commanded it to slow. This was time for resolve, not apprehension.

+ +

Megrin saw a shape appear high on the staircase.

+ +

He stopped, a man in a black cowl which hid his eyes and shadowed his face.

+ +

Bodron.

+

+

His breath was a slow, dry rasp as he descended. Bony knuckles tightened on a staff made of black wood. He raised his head and she looked into eyes which seemed devoid of any humanity.

+ +

Those eyes were not her brother’s eyes. They stared out from some hell where no light ever reached.

+ +

“Megrin,†Bodron spoke. Behind him, the strange staircase began to shimmer into the vapour from which it had emerged and it slowly vanished.

+ +

“Bodron…brother.“ She felt as if her throat was desert-dry. “It has been a long time…too long to be alone in this place.â€

+ +

“So you pay a visit. How….sisterly. And what message have the Geasan-eril sent you to deliver?â€

+ +

The eyes fixed her with a black stare. His face was bloodless as marble and lined with deep creases. How, she wondered, did he know she had been sent?

+ +

As if he could read her thoughts Bodron spoke again. “I have eyes in the night. They keep me well informed. So what does the council of spellbinders want of me?â€

+ +

“They want you to put an end to this darkness. And they require you to give up the Copperplates.â€

+ +

Bodron’s sudden laugh echoed all round the chamber.

+ +

“I am on the far edge of Uaine here, far from the concerns of your spellbinders. Why should they interfere with my work?â€

+ +

“Because your…work is spreading out over the summerland. Don’t you know what is happening throughout Uaine? The shadow from this place is spreading like disease. Nightshades are loose in the dark, infesting field and forest, town and village.â€

+ +

“Nightshades? Mere shadows. Surely your council fears no shadow.â€

+ +

“It is what power brought them to Uaine that concerns us. What dark power have you raised from beneath and brought among us. The Copperplates have been turned to evil purpose. We shall have them, and we shall try to undo what damage you have wrought. Close the nether-gate you have unlocked.â€

+ +

Bodron was silent for a moment. Then he chuckled, a low, cold sound that was so unlike the Bodron she had known as a child.

+ +

“I spent a lifetime searching for these talismans,†he finally said. “But I found them. They are mine.“

+ +

“Not yours, brother. They belong to Uaine and always have, since the first great spellbinding.â€

+ +

“Not great enough, obviously,†he sneered. “Since I alone was able to gather them all and achieve for myself what took one and twenty of the greatest Geasan.“

+ +

“Always the ambitious one. You were indeed a great Spellbinder, Bodron. Why would you want more, when the power is a sacred gift from the Sky Queen?â€

+ +

“Your Sky Queen is long gone from the worlds. She wields no power here. There are others as powerful as she ever was.â€

+ +

“But why would you want to interfere with the good of Uaine?â€

+ +

“What do I care for Uaine? I have more pressing matters. “ He paused, , and then, his voice changed, just enough to give Megrin the merest hint of the person that used to be her brother. “…I…needed the Copperplates.â€

+ +

Bodron’s mouth snapped shut, as if he wanted to bite back the words. His frame shook violently and he doubled over. He gasped as if in pain and then slowly unfolded until he was standing straight again, eyes once more hidden by the cowl.

+ +

“Begone…witch!†It came out in a deep, beastly growl, and a cold shudder ran through Megrin. She bent forward, trying to see into those hidden eyes. He raised his head. Their eyes met and she recoiled as if she’d been struck.

+ +

“You are not Bodron,†she cried. “Who are you? What are you?â€

+ +

“I am your brother as ever was.†The voice came from the shadows, it echoed as if there was more than one speaker. “And yet I am more.“

+ +

“Not…my…. brother,†she repeated. Her own voice sounded strangled and she felt her throat constrict as if an icy hand had clamped on her neck. A cold oozed through her and as the pressure on her throat tightened, her vision began to blur and waver.

+ +

Bodron had not moved, but somehow he had reached out to her. She closed her eyes and fought back against the dark power, concentrating on the invisible stranglehold. She groaned with the effort, sagging to her knees. Then the pressure was gone, and she lurched forward, gasping for air.

+ +

“Begone,†the shadowed figure commanded. For a second Megrin felt compelled to turn away.

+ +

She forced herself to resist. “Not without the Copperplates.â€

+ +

Bodron laughed again, a cacophony of voices overlapping one another.

+ +

“Take them,†he rumbled. “If your power is equal to mine. And know this: I already have what you brought me.â€

+ +

It raised the black staff and described a circle in the air. Within it, a hazy image slowly came to focus.

+ +

And she saw Jack Flint painfully pull himself upright.

+ +

The heartstone dangled clearly from the open neck of his tunic.

+ + + + +

CHAPTER 16

+ +

Kerry was running, running in the dark, slashing through the cobwebs that tried to hold him back, hardly aware of the walls blurring past him and the roots slapping his head.

+ +

Behind him, a raging flood snarled and bellowed, gaining on him despite his speed.

+ +

“Height,†he thought, “Need to climb!â€

+ +

But the burrow-like tunnel was level. He was caught here, with water at his back and nothing but shadows ahead. He ran and ran, ran for his life, biting down on the panic that threatened to swamp him just as easily as that surging flow would if it caught him.

+ +

He barged through another veil of webs. Ahead of him, the tunnel forked, left and right.

+ +

In his head, the voice spoke again. He didn’t recognise any words, but it seemed to touch something real. Without hesitation he threw himself right. This tunnel was even narrower than the first, earthen walls scraping his shoulders, trying to slow him down. He hunched tight and ran on, feet thudding, heart thumping.

+ +

“Jump….!“ Another wordless command.

+ +

Without thinking, Kerry leapt….and leapt clean over a yawning hole. His feet hit crumbling earth on the far side but he managed to scramble forward before he slipped into black depths. Behind him, the roar was deafening, pushing him forward with enormous pressure in this confined space.

+ +

Then, miraculously, the path began to rise. A surge of hope swelled. Maybe…just maybe he could get high enough.

+ +

He couldn’t even risk a glance behind. There was not an instant to lose. Already the air was moist and he could feel a cold droplet spray on the back of his neck. Just yards behind him, he could sense the water catching up, a raging beast set to pounce.

+ +

He was up the slope, slowing down not one bit. Froth surged around his feet and he knew that in one second he’d be slammed forward, then swallowed. He screwed up his eyes in dread anticipation, forced one last huge effort from his legs…

+ + + + +

***

+

Jack’s head throbbed. His whole body was one big bruise, or so it felt. Carefully he uncurled. For a moment looping vertigo made his vision blur and he closed his eyes tight until it went away.

+ +

He sat up, as the horrific memory of gargoyles and the creature with great leathery wings came back to him.

+ +

Jack shook the vision from his mind, not wanting to relive that moment or the, mindless terror he had felt.

+ +

He tried to work out where he was. Corriwen and Kerry had been ahead of him, moving fast. He had run for the door, feeling the pull of that creature’s will.

+ +

And then he had been falling, crashing down until everything faded. He looked groggily around, but there was no sign of his friends. He called for them by name, but heard only his voice reverberating from stone walls then fading to silence.

+ +

He forced himself to his feet, checking to ensure he still wore the heartstone, and that he still had the great sword and the leather bag with the Book of Ways inside.

+ +

Then he braced himself against a wall and took in his surroundings. He was on a wide spiral stairwell. There was no banister of any sort, and each dusty wooden tread was fixed into the wall, without any other support. It felt flimsy and unsafe.

+ +

He risked getting closer to the edge of the stairs and looked up. The stairs spiralled for an impossible distance before they disappeared in murk and dust. Vertigo made him sway on the brink and he backed away. He felt trapped and confined and totally alone.

+ +

The steps below him took several turns before they reached a stone floor. It was darker down there, but logic told him he should take the lesser distance so, hugging the wall, he descended carefully, until he reached the bottom and a blank, circular wall. A dead end.

+ +

In the centre of the floor there was a rusted metal grate with thick bars on what looked like the top of an ancient well, fastened by a single hoop. Jack approached it cautiously and peered down, expecting to see his reflection in water. But there was nothing. The well seemed to go down as far as the stairway ascended.

+ +

Yet something was down there. The heartstone squeezed against him, just as a low vibration reverberated from the depths.

+ +

Jack forced himself back, fighting a curious compulsion to stay and see what it could be. He turned and scrambled up the steps, two at a time, as the steps creaked and dipped alarmingly under his weight. When he thought he had gained enough height, he crawled forward until he could see back down.

+ +

Something hit the grate with such force the heavy bars jumped upwards. It clanged back down again and from behind them, came a ferocious roar.

+ +

Jack recoiled, wondering if there was anywhere inside Bodron’s domain that wasn’t haunted by beasts and nightmares. Did Megrin’s brother have monsters lying in wait at every turn? Jack couldn’t answer that question, but he knew he’d have to assume so, if he had any chance of staying alive in this terrible place.

+ +

Creature in the well crashed again at the grate and Jack was convinced it was only a matter of time before the old metal gave way. He needed to get some more distance.

+ +

Jack continued up the stairway for another ten turns before he risked stopping to look up, hoping to see a doorway or a landing. But there was nothing. Only the flimsy spiral steps going up and up until they disappeared in the distance.

+ +

Far below he heard the gate snap open and crash back against the floor and the trapped beast, now free, bellowed in triumph. Almost immediately, Jack heard the hard thud of its weight on the treads. It sounded more like hooves than feet, but he didn’t chance looking down. Ahead of him the staircase climbed impossibly high and he knew he couldn’t keep running forever.

+ +

He suddenly recalled Megrin’s warning

+ +

Don’t believe what you see, or what you hear. This is no earthly place, that’s for certain. We’d say it was weird-bound.

+ +

Think, he ordered himself – though not daring yet to pause on the stairs, because behind him he could hear the clatter of hooves on the treads and they sounded even louder than before. Think……!

+ +

“Don’t believe what you see or hear.†He spoke the words aloud. “She means it’s not real.â€

+ +

What he’d seen in the great chamber, when it turned to look at him, it had felt real. It seemed to reach inside his soul.

+ +

Jack caught his breath and listened. The clatter of running hooves was closer now. He shouldered the satchel, grasped the hilt of the sword and started climbing again, as fast as he could, and then he forced himself to stop. Quickly he unhitched the satchel and drew out the Book of Ways, placed it on a step, and tried to ignore the thud-thud-thud from below.

+ +

The Book opened words began to scroll across the page.

+ +

As Jack bent to read, the letters squirmed and changed, a jumble of characters impossible to read. He tried to focus on them, but it made his head ache. The letters spun and separated, crawling over the page like ants.

+ +

Almost desperately, he reached into his tunic and drew out the Heartstone, cupped both hands around it, and looked at the open book through the smoky glass.

+ +

The lines on the page jumped into clarity and he read:

+ +

Journeyman finds all confusion

+

Caught in snare of bale illusion

+

Friend is lost in shadow land

+

Testing time is now at hand

+

Spellbind storm approaches swift

+

Heart will summon friend adrift.

+ +

He stared at the words, willing them to make sense. They always had before, even if the message was at first unclear. Below him, the beast on the stairs howled and its clattering hooves sent shudders up the wooden steps.

+ +

The book snapped shut.

+ +

All confusion…bale illusion.

+ +

And Megrin’s words were fresh and clear. Don’t believe.

+ +

He closed his eyes, pressed the heartstone on his forehead, feeling its heat. He pictured himself, with Kerry and Corriwen together in sunlight on the lush grass of Uaine. The heart beat in time with his own pulse.

+ +

“I believe…in my friends. I believe in the sword…..and in the Book of Ways!â€

+ +

His voice rose: “I believe in the Sky Queen. I believe in the Heartstone. All of them are real.â€

+ +

He turned on the stair, eyes closed, but now facing down the spiral.

+ +

“But I don’t believe in you!“

+ +

The howl soared to a scream.

+ +

“I… DON’T… BELIEVE!â€

+ +

A wave of pressure blasted up from below, rattling the flimsy wooden steps, and a rumbling vibration shuddered the walls.

+ +

Jack pressed the heart tight on his skin.

+ +

“Corriwen,†he cried aloud. “Kerry! Can you hear me?â€

+ +

The stone wall beside him wavered like the surface of a pool. Above him, high overhead, the walls convulsed and a section of the stairway popped free and came tumbling down.

+ +

“Corriwen!â€

+ +

And suddenly he could see her in the gleam of the heartstone, stumbling in a mist that was up to her chest, a mist that seemed to stretch to the far horizon and keep going. She cocked her head, as if she heard him too.

+ +

Jack concentrated hard. He imagined he heard her voice, thin and muffled in the mist.

+ +

And behind that voice, the sound of something that growled like predator.

+ +

Corriwen was turning around wildly, trying to locate the sound that Jack had heard.

+ +

“Run..Corrie. Run to me!â€

+ +

Under his feet, a powerful tremor shook the staircase and it began to disintegrate. The treads vibrated like springs and some of those higher up began to work themselves free. They simply dropped, one on another, like dominoes.

+ +

Jack opened his eyes and saw them plummet towards him in an avalanche of dusty wood. A noise like thunder swelled louder and louder as they slammed into lower ones and knocked them free, until all he could see was a mass of broken wood falling so fast it swept everything away.

+ +

And there was no way for him to escape.

+ + + + +

+ +

+

CHAPTER 17

+ + +

Kerry ran for his life.

+ +

The roar of rushing water filled the passageway. In another second he’d be slammed forward, then swallowed. He forced one last huge effort from his legs.

+ +

And ten paces ahead, the passage came to a sudden dead end.

+ +

The voice in his head ordered him to leap.

+

+

A desperate cry escaped him as he instinctively obeyed, before an enormous weight hit him square in the back and threw him straight at the blank wall.

+ +

He was flying, rolling, tumbling. Helpless.

+ +

An deafening screech like ripping metal pierced the roar of water. A blinding light seared his eyes and all his breath was punched out of him again. He kept rolling and the light flashed in pulses as he went and he knew that this must be what it is like at the very end. Just a flickering light and no pain.

+ +

He tumbled on warm softness until his momentum slowed and he lay, face down. He closed his eyes, feeling gentle heat on his back and for a moment he thought: That wasn’t too bad.

+ +

All around him, the sweet scent of flowers filled still air. Somewhere close, a little stream burbled over pebbles. Small birds sang clear musical notes.

+ +

Kerry lay still, giving himself to the warmth. He opened his eyes and saw vivid green all around him until it began to fade in a constellation of little stars that sparked and winked in his vision.

+ +

Then his lungs kicked back to life in a powerful lurch that rolled him onto his back and he whooped in a huge breath of clean fresh air. The little stars vanished and the green returned. Overhead, a bright sun beamed down on him and an iridescent dragonfly slowly buzzed past his face.

+ +

“Heaven,†he mumbled, getting slowly to his knees. “Has to be.â€

+ +

He’d never really thought about heaven before. But if this is what it felt like, then it wasn’t too bad at all. He patted himself down, surprised that he was unhurt and unbroken, and further surprised that he still wore his tunic and the short-sword in its scabbard. He was on a low slope covered in rich grass that smelt of lush growth. Further down, a crystal stream sang its watery notes as it licked around the roots of small trees.

+ +

Kerry made his way there and eased down beside the clear water. His throat was dry and he lowered his face to drink.

+ +

Before his lips reached the surface, the water rippled as if stirred by an invisible hand, and to his amazement, a little fountain frothed up to meet him, just as it had done when they entered the Geasan circle. He let the cool water cleanse his throat, drinking deep until his thirst was completely slaked.

+ +

“Thanks,†he whispered, pushing back to squat on the bank. Fat, silver trout lazed in a pool dappled by bright sun. Beside his head, an overhanging branch bore small fruits and as he reached for one, it swelled into a golden globe the size of an apple. It almost fell into his hand and when he bit into it, sweet juice spurted on his tongue with such intensity that he felt as if he was tasting it with his whole body.

+ +

He ate it in a few bites, feeling strength and well-being flow through him, then sat back, deliciously replete.

+ +

Overhead, a little breeze shivered the leaves and their rustling sounded so much like a whispered voice that he could almost make out the words.

+

+

Something moved in the corner of his eye, a little shimmer of motion that made him turn quickly, but when he did, there was nothing to see.

+ +

“Big trout and a nice stream,†he spoke aloud. “Could be worse.â€

+ +

Another motion on the far bank snagged his attention, and when he looked, all he could see was a flight of lacewings catching sunbeams.

+ +

But there had been something. He could sense it, and what was more, he could feel eyes upon him.

+ +

He breathed in slowly, savouring the clean air, then cupped his face in his hands, opening his fingers just enough to let light in. He waited like that for five minutes, not moving.

+ +

Then he saw it.

+ +

The air beside the fruit-bush wavered like a mirage on a hot road. Behind it the leaves seemed to tremble and dance, and then a small form slowly began to take shape. Between his fingers, he strained to see what it was. There was a shape, but it was translucent and he could make out the leaves and flowers directly behind it. He kept his head down, and very slowly, as if from the sparkling air itself, a form condensed, becoming more opaque.

+ +

And there she was, a small figure sitting on a smooth stone, bare feet at the edge of the water. She had hair the colour of summer corn and wide, lustrous brown eyes, an elfin face. Her elbows rested on her knees and her chin was cupped in both hands.

+ +

At first Kerry thought the reflections in the stream were catching her eyes, but then he saw that the lustrous brown was flecked with gold highlights that sparkled magically as she regarded him.

+ +

Very slowly, so as not to scare her away, he lowered his fingers and their eyes met. A little jolt that he couldn’t quite explain ran through him.

+ +

“Hello!†It was all he could think of saying.

+ +

She started at him silently, with those incredible eyes holding him.

+ +

“Are you an angel?†Kerry began. She shook her head.

+ +

“A fairy? Something like that?â€

+ +

Now she smiled and the eyes sparkled even brighter.

+ +

“I am Rionna. This is my place.â€

+ +

“Hi Rionna. I’m Kerry. At least I was Kerry. I don’t know what I am now. Is this like heaven? Or limbo?â€

+ +

“It’s my place,†she said, still smiling. “I brought you here.â€

+ +

She stood up, a slender little thing, barefoot and wearing a simple green shift, hair in long twin braids. She walked across the shallows towards him, making neither sound nor splash, and knelt in front of him.

+ +

“You were in…danger,†she said. “I felt your fear. Here there is no fear.â€

+ +

Very tentatively she reached a delicate hand and touched his.

+ +

“Welcome Kerry. Safe in Rionna’s haven.â€

+ +

“I don’t know how you did it…but thanks. I’m sort of scared of water. I can’t swim.â€

+ +

She came closer, examining his face. Her free hand touched him on the side of his nose.

+ +

“What are these things? These marks?â€

+ +

At first he was taken aback and touched his skin where she did. Their fingers met and another strange little jolt made him shiver.

+ +

“Oh, these? They’re freckles. I get them all the time, being Irish. You want to see me in summer. I’m like a freakin’ leopard.â€

+ +

She held his hand, her fingers warm yet gripping strongly.

+ +

“I knew you would come. I never saw a Kerry before.â€

+ +

“Oh, no. I’m just a boy.â€

+ +

She frowned, puzzled. “A boy?â€

+ +

“Yes. Just a kid. Well, a bit more than a kid. But not a man. Not yet.â€

+ +

He grinned. “You mean to say you never met a boy before?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “I never met anyone before.â€

+ +

“Well, just wait until you meet my friends.â€

+ +

Rionna leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. She smelt of apple-blossom.

+ +

“What is a friend?â€

+ +

***

+

Oh Bodron, what have you done?

+ +

Megrin fixed her eyes on him, standing motionless, while her mind roamed along dark corridors and narrow passages, through halls and rooms until, at last, she found a place high in Bodron’s Keep that her mind could not perceive. It was wreathed in a miasma of night.

+ +

This must where he kept the Copperplates. A secret place swathed in a hiding-spell.

+ +

She would have to find it, find the ancient Copperplates and then work out a way to reverse what Bodron had done.

+ +

And she had to find out what Bodron had done to Jack Flint, or what he planned for him. That plan, she knew, must involve the Journeyman’s heartstone. Bodron meant to have it, and if he could corrupt its power as he had done with the Copperplates, who knew what might be unleashed.

+ +

“Begone…witch.“ Bodron raised his staff again and orange snakes of weird light coursed around it.

+ +

Without warning Megrin was slammed backwards by a force so powerful it felt as if all her bones would shatter, but in a split second she had recovered d her wits and held her own staff upright.

+ +

Stop!

+ +

One word of command and all motion ceased.

+ +

The cowled figure turned and was striding away from her. Blue fire licked around the carved head of her staff and she sent it outwards in a searing bolt. It wrapped itself around Bodron’s receding form. He halted in mid-stride and she felt his enormous power as he fought against her. For a brief moment she was connected to the evil within him and felt utter revulsion and the strain of holding the binding-spell was so enormous she cried out. He turned to face her.

+ +

“You think your puny tricks can hold me?â€

+ +

Under his hood, she saw a sly and hungry grin.

+ +

He lowered his head and began to chant. “Raging fire and bubbling stone…†Megrin heard those words clearly.

+ +

Bodron stamped one foot…and the whole chamber shook. Where his heel came down, a fissure opened in the stone floor, zig-zagging towards her. Yellow smoke hissed up and oozed gouts of molten stone flowed across the floor, trapping her against the wall.

+ +

“River water, cool and clear.†Megrin sang aloud as she cast her own spell.

+ +

Her staff writhed in her hands. Bolts of blue light arced between its head and the stone wall and where they touched, cold water jetted from a dozen holes, cascading on to the molten rock in an eruption of sound and steam.

+ +

“Enough, Bodron,†Megrin cried. “Give up what you have stolen from Uaine.â€

+ +

He laughed a high cackle and spun on his heel.

+ +

The walls around her buckled and heaved, splitting the masonry apart. From the holes in the stonework, misshapen things began to crawl out, yellow-eyed and scaled. Some spread leathery wings and took flight. Others crawled to the floor like spiders. Some had curved beaks, others had gaping mouths lined with teeth, each of them a vision from hell.

+ +

Megrin quenched the fear that flared within her. These things were not real, not alive, yet within Bodron’s domain, even the unreal could take shape and substance.

+ +

She shook the sleeves of her long coat. Two white cats landed on their feet beside her, her familiars, big as bobcats, purring with anticipation.

+ +

The nightmares of Bodron’s creation surged forward.

+ +

Megrin raised her staff.

+ +

Beaks and mouths gaped, talons opened as the apparitions attacked.

+ +

Megrin’s familiars leapt, their own claws unsheathed. They met the onslaught in a flurry of motion, ripping and rending as the attacking horde hooked and stabbed, trying to reach Megrin.

+ +

Bodron turned away, his demonic laughter still booming over the screeching of the abominable creations as they were torn to pieces by the familiars and blasted from the air by the shafts from Megrin’s staff.

+ +

She was too busy battling in the corner to stop him from leaving.

+ +

***

+ +

High above Jack, the steps cascaded down, knocking more and more free as they came, dislodging the stones that held them in place. He forced himself flat against the wall despite the certainty that it could not shield him from the cascading debris.

+ +

He back on his fear and held the heartstone to his eyes. Again through its crystal, he could see Corriwen running in the mist.

+ +

Behind her, Jack could see a grey, powerful shape in pursuit. Its back was ridged with horny scales and its mouth opened to show rows of red teeth. He didn’t know what it was, didn’t need to know.

+ +

“Run, Corriwen.†He cried. “Run!â€

+ +

He saw her cock her head as if she’d heard his shout.

+ +

“Jack? Jack?“ her voice was muffled.

+ +

“Run Corrie. Run to my voice!“

+ +

Jack couldn’t hear himself above the thunder of the collapsing stairway, but he knew Corriwen had heard him.

+ +

“Where are you Jack? I can’t see you.â€

+ +

Behind her the beast snorted and wheeled around on thick legs. Jack saw scarlet eyes as it swung its head in Corriwen’s direction, and then it suddenly accelerated its pace, heading directly for her.

+ +

“To my voice, Corrie. Come on!â€

+ +

She didn’t turn to look behind. She simply ran, ran like the wind, clasping her knives tightly on either side, her cape billowing behind her.

+ +

He could see her more clearly now, face pale, red hair whipped back, mouth agape as she gasped for breath.

+ +

The monster was closer now now, fifteen yards behind. Ten yards. Jack kept calling, to give her a direction.

+ +

She put on a last spurt of speed, racing directly towards Jack, while above him, ton after ton of splintering wood and crumbling masonry smashed into the stairs, almost throwing him off balance.

+ +

Corriwen was yelling his name, high and desperate.

+ +

Jack urged her on, willed her towards him. He pressed hard against the cold stone wall.

+ +

Without warning, it gave under the pressure. His arms sank into it and he stumbled forward as the stone simply dissolved.

+

+

And suiddenly Corriwen was there in front of him, yelling for him. Behind her the monster bunched ropy muscles, ready to pounce. Corriwen slammed into him with such force he was thrown backwards.

+ +

He felt himself pass through a filmy surface. Claws ripped through it with a horrendous tearing sound, making great grooves.

+ +

They were out of the mist and back on the other side of the wall. An avalanche of timber and masonry came crashing down towards them as they tumbled over and over and over. Jack saw one massive block whirl in the air, cannoning from wall to wall, expanding in his vision as it bulleted towards them. He managed to twist, getting himself between the plummeting rock and Corriwen’s fragile frame, even as he realised this would make no difference at all.

+ +

A huge weight clubbed him. He thought he heard his bones breaking like thin sticks and a searing orange light exploded behind his eyes.

+ +

And then Jack and Corriwen were bouncing along on damp grass. When they finally stopped they lay there together, panting like hunted animals.

+ +

Jack groggily raised himself to his elbows, trying to get his sight to focus. His head began to clear and he saw, a short distance away, the dim light of a candle glowing behind the window-pane in Megrin’s woodland cottage.

+ + +

CHAPTER 18

+ + +

For a long while, all Jack could do was hold tight to Corriwen. She was trembling almost as much as he was in the aftermath. He kept thinking she was safe from the beast in the mist and that somehow they had both survived the collapse of the vast stairway.

+ +

“Are you okay?†her asked Corriwen finally.

+ +

“I don’t know yet. But if you hadn’t found me, I don’t think I would be. Like Kerry would say, a goner?â€

+ +

She looked up at him. “Where is Kerry?â€

+ +

“I don’t know. I thought he would be with you.â€

+ +

Corriwen shook her head. “No. I thought. Oh no! Is he still …?â€

+ +

She didn’t finish the sentence as the awful realisation hit both them . Somehow they had escaped from Bodron’s keep, but Kerry was still lost in that nightmare.

+ +

“How did we get out?†Corriwen was still confused.

+ +

“I don’t know. Megrin said there was a spell to keep people away. Maybe it spat us out.â€

+ +

“Then we must find a way back there. We have to find Kerry.â€

+ +

Jack nodded, though his heart sank at the thought of how long it might take to find their way to Bodron’s keep, and how long Kerry could survive within it.

+ +

“We need time to think,†he said. He turned her around and that’s when she noticed the cottage in the forest clearing.

+ +

“Look! It’s Megrin’s house.â€

+ +

“I know,†Jack said. “Back where we started. How we got here I don’t know, but we’re a long way from Bodron’s place.â€

+ +

He looked around at the dark shadows in the forest. Overhead the moon was back an angry red colour. “We should get inside. We can’t be out here at night.â€

+ +

She grabbed his hand tightly and together they approached the wooden door.

+ +

It slowly creaked open as they stepped up to it. Corriwen started back, clutching Jack’s arm. He cautiously peered inside, inhaling the aroma of warm food cooking on an open fire.

+ +

A movement beside the hearth caught his eye. Megrin’s old chair was rocking slowly back and forth. Jack drew Corriwen with him into the cottage.

+ +

“Who’s there?†The rocking chair creaked and Megrin raised herself out of it, using her staff as a support.

+ +

When she turned to look at them, Corriwen gasped in alarm.

+ +

Megrin looked old, much older than she had when they had first met. Her hair, then silvery grey, was now a tangle of white, and deep lines etched her face. Her staff was fire-blackened and badly splintered.

+ +

“Oh! Children. You made it out. Thank the stars. Thank the stars indeed.â€

+ +

“What happened to you?†Jack asked, his thoughts in a whirl of confusion.

+ +

Megrin drew a hand wearily across her brow, and she swayed as though she were tired beyond exhaustion.

+ +

“It was you Bodron wanted. The Copperplates were just bait for you and your heartstone.â€

+ +

She lowered herself back into her seat. “He knows its power and covets it. Like me, he knew you would come through the faerie-gate, and he waited a long time.â€

+ +

“We don’t know how we got back here,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“The heartstone protected you,†Megrin replied. Her skin was almost translucent, and her voice barely more than a whisper.

+ +

“He hunted you, through all his illusions. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. He has grown too strong, with the power of the Copperplates. I fought him, and he almost finished me. There hasn’t been a Geasan killed in Uaine for a thousand years and more, but he almost succeeded. His own sister too!â€

+ +

“We’ve lost Kerry,†Corriwen blurted out. “We have to go back for him.â€

+ +

Jack looked around the little cottage. The table was set for three places, and once again he was reminded how like something out of a children’s fairy tale it was.

+ +

“Kerry?†Megrin sounded confused, as if exhaustion had clouded her memory. “Oh yes…the other boy. Is he not with you?â€

+ +

“We were in a big hall. There were awful things in there and we ran. I last saw him going through the door. Then I lost him.â€

+ +

Megrin sighed. “He’s not here. I don’t know where he might be. Bodron cast a geas on me and I found myself back here, as if I had never even been in that dark place.â€

+ +

She ran a gaunt hand down her face. “But I know I have been there. The pain of it still wracks me.â€

+ +

Corriwen moved towards her and wrapped her arms around the old woman. She felt so thin and weak it seemed her bones might break. Corriwen’s shuddered at the touch of the old woman’s wasted frame and pulled away quickly.

+ +

“So…drained,†Megrin whispered. “Thank you my dear, for sharing your warmth and your strength. At least you are safe here.â€

+

+

“But Kerry isn’t,†Jack said urgently. “We have to go back for him.â€

+ +

The old woman shook her head. “I fear he may be lost. Bodron’s power is too great.â€

+ +

“No!†Corriwen gasped, her face pale. “Not Kerry. “He can’t be.â€

+ +

Megrin’s eyes met Jack’s with an expression of deep sorrow and regret. His heart felt suddenly leaden. The thought of Kerry - he couldn’t even bring himself to say that word -was just too much to bear.

+ +

“Sit,†Megrin said kindly. “Come and eat. Save your strength.â€

+ +

She ushered Corriwen to the table. Jack followed, numb with worry. Megrin sat at the end, in front of the third plate and spooned some stew out into wooden bowls.

+ +

The heartstone pulsed hard on his chest.

+ +

Something is wrong, he thought. Something’s badly wrong.

+ +

He tried to reassure himself. Maybe it was just the shock of realising that they had escaped from the nightmare and Kerry was still trapped within it, perhaps still from beasts and monsters. Maybe they had caught him. Maybe….all of this was tumbling through Jack’s mind in a confusing and frightening maelstrom.

+

+

“Eat, Jack Flint. Before it gets cold.â€

+ +

Jack looked down at the bowl, filled to the brim with stew and vegetables. It would normally be appealing and it seemed a long times since he had eaten, but Jack had no appetite. Corriwen fidgeted on her stool, pale in the firelight, unable to stay still. He could tell she wanted to move, to fight. To do something.

+ +

“Eat up, girl,†Megrin urged.

+ +

On the table, a basket was filled to the brim with scones still hot from the oven and golden-crusted loaves of bread.

+ +

Something’s wrong here, Jack’s inner voice insisted, although he couldn’t work out what. The heartstone was still beating fast. Corriwen’s eyes met his across the table. They were full of questions, but Jack’s mind was still reeling with his fear for Kerry and the sensation of something badly amiss that he couldn’t get his thoughts in order.

+ +

“You really should eat the food,†Megrin said. Her voice sounded rough, as if she had a cold coming on. “And rest the night here, where it’s safe.â€

+ +

“How can I eat?†he said. “Kerry’s still in there!â€

+ +

Jack pushed the stool back. He crossed to the little window.

+ +

“Where are you going? Come back to the table.†Megrin croaked the words now. “Get back and eat the food. I spent so long baking and cooking for you.â€

+ +

Three plates…The thought struck him as more odd than Megrin’s suddenly querulous tone of voice. He looked through the window pane.

+ +

What he saw made him gasp in horror. He saw the great hall from Bodron’s Keep through the glass. Grotesque imps were carousing around the table, tearing at whatever came to hand, and stuffing it into their mouths in disgusting handfuls.

+ +

And in the tall chair, with its back to him, a dark and huddled shape began to turn again, turn to stare directly at him. Jack felt as if he’d been speared with ice.

+ +

“Oh!†He couldn’t manage anything else and spun away.

+ +

“I told you to get back,†Megrin snapped. Her voice was rough as sand.

+ +

Jack spun away from the window. Illusion he told himself. Just a picture. They were here in Megrin’s cottage. Or was that too an illusion?

+ +

The hairs on his neck were standing on, and Corriwen’s eyes, when they saw his face, were wide with alarm.

+ +

“What’s wrong with you, boy? Have you no respect at all?†Megrin’s hand found his shoulder and her fingers tightened hard, digging in at his collarbone with such strength that Jack winced.

+ +

He squirmed away saw something glitter in tar-black eyes. She grinned, showing a row of long yellow-stained teeth. Jack’s heart leapt to his throat.

+ +

Corriwen let out a sudden cry and pushed back from the table.

+ +

From her bowl, fat maggots began to crawl their way over the rim, twitching.

+ +

“What’s happening…?†One of the maggots slipped onto the surface and burst open. A green liquid spilled out, hissing as it ate into the wood.

+ +

Something moved in Jack’s bowl. A piece of meat inched slowly out of the broth and from it hatched a big hairy fly that clawed its way out and then sat regarding him, rubbing its forelegs together with a dry scraping sound.

+ +

Jack backed away. Corriwen’s hands were shaking.

+ +

“Eat,†Megrin snarled. “Eat the damned food, you ungrateful wretches.â€

+ +

Her voice had strengthened. It now sounded as deep hoarse as a man’s.

+ +

They both turned to face her. Corriwen gasped again.

+ +

Megrin was standing now, both hands on the table. Knotted, calloused hands covered in black hairs. Her nails were long and horny and her face was bloated and studded with dark blisters.

+ +

But her eyes! Her eyes were black as coals and empty as space.

+ +

Jack recoiled from them. Not Megrin! His mind yammered. Whatever it was, it had lured them into a trap. Sudden fury made him want to pick up something and kill it.

+ +

Instinctively pushed Corriwen behind him while the thing that was not Megrin began to laugh, a deep, booming sound that made the walls shudder. The blisters on its face began to crack and split. Its skin peeled away and any resemblance to Megrin Willow was gone.

+ +

A tall, bearded man wreathed in a smoky shadow stood in front of them. It flickered and wavered, merging from one form to another, until all Jack could see was a black pulsating shape that sucked the light from the room. From it emanated a powerful sensation of hate and anger. It wrapped around Jack in a cloak of such utter foulness he thought he would never be free of it.

+ +

“Jack!†he heard Corriwen’s voice, far off. He hardly felt her tugging at his hood as a long arm stretched towards him, reaching with a many-jointed claw, towards the heartstone on his chest.

+ +

There was nothing he could do to stop it.

+ + +

CHAPTER 19

+ + +

“What do you mean you never had a friend?â€

+ +

Kerry was lying comfortably, his weight on one elbow, on the bank of the stream. The girl with gold-flecked eyes sat elfin-like, face cupped in both hands, studying him with great intensity.

+ +

At first he thought he must be dead and that she had to be an angel.

+ +

The last thing he could remember was running in the tunnel and then the water slamming him in the back. The next he was lying on warm grass. All around him, the sweet scent of flowers filled still air. Somewhere close, a little stream burbled over pebbles. Birds sang clear in musical notes.

+ +

And then he’d seen the girl, a slight figure sitting on a smooth stone, bare feet at the edge of the water. She had hair the colour of summer corn and wide, lustrous brown eyes. Her elbows rested on her knees and her chin was cupped in both hands.

+ +

“Hello!†It was all he could think of saying.

+ +

She stared at him silently.

+ +

“Are you an angel?†Kerry had begun. She shook her head.

+ +

“A fairy? Something like that?â€

+ +

He was completely baffled. How he had suddenly arrived here was a mystery. Wherever here was.

+ +

The girl smiled and her eyes sparkled.

+ +

“I am Rionna. This is my place.â€

+ +

“Hi Rionna. I’m Kerry. At least I was Kerry. I don’t know what I am now. Is this like heaven? Or limbo?â€

+ +

“It’s my place,†she said, still smiling. “I brought you here.â€

+ +

She walked across the shallow water towards him, making neither sound nor splash, and knelt in front of him.

+ +

“You were in…danger,†she said. “I felt your fear. It called to me. Here there is no fear.â€

+ +

Very tentatively she reached a delicate hand and touched his.

+ +

“Welcome Kerry. Safe in Rionna’s haven.â€

+ +

“I don’t know how you did it, but thanks. I’m awfully scared of water. I can’t swim.â€

+ +

She leant closer, examining his face. Her free hand touched him on the side of his nose.

+ +

“What are these things? These marks?â€

+ +

At first he was taken aback and touched his skin where she did. Their fingers met and a strange jolt sent a shiver up his arm.

+ +

“Oh, these? They’re freckles. I get them all the time, being Irish. You want to see me in summer. I’m like a freakin’ leopard.â€

+ +

She held his hand, her fingers warm.

+ +

“I knew someone would come, one day. I am glad it is you. I never saw a Kerry before.â€

+ +

“Oh, no. I’m just a boy.â€

+ +

She frowned, puzzled. “A boy?â€

+ +

“Yes. Just a kid. Well, a bit more than a kid. But not a man. Not yet.â€

+ +

He grinned. “You mean to say you never met a boy before?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “I never met anyone before.â€

+ +

“Well, just wait until you meet my friends.â€

+ +

Rionna leaned closer until they were almost nose to nose. She smelt of apple-blossom.

+ +

“What is a friend?â€

+ +

“What? You mean you never had a friend?†Kerry repeated incredulously. “I mean, everybody’s got friends. I’ve got Jack and Corriwen. Best friends I ever had.â€

+ +

“Where are they?â€

+ +

“I dunno. We were in this room and I…I…saw horrible things. I just grabbed Corrie and pushed her out. I’ve been scared before, but this was different. It was like every bad thing in the world was going to happen. If I hadn’t ran, I think I’d have dropped on the spot.â€

+ +

He lowered his head. “But Corrie wasn’t outside and I fell down a hole. And Jack, well I don’t know what’s happened. I shouldn’t have left him, but I couldn’t help it.

+ +

“It makes fear,†she said. “It makes terror and it feeds on it.â€

+ +

“What does? The thing in the chair? I saw - at least I thought I saw - a Roak. It’s a big carrion bird from Temair. But this wasn’t any Roak, believe me. It was the worst thing ever, times ten. It reached right into me, honestly it did.â€

+ +

“It only shows what it wants you to see,†Rionna said. “It’s a soul-eater. That’s why I sang this haven. It’s where I come to be free of it, out from its shadow.â€

+ +

Kerry sat up, now even more confused. “I don’t think I got any of that. You mean you live in there? In that nightmare castle? And you sang this place?â€

+ +

“I made a song in my heart,†she said. “I sang here into being. Here is peace and safety. Beyond is madness. I have watched it grow strong and dark, and I have hidden from it for a long time.â€

+ +

“Jeez, if you can sing a place like this into existence, you’d be a smash hit at karaoke. That’s a fine talent you’ve got.â€

+ +

“I heard you, felt your fear. It sowed the nightmare in your heart and your heart cried out to me. I urged you on and you came.â€

+ +

“That was you?†He recalled the sing-song in his head. Water comes…water goes…water rises…water flows… “I thought I’d flipped my lid.â€

+ +

She looked at him, uncomprehending. Kerry grinned. “Gone loony. Pure mental.†He made a clockwise sign with his finger at his temple, but she didn’t seem to have a clue what he meant.

+ +

“What about Jack and Corrie? What happened to them. “

+ +

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I only heard you. You were in tune. You must have a good heart.â€

+ +

Kerry blushed. “No. That’s Jack Flint you’re thinking about. He’s the good guy. The Journeyman.“

+ +

She smiled at him. “Maybe, but your heart is true, and it called to me. That’s why I opened a way.â€

+ +

He gave her his hand and she clasped it.

+ +

“I appreciate it, I really do. Another step and I’d have been a goner. An ex-Kerry.â€

+ +

She laughed, clear and innocent. Kerry got the impression she didn’t do that too often.

+ +

“And it’s a lovely place you got here. Look at the size of those trout! One of them would feed a family.â€

+ +

She laughed again and turned to look into the water. He saw her lips move and one of the big fish peeled away from the far bank and swam to the shallows, then gave a little flip and beached itself on the shingle.

+ +

“For you,†she said.

+

+

He shook his head and nudged the trout back.

+ +

“That one looked tasty for sure, but it wouldn’t be sporting, would it? Now if I could do that back home, I’d have no need of hooks and lines,â€

+ +

“What is this home?â€

+ +

“Oh, that’s where I come from. Me and Jack, we’re from Scotland, but there’s this ring of standing stones, and when you go through…â€

+ +

And once he started, he found he couldn’t stop telling her of how they’d stumbled between the stones, desperately trying to escape the shadow that had pursued them into Cromwath Blackwood to Temair, and how they had found Corriwen. He told her all of their adventures while she listened, fascinated.

+ +

“A great hero you must be, Kerry,†Rionna said when he’d finished. “And to have such friends. I knew you had a good heart.â€

+ +

“I can’t believe I left them. To tell the truth, I was scared rigid. After I saw that thing, I was right out the door. Quick as a blink. Next second, I was in a tunnel with all that water at my back.â€

+ +

Kerry sat up to face her again. “What exactly is this thing?â€

+ +

“Something brought from the underworlds to Uaine. I remember sunshine and stars when I was but little, but they are long gone. This brought the darkness.â€

+ +

“But what is it? We were told it’s got something to do with Copperplates, which I don’t know much about. They were stolen by some magician guy called Bodron.â€

+ +

Rionna lowered her head and closed her eyes for a second. To Kerry it felt as if a cloud had passed in front of the sun.

+ +

When she started to speak, Kerry just sat still and listened.

+

***

+

“Bodron is….was…my father,†Rionna began. “I barely remember him now, as he was, before he opened the Dark Way.

+ +

“And then everything changed.

+ +

“I remember my mother – she was beautiful. Golden hair and shining eyes. She died when I was very little.

+ +

“I didn’t know it then, but I know now, that he cast a binding on her so that she lay still and never changed, and he beseeched the Sky Queen to bring her back, but she never answered.

+ +

“And from his despair came anger, dark anger. I was just a baby, but I could sense his rage and was afraid of it. An old woman nursed me then, and but for her, I might have starved.

+ +

“Then my father travelled to far places, and when he returned he was very different. Something burned in his soul. He brought us to this old keep to begin his work.

+ +

“That is when the darkness came.â€

+ +

Rionna paused. Her eyes were wide, but Kerry could see they were focused far in the past. He sat quietly and waited for her to continue.

+ +

“By the time I had learned to walk, I found a way to travel between places. Perhaps a gift from my mother, who was a Geasan woman from a far world beyond the standing gates. And it is just as well. Because what came with the darkness was cold as death and hungry too. The keep became a place of shadows and strange things. And there were shades in the shadows, unseen things of foul intent and evil mischief. They are loose in Uaine and poison the night.â€

+ +

“We’ve met some of them,†Kerry interrupted, without meaning to do so. She didn’t seem to hear him.

+ +

“I could wander unseen and slip between, to where I wanted to go. I would sit with my mother in the secret place where she lay, pale as a cloud, and hope that perhaps she might draw a breath and free my father from his bane. But she never did.

+ +

“From my hidden place, I watched him work night after day, consulting the shining pages that he had sought in far-off places, until one day he found a way to put them in order.

+ +

“I remember the change in the air at that moment. The dead coals in the hearth burst into orange flame, though the air turned cold, and in the middle of his chamber, appeared a a dark pit that led to who knows where. “From it, something emerged, something that defied the eye, hurt the soul.

+ +

“I had read his scripts, and I knew that this was a beast of dark places summoned to Uaine. And it brought its own minions, the nightshades.

+ +

“From that day I lived in fear and hid in the between places until I learned to make this haven with my song. Not even that demon can find me here.â€

+ +

“But why did your father want to conjure up a creepy monster?â€

+ +

“Because he thought the Sky Queen had abandoned him. He summoned a lord of darkness and promised it Uaine if it would give my mother back to life.â€

+ +

“And did it work?â€

+ +

She shook her head. “What soul has gone to Tir-nan-Og may never return. She moved, the way a statue might move, but never talked. If this was life, then it wasn’t how we would think it. Whatever came from that pit was in her, and her shape stalked the halls and passageways at night when the moon turned to blood.

+ +

“And it searched for me with a hunger I could feel in my soul, and from that day I have hidden.â€

+ +

“Just as well,†Kerry said.

+ +

“A long time to be alone,†Rionna said, “but here in my song-place, I have peace. While in my father’s world, the beast waits and waits.â€

+ +

“For what?†Kerry asked, bemused.

+ +

“For the Talisman. I would listen to my father talk to himself – talk to it. The demon has promised him that the empty thing that walks the shadows will be given true life when it has the Heart of Worlds in its possession.

+ +

“The heart?†Kerry sat up quickly. He only knew of one heart, the one Jack wore round his neck.

+ +

“Yes. The key to worlds. An ancient thing that will allow the beast to bind Uaine to its black place and build a gateway for its legions. There are two hearts, each pure, created by the Sky Queen in olden times. It already has one of them. When it has its twin, then the gates of the underworlds will be thrown open. After that, madness and terror.â€

+ +

“It’s Jack’s heart!†Kerry couldn’t stop himself. “The Key to Worlds. It’s the Journeyman’s heart.â€

+ +

“You know of it?â€

+ +

“Know of it. Jeez, I’ve seen it. I’ve held it. The Morrigan nearly killed me for it. Jack got it from his father.â€

+ +

“And it is here in Uaine?â€

+ +

“It’s in your father’s castle. ’Cos that’s where Jack is, him and Corrie Redthorn.â€

+ +

Rionna’s eyes went wide with alarm. “Then he is in awful danger, Kerry. I know from my father’s scripts that he almost had both hearts in his possession, many years ago, and would have had it but for the courage of the bearer, who fought the shades and escaped.â€

+ +

“That must have been Jack’s dad. Jack was just a baby at the time.â€

+ +

“It will not fail this time. It has waited and waited, as my father has weakened and weakened until I see nothing of himself at all, just the dark hunger he has raised from the pit.â€

+ +

Kerry got to his feet, and offered a hand to help her up. The sun was warm on his back and the scent of flowers filled the clean air. He would have given anything to stay a while in Rionna’s secret world. Almost anything.

+ +

“Listen, Rionna. I’d love to hang about here, but I have to find Jack. I left him in that hall, with those…those things. I just ran away, and I know he’d never do that to me.â€

+ +

Kerry felt tears sting his eyes and blinked them back. “I’m so ashamed. So I have to find him, no matter what.â€

+ +

“There is only danger where he is.â€

+ +

“I’ve done danger before.†He raised his face and pugnaciously stuck out his chin. “I was nearly a goner too many times to count, but you can’t keep the Irish down. Jack’s my friend. The best you could ask for. I have to get back and help him.â€

+ +

Rionna smiled up at him, slender and elfin, and her eyes sparkled in the sunlight.

+ +

“I knew you were a hero, Kerry-the-traveller. I have waited so long to meet a friend.â€

+ +

She took him by the hand and led him alongside the brook. A short distance downstream, she stopped at a place where a smooth rock overhung a deep pool. Still holding tight to his hand, she raised her own hand over the water and Kerry heard a pure sound, not unlike the crystal clear song of the golden harp on Tara Hill. She motioned him to look down.

+ +

The water swirled, and far down below the surface, an image began to take shape.

+ +

In the depths, he saw Jack Flint and Corriwen Redthorn approach Megrin’s forest cottage.

+ +

A shadow passed over the water and when it cleared he saw them again, though now they were standing by a table, clutching each other. For an instant he was so surprised that he didn’t recognise the place, but he recognised the look of horror on their faces.

+ +

On the very edge of the scene, he saw Megrin reaching out towards them as the skin of her face peeled away in papery strips. Underneath it was something as dark as night.

+ +

Jack’s heartstone glinted as a long tendril reached from the dark, forming a claw-like hand.

+ +

Kerry jumped to his feet. Rionna’s song cut off instantly, and below him, Kerry saw the scene freeze into a horrific tableau where Jack’s eyes were fixed on the reaching claw, Corriwen’s face was half-turned, one hand tight on Jack’s arm, and the grasping claw hovered inches away from the Journeyman’s heartstone.

+ +

“It’s not where you think,†Rionna said.

+ +

“I have to help them. How do I get out of here?â€

+ +

She looked at him, her eyes glowing.

+ +

“There is terrible danger. I saw the heartstone. The demon has seen it too and covets it, and I fear for all of Uaine if it succeeds. It will stop at nothing.â€

+ +

“Well, I’ve got to stop it,“ Kerry cried. “And to hell with the danger. That’s my friends it’s messing with.â€

+ +

She nodded, motioned to him to look down, and began her song again, making small gestures with her free hand. The surface of the water rippled, followed the direction of her delicate fingers until it looked like a miniature version of a great whirlpool.

+ +

Kerry looked down into a galaxy of glittering stars slowly revolve in the depths. In the centre of them all, he saw the familiar crown of five bright stars,

+ +

“The Corona,†he whispered. “The Sky Queen’s crown.â€

+ +

Starlight sent beams of luminescence up from the surface until Kerry and Rionna were bathed in the light.

+ +

Rionna reached out, and the light wove around her fingers in strings of energy which she gathered together and wound until her hands blazed. It was as if she had harvested the light of a thousand winking stars and gathered it to herself.

+ +

“Come, Kerry,†she said softly, taking him by the hand and pulling him down the slope to a little reed bed at the edge of the pool. She lowered the pulsing light almost to the surface, and one by one, the reeds curled around the light, weaving themselves into a basket, stalk by stalk until the light was contained within its fragile nest.

+ +

Rionna led him back to the rock overlooking the water and began to sing softly again as the ball of light in her hand sent colours spiralling across her face.

+ +

Kerry looked down again and saw Jack Flint shrink back from the reaching claw, one hand scrabbling for the great sword on his belt and the other moving to cover the heartstone. Corriwen was pushing past him, slashing with her glittering knife in a slow-motion dance.

+ +

“You wish to face this?†Rionna asked, and Kerry sensed the question in is head, for her crystal song still filled the air.

+ +

“I have to,†Kerry replied. His throat was dry and made his voice croak.

+ +

“I knew you had a good heart,†Rionna said. “You will need help.â€

+ +

Without pause, she tugged at his hand, towards the deep water. Kerry was taken by surprise as he felt his weight tip forward and then he was dropping.

+ +

“I can’t swim…..†he blurted as the surface came up to meet him.

+ +

Together they plunged into pool.

+ +

Kerry gasped for air. None would come. He felt himself tumble into icy cold.

+ +

“I can’t swim!†His voice stretched out long and hollow. But Rionna’s fingers were still clamped tightly to his wrist. His lungs hitched as he searched for breath.

+ +

Then they were not in water. They were flying, tumbling down through circles of luminescence. Rionna turned to him and smiled. Her free hand reached out and stroked his cheek as if to soothe his fears.

+ +

When her fingers touched him, Kerry landed hard on his feet, with such force he was driven to his knees and a shock of impact jolted through his bones. His ears popped and air flooded his lungs. Warm, smoky air, maybe, but air. He knelt on solid ground, whooping like an exhausted runner.

+ +

“Quick,†Rionna urged. “We must move. No time to waste.â€

+ +

She hauled him upright and then they were racing down a dark passage very like the one where he had heard the bestial grunt in the dark.

+ +

“Where are we? This isn’t Megrin’s house.â€

+ +

“That was an enchantment. Nothing is real in this place. But what’s not real can still harm.â€

+ +

“You’re worse than the Book of Ways,†Kerry said. “All riddles.â€

+ +

They came to an old door and Rionna pushed it open.

+ +

Kerry just had time to see Jack Flint cringe back from the claw, as Corriwen reached past his shoulder and slashed. The knife went through it as if through smoke but the claw still stretched out towards the heartstone.

+ +

***

+ +

“Jack!â€

+ +

Kerry appeared right by his shoulder. Jack saw him stumble forward, almost into the creature’s reach.

+ +

Then a small figure pushed past him, lithe as a cat. Jack glimpse a pale face and wide eyes. A girl.

+ +

She tore at something in her hands. Pieces of green reed shredded in her fingers and then a sudden light exploded, so blinding and fierce that everything stood out in black and white. The heartstone seemed to suck the light into itself. Jack felt its heat on his chest.

+ +

The twisting shape hissed like a snake. It gave Jack the second he needed to draw his sword. He swung it just as the claw snatched for the stone again and felt the blade shudder as it pierced the mass of shadow. An ear-splitting shriek ruptured the air.

+ +

The light in the girl’s cupped hands arced between the sword and the heartstone and the shape dark began to shrink back into itself. The shriek rose to a hurricane roar as shards of light stabbed out from the sword blade.

+ +

Jack held the sword steady, his face lit up by the girl’s magical light.

+ +

And with that, the creature was gone. Nothing remained but smoke and a reek of sulphur on the air.

+ +

Jack slowly lowered his sword, and he sank to his knees, totally drained.

+ +

There was a long silence before anyone spoke. Finally it was Kerry who did.

+ +

“Another fine mess we had to get you out of.â€

+ + + + + + + +

+CHAPTER 20

+ + +

Megrin – the real Megrin - wiped her brow on her sleeve, resting for a moment whilst the remaining murderous apparitions crumbled to dust and were gone as if they had never been. Whether they had been real, or conjured illusions, even Megrin could not tell. But she knew that whatever they were, they had only served as a distraction to keep her here; to separate her from Jack Flint and the stone talisman that he carried.

+ +

The boy was her main concern - him and his friends. But it was Jack Flint who was particularly important because of what he carried. The Journeyman’s heartstone.

+ +

Megrin closed her eyes and let her senses reach out, through stone and timber. In her mind she kept the image of a deep and secret chamber, hidden in wreaths of enchantment that proved too strong a barrier to her own powers.

+ +

That, she was sure, was where she would find the power that brought the shadows to Uaine. The power that was now using her brother’s form for its own malevolent purpose.

+

Megrin strode forward, using her staff for balance over the tumbled masonry, feet kicking up little puffs of dust, the last remnants of the imps or devils that had been summoned to hold her. She reached the place where the foot of the staircase had been.

+ +

There was nothing here now. Even Bodron’s guttural laugh could no longer be heard.

+ +

Her mind was unable to locate any of her young friends, which meant one of two things. Either they were not inside Bodron’s Keep, or that they were and they had been taken to somewhere beyond her reach.

+ +

Beyond an arched doorway, a corridor forked left and right. She chose the left hand path. It descended into shadows. She felt her heart trip faster as she walked down.

+ +

***

+ +

The sword slipped from Jack’s fingers and sent up sparks when it clanged on the flagstones.

+ +

“Kerry!†Jack cried.

+ +

He leapt up and grabbed Kerry by the front of his tunic, bunching the material in his fists as he dragged him forward. His face was red and his voice tight with emotion as he shook him back and forth.

+ +

“Where the hell have you been?â€

+ +

Kerry's jaw dropped in amazement. But before he could say a word, Jack pulled him close, threw his arms around him and squeezed him in such a bear hug he felt his ears pop;.

+ +

“Jeez man,†Jack said, right in his ear. “We thought you were a goner!â€

+ +

Relief surged through Jack. The thought of losing Kerry, his best friend since childhood had defied description.

+ +

“I very nearly was, believe me,†Kerry began. But now Corriwen had her arms around his neck and squeezed him even tighter. Tears ran unashamedly down her cheeks.

+ +

“Hang on, hang on. Let me breathe.†Kerry tried to pull back, laughing and gasping at the same time. Jack loosened his grip and released him. Even in the dark, he could see Kerry was blushing deep red.

+ +

“How did you get here?†Jack wanted to know. “And who’s the girl?â€

+ +

“And where is here?†Corriwen butted in. She looked around at walls hung with shredded tapestries. “We were in Megrin’s place and she…she changed into…â€

+ +

“I know. We saw you. Me and Rionna. We came to help.â€

+ +

“You and who?â€

+ +

Kerry turned. Rionna had backed into a corner where she was hidden in shadows.

+ +

“Rionna…come here and meet Jack and Corrie.†He reached for her and gently drew her forward into the light.

+ +

Jack stared at Rionna. This elfin girl had come between him and the shadowed monster, blinding it with light. She had given him his chance.

+ +

“Rionna, this is Jack Flint and Corriwen Redthorn. My best friends. Guys, this is Rionna, and if it wasn’t for her, you’d be mincemeat by now. Me too. She knew what to do. She’s brilliant.

+ +

“Slow down,†Jack said. “Back up. Who is she? Where’s she from?â€

+ +

Kerry was too excited to stop. “We jumped into the water and we came to help you.â€

+ +

“Yeah sure,†Jack said. “Kerry Malone jumped in water? Not in a million years.â€

+ +

“Well, Rionna pulled me, actually. But honest, that’s how we got here. Rionna’s got this place. It’s magic. Really beautiful.†He put an arm round her shoulder and drew her closer. “Isn’t that right?â€

+ +

The girl nodded slowly.

+ +

“But who is she?†Corriwen asked, “And how did you find her?â€

+ +

“She’s Bodron’s daughter.â€

+ +

“Bodron’s daughter?†Jack shrank back, his mind running into overdrive. Was this another trick? Another illusion? Would she suddenly change into something else? His hand automatically went to his sword and fumbled with the empty scabbard.

+

+

The girl’s face went slack with dismay.

+ +

“How could you bring her? Look at everything he’s done. You don’t even know if she’s real! She could be a trick, just like Megrin was.â€

+ +

Rionna tried to shrink back into the shadows again, but Kerry held her wrist.

+ +

“She’s real all right,†Kerry retorted. “And don’t forget, she’s just saved your hide. And mine too. You should be grateful, so you should.â€

+ +

“But Bodron’s daughter…†Jack looked from Kerry to the girl. He couldn’t understand how Kerry could have been so stupid as to bring the enemy into their midst. He had trusted people before and been wrong. Jack’s head was still spinning from the horror of what had happened in Megrin’s cottage and now the shock of finding themselves back in Bodron’s Keep.

+ +

“So what if she is his daughter?†Kerry snorted. “Megrin’s her aunt isn’t she? And look at me. My dad’s in jail, but that doesn’t make me a crook, does it?â€

+ +

Before Jack could reply, Kerry went charging on.

+ +

“No buts Jack. Not this time.†He put his arm around Rionna’s shoulders again, and held her protectively. “She’s with me. With us. We got a new friend. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here. And neither would you.â€

+ +

Kerry's free hand was bunched, as if he was ready to fight. “She brought the corona-light with her. That’s what chased the monster away. She saved all of us.â€

+ +

The girl found her voice. It was soft, but very clear, almost musical.

+ +

“Bodron was my father. But he brought something into this world that infested him, sucked out the man that he was. That is what you should fear, for I have feared it all my life. But if Kerry asks, then I will help you.â€

+ +

She drew back behind Kerry again. Corriwen stepped forward.

+ +

“Forgive us, Rionna, Bodron’s-daughter,†she said. She took the girl’s hands and raised them to her own cheeks.

+ +

“If you saved Kerry, then we are in your debt. And you helped us when we needed it most. The Redthorn always repay.â€

+ +

Rionna smiled shyly.

+ +

Kerry stared at Jack, whose hand was on the heartstone, hiding it from view. Jack finally nodded and took his hand away. The heartstone gleamed with its own deep life.

+ +

“I’m sorry, Kerry,†Jack finally spoke. “For what I said. And to Rionna. My head’s all screwed up and confused.â€

+ +

“Confused? I was scared to death. But she’s the real McCoy, is Rionna. Wait till you see her place. Man, the size of the fish! And fruit that tastes like nothing on earth.â€

+ +

Jack picked up his sword and sheathed it. Kerry was right. The girl was not responsible for what her father had done, and now she too was an orphan as much as Corriwen Redthorn. He placed his hand on Rionna’s. Her fingers trembled.

+ +

“Rionna. I’m very sorry for what I said. Any friend of Kerry's is a friend of ours. I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but I’m awfully glad you did .â€

+ +

She looked into his eyes.

+ +

“You are Jack, the journeyman. The heartstone-holder.†She held his hand surprisingly tightly. “Come to save Uaine.â€

+ +

“I don’t know if I can. Or if anybody can.â€

+ +

“If you cannot, then no-one can. I see into your heart, and it is true.â€

+ +

This time it was Jack’s turn to blush to his roots.

+ +

Kerry stepped forward. “Okay, Jack. Enough of the smooth talk. You can’t steal all the girls.â€

+ +

And suddenly the three friends burst into gales of laughter that was more a release of tension than anything else. Rionna just stared at them as if they had gone mad.

+ +

***

+

The laughter took a while to subside, and despite the circumstances, they felt strengthened by it. It was the one natural thing in this unnatural place.

+ +

They found a small chamber where Kerry had managed to light the wick of an old oil lamp. The feeble light made their faces glow in the gloom.

+ +

“So what next?†Kerry spoke, but all eyes were on Jack.

+ +

“We have two choices. Get the hell out of here – if we can even find a way out - or stay and find these Copperplates. They’re the answer.â€

+ +

“That’s no choice, Jack Flint, and you know it,†Corriwen snorted. “You didn’t venture alone through the faerie gate just to run away.â€

+ +

“No. I didn’t,†Jack replied.

+ +

“But it’s not just the Copperplates,†Kerry butted in. “It’s the heartstone too. That’s what Bodron wants. There’s two of them, and he’s already got one of them. Rionna told me.â€

+ +

Jack turned to Rionna. “Two heartstones? What’s this about?â€

+ +

“There are two heartstones,†Rionna explained. “I read it in his scripts. They are they key to all worlds. My father used the Copperplates to unlock the Dark Way. With the heartstones he can throw the gates open and let the demons from below into Uaine.â€

+ +

“Why would he want to do that?â€

+ +

“Because he is no longer my father. What came through the nether gate is now in him. It works its will through him.â€

+ +

“So what now?†Kerry repeated.

+ +

“I think it’s going to get really dangerous. I have to let you know the options.â€

+ +

“We know the options, Jack,†Kerry retorted. “We knew them on Temair and in Eirinn. We came with you no matter what. What’s the difference here?â€

+ +

“The difference is that I don’t know how to fight this,†Jack said. He was supposed to the one with the answers, but all he had were questions. “In Temair and in Eirinn, we knew what we were up against. We could see them. But how do you fight illusions? We don’t even know where we are or where we have to go.â€

+ +

“You could ask the Book of Ways,†Corriwen suggested. “It might tell us.â€

+ +

“I hope so, because I’m all out of ideas at the moment. We thought everything was okay until Megrin started to change into something…â€

+ +

“It wasn’t Megrin,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“It was a demon,†Rionna said. “Something conjured up from the underplace.â€

+

“It was like being in a nightmare,†Jack said.

+ +

“I know. Like when I used to have nightmares about thing with scaly claws hiding under my bed. And that’s what I saw sitting at that table, eating raw bloody meat. Scared the bejasus out of me.â€

+ +

“Will you get it back?†Rionna asked.

+ +

“Get what back?â€

+ +

“Your bejasus?â€

+ +

And for a second time, the three of them fell about laughing helplessly while Rionna watched them wide eyed and bewildered.

+ + +

“If we go on,†Jack continued, “and if we do find Megrin, then we will have to face him. Rionna’s father.â€

+ +

“I think it would be better for him to be free of its tyranny,†Rionna said. Her face was filled with sad acceptance. “One way or another.â€

+ +

“Consult the book,†Corriwen insisted again.

+ +

Jack sat down and the others joined him. He set the Book of Ways on the floor in front of them. It opened immediately and the pages whirred in succession as if stirred by a wind, then stopped.

+ +

They waited, but the page remained blank.

+ +

“Maybe the battery died,†Kerry said, trying lighten the mood.

+ +

Something dripped from above their heads. Jack caught a blur of movement.

+ +

A crimson blot appeared on the top of the page.

+ +

“What…?†Jack smelled the coppery scent of blood. As he fixed his eyes on the thick blot, it welled even thicker.

+ +

“Blood,†Corriwen hissed. Kerry was looking up, trying to see where it had come from, but there was no stain on the arched ceiling.

+ +

Jack concentrated on the page. The blot became a trickle, sluggishly moving across the page and then a line of it streaked diagonally downwards, as if drawn by a sharp nail. Jack jerked back.

+ +

Another line slashed two semi-circles on the first. It was a capital B. And without pause the invisible nail scrawled one word.

+ +

BLOOD.

+ +

Then it began to scrawl faster and faster until the page was filled with bloody words in jagged letters.

+ +

Blood to drink and flesh to rend

+

Children suffer ‘til the end

+

Feast on terror, feast on fright

+

Feast on eyes bereft of sight

+

Too late to flee, too late to run

+

The dying time has now begun

+

Mortal souls forever lost

+

The hour has come to pay the cost

+ +

“Jeez….†Kerry muttered.

+ +

“The writing’s all different,†Jack said aghast. “This can’t be right. It’s always warned us before, but that’s a threat!â€

+ +

And as he spoke the line of blood zig-zagged in a series of jolting lines beneath which a new line of words appeared like knife-slashed wounds

+ +

You are NOW MINE!

+ +

The Book of Ways shuddered. Acrid fumes rose up from the violent lines of verse, and two tongues of flame appeared. The page began to burn through.

+ +

The Book bucked. Its leather covers flapped up and down. before Jack could move the Book snapped shut with the force of a hammer-blow.

+ +

For a moment all went still, but it was not over. The cover slowly creaked open again. Jack held his breath as the pages whirred once more. He expected to see a charred ruin, but instead when the pages stopped, all he saw was some fine ash that blew off the page like dust, leaving a clean blank leaf. He could see no other damage at all.

+ +

Now, new words began to appear on the pages, and this time they were written in the old familiar script.

+

+

Follow terror, follow fright

+

Walk beyond the darkest night

+

Fear behind, fear before

+

On until the final door

+

Madness there holds evil sway

+

Horror waits for mortal prey

+

Find the hidden secret room

+

Journeyman must face his doom

+ +

Jack looked up. His face was sickly pale.

+ +

“That’s the real message,†he said shakily. “The other one…that was from whatever is doing all this. It’s playing games with us.â€

+ +

“The second message is bad enough,†Kerry said.

+ +

For a long time, nobody spoke. Jack closed his eyes and rubbed them slowly, as if he was very tired.

+ +

“Well, we know where to go,†he finally said.

+ +

“I don’t understand,†Corriwen whispered.

+ +

“We just keep walking. The worse it gets, the closer we’ll be.â€

+ +

Kerry put his hand on his friend’s shoulder and gripped tight.

+ +

“All for one,†he said. “We’re still with you.â€

+ + + + + + + +

CHAPTER 23

+ +

Megrin had reached out with her mind for Jack Flint and his friends and found only a void that made her heart sink with despair. For hours she stumbled through passages and tunnels, and as she descended, the hot smell of sulphur mixed with the dank reek of decay, in a foul mixture that would make a lesser human choke.

+ +

It was closer now, wreathed in shadows. Not Bodron. It was something from the shadowed underworld, something that had come through the dark way. It was powerful and completely devoid of any human quality.

+ +

The walked carefully on, almost feeling her way towards the source when there was a sudden shudder under her feet and in the fabric of the thick air. The jolt sent seismic tremors through the ground and she realised that something had happened.

+ +

She stopped in the gloom and slowed her breath. And then she felt it.

+ +

Jack Flint and his friends were here. They were far away, Jack and Kerry and Corriwen Redthorn, and still inside Bodron’s black reach. While her heart lurched at the thought of them in danger, a part of her surged in the knowledge that they were still alive.

+

+

It meant that the heartstone’s bearer was still pursuing his quest, as she had foreseen. His friends would be behind him every step of the way, no matter where it led.

+ +

It was that bravery and determination in the hearts of these three young people, that she had long known would be the only salvation for Uaine.

+ +

Megrin walked on towards whatever awaited her in the deep tunnels under Bodron’s keep.

+ +

She wanted to face Bodron before Jack Flint did, because he needed the heartstone to complete his master’s plans.

+ +

And that could mean only one thing. The final opening of the Dark Way between Uaine and the shadowlands below.

+ +

It could mean the end of everything.

+ +

***

+ +

“The worse it gets, the closer we’ll be,†Jack repeated, as they walked along the narrow tunnel.

+ +

It had been bad already, and none of them knew how bad it could get. But his friends were with him and that lent him courage.

+ +

“Which way then?†Kerry asked, when they reached a place where several passageways intersected. Jack didn’t reply for a moment, then he turned slowly from left to right, in almost a full circle. He stopped and pointed to the left.

+ +

“That way,†he said.

+ +

“How do you know?†Rionna’s voice was a whisper in the gloom.

+ +

“I don’t know how. I think the heartstone knows where danger lies.â€

+ +

“I’m scared already,†Kerry admitted. His short-sword was out, but he had a fair idea it wouldn’t be much good against nightmares.

+ +

He’d much rather be on the banks of Rionna’s stream, catching trout with his bare hands and soaking up the sun. In fact, he told himself, he’d rather be anywhere at all.

+ +

“Might as well get it over with,†he added, even though his heart was pounding. “Just as long as I don’t meet the monster with claws from under my bed, I’ll be fine.â€

+ +

He walked behind the others, guarding their backs, with Rionna ahead and Corriwen close on Jack’s heels. There wasn’t room to walk side by side

+ +

The tunnel sloped down in a slow spiral, and as they descended, the air grew thicker. Corriwen held the little oil-lamp at shoulder-height and the tiny flame allowed Jack to see a couple of feet ahead, but no more.

+ +

The heartstone pulsed steadily, stronger than before. Jack bit back his apprehension and led them on, while the walls grew narrower still until his shoulders scraped against them on either side.

+ +

“We can’t go much further,†Corriwen said. “It’s getting too narrow.â€

+ +

“I can feel the ground shake,†Kerry said. “That can’t be good.â€

+ +

Jack had felt the tremors underfoot. He prayed that they would get through this before the roof came down and buried them all. He forced his feet to keep walking until a blast of hot air came barrelling at them from ahead and snuffed the lamp out.

+ +

Darkness engulfed them and Jack felt a powerful sense of claustrophobia. The scorched air buffeted them and passed on. For a second there was silence, followed by an odd rasping sound, like hoarse whispers in the distance.

+ +

“Light,†Jack hissed. “We need light.â€

+ +

A spark told him Kerry's flint lighter was doing its best and then flame whooshed into life. He re-lit the lamp. Jack turned to lead on.

+ +

Fine gauzy threads scraped past his face, snagging stickily on his skin. All around, filaments stretched in zig-zag patterns, a cat’s cradle of strings that criss-crossed from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. Jack touched one and it stuck to his hand like glue. He tugged hard and it yielded, stretching the other threads in soft vibrations of sound.

+ +

Above them something scraped on stone. Corriwen raised the lamp and looked up.

+ +

Four pairs of red eyes reflected the tiny flame. Pin-points in the shadows.

+ +

“Oh, Jack,†Kerry whispered. “I know what that is.â€

+ +

“What?â€

+ +

Before Kerry could reply, the eyes moved, and fast. Something the size of a big rat bounded along one silken thread, making it twang as it moved. Jack glimpsed a number of pinioning legs and before he could yell a warning, a huge spider leapt from the web and landed square on Corriwen’s head.

+ +

Her scream of pure horror cut Jack like a knife. He had never heard Corriwen scream before.

+ +

For an instant Jack was rooted to the spot. He saw the spider’s its legs flex as it raised a grotesque head. He saw two yellow curves below the four eyes as it braced itself to strike.

+ +

Corriwen whirled and her free hand swung up to bat the thing away.

+ +

“Get it off me! Get if off!â€

+ +

Her desperate cry broke Jack’s paralysis. The great sword shot out before even knew he had moved and sliced the bloated spider in half with one clean sweep just before the fangs plunged into Corriwen’s eyes.

+ +

Corriwen shuddered and stumbled back, tangled in a strand which broke from its anchor on the wall and whipped round her leg, sending her sprawling. The whole web thrummed like a bass string, making all the thick threads vibrate in unison.

+ +

Overhead, what looked like thin twigs waved in the air from hollows in the stonework. Jack saw them and snatched at Corriwen’s hand, dragging her upright. The web was still snagged round her ankle and as she moved, it set up a strange harmonic in the strings.

+ +

“Are you okay?†Jack asked.

+ +

“I’ve had better days,†she gasped. “But I’ll live.â€

+ +

“Don’t worry,†Kerry snorted. “They’re only bugs.â€

+ +

Above his head two of the thin twigs curved down to tap rhythmically on web. Then something even bigger than the first hauled out from its hole in the stone, fangs dripping. Another monstrous spider launched itself, swinging on its own silk, eyes as red as flame.

+ +

It lurched across the web. Jack recoiled when saw a fat body as big as a cat, trailing sticky lines. On the opposite side, two more emerged, and came scrabbling towards them.

+ +

Corriwen slashed at the web. It took two swings to cut the sticky line. Kerry jabbed his sword at the scuttling spider, but it dodged to the side as if it read his mind. It landed just above his head then pounced, faster than the eye could follow. Jointed legs snagged on either side of his shoulders. Kerry yelped and threw his shoulders against the wall, hoping to crush the thing, but just as quickly it crawled into his head, holding tight with hairy legs.

+ +

Corriwen’s knife flashed in front of Kerry's eyes and split the thing’s pulsing abdomen. A spray of fine silk hosed out. She swung again and the knife cut straight through the narrow waist, and the spider dropped like a melon to splatter on the floor.

+ +

Corriwen glanced at Kerry. His face white, but he managed a half-smile and gave her a thumbs up.

+ +

“Spiderwoman saves the day!â€

+ +

“Only bugs!†she retorted, stepping close to give him a fast peck on his nose. “All bravado.â€

+ +

“Back,†Jack yelled. His sword cut an arc in the air, slicing through the web. It parted with a snap and two spiders catapulted off. Kerry speared one on the point of his blade. The other disappeared into the shadows.

+ +

“Back where?†Corriwen asked. She looked around wildly, searching for a way to escape, but there were no exits.

+ +

“We have to get out.†Rionna cried. She was unarmed and defenceless. There were hordes of spiders all over the web, and more emerging from holes, a mass of scuttling legs and glittering eyes.

+ +

Then a truly monstrous spider came scrambling down the wall, eyes glaring, fangs up and ready to strike. It was knee-high and covered in spiked hairs.

+ +

Jack braced himself to meet it head on. The heartstone kicked against his breast.

+ +

He slashed the blade down. The creature dodged it, quick as a flash. It launched itself into the air. Jack managed to hit it with the flat of the sword and it thudded against the wall, bounced and came straight at Kerry who ducked in pure reflex. As it flew over him, it trailed a skein of wet web which dropped around his shoulders. Then the spider swung in a circle, wrapping Kerry's head in a mass of sticky threads.

+ +

Jack dashed forward, trying to stab, while the thing spun round and around until Kerry's head was shrouded and his muffled cry could hardly be heard. Jack paused, waiting for a chance to kill it without harming Kerry, while that the pure note made his ears ring. Corriwen was half-turned, eyes wide, both knives trying to slash at Kerry's attacker.

+ +

Then another sound, even more powerful and clear, soared to overwhelm the heartstone. The walls shuddered and Jack felt the floor shiver under his feet.

+

+

Rionna was standing stock still, hands clamped against her temples, her eyes screwed tightly shut. Her mouth was open wide and the sound that came from it vibrated the walls.

+ +

When the sound rose to a crescendo, the big spider twitched and then it froze, still hunched on Kerry's back, fangs an inch from his neck. In a split second of clarity Jack lunged past Kerry's head, stabbing right between those fangs, straight and true, up to the hilt.

+ +

As Jack pushed Kerry to the side, he felt an acid bite as the spider-blood sprayed across the skin of his arm. With a desperate effort, he spun around, dragging the spider away. It flew off the sword and hit the wall with a pulpy crack and fell dead.

+ +

Beside him, Jack saw Corriwen’s blades flicker as she jabbed and slashed, right and left, quick and expert, as limber as a ballerina, making each thrust count. Kerry got back to his feet and clawed at the web around his face until he was free and took a huge breath of air. When he stopped panting he swung again and lashed out in fury scattering the scuttling creatures right and left.

+ +

Rionna’s song soared to an incredible peak, and in front of her, Jack saw the walls were shimmering in and out of focus, like ripples on water.

+ +

Suddenly she dashed forward and grabbed Corriwen’s wrist.

+ +

“Come on,†she cried. “There’s no time.â€

+ +

She dragged Corriwen with her, straight for the wavering wall. It seemed to swallow them in the blink of an eye.

+ +

Jack swung his blade, clearing a path through the wave of monstrous spiders, feeling his feet splash in puddles of their blood. He hacked at the webs until he reached the spot where Corriwen and Rionna had vanished, turned and hauled at Kerry and they both slumped against the wall.

+ +

Everything went black as they fell into it.

+ +

For a second he had a dizzying sense of weightlessness.

+ +

The next thing he knew, there were flames all around him.

+ + + + + + +

+CHAPTER 23

+ + + +

The heat was so intense Jack could feel the hairs on his eyebrows twist as they scorched.

+ +

Gouts of flame spurted all them and the blast-furnace roar was louder than any jet engine Jack had ever heard. Black fumes rolled over them, clogging their throats and lungs as they dodged pillars of fire, stumbling, half-blinded, choking and coughing.

+ +

“Where are we now?†Kerry rasped. Corriwen was bent over in a fit of coughing. Jack held her arm.

+ +

“I don’t know where this is,†Rionna admitted. “I had no time to seek a haven. I sang blind and here we are.â€

+ +

The pillars of fire rose to a blinding white as they watched, then faded to orange before roaring back up to full height and heat as if some monstrous bellows deep underground were pumping in and out.

+ +

Beyond where they stood together, Jack saw a fissure which split the chamber from floor to ceiling. With every pulse of flame, billowing smoke was sucked into it. It had to lead somewhere, he thought.

+ +

He pulled the others close so they could hear him above the noise, and even then he had to shout. “I think there’s a way out. When the flare dies down, we can get through that crack.

+ +

“Let’s go for it then.†Kerry looked Jack in the eye. “Just don’t get it wrong, or we’re toast.â€

+ +

Jack stood up. He told Corriwen to hold on to his sword-belt. Rionna gripped Corriwen’s cape. Kerry had nothing to hold on to, but he stayed only a step behind.

+ +

As soon as the flare reached its peak, Jack told them all to run. He led the way and for one moment it looked as if he would run straight into the pillar of fire, but when he was only steps away from the searing heat, the flame shrank back down into the vent. Jack had timed it exactly right. He leapt over it, dragging Corriwen with him. Rionna was swung off her feet. Kerry snatched the neck of her tunic in mid-leap and held her upright, like a rag-doll.

+ +

Blistering heat struck Jack’s face like a physical wave and was so bright it seared their eyes. Kerry heard a gout of flame explode behind him as he ran after the others. Hot air blasted at his back, pushing all of them even faster into the fissure until it abruptly widened and they stumbled out.

+ +

“That was too close,†Kerry gasped. “I think my backside’s barbecued.â€

+ +

“But we made it,†Jack said.

+ +

“To where?†Corriwen asked. She was looking out into a vast cavern. In its centre three colossal pillars stood in a triangle and on top of them, like a tabletop, lay a massive flat stone.

+ +

Underneath it, a profound darkness.

+ +

High above them, like a darkening sky, Jack could see a mass of cloud or smoke turning in a slow circle like the eye of a storm. Bolts of lightning sparked within it.

+ +

A sudden blast of wind struck them hard. Corriwen was knocked off her feet before Kerry had a chance to grab her hand. Jack and Rionna were bowled after them, but Kerry managed to snag his fingers in a crack and held on. Corriwen slammed into him, then Jack and Rionna, and still Kerry held tight.

+ +

The shrieking gale buffeted them against the rock wall before it began to abate. The storm overhead them kept spinning in a dark spiral.

+ +

Corriwen helped Rionna to her feet and looked across the cavern.

+ +

“Look there!†She pointed to the far side of the great chamber.

+ +

On the wall directly opposite, shimmering lines of blue light spread filaments of luminescence on the wall. From the centre of the light, a small figure emerged, walking slowly. From her posture, even at that distance, Jack recognised Megrin and relief surged through him until he saw what she was up against.

+ +

Megrin held her staff raised high in both hands as she walked towards the stone table. The light flickered from its carved head as blinding shards of lightning forked down at her from the vortex. Megrin didn’t flinch, but held her staff steady so that the deadly bolts struck an invisible barrier above her head.

+ +

The smell of scorched stone drifted thick on the air. Kerry sneezed violently and held a hand over his nose..

+ +

“You come to your doom, witch.†A voice so loud and deep it made the rock resonate.

+ +

“And still I come,†Megrin’s reply came clear and strong. “I will not leave until I have what you have stolen from Uaine.â€

+ +

“You will never leave this place, spellbinder. This is your final destination.â€

+ +

“Show yourself. Your tricks could not stop me before. They will not now.â€

+ +

He laughed. An unseen presence, but his laugh was powerful and vicious. It did not sound human.

+ +

“Where is he?†Corriwen asked, scanning the chamber. On its chain around Jack’s neck, the heartstone was thrumming once more. He could hear it loud in his head.

+ +

Megrin strode forward, straight towards the stone table in the centre of the chamber.

+

+

Between the upright pillars, Jack caught a movement. The dark underneath the table-stone swirled and from its depths he saw another figure appear.

+ +

He was tall, much taller than Megrin, and thin, and he clutched a long black staff. His face was hidden in deep shadows under a cowl, but his hands showed white as bone. He reminded Jack of Fainn the mad Spellbinder of Wolfen Castle, and not only in his appearance. Jack sensed evil radiate from him, and an emptiness that was the complete absence of any human quality.

+ +

Jack understood now what Rionna had meant. This might have been her father once, but what he was now, Jack couldn’t begin to guess.

+ +

Megrin continued towards the shadowy figure, her head held high. Her adversary remained in the shadow under the stone. He raised a thin hand and pointed his forefinger. They heard him chant a string of guttural words and then thunder exploded and Megrin was blasted backwards off her feet. Before she could move, the ground around her began to writhe and buckle. The stone mounds swelled and elongated into slender shapes. They branched at their tips and began to flex.

+ +

“Hands!†Jack heard the disbelief in Corriwen’s voice.

+ +

But they were hands. Hands of moving stone that reached for Megrin, pinioning her arms and legs, smothering her in their grip.

+ +

“We have to help her,†Corriwen cried. Before Jack could stop her she was off and running, but he knew it was the wrong thing to do. He knew they needed to stop for a moment and think.

+ +

Corriwen had forced his hand. She was twenty paces away before he reacted and then he too was running, drawing his sword as he hared after her.

+

***

+

Kerry saw the cowled figure turn towards him and Rionna. Its black staff pointed directly at them. Something unseen whickered past his ear and hit the wall behind them. Kerry turned to take Rionna’s hand and follow Jack and Corrie across the chamber.

+ +

Then he saw Rionna’s face was white with shock.

+ +

A tall shadow oozed from the stone wall, taking shape as it approached. Kerry saw a wizened woman in tattered rags reach and take Rionna by the shoulders. A face as dry and cracked as old parchment bent towards her as a slit mouth opened.

+ +

“My little girl,†it said in a voice like shifting sand. “Come back to find your mother.â€

+ +

Kerry saw that what he had thought were deep-set eyes were not eyes at all, just sunken pits in a crumbling skull. Hanks of straggly grey hair had fallen off in patches and stuck to its mouldering hood. The hands were long and skeletal, covered in a thin membrane that looked as if it would flake to powder at a touch.

+ +

“Good child….†It hissed. “Loving child.â€

+ +

Rionna stood frozen. She looked as if she might simply faint with fright.

+ +

The apparition drew Rionna into its embrace.

+ +

“Come and love your mother, child. Be with me now.â€

+ +

Rionna seemed to wilt. Her knees buckled and her body slumped. For a moment Kerry was too stunned to move as he saw Rionna’s cheeks draw into hollows. Her skin seemed to dry out like a fallen leaf in hot sun.

+ +

“It’s killing her!†The thought jolted him out of his paralysis. The thing, whatever it was, whatever it had been, was sucking the life from her. Even as he watched, the gaunt abomination seemed to fill out as if it was feeding on Rionna’s very life.

+ +

A huge anger, more powerful than any he had felt in his life, surged through him.

+ +

“Get your filthy hands off her,†he bawled, leaping forward and drawing his short-sword in one practiced motion. He closed the distance in four paces, angling the point upwards and thrusting straight-armed.

+ +

The blade went through it with hardly any resistance at all. Dry dust puffed out where the sword had pierced. Kerry drew back and stabbed again. The monstrosity turned its peeling face towards him and its mouth opened, showing a black hole lined with long, brown teeth. Rionna’s breathing sounded ragged and desperate as the spectre drew her closer still.

+ +

“I said…†He stabbed again, and again and again… “leave…. her…alone!“

+ +

The mangy cloak was puckered with holes, but Kerry's attack appeared to have no other effect. It was still turned towards him, sunken sockets regarding him mercilessly. Rionna was sagging now, and disappearing into the tatters and Kerry suddenly knew that if this dead thing enveloped her, she’d be lost forever.

+ +

He swung the sword down in a slant, wanting to cut the apparition in half.

+ +

A long arm snapped out and bony fingers clenched around his throat.

+ +

Kerry gasped as his breath was instantly cut off. And then, shockingly, he was swung right off his feet. The sword spun from his hand and clanged on the floor. The hand that held him drew him forward, right up close to the mummified skull. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears as the fingers squeezed tight. He could smell musty dry rot and mould. Up close, dusty cobwebs hung from the straggly hair. The grip tightened and he felt his vision begin to waver.

+ +

The mouth opened even wider, only inches away from his eyes. Cracked lips pulled back to reveal long teeth.

+ +

Kerry panicked. He was helpless in the inexorable grasp, hands flailing for anything to use to break free. He fumbled in his pocket, wishing he had his penknife, or a rock, or anything sharp. All he found was the little lighter that he’d used to light the lamp in the tunnel. Like a drowning man, he clutched at it and drew it free. Maybe he could jam it in the eye socket.

+ +

But instinct took over. His thumb found the little wheel and snapped down. Sparks jumped. A whoosh of flame leapt from his fingers and raced up the tattered threads of its cloak.

+ +

It made a wavery whump sound, the way the marsh gas had ignited in the bogs of Eirinn. In an instant, the shoulders and cowl were wreathed in crackling fire. Flames stuttered along the sleeve of the hand that held him by the throat. He saw them coming straight for his eyes, twisted and kicked, and suddenly he was falling free. He landed on his feet, spun towards the burning shape, ignoring the sudden heat and snatched at Rionna’s almost-hidden form. His fingers found her slender arms and he threw them both to the side while the dead thing that had caught them both spun faster and faster, hissing like a steam vent and collapsing in on itself as the updraught fanned the flames.

+ +

Rionna shivered against him, and he held her tight as she gasped great breaths and warmth began to return to her body. Then she burst into sudden tears.

+ +

“Don’t,†Kerry said hoarsely. His throat felt as if it had been squeezed flat. “That wasn’t your mother.â€

+ +

She sobbed against him.

+ +

“It’s a trick,†he insisted. “It’s all a trick. You said yourself….it gets in your head and twists everything.â€

+ +

He felt her nod her agreement into the curve of his neck.

+ +

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. Cross my heart and hope to die.â€

+ +

She raised her head to look at him with those luminous eyes. But before either of them had a chance to speak, on the far side of the chamber Corriwen Redthorn screamed like a banshee.

+ +

***

+ +

Jack and Corriwen ran a murderous gauntlet, blasted by jagged shrapnel from where bolts of lightning struck the ground. The stone hands were dragging Megrin down. She desperately reached for her staff, but it lay just beyond her grasp.

+ +

Corriwen launched herself at the mass of stone imprisoning Megrin and began to hammer at the rocky fingers with the hilt of her knife. Jack went after the staff, but it spun away and he stumbled.

+ +

It rolled further away from him, then rose into the air, spinning slowly as it gained height and floated towards the darkness underneath the table stone where her adversary stood.

+ +

The cowled figure beckoned silently and Megrin’s staff soared towards him. In seconds it would be within his grasp.

+ +

Jack knew he had to do something, and fast.

+ +

On top the stone slab, something polished reflected light back into his eyes, dazzling him for an instant. He screwed his eyes up against the glare and ran for Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Corriwen saw a streak of motion. One second Jack was turning. The next he was a blur, given miraculous speed by Rune’s boots. He leapt for the staff, hands stretched above him. She saw his fingers snatch at it in the air.

+ +

Jack’s whole body shuddered as he grabbed the staff just before Bodron reached for it. A huge shock ran through him and he almost lost his grip.

+ +

Corriwen heard his cry of surprise and pain, and saw him fall to the ground, the staff firmly clenched in both hands.

+ +

The hooded figure roared.

+ + + + + + + + +

CHAPTER 23

+ + + +

Jack’s knees buckled as he hit the ground. Bodron roared again, and the cavern walls shook. He pointed the black staff and forks of orange light stabbed at Jack who twisted and rolled while flares exploded all around him. Megrin’s staff bucked and juddered in his grasp as it dragged him forward, but he held on tight, even though the friction burned the skin of his hands. Kerry yelled a warning as Jack tried to dig his heels in the ground, straining against the force that pulled him inexorably towards where Bodron stood waiting in the shadow.

+ +

When he was almost under the table stone, skeletal fingers reached forward, but not for Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Jack tried to squirm away when he saw the heartstone on its chain had slipped from his tunic. And whatever power Bodron exerted on Jack was also pulling the stone, for it had swung out, almost a foot away from Jack’s face. Bodron’s eyes blazed like headlights and Jack saw that though he might have human shape, those eyes burned with hell-fire.

+ +

“Bring it to me!†The glee in Bodron’s voice was unmistakeable.

+ +

“Never!†Jack grated. He groaned with the strain as he tried to pull back from Bodron’s reaching hand, and fumbled desperately for the great sword hilt. He would never give up his father’s heartstone. Not without a fight.

+ +

Kerry knew the fiend wanted the Journeyman’s heartstone. They had been through enough to know that if it got it, then everything was lost.

+ +

Jack Flint was the best friend he had ever had. The best anybody ever had. He had saved Kerry's life a dozen times or more. And Kerry had come through the gate to Uaine because he didn’t want Jack Flint to face danger alone.

+ +

A hot anger burned inside him. If Jack ever needed him, he needed him now.

+ +

As he started to run towards where Jack struggled, Kerry scooped up a heavy piece of rock. With his free hand he unshipped his sling from his belt, fitted the rock in the cradle and swung it around his head.

+ +

Ahead of him, something on top of the table-stone caught the lightning flash and sent a blinding beam into his eyes. Kerry squinted and tried to ignore it. He braced himself, torqued his shoulders and launched the stone with all his strength.

+ +

Behind him he could hear Corriwen yelling but he ignored that too and threw himself headlong at Jack in a flying tackle that knocked him sideways. Jack landed hard, with Kerry on top of him. Megrin’s staff was jarred from of his grip and tumbled away. As they disentangled themselves two pale shapes resolved into the two white goshawks that swooped down, talons agape and seized it.

+ +

The rock took Bodron between the eyes. He staggered backwards, arms flailing and as he stumbled into the shadow he lost his grip on the black staff.

+ +

Corriwen and Rionna watched in amazement as the darkness under the stone enveloped Bodron, folding around him until he vanished from sight. The ground heaved.

+ +

Corriwen saw the dark mass pulse. Its blistered surface began to swell into bloated tendrils that inflated and burst free. Where they landed, they twisted and elongated. She saw the tendrils become jointed arms and legs that flexed and straightened, supporting thin warted bodies on top of which wizened heads glared with blinkless yellow eyes.

+ +

She shrieked a warning.

+ +

Both Jack and Kerry turned and froze.

+ +

The pieces of the dark mass had become shapes from Jacks deepest nightmares. In an instant he was catapulted back to his memory to the desperate race through the forest, a baby in his father’s arms, while pale-eyed shadows hounded them every step of the way towards the homeward gate.

+ +

“What in the name of - “ Kerry blurted.

+ +

Those eyes fixed on them hungrily. Long arms reached out. Two-clawed toes scrabbled on stone.

+ +

Nightshades.

+ +

Behind them, Bodron emerged from the enfolding dark and Jack saw that he had changed utterly. He loomed twice as tall. His face was contorted, his skin swelling and puckering as if something inside was trying to get out. Under the cowl his eyes were aflame.

+ +

“Journeyman…†Bodron’s voice rumbled. It pointed a long finger at Jack.

+ +

“Journeyman’s whelp. I destroyed your father long ago and sent him where none return. But you bear that which I desire. Give it to me now and you might still have life, of a kind.â€

+ +

A fierce anger erupted in Jack’s chest. This beast was responsible for it all. The loss of his father; the years of uncertainty and mystery. And the darkness that infested Uaine. Before he spit out a response, it spoke again.

+ +

“Or my nightshades will feast, and I will have it then.â€

+ +

“Not a chance,†Kerry cried. “You’ll have to take it from his cold, dead hands. If you can!â€

+ +

“Thanks, Kerry,†Jack groaned.

+ +

“No problem. I heard it in a movie. The good guys won.â€

+ +

The demon rumbled again. “Deny me and suffer forever. It was I who sent the nightshades to herd you to the stone gates. It was I who brought you here. You are mine.â€

+ +

Jack drew the great sword, unsure whether it would be of any use as Bodron and the shades stalked towards them.

+ +

“I came here of my own free will,†he cried, quivering, not with fear, but anger. “You didn’t bring me. The Sky Queen sent me. I came to find my father. But now I am here to take my revenge for what you have done.â€

+ +

The heartstone throbbed violently. Jack’s sword was in his hands and surging with its own life.

+ +

“You are nothing. Just smoke and mirrors. You don’t belong in any world.â€

+ +

He and Kerry stood shoulder to shoulder. Kerry reached a hand and clasped his arm.

+ +

“Sorry Jack. About your dad.†Even as the nightshades advanced, he squeezed Jack’s arm tight, a gesture of solidarity. “Let’s do it for him. We’re in a corner. The only way out is to do it to them before they do it to us.â€

+ +

“The only way,†Jack repeated, nodding. His chin was set, knuckles white.

+ +

Corriwen cried out a warning. Something flicked over Jack’s shoulder and hit the nearest shade between its narrow shoulders. The arrow struck with no sound. And no obvious effect. It passed through the shade and emerged on the other side to drop uselessly to the ground.

+ +

Then suddenly behind Jack and Kerry, something exploded. When Jack spun around, ready to defend himself he saw Megrin was on her feet. Her face was expressionless and calm.

+ +

The stone hands that had pinned her down were flying away in fragments. She had her staff in her hands and blue fire ran up and down its length. The two white birds wheeled above her.

+ +

Corriwen was on one knee. She drew Jack’s amberhorn bow back as she searched for another target. Before she could shoot, Megrin touched her on the shoulder and made a sign over Jack’s quiver of black arrows. A dazzling light arced between the staff and the obsidian arrowheads.

+ +

“Fight darkness with light,†she said softly. “It is always so.â€

+ +

Corriwen nodded. She drew back until the feather-flights brushed her cheek and let loose. A blue streak that flashed between Jack and Kerry as the arrow took the nearest nightshade in its bulging eye. It screamed. Black fumes poured out from its eye and its head to melted like tar.

+ +

Behind it Bodron snarled in fury.

+ +

Corriwen aimed again, feeling a strange sense of energy pass from the glowing arrow, through the bow, to her fingers. More nightshades surged forward, claws reaching for Jack and Kerry.

+ +

Jack attacked the horde, slashing his sword right and left. As he sliced down on the crown of the nearest nightshade, it felt to as if he hit solid stone, but the blade didn’t falter. It made a sickly crunch and drove right down between the eyes. The two halves of the hideous head fell apart like a cut fruit.

+ +

Kerry tried to launch a heavy rock but as he swung back, a claw reached for him and grabbed his wrist with inhuman strength. A shock of cold riveted up his arm and then all sensation faded, and the sling dropped from his numb fingers. His arm was still outstretched but as rigid as wood.

+ +

Jack whirled to help him and in one fluid motion, severed the claw that gripped Kerry's arm, then spun away to face the rest of them. Kerry sank to his knees as the cold surged through his veins.

+ +

Rionna rushed to him, oblivious to the danger. She snatched the claw that still gripped Kerry's arm, tugged it free and let it drop to the ground. It hit with a wet splat and collapsed into shiny black rivulets that soaked into cracks in the stone. She put her hands round Kerry's chest and tried to drag him away.

+ +

Bodron suddenly leapt at them and his mighty hand clamped on Rionna’s head. He lifted her effortlessly up to his eye level.

+ +

“Traitor!†His voice was a vicious snarl. “The spellbinder’s own spawn betrays him.â€

+ +

Bodron swung its staff down with deadly force.

+ +

Kerry yelled out, still on his knees. He drew his short-sword left-handed and stabbed upwards into Bodron’s armpit. As the point struck its mark, Kerry was smashed backwards and fell to the ground, twitching. He lay unable to move as baleful orange light rippled over him in fiery snakes.

+ +

Rionna’s eyes were wide with terror as she faced her father. He was now unrecognisable as anything human. The black staff swung towards her.

+ +

Then Megrin’s staff shot out and stopped it, inches from her face. Sparks of brilliant light exploded where the two staffs touched. Bodron’s grip on Rionna’s head opened and she fell away.

+ +

Jack desperately slashed at the nightshades. From beyond the melee, Corriwen launched arrow after arrow, watching the creatures implode and melt, and Jack began to think they might have a chance.

+ +

But he was backed into a corner, jabbing and hacking and with every strike, the nightshades shrank back only a little, and then surged forward, barricading him tightly against the chamber wall.

+ +

Corriwen stopped shooting. Despite her skill with the bow, there was now too much of a risk of hitting Jack as the nightshades crowded in on him. She drew both knives and ran forward to fight by his side, but before she reached him, they them suddenly pushed forward until Jack was completely lost from view.

+ +

Jack was surrounded by glaring eyes and hooking claws, squeezed in tight against the stone and without enough space to swing the sword. A long, bony claw reached for the heartstone.

+ +

Corriwen’s heart kicked and she screeched a warning.

+ +

Reacting on pure instinct Jack suddenly launched himself over the heads of the nightshades. Corriwen saw him suddenly appear over the mass of attackers as they closed in. Thin arms, quick as striking snakes, tried to hook him from the air, but not quick enough. One claw shot out, but it only snagged the satchel that swung from Jack’s shoulders. Something ripped, but his momentum powered him on.

+ +

Rune’s boots made Jack fly like an acrobat, tumbling through the air. The sword-blade reflected the blue and orange light from where Megrin and Bodron were locked together in blistering streams of their own power.

+ +

Jack landed, light as a cat. He turned fast, expecting to see nightshades surging after him and it took him a second to realise that he was not on the ground.

+ +

He could see Megrin and Bodron far below him. Corriwen was running towards Kerry and Rionna. Jack was high above them, high on the flat table stone supported by the three immense rock pillars.

+ +

Whatever had almost blinded him before now glinted in the corner of his vision and when he turned he saw a circle of burnished metal pages each etched with intricate figures and strange script.

+ +

The Copperplates.

+

+

He knew they could be nothing else.

+ +

They blazed with supernatural power. Twenty-one gleaming plates of copper. Not standing, but somehow hovering in a perfect circle. Directly above them, the dark storm spun slowly, crackling with lightning.

+ +

Jack stepped forward towards the centre of the table-stone.

+ +

***

+ +

Coriwen reached Kerry and Rionna. She pointed up at the great table stone.

+ +

“Bodron’s too strong,†Kerry cried. “Can you shoot him?â€

+ +

“They are too close,†Rionna said. “She is binding him….it.“

+ +

But Corriwen ignored them, still pointing up at the stones.

+ +

“Look…up there.â€

+ +

Kerry and Rionna raised their heads and saw Jack high on the table-stone. He held the great sword out in front of him. Around him, polished metal gleamed. They saw him walk forward, towards the centre of the stone.

+ +

And then he disappeared completely.

+ + + + + + + +

+CHAPTER 25

+ + +

Jack started towards the centre of the circle. The copperplates hung suspended, each polished surface facing him. The sword was still in Jack’s hand and the heartstone vibrated against his ribs.

+ +

The beauty of the gleaming metal plates and the intricate patterns etched on their surfaces drew him in to their core. He was helpless to resist.

+ +

When as he stepped within the circle, everything beyond the Copperplates faded away. He could sense immense power surging around him.

+ +

Jack looked in the surface of one of the plates. For an instant he saw himself reflected in its depths and his vision blurred. He felt a sudden dizzy sensation and without warning a blinding pain exploded between his eyes. He cried out as everything went black.

+ +

He floated up to the surface, struggling for breath. Behind him the falls of Temair thundered to foam. He gasped a breath and went under again, searching for Kerry who had fallen with him. Down into the depths he swam, while slender creatures with wide eyes swam around and he felt amongst the weeds until he found something. He grabbed at it, pulled himself lower…

+ +

Kerry's pale face swayed in the current, mouth wide, eyes colourless, staring at him with contempt.

+ +

Jack jerked back in horror, swallowed a mouthful of bitter water…

+ +

…and he was on the shifting slab on the brimstone flow in Temair’s badlands. Corriwen reached for his hand to help him but he didn’t risk taking it and she slipped backwards into the fire. Steam hissed and he saw her flesh burn away as she sank into it until all he could see were her accusing eyes…

+ +

He cringed from the sight, then found himself at the bottom of the stairwell in the Major’s house back home. The Major’s shotgun lay rusted beside a pile of bones. A skull glared blindly at him, and a babble of voices clamoured in his head.

+ +

“You let me drown!†Kerry's voice was cold and watery.

+

+

“No! I’d never let you !†The words formed in Jack mind but wouldn’t come out.

+

+

“You could have saved me…†Corriwen was a whisper in his ear.

+ +

“Please. No!â€

+

+

“You brought the darkness into my home…†The Major accused him.

+ +

Jack moaned and clapped his hands over his ears to banish the voices. Something punched him in the belly. Punched again. Hit a third time.

+ +

His eyes opened….

+ +

And he was out of the nightmare, still on the table stone. Now the Copperplates were spinning around him in a slow a circle, like parts of gleaming carousel, matching the swirling storm high overhead. Jack could feel their collective power shunt around him and through him.

+ +

A fourth blow to the stomach almost knocked the wind from him and he raised himself up on two hands.

+ +

The satchel was jerking violently, kicking hard just under his ribs. The straps had worked themselves loose.

+ +

“Nightmare!†Jack tried to tell himself. Rionna had told them that the dark power fed on the fear it created in human minds. Within the ring of the Copperplates, that power seemed magnified a hundredfold. It had reached into his mind, seeking out his worst terrors and made them real.

+ +

Whatever controlled these ancient talismans had the power to drive a world to the edge of madness. He had to stop Bodron.

+ +

Jack scrambled away, not wanting to see what might crawl out of the bag. But as he stood up, he saw Bodron twist away from Megrin and point his black staff up at him. As he did so, the Copperplates began to whirl faster and faster, like shining blades cutting the air and worse, the circle was shrinking, squeezing in on him.

+ +

At the edge of his vision, the gargoyle creatures were now clambering over the rim of the table-stone. The Nightshades had found him again

+ +

He was trapped. As the copperplates closed in, he realised he was helpless. Jack sank to his haunches, sword drawn, ready to roll under the whirling plates, even if he had to face the Nightshades. As he did so, his bag bucked again.

+ +

The Book of Ways tumbled out. Its old leather cover flipped open.

+ +

Without warning, the whirling Copperplates broke formation. Overhead a jagged fork of lightning stabbed down into the stone. Jack was almost hurled off his feet. One plate came slashing towards him. He rolled and it sliced a bare inch past his head. Thrown off balance, Jack tried to steady himself. His hand landed on The Book of Ways.

+ +

The heartstone throbbed with a power that surged through Jack and arced between his fingers and the pages of the Book.

+ +

Another of the Copperplates lanced in at him, straight at his eyes.

+ +

The Book bucked in his hands, pages whirring, but he was hardly aware of it as the Copperplate spun in like a blade whistling toward him through the air.

+ +

Before he could move, the Book of Ways leapt up and snapped shut on it with a sound like a hammer-blow. The force pushed Jack backwards, but he managed to hold on to the book’s spine. It bucked again, like a living thing, almost throwing him off balance and when it opened again, Jack saw a flash of gold that quickly faded to white. The Copperplate’s symbols stood out starkly on the page and then sank into the surface, leaving it clean and white again.

+ +

The Book suddenly felt heavy in his hands, as if it had absorbed a great weight. Jack’s fingers tingled. Another copperplate came streaking towards him. The Book opened to meet it and it vanished into the snapping pages.

+ +

One by one, while thunder roared and nightshades hovered, ready to pounce, the spinning copperplates whirred in at Jack and the book rose to meet them and swallow them in its pages.

+ +

When it had captured the last of them, the Book’s weight forced Jack to his knees. For one last time, the cover opened again, the old pages now blazing with searing white light. The Book lifted from his hands as it shot out a blinding beam which speared upwards towards the centre of the swirling black storm overhead.

+ +

For a second, the air around him seemed to crystallise. Then whole world exploded

+

+

The blast was so bright, Jack could see the bones of his hand through his skin and flesh. A sound like a hundred jet engines cracked the solid rock high overhead.

+ +

The nightshades were caught in a blast of intense heat and turned to vapour in the blink of an eye.

+ +

Huge stalactites speared down and shattered to a million flying shards. Jack looked up and saw an enormous spear of rock coming straight for him. He jerked backwards and it struck the table stone with such force the platform cracked in two.

+ +

Jack felt the whole structure tilt slowly. Instinctively he leapt off, sword in one hand, Book in the other and landed on solid ground as the massive stone structure collapsed. All around the great chamber, the rock walls began to melt and flow.

+ +

Bodron screamed in impotent fury. His back arched and his mouth yawned like a cave. Behind him the table-stone slumped into the dark pit. From every fissure in the shattered rock of the great cavern, shadows streamed out and flowed into the ever widening crater.

+ +

The Journeyman’s sword vibrated in harmony with the heartstone’s steady pulse. Jack ran to where Kerry huddled with Corriwen and Rionna as huge stones tumbled from on high to be swallowed by the dark. The ground bucked and heaved and he and Kerry held tight to the two girls to keep them on their feet.

+ +

Megrin was chanting now, her green eyes locked on Bodron’s.

+ +

“Back to the pit where you belong!†Her voice gained strength. “Beast of the darkness. And never return to the world of light!

+ +

“Hag! I will take you with me.†Bodron roared. His eyes blazed as he raised his staff.

+ +

Jack saw his chance while Bodron’s attention was fixed on Megrin. This was the beast, the demon that had killed his father. The monster that had sent the nightshades after them.

+ +

When he started forward, Kerry realised what he was about to attempt and tried to hold him back. Jack twisted out of his grip and ran. He leapt over mounds of fallen stone, dodging tumbling rocks, his eyes fixed on the demonic face.

+ +

The sword flashed as he thrust upwards and stabbed with all his strength. The blade went through the black cloak, up under the ribs until its bloodied point came through the shoulder of Bodron’s raised arm. The demon’s claw hand jerked open and the black staff fell to the ground.

+ +

The burning eyes widened in shock and surprise. They turned away from Megrin swung down to where Jack stood, both hands on the sword’s hilt. They fixed on him with such malevolence and hatred that Jack felt it shudder through him.

+ +

He shrank back from the power of Bodron’s fury and the blade pulled free.

+ +

Megrin’s staff flared and as the others watched, its light spun around Bodron as he tottered backwards. Around him, a dark aura began to form, oozing from his eyes and mouth, and as it intensified, so he shrank. As the aura writhed and swelled, Bodron’s form withered and crumpled.

+ +

The shadowed shape oozing from Bodron’s withered body was being sucked towards the dark pit and Bodron sagged to the ground.

+ +

All the life-force was draining out of him, his hands little more than papery skin and bones. His cowl slipped back and Jack was close enough to see a wizened face with sparse white hair and eyes sunk deep into hollows.

+ +

He turned his head to look beyond Jack and those eyes found Rionna. There was no recognition in them. There was nothing left of the man who had once been her father.

+ +

The ground lurched again and the darkness from the pit expanded outwards to swallow Bodron completely. As Jack ran back to the others as the ground began to sink under him and suddenly there was nothing solid under their feet.

+ +

Megrin cried a warning. Jack tried to stab the sword into the ground to stop them from slipping, but Kerry slid into him, dragging Rionna with him. Corriwen lost her footing and they all began to slide towards the yawning crater. Jack snatched desperately for Corriwen’s hand.

+ +

Megrin was too far away to help. She saw the darkness expand and consume them. In one last desperate act she threw her staff with all her strength. It soared up and then plummeted into the centre of the black maelstrom into which her young friends had disappeared.

+ +

There was a blinding flash and the rock walls all around disintegrated and turned to dust. To Megrin’s amazement, the black hole began to close. In an instant it shrank to a single point, then it shut completely. All noise died.

+ +

Megrin found herself standing alone on a barren moorland in the far west of Uaine. Above her, the sky was clear and blue and the sun shone bright and warm.

+ +

There was no sign of Jack Flint, Kerry Malone or Corriwen Redthorn, or of her niece, Bodron’s daughter Rionna.

+ + + +

+CHAPTER 26

+ + +

To Jack it seemed as if they fell forever.

+ +

They all fell together. If they screamed, none heard it as they were rolled dizzily inside a dark tornado.

+ +

Jack’s last memory was a wide circle of light that raced away from him at astonishing speed until it was just a dot which vanished in an instant and then there was nothing to see.

+ +

Faster and faster they spun, clinging desperately to one another, down and down and down. The darkness was heavy, so heavy that it pressed down on them. The air grew thick so that it was almost impossible to breathe. Jack felt his consciousness fade.

+ +

Some time later, maybe a long time later, he awoke, still holding Corriwen’s hand, still falling, but now they were descending fast on a steep slope as smooth as glass. It took Jack a little while to realise that he was awake, and not in the middle of some nightmare, and when he realised that they were sliding, he tried to dig his heels in to slow his momentum.

+ +

Nothing happened. He stabbed down with the sword-blade, holding it like an ice-axe. Its point sent out a blaze of sparks as it cut a furrow in the surface, slowing them just a little.

+ +

As they slid further the glassy surface became grainy, like fine sand. Jack forced the blade in harder and gradually their speed diminished as the slope began to level out.

+ +

Eventually they ground to a halt, surrounded by the dust kicked up by their passage. Here, everything was silent. Some distance away, in the direction they had been travelling, Jack could make out a deep, ominous red glow. It was the only light he could see.

+ +

Gingerly, he got to his feet and sheathed the sword. He helped Corriwen up, feeling as if his whole body was covered in bruises. Kerry rolled over and he and Rionna managed to stand. Every footstep sent up a cloud of fine dust that smelt of old cinders.

+ +

“What happened?†Kerry asked groggily.

+ +

“The ground opened,†Corriwen said. “It sucked us down.â€

+ +

“All I remember is Jack up on the stone, and everything flashing around him.â€

+ +

“The Copperplates,†Rionna said. Jack nodded.

+ +

“They came for me and the Book swallowed them. I don’t know how.â€

+ +

“And you killed that…that demon,†Rionna said.

+ +

“I don’t know if you can kill something like that,†Jack said. “But I had to do something. I think I just distracted it, and Megrin did the rest.â€

+ +

Corriwen touched him on the shoulder. “But you faced it, Jack. I saw you. You were the Journeyman for certain.â€

+

+

Before Jack could respond, Kerry piped up. “I’m not even going to ask where we are, but I don’t like it already. It stinks.â€

+ +

“At least we’re alive,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“Don’t be so sure,†Kerry mumbled, breaking into a fit of coughing as the dust rasped his throat.

+ +

“We fell a long way into the pit,†Rionna said. “This must be the nether-lands, the realm of the night-shades. I read my father’s old scripts. This seems to fit.â€

+ +

“I think Bodron used the Copperplates to open the Dark Way. Megrin says its like a wormhole between here and Uaine. The Book stopped them.†He patted the satchel. “It’s got power of its own.â€

+ +

“So can it get us out of here?â€

+ +

“I don’t know,†Jack said honestly. He believed Rionna’s explanation, but he still wasn’t sure of exactly where they were. In his heart he was sure he had led them to the end of the road, and the end of his quest. Bodron had already told him he had destroyed his father. Now, thanks to him they were all at the bottom of a fathomless pit.

+ +

It had all been for nothing. That realisation settled on him like a dead weight.

+ +

“Brilliant,†Kerry said with weary sarcasm. He began to lead the way down the slope, slip-sliding over shards of what looked like fire-blackened pottery, until they got near the base where the red glow was brighter.

+ +

“Aw jeez!â€

+ +

Kerry picked up something, held it up, and Jack realised that they had been sliding down neither shale nor pottery shards. In his hand Kerry held a skull fragment, the forehead and two empty sockets. They were at the bottom of a vast hill of crushed and broken bones.

+ +

Jack shuddered. There was no way any of them wanted to climb back up that slope. He was about to lead them forward towards the red glow when a high-pitched noise from far above stopped him in his tracks. They all looked up into the darkness. The sound grew louder and higher, like a siren. Something sparked brightly as it fell towards them. Jack pulled Corriwen aside. Kerry snatched at Rionna, but she held her ground as the mysterious light plunged towards her.

+ +

At the last second she raised both hands and caught Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Faint blue fire still rippled along its length. Its light reflected in her wide eyes.

+ +

Corriwen said. “She must have dropped it.â€

+ +

“Maybe she closed the gate with it,†Rionna said. She planted the staff between her feet. “Perhaps the sun now shines in Uaine.â€

+ +

“That’s all very well,†Kerry snorted. “But it sure isn’t shining down here.â€

+ +

Jack said nothing. He was thinking now. The Major had told him – and it seemed like years ago now – that there were no such things as coincidences, not in serious matters anyway. All of the wise folk they had met on their adventures had agreed on that.

+ +

The fact that he carried the Heartstone and the Book of Ways had proved not to be a coincidence. The heart had saved him many times on Temair and Eirinn. The Book of Ways had always led them true…and now it had consumed the Copperplates to stem their power. He and Kerry had met Corriwen Redthorn and together they had won through in Temair and in Eirinn. Now they had met Rionna, Bodron’s daughter, who had brought Kerry to save them from the nightmare illusion in Megrin’s cottage.

+ +

Jack’s eyes were fixed on Megrin’s staff, which Rionna held in both hands. Now they had the staff, and whatever power it might have left in it.

+ +

It couldn’t be a coincidence. There must, he told himself, be a purpose.

+ +

And if there was a purpose, then there was hope. Maybe there was a way out of this.

+

Maybe…..

+ +

***

+

Behind them, a vast mound of broken bones. Ahead, the eerie glow and forward was the only direction they could take. The nearer they got to it, the thicker the fumes and the hotter it became.

+ +

As they came to the edge of a red pit, Jack realised there was nowhere to go and his heart sank. It was vast, a great hole from which smoke belched and fires far below glowed like lava.

+ +

“This is it,†Kerry said, looking down at the fiery pit. “Dead end.â€

+ +

“There must be a way out,†Corriwen said, but her voice was far from certain. She looked at Jack for confirmation.

+ +

Jack drew the Book of Ways from his bag. He laid it flat on the ground and watched as it flipped open. The pages whirred and then stopped. As he had on the table-stone he caught a glint of coppery gold and then the page turned white again.

+ +

The old script began to write itself.

+ +

Far from all the worlds of man

+

Journeyman must venture on

+

Brave the fire in circles steep

+

Brave the dark in cavern deep

+

Two deadly trials must you face

+

Until you find the final place

+

To meet the doom so long foretold

+

Yet traveller must now be bold

+

Whence none returned to tell the tale

+

With heartstone, book and staff prevail.

+

+

Kerry, Corriwen and Rionna all looked at him, waiting for his reaction. Jack rubbed his chin, thinking. The book had confirmed one thing: Megrin’s staff was here for a purpose. As he had thought, there were no coincidences.

+ +

“I don’t like the none-returned part,†Kerry said.

+ +

“None returned so far,†Corriwen countered, with more confidence than she felt. “We’ve won through until now, haven’t we?â€

+ +

“Well, I can’t see a way out of here.â€

+ +

Jack wasn’t listening. The words were running through his head. It had told them to venture on, which meant they couldn’t go back. But the last line kept repeating itself, like a mantra.

+ +

With heartstone, book and staff prevail.

+

+

There must be hope, he told himself. There must. Jack edged towards the rim of the fiery pit, holding his arm against his face to ward off the heat. He looked down.

+ +

Circles down.

+ +

He had to rub his eyes several times before he finally saw it. A narrow trackway made its way down in a spiral. It was little more than a ledge, but it followed the sides of the pit in a corkscrew shape into the depths. And just where it began to disappear into the fumes, Jack saw what he was looking for. A dark shape in the blasted stone. A hole in the rock. A cave. An exit?

+ +

He beckoned to Kerry. Corriwen and Rionna followed and Jack showed them the ledge and the hole in the cauldron wall.

+ +

“It’s a chance,†he said. “I don’t know how good, but it’s a chance. And I believe the book.â€

+ +

“Me too,†Kerry said. “But one slip and we’re toast.â€

+ +

“Just don’t slip,†Corriwen warned him. “Or I’ll not be pleased!â€

+ +

“That’s all the warning I need, kid,†Kerry grinned. “I’d rather face fire.â€

+ +

“Get serious,†Jack said. “That’s just what we have to do. And be careful.â€

+ +

They picked up their gear and Jack led the descent, followed the rim until they reached the narrow path. They made their way down, pressing themselves against the rock, both for safety and to shield themselves a little from the searing updraught of heat.

+ +

The distance was further than it had appeared from above. It took more than an hour of slow progress to get down to the level of the fissure.

+

***

+

It was no natural cavern, they soon discovered. Two ancient pillars marked an entrance, or an exit. Once inside, the four of them walked until they were far enough from the direct heat to begin to cool a little. Corriwen heard the splash of water and followed the sound until she found a small pool.

+ +

All four of them got down on their knees and drank until they could drink no more. Kerry ducked his head right under until he needed to breathe and came up spluttering.

+ +

“I never tasted water as good as that in my whole life,†he declared. “Even in Rionna’s world.â€

+ +

He was getting to his feet, when a voice boomed out without warning:

+ +

“Who dares trespass?â€

+

+

Kerry got such a fright, he jerked back, missed his footing and fell on his backside in the middle of the pool.

+ + +

+CHAPTER 27

+ + + +

Jack could hear it breathing, rough and ragged as old leaking bellows, and wondered why none of them had noticed it before. A shape loomed some distance ahead of them.

+ +

“Answer!â€

+ +

“We’re just passing through,†Kerry said nervously.

+ +

“None traverse this low road.†The voice echoed from wall to wall. “Save those who answer true.â€

+ +

Jack edged forward. Corriwen was at his side. Rionna held the staff up. It gave off a faint blue illumination, just enough to make out the shape in front of them twice as tall as a man, but squat and rough, as though it might have been made of stone itself. Two great horns twisted over its hooded eyes.

+ +

“Who are you?†Jack asked. He stood at the edge of what seemed like another pit which yawned between them and the massive presence.

+ +

“I am the Crom Cruach. It is my doom to guard the low road. I judge who passes by, and who stays.â€

+ +

“We can’t stay,†Kerry piped up, shaking water from his boot. “We’re on a mission.â€

+ +

“You are at the end of your journey, or the beginning. Answer me thrice and you may pass. Fail and you remain forever with the lost.â€

+ +

With that, a grinding rumble filled the air. They all turned in alarm.

+ +

The two pillars at the mouth of the cavern moved slowly towards each other. Jack saw they were not pillars, but the edges of two massive doors.

+ +

“Wait!â€

+ +

“I wait for no mortal.â€

+ +

“But you haven’t asked the questions.â€

+ +

“Ah, the impetuosity of man. I had….forgotten the haste of mortals.â€

+ +

The creature bent forward and now that his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, Jack saw that it was not squatting as he had thought, but sitting hard against the cave wall. Both of its colossal arms were manacled to three heavy chains. Its moss-covered legs were pinioned to the rock floor by bands of stone. Whatever the Crom Cruach was, it was a prisoner here.

+ +

“Answer me three riddles, and you may pass. Fail one and your journey ends here.â€

+ +

“Go for it, Jack,†Kerry urged. “You’re the brains.â€

+ +

A long silence followed, broken only by the ragged breathing of the Crom Cruach. Its head sunk to its chest, as if the horns were too heavy to carry. Then it spoke:

+ +

“I always run, though lie abed.

+

My mouth is furthest from my head

+

The only time you see me still

+

Is in the grip of winter chill.â€

+

+

As soon as the verse ended, the grinding sound started again behind them. Inch by inch, the doors began to crawl towards each other. The grinding sound was like a clock ticking off the seconds. He closed his eyes, repeating the rhyme to himself over and over again. The heartstone pulsed warm in his grip.

+ +

When he opened his eyes, Kerry was looking at him with urgent expectancy.

+ +

Jack smiled confidently. “You’re a river. Always flowing. Under ice in winter. And the river mouth is at the sea, far from the headwaters.â€

+ +

The grinding of the doors stopped. Kerry wiped sweat from his forehead.

+ +

The creature flexed huge muscles and heaved on the chain. They all looked and saw, rising up from the depths, a single black pillar a yard wide. It reached the height of the rim and stopped.

+ +

“It’s a stepping stone,†Corriwen said.

+ +

“Only one,†Kerry observed. “We need more than that.â€

+ +

“We all have to think,†Jack said, “and think hard. Don’t just leave it up to me, because I could be wrong. And if I am, then we’ll be stuck here. We have to get them right, every one, because that door will close anyway.â€

+ +

The guardian leant back against the wall, lowered its great head yet again. Its voice boomed out once more:

+ +

In poor man’s green and drab I flee

+

To travel wide the distant sea

+

And after many season turns

+

In silver mail a king returns.

+

+

The doors began to grind together. Jack gripped the heartstone, willing images to come. All he could see was Kerry, lying on his front beside the stream waiting for a fish to swim close. Nothing else would come. He tried to concentrate, read something into the mental picture.

+ +

Behind them the doors rumbled. Corriwen put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, but despite it, Jack could find no solution.

+ +

“Easy peasy,†Kerry snorted. “Even I know that one.â€

+ +

“Well, be quick,†Corriwen ordered.

+ +

“I’m a fisherman, and you’re a salmon, aren’t you? You start out a little green parr and go off to sea, and come back a big silver king of the river and just ready for the pot.â€

+ +

The doors halted again. The guardian began to haul on the second chain and inch by inch, the second pillar rose up from the darkness and locked into place. Between them, the darkness seemed to descend forever.

+ +

Kerry punched the air, grinning from ear to ear. Rionna grabbed his hand and held it tight.

+ +

“Not such a darn fool after all, eh?â€

+ +

Jack checked the doors. They were a mere yard apart. This time they would meet each other and close the cave-mouth completely. Now everything depended on the final question.

+ +

It came before he was ready for it.

+ + +

If you give me, give me free

+

Yet in giving, still keep me

+

Trade me not for fame or token

+

Be unworthy if I’m broken.

+ +

“Jeez,†Kerry breathed. “That’s a tough one.â€

+ +

Jack pressed the heartstone to his forehead eyes closed in concentration. The seconds ticked away.;

+ +

“Come on, Jack,†Kerry whispered. “You can do it.â€

+ +

The only image that came was of Corriwen high in the cage of Wolfen Castle in Eirinn, when she had stood up for the boy who was her fellow captive. But what that meant, he couldn’t imagine. Nothing else would come.

+ +

Behind them, the doors crashed together. This was it. They were trapped. And Jack could not think of the answer to this riddle.

+ +

Corriwen touched him on the shoulder.

+ +

“I learned at my father’s knee,†she said. “For he and my brother were men of honour and taught me well.â€

+ +

“Taught you what?†Kerry asked.

+ +

“That to be a Redthorn is to be always true. True to your heart and true to your word.â€

+ +

She turned to the creature on the far side of the chasm.

+ +

“You are a promise,†she called in a clear voice. “A promise freely given and always kept. A promise never to be broken.

+ +

For a long moment, the only sound was the rumbling breath in the shadows. Then they saw the great arms reach again and the chain groaned under tension, link by link. A third pillar rose up from the depth of the pit.

+ +

“What a babe!†Kerry grinned from ear to ear. He got one arm around Corriwen’s neck and hugged her tight.

+ +

“No time for that,†Jack told him. They couldn’t go back. They had only one choice. “Come on!â€

+ +

Without a pause, he leaped onto the first pillar, trusting his own speed and balance, and made it to the far side of the chasm. Corriwen followed, light as a cat. Kerry took Rionna’s hand and together they used the pillars as stepping stones.

+ +

The horned creature sat still, breathing raggedly. Up close, they could see it had a broad and bestial face. Its hands were huge and horny, but its great feet bore cloven hooves. There was a gap between it and the wall, leading to a narrow passage. It was the only way past.

+ +

“May we pass?†Jack thought he’d better ask.

+ +

“You answered,†it rumbled.

+ +

“Where does this lead to?â€

+ +

“Your doom, child. Doom for every mortal.†It sounded as old as time and very, very weary.

+ +

They began to skirt past it, wary of those powerful hands that might reach out and smash them flat. But it didn’t even move. Behind them, the three pillars slowly sunk down out of sight and the chains rattled up again.

+ +

Kerry led the way to the passage, but Rionna paused beside the guardian. Two red eyes regarded her from a hideously wrinkled face.

+ +

“You are trapped here. How long?â€

+ +

“So long, I have no memory of it.â€

+ +

“Can’t you break free?â€

+ +

“If I could, I would. I long for movement.â€

+ +

She turned to Jack. “No creature should be chained.â€

+ +

Jack looked at the clamps that pinned its legs to the floor. They were old and eroded, but still solid.

+ +

“If I help you, would you help us?â€

+ +

“Help you? How?â€

+ +

“We face another trial. Do you know what it is?†He drew the great sword. Before the thing could reply, Jack brought the blade down on the centre of the clamps. Sparks flew and the old stone broke into pieces.

+ +

The creature let out a long slow sigh. Its hooves scraped on the stone.

+ +

“So good! So good to move.†It swung its head towards him. “Hear me now. Two brothers guard two doors. One door leads to burning fire. The other lets you pass. You may ask one question.â€

+ +

“What question?â€

+ +

“You decide. But be warned. One tells only the truth. The other only lies.â€

+ +

“Brilliant,†Jack muttered under his breath.

+ +

“And another thing. Find the means to pay your way, or sleep forever.â€

+ +

“That’s it?â€

+ +

“I can say no more.â€

+ +

It stretched its legs out and brought them up again. Its eyes rolled beneath the twisted horns. It sighed again. “So good to move.â€

+ +

Jack and Rionna turned away and left the old monster to what pleasure it could find.

+ +

***

+

The brothers were not at all what Jack expected. As the path descended further into the old rock, he explained to the others what the guardian had said.

+ +

“We have to think carefully. We only get one chance at this.â€

+ +

“Doesn’t sound very fair to me,†Kerry grumbled.

+ +

“This is not a place of fairness,†Rionna said. “We are beyond the good in the under-place.â€

+ +

“Well, the big horny guy at least did us a favour. That has to count for something.â€

+ +

An hour later, they came to a dead end. Two stone doors stood facing each other. On each was carved an identical face, both covered in lichens and cobwebs. As they approached, two pairs of stone eyes slowly opened and regarded them coldly.

+ +

“One lies,†Jack said. “The other tells only the truth.â€

+ +

“So how do we work out the safe door?â€

+ +

“We ask the right question.â€

+ +

“But they will both give the same answer,†Corriwen protested. “If you ask which way is safe, each will claim that it is their door.â€

+ +

“That’s the test,†Jack said, gloomily. He had been thinking about this as they walked, and had so far failed to come up with an answer. “It’s just another riddle.â€

+ +

“One lies and the other speaks true,†Rionna said, almost whispering. “But that is their weakness too.â€

+ +

“How so?â€

+ +

“Each knows what the other will say, whether true or false. And therefore each will give the same answer to only one question. And that answer will be wrong.

+ +

She planted Megrin’s staff down between her toes and faced the left-hand door. When she spoke, her voice was clear and sure.

+ +

“If I ask your brother which door leads to fire, what would he say?â€

+ +

The stone eyes looked at her. The features began to twist and writhe with a rough, grinding sound. The mouth opened slowly and a gravelly voice replied.

+ +

“He would say my door way leads there-to.â€

+ +

“Then we choose your door too,†Rionna said before anyone could stop her. Kerry's breath drew in sharply.

+ +

For a long moment there was silence, then, a puff of dust trickled out from a crack in the wall which gradually widened as they watched.

+ +

The door opened and a chilling blast of air almost took their breath away.

+ +

“No flames,†Kerry said, letting his breath out slowly. “But I still don’t get it. How did you know?â€

+ +

“The answer would be the same,†Rionna said. “No matter which brother you ask. The liar will lie, but the answer would still be the same.â€

+ +

“It’s going to take me forever to work that one out,†Kerry admitted.

+ +

Together they walked through the portal. It swung shut behind them with a heavy, final thud.

+ +

And they found themselves standing on the bank of a bleak, dark river.

+ +

+CHAPTER 28

+ +

+

In front of them, fathomless water flowed fast. How wide this river was, they couldn’t tell. They huddled on a narrow embankment facing the water, the only small piece of flat ground with their backs pressed against the cliff.

+ +

“So where do we go from here?†Kerry turned to face the wall. The door had closed seamlessly. There was no line or crack to show that it had ever opened.

+ +

Jack edged towards the flow full of doubt again. They were trapped once more, unless they chanced the fast current and that was impossible. Kerry couldn’t swim. He didn’t know about Rionna, and even so, the current was too strong.

+ +

A movement below the surface caught his eye. Corriwen got to her knees and peered down. Jack saw her shoulders stiffen and she backed away. They all looked into the depths and saw pallid faces swaying slowly in the current.

+ +

They were crowded together, row upon row. Their eyes were closed and long hair and ragged clothing waved like river weed.

+ +

“I don’t know,†Jack sighed wearily. The prospect of swimming the dark river was scary enough, but the idea of getting into the water with those multitudes of senseless pale things, well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

+ +

“Wait,†Rionna said. “Something comes. I hear it.â€

+ +

Jack strained to listen. The river murmured as it rippled past, like muffled voices. He cupped a hand to his ear.

+ +

Then he heard a different noise, something he thought he recognised. It was the faint sound of water lapping against a surface. It was just the kind of sound he’d heard at the harbour back home when a breeze drove waves against moored boats.

+ +

Now he peered out and a shape began to materialise, approaching through the low mist.

+ +

For an instant, he thought it was a man walking on water, tall and thin. The figure glided slowly and steadily. They watched apprehensively as it came closer.

+ +

“It’s a woman,†Corriwen whispered.

+ +

And it was. She stood very straight, floating serenely through the fog, as pallid as the things under the water. Her hair was white, skin like marble and lips deathly pale. Her fingers were long, almost fleshless. Her eyes had no colour at all as they gazed down at them expressionlessly.

+ +

As she came nearer, Jack saw that she stood in the stern of a flat boat. In her hands she held a long paddle as a rudder. The boat arrowed across the river, against the current, though it had neither oars nor sail.

+ +

Jack took a brave step forward.

+ +

“Can you take us across the river?â€

+ +

She turned her eyes on him, seeming to look through him. Jack wasn’t sure if she’d heard him. Up close, she appeared insubstantial, as if she was made from the fog itself. When she spoke, her voice was barely more than a whisper.

+ +

“Pay the passage. None cross without payment. Those who stay sleep forever in the depths.â€

+ +

Jack recalled what the horned guardian had said in the cavern. Find the means to pay your way, or sleep forever.

+ +

“I can pay,†he said, delving into the pocket. He drew out a gold coin that Rune the Cluricaun had given him in Eirinn. The five stars of the Corona constellation gleamed on its polished surface, the sign of the Sky Queen.

+ +

She bent over him, empty eyes fixed on the coin.

+ +

“Her coin has no value here,†she whispered, her voice hollow. “And one would not pay passage for four.â€

+ +

“You could give us children’s rates,†Kerry said. “How about half-fare?â€

+ +

The ferrywoman closed her eyes and the boat moved away from the bank.

+ +

“Wait,†Corriwen cried. “I have coin!â€

+ +

She slung her pack from her shoulder delved inside and drew out a leather purse.

+ +

“When we escaped Dermott's men, we took weapons and horses…and their money.â€

+ +

She rummaged, feeling with her fingers then drew them out. “We spent some on bread. But maybe there is enough.â€

+ +

Four small coins lay on her palm. They were chipped and worn with age, but they were silver, which was plain to see. Jack hoped the woman would accept the money.

+ +

The ferrywoman held out a slender hand. Corriwen dropped the coins into it. They made no sound at all. Her fingers closed and when they opened again, the four coins had vanished.

+ +

“Passage paid,†the woman whispered. “Embark.â€

+ +

They filed aboard. Almost immediately, the boat turned away and they were cutting across the current. The little bank behind them faded into the mist. Under the surface of the water, the ghostly beings swayed dreamily. Kerry couldn’t draw his eyes away from them and his knuckles were white on the gunwale.

+ +

Jack couldn’t tell how far they travelled in silence, huddled together for warmth and comfort. At some point, he knew he must have dozed, for he started awake when the low prow nudged a shallow bank. He was stiff and weary.

+ +

They had reached the far side of the river. He helped Corriwen and Rionna out onto the bank. Kerry followed with their packs and dumped them at their feet. He turned and saw the boat and the ferrywoman already turning from the bank.

+ +

“Creepy old lady,†Kerry said.

+ +

Overhead, the sky was now an unearthly red and the landscape brown and parched. It stretched into the far distance. As far as Jack could see, nothing living grew here.

+ +

They stood together, looking at miles of scorched earth, littered with craters and bare rocks which jutted up like stumps of old teeth.

+ +

“Any idea where we are?†Kerry asked, not expecting an answer.

+ +

Jack scanned the barren lands and all he saw was desolation. He wondered if his father had made the journey to this awful place before them.

+ +

Could he have survived here for so long?

+ +

As soon as that thought struck him, Jack wondered in the four of them could survive here at all. They had made it thus far, survived everything that the nightshades and Bodron’s spellbinding could throw at them. Yet this lifeless place looked as if it could swallow them up and leave no trace. He closed his eyes, weary and beset by doubt. Kerry and Corriwen would look to him for guidance and he could think of nothing except finding a way home, if there was a way home.

+ +

Corriwen touched him on the shoulder and he turned to her.

+ +

“I can see something up ahead,†she said, pointing. Jack stood close to follow her direction. Far out, where the seared land met the red sky, there was a faint smudge of darkness. It could have been a hill, or a storm or a cloud, but there was nothing to gauge distance by.

+ +

Kerry bent down to open his pack. He pulled out his water canteen and took a sip, then passed it around and they all drank gratefully.

+ +

He began to lay out his weapons: the short sword, the old sling the Major had given him, and the bolas with its three weights that Connor had shown him how to use. Corriwen sat beside him and stropped her blades on her leather belt.

+ +

“I think we’ve run out of luck,†Kerry said flatly. “The Book said there was no way home.â€

+ +

Corriwen interjected: “Maybe it’s wrong this time.â€

+ +

“Maybe your father was here,†Kerry said softly. “And maybe he just didn’t …..â€

+ +

Kerry didn’t say the word, but everybody knew what he meant.

+ +

The heartstone pulsed very gently. Jack’s fingers closed around it and its slow beat somehow ignited a spark of hope within him. The Journeyman’s stone still had some power here, maybe something to tell him. Jack suddenly thought that if he truly believed his father was dead, then this had all been for nothing, all the dangers and all the fear. He did not want to think he had led his friends through all that for no reason.

+ +

And he did not really want to consider the possibility that after battling through Temair and Eirinn and now Uaine, that there hadn’t been a real purpose in all their travels.

+ +

Hadn’t the Sky Queen had spoken to him on Tara Hill? She had told him to find the gateway into summer and he had done so, to find himself in Uaine.

+ +

Everything they had done, every turn, every battle, had led them here.

+ +

There are no coincidences, he told himself. No coincidences.

+ +

There must be a purpose, he told himself. If his father had found his way to this dreadful place, then Jack Flint would find him. And then, no matter what it took, he would help his friends find a way to get home.

+ +

Jack took out the Book of Ways and laid it on a dry flat stone. They watched as it opened its pages and flicked through almost to the very end. Jack thought for a second it would just snap shut, but it stopped at the final page.

+ +

An omen, he thought. We are near the end.

+ +

When the words finally appeared, they were red as the sky, red as blood.

+ +

For Journeyman the End of Ways

+

To stand at brink of the End of Days

+

The foulest foe lies here await

+

And traveller meets final fate

+

In darkest place, whence none return

+

Yet one is four and four is one

+

Light and life may still be won

+ +

Heart and soul may ever quail

+

Four as one may yet prevail

+

Prepare to meet the evil bane

+

That dwells on terror, fear and pain

+

Hold hard to faith in mortal fight

+

As dark prepares to smother light

+

And plunge all worlds to deepest night.

+ + +

“Well, there’s no mistaking that,†Kerry said, running a finger up his sword-blade. “And I get the four-is-one bit. One for all and each for everybody else, right?â€

+ +

“It’s ever thus,†Corriwen solemnly agreed.

+ +

“At least it says there’s a chance,†Jack said. That flicker of hope flared brighter. “Light and life may still be won.â€

+ +

“Except for the evil bane part,†Kerry said. He looked at the short-sword. “I wish we had something better. Like a tommy-gun or a tank. Or one of those apache heli-choppers from the movies.â€

+ +

Rionna and Corriwen looked at him blankly. Jack forced a wry grin. He patted the hilt of the broadsword.

+ +

“We’ll have to make do with what we’ve got,†he said. “Come on, let’s go.â€

+ + +

CHAPTER 26

+ + +

A desert wind scoured them with millions of sharp grains and dust-devils spun towards them in squadrons of small tornadoes, ripping at their skin, shrieking like demons as they passed. Jack led them on, trudging mile after mile until they reached a tall rock outcrop.

+ +

Corriwen walked round the rock. It was taller than they were, and worn from years of wind-blown sand. On its lee side, old lichens formed a thin dry skin.

+ +

“This looks like a statue,†she observed.

+ +

It did look like an old statue. Like a kneeling man, head bowed. But it was so worn there were no features, just a vague shape.

+ +

“It’s just shape cut by the wind,†Jack said. “It’ll wear it away to nothing eventually.â€

+ +

A few hundred yards further, another stone stood out on the sand.

+ +

“That’s definitely a statue,†Kerry said, pointing up at it. “Look, you can make out the eyes and nose.â€

+ +

It towered over them, broad and solid. It was clearly the carved figure of a man, standing with feet apart and arms by his sides. His face was tilted upwards and the mouth opened in an eternal, silent cry.

+ +

“Who’d put statues out here?†Kerry asked. “That guy looks as if he’s been blasted between the eyes.â€

+ +

It was worn and cracked, corroded by the wind, but unmistakeably a human. The figure looked as if he was in perpetual agony. Jack was glad when it was behind them and they walked wards, guided by the steady beat of the heartstone. The further they walked, the stronger came a smell of burning and hot stone, and with each step, Jack felt a sense of oppression settle heavier on him.

+ +

Beyond the sand, the ground became bare rock, riven with cracks. Tremors shuddered under their feet and pieces of stone shaled off to fall in noisy avalanches. Misshapen creatures clambered in and out of the fissures and gaped hungrily at them, but came no closer.

+ +

When they reached another statue, exhausted and footsore. Kerry fetched the canteen and they all drank gratefully. This figure was less eroded than the last, as if it had been carved more recently. The man was down on one knee, head bowed, resting his weight on a wide-bladed sword. He looked every inch the warrior. But for the worn stony surface, he looked as if he might wake, get to his feet and do battle.

+ +

“Looks like a tough guy,†Kerry said.

+ +

“He reminds me of my brother,†Corriwen said. “He was a fine warrior.â€

+ +

Kerry screwed the lid back on the canteen. “That’s the water half-done. We won’t get much further.â€

+ +

Jack looked ahead. The dark smudge on the horizon was noticeably closer, but in the hot, dry air, its shape wavered like a mirage and he couldn’t tell whether it was a hill or a distant mountain. As they got closer it began to look ominously like the Black Tomb in Temair where Mandrake raised the Morrigan and her terrible power from eons of sleep.

+ +

Corriwen shaded her eyes and stared at it sombrely, lips compressed. Jack understood how she felt. Neither she nor Kerry nor himself would ever forget the nightmare time they’d spent within the Morrigan’s lair. He put his arm around her shoulder and drew her attention. Corriwen tried to smile, but there was nothing much to smile about.

+ +

Another, final statue stood out like a sentinel. When they reached it, they stopped and looked up at the tall figure. This last one could have been carved only yesterday. Every detail of the man was etched with such craftsmanship that even the weave of his cloak and tunic were clear to see. He stood with one hand held high. In the other he grasped a long, jagged spear.

+ +

Jack looked at the statue’s face, strong and handsome, with a short beard and hair held back by a braided band. Its stone eyes stared ahead blindly. He looked at the spear and his heart did a double-thump.

+ +

Hedda, the Scatha warrior woman of Eirinn had wielded a great spear she called the Gae-bolg, a deadly weapon with great barbs raking forward like thorns. This was an exact replica. He stepped nearer, marvelling at the similarity.

+ +

“It’s Hedda’s spear,†Kerry said. “Exactly the same, even down to the spikes.â€

+ +

“It’s an awful weapon,†Rionna said. She reached out to touch it and as she did, Megrin’s staff flared with electric blue light. Jack felt the heartstone vibrate and the great sword trembled in his hand. He moved to pull Rionna back, but she turned unexpectedly and his fingers touched the stone hand that wielded the spear.

+ +

The heartstone flashed. A spark leapt between his fingers and the statue’s hand. It seared through every nerve of his body. White light exploded behind his eyes and all sound and vision faded.

+ +

Jack staggered backwards, buckling at the knees. Kerry caught him before he fell.

+ +

“Jeez, Jack, what happened?â€

+ +

The ground shuddered. Out on the plain, thin cracks opened in crazy zig-zags. In the far distance, thunder rolled across the sky and lightning forked upwards.

+ +

As Jack’s vision began to clear, Kerry was yelling something in his ear. For a few moments he didn’t know where he was. The heartstone was vibrating, thrumming hard. The great sword felt as if it was trying to leap out of the scabbard.

+ +

A harsh crack, like a gunshot, rang out and Corriwen let out a cry. Jack felt Kerry haul him backwards.

+ +

“It’s going to fall,†he bawled, pointing at the statue.

+ +

Another crack rent the air, and another, and then a whole fusillade of them.

+ +

“Watch out!†Corriwen grabbed the back of his tunic and she and Kerry dragged Jack back.

+ +

“What’s happening?â€

+ +

There was a pop in his ears and sound came back with great clarity.

+ +

And then the statue moved.

+ +

The raised arm flexed. Pieces of stone broke off. The mouth opened in a snarl. The spear swung forward. Shards flew off in all directions.

+ +

The man-shape took a step forward. It swayed and shook its head. Then the grey stone began to change colour in a terrifying transformation.

+ +

Jack saw the weave of the cloak fold and sway, turning from solid stone to a green fabric. The grey hand opened and closed and became flesh-coloured.

+ +

“It’s alive,†Rionna cried. The blue light was flickering up and down the length of Megrin’s staff. At the sound of her voice, the living statue turned towards her. Its beard was now jet black and the hair dark and streaked with grey. But the eyes, though they were wide open, remained the colour of polished stone.

+ +

The statue let out a low cry and swung the spear towards them. Jack swept Rionna out of the path of the savage point.

+ +

The figure spun again, stabbing blindly and the spear-point slashed through the hood of Kerry's tunic as if it were paper. Kerry yelped, dodged away, fell over his back-pack and sprawled on the stony ground.

+ +

Jack dashed forward and slammed the spear down with the sword. Another jolt of power sizzled up the blade and into his arm with such a shock he almost dropped it. The blind fighter stalled. Kerry found his feet, the bolas in his hand, the three stones whirling on their strings. He threw it and the weights wrapped the strings round their opponents legs.

+ +

The moving statue bellowed again, a great cry echoing over the barren plain, as it tried to take a step and fell headlong with an almighty crash. But still it managed to kick out, almost catching Corriwen on the side of the head, and quickly freed its legs from the entanglement. It was back on its feet in a flash.

+ +

“To hell with this,†Kerry bawled. “It can’t even see us.â€

+ +

With that, he bent scooped up a stone, slotted it into his sling and let fly. The rock caught the man on the back of the head. He went down on one knee, shook his head violently. Jack saw two small objects spin away.

+ +

The statue turned and when he did, his eyes were open and they were piercing blue. The eyes found his and locked on. A line of blood trickled down the man’s cheek.

+ +

“Who are you?†he asked, in a Scottish accent almost exactly like the Major’s. “And what in all the worlds are you doing with my sword?â€

+ + +

+CHAPTER 27

+ + +

“What do you mean your sword?†Kerry had another rock in the sling, ready to launch.

+ +

“It’s my sword,†Jack asserted. The mysterious shock of power still tingled up and down his arm. The warrior was tall and broad-shouldered, arms taut with muscle, and scarred from many a fight. There was something strangely familiar about him.

+ +

The man’s blue eyes held him fast.

+ +

“You stole it, lad. How you did it and how you came to be in this place, I don’t know. But I’ll have it back now.â€

+ +

“Yeah, right,†Kerry sneered. “It’s four to one, and we’ve beaten worse than you. Many a time.â€

+ +

“I must be dreaming this,†the big man said. “Illusions, have to be.â€

+ +

His free hand went to his forehead and he swayed a little. “You’re imps. Changelings.â€

+ +

“We’re not,†Jack countered. Corriwen had moved to the side in a flanking motion. Kerry's sword was at the ready. “We’re real. But I’m not sure you are.â€

+ +

“Your speech is familiar. Where are you from and how did you get here?â€

+ +

“We’re from very far away,†Kerry butted in. “And we’re on a mission. So just let us pass and we’ll be on our way.â€

+ +

The man’s eyes flicked from Kerry to Corriwen and back to Jack.

+ +

“That is my sword. There’s only one other like it.â€

+ +

“We know that,†Corriwen said. “The other one’s mine.â€

+ +

The man kept staring, measuring Jack with his eyes. Then he saw the amberhorn bow slung on Jack’s shoulder.

+ +

“And where did you get that bow? It’s not the work of anyone in Uaine.â€

+ +

He looked at Rionna. “And you, girl. I’ve seen that staff before. It belongs to a friend of mine. How did you come by it?â€

+ +

Jack held a hand up, playing for time. Sudden, unexpected emotions were churning inside him. “Hold on. One minute ago you were a statue and now you’re asking all the questions.â€

+ +

The man froze. His blue eyes were fixed below Jack’s chin. The spear-point was suddenly at Jack’s throat where his tunic opened. Jack hadn’t even seen it move.

+ +

The man’s face was slack with shock or surprise. He looked as if he’d been kicked,

+ +

“The stone. On the chain. How did you come by it?â€

+ +

He jabbed the spear and Jack could feel the sharp point digging into his skin.

+ +

“Just who are you? What are you?â€

+ +

“My name is Jack Flint.â€

+ +

“And he’s the Journeyman,†Kerry added. “Appointed by the Sky Queen to fight her battles, so just you watch out.â€

+ +

The spear dropped to the ground. The man let out a groan and sank to his knees as if all the strength had drained from him. Now his face was a picture of anguish.

+ +

“Jack….Jack…“

+ +

Tears sprung to his blue eyes and spilled freely spilled down the man’s cheeks. In that moment Jack knew. His heart felt as if it was about to burst.

+ +

“Oh…oh my…how many years?“

+ +

“He’s fourteen,†Kerry piped up. “Same as me.â€

+ +

“Fourteen years…Jack…†The man’s voice choked. “You don’t know me. Couldn’t know me.â€

+ +

Corriwen and Kerry gaped in astonishment as realisation dawned on them. Their eyes turned to Jack and they saw his eyes sparkle, his expression rapt.

+ +

“I think I do,†Jack whispered.

+ +

“I am Jonathan Cullian Flint. I put that heartstone around your neck and carried you through the Homeward Gate to safety. It seems only like yesterday.â€

+ +

He closed his eyes. “Fourteen years! Fourteen lost years.â€

+ +

Jack’s tears streamed down his own cheeks. Jonathan Cullian Flint reached out to him and Jack walked into his father’s tight embrace.

+ + +

CHAPTER 28

+ +

Jack could hardly believe that he had found his father. He still hadn’t quite taken in the fact that the statue on the red plain had begun to move, begun to fight and become human. Not just any human, the man he had dreamt of finding for so long. It was all just too much to take in.

+ +

As Jonathan Flint led them to a rocky crevasse, Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off the man he barely knew, but had only dreamt about. Now he was confused and uncertain of what to say, what to ask.

+ +

A thousand questions crowded his mind. Where had he been? Why had he abandoned him in the ring of standing stones as a baby? What had happened to his mother?

+ +

As they climbed down into the fissure. Jonathan Flint moved stiffly, as if he hadn’t used muscles in a long time. Jack took in his tall frame, the scars on his strong arms and the dark hair which fell over the brow, so like his own.

+ +

He had always tried to picture his father, but the image was never distinct. He had no memory of his face, just a hazy recollection of strength and protection. He had never imagined him as a cloaked and armed warrior.

+ +

By the time they reached the shelter, the shock and emotion overwhelmed Jack and he sank down, utterly exhausted. His father leant back against the rock and closed his eyes for a moment. Corriwen, Kerry and Rionna stood uncertainly close by, not wishing to intrude, but after a moment Jonathan Flint opened his eyes again. He took Jack’s hand in his, cupping it tightly as if to re-assure himself that the hand was real, then beckoned the others forward and asked their names.

+ +

“Corriwen Redthorn, Kerrigan Malone, Rionna Willow. I don’t know you, not yet, but I can see you are friends of my son, and my guess is you’ve followed a hard road at his side. For that, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.â€

+ +

He squeezed Jack’s hand again, motioning the others to sit, turned to his son and said: “Forgive me for losing your childhood.â€

+ +

Jack tried to speak, but his father held up his free hand to hush him.

+ +

“But it was a desperate time,†Jack’s father said. “A truly desperate time, and I wanted you to live, no matter the cost.â€

+

***

+

It was supposed to be a peaceful time, Jonathan Flint began. All the worlds were in harmony. At least for a while.

+ +

We came to Uaine because of all the worlds of men, it was the most beautiful. The Copperplate binding spell had brought lasting harmony for generations. We made a home where we could watch the sunrise and sunset and hear the waves on the shore. As beautiful a place as ever there was.

+ +

Just after you were born, Jack, Bodron gathered the Copperplates, Uaine’s talismans. He brought the spells together and found ways to change them, hoping to gain the secrets of their power. Yet power can be used for good or evil, and the greater the power, the greater the evil.

+ +

Bodron corrupted the great spells and he summoned up a Shadowlord. Perhaps he thought his summoning would give him power over it and he could make it his creature. But Bodron was wrong. The Shadowlord had the greater power, Bodron became its puppet, spreading fear and nightmare across this world.

+ +

That was when the Geasan summoned me to ask for my help. But when I was at their council, the nightshades came in their hordes and I discovered the Shadowlord’s true purpose. It wanted the heartstone keys, and sent its nightshades to search for them.

+ +

When I returned home your mother was gone, taken by the Shadowlord’s minions.

+ +

But despite the peril she found herself in, alone with her baby, she had kept you safe. She hid you in a secret place beyond nightshades’ reach.

+ +

It was then that I knew I had to get you, and the heartstone, to safety, because my next quest was to find your mother. If the Shadowlord had her, then it also had the white heartstone, the twin of the one you wear on your neck. With both, its power would be vast, and irresistible and I could not risk that.

+ +

They pursued us all the way to the Homeward Gate, and only luck and the Sky Queen’s protection got me to Cromwath Blackwood. I put the heart around your neck because I knew it would be safe with the Major, at least for a while.

+ +

I promised you I would come back for you. It was the only promise I ever made that I never kept.

+ +

But I promise you this. If she is still alive, I will find your mother and bring her out of this evil place.

+ +

***

+

For a long time there was silence while Jack took in his father’s story. Back in her wildwood, Megrin had mentioned his mother. Since the major could tell him nothing of her, Jack had assumed she had died when he was born.

+ +

Now he had found his father and discovered that he had a mother who might still be alive. It was almost too much to take in at the one time.

+ +

Kerry, Corriwen and Rionna had listened eagerly to the tale. Later, when they had fallen into exhausted asleep, huddled together in the crevice, Jonathan Flint drew Jack closer to share his warmth.

+ +

“The Major never told me anything,†Jack finally said. “He said I had to wait until I was older.â€

+ +

“That’s as it should be,†Jonathan Flint agreed. “The secrets of the worlds and the gateways must be guarded at all costs. I discovered them by accident when I was just a boy of your age. My friend Tom Lynn and I explored Cromwath Blackwood and found the ring of stones. Tom stepped through and vanished. I searched for him for a long time in some very strange places.â€

+ +

“So that story is real? Tom Lynn came back ten years later, and he hadn’t aged a day. But his mind was gone, so people say.â€

+ +

“There are some terrible places beyond the gates. Places where madness and terror hold sway. I have been to some. I was luckier, because in all my travels, I was being led towards the heartstone and the Book of Ways which allowed me to find my way back to the Homeward Gate, and I also learned that the Heartstone and the Book were created in the dawn of time to let the journeyman open the ways to all the worlds.

+ +

“This I learned from the Great Dagda after I helped him save Eirinn from the Morrigan’s sea-ogres. That was when I met your mother, the Lady Lauralen. She is the daughter of the Dagda and the Sky Queen, and she loved me enough to stay by my side in the mortal worlds.â€

+ +

“That’s why the lady said it,†Jack said, remembering the magical meeting with the Sky Queen on Tara Hill. “Heart of my heart, she told me.â€

+ +

“That’s because you are. Blood of her blood. And she has been guiding you. She is all that is good, in the constant fight against all that is evil.â€

+ +

Jack told his father everything of his childhood in the Major’s old house and his long friendship with Kerry Malone, days at school and fishing with Kerry in the streams. He told of that Halloween night when the moving darkness had engulfed the Major’s house and how the old man had kept it at bay while they escaped down the stairs to the secret passageway and found themselves hunted through Cromwath Blackwood.

+ +

Jonathan Flint listened intently as Jack recounted their adventures with Corriwen in Temair and their battles with Dermott and his Spellbinder Fainn in Eirinn, and then Kerry and Corriwen’s decision to follow him on his final quest.

+ +

He smiled proudly as his son recounted the meeting with Megrin and their journey to Bodron’s keep, finding Rionna, and the nightmare time in the Keep before the great fight with the Monster that Bodron had become.

+ +

“It was the Book that saved us,†Jack said. “It swallowed the Copperplates. We fought Bodron, all four of us, and Megrin too. Then everything went crazy and we slid into the pit and here we are.â€

+ +

Jack paused, thinking for a moment. Then he took the heartstone from his neck, drew out the great sword and offered both to his father.

+ +

“These belong to the Journeyman,†he said. “You take them.â€

+ +

Jonathan Flint was choked with emotion.

+ +

“No, Jack. My time is done. I have been in these Shadowlands too long. You have earned the sword and the name.

+ +

“The Great Dark Lord, the master of all Shadowlords, reigns supreme here and I have fought him many times in all his guises. The last I remember, he showed me his true shape and turned his eyes on me and I felt my blood turn to stone. “Since then, nothing. Until something unfroze me and I could move again.â€

+ +

“It was the heartstone,†Jack said. “The Journeyman’s heart.â€

+ +

“It’s your heart, Journeyman.â€

+ + + +

+ +

+CHAPTER 29

+ + +

The Dark Tower reached into the red sky. The closer they got, the more the heartstone shuddered. With every step, Jack was overwhelmed by a feeling of oppression.

+ +

It stood, bleak as a tombstone. Around it, purple clouds swirled, and from high ledges, bat-winged things swooped and shrieked.

+ +

“It is waiting,†Jonathan Flint said, “because it knows the heartstone is near.â€

+ +

“Then maybe we should take it as far away from here as we can,†Kerry said.

+ +

“No,†Jack countered. “The Book said we had a chance to defeat it. With staff, book and heart, prevail. We’ve faced so much we can’t give up now.â€

+ +

His father gave him a measuring look, true pride shone in his eyes. “Perhaps not much of a chance,†he said. “But a chance all the same. Remember those petrified heroes, turned to stone by its dead eyes, long ago. As I was. I fought it and beat it back, again and again, and each time it came out to do battle it was stronger. It has the strength of all the souls it has stolen. “It will use everything it has against us.â€

+ +

When they finally reached the great bastion, standing in its shadow, Jack saw that the walls were not as featureless as they had appeared. Their surface was intricately carved with thousands of human skulls, row upon row, blindly leering at all who approached.

+ +

Kerry stretched out his hand to touch one of the carvings and then jerked back with a cry of alarm as the skull’s gaping mouth suddenly snapped shut.

+ +

Corriwen’s hands were shaking. She clasped Rionna’s hand, feeling a powerful sense of dread swell inside her.

+

“I feel its foulness,†she said. “Like death. Like disease.â€

+ +

“There’s no way in,†Jack said, scanning the walls.

+ +

“Good,†Kerry muttered. “Whatever’s in there should stay there.â€

+ +

“But I must find a way,†Jonathan Flint said. He strode towards the wall, and stabbed his long spear into a hanging jaw. The skull rolled out onto the ground at their feet, jaw opening and closing as if trying to speak.

+ +

For a moment nothing moved and then, without warning that part of the wall collapsed in a roar of skull grinding on skull. Jonathan Flint turned fast and swept them away from an avalanche of bone.

+ +

A white dust took several minutes to clear. Corriwen and Rionna kept their arms over their mouths and noses so as not to breathe any of it in. Before them was a gap that cut through the skull wall.

+ +

“I think a way has been opened for us,†Jack’s father said. He bent down and looked at them all. “I have to go in there, but you should wait here.â€

+ +

Jack shook his head, though his heart was pounding. “No. If you’re going, so am I. We’ve come this far.â€

+ +

Kerry stood with him, shoulder to shoulder m.

+ +

“And I go with Jack,†he said. “Always have, always will.â€

+ +

“And I too,†Corriwen declared. Rionna said nothing. She held tight to Corriwen’s hand and nodded silently.

+ +

Jonathan Flint took in a slow breath, turned, and walked into the fissure that led inside.

+ +

Beyond the wall, nothing felt right. Jack felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end and shivers ran down his back. Kerry's face was pale he looked as though he might faint. Corriwen muttered under her breath and Jack knew she was trying to ward off evil with a chant from Temair. This place reeked of rot and decay. All around them, they could hear a low moaning, the sound of a thousand people in despair, but they walked on. Jonathan Flint led the way, with the great spear on his shoulder, ready for battle. Kerry had loaded his sling and held the short-sword in one hand.

+ +

Four is one... Jack repeated the words from the Book to himself. And now five. They had to stay together, because whatever waited for them, waited with foul intent. And it wouldn’t wait long.

+ +

Jack concentrated his thoughts on his mother, whose face he could not even recall. Please let her be alive, he whispered. His father clamped a hand on his shoulder. Despite his fear, despite the apprehension that clenched his stomach, that one touch gave him strength.

+

+

“You have grown to be the man I always hoped,†Jonathan Flint said in a soft voice. “If I don’t get the chance later, you should know that now.â€

+ +

Jack nodded, but he was too tense, too scared, to feel anything at all.

+ +

The breach in the wall opened into a vast amphitheatre, surrounded by a maze of passages. In the centre of this arena, a dark mound rose like an ancient tomb. Red light flickered, the only illumination. Rasping whispers invaded Jack’s thoughts in words he could not understand. Corriwen clamped her hands to her ears, to block out the voices, but to no avail.

+ +

Jack followed close behind his father, as they worked their way through the maze, with Kerry at his shoulder, keeping Corriwen and Rionna behind them. As they walked the whispers became a low moaning as if the walls had soaked eons of suffering and pain.

+ +

The sound increased with every step and troubling images flickered across Jack’s consciousness: images of blood and death; of shadowy things grinning from corners; of some dark beast hunched and turning to fix him with dreadful eyes.

+ +

Kerry shuddered. “I’m getting awful nightmares. I think I’m going mad.â€

+ +

“It is toying with us,†Jack’s father said. “Wearing us down.â€

+ +

Corriwen clapped her hands to her eyes. “Get out of my mind…get out of me!â€

+ +

When she took her hands away, her cheeks were streaked with tears. Rionna put her arm around her shoulders. To Kerry, she seemed the least affected, and he knew it was because she spent her life protecting herself from dark forces.

+ +

The black mound hunched in the distance as they walked from the maze into the open.

+ +

Without warning, three hooded shapes came at them from nowhere, shrieking like banshees.

+ +

Nightshades. In an instant Jack was back at the Major’s house while the living dark flowed through the rooms like a disease. Shadowmasters.

+ +

In seconds, the spectres were amongst them. Jack felt their numbing cold as he leapt to the side, instinctively swinging his sword. He glimpsed a wavering shape that seemed almost insubstantial, and within it, a skeletal face. The hand that reached for him was long and bony.

+ +

“Don’t let them touch you!†The darkness had touched him when he first fled through the ringstones, a foul contagion that had had to be burned out of his flesh.

+ +

Jonathan Flint’s spear jabbed, once, twice, fast strikes. The spectre screamed and when Jack’s father pulled the spearpoint out, it folded in upon itself, disintegrating to fluttering scraps.

+ +

Kerry and Corriwen were twisting and turning, Kerry hitting where he could and Corriwen trying to strike with a deadly arrow. The spectres were fast, but the pair were faster, keeping just out of reach.

+ +

Corriwen drew Jack’s bow and aimed. The arrow caught the spectre in its centre, slowing it down just enough for Kerry to slash down with the short sword. Purple sparks ran up and down his blade and he cried out in pain. Jonathan Flint stepped in and slammed his spear deep within the writhing figure. He pinned it to the ground, savagely twisting the weapon until it stopped moving.

+ +

The third assailant came screeching at Rionna. She raised Megrin’s staff and a jolt of blue light stopped the attack in mid-flight. Jack stepped past her and lashed out with the great sword. When the blade sliced, he felt a shock run up his arm, followed by an icy sensation of deep cold. He pulled the blade out and the nightshade imploded with a hiss.

+ +

As they stood together, breathing hard, the shrouded figures on the ground crumpled into tatters that swirled around as if stirred by a wind and then drifted away.

+ +

That’s just the start, Jack thought to himself.

+ +

His father turned to him. “It was too easy. They were here to hold us up.â€

+ +

Jack nodded. It had been just the start. Before he could say anything, Kerry cocked his head.

+ +

“Something’s coming.â€

+ +

“I hear it, “ Corriwen said. She looked around wildly. Jack heard a faint scratching noise, like insects scuttling in a cellar. They all drew together, trying vainly to hear where it was coming from. The noise got louder with every second.

+ +

Kerry saw it first. Jack though he could see grey shadow sweeping across the tangle of passageways. The heartstone throbbed, even more powerfully than before. Jonathan Flint raised his arm protectively to push them behind him.

+ +

Then Jack saw it was no shadow, but a tide of creatures leaping and clambering along the walls of the maze, like a swarm of rats, but much bigger, and too fast for rats.

+ +

“I don’t like this,†Kerry muttered, reaching again for his sword. “There’s millions of them.â€

+ +

Creatures came streaming like ants from all around, and there was nowhere to run. They were all shapes and sizes. Some with great pale eyes and some with no eyes at all, or mouths in the middle of thin chests. Some had two legs, some four and some six. Some had scales and others had slimy, oozing skin. But they all had one purpose and that was to destroy the five people who stood facing them.

+ +

Jack drew his sword with one hand. His left clutched the heartstone but as soon as he touched it a clear voice spoke, deep inside his head.

+ +

Heart of my heart…soul of my soul.

+ +

The words the Sky Queen had used rang in his mind. His heart thudded. The voice was clear and gentle, like the Sky Queen’s, but different. He opened his fingers and stared at the heartstone. It rippled with light. Vibrant colours spangled under its polished surface. Despite the approaching wave of horrors, he couldn’t draw his eyes away. The light held him.

+ +

Corriwen was saying something to him, but barely heard her. The sound of the advancing creatures had faded to the background. Colours flashed in front of his eyes and in their midst a face began to form.

+ +

It was a heart-shaped, slender face with long, spun-gold hair. As majestic as the Sky Queen had been on Tara Hill, but younger.

+ +

You returned. My journeyman. The voice came from deep inside him.

+ +

She was beautiful.

+

+

Her eyes were closed, as if she was in deep sleep, but her voice, clear as crystal, tugged at him. A powerful sensation of love swept over him, and in that moment he knew that this was his mother.

+ +

With a great effort, he dragged his attention away from the vision. The repulsive swarm of contorted creatures was still pouring towards them, shrieking and hissing. Jonathan Flint stalked forward to meet them, spear at the ready. Jack ran after him and grabbed his wrist.

+ +

“She called me!â€

+ +

His father stopped in his tracks. His attention had been fixed on the advancing horde, but he turned to his son. Jack gripped him tight.

+ +

“My mother. She called me. I must find her.â€

+ +

Before Jonathan Flint could reply, Jack pressed the great sword into his free hand.

+ +

“Stay alive,†he begged. “I will find her. For us.â€

+ +

With that he spun on his heel, not waiting to see his father’s reaction or risk him holding him back. He hurried towards his friends. Corriwen and Kerry were staring at the multitude, tense and ready to fight. Rionna watched the three of them, lit by the soft glow from Megrin’s staff.

+ +

“I have to go,†Jack told them. “Watch his back. Don’t let them get him, not now.â€

+ +

“You can’t leave us now,†Kerry protested. “Where are you going?â€

+ +

“My mother,†Jack said. “She is alive.â€

+ +

“How do you know?†Corriwen kept her eyes on the advancing monsters.

+ +

Jack raised the heart. “She spoke to me. I saw her.â€

+ +

“Then go,†Corriwen said resolutely. “Find her. End your quest.â€

+ +

Kerry agreed. “Yeah, Jack. Don’t you worry,†he said, with more bravado than certainty. His voice was shaky. “The things under my bed were ten times worse. We’ll maulicate these boogers.â€

+ +

“We stand here,†Corriwen said very seriously. “Friends to the end.â€

+ +

Jack hugged them both hard, stepped towards Rionna who had Megrin’s staff braced in both hands.

+ +

“I need light,†he said. Rionna closed her eyes. He heard that faint clear note and the staff suddenly blazed with its blue fire. Rionna offered the staff to Jack and he took it in his hand and walked towards the squat stone mound in the centre of the amphitheatre, clutching the heartstone in his other hand.

+ +

When he touched it, the wall dissolved under his fingers, shrinking from his warmth.

+

He stepped forward and time seemed to stop. Behind him the cacophony of the approaching creatures slowed to a deep rumble and faded to silence. All Jack could hear was the beat of his own heart. For a few seconds he was in total darkness, then Megrin’s light flared bright, illuminating a small circle around him.

+ + +

+CHAPTER 30

+ + + +

There was danger here, and it was all around. Jack could feel it. Foul images of death and destruction came to him again: bloody battlefields, carrion roaks, mouldering skeletons, all the horrors that had been or might still be to come.

+ +

Get out. Get OUT.

+ +

A command inside his head sent him reeling and something cold as death enveloped him in a sensation of dank decay. Another image began to form in his mind.

+ +

He saw his father with Kerry and Corriwen at his side as a vast army of monstrosities overwhelmed them, biting and ripping and tearing.

+ +

Get out. The foul voice screamed. There is nothing for you here. Run! Save them!

+

+

Jack couldn’t tell whether the voice was real or illusion, but he fought against it. He closed his eyes and forced himself to picture his own thoughts: His friendship with Kerry. The day they saved Corriwen. The touch of his father’s hand. The warmth of his mother’s heart. It took a great effort of will, but these clean and pure memories began to overcome the foul invasion and the voice and the horrific images began to fade.

+ +

Over and above the cold whisperings, he could hear something else, and it sounded like the beat of another human heart.

+ +

Jack held Megrin’s staff high. Gauzy shapes moved around him, now silent as moths and barely visible. Jack sensed their baleful hatred, but continued into the darkness until a glimmer of other light began to glow ahead of him.

+ +

The whispering voices died away. Megrin’s light grew stronger and Jack felt the atmosphere change. The ground trembled, but he kept his grip on the heartstone as he edged forward.

+ +

In front of him, a silvery light grew in intensity. Tangles of moving darkness surrounded it in coils, but as Jack approached, the glow strengthened.

+ +

And then Jack saw her.

+ +

His heart leapt into his throat and left him breathless and dizzy. At first he thought it was just a floating illumination, but as he stepped nearer it began to take form. It was a woman, still as death, wrapped in a cocoon of sparkling light.

+ +

She was pale, as if carved from marble. She floated, suspended within the light which played on her delicate features, making her long fair hair gleam. Both hands were crossed over her chest and at her throat pulsed another heartstone, cut and polished just like the one Jack held, but this one clear as a diamond and aglow with white light.

+ +

Jack felt as if his heart would burst.

+ +

Heart of my heart. The gentle voice spoke within him. Soul of my soul.

+ +

Jack gripped the heartstone. It beat steadily, matching the pulse of the crystal heart. His feet moved of their own accord and brought him closer.

+ +

You come at last…

+ +

He heard the words, and felt the joy in them. It matched the joy that swelled inside his own chest.

+ +

…to bring me back…

+ +

He bent towards his mother. Silver light tinkled as if the dust in the air were charged with power. He took her hands in his. They were cold as stone and there was no sign of life.

+ +

Some compulsion made him lean further until he was only inches away from her perfect face.

+ +

And the two heartstones touched.

+ +

Light blazed so brightly that he felt it sear through every nerve in his body. In that moment Jack was overwhelmed by a flood of images and memories as the white radiance sizzled through every nerve.

+ +

He saw his mother and father walking on a beach towards the rising sun. He saw the dark shadow envelop their home and he watched the final, desperate battle with the nightshades. He saw his father lift him from a cradle and fight his way out, while a great pit opened, taking his mother into darkness.

+ +

He heard the banshee screeches of the things that hunted them through woodland until they reached the stone gate. He felt again the twist as his father stepped through. He heard him blow on his horn and wrap him tight, with the heartstone and the book of ways secured in the blanket.

+ +

The memories streamed through his mind, surging with colour and images, flooding him with knowledge of his mother and father and their lives, and what had brought them both to this place where all roads ended.

+ +

In the brilliant radiance, a soft hand cupped his face. In the brilliant light she now stood before him, tall and slender. Wide blue eyes regarded him and in them he saw infinite wisdom. Tears coursed down her sculpted cheeks. Her hands slid around his shoulders and brought him into her warmth.

+ +

“My baby,†she said, through her tears. “My boy. My journeyman.â€

+ +

He moved into her embrace and the two heartstones came together again. Light soared to such an intensity that all darkness fled. All around them, the prison which had held her all of his life, disintegrated under the force of the heartpower.

+ +

They stood together, mother and son, each holding tight to the other, while the Tor surrounding them crumbled to dust and blew away.

+ +

Jack’s mother closed her eyes. She whispered softly and the blazing light slowly faded and Jack saw they were back in the middle of the amphitheatre.

+ +

His father stood tall with the great sword. Kerry, Corriwen and Rionna were behind him.

+ +

And the hordes of the obscene, misshapen creatures that had hunched and lurched towards them were still as statues, frozen in a moment of time.

+ +

Jack heard a ringing in his ears and sound came back, the growling and chittering of the grotesque army and the scuttle of claws on the ground.

+ + +

+CHAPTER 31

+ + +

“It begins,†his mother said, barely more than a whisper. “And it ends here.â€

+ +

As if she had called out to him, Jack’s father turned towards them. Their eyes met and held. Neither his mother nor father them spoke, but Jack saw the love and regret in his father’s gaze.

+ +

He mouthed one word that was swallowed in the noise from the tide of grotesque creatures surging across the arena.

+ +

Lauralen.

+

+

Jonathan Flint looked at his son, and Jack felt that same love encompass him. His father nodded slowly, just once. But in that small gesture he managed to convey so much. Jack knew his father thanking him for bringing Lauralen Flint back. And he sensed the father and son bond that he had dreamt about since childhood. For the second time that day Jack’s heart felt as if it would burst.

+ +

Kerry turned and when he saw the fair haired woman his eyes grew so wide they looked as if they might pop out.

+ +

“Wow!†It was all he could manage.

+ +

Corriwen just gazed at her as if Jack’s mother was an apparition. Jack still wasn’t sure she was not.

+ +

“The Great Lord of Darkness comes,†Lauralen said.

+ +

“First we have to fight these beasties,†Kerry finally found his tongue. Jack passed the glowing staff back to Rionna.

+ +

Jonathan Flint swept his gaze around them all.

+ +

“We stand here,†he said. “I wish it were different. But such is fate.†His voice was steady and calm.

+ +

“Always for the light,†said Lauralen, just as calmly. She showed no fear. “Always for the right. It was ever thus.â€

+ +

Jack’s father turned to face the approaching creatures. As he swung up the great sword Jack thought it fit his hand as if it were made for him.

+ +

The horde of sprites, slowed their advance. For a moment, all Jack could hear was the scratching of claws on stony ground. Corriwen readied her bow. Kerry was muttering something to himself. It took Jack a moment to recognise it was the poem that he had helped him learn at school. It was about Robert the Bruce at the battle of Bannockburn.

+ +

Now’s the day and now’s the hour, see the front of battle glower.

+

+

Kerry had his shortsword in one hand and swung the heavy bolas in the other.

+ +

Ready as I’m ever going to be, he breathed. But I’d rather be fishing any day of the week.

+ +

Lauralen Flint silently handed Megrin’s staff to Rionna who gripped it tight.

+ +

Jack expected the creatures to come surging towards them at any moment, but they did not. Instead, they began to mill together, forming a tight pack.

+ +

“What are they doing?†Corriwen’s voice was tight with tension.

+ +

They surged together, piling one on top of the other, forming a mound of arms and legs and claws and tails.

+ +

Jack’s mother stood calmly. The heartstone gleamed at her neck, pulsing in time with the one Jack wore.

+ +

The heap of wriggling bodies began to change shape. All the hideous creatures merged together, sinking into each other until there was just a featureless shape in front of them.

+ +

“Is that it?†Kerry asked. “Are they dead?â€

+ +

As if in reply, the mound gave an enormous shudder. Jack watched in horror as it expanded, growing upwards into a pillar until it towered above them.

+ +

A huge head swelled upon massive shoulders. Its toes grew into curved claws, two upon each foot. Fingers stretched into long, hooked talons. Horns grew on its head, spiralling and ridged like a monstrous ram.

+ +

A mouth opened, showing row upon row of jagged black teeth and from it boomed a mighty, triumphant laugh that echoed madly around the walls of the amphitheatre.

+ +

Jonathan Flint had turned to face it. Kerry looked at Jack and his eyes were bright with apprehension. Corriwen had drawn the bow, ready to shoot. Rionna had raised Megrin’s staff.

+ +

Jack realised with dismay that neither he nor his mother were armed. They had nothing but the two heartstones. Jack felt his own heartstone beat stronger.

+ +

The beast laughed again, and the ground heaved. It raised its arms and spread them out on either side. Flames burst into life and raced up and down its body, twisting around its arms and legs.

+ +

It swung a vast arm around and pointed a claw at Jonathan Flint. A bolt of fire exploded out. Jack’s father disappeared in gout of flame, and Jack cried out in alarm.

+ +

Then he saw him, twenty yards distant, unscathed.

+ +

Where he had stood, the rock was flowing white-hot. The reek of burning filled the air.

+

Jonathan Flint was moving fast.

+ +

His spear was at his shoulder. Jonathan Flint’s back arched and he launched it straight at the fiery shape. Where it struck, tongues of flame gouted out and Jack saw the monster stagger.

+ +

It can be hurt, he thought.

+ +

Two clawed hands swung round and gripped the spear. Fire surged between the hands, but the great weapon did not burn. Grunting, it pulled the spear free. The puncture holes in its body spewed burning liquid and acrid fumes.

+ +

But Jonathan Flint was still moving, swinging the Scatha’s sword in his right hand. Kerry and Corriwen, to Jack’s amazement, were on his heels. He made to follow them, but his mother pressed on his shoulder.

+ +

“Wait,†she said softly, and that word carried an enormous weight of command. Jack froze. Lauralen Flint placed her free hand on Rionna’s head and together they stood, watching the deadly battle. Jack was jittering with the need to fight with his friends and at his father’s back, but the hand on his shoulder made him stay.

+

+

Jack’s father ducked under a mighty arm as it came sweeping down at him. The sword flashed, slashed, and a huge claw tumbled away and landed with a thump. Kerry had been veering to the left and the claw missed him by a whisker.

+ +

Corriwen raised her bow. She was moving fast, a red-headed streak. One arrow shot out and stabbed between the jagged teeth. Foul steam billowed and it roared again.

+ +

It swung at her and a sizzling jolt traced her as she dashed away, scoring the ground in puffs of vapour.

+ +

Kerry jinked past the twitching claw. Without warning it flipped over scuttled after him, a nightmare on four claws and a hooked thumb, moving with spider-like speed.

+ +

He let out a yell of fright and ran as the thing scrabbled after him, trailing blood that sizzled as it hit the ground. Corriwen launched another arrow, again high on the monster’s body, just as Kerry blundered between its legs. Briefly distracted, it missed a slashing grab for him. Instinctively Kerry jabbed and the sword turned pink then flopped like a wilted leaf. A vast hoof raised over his head and stamped down again. For a second, Jack saw Kerry disappear in a cloud of fumes and then he was out the other side, ducking and rolling as it stamped again, so hard that the whole dark world trembled.

+ +

Jack watched with pride as his friends and his father fought the monstrosity. He was desperate to run in and help them, to do something other than watch, but his mother’s hand stayed firmly on his shoulder.

+ +

Corriwen launched another arrow and another, shooting and reloading fast. They spiked around its hideous face, but the beast brushed them off and came at her. She leapt aside and Jonathan Flint strode in again with the great sword. It seemed to blaze with light as he slashed right and left, tearing huge gouges in the monster’s thighs, gouges that formed mouths with jagged teeth that gnashed in fury.

+ +

Kerry found Jonathan Flint’s spear. It looked much too big for him but he managed it nonetheless. Jack’s father was up close and slashing madly. Everywhere he cut, another mouth opened to scream at him. Kerry ran to his side, with the spear raised up. Jack’s father stabbed hard and the beast faltered, giving Kerry the chance to put all his strength into one hard lunge.

+ +

It staggered, bellowing. Jack watched in amazement as it rocked back and then began to tumble forward. It happened as if in slow motion. Jonathan Flint grabbed Kerry's hood and hauled him back just as the behemoth toppled and hit the ground with enormous force.

+ +

“Is it dead,†Rionna asked.

+ +

“No,†Lauralen said. “The great beast can never die, for he is not alive as we know it. He is the sum of all the evil he has gathered to himself.â€

+ +

Now Jonathan Flint, Corriwen and Kerry were backing off. The beast was on all fours, scoring gouges in the ground. It seemed to curl into itself. The hand that had chased Kerry crawled towards it, clawed its way up and sank back into its warty skin.

+ +

Before their eyes, the arms and legs shrank back into the main body until all they could see was a twitching mass.

+ +

“It’s changing again,†Rionna said.

+ +

“Stand by me,†Lauralen told. “Now we play our part. We have two heartstones and you have more power than you know. We will need all of it.â€

+ +

Jack saw the surface of the mass rip wide open and what emerged made his stomach clench. At first it was a writhing mass of worms, wriggling and looping and slimy, like branched tentacles, except that each one ended in a head that was grotesquely human. It uncoiled, still swelling and the tentacles hardened into jointed limbs. The head, on a long, segmented neck, reminded Jack of a preying mantis. Great wings opened and beat the air.

+ +

A voice spoke in Jack’s head.

+ +

Lost forever, mortal. The voice was like rot and sickness. He felt it deep inside him and he shuddered. Your pain will be eternal. I will burn you for all time and feast on your anguish.

+ +

Jack clapped his hands to his head, staggering under the mental assault.

+ +

His mother laid a soft hand on his head and the sensation faded until he could open his eyes once more. The heartstones thrummed together in powerful harmony.

+ +

“Begone.†Her voice was clear. “You will never have him.â€

+

+

Give me what I will have. Give it now and he will suffer less. The Mailachan Mhor commands.

+ +

“You are no Great Lord,†she said. Jack could hear the words but couldn’t see her lips move. “You are the king of nothingness.â€

+ +

I will bring perpetual night and pain. I will ravage! I will cover all in darkness.

+ +

The great wings whooped in the air. Its neck stretched out towards them, head swelling and contorting, bent to the ground.

+ +

Jack watched in horror as a great eye began to open. He could see fire swirling under the scaly eyelid. His mother made no move.

+ +

The eye creaked open. Rionna let out a small cry. Jack saw the ground shrivel under the power of the gaze.

+ +

Something thudded at Jack’s side. His hand found the satchel. His other hand went to the heartstone and its throbbing rippled through him. His fingers opened the bag and touched the Book of Ways. Before he knew it, it was in his hand.

+ +

His mother reached and grasped Megrin’s staff with one hand on top of Rionna’s. In her other, she raised the crystal heartstone. Instinctively Jack imitated her. He held his own heartstone up before him. The Book twisted in his hand.

+ +

The awful head came up and as it swung towards them, Jack got a glimpse of the eternal evil in that gaze. He thought he might fall down and die.

+ +

His mother stepped in front of Rionna and the eye turned to follow her. It was almost completely open, as red as boiling lava. Rocks burst asunder as it began to focus.

+ +

Jonathan Flint ran in, sword raised. The eye swivelled towards him.

+ +

Megrin’s staff suddenly blazed with incandescent white light. A jolt of power blasted out from the monster’s eye, a beam of pure night. Every nerve in Jack’s body shrivelled, and an intense cold shuddered through his bones.

+ +

Megrin’s light met the creature’s dead-light head on. Lauralen Flint held the staff in a firm grip, eyes wide, concentrating. The Book of Ways twisted again in Jack’s hand. A strange, juddering sound throbbed where the two lights met. Darkness tried to engulf Megrin’s light, but Jack’s mother held firm.

+ +

Lauralen Flint held up her heartstone.

+ +

And Megrin’s light winked out. The monstrous beast roared in triumph.

+

Jack’s heart lurched. But suddenly the Book of Ways opened in his numbed hand, just as the beast’s glare blasted straight at his mother.

+ +

A blast struck the crystal heartstone with such force that the air about them seemed to rip to shreds.

+ +

The heartstone glowed. It beat once, twice. And the deathly blast leapt from her stone to Jack’s in a beam of blue. He felt it strike, amazed that he was not instantly incinerated.

+ +

The heartstone turned the light yet again. A beam stabbed down and hit the open book. Pure copper on the page turned to gold and the darklight, now a line of brilliant white was hurled back in the direction it had come.

+ +

It struck the beast right in the glaring eye.

+ +

Then the devil got a taste of his own. The light from the Copperplates melted the eye in its socket. The great beast juddered and its wings froze in mid-beat. Its foul head bent backwards and the mouth gaped like a cave-mouth. A deep, hollow rumble rolled over them and then the mouth closed with a crash.

+ +

Jack’s mother stood watching, heartstone in her hand.

+ +

The beast swayed on its horny feet, and Jack watched in fascination as its movement began to slow until it was almost still.

+ +

A sudden wind whipped up the sand around them, swirling around the monster. As the grains struck it. The wind gained strength, but they stood firm, holding on to one another as the creature swayed in the blast and then toppled backwards and crashed to the ground….

+ +

It shattered into a million fragments that crumbled to dust which was swept away by the gale. The wind died as quickly as it had begun and they stood, six of them together, in a land scoured clean.

+ +

All around them was emptiness, no rocks, no stone, no amphitheatre, nothing.

+ +

Jack’s mother let out a long sigh and took his hand in hers.

+ +

Jonathan Flint came up beside them, wrapped his arms around both of them.

+ +

“You came back,†Lauralen said.

+

+ + + +

+CHAPTER 32

+ + +

“Find our way,†Lauralen Flint had asked. Rionna, still holding the staff, bent her head and began to sing, so softly that Jack could barely hear her. Kerry and Corriwen stood with them, not yet able to comprehend that it was all over.

+ +

Far out in the emptiness, a faint curve on the horizon showed a pale arch. Lauralen smiled.

+ +

“You have more in you that you could guess,†she told Rionna. “Uaine will be glad of it in days to come.â€

+ +

When they finally stood before the archway, Jack could see green fields on the far side, flowers and bright sunshine. The faint call of songbirds welcomed them.

+ +

Megrin stood alone. Behind her, all that remained of Bodron’s hold-fast were a few mossy mounds, as if they had crumbled centuries ago.

+ +

Rionna stepped forward with the staff and offered it to her.

+ +

“Oh no, my dear,†Megrin said. “It fits your hand better. A new generation brings new life to Uaine.â€

+ + + +

***

+ +

Now Jack Flint knew who he was.

+ +

They had woken to a new dawn. Dew was like diamonds on the grass. His mother roused him with a touch on his cheek, took him by the hand and led him through the morning glades, to a small forest lake. A gentle mist floated over the surface and nothing stirred.

+ +

They sat by the water in silence, not needing to speak, not then, as the sun began to rise. Finally, Lauralen Flint rose to her feet and walked – Jack always remembered thinking that she had glided – to the edge of the lake.

+ +

The rising sun shone on her golden hair and made it glow. Jack was reminded of the time Corriwen had dived through the sky over the edge of the waterfall in Temair and thinking it was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his life. His mother was the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

+ +

The new light made her long gown seem gauzy and he could see damselflies beyond her as they silently skimmed the surface. For an instant, his vision seemed to waver then jump into startling focus.

+ +

She caught his look and an expression of aching sadness flitted across her face.

+ +

“What’s wrong?†Jack broke the silence. “There’s something happening!â€

+ +

She nodded. He stared at her. He could see the reeds on the far bank, still woven with mist, but he could see them faintly behind her, as if she was becoming wispy and insubstantial.

+ +

Lauralen Flint knelt in front of her son and took his hands in hers. Her skin felt like gossamer, as if it was hardly there at all. Then she spoke.

+ +

“Since our heartstones touched, there have been no secrets between us. All is revealed, your life, your father’s and my own. The lives we have lived, the lives we now share. I have seen you grow, and I have lived your adventures, my son, Journeyman of my heart.

+ +

“And now it is time.â€

+ +

“I don’t understand.! What’s wrong? You’re…you’re disappearing!â€

+ +

“You came for me, and together we prevailed. All of us. Your father and your fine friends and yourself. And the fight will go on. I know you are your father’s son and I will always be with you, in the heartstone and in your heart.â€

+ +

The sun sparkled on the water. It sparkled through her hair and through her eyes, as if she was filled with diamonds.

+ +

Jack was shaking his head, unable to speak, dreading what she might say.

+ +

“We were too long in the nether-world. The binding spell I wove let me sleep in timeless safety where the beast could not reach me. It lured you down to its depths to bring the two hearts together and destroy them. It would have been the end of everything.

+ +

“But we prevailed and there will be harmony across the worlds, until the next evil arises. That will be your quest. Who knows where, or when, but the Journeyman must journey. The battle always waits.

+ +

“But we are no longer of the worlds of the living. Your father and I must travel on, and we must go now.â€

+ +

“No!†Jack was aghast. His heart hammered against his ribs. A pain stabbed behind his eyes.

+ +

His father stepped out from the edge of the trees, as tall and strong as he had been when the statue on the red plain had shed its skin of stone. He held Hedda’s magnificent sword in its scabbard. The great horn Jack had heard him blow when he was just a baby, was slung on his shoulder,

+ +

“Yes, Jack. Our time is gone and another world waits for us.â€

+ +

“What world?†Jack was panicking. His heart beat wildly. Desperate anguish rose like bile deep inside him. “Don’t go. I’ve just found you! You can’t leave me now!â€

+ +

Jonathan Flint strapped the sword to Jack’s waist, weighed the horn on his son’s neck and put both hands on his shoulders.

+ +

“Don’t go,†Jack pleaded. Tears welled up in his eyes.

+ +

“Know that you are always with us, and will be with us again.†Jack could see the reflected dew through his father’s face. Jonathan Flint was fading too.

+ +

“But where are you going?â€

+ +

“You know the place. From your books.â€

+ +

Jack backed away, shaking his head.

+ +

On the far side of the lake, mist was beginning to roll out past the reeds and on to a grassy bank. It began to coil slowly into twin, translucent pillars.

+ +

“Tir –Nan-Og!†Realisation struck him like a blow. “The land of the young!â€

+ +

Between the pillars, a clear light shone.

+ +

“Walk with us,†his father said gently.

+ +

Jack shook his head. The tears were streaming down his cheeks. Words tried to get out but choked in his throat. The world seemed to spin.

+ +

His mother took his hand. Jonathan Flint put his arm around Jack’s shoulders, but Jack could hardly feel its weight or his mother’s touch. It was as if they were hardly in this world at all. Together they led him round the water towards the shining gateway.

+ +

By now, his mother’s face was almost translucent. But her eyes were the clearest blue, and regarded him with such profound love that his heart almost stopped.

+ +

Beyond the gateway a smooth road meandered to a little bridge over a stream. On the far side, rolling green fields stretched into the distance.

+ +

Across the fields, hundreds people were walking towards the bridge. They looked like the kind of people, the old Celtic heroes and heroines that Jack had read about in the books he’d loved. Their faces were wreathed in smiles and they looked at peace.

+ +

They came over the fields to welcome the Lady Lauralen and Jonathan Cullian Flint to Tir-Nan-Og.

+ +

Jack’s mother kissed him on the forehead. It was like a breath of air. His father’s hand was a featherweight on his shoulder and then it was gone.

+ +

Together they walked through the shining gateway, as their son watched them leave, and the sunlight of that other place made them whole again. They crossed the bridge and then they turned.

+ +

Jack’s father nodded to him and waved his hand in silent farewell. His mother smiled.

+ +

Then the pillars turned back into mist and the gateway was gone.

+ +

Jack Flint was alone.

+ +

+CHAPTER 33

+ +

Jack picked up the great sword and slung the amberhorn bow on his back. Corriwen had sheathed her knives. Kerry's short-sword was gone, lost in the battle, but he still had his sling. Rionna walked with Megrin’s staff and they approached the Homeward Gate of Uaine.

+ +

Kerry stopped some distance away. Between the carved stone pillars the air twisted and shimmered like a mirage. Beyond them stood the Cromwath Ringstones, and home.

+ +

But Kerry walked no further. Jack already knew.

+ +

For a while he had been utterly alone with his thoughts, feeling he would die from loss and grief. He thought the pain of it would never stop. His heart felt as if it had been wrenched out of him. Corriwen, Kerry and Rionna left him to grieve and he sat for a long time on a hill beyond the forest, lost in his own memories.

+ +

Now he was facing a second loss.

+ +

“I need a break, Jack,†Kerry had said, pleading for Jack’s understanding. “Honestly I do. “Back there, back home I’m just the bottom of the heap. Just the raggedy-arsed Irish rascal. There’s nothing for me there.â€

+ +

Jack felt his stomach clench again. He wouldn’t take losing Kerry too.

+ +

“But after all we’ve been through,†he began. “You can’t just…walk away.â€

+ +

“Who said I’m walking away? I never said that! I just want to sit down and not have to run or fight all the time. Jeez, Jack, we’re not even fifteen. I want to enjoy myself for a bit.â€

+ +

“Why not enjoy it back home?â€

+ +

“Because all the other places we’ve been, I’ve been somebody. Even if it was somebody everybody wanted to kill. Over there, I’m nobody.â€

+ +

“I spoke to Rionna and I want to see her place. Look around, you know? Spend some time fishing. Maybe have a picnic.â€

+ +

“But something else is going to happen,†Jack said. “Some time. Who knows when? And I’ll need you with me.â€

+ +

“I didn’t say I’m quitting,†Kerry assured him, eyes bright with tears that he brushed away angrily. “No way Jack. Just let me have some time to catch my breath where things aren’t always trying to do me in. When you need me, I’ll be right there.â€

+ +

Kerry grabbed him in a tight hug and held him close.

+ +

“You and me and Corrie. All for one and each for everybody else. Same as always.â€

+ +

“I’ll come for you when the time’s right,†Jack said.

+ +

“I’ll be there.â€

+

***

+ +

Jack Flint and Corriwen Redthorn stepped through the Homeward Gate.

+ +

There were thirteen standing stones and twelve gateways between them. They stood together inside the ring.

+ +

“It’s that one,†Jack pointed, preparing himself for this parting.

+ +

“I know where it is,†she replied, eyes bright. “But that’s not the way for me. Temair doesn’t need me. You do.â€

+ +

Corriwen strode forward and held him tight.

+ +

“My place is at your side. I knew it from the start. Who knows when the next fight will be, the next quest. You need me at your back, and that’s where I’ll be.â€

+ +

She smiled at him.

+ +

“Always.â€

+ + + +

+CHAPTER 34

+ +

Epilogue.

+

+ + +

On a bright autumn day, a boy and a girl sat on the high wall that surrounded a very old woodland. The leaves were gold and the sun reflected silver from the estuary far down the hill.

+ +

High above, a jet drew a line of white across a clear sky and the girl stared at it as it arched above them, eyes wide and full of wonder.

+ +

Jack Flint had put the heartstone into its niche and watched the sun and moon flick eastwards across the sky as the key to worlds turned the clock back and back until he knew he had arrived at the beginning of his journeys.

+ +

As they sat on the wall, he took the great horn in his hands, raised it to his lips and sent out a deep booming note that echoed across the valleys on the peninsula where he had grown up.

+ +

“Might as well let the Major know we’re coming,†he said. “And with luck, he’ll get the kettle on.â€

+ +

They clambered down and began to cross the field to the big house.

+ +

“You’ll love it here. A soft bed, good food. Great books. And the Major, well, he’s special. He was my father’s best friend.â€

+ +

When thought of his father, Jack’s voice almost dried up, but he swallowed hard, then flashed Corriwen a warm smile. It would take him a while to come to terms; and to let his heart heal. But he would there.

+ +

Jack took Corriwen’s arm, and together they walked in sunshine towards home.

+ + +

THE END

+

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+
+

About the author

+ +

Joe Donnelly was born in Glasgow, in Scotland, close to the + River Clyde, but at a very young age he came to live in Dumbarton, + which is some miles from the city and close to Loch Lomond, Ben + Lomond and the Scottish Highlands.

+ +

At the age of 18, he decided to become a journalist and found a + job in the Helensburgh Advertiser, a local paper in a neighbouring + town where he learned the first essential of writing: how to type. + Quickly.

+ +

A few years later, at the age of 22, he became editor of his + local newspaper, the Lennox Herald in Dumbarton, before moving to + the Evening Times and then the Sunday mail in Glasgow where he + became an investigative journalist.

+ +

During his career he won several awards for newspaper work + including Reporter of the Year, Campaigning Journalist and Consumer + Journalist.

+ +

It was while working in newspapers that he wrote his first + novel, Bane, an adult chiller, which was followed by eight + other novels, mostly set in and around the West of Scotland and + loosely based on Celtic Mythology.

+ +

This was followed by Stone, The Shee, + Shrike, Still Life, Havock Junction, + Incubus and Dark Valley.

+ +

Recently he decided to write for children, although he says his + books are aimed at "young people of all ages, those with some + adventure in their soul."

+ +

The Jack Flint Trilogy is his first venture at telling + stories for the young at heart.

+ +

Joe is now working on two novels: A chiller for adults, and + another rollicking adventure for young people, based on Nordic + mythology.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b298e05 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,42 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof + + + + +
+
+

Full Proof

+ +

The town is on its knees. The jobs have gone. The companies have shut or sold out.

+ +

The only distillery is about to close just after the last batch of high-octane vintage scotch is bottled and + shipped.

+ +

But that batch is 250,000 gallons of full-proof whisky. It’s worth MILLIONS.

+ +

And it’s there for the taking.

+ +

All it takes is somebody with an idea, and some friends willing to take a big risk.

+ +

It’s the only thing that can turn a ghost town into a boom-town.

+ +

As long as you can outwit the cops. And the customs men. And the hoods who want it all.

+ +

It’s a tall order, but somebody has to do it. A man with a masterplan, and some crazy friends.

+ +

And nobody said you can’t have fun when you set out to save a town from the scrap-heap!

+ +

Joe Donnelly’s Full Proof is a roistering thriller, as high-octane as the scotch.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dea7b55 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,772 @@ + + + + + 1 + + + + +
+
+

1

+ +

IT WAS Gus Ferguson's heavies who started the whole thing off. What they did to Donny Watson, that was well out of + order and they deserved a real comeuppance for it.

+ +

It was them, and the spilt whisky, and the fact that right then everything was loaded against the bunch of friends. + To tell the truth, everything was going wrong and there seemed no end to it.

+ +

That whisky. That and the hot summer sun, and those arseholes at the golf club. And then there was Alistair Sproat + who thought he ran the town and now he was bailing out to the highest bidder. Selling out, selling everybody + out.

+ +

It was all of these things, these people. The sell-out, the whisky, the arseholes, Donny Watson getting kicked black + and blue and bloody, on his way home. They all made it happen, one way and another, because sometimes you get to the + end of the rope and you've no choices left. But that's just the hindsight talking. If you're going to hear this + story, you might as well hear it from the start.

+ +

Five of them, two cans of cold lager and a skinny greyhound with serious personal problems, playing a four-ball from + the tenth to seventeenth. No medal, no handicap except the usual.

+ +

Jed Coogan had his cart and the old set of clubs his uncle had left him in his will. He'd pawned the shoes because + the last time they'd caused big blisters that he burst with a needle until the water came out. Six of them, hunkered + and sprawled down in the gorse and broom, waiting for a foursome of Ralph Lauren shirts and big check trousers to + make their way to the twelfth, then a pair of loud women with wide round backsides in even louder checks, these daft + gamblers' visors they wear these days and snooty Kelvinside accents that could grind glass to a bevel finish. Half + way along the straight they looked round and saw the guys passing the cold lager back and forth and gave reproving + sniffs and tut-tutted loud enough to hear. Everybody laughed. Just two minutes before, one of them had stuck her + hand down and hauled the seam of her pants out of the crack of her arse. Ladylike it wasn't.

+ +

"That one's younger than your girlfriend," Donny said.

+ +

"Jealous git," Jed said. He was sturdy and dark, that Irish kind of way, and he was up to all kinds of stuff with the + ex-wife of one of the town councillors who'd done the dirty with a young secretary from the council office. She was + getting her own back and everything else from Jed several nights a week and some more at weekends. Truth to tell, + Margery Burns might have been on the far side of forty five and getting some of the blonde out of a bottle to shade + the fade but there wasn't one of them there, except maybe Jack Lorne, who wouldn't have jumped at the chance of a + weekend indoors with Mrs B.

+ +

"You just can't get away from her," says Donny. " 'cause old women run faster. They only wear sensible shoes."

+ +

"And big loose cotton knickers."

+ +

"She doesn't wear knickers," Jed threw back. "Not when I'm there. And she never wakes me up after it and asks what + I'm thinking. Not like your bunch of bimbettes." He went into falsetto: "Do you love me Donald, I mean + really love me? Honestly?"

+ +

He reached into the bag and rummaged for the second can. Two between six was hardly a boozy afternoon, but it was + still cold and on a day like this, you couldn't have gone nine holes without a refreshment. It was hot as anybody + could remember..

+ +

"Oh, Mrs Robinson, you're trying to seduce me. Aren't you?" Neil was good with the accents.

+ +

"You couldn't get a scabby sheep to seduce you, Big Stuff."

+ +

Neil had a tight grip on the greyhound's leash. Every now and again she'd let out a little soulful whine and rub her + backside along the grass..

+ +

"You couldn't even pull Fannieboz, here, and she's hot for anything."

+ +

Levenford Golf course is flat as a salt pan. On the north side there's some scrubby gorse and broom and straggly + hawthorn butting up against Aitkenbar Distillery and its old storage sheds, bonded warehouses that give off a sweet + heady smell some days when the wind is right. Then there's the big inlet, what they call Bruce's Harbour, where they + used to load the whisky on to barrels and down the river to the big ships moored at the castle rock. They say King + Robert himself used to stash his warship here, back when they didn't just talk hot air and politics in Edinburgh, + but who knows? It was a while ago.

+ +

Along by the twelfth and thirteenth, the curve of the river shoves up against the big levee bulwark that's the only + thing keeping the water out and the golfers in. You have to be a member on this course, which costs some fancy money + and cash was something none of them had to waste, not this summer anyway.

+ +

This day the heat made the air twist and dance and shimmer way along the fairway, like half-seen ghosts in the grass. + You could see pools of water sparkling along the flat in the distance and when you got up to them, they'd be gone. + All illusion.

+ +

Three weeks of solid rain and then two of a sunshine heatwave that left cracks where the shallow mud had been and the + straight along by the built-up riverbank was lush and green, tangled with willow herb and that creepy wild rhubarb + that grows in the damp, crawling with centipedes and earywigs. It was all alive. Warblers warbled non-stop and the + drone of bees up in the high elms could put you to sleep if you sat down under them. The gorse and broom pods popped + open with little crackles that made it sound like the bushes were on fire. Three small boys paddled about barefoot + up to their thighs in the rough marsh, feeling for lost golf balls with their toes and feeding them into a big + plastic bucket.

+ +

The four-ball took their time and one of them hooked a fast curver straight into the marsh. The nearest boy marked + where it went and then looked the other way. There was no chance that pringle man in the while flat cap and the + Payne Stewart knickerbockers was going to risk his spikes in the deep marsh. Every footstep set off a jacuzzi of + nitrates and methane that smelt worse than old cow farts.

+ +

"Have you seen the ball, sonny?"

+ +

"No mister." A blatant lie. It had missed him by only three yards. "But I've got some spares. Sell you half a + dozen."

+ +

Swift negotiation, and to the boys out there, it was a seller's market, always had been. Jed Cooper and Jack Lorne + had done that job plenty of years before and had bought good bikes with the proceeds. Then they got a paper round + and sold the golf franchise to two other boys from down the street and passed on the tradition. Good days.

+ +

"Supply and demand," Jack said. He always came out with these things. "Nothing changes."

+ +

Pringle man did his deal, keeping his black and white brogues away from the gassy muck and they sauntered on, rotund + rotarian senior partners killing time. The fat-arsed women came by, hacking pretty wildly, and a stray ball smacked + into the gorse nearby, sending up a thick, somehow exotic scent of coconut oil.

+ +

"Stupid cow," Neil said. "That could have brained me."

+ +

"You'd have ended up with more brains than you were born with."

+ +

Donny pulled a long black tube from the cart. It came out like a blunt sword.

+ +

"This is the piece of the resistance." He murdered a French accent.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"A golf ball holder. Got it in a sale for two quid."

+ +

"Total waste of money," Jed said.

+ +

"Watch this." Donny thumbed off the plastic lid and put the top of the tube to his mouth. They heard the glug as the + liquid went down.

+ +

"What the hell's that?"

+ +

"The angels share." Donny wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. "Want some?"

+ +

"But what the hell is it?" Neil wanted to know.

+ +

"Only the finest twenty-five-year-old Glen Murroch. Made before you were even a glint. It'll set you back fifty notes + a bottle, maybe more."

+ +

"You ripped it off?"

+ +

"They're ripping me off," Donny came back. He smacked his lips. "That's what I call a drink. Take it while + it's going, for it won't be going long."

+ +

That was true enough. The sun might have been high and the bees doing the sleepy thing up on the leaves, but it had + not been the best of times, and from the looks of it, it was going to get a whole lot worse come the autumn.

+ +

Jack had summed it up. "You get screwed, and then they really fuck you." Jack wasn't really that given to swearing + either, but he hit it right on the head.

+ +

Donny was screwed, one way or the other. He'd only been told two weeks back that he was on short time working and the + distillery was going to shut for good. Him and another two hundred would be out to scrap, and then Alistair Sproat + would make a fortune selling off the land for a useless shopping centre that was going to try to sell lots of things + to people with bags of no money. It was worse for Donny Watson. He'd just been made up to chargehand, in the + cooperage where they made the barrels, and there sure wasn't going to be a big demand for his services around here + any more, not with Sproat aiming to get into the designer moonshine market that didn't need any years in oak + conditioning doing nothing but getting smooth. It was much the same for the rest of them, even Jack, who everybody + had said was the one most likely to make something of himself, but here he was, down in the gorse with the rest of + them, Saturday afternoon and nothing much else to do. Soon they'd be able to play midweek, for the same reason.

+ +

He passed the tube untouched to Jed who lifted it up like he was playing a trombone and poured some down his own + throat. His face went red and he started to cough and somebody thumped him on the back. "Lordy lordy, that's the + real stuff. Smooth as silk."

+ +

"They'll be doing a last bottling sometime soon," Donny said. "Clearing all the old barrels out of stock. Sproat + wants a special blend before the doors shut."

+ +

"Scraping the bottom of the barrel."

+ +

"No, this is real good stuff. It's been there for years. It was made for some boat, the Queen Elizabeth probably, and + then it just got locked down in customs bond. The buyer went bust, years ago, so there's tons of it, all over-proof + as well."

+ +

"And then you're out on your ear."

+ +

"Then we're all out," Donny agreed. "Life's a pure bitch." He grabbed the whisky and took another slug at it. Neil + had a mouthful, then Jed and then Tam Bowie who hadn't said much because he was still working, at least until they + finished the houses out on the east end of the town. It came back to Jack.

+ +

"Life is a box of chocolates," Jed said. "You end up getting left with all the hard ones that break your teeth."

+ +

"Look at this place," Jack said. "We got a river, and a castle and the best pubs in the west. Fishing and climbing + and everything else, wall-to-wall women and then the arseholes come along and totally screw it up."

+ +

"You'll be okay when you finish your college stuff," Jed said.

+ +

"Sure, I'll be rich as sin. I don't think. If I even get to finish, now."

+ +

Everybody knew Jack was paying his way through, working his way to some degree in business or management, studying + after his morning shift in the dairy. Nobody really knew exactly what it was for and he never said much about it. He + was up at four in the morning delivering milk, and then half the day cleaning out the tankers at the dairy and God + alone knew when he had the time to study, but they all had to hand it to him. He was trying to pull himself up by + the bootstraps, make something of himself like his grandad always said, and since his old man had died, it had been + no easy garden stroll.

+ +

Now the dairy was teetering on the edge and Andy Kerr was staring disaster in the face. The two hundred grand he'd + invested in new tankers had proved a bad bet after the big supermarket chain he'd been supplying for ten years + pulled the rug and left him flat. They'd been trying to drive the wholesale price down to where even the dairy + farmers would operate at a loss. Now Andy Kerr and the farmers, and everybody who worked for them were all going to + lose.

+ +

On top of that, the Town Council had doubled the rent on the dairy site, and Jack said he was sure some of the + councillors were on the take. You get Andy out and you've got five prime acres to build on and Asda and Safeway and + Sainsbury's are biting each other's backs to get flat land to trade on. That was a sellers market. So the + supermarkets won whichever way.

+ +

Eighteen prime acres when you threw in Bruce Harbour, where Sproat planned to bulldoze all the old distillery + buildings and warehouses. Another piece of town history gone forever, but that was nothing new. What could you + do?

+ +

"Bastards," Donny said, and everybody agreed with the sentiment. He had Irish red hair and freckles and his face was + scarlet from the sun.

+ +

"Sure they are," Jack said. "They're tearing the heart out of the place. It's going to be like a ghost town. Five + hundred out of work, and worse to come."

+ +

"How d'you figure that out? It's only two hundred at the distillery."

+ +

"Only two hundred," Jed butted in. "Get real!"

+ +

"Okay," Jack said. "You got the two hundred from Sproat's. Another forty from the creamery. That's the start. Plenty + of people not earning, and not spending. That's going to hit the shops and the bars, and when they get hit, they lay + off. So there's less rake-in to the council. So they start cutting services and jobs."

+ +

He shook his head. "Look what's happened after the banks crashed. Thousands of jobs wiped out. Less taxes for the + government. So they start cutting costs. More jobs down the drain. Less taxes. It's a vicious circle."

+ +

"Bastard!" Donny repeated. "Somebody should do something about it."

+ +

Jack just nodded.

+ +

Jed got to his feet.

+ +

"Enough of this dismal crap. Come on and finish the game."

+ +

"Hey mister, you want some balls?" One of the boys held up a plastic bag.

+ +

"His granny's got them," Tam chipped in and everybody fell about.

+ +

"What's it like with her teeth out?"

+ +

"You'll never know. What's it like being a dildo?"

+ +

Tam lined up. He had the six iron and the wedge. Jed had the three and a big old wood. Everybody else had two clubs + apiece. Tam hit a scorcher that went straight down the middle and nearly hit the woman who had pulled the gusset + lining from her cheeks and she turned round to glare.

+ +

"Fore. . . . " he bawled.

+ +

"Sixty bloody four."

+ +

"That would be the only bang she'd get," Neil said.

+ +

"Not unless Jed catches her up."

+ +

"Shit upon you, gentlemen" Jed said, very agreeably. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, not that you're going to + get the chance. The mature lady, she don't yell, she don't tell and she be grateful as all hell."

+ +

Jack hit a grass cutter that glanced off a handy rise and took off, almost catching up with Tam's ball on the middle. + Neil managed all of twenty yards and scooped a two-foot gouge. Jed topped it hard and the ball dug in to a knoll, + under the roots of a tree. Donny hit his a smack and his did a fast curve to the left. The greyhound whined and + rubbed her backside along the grass again.

+ +

"Sliced and diced," somebody said.

+ +

"No. It was hooked."

+ +

The ball kept curving past the willow stumps and came down into the march, not far from the furthest swamp kid. Donny + swore.

+ +

"Anybody got another ball?"

+ +

"There was some in the bag."

+ +

"No," Jed said. "I took them out for the lager."

+ +

"Oh, brilliant! That's me out the game."

+ +

"Want a ball mister? Ten for five. Brand new, no totties."

+ +

"How much for one?"

+ +

"Got to buy bulk, mister. Ten balls, five notes."

+ +

"That's bloody robbery. I'll wrap this six iron round your ear."

+ +

The boy shrugged. He was safe, up to his thighs in clinging mud. No club member would get near to him out there.

+ +

But Donny was no member.

+ +

"Screw it," he said, and maybe it was the whisky, or just the way Donny was. Once he got hold of an idea, there was + no stopping him. His cargo pants were down at his ankles before anybody could say a thing.

+ +

"Just leave it," Jed said. "We can take shots each."

+ +

"It's only a bit of mud." He heel-toed out of his trainers and stood there in tee shirt and jockeys, surveying the + scene. His ball had landed thirty feet out, close to a lone squat bush.

+ +

"It's too deep. You'll soak your pants."

+ +

"To hell with the pants." He pushed them down too and stepped out. His backside was pallid furred with golden hairs + which contrasted with the dark tee shirt. He pulled the edge down to cover his balls and tried to wedge it between + his thighs.

+ +

"Let it swing, Donny boy."

+ +

"There's piranhas in there. They go for worms."

+ +

Jack cupped his hands to his mouth and bawled to the women golfers who were just turning the bend at the end of the + straight.

+ +

"You don't know what you're missing here, ladies."

+ +

Everybody laughed, even Donny. He scratched his backside and then started wading until the mud came up to his thighs. + Every step made a gloopy sucking sound and set up and gobble of bubbles and sighed when they reached the + surface.

+ +

"What a smell, man. That would knock you out flat."

+ +

"Let's make it a four ball," Neil said. "I'm not playing with him when he comes out."

+ +

Donny was bending down now, arms deep in the mud, white backside catching the sun, nose close to the surface.

+ +

"Use your feet," Jack shouted.

+ +

Donny stood up and held his hand up in triumph. His arm was black from fingers to shoulder.

+ +

"Got it," he called back, floundering to catch his balance, and then laboriously turned to make the long sticky walk + back to the hard ground.

+ +

"Shit," Jed said. "That's what it smells like. That is rank rotten."

+ +

Neil laughed. "Momma always said, stupid is as stupid does."

+ +

Donny stood there and the black greasy ooze slowly slid down his thighs. The tip of his penis bore a black dot of + mud.

+ +

Fannieboz strained at the leash and shoved her nose into his crotch.

+ +

Donny stumbled backwards. "Jeez, Neil. You got to get that bitch fixed."

+ +

"It's her hormones. Something wrong with her glands. She can't help it."

+ +

The greyhound mewled and rolled her eyes at Donny.

+ +

"That's one seriously screwed pooch," he said.

+ +

"Hey, mud man, you have to get cleaned up." Jed held his nose. "That's bog awful."

+ +

"Along here," Jack said. "If there's any water in the steam you can wipe it off."

+ +

They all sauntered off, taking shots when they came across the balls, Donny leaving black and smelly footprints on + the green grass, until they reached the little runnel that crossed the fairway. There was about a foot of water, + flowing slowly, with a thick candyfloss of algae on either side. Some water skaters skimmed the surface and a family + of whirligig beetles madly made themselves dizzy.

+ +

Donny slid down the bank and into the water and immediately a trail of ooze washed downstream in slow whorls. He bent + and started wiping the mud off.

+ +

"What's that smell?" Tam asked, sniffing the still air.

+ +

"It's the dog."

+ +

"No it's the ginger loony from the black lagoon," somebody said.

+ +

"Not that. I smell more drink."

+ +

Jack sniffed. "Me too."

+ +

"Look," Jed said. "Where did these fish come from?"

+ +

They all peered into the clear water upstream of where Donny stood. A half a dozen small fish, maybe brown trout, + floated in a little pool that was blocked off by a fallen branch. They were pale and bloodless, floating belly + up.

+ +

"It's whisky," Jed said.

+ +

"No. That's just because you're drinking the stuff."

+ +

"No, he's right," Donny said. "This must be where it came out. Man, the shit really hit. It was just last Friday, + before a big decant. Somebody must have moved the wedges on the barrel stack and three of them rolled. They hit the + concrete like bombs."

+ +

He laughed. "Sproat went berserk, but it's his fault for not making sure the barrels were checked. Some of the hoops + had rusted in store, and when they hit, they just broke away. You ever see a hogshead explode?"

+ +

Nobody had.

+ +

"Malt whisky fountain, that's what you get. The decant tank drain valve was still open and all the spillage went + straight into the pipe."

+ +

Donny stood up, cupping water in his hand to loosen the mud on his caked arm.

+ +

"It all went down the drain and that was that. Couple of hundred gallons. And believe me they get worked up if you + take a half bottle for medicinable purposes."

+ +

"Sure, like you've got a dangerous case of being sober?"

+ +

"Imagine their faces when all that went down the swanney. You can still smell it down here."

+ +

"Must have killed the fish. They'd have been swimming in it."

+ +

"What a way to go. Suberb. That's how I want it."

+ +

Jack stood at the edge and looked upstream. "So it all went down a drain and into this?"

+ +

"They tried to hush it up. Sproat got them to block it off. He's scared he'd get done for polluting the place. But if + it got to the environmental people, I never heard."

+ +

"So three barrels, how much is that worth?" Jack had that look in his eye.

+ +

"Depends," Donny said. He was bending down again, now winning the battle. His legs were becoming paler as the muck + washed off. "Depends on how old, what blend and whether the duty's been paid. That's about eighty percent."

+ +

"Eighty percent?" Jed said. "That's what they take? That's robbery with violence."

+ +

"Too true," Donny agreed. "Anyway, three barrels is about a hundred and fifty gallons."

+ +

"Six bottles to a gallon," Jack said. He was quick.

+ +

"And what's that over-proof thing?" Jed asked.

+ +

Jack stepped in. He was always good at pub quizzes, knew all the obscure stuff that wasn't music and football. "They + used to test whisky with gunpowder to see if it was strong enough. If it exploded, it was. That was it proved."

+ +

"Yeah," Donny said. "A hundred proof is about sixty percent. The raw stuff they make in there is about a hundred and + thirty, so that's eighty percent pure alcohol, twice as strong as normal, so you have to water it down."

+ +

"That would blow your head off."

+ +

Jack was still picking at it. "So that's like three hundred gallons, eighteen hundred bottles, all down the drain. + No wonder they were pissed off."

+ +

"It was just the angels share," Donny said, almost clean. "You can still smell it down here."

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"Cooper's trade secret."

+ +

"Ex-cooper soon," Tam said, and that was true enough.

+ +

"Okay. Your barrels are made of oak, right? Whisky has to be stored in oak for three years minimum, to be real + scotch. And some of it evaporates through the pores in the wood. They call it the Angels Share.

+ +

"Can't you make barrels with no holes?"

+ +

"No," Donny said, not bothering to explain. He hauled himself up to the bank.

+ +

"You forgot to wash your dick," Tam pointed out.

+ +

"Shouldn't have been looking, sweetheart." Everybody laughed. Donny started climbing back into his shorts and when he + straightened he reached for the black tube, popped the top and took a big one. He gasped and wiped his mouth again, + unaware that he left a wide grey streak from one cheek to the other. Nobody bothered to tell him.

+ +

"And this is the angels share too. Everybody gets a share."

+ +

"Like Catch 22," Jack said.

+ +

Everybody looked at him and none of them knew what he was talking about.

+ +

Donny pulled on the cargo pants and slipped his feet back in the trainers.

+ +

"Where's that ball?"

+
+

"Hey, you there! Are you members?"

+ +

It came from off to the left, back the way they had come. Tam was hacking away in the rough, not far in, close to a + thin birch and he'd taken about ten fruitless swipes, cursing after every one of them, but the ball was still stuck + in the long grass.

+ +

Another designer shirt came striding up, dragging a big red bag of Ping clubs with little woolly hats to keep them + warm, even in this heat.

+ +

Donny was taking another drink of the amber stuff and Jed had the can of lager in his hand. They all turned.

+ +

"On you go," Donny said, waving them forward when he put the tube down. "You can play on through. We're not in any + rush."

+ +

"I asked if you are members," the man asked. He had thin grey hair and a thick stubbly presbyterian moustache.

+ +

"Yes, we are. Of course." Tam hiccupped at the end of that and Jed giggled. It had been that kind of day so far.

+ +

"Oh really. And what is this, a five ball? And where are your clubs?"

+ +

Donny held up a driver and a wedge. The bag stood alone on its little wheels with only a black tube protruding from + the top.

+ +

"You know the rules."

+ +

"What rules?"

+ +

"Or you would if you were members, which you clearly are not." He looked Tam up and down, taking in the jeans and the + old Jesus sandals. "No denim, only golf spikes, and definitely no, repeat no low-life vagrants."

+ +

Jack knew the face. Jamieson Bell, one of the big-wigs on the council. Every one of them were in Alistair Sproat's + pocket as far as he could tell.

+ +

"Who are you calling a low-life?" Jed stepped forward and stuck his chin out.

+ +

"What's the problem Jamieson?"

+ +

Jack recognised the voice and spun round. Gus Ferguson hove into view, bright in a yellow polo shirt and sky blue + trews. He was stocky, with thick lifter's arms covered in black curly hair.

+ +

"No problem Fergus. These people were just leaving."

+ +

"Look, we said you could play on through. Just you go ahead. We're not bothering anybody."

+ +

"You're bothering me," Bell said. Donny had recognised him too even though Bell wouldn't have known him from + Adam.

+ +

"Yeah. Get lost," Ferguson said. "You're cluttering the place up."

+ +

"Get yourself lost," Tam came back. "We're just having a game."

+ +

Ferguson came right up to them, passing Bell. He leaned in on them, bull-like and broad. He had some sort of share in + the big scrap yard out beyond the railway bridge where Jed and Neil rummaged for parts for the stock-car bust-ups. + He did a bit of car trading from a yard on the east side, and they were the only things he did that were anywhere + close to being legit. Everybody knew he was into every mucky scam going.

+ +

"Listen, you low-life bunch of shite, get yourselves off this fairway or I'll fucking kick you off myself."

+ +

"You and whose army?" Donny demanded. Jack clapped a warning hand on his shoulder, but Donny was up for it. His + freckles stood out like ink-blots on his skin, the way they did when he was losing it just a bit.

+ +

Ferguson leaned in further. "Do I know you? I do, don't I?"

+ +

"So what?"

+ +

"You're Skid Watson's boy, that right? Like father like son. Last of the great unwashed."

+ +

"You keep my dad out of it, you slimy bastard." Donny's old man had never been an outstanding success at anything, + apart from football, when he had been noted for a vicious sliding tackle, but now he had bad arthritis that curled + his fingers into claws and welded his knee bones into knots and was in a lot of pain a lot of the time.

+ +

"You'll amount to the same thing, Ginger boy. Nothing."

+ +

Neil Cleary broke in and Ferguson rounded on him, slab-faced, grizzle haired.

+ +

"You too, beef lard. See me after you've been to weightwatchers and got rid of the flab"

+ +

"Come on," Jack said. "We don't need this."

+ +

"Yeah. Take the rest of the dead-end kids and get to fuck out of my club."

+ +

That was enough for Donny.

+ +

"You're club? What club would have you? You're nothing but a fucking low-life, slimy, tuppeny-ha'penny dope dealing + fuckin' shark. People like you give fuckin' criminals a bad name."

+ +

Ferguson whipped round to see how far off Jamieson Bell was. Maybe they had just been pitched together in the medal, + and maybe Bell was too far up the social scale to know just who and what Ferguson was, but Donny had touched the + spot all right. Gus Ferguson had built up his racket in the seventies and eighties when all the big Yank firms had + pulled out to chase the dollar in the Pacific rim sweats, and after Thatcher yanked the plug on everybody else, when + every other home in the schemes needed the tide-over loans the banks never dished out as low as the council house + strata. Everybody knew Ferguson turned a dishonest buck here and there besides and under the Lacrosse polo shirt + there would be enough dope rope to hitch a coach and four.

+ +

He leant in further and lowered his voice.

+ +

"You got a fast mouth ginger nuts. I'll remember you said that. And I'll remember the next time your Aunty Jean comes + looking for a leg-up, like she does every other week. Her rate just went up. She gets a leg up when I get a leg-over + her skanky arse, capice."

+ +

"Go fuck yourself and the horse you rode in on, you wide-boy skag."

+ +

"Aye, get lost Ferguson," Neil Cleary butted in. He was still stung by the fat boy remark. "That's well out of + order."

+ +

Ferguson smiled that way hard men do, letting it even reach his eyes, like he was really having a laugh, but you + know it's just the poison in them. He never took them off Donny.

+ +

He was right up against his ear and nobody else heard it except Jack Lorne.

+ +

"And you, you get to follow the old man. You're in a fuckin wheelchair, got me?"

+ +

Jack bit his lip, but Donny was too far gone with the insult.

+ +

"Fuck yourself on a sharp stick, arsehole."

+ +

Down at the edge of the rough, Jamieson Bell called up.

+ +

"Just leave them Angus. They're not worth the trouble. I'll call the greenkeeper."

+ +

He pulled out a little Ericson job the size of a penguin biscuit and flipped its lid. They heard the beep of + dialling. He started talking loudly into it.

+ +

Tam Bowie pulled at Donny's arm. "Come on you. Ignore it. Just walk away."

+ +

Donny shrugged him off, ready to get waded in again, but Ferguson was walking away and all the fun had gone out of + the game. Donny stood there, face still smeared in grey, whisky on his breath and his hands were shaking. He never + did anything in half measures, drunk or sober.

+ +

"That slimy cunt. I could fucking have him."

+ +

"You and whose army?" Tam mimicked, all sarcastic. "You want to stay well clear of that bastard. He's a total loony + and he's got a bunch of crazies backing him up."

+ +

Jack nodded. "Come on. They're just a pair of wankers."

+ +

Ferguson didn't even look at them as they pulled away to the side. Donny and Neil still wanted to go on with the + game, and Donny looked as if he wanted to have a real go with the sand wedge, but the others pulled them back. The + game was a bogey, as the kids say here. The ball was on the slates. They went back up to the gorse-covered hillock + and sat in the sun, drinking the rest of the lager and the whisky and Tam threw a six iron at a pheasant that + wandered out of cover and got the fright of its life. He missed by a hand span.

+ +

"Sliced it again," he said and everybody laughed and then they all got up, emptied the water out of the bag, stuck + the clubs back in and started sauntering home along by the old distillery. Apart from Ferguson and that creepy + Jamieson Bell, it hadn't been such a bad afternoon when there was nothing better to do.

+ +

Kerr Thomson, the customs man at the big distillery gate nodded to Donny as they passed and he waved back.

+ +

Jack turned to Donny. "What did they do when they spilled the whisky?"

+ +

"Nothing they can do. They had to write it off."

+ +

"Just like that?"

+ +

"Sure. It happens all the time. Sometimes a barrel will split a hoop and you lose the lot. You don't pay tax on what + you haven't got. When it's in customs bond, it's like a duty-free zone, know what I mean?"

+ +

Tam and Neill headed off up to Overburn which looked out over the rest of the town down on the flatland, and the + other three trundled on towards Drymains, on the other side of the main road, past the row of bonded warehouses and + Levenford Dairy where the clanking of the bottles on the racks told them they were getting filled for the next day. + Jed peeled away and the other two strolled down to the turn.

+ +

"Catch you in Mac's tonight."

+ +

"Not tonight," Jack said. "I got to hit the books. See you Friday."

+ +

Donny hitched the cart behind him and its wheels juddered over the rough road and then bumped back up onto the + pavement. The sun had turned the back of his neck bright red, that raw Celtic way that needs factor forty on shady + days and still hurts like hell the next morning.

+ +

Jack sauntered down the street, hands in his pockets, deep in thought. The sun was in his eyes as it began its slide + down the slope of the Cardross Hills, getting more red-fevered as it sank, and Jack never really noticed the big Jag + as it cruised past. He was vaguely aware of somebody turned to face him, but then it was gone. Only the low squeal + of tires as it picked up speed at the far corner made him turn and take a glance. He turned back, hands in his + pockets, thinking of the dead fish in the little stream and trying to work out the value of those lost bottles of + whisky in his head, doubling up for dilution, charging at shop prices. It was one of those things that always + snagged his brain, the way a tune will go through your head and you can't get rid of it. Jack always had a head for + figures and if he hadn't left school early to get a job after his dad had died, he'd have got through college a + whole lot sooner. He was converting gallons to seventy cubic-centilitre bottles in his head when he suddenly stopped + dead.

+ +

He turned round fast again, looking up in the direction the Jaguar had gone.

+ +

Somebody had turned round to look at him and the sun had been in his eyes and he'd been doing mental arithmetic.

+ +

Somebody had turned. . . . .

+ +

Gus Ferguson's face spun right into sharp focus.

+ +

Jesus! Gus Ferguson. What was he doing here . . . . ?

+ +

Jack was running even before he completed the thought. The sun was at his back, sending a long shadow ahead. Two + small boys on bikes scattered out of his way as he reached the corner, got a hand to the children crossing + post and spun himself round it. Up at Crosswell Street the road took a bend as it narrowed, on the short cut through + to the Orlett houses where Donny lived. There was a narrow stretch here, bounded on both sides by a hawthorn hedge, + and a small field that used to be a paddock back when this had been farmland.

+ +

There was no sign of anybody. But the Jag had definitely turned up here. That meant it was up the lane. Jack was + breathing fast, and he speeded up, trainers slapping the tarmac. Jesus.

+ +

"Donny," he bawled. "Watch your back." A woman at an upstairs window leaned out curiously as he passed and followed + his run up the street. He got to the narrow part and just as he was turning, saw the back end of the Jag angled out + of the gateway to the field. Off in the distance some boys were playing football. Two dogs were barking at each + other. A blackbird bulleted out of the hedge with that daft alarm call they all have and clattered away into the + bush at the far side.

+ +

Donny's golf bag was lying at the side.

+ +

On the other side of the thick hedge, somebody was taking a real kicking.

+ +

Jack skidded to a halt. Even from here he could hear the blows land, solid and meaty and of a sudden his heart was + somewhere up in his throat.

+ +

Fuck! He couldn't think straight. The wheels on the little trolley were still spinning lazily. The tube was + out of the bag and a few of the clubs had shot from the mouth to scatter on the track.

+ +

Donny called out and it didn't really sound like him at all. It was all froth and gulping.

+ +

Fuck! Jack was suddenly scared in so many directions his fear was three-dimensional. He was scared to go + round that corner and face what was happening, scared that Ferguson would mark him out. But what scared him most was + that if he didn't go round the corner, then Donny would end up like Ferguson had said, and that vicious bastard was + mad enough to make it happen.

+ +

Wheelchair. . . wheelchair.

+ +

Just what right did Ferguson have to think he had the power?

+ +

Fuck! That thought punched through the fear and Jack bent down and snatched up the heavy sand wedge.

+ +

Jesus, they had only gone for a couple of cans and a swing at the ball. Just passing the time.

+ +

Behind the hedge Donny coughed again and it wasn't really a cough. Jack swung the iron and went through the gate + fast. Somebody was in the driver's seat and he felt like taking a smash at him, but all he could think of was + getting to Donny. Christ, hadn't they backed each other since they were four years old?

+ +

What fucking right. . . . . ?

+ +

There were two of them and they were kicking the shit out of him. One of them had an old baseball bat and he was + swinging like a slugger, every one connecting in a dull meaty thud. Donny was down on his knees and he was coughing + again. It sounded like an underwater sob.

+ +

He recognised the nearest man. Seggs Cullen, medium height, stocky, head shaved, thick as shit, but he was hard + enough. Seggs waded in and put the boot in under Donny's ribs and some blood and snot sneezed out onto the dry + flattened grass.

+ +

Jack heard a singing in his ears, a juicy little mosquito hum as if his blood pressure was building too fast and + suddenly he was up on that high dry plane where everything is stark and clear and all motion seems to go + treacle-slow. The fear shrank under the cool anger.

+ +

"Okay gentlemen, it's showtime. What's the par for this course?"

+ +

Seggs Cullen froze half way through a swing, taken completely by surprise. Jack stepped past Donny, aware on another + level that the blood mixed with the grass turned it a sticky brown.

+ +

"Do I hook or do I slice?"

+ +

Jack swung the club up and took Seggs on the side of the cheek, just on the turn. It hit with the most satisfying + crunch Jack could ever remember in his life. Jesus! No slice, no hook, just on the sweet spot. Seggs did a + backward flip and sent up a cloud of dust when he hit. Jack swung, way beyond the fear now, riding on the anger and + the sudden savage joy that had bloomed when he connected with the sand wedge.

+ +

The other man was turning, ready to swing again and Jack spun on his right foot, like a hammer thrower. Donny was on + the ground, on hands and knees, dribbling blood all over the place, and a matt of it darkening his red hair. He made + a horrible, scary little noise, the kind of noise you hear down in the slaughterhouse when they put the pin in the + brain of a black Angus and then it paws and dribbles, not yet aware that it's gone forever.

+ +

". . . . oh. . " Donny just made that little bewildered noise and then a big gout of blood came out along + with the beer and the whisky.

+ +

Jack swung like a clansman, pivoting fast to take the other guy straight on the chin. He put the weight on his left + foot and stepped in the beer and snot, slipped sideways and the wedge missed by a mere inch. It slammed into the + man's upper arm just as he was about to land another killer on Donny's kidneys. He let out a blurt of pain and the + slugger went flying off into the hedge.

+ +

"What the fuck. . . .? "

+ +

Jack was still on the curve of the adrenaline roller, with that odd singing in his ears and everything was going in + backlit slow motion like in one of those old Jap samurai films. He regained his balance, used the spin to follow + through, turned, and sunk a fast boot into the man's groin. The thug doubled up and made an odd, gasping growl of + sound. Jack brought the sand-wedge up and whipped it down as the guy bent over and the heavy face connected with his + left buttock in a wondrous meaty whack.

+ +

The man roared like a bear.

+ +

"You get to fuck and take that garbage with you," Jack said, hearing his words come out in a snarl that didn't sound + like him at all.

+ +

Donny was down again, unable to take his weight on his hands, snuffling like a pig in the dirt and all of a sudden a + huge and overwhelming fury swamped Jack Lorne and he swung out again with the wedge, taking the other man on the + ribs so hard that it doubled him over. Seggs Cullen was on his feet, holding his mouth, dribbling the same kind of + blood and snotters and yelling in a mush behind his fingers. The second man gasped for breath, caught it and came + forward, reaching for the club. Jack swung again, fast left and right and managed to catch a knuckle with a sound + like stone on stone.

+ +

Up at the Jaguar somebody was bawling and Jack couldn't make out the words. The man with the sore knuckles and arm + and balls backed off, growling and cursing incoherently and making sure he would recognise Jack Lorne if he ever saw + him again and then they were up at the Jag and the doors were shut and it sizzled away, sending up dry earth and + grass and a pall of blue exhaust.

+ +

Donny pushed himself up again and crawled around blind on his hands and knees, making a complete, confused little + circle, and Jack caught him just before his arms gave way again.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..524dd94 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,649 @@ + + + + + + 2 + + + + +
+
+

2

+ +

Friday night and Mac’s Bar was all noise and laughing. The juke box competed with MTV and the karaoke was setting up. + A couple of kids were over at the bandit, thumbing + coins and staring at the flashing lights, going for the full epileptic. The joint would be juddering by + midnight.

+ +

"Who said this place was dead?" Jed straightened up from the pool table to watch two slender blonde girls doing the + dance they must have been practising in their bedrooms, metronome perfect. Behind the bar it was all bustle and + hustle, Frank and the girls weaving their own dance in the tight space; in front of it, three deep in the shallows, + getting to six near the door.

+ +

"Of all da gin joints in all the towns in all the woild, they has ta walk into mine." Neil did GBH to old Bogey..

+ +

"They see you and walk back out again, fast."

+ +

They were up at the held territory of the far corner, squeezed in by the press of new arrivals, close to ten at night + and it was still warm. Here in the confined space, the moving of bodies added another ten degrees. The heatwave had + stretched to three weeks and while the puddles of the summer deluge had finally drained and dried to cracked china, + it was still lush, getting to the hot and sticky stage that's still a rarity in these parts, even with the global + warming coming on apace.

+ +

Jed had trails of sweat rambling down his cheeks. Neil took a shot, potted and ended up right on line to make another + drop.

+ +

"Fat man, you shoot a great game of pool." They were a good double act.

+ +

Neil started to laugh just as he was about to take the pot and he sliced the white. It skittered away without + doing any damage.

+ +

"Cheating rat, you put me off." He turned and held the queue up in both hands. "You don't understand! I could've had + class. I coulda been a contender. I coulda been somebody, instead of a bum which is what I am." +

+ +

"Exactly."

+ +

"Yeah, but for a pint, who said it?"

+ +

"Marlon Apocalypse Captain Kurtz Brando. On Da Watafront."

+ +

"Every one a winner. You get the pint." Neil called the barman. "You want another, Jack? Put a smile on your torn + face?"

+ +

They'd been hunched at the bar, waiting for the pool table to free up, and Jack hadn't been his usual self. Friday + night was fun night, always had been, but Jack Lorne had a deep side to him that sometimes showed through to make up + for the mischief. You never could tell just when it would.

+ +

"The town's dead on its feet," Jack was saying. "This is just the nerves jumping. You watch, rigor mortis will set in + quick as a blink."

+ +

"You're nothing but a pessimist." Jed always got optimistic on Smirnoff Ice. "If it's just the nerves, this place is + jumping pretty good. Alive and kicking."

+ +

"Pessimist? You're facing ninety days notice. The dairy is about to fold. Donny and Neil are just waiting + for the axe."

+ +

It was Friday night and he knew he should have shrugged it off, followed the Friday night current and just gone for + the fun, but it was hard to get the chuckle engine started tonight. Donny had got out of casualty strapped up and + stiff and nobody believed he had fallen down a flight of stairs, but there was no way he'd finger Ferguson or his + team of pit-bulls. You just wouldn't win, because it was two of them against three, and then Ferguson would start + leaning on people. He threw a bit of tonnage in this town and you could walk down River Street and get a sore face + and cracked ribs from a stranger anytime he said so. Most of the hurt was bruising and some internal stuff that was + healing slow and sore and every time Jack thought about it he got a hot clench in the middle of his belly while his + nails dug hard into the palms of his hands and he knew it was just impotence. There was nothing he could do, and + that was the worst of it. The story of their lives.

+ +

He kept picturing Donny, red hair matted and blood dripping to the grass, turning round in that stupid little circle + on his hands and knees and moaning like a dying bullock. God, that had been scary. He closed his eyes and flicked + the picture away. Donny had managed to get to his feet and the pupil of one eye was shrunk down to a pinhole. He had + started gurgling up the blood he'd swallowed and half of it went over Jack's tee shirt. It had taken them twenty + minutes to get round to Jed's and a miraculous eight minutes of crazy driving in that souped up little stock-car to + get to casualty. Jed could wheel it like nobody's business. The doc said Donny was dead lucky he still had his + kidneys and any brains left, but it didn't seem lucky to either of them. The nurse gave him a jab and rubbed alcohol + on the dirt and then the young houseman had started in with the needlepoint where they'd shaved the hair. He made a + good job of it.

+ +

Jack was on ice cold Guinness, taking it slow. It had been a long day and it was taking him a while to shake it + off.

+ +

"I'll get another job no bother," Jed was saying. "Everybody needs drivers."

+ +

"I sincerely hope do. That means you can start buying drink."

+ +

Tam pushed his way through the crowd and shoehorned into the corner. He had slicked his hair back behind his big red + ears that glowed with the heat they picked up during the day. Neil was leaking, carrying a couple of stones more + than a heatwave made comfortable.

+ +

"What's happening?" Tam was up for mischief.

+ +

"Couple of parties ongoing, or we could cut about River Street. The town's one big Mardi Gras tonight, wall-to-wall + women. Some of them not too sore on the eyeball."

+ +

Jed looked at Jack. "Told you, didn't I?"

+ +

"You just don't know when you're down and out."

+ +

"You okay Jake?" Tam was holding out a ten-spot for the next round and one of the girls behind the bar was volleying + verbals with him.

+ +

"Sure. Just tired. Got to get my second wind. "

+ +

"You'll be glad to get a lie-in these mornings," Tam said and as soon as he did he realised that might not have been + the diplomatic thing.

+ +

"Sure, sleep it off. It's time I checked out Australia House. The outback's got to be better than this."

+ +

"Come on you guys," Neil said, barrelling in against them. "It's Friday night and we've got the whole weekend ahead. + I mean like, hol'on, consarnit, golly-darnit. I'll be a horn-swaggeled bushwackin' side-windin' saddled horn... + rivvid, ravvid, ravvid...You going to the party?"

+ +

"Maybe," Jack said. "I told Robert we'd show up sometime."

+ +

"You Jed? You coming with the boys or going for a leg under with her indoors. Mrs Round the Block Many Times?"

+ +

Jed aimed hard fingers at Neil's belly, dug in and squeezed hard. Neil yelped.

+ +

"She's not been around. She's a previously enjoyed companion. Who will be enjoyed some more, given half a + chance."

+ +

"And you're not a sex machine, you're just hormonally automated."

+ +

Jed laughed. Everybody knew he would peel away some time late on and head up to Margery Burns' place for a night on + the springs.

+ +

"Come on Jed," Tam wanted to know. "Is it the grey hair or what?"

+ +

"None of your business. Do I ask you about the chicks you shag?"

+ +

"All the time!"

+ +

"What chicks?" Neil pumped his fist. "He only knows Pamela. Gets by with a little help from his friends."

+ +

"That's very true," the bar girl agreed, and that broke the mood for Jack. They all cracked up again and handed over + their empty glasses to start on the next round.

+ +

"Listen," Jed said. "Don't knock it until you try it. Tell you one thing, she's taught me plenty. Swear to god, even + the neighbours need a smoke afterwards."

+ +

They all fell about.

+ +

"Has she got a daughter?" Jack asked.

+ +

Somebody called for order and Frank the barman bulled round through the crowd and slung an arm round one of the + dancing girls and the karaoke started with his Friday night version of Meatloaf getting up to naughty by the + dashboard light. The noise cranked up until it drowned MTV.

+ +

Over by the door a small commotion started and none of them noticed until Donny eased his way in beside them, his + normally red face a whiter shade of grey. He let out an involuntary grunt when an inadvertent elbow brushed against + his ribs. Jack could see him grinding his teeth.

+ +

"Jesus, Don. What are you doing out?"

+ +

Donny had taken the bandage off his head and sometime between the golfing disaster and tonight he'd managed to shave + the rest of his hair down to stubble. His scalp was just as white as his face, and the stitches just to the left of + his crown looked like a patch of spiky thorns.

+ +

Somebody got one of the stools and shoved it under his backside. Tam shouted up another lager.

+ +

"Stay in on a Friday night? Goes against my religion."

+ +

"You should have stayed in your bed Don. Look at the state of you. You're having a right bad head day."

+ +

He shook it, regretted it. "My ma keeps asking me what happened. She's driving me up the wall. I'm scared I'll crack + and tell her Ferguson's going to pull the plug on Aunty Jean. And then she'll call the cops and the shit will hit. + Anyway, I need help, you guys. I haven't had a stiffy for days. It's got me worried."

+ +

"What do you expect? You've just had your ribs caved in, got concussed, and nearly lost a kidney. You have to give + yourself time to heal."

+ +

"But I wake up hard every morning," Donny said. "What if that's me for life? I mean, I'm only twenty four."

+ +

"And that's six years past your prime. It's all downhill from here on."

+ +

"It's not funny. You know where I can get viagra?"

+ +

"Stick to lager. It'll do you better."

+ +

Over in the other corner, a tableful of girls from the Starlight stage group were out on the town, up on their feet + murdering Gloria Gaynor, all of them promising that they would survive, though half of them didn't look as if they'd + see the night out still awake or still standing. One of them was blowing kisses at Jack and he blew one back just + for the hell of it.

+ +

"Does Kate know you're out?" Jack's sister Linda was amongst the crowd.

+ +

"Kiss my ass, little mother."

+ +

Linda had her arm around Neil's sister Joanne and another girl called Donna Bryce who worked with them in the + hairdressers. All of them were ready for the karaoke to do the number they'd been practising for the past five + weeks. The kiss blower pushed her way across.

+ +

"Jack Lorne. Haven't seen you in years. Here, give us a real kiss."

+ +

There was no preamble. She just lunged at him and there was nothing he could do. All the other girls started hooting + and he held up two fingers to them all.

+ +

"Put him down," Linda ordered. "I know where he's been."

+ +

"Look at that girl go," Neil broke in. "She's eating him alive."

+ +

"That should cheer up his miserable face," Tam said agreeably.

+ +

Jack finally managed to break away. He wiped a hand over his mouth to clear the lipstick.

+ +

"Are you going to Clare Jamieson's party?" the girl asked.

+ +

"Sure," he said.

+ +

"See you there," she said with drink, hope and promise chasing each other in her eyes, gave him a squeeze and went + back to the group.

+ +

"So we're going to Robert's, for definite," Jack said. "She'll cook my rabbits."

+ +

Neil got to the mike and gathered up Linda and Donna Bryce and Joanne, who sang the doo-wah backing vocals in the + Starlight show. Neil had a terrific baritone voice that he loved to show off and as soon as the music kicked in, + they were belting out one of the stage numbers, all in close harmony, making the walls shudder.

+ +

Tam called Frank over and the boys chipped in the kitty money for their party drink. Frank filled two big plastic + bags and they were just about to leave for Robert's place when there was another commotion at the far door as a new + group of people pushed their way in. In a crowded bar, you can always tell when the atmosphere changes. It's + something in the tone of the noise that just alters and gets the nerves on full alert. Even the air seems to turn + brittle. Jack felt it and looked up.

+ +

Over at the microphone, Neil broke off the song and the girls backing stumbled to a fade.

+ +

"They're he-eeeere." He announced in a high girlish voice.

+ +

Jack turned, aware of the change.

+ +

"The boys are back in town," Neil sang right out against the music, looking at Jack but pointing down the far end. + Jack followed the direction. He stopped still. A man stared right at him down the length of the bar. Frank the + barman caught the look and did a double take.

+ +

"Dear oh dear oh dear," Jack said.

+ +

"What's up?" Tam turned and saw the man lift a hand. Beside him another man, squat and shaven headed was looking + around, obviously searching the faces. He had a big plum-coloured bruise right across his cheek and his lips were + scabbed and raw.

+ +

The first man jabbed a finger straight at Jack. Donny looked up and saw Seggs Cullen first.

+ +

"Aw, holy fuck!"

+ +

"Is that them?" Tam wanted to know. "Jeez Jake, that's Wiggy Foley. He's just got out of Barlinnie jail. He did six + for armed robbery. Full stretch for bad behaviour."

+ +

He turned to Jack. "You never hit that psycho with a club, did you?"

+ +

Jack nodded, feeling less heroic than he had when his anger was hot and high. They were stuck here right at the end + of the bar, on the opposite side from the door.

+ +

"You should have made sure that nutter stayed down."

+ +

Down there, somebody shouted in protest. At the corner of the bar, Donna Bryce's boyfriend, a fellow they knew called + Ed Kane leant in towards them.

+ +

"Do you guys need a hand?" Ed was dark and wiry. He and Tam sometimes kicked about together. It was a good offer + under the circs.

+ +

"Thanks Ed." Jack said. "Best not get involved. It's a grudge thing."

+ +

"Any time," Ed said. "You give me a shout." Even in the tension of the moment, Jack thought that was a fine thing to + say.

+ +

"Nick out the back, Jack," Neil was pushing towards them, microphone still in his hand, still keeping a tune. "Make a + new plan, Tam."

+ +

"Outamaway... !" It was just an angry growl. Wiggy Foley had recognised Jack all right, just as his eyes had + promised back there on the sunlit field. They could see people push back as the two hard men shouldered their way + through and the atmosphere suddenly crystallised.

+ +

"Hey what the fu... ?"

+ +

"He spilled my drink... "

+ +

"Watch it you... "

+ +

Tam grabbed Jack by the collar. "That was really clever, Die Hard. Him of all people."

+ +

He pulled Jack back away from the corner. "Grab these bags, quick."

+ +

For once Jack let himself be led. He hoisted the bags, even though logic and survival instinct told him to dump them, + but it was Friday night, and some instincts are even more deeply rooted. Tam raised a foot against the bar of the + door that nobody ever used and kicked it in a downward stamp, proving once and for all that the Tae Kwan Do lessons + had not been all a waste of time. The door punched outwards and cool night air sucked in.

+ +

"Get going."

+ +

"What about Donny?"

+ +

Donny was moving slowly, as if he was encased in plaster and hurting all over, which was probably true. Neil helped + him out and down the little alley behind the bar. Tam turned and pushed the door closed again. Foley and Cullen were + halfway to the corner, shoving people out of the way. They could hear the shouts from halfway down the alley. Tam + kicked again and the door clammed. He swivelled to the left while Jack went to the right, hoisted two aluminium kegs + and jammed them in against the door. If there was a fire inside, everybody would burn to carbon, but that didn't + seem likely the way the beer was flowing. Jack grabbed a wooden pallet and pushed it hard against the casks, + managing to force a corner against the brick wall to hold it in place. As soon as it locked, something hard hit the + door on the inside and somebody was bawling incoherently and it was perm any one from two. Cullen or Foley.

+ +

"Right let's getty-fuh," Tam said. Jack picked up the remaining bag, trusting that Jed had the other and + they scooted down the alley towards the river, knowing they only had a minute before the two pit-bulls got + themselves back through the crowd and out the front door. He was thinking of Donny, who might make two miles an hour + if he worked hard at it and picked up speed.

+ +

They turned the corner and caught up with them.

+ +

"You come with me," Tam said, taking Donny by the arm. Across the street Tam's Yamaha Dragstar was canted over on its + strut, shiny in the summer night light.

+ +

"Can you get a leg over it?"

+ +

"I'm like Jed. I'll get a leg over anything."

+ +

Tam helped him on and the other three disappeared round the corner to where Jed had parked the old Skoda shell with + the big V6 Saab engine under the hood. They jumped in and the engine growled like a beast.

+ +

Jed grinned. "Fasten your seatbelts kids, it's going to be a bumpy ride." + "Pop-eyed Betty Davis," Neil guessed correctly.

+ +

"If you gentlemen could tear yourselves away from Hollywood quiz night, I really think we should be in transit."

+ +

Round the corner the bike snorted, purred smoothly and Tam and Donny came cruising past them, just as Foley and + Cullen came barrelling round the corner in pursuit.

+ +

"Watch this thing shift," Jed said. He slipped on his sunglasses, hit the throttle and Jack was thrown right back + into the seat. They were across the old bridge and gone in five bare seconds

+ +

Robert Wardell might have been an air steward and as camp as a girl guides jamboree, but he was a mate and he never + threw a bad party.

+ +

The place was heaving when they got there and Robert

+ +

never Bob, or Rab, always Robert

+ +

had as usual, stored away his collection of china from his long haul stopovers, and lifted the zebra skin that he'd + smuggled from Kenya. He loved a party and hated a mess.

+ +

"Jack, Thomas! Come away in boys. I though you were never turning up."

+ +

Robert was effusive in his welcome. He bought duty free exotic drink on long hauls and his parties just never ran + out. Nevertheless, it was always bad form here to turn up empty handed.

+ +

"Just dump it anywhere," he insisted, taking the two of them by the arm, knowing he was the only non-female who would + get away with it. He was a mate. In primary school he'd always held the jackets when the rest of them were tumbling + in the mud and they'd always taken care of trouble for him when it showed up.

+ +

"Listen. I've brought a couple of friends I want you to meet."

+ +

"If they're like the usual, forget it," Jack said, completely inoffensively.

+ +

"No, not at all. You think I'd waste them on the likes of you phobic barbarians?"

+ +

He raised a hand and beckoned across the room. Tam and Jack looked at each other, taking in Robert's silk hipsters + that were just a shade too tight and a lot too purple. He was a dead ringer for Rock Hudson in the old Doris Day + movies and women always wanted to reform him, with remarkably little success. Or none at all.

+ +

"Ilse and Ingrid, come and meet Jack and Thomas."

+ +

He leaned in to Jack. "You don't see too many of these walking down River Street."

+ +

Jack turned.

+ +

She was one of the most stunning women he had ever seen, and the one next to her was nothing less than a blonde + vision.

+ +

"Be still my beating heart," Tam said.

+ +

"Be still your hormones," Robert said.

+ +

"Hello," Ilse said, holding out a perfect hand. Jack shook it and forgot to let go. She smiled as if this was nothing + less than expected.

+ +

"We're from Sweden," she said, totally unnecessarily. You never got skin and hair and teeth and everything else in + packages like this anywhere else in the world with the exception of Estonia and that was just a hop-skip away. + Robert had got the boys a free flight there a couple of years back for a stag night and they all wondered why he + still swung the funny way.

+ +

"And what brings you here?"

+ +

"Robert did. We work with the airline in Stockholm. Our uncle is the captain of a ship here, so we come to see + him."

+ +

"That's awfully nice. Would you like a drink?"

+ +

"Of course. That's the other reason we are here."

+ +

Ilse took him by the arm and led him towards the kitchen. Ingrid took the other arm and Tam was left standing with + Robert, making goldfish faces.

+ +

"Don't worry," Robert said. "I've some free flights coming up. There's a million just like them where they come from. + And the boys are world class."

+ +

Donny was on the leather settee, propped up in a couple of cushions, spinning some yarn about fighting for a girl's + honour that got more preposterous by the minute, but he had a sympathetic audience and the sympathy vote was better + than nothing. With his head shaved and stitched and his face swollen out like a fed hamster, it was all he was going + to get. They kept the drink coming and minded his bruises and he seemed okay. Jack ended up on a double-seater with + Ingrid on one side and Ilse on the other and a big bottle of Bailey's Irish cream between them. He was drinking + double handed, alternating Guinness with sips from their liqueur glasses..

+ +

"Poof's drink," Neil said, flicking through the discs, then he remembered where he was. "No offence Robert."

+ +

"None taken, Big Stuff. I got a crate of the stuff in Gibraltar for next to nothing."

+ +

"It's a total rip off," Jack said. "That's nearly fifteen notes a bottle and most of it's milk."

+ +

"But beautiful," Ilse said. Her hair was short and spiky and so fair it was like fibre-optic. The Irish cream left a + pale rim round her mouth. "We do not taste this in Sweden, you know. Much too much kroner. Too much money." +

+ +

"I'll send you some," Jack said. "Just leave your address and phone number."

+ +

"But the customs men, the Duane, you call it? You know what I mean? They catch it and ask for even more money. My + father, he make his own drink, with sugar and water and blueberry." She screwed her mouth into distaste. "Not nice + like this."

+ +

"So why can't you buy it?"

+ +

"Too much money. Your whisky, it costs... " She closed her eyes and did a mental conversion. "Fifty of your pounds + for a litre. All is taxed you know. They say everybody would just be drunk all the winter."

+ +

A short-dark haired girl came up and gave the two Swedes the measuring eye.

+ +

"Is Kate not coming tonight Jack?" she asked him, but directed the question at them.

+ +

"Sure. She'll be here."

+ +

"Well you better not let her catch you then."

+ +

He shrugged, all innocence. "International relations Jeanette. You got to be diplomatic."

+ +

Ilse leaned over him. "Kate? Is this a friend of yours?"

+ +

He was about to answer when the old Stealers Wheel number came belting out of the surround-a-sound and Neil was up at + the microphone. His big voice suited his frame.

+ +

"Don't know why I came here tonight, I got the feeling something ain't right."

+ +

He was pointing at Jake as he sang. Tam picked it up and shoved himself in towards the mike.

+ +

"Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right."

+ +

They stuck their fingers straight at Jack.

+ +

"Here I am stuck in the middle with you"

+ +

He woke early, too early, with a minor hangover, glad it was Saturday, and that somebody else was filling in on the + round. He heard the float trundle past, and the rattle and clank of the crates, wondering just how long he'd be + hearing that noise in the mornings. Outside the thrushes were competing with the blackbirds, belting it out at the + top of their voices. He always pictured them, like the boys on a Friday night, trying to get the double message + across.

+ +

Hey you arseholes, stay off my patch... hey you girls, come and get it.

+ +

A lone robin pitched in, off key, high and shrill. It had hung about the garden since winter, feeding on whatever he + threw out. It took on all comers, no matter the size or species.

+ +

He lay still, letting himself come to, piecing together the remnants of the night after they had run out the back of + Mac's bar.

+ +

That had been a hairy moment, and just as well Tam had his Yamaha out in the street and not stuck up in his garage, + otherwise they'd have been caught down the alley trying to get Donny free and clear.

+ +

Close. Too close. And all for what? He'd felt a buzz of sudden adrenaline when the two of them had come in and stared + him right in the eye, but not the way he had when he had a six iron in his hand and Donny was down in the dirt. + Foley was a crazy horse, just out of the jail, and god knows what he'd been carrying. If they'd got stuck in that + corner with no way out, there could have been yellow tape round the front door by midnight. Tam had been thinking on + his feet. He was a good man to have at your back. Now he'd have to stay clear of those psychos for a bit, and not + for the first time he wished Donny had kept his big mouth well shut. Even as he said it he knew that was the wrong + way to think.

+ +

Why the hell should they sit still for it?

+ +

Jesus. That's what they spent their lives doing; sitting still and taking what they handed out. In school, + it was Lorne, Watson, Coogan, Bowie, Cleary. Present and correct. Not Jack or Don or Tom or whatever. It was like + you were there on their sufferance. The big American firms came in and acted like lady bountiful and thought they + owned the place and then they found some Korean kids could do the work for half the wage and the yanks were gone in + a puff of smoke, sorry Jock, but business is business. Got to supply the demand. Keep the shareholders + satisfied.

+ +

He stared at the ceiling, knowing it would be two hours before the house slowly came awake and wondering how he could + do it on four hours sleep at night. Saturday morning, hung over or not, he still woke at the same time and lay there + just thinking, chewing over the week, planning the next, solving the problems of the world and resolving nothing at + all.

+ +

You get through a lot of thoughts from five until seven. More if you wake at four, and sometimes Jack wished he could + do what Donny did at the weekends, sleep until eleven, back down the pub, up to the match, back into the pub, kill a + whole Saturday and be as carefree as a kid.

+ +

Close horizons, that's what it was. Donny was taking what they handed down. In less than two months he'd be on the + scrap and with three hundred more chasing every opening. Chances were he'd still be signing on for benefits a year + from now. Neil was the same, on ninety days notice. Tam was okay, and as long as they were still building houses on + every vacant space, he'd still be okay, but when the jobs went, the money went and everything slowed down. Supply + and demand again. It slowed down and Tam could well be looking for homers and weekend casual stuff, fitted kitchens + and bathrooms on the grip and the lump, no questions, no tax, no national insurance. No future.

+ +

He shook his head, trying to get his mind on to another tack, but at this time in the morning, minds have a mind of + their own and he couldn't jump the track to a mellower tune. He wondered if he was turning into a depressive.

+ +

Andy Kerr had taken him into the office and laid it on the line. He was going round the banks like the last man on a + Saturday night, when all the girls have put their coats on and the DJ is packing up the lights. The two new + stainless steel tank-trucks would have been a good investment, except for the fact that the supermarket that sucked + up most of the dairy products around here had put the squeeze on, and hard. It was a take-it-or leave it deal. Andy + had to take their price or go out of business. And if he took their price he couldn't make a profit. A lose-lose + situation all round.

+ +

Jack had gone over the books with Andy. There was no way he could keep his head above water. The dairy was on its + knees and its days were numbered.

+ +

Up at four in the morning wasn't much of a job, but it brought in a wage and it would help put Mike through Uni and + gave him a chance to haul himself up and get his chin over the bar. Up at four and that gave you time in the + afternoon to hit the books and watch the tapes and in two years time he might get the chance to put on the swanky + hat and bat-cape and see his mother in a good suit and a tear in her eye when he graduated.

+ +

Business. You got nowhere unless you understood business and until you did that you were dancing to somebody else's + tune. Andy Kerr, he was a grafter, but he only understood the milk trade, that was all, and look where it was + getting him: right into bankrupt court and receivership unless a miracle happened.

+ +

Jack turned over and thumped his pillow into a better shape, thinking about the night before..

+ +

Ingrid had pressed svelte curves up against him he knew every guy in the place had wanted to trade seats with him. + Ilse had waylaid him in the kitchen with a more than affectionate lingering kiss, while both his hands were occupied + with two full pints.

+ +

Clowns to the left ... Jokers to the right.

+ +

And a fool in the middle, that was for sure. He closed his eyes and remembered the suction of the kiss and he knew if + he'd stayed he'd have tried to get the two of them upstairs for a smorgasbord sandwich. And that would have blown + everything. Kate would not have been amused.

+ +

Just as well Lars Hanssen had turned up. Uncle Lars. Jeez. When he'd come in from the front room the place + had darkened. He was built like a bulldozer and looked like Thor Sledgehammer or whoever the crazy Viking was that + used to cut people's hearts out in AD 2000 or some other adventure magazine. He had wheat-fair hair like his nieces, + but long and shaggy and a big thick moustache, and man, could he shift drink. He had brought a couple of + bottles of Absolut blue label and seemed determined they would never see the light of day. He was half Finnish and + half Swede and claimed he was half Laplander as well and nobody except Jack knew the distinction.

+ +

"Holigen-goligen!" A big clap on the back and another shot was down his throat. He said it meant the same as + Skol in the Lapp language and at the end of the night everybody was saying it.

+ +

"I go back in three weeks when I have a good screw," he told Jack, and the rest of the guys laughed at that until + Jack explained the screw was the propeller. "It got twisted on the rocks at Harris."

+ +

It came out tvisted on de rooks at Horace, but everybody knew what he meant and Jed, he got mischievous and + started looking out old tracks and belting them out, like Tvisting der Noot Avay, and Tvist and + Shoot and big Uncle Lars never caught on to the fact he was having the piss ripped out of him.

+ +

"Anyvay," he said. "I have another three weeks and then back to Oslo first and then Stockholm. I have twenty + things to take and some pipes and I stay a week and be back on Skye in another week. Never stop, back and here, + there and back, all the times, until you get dizzy."

+ +

He lifted up his glass. "But it is nice to visit with my sister's babies, no? They worry all the time about old Uncle + Lars."

+ +

Ingrid lifted a balloon glass half filled with ice and Irish cream. Lars took it and gulped half of it and then he + pulled a face.

+ +

"What is this? Are you sick?"

+ +

Jack laughed.

+ +

"Like medicine it is!"

+ +

Jed laughed louder. "He talks like Yoda. Drunk he is!"

+ +

"Daft you are!"

+ +

"Uncle Yoda, another drink you want?" Everybody fell about.

+ +

"Always another drink," he bellowed, treating Jed to a one-armed bear hug that could have cracked ribs. "And what is + this Yoda?"

+ +

It all got a bit foggy after that and Jack remembered Jed sneaking off to finish the night and start the morning with + Margery Burns; helping Donny into a taxi and wondering what would have happened if he'd stayed. Ingrid being sick in + the back garden and Ilse leaving her to it and slinging her arms around Jack's neck again, all pliant and boneless + after a night on the Baileys. Uncle Yoda discovering a taste for the stuff after claiming it was a drink for + girly-boys, followed by an embarrassed silence that was finally broken by Robert's quick camp: "Suits me sir!"

+ +

.... I feel I'm going to fall off my chair.... and I'm wondering how I'll get down the stair.....

+ +

Gerry Rafferty's nasal voice kept coming back to him, as if there was a tape loop stuck in his head, but that's the + way it had got later on and Uncle Lars had got to the singing stage and in between times he was doing a deal with + Robert to take some of the Irish Cream home for his vife.

+ +

.... You started off with nothing and you're proud that you're a self-made man...

+ +

Chance would be fine. Self-made milkman. He closed his eyes listening to the robin song merge with the lyrics in his + head.

+ +

Self made? He'd taken too long going about that and now he could be stuck half way through a degree and nothing to + show and no money either. He knew he should have bit on the bullet when he was just out of school, but his old man + had only been gone three years and his mother had still been wading through a swamp of grief, struggling to get to + the other side and able to cope only with that and there had been nothing for it but Jack to take charge. Self + made. He could be running his own business by now, or half way up some corporate ladder. Everybody had + expected him to make it. Jeez, he had expected that himself, and here he was, a soon-to-be-out-of-work + milkman with a special aptitude for hosing out the trail tankers.

+ +

Self made? Or self deluded. Over there on his desk he had a rack of books and a second-hand computer that was + dinosaur slow and he could rhyme off all the theory, Galbraith, Keynes, carried interest, value addition, double + entry, equity, bonds, the lot.

+ +

And still he was stuck here well below the middle line and the chances of breaking through were further and further + away.

+ +

Yet....

+ +

There was something. It had snagged him on the golf course when Donny had been down in the gully, washing the crap + off his legs and there had been an oddly sweet scent in the air mixing headily with the coconut oil of the gorse + bloom, and those dead little trout belly up in the stream.

+ +

The angel's share.

+ +

Donny still had the mud stuck to the end of his dick and Tam had been laughing and pointing, but Jack's mind had done + the usual and shot off on a different tack.

+ +

"We're screwed. First they screw you and then they really fuck you."

+ +

Tam turning round, the only one with a safe job and a decent set of wheels, unless you counted Jed's V6 that needed a + different scrapyard bodyshell every time he and Neil hammered it round the stock circuit. Tam said: "God helps them + that helps themselves."

+ +

His grammar had left some to be desired, but that was true. They were all at the mercy, taking what was handed down, + and Jack knew he'd never get on that corporate ladder because unless you were at the very top, you were still taking + what they handed down.

+ +

God helps those.... He closed his eyes, chasing the thought, and a picture of the stunning Ingrid came + suddenly into his mind.

+ +

"You come to Sweden," she had said in a flawless accent, and if it had been a year ago he'd have been on the next + plane.

+ +

But there was something else she had said that really snagged him.

+
+
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+
+

3

+ +

The pigeons clattered round the chimneys, white wings exploding on the rise to catch the morning sun, fantails and + blues in tight formation. He watched them circle and wheel. A lone snow feather cradled its way to the grass.

+ +

"Is that you Jack? Come in, hombre."

+ +

Jack waited a minute or two, admiring the way the birds stayed tight and drilled, turning or gliding, all in + unison, perfect teamwork.

+ +

He pushed between the pigeon loft and his uncle's big old motorbike, opened the door and almost fell over a + thigh-high black plastic bin. He sniffed thick musty air.

+ +

"What's that stench? It would knock you flat."

+ +

Sandy Bruce laughed. "You get used to it."

+ +

"Man, you'll never get used to that. What the hell is it?"

+ +

Sandy came out of the kitchen into the hall. He wore a sixties-style string vest under his boiler suit, a + pair of fifties style octagonal glasses and a quarter inch of silvery stubble from two days before. He must + have been busy with the pigeons or the boat boys who hung about down on the river.

+ +

Sandy pointed to each of the three plastic bins, counting off in turn. "Irish stout, heavy and lager. Pilsner + lager, the kind you young fellas like. Bueno cerveza." Sandy had picked up a few languages from his + sailing days. Tomorrow it might be Italian. Today it was something like Mexican bandido.

+ +

"Are you sure? It smells like dead bodies. "

+ +

"Sure I'm sure. That's just the mash fermenting. Once it stops, it's okay."

+ +

"How much are you making?"

+ +

"Sixty gallons this time. It's the club's AGM in two weeks and you probably heard that tosser Tim Farmer's + done a bunk with the kitty. Being entertainments convener, it's up to me to make sure we've got a decent + purvey."

+ +

He was using a broom handle to stir the contents of the bin nearest him, sending up a blister of bubbles that + stank as badly as the marshes out on the golf flats and looked even more poisonous. Jack held his nose.

+ +

"I really don't think it's worth it."

+ +

"Sure it is. You get to pension age and see how much beer you can buy. The price of it's just an absolute + scandal and every year the tax goes through the roof. Hell, it's the only pleasure a man's got left, that + and the birds."

+ +

"So you say. You're up to every scam going."

+ +

"You know what it's like Jake. The older I get, I stand for more and fall for less."

+ +

"I thought you were racing the birds today."

+ +

Sandy shook his head and kept stirring and Jack kept his hands clamped on his nose. The thick malty smell + caught him in the back of the throat and he wished he hadn't had so much to drink the previous night."

+ +

"Have you got a license for this?"

+ +

"Don't need one, seeing it's just home brew. Me and Willie McIver chipped in for the sugar and stuff and what + we'll do is charge entrance money, so we can't get done for selling."

+ +

"You're a twenty carat scoundrel, Sandy."

+ +

"Takes one to know one. Tell you what, if I had a still, I could turn this into whisky, and then we'd really + be in business."

+ +

"And then I'd be bailing you out of jail."

+ +

"My old grandfather, he had a still himself, him and my uncles, up the back of beyond some place near the + Cardross Hills. Made it out of an old copper boiler. That was back in the twenties, a whole long time ago. + That stuff they made would have lifted paint and raised blisters but they got a taste for it. All you do is + make beer and then steam it off."

+ +

"And you end up going blind."

+ +

Sandy laughed and stirred and the bubbles farted about on the surface as if the mash was alive.

+ +

"You got to take the opportunity. Like what you're always telling me about supply and demand. I've got the + supply, and the boys in the club, well, they'll be doing the demanding, and me and Willie can make enough to + get another batch going and make a bit of profit besides."

+ +

"But it stinks. I mean, it would make you boke. You should let him do it in his place."

+ +

"He's doing it in his place. That way we end up with a hunner' and twenty gallons. There's a bowling + club smoker coming up as well and we're catering for that as all. Then the Boat Club bash. Next thing you + know, we'll be bigger than Interbrew."

+ +

Sandy laughed again and scratched his stubble. "Wish I'd thought of this years ago. I could have been big. + Muy grande. Here. . . " he made a beckoning motion. "Bring that siphon across. I have to decant the + first batch."

+ +

He opened the little cupboard beyond the kitchen door and Jack stood, open mouthed. From floor to ceiling it + had five deep shelves and each one of them was jammed to the edge with bottles of all kinds. Lemonade, Iron + Brew, Lucozade, a few dry sherry bottles and a couple of big whisky optics that had obviously made their way + from some bar.

+ +

"Been all over the place this week, collecting them. Me and Willie. You wouldn't imagine how much good glass + people throw away."

+ +

"Oh, come on, Sandy, you can't go feeding people moonshine in old chuckaway bottles. You never know who's + pee'd in them. You could poison all of the old biddies."

+ +

"Less of the old. And don't you worry boy, they're clean as a whistle. We got your Mam to go into Boots and + buy us some of that stuff she used to clean your baby bottles. If it's good for babies, then it's good for + the pigeon men. You think my head buttons up the back?"

+ +

"I'm not so sure."

+ +

Jack handed him a corrugated tube that looked like a windpipe with some plastic attachment that Sandy jammed + onto the third bin and the beer started to flow. Jack had to admit that the finished article smelt a whole + lot better than the fresh stuff and he was surprised that it actually looked like beer when it began to fill + the bottles. He did a mental calculation on how many bottles would be needed for twenty gallons and worked + it out that they could be siphoning the brew for an hour and a half. He turned out to be off by only twenty + minutes.

+ +

"You want a beer?"

+ +

"At this time of day? Give me a break. Your kidneys must be like saddlebags."

+ +

"Don't get smart. Put the kettle on then and I'll get the board."

+ +

It was a tradition between them and had been since Jack had been only seven or eight and they'd started + playing draughts before progressing to chess. Sandy sometimes managed to con him into a game of shoot + pontoon and always took a few notes off him and Jack never saw how he palmed the royals but he knew his + Uncle was fast as a snake when he wanted to be, a throwback to his old days on tramp steamers up and down + the Americas. He'd been a wild man, so the stories went, and Sandy embellished just a few of them. Jack made + tea thick as tar and got a pair of penguin biscuits from his jacket pocket. Sandy dunked them until the + chocolate spread out on the surface and then slurped them between his teeth. Nothing changed.

+ +

"Here," he said. "You have to try this stuff."

+ +

He went into the hall and came back with a big demi-jon that held a gallon of opaque liquid.

+ +

"What is it?"

+ +

"Try it first and you tell me." He poured some into a small glass. Jack raised it, sniffed, recognised a + familiar scent and tasted.

+ +

It was smooth as silk with a full, warm aftertaste. For a moment he thought it was the stuff he and the + Swedish twins had been drinking at Robert's party. He drank again, and Sandy grinned.

+ +

"Not bad, eh?"

+ +

"What is it?"

+ +

"I met this widow woman in Ireland last year, when we were across for the Connaught race. Me and her, we sort + of..."

+ +

"I know what you sort of, you old skank chancer. I swear to god, when you go, you'll be the last of the + diehards. They'll never get the lid down."

+ +

Sandy cuffed him light on the back of the head.

+ +

"Some respect young man. Anyway, she had the recipe for some woman's drink from the place she worked. She + made a batch, just some whisky and bits and bobs. It loosened the laces on her inhibitions right + enough."

+ +

"And you loosened the rest. Heard it already."

+ +

"Anyway, I watched her and picked up the gist of it. Then I added a few things of my own. The old biddies, + they can't get enough of it. The bowling night's going to be a hoolie. Want some more?"

+ +

"Another time," Jack said. It was good, but not with a fading hangover. He took a sip of tea to kill the + alcohol taste, Sandy moved a pawn and they were off, sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by bottles of every + variety, in a fug of beer and Sandy's Virginia flake roll-up, stout tea and chocolate biscuits and apart + from the beer and the creamy liqueur, that's how it went most early Saturday mornings.

+ +

"It's not looking too clever at the dairy." Pawn up two squares.

+ +

"I heard that too." Knight two up, freeing the bishop. "I also hear Andy Kerr's facing a whole heap of + trouble."

+ +

"Looks like. His cousin Billy's been at some sort of scam. I'll get the details on Monday."

+ +

"Billy was always sticky fingered. Had too much too easy. I hear he's done a bunk with some bimbo, just like + that daft old git Tim Farmer. He's nicked off with a secretary from the distillery, just half his age."

+ +

"Tim's about seventy, is he not?"

+ +

"Aye, and she's about forty. Far too young for him. Once the money's gone he'll be back with his tail between + his legs and his willy shrivelled to a peanut." Bishop out and hunting.

+ +

Sandy looked at him over the cup, judging his next move and his next remark.

+ +

"Billy Kerr was keeping two sets of books and working one for himself. He was supposed to pay the VAT and + your national insurance, is what I heard, and none of it's been paid, and that means you could be in a wee + pile of hot manure."

+ +

"I heard that as well. You don't miss much."

+ +

Sandy winked, while Jack contemplated the defence of his queen.

+ +

"But what are you going to do?"

+ +

"I'm going to take your queen's knight."

+ +

"Don't get smart." King's knight out on a flanker, threatening the queen.

+ +

"Watch the board." Jack looked up. Sandy was still gauging him. "It looks like I'll get to sleep late in the + mornings."

+ +

"Billy Kerr will take a fall as well. Once a chancer, always a chancer. Makes you wonder Jake, does nobody do + a decent job around here without their hands in the till or stealing off somebody else? Look at Tim Farmer. + Off with two grand of our money that was set aside for the big Christmas party and all the prizes. Brains in + his balls and head up his arse. Everybody stealing from everybody else. Used to be a time when people were + honest. Honest enough anyway. Nowadays it's the done thing to rip people off. That's the way business is, am + I right? Dog eat bloody dog and to hell with the hard-working folk."

+ +

He watched as Jack moved his queen deep infield and tut-tutted disapproval like the old women on the golf + course.

+ +

"And what are you going to do?"

+ +

"I don't know, Gramps. Tell you the truth, I'm really fed up getting up at daft o'clock and delivering other + folk's milk. Fed up bursting my arse."

+ +

"Watch your fucking language, boy."

+ +

Jack laughed. His Sandy always said that.

+ +

"And don't call me Gramps. You make me feel old."

+ +

"You are old."

+ +

"Not too old to cuff your ear. Watch your queen."

+ +

"Don't make me laugh. Watch your king. Check." The games were always fast.

+ +

Sandy castled, got the king right out of there.

+ +

"You don't steal off people, that was always the rule. Maybe lift a length of two by four, or a bag of coal + from the railyard. Lead off a roof, or some whisky from the distillery, but you didn't steal off + real folk. Maybe net a salmon or two out of the river, but not steal folk's money." He shook his + head and rubbed his chin, a gesture of scratchy disgust. Jack ignored it. He always did that to distract + him.

+ +

"Ever tell you about the time your Granddad stole a bull?"

+ +

That got Jack's attention. He finished the biscuit and washed it down with thick tea.

+ +

"That would be when you rode the trail in the wild west, I suppose. Rustlin' Sandy Bruce rides the + range."

+ +

"Don't mock boy, I got around when I was your age. Went right round the world with the marines and then on + the boats. And watch your queen."

+ +

Jack had seen it coming and took the other knight, quick as a blink. Sandy sat back and kept on scratching + his chin. He was under pressure.

+ +

"Was back in the fifties. Fifty two I reckon, just after the big TB epidemic that took your aunty Janet. + Rationing was still on and we were all built like whippets, skin and gristle. I'd be about three or four. My + old Grandpa, he was still alive at the time and stayed with us, down in the old house beside the river + before they cleared all the tenements away. He was a tough old coot, I can tell you."

+ +

The stories always started with a preamble. Sandy had been plenty of places and seen things in his service + days and always had a yarn and some of them were undoubtedly true. Jack couldn't always tell which ones + were.

+ +

"Anyway, the old man was knocking on, and he hated the rationing. He used to take me up the hill, snaring + rabbits, and once he caught a sheep that had its horns caught in some bushes and before you knew it the skin + was off and buried under a pile of rocks and the whole street was eating mutton. It was tough as old boots, + but with the rationing you'd have eaten old boots and the insoles, laces, hob-seggs and all. Everybody stuck + together and nobody said a thing. We took about forty salmon out of the river that spring and Jimmy + Crawford, who was foreman at the shipyard wood store gave us all the oak sawdust we wanted and we cured them + in Malky Dunnet's rail shack and then the whole street was like royalty, eating smoked salmon for weeks. You + did what you could, know what I mean?"

+ +

Sandy moved a bishop up in a new threat. Jack pulled his king back, on the run, waiting for the rest of the + story.

+ +

"But beef? You couldn't get beef, or chicken either. The old fella had worked the railroads in the states + back in the twenties when my dad was a boy, and he used to talk about steaks the size of washing boards. Two + inches thick. I tell you Jake, sometimes I was drooling at the mouth just listening to him, sitting at the + fire, just thinking about big beefy steaks. Anyway, your granddad and Willie McIver and a couple of others, + yon ginger boy's grandfather, Davie Watson, dead now, bless him. They were on a trip up by Linnvale and + there were fields full of cattle, every one fatter than the next, and with udders like blown up bagpipes. + The guys were droolin' just to look at them, because there were no cows around here. All the farms were + growing turnips and potatoes. But up there it was all the Colquhoun land and the laird, whatever pull he + had, he had one of the best dairy herds in the country, all of them feeding all day and getting fat as + lard."

+ +

Sandy laughed, thinking back, and Jack knew this would be a true one.

+ +

"They hatched this idea, and a mate of theirs, he was in the army, doing national service but he was in the + transport corps and he got the loan of a five tonner. They went up, all of them in old uniforms so they + could say we were on exercise if they got caught, and they went into this shed at night and got a rope + around this big cow. It never said a word and they walked it up the back ramp in pitch dark and freewheeled + it down the track for half a mile without the engine on and back home. Big Peter McFarlane, the butcher's + apprentice, was all set to cut the thing up and they had worked out who was going to get what, and + somebody's mother could make sausages for everybody. It wasn't until they got it round the back of Malky + Dunnet's old yard and into his shed that they saw it wasn't a cow at all. Even I could tell that. It had a + pair of cojones like melons, scraping and bouncing off the ground they were, and something else + they never noticed in the middle of the night. It had a big brass ring stuck through its nose."

+ +

"That would be better than a cow," Jack said. "Better beef."

+ +

"Aye, so you'd think. But what they never knew that the merdo had hit the fan in a big way. Somebody + had seen an army truck out in the middle of the night and there was a general alert out and the laird, he + was spitting bullets and going to sue the ministry of defence."

+ +

"For a bull?"

+ +

"For his bull. He had the best milk herd in the west, and that was because he had the biggest bloody + prize bull you ever saw. Even then it was worth five hundred guineas. It was more famous than him + even. It's picture had been in all the papers. My dad was only earning seven pounds a week back then, so It + was like ten years spending money, all of it stamping about on the hoof."

+ +

"So what happened?"

+ +

"Pete McFarlane, he took cold feet and said he couldn't cut the beast and Mickey Dougan, he was shitting + himself because he had nicked the van for the night. That turned out okay, because it was never signed out + and nobody was the wiser. So there they were, with a fortune on legs and nobody knew what to do, and all of + them facing the jail. Yon old chinless wonder would have hanged them for rustling, without a second + thought,"

+ +

The old man chuckled again, scratched his chin and moved a pawn to free the bishop's line of sight, making it + look casual.

+ +

"Somebody came up with the idea of taking it back, and they decided just to dump it along the Linnvale Road, + make it look like it had just gone a-wandering, and maybe later on go after one of the cows. But when they + were getting the thing into the back of the truck to take it back, it started kicking and hauling and it + butted Willie right in the chuckies and he went down like a sack. There was only your Grandad and Mickey + holding it and that wasn't enough and the bull took off with them dragging behind it. I swear to god it was + like a rhino, must have weighed a ton. Off it goes, slipping and sliding in its own shite and it knocked the + yard door off its hinges and out in to the street. You should have heard the screaming then. There was a + bunch of women all gabbing together and when this thing came out, snorting and pawing they all started + yelling and running about like headless chickens. Mickey grabbed the rope and it tossed its head and he went + flying arse over tit and then it was off. It went down the alley by Thomson's bakers, and across the greens, + dragging all then washing with it, and straight through the hedge at the dairy as if it wasn't there. It + came out the other side and hit a car straight on and knocked it into a wall. It went bombing up Gooseholm + Street, ploughed up all the allotments and out the other side, doing about forty, balls swinging like a + sporran and it clattered straight through the big fence on the far side and onto the flat."

+ +

Sandy chuckled again. "What a mess!"

+ +

"What happened?"

+ +

"It ran straight on to the railway line and the big morning freight from Oban smacked its head clean off its + shoulders."

+ +

He shook his head, grinning.

+ +

"There wasn't much anybody could do then, and everybody was up on the line before the cops arrived. There was + no mobile phones then, and they only needed half an hour. Pete McFarlane had his bone saw and a set of + butchers knives and somebody brought a big two-handed bandsaw and in no time at all there was nothing left + but a puddle of stinky grass that had been in its belly. Everybody got a share and that night we threw the + biggest street party we ever had. My grandfather had a T-bone a yard wide and we were all eating beef for a + fortnight. The Laird, he could do nothing about it, even after the cops identified the hide they found + hanging on the railway fence. It was just an act of God, so they said. It was finders keepers, and nobody + ever said a thing. It was the best kept secret ever. But like I said, that's the way it was."

+ +

He reached out and moved the bishop. Check.

+ +

Jack pulled the king back and the rook moved to block. Check.

+ +

He ran back, using his queen as a shield. His grandfather took her by automatic reflex and Jack used the + vacant space to free his second bishop and move six diagonals until he was two in front of the white + king.

+ +

"You're screwed."

+ +

Sandy paused, scanned the deck and blew out from puffed cheeks.

+ +

"Sucked me in, Jake, so you did. Best of three?"

+ +

He shook his head. "I've got to sort a few things out."

+ +

"Like Gus Ferguson?"

+ +

Jack was pushing his chair back and he came to a sudden stop.

+ +

"How did you know about that?"

+ +

"I'm an old soldier. Knowledge is power. What you don't know sneaks up and bites your arse. I hear that + polecat's well pissed off at you."

+ +

Jack shrugged. There wasn't much he could say.

+ +

"I heard what you did, and that was pretty good. Yon Cullen's got brains in his arse, but he's an animal. I + heard you hit Wiggy Foley with a six iron."

+ +

"It was a sand wedge."

+ +

"Even better. That would give you lift." Sandy chuckled at his joke, but not for long.

+ +

"Both of them are worth the watching, but Ferguson, he's loony tunes, so you keep an eye on your flanks Jake, + and have somebody watch your back."

+ +

"They were kicking him half to death."

+ +

"I saw the boy last night. He's carrying the tattoo marks. Your pal's a good lad, but he can't put a brake on + his mouth. It'll get him into worse trouble some day, you wait. Anyway, Ferguson, he's a stoat, and I don't + want to have to look out the old Italian shooter, know what I mean?"

+ +

Sandy fixed him with hard eyes behind the glasses. Jack knew he was tough as nails and had been things and + seen places too. The looted gun was their secret from way back.

+ +

"Ferguson," Sandy let the look fade. "I grew up with his old man, and he couldn't punch his way out of a wet + hankie. But big Rosie, she was something else, a mean big bitch if ever there was one and that boy took + after his mother. I remember the dancing down at the Burgh Hall, me in brothel creepers and a velvet jacket, + doing the palais glide. She was only sixteen, but big with it. Hands like hams. Anyway, this wee fellow + dances her and asks her up again and when he walks off he claps a hand to her backside. Man, he was very + brave or really stupid. Next thing he's up on his tiptoes and she's got his goolies in a grip of steel, + giving them a twist. I never saw the blood drain out of anybody's face just as fast. She walked him straight + across the floor and out the door, slammed him into a wall. Told him never to embarrass her like that in + public again. She made him walk her home all the way to Corrieside and then she made him give her a + standy-up in the washing shed, and by Christ, he had to do the business right or she'd have torn them off." +

+ +

He looked over at Jack.

+ +

"You watch that Ferguson, compadre. Okay?"

+ +

Jack nodded. He didn't need to be told.

+ +

"And I'm sorry about the job. It doesn't look too promising. You keep at the books and make something of + yourself. It's a good wee town for them with no ambition, but there's nothing here for a man with your + brains, so you got to grasp the opportunity and run with it, know what I mean? Screw the opposition. You + supply the brains and they'll demand it. Start your own business and make something of yourself before it's + too late. You don't want these tossers to be ruling your life, do you? Get to my age and you have to brew + your own beer in a bin? Get cuffed at chess by a bloody milkman?"

+ +

Jack laughed, but he knew the old guy was serious now, trying to make it light.

+ +

"You have to remember who you are."

+ +

He knew what was coming, but he sat still for it.

+ +

"Told you before, You're a Lorne on your father's side, god rest him, and a Bruce on your mother's. Go back + far enough and the Lornes were the kings of the islands, and Bruce, I don't have to tell you about him. You + come from good stock boy, and you've got a good head on your shoulders. Don't let these creeps rule you. You + get out and take what's yours."

+ +

"Sure."

+ +

"Remember the story of Bruce in the cave? Before Bannockburn?"

+ +

"Sure I do."

+ +

"That spider tried six times and failed, and then succeeded on the seventh. If at first you don't succeed. . + . Then you know what happened?"

+ +

Jack waited for it.

+ +

"Robert the Bruce picked it up in his royal mailed fist and smacked it flat with the other. Splat! He hated + those crawly fuckers."

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..993f8b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,646 @@ + + + + + + 4 + + + + +
+
+

4

+ +

Kate Delaney had a slash of green paint running from her eye to the curve of her chin, and a clown dab of red on + her cheek as though she had deliberately drawn it there. Her hair was pulled back and tied in a casual knot, + copper bronze gleaming in the afternoon glow. Fast confident brush-strokes streaked the white wall, making the + picture come alive like a slow fade-in. He watched her from the other side of the street, hands jammed in his + pockets, shoulder against a lamppost.

+ +

Bend and dip, raise and stroke. She was lithe in faded, paint-spattered pants with big pockets on the thighs and + an old shirt tied in an old-style sixties knot, showing a five inch band of silky summer tan.

+ +

She was halfway along the hundred yards of old brick railway wall whose crumbling surface had been patched up and + whitewashed bright. The bunch of kids were doing their own thing, talent from the primary schools, daubing and + spattering as the sun quick-dried the paint..

+ +

Kate felt his look on her back and turned, backhanded her brow and put the pot down on the crusted sheet. He + waited until she came across the street, leaving the youngsters and the other teacher to get on with the slap + and dash.

+ +

"It's coming along," he said. She leaned into him and slipped a thumb over his belt. The sun gave her hair the + sheen of new-stripped copper.

+ +

"Art for arts sake, money for god's sake."

+ +

"You've been listening to too much of that old stuff."

+ +

"We've the same taste, retro man" she said. Her eyes swept the wall scene, east to west. "You get a perspective + from here. Up close it's just paint and you have to imagine it. But you're right, it is coming along." +

+ +

The Heritage Wall. The project had fought off dozens of other contenders for Millennium money from the arts + council and then it had been forced to wait all this time to get the cash and the permissions needed to take a + bunch of kids and some pots of paint to cover a decaying eyesore and put some colour on it.

+ +

"When will you finish it?"

+ +

She laughed, cocking her head to lean it light on the side of his arm. "By the next millennium probably. It'll be + like Stonehenge."

+ +

He could admire it from here, the whole town spread in a foreshortened panorama with an almost medievally + distorted perspective that gave the highlights an arbitrary prominence. The castle on the big basalt rock that + sat at the mouth of the river overshadowed the whole scene, as it did the whole town, black and green and grey, + all angles and planes of fissured and fallen stone and ancient battlement. The silver meander of the river + snaked between the tall buildings, each one an unmistakeable landmark, the old Ballantyne's distillery and its + high retort tower, the old tenements on River Street, the big gasometer. All of the old companies had their + names and insignia neatly done in exaggerated emphasis. The Latta shipyard, closed in the fifties. Carden's + engineering, down in the sixties. McMillan's forge, a late survivor that finally fell its length in the + eighties. The old glass factory that still stood but nobody living remembered bustling. The dye works that had + used the soft river water for global success before synthetics knocked it on the head. All of them remembered on + the heritage wall. A history of boom-times past.

+ +

"It's good."

+ +

"Sure it's good," she agreed. "It's a history lesson, but that's what they wanted. I argued that we should be + looking to the future. Put in a couple of heliports. A rocket pad. A touch of pizzazz, inject some damned ambition." +

+ +

"Or you could put in the call centre, the supermarket, Ferguson's scrap yard and the Corrieside team shooting up + and drinking superlager and buckfast tonic wine."

+ +

"Oh, we are a true cynic this sunny day." She gave him a quick squeeze, more friendly than anything else. "What's + up?"

+ +

"I've got to go in later on. Andy Kerr wants to talk to us."

+ +

"Is this the big crunch?" She pulled back and looked up at him, shading her eyes from the sun.

+ +

"Same for Don and Jed. Sproat's called a mass meeting at the distillery, no surprise."

+ +

She pointed to the long street-art mural. "I'll have to red ring the distillery and the dairy now, how our town + used to work. In the good old days. What do you plan to do?"

+ +

"Let's wait and see what Andy says. We might have some time left. After that, well I've got a couple of ideas + that I'm still kicking around in my head."

+ +

He couldn't tell her any of them. Nor anyone, yet.

+ +

"I hope they still include getting your degree."

+ +

He gave a short laugh. "Don't nag. Sure, I'll go for it, but it's time I branched out. I'm thinking of setting up + on my own."

+ +

"Doing what?"

+ +

"Observing the two golden rules for success."

+ +

"And they are?"

+ +

"Don't tell people everything you know."

+ +

"What's the second one?"

+ +

He clapped an arm round her shoulder and put a finger to his lips. For a second she wondered what he meant and + then the penny dropped and she elbowed him in the rib.

+ +

"Oh, big secrets now? Well, things don't look as if they could get much worse."

+ +

A couple of the kids across the street turned round to watch them and she moved herself out of his grasp, almost + imperceptibly, making it casual. The children were dressed, despite the sun, in coveralls and rubber boots, and + the multi-coloured splashes showed this had been a well thought precaution.

+ +

"Like you say. We're living on history and nostalgia, hanging on to the past when we should be fixing things for + the future. Our Mike should breeze his highers and there's enough on place to see him to his honours if he wants + to go the distance, so that lightens the load a bit. I can do whatever I want."

+ +

"I agree, Jack Lorne. You can do absolutely anything you want. I've told you that before."

+ +

"Ye of plenty faith. No, what I meant is that this might be the best thing that's happened to me. Sometimes you + need a kick in the backside."

+ +

"Or you need to hit bedrock."

+ +

"That too. Look at this place." He pointed at the heritage wall, whitewash bright, brilliant with acrylic colour + that was somehow too day-glow to be a true depiction of the old town, as if an alien sun gave it a chromatic + boost. He moved his finger up and down, shooting off at the old company signs. "Closed. Closed. Shut. Bust. Gone + away. Receivership. Closed. Shut."

+ +

"My my, Mr Lorne, we are pessimistic."

+ +

"No, just realistic, and just waking up to it. We have to turn this around or we'll be living in a ghost town. + You're lucky there's a wall still standing for you to paint on."

+ +

"That was touch and go. They were set to rip this down before we got the grant."

+ +

"Anyway, I'm working something out."

+ +

"Ah, ze beeg secret." She elbowed him in the ribs. "And I hear you've got more secrets. I hear you made + it big with two blonde bimbos."

+ +

"You hear wrong." He felt his face redden. The guys knew he had a thing for Kate. He just hadn't pushed it, not + while he was still delivering milk in the mornings. Maybe it was pride.

+ +

"Not wrong. My sources are impeccable. Astrid and Britt, something like that?"

+ +

"Ilse and Ingrid," he said and she laughed again. She had suckered him so easily.

+ +

"Big tits, long legs, sveedish accents, helium brains. And two of them? A bit ambitious, Jack the lad, + or are you ambidextrous?"

+ +

"Tempted, but I didn't go the distance."

+ +

"Oh, you vonted to be alone?"

+ +

"I needed some time to myself. Give me a break."

+ +

"You think Gus Ferguson will give you a break?" She kept her hands over her eyes and fixed on him, suddenly + serious. "You have to watch yourself."

+ +

"Jesus! Does everybody in the whole town know about that? I was just helping a mate."

+ +

"I know you were. Come on Jack, it's not New York. You're better known than you think. Everybody knows what they + did to Donny, and what Don Watson knows, everybody knows. He's a mobile phone on feet. He should carry a bell + and shout oyez."

+ +

She was still holding his eyes with her own. "I do mean it though. You watch yourself."

+ +

"My uncle told me that already."

+ +

"Well listen to him. You don't get to that old fox's age without having some brains." She slipped a hand round + and gave him a quick and surreptitious hug, maybe a gesture of solidarity, but it felt like more. She smelt of + paint and turpentine; faint flowers and hot woman sweat and if the kids hadn't been watching he might just have + tried a response, tried a try, but it was still the middle of the day. She patted his backside, squeezed a + tease.

+ +

"Back to work, some of us have to. You go find out whether you're on the dole or operating secret plan number + one."

+ +

She started to cross the road and was half-way to the kerb when she turned. "Come down to the corner at five and + I'll treat you to a coffee. Deal?"

+ +

"Wish I could, but we'll have some things to chew over, me and the boys. But I was thinking of going to Stirling + tomorrow to watch Jed on the stock circuit. Want to come?"

+ +

"And watch macho loonies smash metal?"

+ +

"If you want to go up by Creggan way, I'll buy you an ice cream."

+ +

"You know the way to a woman's heart, you smoothie." She laughed and added more light to the day's aggregate. + "You're on."

+ +

He held up a thumb and waited until she picked up the brush again and slashed another clear green line, no + hesitation, no pondering, as if she had the complete picture all in her head. He knew she most likely did.

+ +

He wished he had.

+
+

Andy Kerr had a face like granite, grey and rough, matching his hair. It was amazing what a couple of months on + the edge could do for a man. Whether his cousin Billy had been a chancer or a thief, it made no difference. The + walls were closing in on all sides.

+ +

"I won't lie to you guys," he said. The stress made him hoarse. "It's not looking too clever."

+ +

"Is our national insurance paid?" The demand came from the back for the group. Jack turned to look. It was a + legitimate question, sure enough, but a bit early in the day.

+ +

"Hear the man out first," he said.

+ +

"No, Jake, that's fair enough. You've all got a right to know. You're right. We discovered a discrepancy in the + national insurance contributions," He nodded to Jake who had helped him go through all the books in the past + couple of weeks. "but I've been on to the Inland Revenue and that's all been taken care of. So no matter what + happens here, you are all up to date. That's a personal guarantee from me."

+ +

"I was just saying...." the man at the back piped up, embarrassed now. Andy was known to be straight, no + matter what folk thought of his slimy cousin Billy. The rest of the guys shooshed him to silence.

+ +

"Right, let's get down to business, so much as it is. I have to raise a hundred thousand minimum in six weeks, + pure and simple as that. Sproat wants me off the ground so he can sell it and the lease is up for renewal. I + still have the option, but everybody knows he wants the ground and it's a big hike, so for the next little + while, I'll be trying to get some backing, and Jim McGuire will be running the show on a day to day basis."

+ +

Andy wiped his face with a dry hand, flattening out wrinkles on his brow that seemed to have sneaked up and dug + furrows overnight.

+ +

"But we still have the problem of the contracts. They're cutting the price to the bone and the farmers can't + operate at that level. My guess is that if we can't squeeze a couple of points, some of them will go over to + barley and potatoes and cull the herds. Under the circs, it's a real bastard, so I'm not going to bullshit you. + Things are not looking hunky dory. Not good at all."

+ +

"Tell us straight Andy, are we in a job or out?"

+ +

"You're in for six weeks, but not all of you. I've got a choice to go on short time, or short staff, and short + time just won't work. I have to lose half of you as of now."

+ +

"That's twenty men."

+ +

"Men and women," one of the girls chipped in, making the point, as if it mattered.

+ +

"Twenty. For the time being. If we survive this and pick up, then I'll do my best to bring you back. If we don't, + then there's no point in talking about it."

+ +

"Who's the twenty?" Big Trevor Hannah wanted to know now. Everybody was angry and worried and some were scared + more than a little.

+ +

"I could do last in-first out, but I won't. I need Jim, Fergus McCann on the bottling, Sally on the phones and + paperwork. George and Bill on the tankers, but only for two weeks or so because we're giving them up and I'll + get a lease deal on old stock. I need two deliverymen door-to-door and two bulk. A couple of others. What I've + done is put the names in a hat, for apart from the key people, I'm not going to say who's out and who stays. + It's only fair."

+ +

Jack had no quarrel with that and hoped nobody else had. He'd find something to pay the bills and hit the books + hard. And in his mind he was out of here, on to the next plan. On to the first real plan in his life.

+ +

He made it to the bank just before it closed, trying to shake off the hollow sensation of disquiet that had + transmitted itself from the rest of the dairy people. He could only empathise, soak up their anger and + apprehension. Most of them had worked nowhere else but the dairy, and all of them would have a hard time getting + something new. It had always been a job for life. Dairies and distilleries, they never closed, did they? You + left school, you got a job when one was going, and you stuck to it and it saw you through. That was the way it + was. Used to be.

+ +

Now, it was all changed.

+ +

He had the passbooks with him, jammed in the back pocket of his chinos, and he had decided not to waste any time. + He'd seen all this coming and he had to pick himself up, move right along. No time to lose.

+ +

Janey Cooper, Jed's cousin was behind the counter in the bright building society, all glass and wood and red + corporate blazers. She gave him her usual big smile and he handed over a wad of notes and the book. Getting the + money out of the bank had been a matter of moments. In, out, and years of savings were wedged into his front + pocket. When you thought about it, it didn't amount to a hell of a lot, but then again, he'd had other things to + do with his cash.

+ +

"I want to make this a joint account," he told Janey.

+ +

"Oh really? Is there something I should know?"

+ +

"Yeah. I've met a really nice boy and we're moving in."

+ +

Her eyes widened in disbelief, saw he was kidding and went along with it.

+ +

He handed over the little form he'd filed in and she changed the passbook without demur. He was well enough known + on River Street.

+ +

He could have gone back along through the town, but word would be out by now and he didn't want to face all the + people who would clap him on the back and condole.

+ +

Your friends all come running, clap you on the back and say....

+ +

Not please. Not this time. They say sorry mate, something will turn up. Tough break.

+ +

He went down by the river and strolled along by the railing, watching the flow of the deep black water, swirling + down under the low bridge. Across and downstream, the old boatyard still stood, but there were damn few Rinkers + and Bayliners there. A couple of sea trout broached the surface and snatched at flies, and a pair of diving + birds surfaced and scattered them and the old river went rolling right on down to the castle and to empty itself + out into the Clyde.

+ +

You could go with the flow. You could let the flow just catch you, like Franky Hennigan and Tig Graham over by + the water edge, side by side on a bench drinking cheap rotgut wine, lost in the current, unable to stand against + it.

+ +

Or you could maybe find a way of going against the current, moving under your own power, haul out somewhere and + find your feet.

+ +

Maybe, maybe.

+ +

He went home and his mother had heard the news. She gave him a tight hug that said it all and asked him what he + was going to do. He said he had some things to think about. Sheena came down and told him she would light a + candle for him and say a prayer, which was what Sheena always did in times of crisis and every other time + besides. He ruffled her hair and then went up to the room he shared with Mike. His brother was still down in the + supermarket, stacking shelves until he went to Uni in the autumn. Jack sat on the bed and brought out the second + thick wad of cash.

+ +

Very methodically, he took them note by note and crumpled them up, until he had a thick, unruly ball of money. He + jammed it in an old syrup tin he'd used as a kid to keep loose change.

+ +

At Aitkenbar Distillery, a fair crowd had formed around the gatehouse, muttering the way they do when they're not + happy and unsure of what to do next. Disorganised dismay.

+ +

Alistair Sproat was less blunt than Andy Kerr had been, but everybody knew he hadn't been just as honest. He + flanked himself with a couple of the suits from the offices and James Gilveray who headed the customs post, + while the rest of them faced him in the canteen, stacked in rows on plastic chairs. Everybody was there, + coopers, bottlers, the maltmen and distillers, three forklift drivers and the barrel rollers who did everything + from that to slungeing out the mash bins and scaring the seagulls from the roof.

+ +

Donny Watson sat listening to the Sproat drone on, watching Gilveray survey them all as if he expected them all + to be leaving with a dozen bottles down the legs of their overalls, which, considering the state of things, + wasn't so far fetched. Gilveray would be just fine and dandy, because come what may, he was just a civil servant + and they'd squeeze him in somewhere else. He treated every drop of whisky as if it was from his own personal + hoard and like every boss in a uniform he could be a mean-minded bastard.

+ +

"We're gathered here today," Sproat had started and some of the coopers had laughed at that, even though there + was nothing much to laugh at. "Because there are great changes in the air, and it's best for me to tell you + about them personally. It's a great opportunity for Aitkenbar to progress and diversify, and frankly, it will be + a great wrench to me in a personal way, having grown up in this business, here in Levenford."

+ +

There was plenty more of the same and the upshot was that Sproat was moving on and up, investing his money in + designer drinks and to finance that, well Aitkenbar and Dunvegan distilleries had to go. A team of the maltmen + had come down from the little distillery on the far edge of the Isle of Skye, a handful of angry workers who had + travelled two hundred miles to be told it wasn't worth their while going back up north again. Their shop + steward, Donald Munro stood with his shoulders hunched and his arms folded, glowering like the Cuillin Ridge on + a November day and muttering under his breath. He'd have to take the word back up to Skye that two hundred years + of history was washed up and washed out with this tide.

+ +

Mac's bar was full at five, full of long faces and wall-to-wall resentment, but the beer was going down fast + enough, faster than it ever did at this time in the afternoon.

+ +

"Jack Lorne, meet Donald Munro," Donny did the introductions.

+ +

"Too many Donalds here," the big islander said. "You call me DJ."

+ +

He was drinking dark single malt and that figured, seeing he had grown up with the stuff up there on Skye where + the water ran though miles of peat and turned the whisky a rich tawny dark. Jack wasn't in the mood for a big + drink, but solidarity was a great primer and, well, it seemed the thing to do under the circumstances.

+ +

Now he knew he should be drinking coffee, but it was still hot in Mac's and he thought he'd keep an eye on Donny + who was making a short-term career of getting drunk. Ed Kane matched him drink for drink and while he was a good + couple of stone lighter, he could hold it a whole lot better. Jack remembered he'd offered to give them a hand + against Cullen and Foley. He'd a steady look in his eye then and now. Tough. A good man at your back.

+ +

"Me? I'll get a job somewhere. They always need people to roll barrels and drive a fork-lift."

+ +

"That's very good for you," DJ said solemnly. His full black beard made him look ten years older than thirty. + "But up at Dunvegan, there's nothing at all, at all. "

+ +

"I heard about the cheese plant," Jack put in. "That was a shame. It's happening all over, especially with + ScotMilk taking everything over."

+ +

"That was the problem. It's my cousin's place and he's facing a hard wall, I can tell you. They said it was too + far to collect the milk and cancelled the contract and now he's left with a herd of five hundred pure jersey + milkers he'll have to put to market if something doesn't come up. The cheese market's never big enough to use it + all."

+ +

DJ lifted his whisky and looked at the lights though the dark amber.

+ +

"It's like the highland clearances all over again. It's true what they say. Human beings are worth less than + damned sheep."

+ +

"You're right," Ed Kane came in. "What Sproat's doing to this town is a pure crime. Flattening the place and + making a shopping centre car park. That'll be forty shelf stacking jobs paying peanuts."

+ +

Jack hadn't been there, but he'd heard the gist of it. Sproat had told them the new closing date was in two + months time, but they would all be getting a special presentation bottle of the last historic blend of the + finest whiskies made at both distilleries, a one-off bottling that would be a historic occasion.

+ +

"I think we should strike," DJ said in his measured island tones, "and fuck the smarmy bastard. It's well seen + what he's up to. Same thing happened at Corrievreckan when it closed. They took every barrel from the warehouse, + almost all of it twenty years old and they made a special presentation box. There was a huge demand for it from + collectors all over the world, because it was the last whisky ever to come out of there. I heard they were + selling it for a hundred a bottle."

+ +

"They must be crazy paying that," Ed said, but that was understandable, because most of the boys at Aitkenbar + came out almost every night with a thin sauce bottle of the finest blends and malts stuffed down the legs of + their overalls and they never paid a penny for it. The Angels' share.

+ +

"Well, I say we shouldn't let him away with that. We should get everybody on strike and picket the place."

+ +

"What good would that do?" Donny's face was red with the heat and the drink. His bruises were healing well. + "There's too many women on the lines anyway. They never strike."

+ +

"It's time we did something," Jack said. "He's screwing you lot and killing the dairy. That's too much power in + one man's hands."

+ +

"Did something," Donny demanded truculently. "Like what?"

+ +

"It's time we went into business for ourselves."

+ +

"And what business would that be?"

+ +

"The success business."

+ +

She picked him up at two in the little red Volks. He had waited in the corner caf\u0061, going over the stories + in the Levenford Gazette. Blair Bryden, who ran the paper had got the stories right, and he'd made a good, if + subtle attempt in his leader column.

+ +
It is time to call a halt to the old decline and the new rush to destroy the past.
+ +
The only thing we learn from history is that we do not learn from + history. The + closure of two vital facets of the community will have a devastating effect. +
+ +
It is also time for men of good will, of good standing, to look upon their responsibilities and seek + to + repay the loyalty and the profits they have received in abundance from this town and its people. +
+ +
As for our civic leaders, it is in their hands to help prevent such a catastrophe in a town already + hit by a + succession of closures. In the interests of the young, they should examine what powers they can bring to bear to + do right by the people who vote them to office. And then they should use those powers for the good of all. +
+ +
In destroying the past, we jeopardise the present, and we endanger the future.
+

Jack had smiled. It was easy to read between those lines, but it was a triumph of hope over experience to expect + Jamieson Bell or any of his snout-in-the-trough burghers to go against Sproat and his old money. Jack remembered the + old saying. A good politician stays bought, and that lot were right in the cash-bag with the draw-string tight.

+ +

It was good of Blair to give it a try, stand up and be counted, rather than taking the free whisky Sproat sent out to + anybody he thought he could hook. It was good, but it was only words. What they needed was some action.

+ +

Kate pumped the horn and got his attention. He crossed and got in the passenger side. They talked of a few things on + the way north, with the sun flashing stabs of pure light through the tall sycamores that lined the shore road + towards Arden, and then they were on the high road that curved inland and then came out at Creggan, a small village + at the end of the picturesquely rugged peninsula that jutted down into the sunlit estuary.

+ +

She pulled in at Julio's caf\u0061 and they had a fine Italian coffee, watching the waves lap the smooth rocks. She + bought + him a piece of millionaire's shortcake and the irony of that made him laugh. It was rich and sweet. He might not be + getting too much of that in the near future.

+ +

"Not good news then?" She had finely tuned antennae. He shrugged. He'd been thinking all the way down the line.

+ +

"Some people got upset. They've been there longer than me and they'll be on the dole a long time, them and the + Aitkenbar crowd. It's really a shame."

+ +

"So what's your plan?"

+ +

"A big Swedish guy says I can come and work on his boat any time."

+ +

"That's the big plan?"

+ +

"I'll speak to him anyway. It could be something new."

+ +

"And what about your degree?"

+ +

He shrugged again. There were some things he couldn't say. Kate shook her head. "So really, what will you do?"

+ +

"I'm going to develop anti-gravity, so I can pull myself up by the bootlaces. That's the trick. Everybody can do it. + All you need is an idea, create a demand, find a supply, screw the competition, beat the tax-man."

+ +

"And you can do all of this on a boat?"

+ +

He laughed aloud and the old biddies having their afternoon tea turned round, curious.

+ +

"You never know."

+ +

She slapped his arm and told him to get serious, but he didn't want to talk about it any more. He steered the + conversation away.

+ +

The ice-cream was the best Kate had tasted, so she asserted.

+ +

"You are a super smoothie," she said as she licked a circle round it, savouring it right down to the wafer. They had + taken a walk on the south side of Creggan strolling along the path on the high red cliffs that overlooked the sunlit + reach, and he'd already decided to give the stock-racing a miss. He wouldn't dare tell Jed, or Neil who was a + mechanical magician, but today, this was better than watching the boys. He needed the quiet, to think and + reflect.

+ +

They sat for a while, watching the gannets wheel and dive, folding their wings back into cruciform shapes to spear + into the water, graceful lances. Out on the firth, a few sleek yachts caught the breeze and billowed their + spinnakers, puffed with pride and money. Over close to the Creggan pier wall, a couple of the usual suspects on + jet-skis buzzed the shore, irritating wasps.

+ +

The air was clean and fresh, with that tang of bladderwrack and kelp and everything else that makes the sea. He sat + at the edge, peering down the straight hundred feet to the rocks below, while she warned him to beware, concerned + he'd be too careless.

+ +

"That's what I want," he said. She eased closer, nervous of the height. He slipped an arm round her shoulder and she + went along with it, leant a little closer. Down below, half inside the natural harbour formed by the jutting red + sandstone wedges, a big Moody forty-footer lay at anchor, sail furled, streamlined, like a fast fish that could + suddenly flick and be gone in a surge. A couple of people sunbathed on deck.

+ +

"You want a boat?"

+ +

"If you can afford that boat, you've got the freedom to do what you want. That thing will take you round the world. + You could keep going forever and never have to stop."

+ +

"Sounds like you want to escape."

+ +

"Don't you?"

+ +

She turned to face him and the sun lit emeralds in her eyes.

+ +

"Travel maybe, keep on going if you like, but not escape."

+ +

"I suppose you're right. Escape isn't the answer."

+ +

"What is?"

+ +

He tapped his temple. "You have to escape in here. Free yourself up."

+ +

She smiled, slipped a hand round his waist, just a gentle touch, but it made him feel okay.

+ +

"You're free to do what you want, Jack Lorne. I told you that before. There's nothing you can't do if you put your + mind to it. I'm a good judge of character."

+ +

"I'd take that as a compliment, if I had a character to judge." He eased her to her feet, pulled her back from the + edge. "I just have to get out of the way of thinking that other people control my life. Once I do that, it's + anti-gravity. Only one way, and that's up."

+ +

Further along, a narrow trail led an easy way down to the sea level. She held his hand all the way, trying not to + slip on the dry earth, and when they reached the bottom, he walked along by the water, skipping the flat stones, + while she hunted for pieces of shells and water-smoothed rocks. She had an artist's eye.

+ +

Ahead of them, the tall spar of the big yacht pendulumed slowly in the rising tide, the hull hidden by the big line + of house-sized rocks that pushed out into the firth. He made his way up onto the boulders and followed the line + out.

+ +

She had razor shells and a big gannet feather when she joined him out at the edge. A hundred yards out, somebody in a + wet-suit was diving down in the clear green depths, sending up a shoal of bubbles. The drone of the jet-skis got + louder as the riders scooted out from Creggan.

+ +

"If you had a boat, where would you go?"

+ +

"Out to sea," he said. She punched his shoulder.

+ +

"Don't get smart, smartass. Anyway, I can't join you. I've got things to do."

+ +

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

+ +

"We're trying to set up an organisation to protect the harbour. I spoke to a few friends and we have a constitution + going. Charter 1315, we'll call it."

+ +

"Catchy name."

+ +

"You think? That's the year after Bannockburn, when Bruce gave us the Royal Charter, made the town a real Burgh, and + gave the river and everything on it to the people."

+ +

"Sure, I remember. I went to school too. Don't let the unemployment fool you."

+ +

She punched again, gentler now.

+ +

"Sproat wants to dump those old buildings in the harbour inlet and reclaim land, which is sheer vandalism. It's going + to destroy our heritage."

+ +

"It will get him another three prime acres and make him a couple of million. That way he gets to build his new spirit + distillery and wipe out Donny and Ed, kill off Andy Kerr's business and screw up a lot of good honest working + people."

+ +

"But if we can show that the harbour really belongs to the people, we could try to stop him filling it in. And then + the mall developers won't see it as such a good proposition."

+ +

"Sounds like a plan," Jack conceded. "But you won't be able to take Sproat on, not without money. A whole lot of + money. It's the only language these days."

+ +

"And I thought you were a scrapper, Jack Lorne. We plan some fund raisers to...."

+ +

Jack was suddenly on his feet. "What the hell are they doing?"

+ +

She was stopped in mid sentence. He stepped forward on the big rock, looking out at the water. The two jet-skis left + froth trails behind them, each weaving past the other, both skittering fast on the surface. The engines whined like + hornets.

+ +

"Jesus!" Jack was waving his arms now. He bawled out a warning.

+ +

Out there where the shore sloped away into the depths, the line of bubbles showed where the diver was getting close + to the surface.

+ +

"Fucking idiots," Jack said, almost snarling. Kate had never heard him swear. She was up beside him, shading her eyes + against the glare.

+ +

Whatever prescience he had, Jack saw it before she did, saw it before it happened. The nearest speeder came in close + to the jutting point, hopping across the troughs. The kid on the back was howling arrogance. His pal tried to catch + up.

+ +

Jack was moving, running across the uneven rock.

+ +

The jet ski hit the surfacing diver with such a thump they heard it twice when the echo threw it right back from the + high cliff.

+ +

"Oh my god," she blurted.

+ +

He was off, sprinting for the edge. She followed, keeping to the flat sandstone, watching him move, shirt pulling out + from his jeans, feet thudding on stone. The jet skis veered away, seemingly unaware of what had happened, though the + boy couldn't have failed to notice. He didn't even look back. A patch of pink tinged the water out from the + point.

+ +

Jack dived, no change of pace, no hesitation, a long, low arc, out and down and he was under. She saw the splash and + hurried to the edge. The diver was just a dark shape in the water, not moving. Jack reached him in twenty seconds, + got an elbow round the swimmer's chin, hauled for the low shore on the lee of the rocks. It took him ten minutes of + hard struggle to drag both of them to the shingle and he stopped just on the waterline, shoulders heaving, lungs + hauling.

+ +

She ran for them and got down beside the diver, flipping off the mask.

+ +

A bright stain of blood pulsed from a gash high on the crown, blurted through the wet fair hair. He was only a boy, + sixteen maybe, not much younger than Michael, deadly pale. His eyes were rolled up, showing whites. The breather + mask hung uselessly where it had been torn free.

+ +

Jack got himself to his elbows and knees and flipped the boy on to his side while she loosened the suit. He pushed + him onto his face and started to press his weight under the shoulderblades. Water trickled from pallid lips.

+ +

"Come on, son. Come on. Give it a go."

+ +

He pushed again, harder this time, got no response and flipped the sagging youngster back over, grabbed his nose and + breathed into him.

+ +

He felt the reaction and pulled back. The boy spasmed, every muscle trembling like a taut wire, coughed hard and a + gout of seawater just missed Jack's face.

+ +

Over by the rocks people were shouting. Jack rolled the youngster back on his face and pushed on the ribs, forcing + him to lie still, helping ease the rest of the water out. The eyes were still wide and blank, but at least the kid + was breathing again.

+ +

A man with iron grey hair came pounding up.

+ +

"Jason. Dear God, Jason." They could hear the dread in his voice. A woman was not far behind, screaming her + son's name.

+ +

The boy was suddenly violently sick, just as his parents scrambled down on the shingle to get their hands to him.

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch05.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch05.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cfd1c18 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch05.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,734 @@ + + + + + + 5 + + + + +
+
+

5

+ +

Alice Lorne asked the same question Kate had. Jack shrugged and told his mother he had some plans, but he was in no + big rush.

+ +

The new building society passbook lay open on the table between them, both their names on the inside cover, and they + had the kitchen to themselves.

+ +

They faced each other, drinking sweet, strong coffee. Sheena was upstairs playing bimbo music on her CD and Michael + was stacking shelves at Safeway.

+ +

"Are you sure about this?" Alice held up the booklet and the bright plastic card.

+ +

"Sure I'm sure. I have to get a few things sorted out, and Mike, well, one of the Lornes has to end up a job that + needs a suit."

+ +

"It's a lot of money."

+ +

"Yeah, so it is and that's what it takes. That's why I put it in joint names. You can use the card to take it out, + and keep that pin secret, okay? It's better you have it than me, because I'll just piss it away when I'm skint."

+ +

She gave him a quick flick of reproach for his language, cuffing his ear with the back of her hand, but she was + laughing as well. She was dark, same as he was, with thick, heavy hair cut in a short bob that took years off her + and some tiredness under her eyes that could have been age creeping up or maybe just lying awake at night worrying + for one or all of them.

+ +

"Anyway, with what he gets at Safeway this summer, that should get him through and then he's got a chance. He can buy + me a Bentley when he's stinking rich."

+ +

"And what will you do?"

+ +

"This and that." She'd be the last to know, he'd make sure of that.

+ +

"But you'll finish your course?" Everybody seemed to ask that these days. Too many people were pinning their hopes on + a damned business course.

+ +

"Sure I will," he said, not sure that he meant it. This was not a time for absolute truths, no time for serious + promises. It all depended on how things went over the next couple of weeks, and how many of the boys would come in + on the deal that was still growing in his head.

+ +

She put a hand on his arm and he felt the warmth of her, the way he always had and she gave him a mother's look that + didn't require too many words for what she wanted to say. He shot her a wink and clamped his hand down on her + fingers, gave them a squeeze and that was all that needed to be said.

+ +

"I'll be here and there," he said, trading her a reassuring smile. "I have some people to see, fix a few things + up."

+ +

Some of that was true, but he'd been fixing things up already. He'd scraped down to the bone to get things for Mike + sorted out and he had to meet the rest of the guys later, see what they could pull together. There was some cash + left, enough, hopefully, for what he needed. He'd beg, borrow or bully for the rest, and he'd get the boys to chip + in to the kitty, once he brought them in. But the truth was, he'd got himself down to the essential and that was the + best. He was stripped for action and that was the way to be for what he had planned on the long walks along the + Creggan Cliffs and up on the crags that overlooked the town. He'd have no need of extras in the next couple of + weeks, and maybe none in the time after that.

+ +

Seatbelt on when the devil's at the wheel., his grandfather had been fond of saying.

+ +

But the Stealer's Wheel song kept coming back to him: You started off with nothing and you're proud that you're a + self-made man.

+ +

One out of two so far. He was starting out with nothing, very nearly.

+ +

Glasgow had been sweltering hot and every now and then the thermals spiralling over the city would raise little + whirlwinds of papers and road dust. Mothers heaved foot-dragging children, girls in tight tee-shirts wilted and + couples drank cold beers at pavement tables and soaked it all up. Buskers baked, bakers burned.

+ +

He had been up to the city centre, dodging between the commercial offices and lawyers' branches, then along the west + end, checking out some of the old tenement properties before doubling back down to Argyle Street to the bank and + then up to the bus station at Buchanan Street where it cost him fifteen notes for a season ticket to somewhere he'd + never been before. He puffed out his cheeks and bit on his bottom lip as he waited for the camera in the booth to + click and flash and then another three minutes for the column of pictures to slide out, smelling of fix. The girl at + the counter took the photo without looking at it and pressed it down between two sheets of plastic.

+ +

"Just show this when you want to renew," she said.

+ +

He looked at the photograph. It was just like any passport picture. It looked nothing like him.

+ +

Down on St Vincent Street the bank tellers were suffering as the air conditioning tried to cope and failed valiantly. + The big ornate doors were wide open, wasting the cool air, and heavy women fanned themselves while perspiration laid + flood-trails in their make-up.

+ +

"Any identification?"

+ +

"What do you need?"

+ +

"A driver's license? A passport?"

+ +

"I don't drive, and I've never been abroad," Jack said. He fumbled artlessly in his pockets. "But I have to get one + soon. Here. All I've got is a bus pass, but it's me all right. See?"

+ +

She checked the picture and the address. "Looks nothing like you."

+ +

"I don't take a good picture," he conceded. "Camera doesn't like me."

+ +

She allowed him a smile. "Normally we need a passport, but this will be fine, I suppose. Do you want to make a + deposit today?"

+ +

"Sure," he said. "I shouldn't keep this in a coffee jar, should I?"

+ +

The girl flashed him a bigger smile. "Heavens no, that's far too much." All the notes were crumpled into a + wasp-nest wad and she separated them before flattening them out under her hand. The crumple made him look + disarmingly na\u00EFve, and that's just how he wanted it. She started to count, still smiling and throwing him the + occasional look that told him she didn't much care what his picture looked like.

+ +

"Look, I could get one of our advisers to have a chat about investments. This money hasn't been earning if it's been + stuck away in a tin."

+ +

"Maybe another time," he said agreeably. "I just have to get used to the idea of somebody else holding on to it."

+ +

"Oh, we'll look after it for you. The papers will arrive with your card in five working days. And be very careful + with the pin, won't you."

+ +

"In case I jag myself?" He made it sound truly gauche and got the expected chuckle.

+ +

"No, it's a security number. It's your secret."

+ +

This time he did the smiling. He had a few of those already.

+ +

The post office had been even hotter, the still dry air filled with paper dust and burlap haze. Sweating men hoisted + big sacks non-stop, dripping down shoulderblade and armpit. The man at the hatch never looked up as he gave his + details and signed a name he'd practiced from a receipt he and Jed had got in a car-dealer yard. The form redirected + the mail he expected to arrive soon. All of this took three hours and he made his way slowly up towards Sauchiehall + Street and the MacLellan Galleries, taking his time as he passed the tailors shops on Renfield Street, thinking + about the right kinds of clothes to wear, thinking about all the other things he had to do, and wanting to be down + in Kelvingrove Park in the sun with the fast river at his feet watching the kingfisher dive for minnows and Kate + Delaney soaking the sun.

+ +

She had dropped him off down at the graving dock on the other side of the Clyde before the sun rose high and began to + heat the city. It was Thursday, six days after they'd all been given the long awaited bad news and it seemed to need + some time to sink right in. The Levenford Gazette carried a picture of angry men self-consciously glowering at the + camera outside the distillery gates, and that was just a repetition of front page pictures from decades past. Even + the headlines were familiar by now. It was no shock and no horror. The drama might start building up in a couple of + months when everybody was ducking and diving for the same handful of low-pay jobs.

+ +

Kate had looked up dubiously at the ship in dry-dock, more of a boat than a ship, short, stubby and built neither for + comfort nor speed. Nothing at all like the big Moody sailboat he'd wanted to cruise away in.

+ +

"This is your great idea?"

+ +

"Got to start somewhere," he said. Men were working on the propeller down there in the depths and a hot electric blue + sizzle of an arc-welder's torch punctuated the grey below the red lead. The air smelt of oil and burning metal and + stale brackwater.

+ +

"You'll be back in a week," she retorted with some certainty. "You can't even think about giving up the degree for + this. I thought you wanted a real boat, not a rust-bucket."

+ +

She was on her way to the gallery where three of her oils were among a hundred new works by young local artists. He'd + taken advantage of the fact she was heading for the city, and he told her he'd join her there after he'd spoken to + Uncle Lars.

+ +

"A week's a long time. I might be back a lot sooner than that," he allowed. "And don't you worry about me."

+ +

She was about to respond when a figure blocked the light on the passenger side and the door yanked open. Lars Hanssen + leaned in.

+ +

"Yack!" he bawled, beaming through the hair and the beard. "You feeling brave, hey?" He sounded exactly like + a cartoon Swede should.

+ +

Kate's fingers were engulfed by the massive hand and her arm wobbled up to the shoulder joint. He was bull-broad and + had a battered face that could have stood in for big Jimmy Cosmo in a gritty Glasgow movie. Jack was not small but + he looked slight and boyish beside this bear of a man.

+ +

"Come and I show you my Valkyrie."

+ +

"I suppose that's another blonde?" He knew she was just being arch. The name stood out clear against the black of the + hull, and she knew her mythology too.

+ +

"You want to come on board too?"

+ +

Kate shook her head. "Another time perhaps."

+ +

The boat was well used, plate-dented and paint-chipped and strung with cables and hoists and between the bow and the + wheelhouse was an empty well that yawned to the sky, all hatches flat back. She couldn't see a space where anybody + could possibly sleep, unless it was down in a hold.

+ +

Jack looked down and she touched a finger to her temple, letting him know exactly what she thought of all this, then + smiled sweetly before swinging the car back to the gates.

+ +

"You come up now and see what we can do for you," Lars said.

+ +

A few hours later, she saw him come walking down the length of the wide upstairs gallery. Here it was cool, lit from + up on high so that fine dust motes cascaded in slow gold shimmer slides down the beams.

+ +

"My fan club of one," she said.

+ +

"Wait until they see your stuff."

+ +

"They have done. Got a couple of compliments, but that's all so far. I don't need a sale, just a show of my own."

+ +

Jack had scanned some of the rival frames on the way to the far end where the light was from the north and gave the + best. He stopped dead when they reached the corner where her three oils huddled close together and now it was her + turn to laugh.

+ +

"Close that mouth or the wind might change." She hooked an arm round his and leaned in, patting his shoulder.

+ +

"What do you think?"

+ +

She'd caught him three quarters on, deep in shadow, looking down from the window, a faint wash between the painter + and subject, like dust or clouds, just easing the features out of focus, making the whole scene grainy and not quite + distinct. The light was stolen from Rembrandt's Man in Armour, and the haze from Keir's Ballet + Practise.

+ +

"You never told me," he finally said. She'd only sketched him one time, fast crayon on black card, strong lines, soft + fill.

+ +

"You never asked. And anyway you'd have said no, wouldn't you?"

+ +

He nodded, leaning in. A small oblong card read: Not Quite, oils on canvas. Kate Delaney.

+ +

"Not quite? What's that supposed to mean?"

+ +

"Too many things to explain right now. It's you, isn't it? I like it. Close and far away, Jack Lorne. You want to buy + it?"

+ +

"When I've got some money, sure. Then nobody gets to see it."

+ +

Neil Cleary's brother got him a mobile phone and a modem that took Jack and his brother two hours to slot into the + old computer and rig up to the internet. Paddy Cleary could get you anything, anytime, given enough notice. Cloned + phones, digital receivers, chipped DVD's, whatever technology you wanted, he knew somebody that could figure out how + to make it work and by-pass the usual encumbrances, like rental or call charges. The black economy never had it so + good. Jack put in an order for some more equipment they'd need in the next little while, confident that Paddy could + deliver.

+ +

Jack knew his way around the web and knew what he wanted. Once Mike had gone out, he checked the little notebook he'd + been filling in for the past week and called up a couple of sites for firms that could set up a new company on + demand. He gave the details asked for, name, address, credit card, and after that he had seven days to wait. Time + was moving fast in some directions and slow in others, as if he was caught in a deep event horizon round some + gravity well that was sucking him in while he looked out. He had to work to keep a tight rein on it. The plan had + now almost crystallised in his mind.

+ +

He went on a visit to Aitkenbar Distillery and Ed Kane recognised him right away.

+ +

Ed did a comical double-take and Jack put a finger to his lips and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. It + had surprised him, but Ed was sharp enough and Jack knew he'd have to haul him right in on the game. He stood with + his arms folded and said nothing and Jack hoped it would stay that way until he could get a hold of him and he + wondered why he hadn't thought of him in the first place. He could have saved himself all this bother and used the + time to better purpose.

+ +

The guide had that kind of determinedly cheerful voice that made you wonder how she could keep it up day after day. + The crowd was from Newcastle, up on a trip to the Trossachs on a bus, doing a tour of the distilleries and the + tartan tat outlets that sell hairy jackets and frilly shirts and effete velvet waistcoats with the kind of buttons + clan chiefs would never be seen dead in outside a Walter Scott fantasy. Most of the tourists were old and grey and + slow-moving as cattle but there were a handful of young couples who looked as if they'd got on the wrong coach and + Jack was glad of them, otherwise he'd have stuck out like a sore thumb. He'd had to go through to Edinburgh and pick + up the bus and he'd slicked his hair back with gel and borrowed Mike's glasses and still Ed Kane saw through it. He + realised he'd have to do a whole lot better next time.

+ +

Good enough never is! Rule number three in the ten top tips for success. It went through his head like a + mantra and he knew he should have thought this out a little better. One wrong word and he'd be back to square one, + or out in the North Sea with the same rank as the ship's cat, down in the bowels covered in oil and shit and + bilgewater.

+ +

If better is possible, good is never enough. That was the rule. Better was + possible. He was running out of time and the mail still hadn't arrived.

+ +

The guide was talking away, with that cheery smile surgically on planted.

+ +

"Whisky. The name is an English corruption of the ancient name for spirits - water of life - which in Scottish and + Irish Gaelic is uisge beatha and sounded to the English ear like whisky."

+ +

It was straight out of the hundred things you ever wanted to know about Scotch handbook, but the Geordies never knew + that. They hoovered it all up in that slow, bovine-hungry senior-citizen way that needs to be fed new but pointless + facts by tour guides, to ponderously chew, swallow and digest.

+ +

"Scotch means simply that the whisky was distilled and matured in Scotland. Whiskies are made in other countries, + notably Ireland and Japan but whiskies they may be, and good ones even, but Scotch they are not. Scotch comes from + Scotland."

+ +

Indeed it does, he thought. They were coming through the first long, high building and the smell of malt was + overwhelming, like sweat-soaked towels from the team gym drying out over hot pipes. The men turning the barley with + long flat paddles kept on, ignoring the herd as they slowly passed to the walkway above the malt kiln where the + sprouting shoots were killed off in the slow heat and where the air clogged like treacle in the throat.

+ +

"Malt is essentially barley which has been allowed to germinate by soaking in water then has been dried by the + application of heat." He knew she was reading this off a page in her head and it came out almost sing-song, like a + kid repeating the nine times table. Nobody spoke in sentences like that.

+ +

"The malting process converts the stored starch into soluble compounds such as the sugar maltose and by so doing + makes fermentation possible. Drying the malt over a furnace stops the germinating process and lacing the furnace + with peat imparts a peaty aroma to the malt."

+ +

The English folk were fascinated. He wanted to hurry them along, with sharp sticks if necessary. The guide had it + timed and took plenty of it, earning her money. He forced himself to be patient. This part of the plant was old, + maybe two hundred years and more and it had no interest for him. He'd lived with the malt smell hovering over the + town like a friend's flatulence, familiar, but still very unappealing. This process here had no interest either. + Production would stop in a couple of weeks time and whatever came from this malting would end up in somebody else's + warehouse, waiting to be mixed with a good smooth gain and blended for the supermarket trade.

+ +

"This indicates that the raw material is barley malt, by itself fermented with yeast and distilled in a pot still," + she was off and running again. The oldsters listened, sheep eyes wide and docile. "This produces a far superior + whisky to the common grain whisky found in blends. Note however that just occasionally quality single grain whiskies + can be found."

+ +

The distillation hall was different. Two massive copper stills squatted, belly broad and tapering up to the high + ceiling. At the far end of the big hall, a modern stainless-steel contraption made the old malt stills look even + more primitive. The flat stench had faded out when they had come through the doors and up the stairs, like + submariners escaping through an air lock, and here the sharply sweet smell of alcohol was thick enough to tickle the + back of the throat.

+ +

"Newly distilled malt whisky is generally a hundred and twenty degrees proof, but we double distil here and it can + be up to a hundred and forty. That's about eighty percent by volume of alcohol which is much too strong to + drink."

+ +

Jack remembered Donny Watson down at the golf course. That just about matched with what he said. He suddenly got the + premonition that she would tell the gunpowder story and sure enough, as soon as the thought sparked in his head, she + was fascinating the southerners with the tale.

+ +

The stillmen in white coats looked like scientists at retorts and apart from a faint hiss of steam and a steady + bubbling from deep inside the casks, there was little action.

+ +

"The size of the batch depends on many different factors, but each distillation can be up to ten thousand + gallons."

+ +

Somebody whistled, impressed.

+ +

"But then, of course, it's not real Scotch until it has lain in barrels for three years, and that's the minimum. All + over Scotland, there are millions of gallons of whisky, just getting older, and better, just like fine wine and good + women.

+ +

Another round of obedient laughter.

+ +

"And then, of course, there is the second tax on whisky. While in storage, whisky evaporates at the rate of two + percent every year, so for a fine old malt of twenty five years, that's a lot of evaporation. But we don't grudge + it, of course, because that's what we call the Angels Share, and what the angels take only improves the whisky."

+ +

Jack went from foot to foot, impatient to be at the far side, working out his bearings inside the distillery by + comparison to the outside walls. He recognised several of the faces here and kept his head down, but nobody looked + their way. They were used to having the herds shunted through here twice a day and they pretended not to notice, or + perhaps simply didn't see them.

+ +

Finally they were through, past the filling bay where a constant stream off clear liquid was siphoned into a rack of + barrels that came rolling along a trough, one by one, watched by two uniform customs men who took careful notes of + the amount each barrel held before making sure the beech bung was hammered home and the barrel stamped and + stencilled.

+ +

The bottling hall was as familiar as the dairy, miniature roller coasters where racks of bottles shunted along onto + the shiny machines that spat golden liquid and screwed on corks, all automated apart from the labelling down at the + far end. He kept to the back of the crowd, because Linda had some friends who worked the lines here and would + recognise him too, but the guide hustled them through, glancing at her watch, to the decant room where the barrels + were emptied prior to the final blend and bottle operation.

+ +

It was all steel and brass here, twisting pipes and valves in a wide room dominated by a massive central tank that + sank below the steel-grate floor. Down below he could see the pipes lead off in parallel lines, twisting round stout + pillars. This was what he had come to see.

+ +

"The tank holds up to fifty thousand gallons, but most blends are under thirty, especially at this time of the year." + The guide was tiring now, and the travelogue seemed to be more hackneyed. She explained how the barrels of malt and + grain were decanted into the tank and stirred for up to a day before being filtered and pumped out and up to the + lines.

+ +

"And that is the end of a journey that could have taken a quarter of a century," she declared. "And the final journey + will be in four weeks time, when the very last special bottling of Glen Murroch will be made, a sincere tribute to + all the men down the years who have helped create something truly Scottish and truly special."

+ +

She gave them all a big grin that looked forced. Jack realised that she too would be out of work, and felt a pang of + regret at his disparaging thoughts.

+ +

"And if you want to discover if it was all worth while, follow me to the distillery shop, where you can sample some + of the whisky that the angels left behind."

+ +

She did a little bow and got a patter of applause and they all followed through for their sip of whisky and wedge of + shortbread and Jack had to wait for them to make up their minds over which special blend they would scrape up the + money for before he got out into the sunlight. He picked a ten year old in an elaborate presentation box and tucked + it under his arm.

+ +

He stopped the coach a mile outside the town and got off, leaving the driver to wonder where he'd gone.

+ +

His uncle was delighted with the bottle.

+
+

"What are you up to?" Ed Kane stopped him down at Gooseholm on the way to the dog-track, taking Jack by surprise + because he'd spent the past hour looking for Ed.

+ +

"I thought it was Clark Kent when I saw you. Made you look a real four-eyed geek. So what's the score?"

+ +

"Anybody else see me?"

+ +

Ed shrugged. He was slim and wiry with knotty muscles on his arms and despite his featherweight frame, he could + handle himself well and he never missed a trick. "How should I know?"

+ +

"Did you tell anybody?"

+ +

"Tell them what? Jake Lorne wears horn rims and brylcreem? What's the deal?"

+ +

"I mean did you. . . "

+ +

"No, man, I never told anybody. Why should I? I thought you'd get round to it. Sneaking about with the grannies, I + had to hear it straight. Are you shagging old birds?"

+ +

"I'm meeting some of the guys tonight."

+ +

"Mac's?"

+ +

He nodded. "Me, Donny Watson, a couple of the lads."

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

"I'll tell you when we're there."

+ +

"Okay." He seemed to accept it. Jack liked that.

+ +

Neil and Jed were coming down Gooseholm Street, hands in their pockets, heads down against the lowering red glare of + the sinking sun. Woodsmoke and grass smoke billowed down from the Cardross Hills where a bunch of wild youngsters + had torched the gorse and heather in the seasonal burn-off, rolling a grey pall over the river flood-plain. Off in + the distance, a fire engine siren whined its song.

+ +

They all sauntered along the path, following the line of trees and crossed over the bridge, pausing only to stop and + lean on the railings to watch the water flow, much as they had done as kids when they came down to guddle trout from + under the rocks or spear flounders under the deep banks. The field on the south side of the river was long and + narrow and bounded by thick hawthorn hedges that shielded it from the road. The smell of fresh cowshit mixed in with + the smoke and wild rose and broom flourish, oddly heady and somehow wild and primitive.

+ +

Tam and Donny were there already, mixing with the crowd in the corner. The dog-men had set up their traps and right + off at the far end a little diesel motor chuntered slowly, feeding power to a small wheel. Two men came down the + field, dead in centre, hauling the hare, just an old skin stuffed with straw, sorry and ragged. The greyhounds + whined and snarled in the traps, pin-faced and anorexic, wanting to run.

+ +

Dan McGraw, who had a predictable nickname, was taking bets on the dogs, stuffing notes into a wad that could have + served as a doorstop. A couple of runners passed from group to group doing the same thing. Gus Ferguson and his + scrapyard crew were in a huddle around a big black dog that he kept in the yard cages and doubled up as a + guard.

+ +

A few of the bottle men who'd been laid off along with Jack and Neil nodded condolences and came up to part with the + cash they could little afford, but that's the way it is in these parts. Jack would have forked out five on a hungry + black dog with unblinking eyes in trap two, because he knew Mick Haggerty the owner and he'd seen the Dozy Ray take + a hare right up on the Longcrag straight, moving like a cheetah and snapping it clean before it had a chance to + jink. But not today.

+ +

Tam was keeping an eye on the odds. Ferguson's beast was favourite so far, but dog races, particularly illegal ones + like this are too easy to fix. Some egg white smeared on the balls could slow a runner down, human of canine. A long + walk on rough ground, or a heavy meal of oats and sausage would do the same thing. You had to really look at the + animals and see how they squared.

+ +

They had wandered around, all placing small bets with each of the bookies on a runt of a bitch that had no chance + against the bigger dogs. Good long odds.

+ +

Jack scanned the field and eventually caught sight of Neil Cleary hunkered down beside his old van at the far corner, + hidden behind a hawthorn bush. The bitch was draped in a hand-made coat that came down to her ankles. Jack wet a + finger and tested the wind direction. He grinned to himself. Tam winked.

+ +

The greyhounds were buzzed, waiting for the start. Down the far end, somebody raised a white handkerchief. Out of the + corner of his eye, Jack saw Neil whip the coat off Fanny.

+ +

Five seconds later, the breeze carried her overladen scent to the traps and the dogs started howling and twisting + around in their cages.

+ +

The marker dropped his hand and the little petrol motor dragged the old hare, bumping and scraping across the uneven + ground and for a moment you'd have sworn it was the real animal. The gates swung up and the dogs exploded out.

+ +

The hare streaked away in a straight line.

+ +

All the dogs veered to the right, howling, and heading for the hawthorn bush. Jack saw Neil bundle Fanny into the + back of the van and then take off down the lane, with five snarling dogs in raunchy pursuit.

+ +

The little runt bitch, totally unaffected by whatever was carried in the wind, went straight after the hare, running + at forty to one, and crossed the line in a grey streak.

+ +

"What the fuck?" Gus Ferguson's bellow came from down the field. His big black brute was leading the field, + as he probably would have but for Fanny's compelling scent. They hit the scrubby hawthorn in a mass of yelps and + snarls. Tam chuckled beside Jack. Neil had tied an old rag to one of the branches, but before that he's assiduously + rubbed the rag on Fanny's, well, fanny. The sex crazed dogs just followed their noses.

+ +

By the time the handlers reached the hedge, two of them were at each other's throats, trying to win the rag of their + desires. And Gus Ferguson's big black champion was busily trying to hump one of the runners who seemed to take great + exception to having a dog's sharp business end rammed up its sphincter.

+ +

Ferguson's minders waded in and tried to separate them, grabbing each dog by the scroff of the neck. The one under + Ferguson's dog came willingly, but the big beast arched its neck and sunk its canines into Seggs Cullen's palm.

+ +

He bawled in pain. Instinctively his meaty free hand came down in a swift arc and caught the dig on the side of the + jaw. It gave a muted help and went down like a sack, teeth still clamped on Cullen's hand. He clubbed it again and + was about to get its head under his boot to drag his hand free when Gus Ferguson grabbed his arm, swung a roundhouse + that caught Cullen on his jaw and sent him sprawling on the grass, still attached to the dazed greyhound. +

+ +

"You don't ever hit my fucking dog, you fucking mutt!"

+
+

The steward's inquiry was impromptu and prompt.

+ +

Jack and the boys had spread small bets around on the little bitch. At forty to one it would be playing money for a + while, and the bookies were happy to pay out, chiefly because their losses were minimal.

+ +

"It was a fuckin' fix." That was the general impression, but nobody could work out why the pack had veered in the + opposite direction to the prey.

+ +

"No race!" somebody demanded. "I demand a re-start."

+ +

Dangerous Dan McGraw held a hand up, the other protecting the big wad in his pocket. Most of the bets had been with + the two favourites and he wasn't prepared to part easily with the cash.

+ +

"It would be void," he agreed, "If they had all gone off the track. But they didn't, not all of them, did they?"

+ +

He pointed to the little brown bitch. "And we have a clear winner."

+ +

Gus Ferguson glowered at him, but there was nothing he could do, at least not in public. The other bookies closed + ranks, keeping their fists tight on their money. Over in the corner, Seggs Cullen was wrapping his hand in a dirty + handkerchief and looked as if he was ready to fight anybody who looked at him the wrong way. He turned and saw Jack + and the others. Jack saw he still had bruises around his mouth and cheeks where the six iron had hit the sweet + spot.

+
+

As an ambush it lacked the all-important ingredient of surprise. Cullen and Wiggy Foley stopped them on the towpath, + as they walked alongside the river but Jack was ready for it and he knew just where they'd be, behind the old wall + of the dyeworks, just round the corner where the path narrowed, out of sight in both directions.

+ +

Jack had all his antennae out and working, aware of how it was likely to turn out and he had watched the pair of them + saunter off, taking sneak backwards glances, unconsciously telegraphing every intention.

+ +

He was walking with Donny, just the pair of them, when Cullen and Foley came out from the gap. Cullen had picked up a + heavy branch and held it waist high in both hands.

+ +

"Hey you."

+ +

They turned, as if surprised. Jack could sense Donny's tension.

+ +

"Payback time for you bastards."

+ +

Jack stepped in front of Donny. "Payback for what?"

+ +

"You know what the fuck what."

+ +

"I don't think so," Jack said. Donny held his ground, but Jack could hear his breathing come in short intakes. He'd + taken a real beating last time and while he'd always been quick in the mouth, he was never fast with his fists. He + was no scrapper.

+ +

Cullen took a step forward, with Foley at his shoulder. Foley was a bull of a man, with a nose that had come off + second best a couple of times, and a dark red toupee that was just a shade too red for the thick natural hairs that + sprouted behind his ears. He was muscle, pure and simple, one of Ferguson's stick-men.

+ +

"Can we help you gentlemen?"

+ +

Cullen and Foley whipped round.

+ +

Tam Bowie stood behind the pair of them, flanked by Neil and Jed. They had come through the hawthorn and climbed over + the old wall to come in the back way. A simple ambush on the ambush.

+ +

Cullen spun back, towards Jack, completely taken by surprise. Tam had a four foot piece of scaffolding tube in his + hands.

+ +

Behind him Ed Kane sauntered into view. Ed hadn't even been involved before, but he walked right up to stand beside + Tam, with a pugnacious look to him. He held an old length of two by two. Neil hefted a half brick.

+ +

Jack stuck his hands in his pockets. "Come on guys. Time to call it a day, eh?"

+ +

"No fuckin' chance, Lorne." Cullen's eyes screwed up to slits. One of the scabs on his lips had cracked and dribbled + a little red. "You're a fuckin' dead man."

+ +

Jack shrugged, wondering what the hell he was going to do about these two. He needed no distractions now.

+ +

"Well, what do you think then? You want to pitch it here?"

+ +

"Six against two?"

+ +

"It was two against one last time," Donny piped up. "With a baseball bat, you gutless skags."

+ +

Kate had been right. Donny just couldn't button it. Tam tapped the scaffolding iron on a rock and the other two + backed in against the wall. Jack pulled back, giving them space. If they got down to it here, there could be broken + arms and heads and they didn't have the time to wait for bones to knit. Time was sucking him down..

+ +

Some deep and feral part of him still wanted Cullen and McFall to make a move and for him and Tam to take a swipe, + but he forced himself back another step, giving them a way out. Old Sandy had always told him: Never back a man + into a corner, because there's only one way out, and that's through you.

+ +

Cullen dropped the branch and hauled Foley by the arm.

+ +

"Next time, Lorne. Just you and me."

+ +

"And whose fuckin army?" Donny bawled. Jack slapped him backwards with an impatient hand against his chest. That's + what had got them into trouble in the first place.

+
+

The big grey limousine cruised slowly along Crosswell Street and turned down into the narrow avenue, windows darkly + opaque, engine almost silent. It finally stopped at the house and two dark shapes behind the glass paused, checking + the number on the door.

+ +

"Sandy. Are you expecting somebody?"

+ +

Sandy looked up from the board. He had his old motorbike carburettor in pieces on the table. The chess-board was on a + space between them and a couple of beers stood in amongst the oily tools.

+ +

"You're up to something, Jackie-boy," he'd said. "I can tell."

+ +

"What makes you think that?" Jack had changed his mind about the beer. Despite the foul smell in the making, it had + mellowed to the taste. Sandy had another forty gallons on the go, but they were out in the little greenhouse next to + the pigeon hut, covered in big black bin-liners to soak up the heat. It made it ferment quicker and kept the smell + out of the house.

+ +

"You always had that look about you when you were up to some mischief. I'd recognise it across the street, Muchacho. + You can't change your spots."

+ +

"You can talk. You were the biggest chancer in Levenford, from what I heard."

+ +

Sandy laughed. "That's what the army does for you. And the merchant marine. It taught me to swear in three languages, + how to change money and how not to get caught. Anyway, you want to tell me what's the moves?"

+ +

"Nothing fixed yet."

+ +

"I heard you had another showdown with Ferguson's muscle."

+ +

"What are you? A spymaster?"

+ +

"I told you, knowledge is power. I heard it from one of the boat club boys. So what's the score with these + gorillas?"

+ +

"They want a return bout for Donny."

+ +

"You better stay here for a couple of days, out of the way. You can't appeal to Ferguson's better nature, because he + never had one to start with. And he's ambidextrous; that polecat can steal from your right pocket as easy as your + left."

+ +

Jack agreed with that. It wouldn't be too easy in a town the size of Levenford, but he'd really have to try to stay + out of Ferguson's way for the next couple of weeks.

+ +

Sandy poured himself a short one from the presentation bottle and sipped appreciatively. He reached behind him and + hefted a big padded envelope, drew out a thick sheaf of papers.

+ +

"I might have something here," he said. "Me and Willie and the boat boys were checking out old navigation tidal + charts for the river and we came across some good stuff from the Charter."

+ +

"The Bruce Charter?"

+ +

"That and some later papers. It's all down in the archives that aren't open to the public, but Willie's nephew works + down there and we can get what we want. I think you could have some fun with that skunk Sproat."

+ +

Sandy wiped his hand on a cloth, opened the wad of papers and photocopies of old documents and drew them out onto the + table.

+ +

"Amazing what you can find out when you've got time on your hands." He stopped at a page and turned it round so Jack + could read it.

+ +

"It turns out that the Charter was never repealed in all these years, and we've got old maps, going back five hundred + years that shows the harbour inlet was there long before Sproat's family were heard of. It was the mouth of a + stream, so it was a natural inlet. That means it's part of the river, and all of the river was put in trust for the + people of the town. That means he can't just fill it in any time he likes."

+ +

Sandy sounded pleased with himself.

+ +

" He needs the two bits of land together for it to be worth the real big bucks. Contiguous. I looked that + up. Tell you another thing, if he knocks down the distillery, it's going to cost him nearly forty notes a ton in + landfill tax to dump it anywhere else, so I reckon his whole deal depends on getting the go ahead to dump in the + harbour and reclaim the land."

+ +

"There might have been some transfer deal way back in the past," Jack played devil's advocate.

+ +

"Might have been, but if there was, we can't find it. All we were looking for was something that gave us mooring + rights, and this is what we turned up. Even if there was a transfer, we don't think he can dump in the river anyway. + Because we found the old Harbour Act as well, and that says it's a crime to throw anything in the water. If the + council let him do it, they could get sued."

+ +

Jack bent forward and started to flick through the sheaf.

+ +

"Do you mind if I take this away and have a look at it?"

+ +

"No problem. I was going to get the boat club interested, just to have a go at Sproat after what he'd doing. People + like that have no sense of responsibility. Putting people out of work just to make a few extra bucks is exactly the + same as stealing, and like I said, stealing from ordinary people is a right dirty business."

+ +

Jack smiled at the logic of it. He stuffed the papers back into the envelope, determined to read them carefully over + the weekend. Something in what Sandy said had given him an idea.

+ +

Sandy sipped again.

+ +

"Have you any idea of what you're going to do?"

+ +

"I'm still thinking about it."

+ +

"There's nothing for you here, Jake. You should get out and see what the rest of the world has to offer. I got the + chance when I was younger than you, in the army, then on the boats. Gave me a chance to see a bit of the world as + well. You got a good brain on you, and you could make something of yourself."

+ +

"That's what everybody seems to think," Jack said.

+ +

"So you might start believing them. You've got your whole life ahead of you. Your Mam told me what you've done for + your Michael, and that's a big thing. But you can't live your life for the boy. He'll find his own feet."

+ +

"He needs a chance. Too many people in this town don't get one."

+ +

"You could have had the chance yourself."

+ +

"Sure, maybe I could. I got the chance now."

+ +

"To do what?"

+ +

"Watch this space."

+ +

Jack caught the movement through the kitchen window. He pulled back behind the curtain just as a tall man in + impenetrable sunglasses got out of the car. He was wide as a shack, solid and square and had a no-nonsense chin that + jutted like rock.

+ +

"Hell," Jack muttered.

+ +

"What's the matter?" Sandy looked out from the edge of the curtain.

+ +

"You know them?"

+ +

Another man got out of the car, hidden from view by the rowan tree that Sandy had let Jack plant from a berry years + ago when he was just a kid.

+ +

"You sit here son. I'll take care of this."

+ +

Sandy picked up a ballpeen hammer from the toolbox and hefted a big stilson wrench in the other hand. The back of his + hands were oil-streaked and the overalls stained. He would look just like a man working with car parts. No need to + look tough or stupid, just handy.

+ +

The bell did its sing song. Sandy had been standing just behind it and he opened it very fast, taking whoever stood + there by surprise. A tall, well dressed man stood on the doorstep, flanked by the big slab in the chauffeur's + suit.

+ +

"I'm looking for Jack Lorne," a man's voice said. Jack was close behind his grandfather, just out of sight, but + ready.

+ +

"Oh yeah, and who wants him?"

+ +

"My name is Hammond Hall. Mr Lorne did me a great service. He saved my boy's life."

+ +

Sandy looked him up and down, weighing him. After a while he nodded.

+ +

"Maybe you'd better come in and speak to him yourself."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch06.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch06.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee2b115 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch06.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,588 @@ + + + + + + 6 + + + + +
+
+

6

+ +

They all gaped at Jack Lorne and if he’d had the camera with him he’d have taken a picture, every one of them caught + with their mouths slack open.

+ +

"You have to be totally fucking kidding," was all Tam Bowie could finally say.

+ +

A long silence stretched out as what he had told them began to sink in.

+ +

Mac's Bar had been fairly quiet when they got there, still pumped from the nearness of the action with Ferguson's + gorillas. Jack thumbed a few coins into the box and Tam and Jed groaned when the music started and the heavy Hendrix + base came thumping out. It was good music for a slow come-down.

+ +

"Where do you get your taste retro-man?"

+ +

"What, you prefer the spice bimbos? Lady Gaga? These old guys could play."

+ +

Old dead Jimi came out with it. ...everything just don't seem the same. Jack let an ice cold sip trickle + down his throat. Nothing was the same, nor would it be from here on in, win or lose.

+ +

Acting funny but I don't know why.

+ +

Neil leant in, faking a tight guitar, put a smacker right on Jed's cheek.

+ +

" 'Scuse me while I kiss this guy."

+ +

"Bugger off you. I told you a million times, it's kiss the sky."

+ +

Everybody laughed, and it eased the tension. Jack asked Frank behind the bar if they could use the upstairs room, but + it turned out the domino team had it for the night.

+ +

"Jimmy Gillespie's boat's up on the stacks," Tam said. "He's away on holiday and he wants us to keep an eye on + it."

+ +

They trooped out into the mellow evening sunlight and followed the river towpath downstream. Franky Hennigan and Tig + Graham sat on their usual bench and when they passed by, Franky got up and did a drunken little shuffle-dance, + snapping his fingers.

+ +

"Well boys, you wouldn't have any loose change, would you?" Franky and Tig had both worked in Aitkenbar and gone the + way of so many who'd got a big taste for what they had rolled in barrels.

+ +

Tam dug into his pocket. Jack and Ed managed a handful of coins between them and gave it to Tam.

+ +

"But you have to promise me, you're not going to waste this on anything stupid like food."

+ +

"No problemo senors," Franky drawled a fake Mexican accent. He threw a pantomime salute. "You have the word of an + officer and a gentleman."

+ +

Gillespie's boat had seen plenty of better summers, and it would take another year to get it back into the water, + but it was big and spacious, up on the blocks right at the end of the sandy point opposite the towering castle rock + where the river fed into the Clyde. It was better inside than out, and the six of them were round the table. Neil + fanned out the cards for shoot pontoon and they'd rattled the money down, watching it change from hand to hand, as + the sun sank lower to turn the slow waters of the incoming tide deep red on the estuary.

+ +

Jack had known Cullen and Foley would come at them again and if they didn't, Ferguson would send somebody else and + despite himself he muttered a curse at Donny letting his mouth do the thinking, even though he knew it had always + been the same since the pair of them had started school. Donny's mouth spoke for somebody two foot taller and a + whole lot tougher. It was like a half-developed tourette syndrome, shooting off when they needed it holstered. + Ferguson might have forgotten the slight, even though that was unlikely, but he couldn't let a couple of boys from + Drymains give his minders a doing. That was definitely something he didn't want spread around in the gossip, and if + it had gained currency, then he'd have to convert it back, with commission.

+ +

Jack was ahead on the five he'd slapped on the table, but he kept the fifty still in his hip pocket, knowing it had + been money earned by stealth, no luck or insider knowledge required A part of his mind was on Cullen and Foley and + Ferguson, wondering where they would turn up next, knowing they would, and if it had been any other time, he'd have + watched his back, waited for the hit and taken it with a fight, but the time was all wrong and the last thing he + needed was a mess of bruises on his face. The walk along the towpath from Mac's bar had been full of talk of + might-have-been and could-have-done, though Tam said little and Ed Kane even less. Tam had got his black belt in Tae + Kwon Do and could have given them a run if he'd really wanted to, but it was better to scare them off than get down + to it. Two could become six too easily and you could start a street war that would bring all the nutters from + Corriehill down on River Street and have a real rammy that would do nobody any good.

+ +

Donny was all pumped up, his face matching his ginger hair, talking big and they all slapped him down for it. Ed Kane + had heard about the first set-to and Jack was glad he'd been right solid with them. Since the first night in Mac's + bar he'd realised just how handy Ed could be. He had that calm sort of understated toughness that doesn't need a lot + of talk.

+ +

Jack tapped and got a three and ran it all through to a five card trick, took two notes from Tam and on the next hand + turned up an ace and a face. Tam handed over the pack. Jack began dealing and taking the bets, getting a run of high + cards as the notes piled up at his corner, but he was working on automatic. Pontoon takes no brain. Working the odds + was just maths. His mind was elsewhere.

+ +

Ed Kane said nothing about seeing him in the distillery and that was a plus point too. He'd been a class behind them + in primary and his girlfriend Donna worked in the hairdressers down on Castle Street. She sometimes cut about with + Linda, and the pair of them sang in the Starlights chorus.

+ +

"So what's the next move?" Jed Coogan asked. "I hear you're jumping a ship."

+ +

"I'm still thinking about it." Big Lars had welcomed him aboard and shown him round, while a crane had lifted the big + propeller from the water. The shipwrights at Scotts yard would straighten out a big crumple on the vane. He'd half + expected to see Ilse and Ingrid and had quickly looked over his shoulder to make sure Kate had driven off. The + prospect of being out in the dirty little supply ship in a howling and heaving North Sea did nothing at all for him. + It was no prospect.

+ +

But they'd sat down and got talking and big Lars had finally got the Absolut from his cabinet and they'd + chewed the fat for a couple of hours and then arranged another meeting to get things really sorted. He had a couple + of days to get things going, but he had to broach it here and now. This dry dock was the first port.

+ +

"I've been to the Australia office," Neil said. "The chance of finding something around here's less than damn + all."

+ +

"Somebody should shoot that prick Sproat," Jed said, and they all nodded. "He's selling every one of us down the + river. It's all the same with those rich bastards. They come up on daddy's money and never get their hands dirty and + think they can just buy and sell folk."

+ +

"I'd like to see him signing on the dole. Trying to get money out of those snooty bitches."

+ +

"Hey, my cousin works in the Jobcentre," Donny protested.

+ +

"Yeah, and she's the snootiest of them all, spawney-eyed bitch."

+ +

Donny shrugged. "You've got a point, right enough."

+ +

"You're right Jed," Jack stepped in to the little silence. "Sproat needs a come-uppance. I heard what he told you all + at the meeting. It was thanks for all your hard graft and now get lost and let me make more money."

+ +

"That was about the size of it."

+ +

"He's a fucking charmer, that Sproat," Donny observed. "A regular Don Coyote."

+ +

Jack turned for a second look, decided it wasn't worth the correction.

+ +

Tam got out a little nut of hash and rolled one long doobie. The air thickened into a sweet mist. Jack took a couple + of deep draws, because he could still think clearly on hash, while his mouth and his brain got completely out of + step on beer.

+ +

"So what are you going to do about it?" he asked nobody in particular.

+ +

"What can we do?"

+ +

"You could help yourselves and really screw Sproat, that's what you could do."

+ +

He let that float with the smoke.

+ +

"Aye, brilliant. What do we do? Let the tyres down on his Beamer?"

+ +

"Everybody's got a weakness. You just have to find out what it is. It's not that hard to find out what Sproat's + weakness is."

+ +

"Listen to mister open-bloody-university here. Is that the kind of stuff they teach you in business management?"

+ +

"Business is just like anything else. You find out what people need. You find a way of giving it to them, or keeping + it from them. It's all about knowing what to do and when."

+ +

He looked round the table. "I'll tell you what business really is. It's a way of stealing money from people without + having to beat them up. It's just legalised robbery."

+ +

"Thanks for the lesson, Jake. But is there a point in there somewhere?" Tam drew on the joint and held it in.

+ +

"First of all you have to realise what the score is," Jack said. He deliberately slowed the dealing down to a stop. + "And the score is, we've all been screwed arsewards, all except Tam, and he'd enjoy that anyway. Look at the unions, + talking about setting up pickets and begging the MP for some help. He's in Sproat's pocket anyway. So what will they + achieve?"

+ +

"Nothing," Ed said flatly.

+ +

"Exactly. Sproat called you in and kicked your stupid and everybody said yes boss, Same as ever. It's in the + blood. People here all work for somebody else and they take what's going. It's about time we did something for + ourselves."

+ +

"Like what, set up in business?"

+ +

"Something like that. No. Exactly that."

+ +

"With what?" Donny asked. "I've got damn all. I'm between a rock and the deep blue sea."

+ +

"Look," Jack said, putting the cards down on the table, face up. He had a king and an ace and nobody could beat him. + Good symbolism. He let them all see them and then quickly scooped up the dead hands.

+ +

"Two hundred years. That's how long the distillery's been going and in all that time folk have been busting their + balls for Sproat's people. They do all the work, and he gets all the cash and he's the only one living up Kirkhill + and driving a big shiny car. He's got a boat you could sail the world on. Holidays in Hawaii. What's he done for it? + He was born, that's what. But that's the old way. Now he's selling up to make more money, because there's + just not enough in a wee malt and grain business that's too labour intensive, not when you pay eighty percent in + excise. I got on the internet and had a look. It's easy. Aitkenbar's been run down for the past three years. Sproat + hasn't been out searching the markets because he's a total airhead. But he's smart enough to sell when the builders + are killing each other for empty land. They're paying twenty three pounds a square foot, and he'll make enough to + clear himself and put up a kitty and with the last big blend he's free and clear and we're all in the shit. He's + crippling Andy Kerr because he needs that land, and that puts another forty on the dole and the whole town goes down + the stank. And don't forget those poor boys up at Dunvegan. They're all back to cutting peats and eating porridge + and shagging mountain sheep."

+ +

Jack stopped for breath. Tam was curious.

+ +

"You can find that all out on your computer?"

+ +

Jack nodded. "If you know where to look, except for the sheep thing. Anyway, that's business, they're all at it. It's + business, and it's the way it works."

+ +

"They're all a bunch of crooks."

+ +

"Sure they are, but it's all legal. You see that wall Kate Delaney and the kids are painting? All those + firms that just pulled out of the town and set up in Taiwan or Korea. That's business. Money talks, and + everybody else gets their marching orders. "

+ +

"So what are you saying?" Ed Kane eyed Jack through the smoke.

+ +

"It's time to take a stand. Make something of ourselves."

+ +

"Yeah," Neil went into grizzly old cowboy mode. "I was born here, an I was raised here, and dad gum + it, I am gonna die here, an' no sidewindin bushwackin, hornswaglin, cracker croaker is gonna ruin me bison + cutter."

+ +

"Fat man," Jed said, "You're purely talking out of your ass."

+ +

"No," Jack contradicted. "He's got a point. We were all born and raised here, and some prick is ruining it for + everybody. So it's about time we took back our bison cutter."

+ +

"How? Go on strike?" Donny asked a stupid question.

+ +

"Get real. That's what the Dunvegan boys want, and it'll do no good. You can't strike at a moving target, and Sproat + is moving. You can only hit him if he sits still. So what you have to do is stop him dead in his tracks"

+ +

"How?" Ed leaned forward. He knew a moment was coming. Jack recognised that in him.

+ +

"I've been doing some checking. This big last batch is something special. Sproat wants to market it all over the + world, and it's worth a fortune. My Uncle Sandy says God helps those who helps themselves, and it's time we helped + ourselves."

+ +

"Helped ourselves to what?" Ed was staying with it. Donny scratched his head, waiting for Jack to get right to the + point.

+ +

"See that last batch of whisky? It's a quarter of a century old. Just think about that. Our grandfathers made it. Our + fathers and uncles stacked the barrels, turned the barley, did all the sweating. There's near enough thirty thousand + gallons of it, all sitting there in the bond and in a couple of weeks time, they're going to roll it out, mix it up + and bottle it and after that it'll be gone."

+ +

"Yeah, we know that," Neil said. His broad cheeks turned concave as he sucked in on the joint. "What's that got to do + with us?"

+ +

"Our families made the stuff. I reckon we've as good a claim to it as anybody."

+ +

"You won't buy much with what you get in redundo," Jed said.

+ +

"I told you. God helps those who help themselves, and we should help ourselves."

+ +

"To what?"

+ +

"I reckon we can take those thirty thousand gallons right from under Sproat's nose. I got a plan."

+ +

He reached into his cotton jacket and drew out a sheaf of blue paper.

+ +

"I got all the plans."

+
+

The silence stretched as if time had expanded. For a long time, nobody spoke, and Jack just waited until what he had + said percolated through.

+ +

"You have to be totally fucking kidding." Tam finally said.

+ +

"Fuck me gently," Jed agreed.

+ +

Jack shuffled the cards and dealt another round. Neil, who had held his breath for more than thirty seconds let it + all out slowly. Ed Kane said nothing at all. He just waited.

+ +

"Are you serious?" Tam Bowie ran his fingers through his hair.

+ +

"Sure I'm serious."

+ +

"That's why you were done up like Clark Kent?"

+ +

Jack nodded. Ed got it in one. Nobody picked up the cards now. They just lay unturned..

+ +

"I need another joint," Jed said.

+ +

"I need a drink," Donny said.

+ +

"I'm agog."

+ +

"I'm even agogger than you," Jed told Neil.

+ +

"See you? You always have to be the agoggest," Neil came back.

+ +

Jack paused, mouth open, did a sharp double take at Neil and then just exploded with laughter. It broke the + moment.

+ +

"So you're serious then?" Tam said.

+ +

"You think you can really heist a whole decant?" Ed steered them right back to it, needing to hear it again. Jack + could almost hear his brain working.

+ +

"It's possible."

+ +

"How are you going to do that?

+ +

"With some serious planning, a bit of hard graft, and split second timing. But I think it can be done. + Supply and demand. This time they've got the supply and we've got the demand."

+ +

"Then what?" Tam finished rolling the third and passed it to Jed who sucked it like a condemned man facing + rifles.

+ +

"You work it out. You get thirty thousand gallons. Multiply by six and you get bottles."

+ +

"How many is that?" Donny asked.

+ +

"More than a hundred thou," Ed Kane broke in. Jack nodded approval.

+ +

"Hundred and eighty. But then it's double strength, so when you dilute it, water it down, you get three sixty." He + paused for effect. "Thousand bottles. Nearly half a mil."

+ +

"Jeez."

+ +

"Supply and demand. You get the right market and you can flog them at a five-spot apiece."

+ +

"That's more than a million." Ed was faster than any of them.

+ +

"One point eight."

+ +

"Jeez!"

+ +

"Million?" Donny's face was a picture of incredulity.

+ +

"Million. One million, eight hundred thousand. Minimum. Sterling. All profit. No tax."

+ +

"You're going to walk in there and lift thirty thousand gallons of hooch?"

+ +

"That's the plan."

+ +

"And then what?"

+ +

"Then we get rich."

+ +

"Jesus holy fucking Christ. You're serious, right?" Tam gave a little disbelieving laugh.

+ +

"Sure I'm serious." Jack held up the translucent blueprint. "I can't say where I got these. But this is the plan we + need. All it needs is some nerve and organisation and we can pull it off."

+ +

"Don't be daft man," Donny came in. "The customs would be all over you like a rash. And the cops along with them. + Thirty thousand gallons? Where would you put it?"

+ +

"You came out with the stuff in a tube, didn't you? When we went golfing?"

+ +

"Sure, stuck down my leg."

+ +

Jed came in: "You get thirty K gallons and you'll need the biggest colostomy bag in the history of the universe."

+ +

Everybody laughed.

+ +

"Or the biggest pair of incontinence pants."

+ +

"Ye of little faith," Jack said. He knew he had their attention now. Everybody was thinking, despite the hash. "If + you can conceive it and believe it, you can achieve it."

+ +

"Big words for a milkman. They teach you that in business?"

+ +

He nodded. "Plenty more where that came from. I've read all the greats. Graham Bell, Ford. Hammer. Edison. One thing + they tell you is that if you don't do it for yourself, nobody's going to do it for you. We can look for + four leaf clovers trying to get lucky and miss a big chance""

+ +

"Carpy Dime," Tam said. Jack patted him on the shoulder.

+ +

"Dead right, Thomas. Seize the moment. And the harder you work at it, the luckier you get."

+ +

"That would be a real sickener for Sproat," Jed put in.

+ +

"Believe it. I've spent a while working it out. He needs the big batch for cash flow, and he'll be wrapping it in + cling film and ribbon and selling bottles at a bullseye a throw. You take off excise and the overhead he's still + talking about three mil, all skimmed. But he has to dump the distillery in the harbour to reclaim the land or pay + another three mil in landfill tax, so there might be a way to screw that plan."

+ +

"Anything to put it to that bastard."

+ +

Everybody agreed with that sentiment.

+ +

Ed leant forward, wiping the cards away with his bare arms. The lowering sun beamed in the little porthole, making + the dust sparkle across the cabin in a translucent tube.

+ +

"Thirty thou is a whole lot of hooch. So how are you going to do it?"

+ +

"What's this you, white man? I told you I got a plan. What I need to know first is, are we all in? It has to + be all of us or none of us, and you have to think of what you can lose. Especially you Tam, seeing as you're in + work."

+ +

"Screw that. The site's going to be worked out by September and then it's back on the scratch again. Anyway, I'm a + plumber and that's like a doctor. Everybody shits and gets sick. I'll pick up bits and pieces. But that's all."

+ +

"You do house calls Tam? I think I'm going to fart."

+ +

"Jesus, Donny, not another one." Neil slipped the catch on the port and swung it inward, bringing with it a warm + smell of cut grass and drying seaweed from the estuary. Gulls mewed in the distant still air.

+ +

"It's six or none," Jack said, pressing it. "That's the way it has to be, and we have to keep it really tight. First + rule of good business: A closed mouth gathers no feet.

+ +

"I can't see how you'd get away with it." Jed was shaking his head.

+ +

"How we'd get away with it, man. You remember what Donny said down at the golf course before he gave + Ferguson the verbals? When he was washing the crap off in the ditch? How much was it went into the stream Don?"

+ +

"Three barrels, so Billy Butler said."

+ +

Ed agreed. "Three hogsheads broke open, about two hundred gallons. A drop in a bucket compared to what you're + thinking about. . . "

+ +

Jack held his hand up. Ed went silent.

+ +

"Six bottles to the gallon, double strength, Say twelve bottles at forty percent. Times two hundred," Jack was + motoring now.

+ +

"At least a thousand," Donny said, screwing his eyes in concentration.

+ +

"There's three kinds of people," Tam said. "Those who can count, and those who can't."

+ +

Donny sat for a moment, working that one out. Everybody laughed again and Jack waded on.

+ +

"It's nearly two and a half, and we're talking quality stuff, not your average blend. Say twenty a bottle, with tax. + Fifty grand down the Swanee and what did they do about it?"

+ +

"Damn all."

+ +

"That's right. It was an accident, so nobody got fired. Sproat was worried he'd have the environment people down his + throat and crawling all over the place because it went into the burn and probably right into the river. Christ knows + how many salmon parr died of drink. And what did they do?"

+ +

"Fuck all," Ed said.

+ +

"Dead right. And there must be a reason for that. Okay, customs have to wear it, because it's still in bond, and they + lose eighty percent, but Sproat's still down what, fifteen grand? And still not a dicky bird. They just let it go. + Sproat hushed it up. Why?" He looked at Donny.

+ +

"How should I know?"

+ +

"Either he doesn't want people poking around the place, or he doesn't want anything to queer the big deal."

+ +

"No way he'd going to sit still for thirty thousand gallons taking a walk," Ed said. "A couple of barrels, okay. But + not a whole bottling decant getting nicked."

+ +

"What makes you think it'll be nicked?" Jack smiled for the first time that night. He'd been concentrating the whole + while, happy enough to see them getting brave on hash just for the moment, needing to win them across.

+ +

"Anyway, I have to know if you're in, simple as that."

+ +

"I'm game," said Tam. "A million notes? Jeez, I can quit doing the lottery."

+ +

"It's no game. We do this, we do it right, and we stick to the plan. It's going to take a lot of work and a bit of + risk, but I reckon if we do it right, we'll get away with it. Like I said, our people have worked for it all down + the years and Sproat's selling the town out and taking the dairy with it. Nobody's got that sort of right."

+ +

He was pressing triggers now and he knew it.

+ +

"Too true," Donny said. "You got a plan Jack, I'm up for it."

+ +

"Me too," said Jed. "I got bugger all else to lose."

+ +

"Investments can go down as well as up," Jack said, now serious. "You can lose your shirt on this if we screw it. + More than your shirt. "

+ +

Neil scratched his head. "Christ knows how you're going to do it."

+ +

"One point eight million," Ed said. "You're talking big numbers. How can you work that?"

+ +

"I can't say until we're all in, and then it's hands to the pumps. It's six or nothing, and if we don't have + everybody, then I'll go do my own thing, go my own way. I just think it's time we did something for ourselves and to + hell with the rest of them. Where are we going to get jobs with four hundred guys chasing every opening? You want to + stack shelves at whatever they build on Aitkenbar once it's cleared?"

+ +

He was thinking of his Uncle talking after he cuffed the old guy at chess.

+ +

You're a Lorne on your father's side, a Bruce on your mother's. Don't let these creeps rule you. You get + out and take what's yours.

+ +

"Fuckit," Ed Kane said. "I can't be rolling barrels all my life. You really think it can be done?"

+ +

"No. I'm just pissing into the wind. Listen, why do you think I bust my arse trying to get these plans? They guy who + had them's dead and nobody knows I've got a copy. That's our key to a million eight."

+ +

"Okay." Ed stretched out his hand. Jack gave it a grip. "I'll come along for the ride."

+ +

"Some ride," Tam said. "So what do we do now?"

+ +

"First of all, nothing gets beyond here," Jack gestured to the walls. "Not one word. This stays between us all. I + reckon I can make it work, but one word outside and we're all screwed, and I'm talking banged up in the Bar-L. They + don't like rip offs and especially they don't take ripping off her majesty's customs and excise too well. They've + got more power than the cops and nobody asks questions about what they do."

+ +

"Dead right. The cops can't shove a finger up your bum."

+ +

"Ain't that a shame," Neil half sang.

+ +

"Customs can do what they want, so we have to make them look the other way. I don't want to get into it all, but I've + thought it all out. That's why we need six. And I need some money, so you all have to chip in."

+ +

"I knew there would be a catch," Donny said, all sarcastic. "How much?"

+ +

"A ton apiece, for starters."

+ +

"A hundred? You kidding?"

+ +

"It's a drop in the ocean. Look on it as an investment."

+ +

Donny was still mulish. "That's a whack."

+ +

"Come on, you took sixty from Dangerous Dan on the first race. And all it cost was a tin of Chum for Fannyboz. Look, + if we do this we do it right and we do it prepared. You can't just walk in and take it and then wonder what you're + going to do with it. We need cover and that's why I need to buy some stuff."

+ +

"Like what?"

+ +

"Paper. Cards. I need a whole set of mobiles. Your brother can fix us up Neil, right"

+ +

Neil shrugged agreement. "Depends how soon."

+ +

"Five days, no more. I need a printer for the computer, full colour - they're cheap and we might as well buy new. I + might need a good suit, and a coat, for a touch of class. A briefcase. We have to get a van, nothing big. Borrow if + we can, buy if we must. And Tam, we need your bike."

+ +

"You can borrow it, but not for keeps."

+ +

"I don't want to borrow it. I want you on it."

+ +

Tam furrowed his brows. It was all going pretty fast and he didn't quite understand it all yet.

+ +

"I need to get into somebody's house."

+ +

"Come on," Jed said. "I'm not stealing from people."

+ +

Jack grinned, remembering his grandfather again. Stealing might be acceptable if it was from the big boys, but not + from the common man.

+ +

"I'm not stealing. I just have to get in. Don't worry, there's nobody home. It's just for a drop."

+ +

"I'll get you in," Ed said quietly. "Once I've seen the locks."

+ +

"Good man. What else? Jed. I might need to speak to your bird. We'll tell her it's union stuff."

+ +

"Jees. We can't bring her into it."

+ +

"She won't know. Anyway, she's out of a job as well in six weeks. We'll pay her if we have to. She works in Sproat's + office, am I right?"

+ +

Jed agreed, but he still looked uncomfortable about it.

+ +

"That's about it for now. Donny and Jed, I need you to whip up the union men, get them to start a protest, bring the + Dunvegan men into it. Me, I have to get some art-work done, but I think I can get that for nothing."

+ +

"What's that for?" Donny looked as puzzled as the rest. They were itching to know the details, but Jack knew he had + to play it tight.

+ +

"Two rules of good business. Don't tell everything you know."

+ +

"What's the second?"

+ +

Jack tapped his nose. Ed Kane got it right away and laughed.

+ +

"But what's the second rule," Donny wanted to know and this time everybody laughed.

+ +

"When do you need the cash?"

+ +

"Yesterday would be good."

+ +

"Can I pay it up?"

+ +

"Piss off, Neil. Friday at the latest."

+ +

"Christ, you sound just like Ferguson."

+ +

"Yeah, that's another thing. Keep an eye out for him and his muscle. You especially Donny. That loony could screw the + whole thing up. We don't want any broken bones and I don't want anybody in jail for breach. They'll come back for + another go, so don't wander down any dark alleys, right?"

+ +

He sat back, knowing he had their full and undivided attention.

+ +

"You know all that stuff that's been lying in barrels since we were kids? It loses two percent year on year. That's + it half gone in twenty five, and they don't even miss it. So we're just taking the other half."

+ +

He couldn't keep the smile off his face.

+ +

"The angels have had their share. It's high time we had ours."

+ +

That was how it all started.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch07.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch07.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20915cb --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch07.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,580 @@ + + + + + + 7 + + + + +
+
+

7

+ +

"You’re up to something Muchacho. I told you I can always tell. You've got mischief and mayhem written all + over you."

+ +

Uncle Sandy's eyes challenged him from across the table. Against one wall of the kitchen, crates of home brew beer + stood one atop the other, almost to the ceiling. Sandy had been cleaning out his pigeon hut when Jack came round, + head encased in an old biker's balaclava that covered his nose, and eyes protected from the feather dust by an + ancient pair of bikers goggles that made him look like an old air ace. He stripped them off and put the kettle + on.

+ +

"Like what?"

+ +

"If I knew I wouldn't ask."

+ +

"You didn't ask. You made a statement."

+ +

"Don't get smart with me."

+ +

"I'm already too smart for you. Check." Jack's queen was dangerously close. "I hear you got the whole pigeon + club rat-arsed. What strength is that beer?"

+ +

Sandy sacrificed a knight, trying to con Jack into taking it with the queen. No sale.

+ +

"About ten percent, higher if you put more sugar in. They're all developing a taste for it."

+ +

"It takes dedication. Your liver must be like portland cement. Some of the club, they're about seventy. You could + kill them."

+ +

"It's probably keeping them alive. Anyway, I'm over sixty and I'm fitter than you." Jack looked at him and grinned. + They were about the same size and build, despite the difference in years. He hoped he looked as fit when he was that + age.

+ +

"Yeah, right. How about Tim Farmer? Any sign of the money?"

+ +

"Not a hide nor hair. And nobody's seen him either, daft old bugger. I heard he's in Majorca. He'll come back with a + bad sunburn and a sore dick."

+ +

"What will you do, call the cops?"

+ +

"What's the point in that? Check. Concentrate on the game, will you? No, that would just be too much hassle. + What we did, we got a bunch of us round to his place and took all of his birds. We'll have an auction next week and + raise about a grand, maybe more. He's a daft thieving bastard, but a good bird man."

+ +

"And then what, will he get expelled?"

+ +

"Are you kidding? If he's had a month in Majorca with Meg McLaren, he's not getting away that easy. No, he can start + at the bottom and buy back his own birds, and then he's going to have to tell us the whole story, every pant and + grunt and heave. That should keep us going till Christmas, and me and Willie McIver should have enough stock here to + keep us and the bowling club and the boat men going right through the new year. We never had it so good." +

+ +

"And you think I'm up to something."

+ +

"I don't think, son. I know. You never were good at hiding it."

+ +

I bloody better be, Jack thought.

+ +

It had been a couple of days since Hammond Hall had come to the door, taking Jack by surprise. He hadn't known the + kid in the water had been diving off the big Moody yacht in the inlet, and it hadn't mattered at the time. After it + he had just walked away barefoot, dripping water, and Kate holding tight to his hand.

+ +

"I got your name from Miss Delaney," the man had. The driver had gone back to the car and Sandy had cleared a space + at the table, shifting some of the machine parts. Hall's shirt and slacks looked like a month's wages with overtime + thrown in, but he never seemed to notice the oil. He took a glance down at the board, gave a tight smile.

+ +

"Mate in three." Jack wondered vaguely how the man had got Kate's name in the first place.

+ +

"You like a beer?" Sandy broke the ice. Jack felt a little uncomfortable. What did you say on these occasions. Don't + mention it?

+ +

Hall took the beer, drinking from the bottle and smacked his lips. "I don't often get the chance. My wife, Jason's + mother, she's got me on a killer diet."

+ +

The man had smacked his lips and then he'd thanked Jack very much and then he'd just let it all pour out, how close + he'd been to losing his boy.

+ +

"You never told me, Jake," Sandy chided.

+ +

He shrugged. He hadn't told anybody. It wasn't the done thing.

+ +

Hammond took another beer and Sandy told him about the home brew and then they all had another and Hammond Hall + seemed to relax. He rolled his sleeves up and started playing with the pieces of carburettor. Sandy hauled out the + big demi-jon of liqueur and they started in on that and by midnight the pair of them were swapping army and navy + stories and Sandy was telling them about some mischief he'd got up to with some NATO buddies in Italy when they were + running trucks of red wine to Dusseldorf.

+ +

It was close to one in the morning when Hall insisted that he could only have one more liqueur and no more beer.

+ +

"You make this yourself?" He was more than half drunk, but still clear.

+ +

"Sure. It's the best in the whole street," Sandy said. "This side of it anyway."

+ +

"Good enough for me," Hall said, just slightly slurred. "She'll kill me when I get home."

+ +

He turned to Jack and formally shook his hand.

+ +

"From Mrs Hall and myself, we just want to say thank you for what you did for Jason. And if you ever want to come + aboard the Valkyrie, you will be more than welcome."

+ +

Jack smiled. The difference between the two Valkyries could not be greater.

+ +

"And if there's any way we can repay you."

+ +

Jack took in the expensive slacks and the designer shirt. The man wore a Rolex oyster.

+ +

"There is one thing," he said.

+ +

"Name it, young man."

+ +

"I lost one of my shoes in the water. A good Nike trainer."

+ +

"You want a new pair?"

+ +

"No, but if your Jason goes diving up at Creggan again, see if he can pick it up for me. I had them just broken in + just right."

+
+

Michael came stumbling through the front door, face caked with dirt and blood streaming from both nostrils. One eye + was hidden under a big soft bruise.

+ +

"Holy mother of God, what's happened to you?"

+ +

Alice Lorne was out of her seat, overturning a teacup and scalding Jack's bare arm. Michael had tears running down + his face.

+ +

They had grabbed him on his way home, taking a shortcut through the allotments just after he finished stacking in + Safeway. He was walking the centre path, hands in his pockets, sun on his back when Seggs Cullen came up behind him + and clamped a beefy arm round his neck.

+ +

Michael struggled, unable to shout, but Cullen outweighed him two to one. Foley was leaning against the van. Cullen + let go and shoved Michael forward to stumble against the other man.

+ +

Foley brought him up sharp, two hands twisting his shirt tight, forcing his chin upwards.

+ +

"Leave me alone," Michael managed to gasp. The knuckles under his throat made it almost impossible to draw a + breath.

+ +

"This the brainy one?"

+ +

Cullen nodded, keeping the pressure on.

+ +

"You go to college, arsehole?" Foley loosened the grip just a little.

+ +

"What's it got to do with you?" Michael knew who they were and he was scared.

+ +

"Don't give me any shite." He shoved Michael backwards. Cullen caught him and put him in a full nelson, bending his + head right down towards the ground. Michael grunted with the pain.

+ +

"You go to college?" Foley asked again.

+ +

"What if I do? What's it to you?"

+ +

"So you've got brains, right?"

+ +

Michael tried to straighten up.

+ +

"If you've got brains, then you can take a message to that brother of yours."

+ +

Cullen loosened his grip and let Michael get vertical, while still keeping the lock on, forcing his arms above his + head.

+ +

"What message?"

+ +

"This."

+ +

Foley leaned in and drove a short, fast punch, putting his weight behind it. It took Michael just below the eye with + a watery crunch. Little sparks fizzled and danced and for a second his knees began to buckle. Cullen let go the grip + and Michael sank towards the ground. He could smell blood somewhere and couldn't tell if it was from his eye or + nose. He landed on his knees, hands up, protecting his eyes. Cullen kicked him hard on the back of his thigh and the + force of it threw Michael forward onto his face. The dirt and dust clogged his throat when he hauled for air.

+ +

"Make sure he gets it," Cullen said. "He'll know who it's from."

+ +

His eye was closed by the time he got home, drizzling tears through the dust on his cheek. he bruise was purpling + fast and blood was running freely from his nose and dripping from his chin.

+ +

"I fell," Michael said.

+ +

"Like hell you did," Jack said. His arm would be up in a blister later, but he was totally unaware of the scald. He + had seen many a scrap before, been in many a scrap before. Alice Lorne was getting ice from the fridge and wrapping + the chunks in a cloth. Sheena was fussing around, gushing a litany of Holy Mothers and Jesus-Mary-and-Joseph's.

+ +

Jack pulled him up.

+ +

"Who did that to you?" he could feel his hands bunch into fists. "Come on Mike, spit it."

+ +

"You leave the boy alone Jack Lorne," Sheena scolded. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

+ +

"I'm okay," Mike protested. He wasn't crying, but near to it. The tears were from the sting in his eyes. He knew if + he said, Jack would be out there and it was two of them to one.

+ +

"I fell."

+ +

Alice looked at Jack.

+ +

"Is this something to do with you?" She pulled Michael in and dabbed at his eye, making him draw sharp breath, then + forcing the cold cloth down onto the plummy bruise. Michael grunted and squirmed, trying to get away.

+ +

"Fell? My arse!"

+ +

"Jack, you watch your language!"

+ +

"Somebody took a poke at him. Right Mike? You been scrapping?"

+ +

He shook his head, trying to pull out of his mother's grip, but Alice was no stripling.

+ +

"Hold still and hold your wheesht." It came out sharp, an order, but she was smoothing his hair with her other + hand.

+ +

"You bullshit me and I'll do the other eye," Jack said.

+ +

"Don't you dare, you big bully." Sheena turned on him. "What a terrible thing to say."

+ +

"Somebody gave him a doing and he's too scared to say." Jack pulled away and snatched his jacket from the hook. Real + anger was clenching at his belly.

+ +

"Get back here.... " The door slammed on his mother's words.

+ +

They were waiting for him on the other side of the common. Jack could figure out what had happened, for if Mike was + too scared to say it was only because he knew Jack would go and do something about it, so it couldn't have been a + scrap with somebody his own size and weight. It was time to get this sorted out once and for all, get it over + with.

+ +

The white van's engine was still running and he recognised it in the haze of exhaust, down by the boat yard. Jack + just followed Michael's route home. It was not difficult to figure it out. The van reversed in through the big + wooden slat-gate.

+ +

Foley kicked it shut as soon as he walked in.

+ +

"Tough nut, Lorne." Cullen's scabs were healing and peeling. "Your poofy brother must have brains after all."

+ +

Jack was in for it, in for a doing, but there was nothing for it if they were going to pick on his brother. This had + to finish. Anger and apprehension wrestled inside his belly. Anger won the first round and adrenaline took + over.

+ +

He swung in fast and punched Cullen on the eye. No pause, no hesitation, and it took Seggs completely by + surprise.

+ +

"Bastard!" Cullen swung at him. Jack jinked back, still angry and wary, but taking great satisfaction in the feel of + knuckles against cheek, then something slammed into his pelvis with such force the pain seemed to sing in a high + clear note. He went down sideways. Foley raised the spar again and put all his weight into it, brought it down + across his shoulders. Jack felt the leather of his bomber jacket rip as he twisted, vaguely aware that it gave him + some protection.

+ +

Cullen swung a boot and he turned away, grabbing at it, kicking out with both feet to keep Foley away while he tried + to roll out of range. He got to a knee, twisting Cullen's foot back, then levered up, throwing the other man off + balance. Foley came in again and swung hard, just as Jack pivoted in his foot, twisting Cullen round. Seggs took the + two-by-two across his shoulder and bawled. Jack pulled back and Foley swung again. This time he connected and Jack + was down in the oil and the dust and the pair of them came in with the boot, kicking and stamping, forcing him into + a corner. Jack swivelled right and left, arms up to protect his face, taking most of it in his belly and his back, + rolling with it as much as he could, lashing out all the time to keep the punishment to a minimum.

+ +

"Kill the cunt," Foley snarled. "Kick his fucking head in."

+ +

Jack was squeezed up between two old oil drums, and the rust dust was in his eyes. Blood streamed down from a cut in + his scalp and he tried to wipe it away. Foley peeled off while Cullen kept up the kicks, missing more than he + connected, but connecting enough to make it matter, and then Foley swiped down at him from the low sun side and Jack + just caught the movement in time to jerk away.

+ +

The metal bar hit the drum with such force it left a straight dented valley two inches deep.

+ +

Jack realised he was in big trouble.

+ +

"Hit him," Cullen bawled.

+ +

Jack rolled scrabbling half blind, trying to find anything to lift and use.

+ +

"Do it," Cullen grated. Jack saw Foley lift and swing.

+ +

The sudden gunshot blasted everything to frozen silence.

+ +

Cullen visibly jerked back. Foley was half way through the swing and the noise broke his aim. The heavy bar slammed + into the ground, missing Jack by a scant inch.

+ +

For a second Jack was blinded by the rolling dust. He scrabbled backwards, heels in the dirt, until he fetched up + against the drums.

+ +

"What the fu..... ?"

+ +

The big gun bucked again, a fast crack of noise that spanged and echoed off the high corrugated iron fence.

+ +

"Drop it."

+ +

The barrel was up against Foley's head. Jack was struggling to his feet.

+ +

"Drop it or the next one's in your fucking skull."

+ +

"Jesus man don't... " Foley's voice was high and tight and all the roughness gone.

+ +

Cullen was frozen in the act of kicking. His eyes were fixed on the man with the gun. Foley tried to turn up to face + him, but the barrel poked him down.

+ +

"Go on, amigo, make my day."

+ +

Foley still held the bar.

+ +

"Who the fuck are you?"

+ +

"I'm your worst fuckin' nightmare, fat boy."

+ +

"Fuck."

+ +

Jack felt a bubble hysteria try to force its way up and out over the sharp pain in his sides. His uncle's voice + sounded rough and ragged, and he had put on a crazy Clint Eastwood accent. The balaclava almost completely hid his + face, and the old goggles did the rest. The overalls were stained with oil and pigeon shit and the whole get-up made + him look like a crazy Monte Carlo racing driver from the thirties.

+ +

The old Italian Beretta was jammed up against the back of Foley's head, forcing the woolly hat, and the coarse nylon + wig to slip over one eye.

+ +

"Do you feel lucky, punk? Well, do ya?"

+ +

"Don't shoot man."

+ +

Sandy grabbed his collar and jammed the barrel in under his ear.

+ +

"You fuck with us, you make a big mistake."

+ +

Jack almost laughed out loud. The accent had changed to something from Goodfellas. He peeled away, hustling between + the two of them. Sandy jerked his head towards the gate and then slammed Foley forward, fast and unexpected. The man + lurched, fell against Cullen, and they both went tumbling into the drums which scattered underneath them. Sandy + grabbed Jack and pulled him away through the gate and slammed it shut again.

+ +

"Daft bugger. Don't you ever do that again."

+ +

The old Honda engine was running and they were on and gone before Cullen and Foley could get to their feet + again.

+ +

"Who the fuck was that?"

+ +

"He scared the shite out of me," Foley said. He was searching about amongst the scattered drums for his hat and his + wig, all the blood sapped from his face.

+ +

"Don't you ever do that again," Sandy repeated. "You could get yourself killed."

+ +

"They beat Michael up."

+ +

"No. They hit him a punch so they could get you out, and you fell for it."

+ +

"I never fell for it. I wanted to finish it. I don't need the hassle right now."

+ +

"But you need your head caved in?" Sandy was angry with him, and scared for him.

+ +

"So now they'll come back again."

+ +

"And if they do, you wait and pick your chance. You don't go walking in somewhere with two loonies on your tail. Not + when they can shut the door behind them and do it all out of sight. You go get your friends. Or your family."

+ +

"I never wanted you in it."

+ +

"We are in it. Listen Jake, I've been in more scraps than you've had your nookie. I saw Michael going up the + road with one eye shut and his nose dripping red snotters. It wasn't hard to work it out, and you should have done + the same."

+ +

"I did. I thought I'd take a couple and call it quits."

+ +

"You could have ended in the hospital, or worse. You take on somebody like Ferguson, you have to use your brains, if + you have any. You never walk in and let them close a door on you. You never go in anywhere without a way out. Jesus + boy, I should get you signed for the Paras and teach you some sense."

+ +

Jack had to concede the point. The pain under his ribs was nagging like an angry wife and a dull ache moaned in his + thighs where he had taken some damage on the big muscles, not enough to cripple, but he knew it would be worse by + the morning.

+ +

"Right okay, okay. I just got pissed when they came for Mike."

+ +

Sandy was stripping off the balaclava and his white hair was sticking up in unruly corkscrews. It just made him look + like an old tough nut. Jack recalled the sudden crack of the gun.

+ +

"I thought you were going to pull the trigger."

+ +

"Then we'd both have been in the shit," Sandy said, and his face suddenly creased into a big grin that made his + two-day beard stand on end. He could have doubled for the old gold prospector in the Treasure of Sierra Madre. He + cracked a bottle and poured one for each of them, letting the home brew froth up to the rim. Jack drank it, + surprised at how quickly it took the dust from his throat. It tasted great.

+ +

"How do you mean?"

+ +

Sandy jammed a hand into the bib pocket of his overalls and drew out the mean-looking big gun. He raised it and + pointed it straight at Jack's chest, pulled the trigger and Jack jerked back on reflex at the sudden explosion. It + made the window pane shudder and rattle.

+ +

"What... ?" His ears were ringing.

+ +

"Caps," Sandy said. "You wanted a gun like my old Italian job after you went rummaging up the loft. Christ, boy, your + mother nearly ate my face off when that happened, for you could have put a hole through the wall, or through + yourself. So I got you a replica. Cost me a fortune, by the way, but she said it looked too real. I was going to + give it for your birthday when you were nine, but she kyboshed that idea. You don't fight with our Alice, not + twice."

+ +

He grinned again and pulled the trigger five times in succession and now that he knew, Jack could hear the difference + between explosive caps and real gunfire. Down in the scrapyard it had sounded all too real.

+ +

"You old bloody con-man," he said.

+ +

"Takes one to know one." Sandy raised his glass and Jack began to laugh. "But as Al Capone said, you can get more + with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone, and I wasn't in the mood for kind words."

+ +

He jabbed a finger at Jack's chest. "Now are you going to tell me what you're up to?"

+
+

The geese turned out to be a major problem. They were noisy and they were ill-tempered and they had little beady eyes + that missed nothing at all.

+ +

Neil stared at them through the chain link and they stared back, with that half-sneer-half-snarl that big geese seem + to be able to express while still only wearing beaks. They craned up, necks at full tilt, hissing like + rattlers.

+ +

"They're worse than dobermen," Neil said, with some conviction. He pulled back from the fence and one of the geese + stood up straight and flapped its wings so hard the air sang a set of low whoops. It honked its irritation, + eloquently conveying the need to see these intruders off.

+ +

"And they've got dogs as well," Jed said. "Once the picket went up, they hired a team of security guards."

+ +

"That's all we need." Jack took out a small notebook and wrote something down in it, before tucking it into his + inside pocket. He had a big bruise just north of his knuckles, an angry looking cleat mark that disappeared up his + sleeve. Under his chin, another one was fading quickly and his swollen nose was less inflated than it had been + yesterday. He walked stiffly, favouring the bruise-seized muscles in his thighs, but he'd managed to keep his face + from getting broken.

+ +

"What will we do about these?"

+ +

"You'll have to make friends with them," Jack said. "Just pretend they're chicks at Mac's."

+ +

"He always gets a knock-back from the chicks," Jed said. "He's the last man standing at the end of the dancing."

+ +

"But he tries hard. These birds have got as much brains as the ones he goes for anyway, and with a bit of luck he'll + get a gobble."

+ +

"That's turkeys, smartarse. Geese honk."

+ +

"And so do you, pal. Anyway, get down to Ryan's pet shop and get a load of pigeon feed."

+ +

"What's that like?"

+ +

"It's like sweetcorn, only hard as rock. But that's what birds eat. Stick it in a pan with some butter and you get + loads of the stuff."

+ +

"Okay. And then what?"

+ +

The geese were still giving them the hostile beady eye. Hereabouts they were famous, like the big white King Geese at + Ballantines distillery, and Alistair Sproat had pinched the idea from them. They were mean and hard and missed + nothing. Bunched together in a gang they'd have a go at anything on two feet or four, and apart from the crazy noise + they set up that could be heard halfway across town, they never came off second best.

+ +

"Then you start feeding them. Every night, same time, same place. You'll have to work on them, but as long as they + get used to getting their dinner right round the corner, we have a chance. But you have to make a career out of it. + Ever heard of Pavlov's dogs?"

+ +

"What, is he a breeder?"

+ +

Jack shook his head in disbelief. Jed just looked blank.

+ +

The dogs were another problem. Jack wrote another note in his book as Neil was asking for some money from the kitty + for the bird feed. The security men were new, not from around here. They had two big black and tan panting dogs that + hauled them around on short leads, patrolling back and forth behind the gates.

+ +

"Sproat's worried they'll torch the place."

+ +

"Just as long as they wait until after we're done," Jack said, "Then they can do what they like. In fact, that might + not be a bad idea at the end of the day. I'll have to think."

+ +

Neil looked at him in shock.

+ +

"Only kidding."

+ +

He had come from the dairy with his last wages tucked in his hip and a P45 in his inside pocket and despite it all, + he felt more sorry for Andy Kerr who had done his level best.

+
+

It had been a glorious morning, the best Jack could remember for years, up at four, washed and out, with the sun + hidden behind the rise of Longcrag Hill, lancing its beams upwards to touch the high haze a sweet rose pink. The + robin had been bursting its guts from its stance on the garden fork and the blackbirds gave it everything they had. + The air had that July scent that told you the sun would stay high and the air stay dry. Far-off in the sky, three + wild ducks whirred down from Loch Humphrey up in the hills to feed on the estuary. Early pigeons purred from the big + weeping ash in his mother's back garden that his grandfather had planted before Jack was born.

+ +

Michael had been snoring, curled up on himself, with that bruise like a blue hammock under his eye. The odd punch + never did a youngster any harm, but Jack still felt the clench at the thought of Cullen and his sidekick having a go + at a boy half their size. Mike was the baby of the family, the one with brains. He'd no part in any of this.

+ +

Jack wrapped his sandwiches, slung them in the haversack, and closed the door quietly on the way out. It took ten + minutes to get down to the dairy, walking in the pre-day light, smelling the scent of hawthorn and the river. Jed + Coogan was slowly backing the big tanker up against the loading bay.

+ +

Andy Kerr rolled up the shutters and gave Jack a slow wave that said a lot. It had been a while since he'd been up + with the deliverymen and the dawn, but it was Friday and Jack knew he was there to make it personal. Poor bugger, + he'd tried hard and done his best.

+ +

It was the usual run, Drymains, Overburn, out to the east of the town and back along by the castle and finished by + six, aware of the sun rising over the crags, lancing through the pines on the crest of Drumbuie Hill and turning the + Clyde into a molten silver snake on its way up to the city.

+ +

"I never meant for this to happen," Andy said. He had a bit of colour back in his face, from the exertions of the + morning, but his hair looked even greyer. Jack had been helping hose down the big tanker, shielding his eyes from + the reflected light from the stainless steel bulkhead when Andy came out onto the step and whistled through the hiss + of the hose. He beckoned a come-on and Jack turned the water off.

+ +

"I know that," Jack said. "It's been hard going."

+ +

"Believe that, it's been a ballbreaker." Andy fished in his desk drawer and drew out an envelope. "Holiday pay, two + weeks money, and redundo. I've done my best on that, Jack, so you're not on the minimum. You've done me good and I + appreciate that. For what it's worth, if things had worked out, you were to be off the run in a couple of months and + in here with me. If we'd been able to expand I'd have made you up. I know you're halfway through your course and I + can use somebody with a bit of savvy. It would have been good for us both."

+ +

"I appreciate that," Jack said, feeling awkward, but knowing Andy wasn't just saying that to hear his own voice. He + took the envelope and stuck it in his pocket, sight unseen.

+ +

"You'll be glad to get a long lie."

+ +

"I'd rather this place wasn't going down."

+ +

"You and me both," Andy said, forcing a smile. "My great grandfather started this place. I never thought I'd be the + one to see it shut, but everything came at once."

+ +

"What about Billy?"

+ +

"Billy is just part of it. You know the score anyway, so I might as well tell you. He pocketed the national insurance + and the tax and he had a couple of deals going with the hotels. A big discount. A big backhander to you and me. It + was all going into his back pocket and the bastard looked me straight in the eye day after day. The bank bailed me + out, but that was just robbing Peter to pay Paul."

+ +

"So what next?"

+ +

"I pull in my belt until my eyes pop. Sproat's given me two months and then he wants vacant possession. There's + nothing I can do unless I come up with the money, which is as likely as the Pope turning protestant. Sproat's got me + by the shorts and he knows it."

+ +

"He's a prick," Jack said, feeling the clench of anger again, anger at Sproat's arrogance.

+ +

"That's business Jack, never forget that's what happens. You should never be in business if you can't stand with the + big boys. I could take on Scot-Milk and make a living, and I could maybe take on Sproat, but both of them and + Bastard Billy all at the same time? Six in the morning and I feel punch drunk already."

+ +

He looked over at Jack. "I feel the way you look."

+ +

"Just a couple of slaps. Boy stuff." Jack looked back. "I was talking to the Dunvegan lads. They're really screwed up + on Skye. The whole plant is closing."

+ +

"Yeah, I heard."

+ +

"There's a cheese plant up there that's hit the skids. ScotMilk pulled out and left them high and dry. They've got a + dairy farm with a big surplus. Maybe it's something you should think about."

+ +

Andy rubbed his chin.

+ +

"Skye? That's a bit of a distance. No, it's a hell of a distance. The milk would be butter by the time I got down + here."

+ +

"It's a herd of jerseys, real prime, so I'm told. Five hundred head and averaging five gallons a beast every day. + You're talking top quality cream content. And it would be a good source."

+ +

"I'd have to find a market, Jack, and I'm up to my eyes looking for second hand tankers. These big Freuhaufs have to + go back."

+ +

Andy looked as if his eyes were going to fill up. The tankers had come at almost a hundred grand a piece, state of + the art twelve wheelers that had been an extravagance maybe. No, definitely, but that had been before Billy + had done a runner and before ScotMilk's muscle had come in undercutting every contract.

+ +

"When to they go?"

+ +

"I'm clear to the first day of the month, then they're gone."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch08.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch08.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e0e5b59 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch08.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,815 @@ + + + + + + 8 + + + + +
+
+

8

+ +

Tam Bowie jumped like a startled rabbit when Jack climbed over the sumps and surprised him. He was down and out of + sight in a natural niche surrounded by the big yellow polyurethane tanks that would eventually be sunk with the + drains on the building site. The sun was high overhead and Tam’s overalls were stripped off his shoulders as he sat + slumped against the side, soaking up the rays, eyes closed. A tattered Knave magazine had flopped to the side, + opened at the centrefold and displaying a dark haired girl with impossible gravity-defying breasts, her spine + contorted into a pouting position that would have made a gynaecologist’s job a dawdle.

+ +

Jack thudded his hand hard against the side of the tank, making it boom like a deep bass drum and Tam came awake with + a start.

+ +

"Whah?"

+ +

"Lazy shirking skiver. Haven't you got work to do?"

+ +

"Lazy nothing." He rubbed his eyes. "I've been grafting all day, not like you, finished by twelve o'clock, half-day + merchant."

+ +

"P-forty five by twelve," Jack said without rancour but deliberately embarrassing Tam. "I just got my jotters. Give + us a job."

+ +

"Oh, hell man, did you get the bullet today?"

+ +

"It's worse than that," Jack said. "We're in a spot of trouble." He picked up the Knave and thumbed through it, + holding a centrefold wide. "I thought you got a D in biology."

+ +

"I've studied it a lot since then. What's the problem?"

+ +

"We might have to go early. At least start early. Andy Kerr's getting rid of the trucks at the end of the month. + They're coming to take them away."

+ +

"So?"

+ +

"So we haven't got a date for the decant. I'm going to have to get some inside knowledge. If we don't get a date + we're slaughtered before this thing gets off the ground."

+ +

He sat down in the sun, feeling the heat reflect of the big plastic tanks.

+ +

"What are these things?"

+ +

"Drain sumps. This place is too near the river and if there's a lot of rain, you have to hold it somewhere when the + tide's in. Then it drains away later."

+ +

"Big, aren't they?"

+ +

"This whole site needs ten of them, just to be on the safe side. They take a hell of a lot of rain."

+ +

"Do you fit them?"

+ +

"Come on man, I'm a plumber, not a navvy. They just dig a big hole and slot them in. I do the delicate work. I'm a + craftsman."

+ +

"Well get yourself along to Neil's place tonight. We've got to work out just what you can do."

+
+

Neil Cleary had searched the old cellars at the back of the tenement gardens and found the biggest jam pan any of + them had ever seen. It sat on the hot gas ring while he poured a stack of corn kernels into it.

+ +

"What the hell's that?" Jed wanted to know.

+ +

"Bird feed."

+ +

Ed Kane looked up, eyebrows raised, face all questions.

+ +

"It's a long story," Jack said. He bent to the plans that were spread out over the table.

+ +

"How long have we got?"

+ +

"At least a fortnight," Neil said.

+ +

"No, I mean tonight."

+ +

"A couple of hours, my mother won't be back until after ten when the bingo comes out, but we have to disappear by + then."

+ +

"Doesn't she like you having your mates in?" Ed asked. Neil, like Jack, still stayed at home.

+ +

"No, she doesn't give a toss. But she'll be bringing my aunts with her and they'll all have a wee Carlsberg and a + vodka. That's their Friday night treat. Then they all start talking at once, non stop, total marathon earache. You + can stay for that if you want, but I'm telling you man, it's like Chinese water torture. It would drive you + demented."

+ +

Neil turned to the pan. "How much of this stuff do you put in?"

+ +

"Who knows?" Jack said. "My Grandad feeds it to the pigeons and they don't care. Just make sure you've got plenty. + We've got two hours, so let's get down to it." Jack flattened out the blueprint creases and Ed and Tam leant + over.

+ +

"That's the bottling hall," Ed said. Jack recognised the plan from his visit. His eye traced the white lines of the + filling rack where the bottles shunted round on a circular gantry to have the whisky force-injected down their + necks. "Which part do you want?"

+ +

"You tell me. I'm guessing here, but it's that big steel tank that holds all the whisky, isn't it?"

+ +

Ed agreed. "That's where it's going to be, sure. But it takes three days to get it from the barrels in there. I know, + because I'll be the one rolling them up the ramp and hooking the bungs out. You're talking five hundred barrels, + give or take. Less if they use butts or hogsheads, but it's all got to come out the bunghole."

+ +

"Tam should know. He's good at biology."

+ +

"Go take a flying f...."

+ +

"Anyway, you'll never get it out of there, not if it takes three days to put it in."

+ +

"How long does it take to bottle all that lot?"

+ +

"Another three. You can only go as fast as they can stick the labels on, but it's all automatic. They've got pressure + pumps, the lot."

+ +

Jack sat still for a minute, head in his hands, thinking hard. He turned the blueprint over, closing his eyes to + recall the scene in the decant hall. The next level down from the metal platform they'd stood on was on the next + sheet. He unfurled it and flattened it out, keeping the first one at the side, so they could have a ready + reference.

+ +

"This is the important part. That's where Tam comes in."

+ +

The tracery of pipes showed up white against the blue.

+ +

"You're the expert, you can tell us what's what"

+ +

Tam angled his head so he could read the blueprint.

+ +

"You got to be joking. I'm a plumber, not a rocket scientist."

+ +

Jack sat back, brows down. "Come on, man. You put in central heating, I've seen it. This is just the same thing, + isn't it?"

+ +

"Yeah, right." Two positives made a flat negative. "Central heating is ten radiators and a circuit of ten mil copper. + What the hell is this?"

+ +

Ed broke in. "You got coolers, drains, blend feeds, washers."

+ +

"So which ones are which?"

+ +

"Don't you know?"

+ +

"How the hell should I know? They're just a lot of squiggly lines."

+ +

Jack put his face in his hands. "Get with the program, Tam! What's the point in being a plumber if you don't know + what pipes are for?"

+ +

"Where does it say what these bloody pipes are for?" Tam demanded.

+ +

Jack patiently tapped the bottom of the blueprint, where a schematic of varying lines matched up with a list. He + looked at Tam: "Great achievements involve the co-operation of many minds - Alexander Graham Bell. First + ensure mind is clear. Then put it in gear. Release the clutch slowly. Proceed with caution."

+ +

"Sarcastic prick," Tam said sheepishly. "Right. What have we got?"

+ +

"Donny, that last lot of whisky that went down the drain. It came out the south side, right?"

+ +

Donny screwed his eyes up, made a left and right signal while he worked out east and west.

+ +

"Sure. It came right down the pipe and into the golf course drain, remember? Billy Butler was as mad as a wet + blanket."

+ +

"Here, look at these." Jack handed him a set of colour prints that zoomed in to the base of the distillery wall about + fifty yards inside the perimeter fence.

+ +

"You never got these done in Boots, did you?"

+ +

"It's digital.. Take a look and tell me where the stuff came out."

+ +

Donny held the prints up, scanning them one by one. The fourth showed three low down entrances on the wall, each + protected by a small metal grate that was fixed with a padlock. In front of the three little gates was a wide + concrete depression which fed into a drainage grille.

+ +

"One of them, but I don't know which one. Does it matter?"

+ +

"Sure it matters, and we have to find out. That's not too far from the cooperage, you reckon you could take a swing + past and sniff around."

+ +

"Better I do it," Ed said emphatically. "I'll be moving the barrels that way anyway."

+ +

"We need those doors off, so it'll take a pair of cutters. We can replace the padlocks. I'm guessing they never get + opened one month to the next."

+ +

Ed shrugged and they turned back.

+ +

"Does this stuff need sugar or salt?" Neil was getting the kernels ready.

+ +

Tam traced the lines with his finger, leaning close to the print.

+ +

"That's the big wash drain," Ed said. But you got the floor system as well. Everything gets hosed and then + chlorinated. There's a third one for the washroom."

+ +

"How do they get the whisky out for bottling?"

+ +

Tam sat up. "There. That's a big pipe. Is it copper or brass?"

+ +

Ed shrugged again. "Beats me. I can try and check."

+ +

"Good man," said Jack. "We need the specs and then we have to do a divert. That's a whole mess of pipes down there, + so we have to get something in there so they won't notice. We need to get the stuff out of the tank and through that + wall."

+ +

"And how are you going to manage that," Tam asked. "It's not just a matter of turning a tap. You'd have to connect + this," he jabbed a finger straight down, "to this. Not easy."

+ +

"But you'll manage it, right?"

+ +

"How do you mean I'll manage it?"

+ +

"You're the technician. We're going to get you in there."

+ +

Tam sat up straight, jaw agape.

+ +

"You have to be jokin'. "

+ +

Ed laughed. "Hey, you know him better than me, and I know he's not joking."

+ +

"You trying to get me the jail?"

+ +

This time they all laughed, even Neil.

+ +

"Tam, if we screw up in this, we'll all end up in jail. I told you, you could lose your shirt. But there's nearly two + million in high tension hooch there, just waiting for somebody smart enough. We can't get it out if we can't get you + in, kapeesh? You know pipes, so you're the man. Plumbermeister."

+ +

"Jesus. The last central heating job I did I flooded a woman out. That's nothing compared to this. And where are you + going to be?"

+ +

"I'm the man with the plan. I know bugger all about pipes and drains."

+ +

"You're bloody cold-hearted crazy Keyser Soze. And just how the hell are you going to get me in there?"

+ +

"That's the interesting part," Jack said. "You're really going to love it."

+
+

Gus Ferguson was up in the far corner of the bar in the Capstan, down near the river quay, well away from the front + door. The Capstan had been an old riverman's bar in the old days, when the barges and puffers brought in coal and + steel for the shipbuilding and herring from Loch Fyne way back before the war, and it still has that kind of + atmosphere; rough and ready, sometimes as rough, as they say hereabouts, as a badger's arse. The wood around the + gantry was blackened by more than a century of plug tobacco smoke. A back door led onto Barley Cobble and any number + of old narrow alleys, so if trouble came in the front, that was the exit for the wanted, the wary, and a variety of + stolen goods.

+ +

"What sort of gun was it?"

+ +

"How should I know? It went off right next to my ear. What you think? I'm going to ask the make and model?"

+ +

"Don't get smart. What did it look like, a revolver? A rifle? Was it a fuckin' shotgun?"

+ +

"No. It was one of those James Bond things. Shit, man, I don't know."

+ +

"And the shooter, what was he like?"

+ +

"He was done up like the bloody IRA, man. Had a fucking balaclava and big biker goggles and he sounded Irish as + well.

+ +

"Irish American," Foley chipped in. "a right hard nut an all. You could tell."

+ +

"Brilliant. You two tossers were supposed to slap that ginger prick around, give him a sore face and swollen balls + and what happens? You get tanked. Twice. Jesus."

+ +

He lifted his whisky.

+ +

"That milkman. Jake Lorne. Where's he getting IRA men to fight his battles? Is he connected? I never even knew he was + a Tim."

+ +

Cullen shrugged. "We were doin' him. No contest."

+ +

"Aye, right, so you were. You got another one in the eye. You don't look like you were getting first prize. What a + pair of tits."

+ +

"No, honest. He was down and taking it. We were getting tore in, and then this nutter comes in and pulls out a + shooter and nearly takes my head off with it. He had that barrel jammed in my neck. If he'd have fired it my brains + would have been all over the place"

+ +

"What brains? He'd have to be a fucking sharpshooter to hit your fucking brain at point blank."

+ +

"Swear to Christ Gus, he wasn't kidding. Then the two of them fuck off on a bike. That's definitely IRA style, innit? + That's how they topped that Irish bird from the paper. You don't mess with these loonies."

+ +

"Could have been UDA," Foley observed. "I think Lorne's a proddy."

+ +

"He's a fuckin' milkman, for christ's sake," Ferguson was beginning to lose it just a little. Some of the + guys down the far end of the bar looked up. Charlie Neeson started clearing tumblers off the deck, just in case some + hooking and jabbing ensued. A true professional, he got the big towel ready to protect his face from shrapnel.

+ +

"A mouth and a milkman, and they've made twats out of you two. And that means they've made one out of me an'all. You + get slapped around, what are folk going to think? You pummel his wee brother, a boy just out of school, couldn't + punch his way out of a wet poke. Very good. Real big hard men."

+ +

"It got Lorne going," Cullen said, beginning to laugh.

+ +

Ferguson snaked a thick forearm out and his beefy hand grabbed Cullen by the shirt collar. The smile died a + death.

+ +

"Aye, that's just what I need, eh? You want folk to think I go around slapping wee boys and getting tanked by their + big brothers? Jesus, I should slice you where you stand, loony tunes. That would fucking show them, and you as well. + You're the talk of the street, the pair of you. You walked into Mac's and they dodged out the back and left you + hanging like limp dicks."

+ +

He punctuated his words with hard dunts of his calloused knuckles against Cullen's chin. Cullen's face went bright + red, but he just took it, no chance of him coming against Ferguson. Foley stepped back just in case it all developed + into some serious hitting. He'd put on a clean pair of jeans just that night.

+ +

"Daft bastard. What were you going to do in front of a hundred witnesses? You were going straight to the Bar-L in + cuffs, that's what. I ask you do to a job, a bit of slap and tickle, and the pair of you come back like the walking + wounded, like you've been hit by a fuckin' truck."

+ +

He shoved Cullen one more time and let go, sending the other man stumbling back into the cigarette machine. It + rattled hard, and for a second Charlie Neeson thought it was going to come off the wall. It wouldn't have been the + first time. He stayed down the far end, polishing a clean glass, seeing nothing at all.

+ +

"Right. Stay clear of the pair of them. I'll find out who's who in the fuckin' zoo. Got that?"

+ +

Foley nodded. Cullen had barged into him on the way and his wig was slightly askew again.

+ +

"I want to know who the shooter was. If it was any of the Corrieside team, then I'll have the fucker. And once I've + found out, I'll sort Lorne out myself. No milkman's going to make a fanny out of me, right?"

+ +

Cullen nodded, ready to agree to anything..

+ +

"You stay well away. From here on, you're collecting and delivering, okay?"

+ +

They both nodded.

+ +

"And if that delivery boy is going to bring hardware against me, he'll wish he'd never been born, IRA or no + IR fucking A."

+
+

"All we have to do is find out when the decant is," Jack said. "We got three days from the start, maybe four, right + Ed?"

+ +

Ed was okay with that.

+ +

"Donny, we're going to need some barrels."

+ +

"Sure, I can fix you up. Sproat's going to have to sell the stock anyway."

+ +

"How will you get them?"

+ +

"Same as last year. Remember the river burst its banks? Half the used stock went floating down to the Clyde. Took + weeks to get them back."

+ +

"That's okay for you guys," Tam said. "But I still don't know how I'm going to get in there. There's security cameras + and dogs and those loony geese and damn customs men crawling all over the place."

+ +

Jack tapped his nose again. "Need to know. But take your tools. And by the way, it's no names after tonight. Neil, + any further forward with the mobiles?"

+ +

"Thursday. Friday latest. Paddy says no problem."

+ +

"Chargers as well. I don't want the thing going dead on us at the crucial. And I need hands-free stuff as well. Can + Paddy do that?"

+ +

"Sure he can. What do you mean no names?" Neil was peering over the pot. An ominous smell of burning fat heated the + air in the kitchen.

+ +

"Like Reservoir Dogs. Mr Pink, that's you."

+ +

"I'm not bloody Mister Pink."

+ +

"And Donny's Ginger minge." Tam burst out laughing.

+ +

"And you're Mr Banker."

+ +

Tam stopped laughing. "What's that mean?"

+ +

"Total wanker," Jack said. The rest of them hoo-hawed.

+ +

"No, seriously. Once we get the gear, we need a code. And we have to have some rules."

+ +

Neil turned from the big pan, went to Brad Pitt mode: "The first rule of fight club is, you don't talk about + fight club. The second rule of fight club is, you don't talk about fight club."

+ +

"Got it in one. We don't mention Aitkenbar, we don't talk about whisky, and if something goes wrong, we don't talk + about anything. First thing the cops do is divide and conquer, pretend your mates have grassed you up. + Don't believe them because if you do, then we're all going down. Everybody must have total amnesia."

+ +

"Who said that?" Jed said, going for the laugh.

+ +

Jack pulled out his little notebook. He looked at Tam: "You're Harley. Neil, you can be Elvis."

+ +

"Uh huh-huh."

+ +

Jed waited expectantly. "Bullitt."

+ +

"Suits me, boss."

+ +

"Donny, you can be Tarzan."

+ +

He did the expected yell, beat his chest.

+ +

"And what about you?" Tam asked.

+ +

"I let my music speak for me. You can call me Retro."

+ +

Tam was about to respond when a key rattled at the front door and bustling noises came down the narrow lobby.

+ +

"What's that smell?" A woman's voice, throaty with cigarette smoke. "Something's burning in here. Neil!"

+ +

"Is your Neil cooking?"

+ +

"That'll be the first time. He can't make corn-flakes without burning them." Women's laughter echoed up the hallway + and the door opened.

+ +

"Oh hullo boys. Dear me, it's a full house tonight. Are you having a wee party? And Neil, son, what on earth is that + awful smell?"

+ +

"Hi Ma, did you win?"

+ +

"No son, no luck tonight. Never even got a line. What are you doing, making jam?"

+ +

"No. I thought I'd made the boys some sweet corn," Neil said.

+ +

"Pop corn," Jack corrected. "Hullo Mrs Cleary. He's practising for Masterchef. We're the judges."

+ +

"But it's not working."

+ +

The second woman bustled in. "That's awfully nice, cooking for your pals, Neil."

+ +

Neil was leaning over the pan and the smoke was beginning to pool around the ceiling light in darker billows. The + smell of burning spread out.

+ +

"Neil, are you sure you know.... "

+ +

Something exploded in the pan and he jerked back as a white missile whirled over his shoulder.

+ +

His mother squealed.

+ +

"What in the name of the wee man... ?" The second aunt let out a little yelp and barked her shin on a chair.

+ +

Suddenly the whole pan seemed to leap off the stove and the corn simply blasted out in a fountain that crackled like + fireworks. A piece fell into the blue gas flame and flared alight. Neil jerked back in alarm, covering his face and + volcano of popcorn erupted outwards, hitting the ceiling and walls, bouncing off the work surface, and cascading to + the floor. In a few seconds it was almost ankle deep.

+ +

Jack and the rest of them ran for the door and left Neil to explain to the squealing women, while the corn torrent + began to pile up on every surface and ricocheted off the walls.

+
+

Alistair J. Sproat slapped the paper down on the long mahogany desk that had been polished by the fine wool and tweed + elbows of his ancestors for almost two centuries.

+ +

"They want have the whole plant listed?"

+ +

"No," Jamieson Bell said. "Not the bottling hall and the warehouses."

+ +

"But all of the distillery? The malt house, the still-room?"

+ +

"And the pot stills themselves. They're a hundred and fifty years old." Jamieson Bell might be the council leader, + but old habits died hard hereabouts. The ship owners and distillerymen always had a finger in the works and though + the shipping was long gone, the Sproats still wielded some power in this town.

+ +

"Scottish Heritage could get involved. Almost certainly they will get involved. We've had a request to apply + for listing."

+ +

"Which you will no doubt file until this deal is done?"

+ +

"If I can. It might not be just as easy."

+ +

"I don't understand this, Jamieson. You run the council and you make the decisions. What else is there to know?"

+ +

"If it were just a case of getting a request, we could keep it going long enough, but they've gone to the press, and + they've got some muscle."

+ +

"Who are they?"

+ +

"Charter 1315" Bell said. "A bunch of teachers and academics. Tree huggers and friends of the earth, but they're a + loud bunch of agitators. They took us on a couple of years back over the river rights, and we don't want to go down + that road again if we can help it. They could cause us a lot of trouble in an election year."

+ +

"I've forked out for every damned election you've ever faced," Sproat said, finger poking the air in short stabs for + emphasis.

+ +

"I know you have." Bell tried placation, "And don't think it's not appreciated, Alistair."

+ +

Sproat stared him down, scenting a sell-out.

+ +

"The problem is, some people have been researching the Bruce Decree. It could be these Charter people."

+ +

"And that's supposed to mean something to me?"

+ +

"I'm afraid it could mean a lot. To both of us. You've got your unions set to picket because of the jobs loss, and + Charter 1315 are fighting to have the buildings listed. But the Bruce Decree, that could blow you out of the water." + He raised his drink. "Literally and figuratively."

+ +

"I'm all ears," Sproat said.

+ +

"Your plan to demolish the distillery and infill in the old harbour basin, that's the real problem."

+ +

"Filling that in saves me three million in landfill tax and gains me another three acres, nearly four. What's the + problem?"

+ +

"According the decree, after the battle of Bannockburn, Bruce moored his warship in the river basin. As a reward, he + made a royal decree and granted the river and the basin to the people of the town in perpetuity. Allegedly the Bruce + Decree has never been repealed."

+ +

"For God's sake. That was seven hundred years ago."

+ +

"The chief librarian tells me some people managed to get into the archives. I'm trying to find out how, but they've + got a copy of the old decree charter. Apparently it says the river belongs to the people, and that would include the + harbour."

+ +

"And?"

+ +

"And unless we find a way of proving that the inlet is not the one Robert the Bruce used, they could have a good + chance of wiping the floor with us. They could hold everything up for years."

+ +

"Trust me," Sproat said. "That is not going to happen. This deal goes through in six weeks or we forget it, + and when I say we, I mean us. You included. And I'm telling you, this land has been part of my + family's estate for two hundred years and it still is. My great whatever-times grandfather had them dig the inlet + out to float barrels downstream for export."

+ +

"Not according to the archives."

+ +

"I don't give a damn about the archives. You make this go away and it will be very much worth your while. Once this + deal is done, I'll be in a very generous mood. What's it going to take?"

+ +

"Well, I suppose nothing's impossible, if you've got the will."

+ +

"And the incentive," Sproat added, dripping sarcasm.

+
+

Kate Delaney was still high after the Charter 1315 meeting in the town hall, and he took advantage of it to ask for a + favour. She'd caught up with Jack on his way home with a pile of mail in a haversack slung over a shoulder and + surprised him at the corner of Drymains Street.

+ +

"We'll beat them," she said, without preamble. "We've got a team of people working on architectural research. If we + can get the buildings listed, Sproat can't demolish them, and that could halt the whole development."

+ +

"As long as you can hold him off for a while anyway."

+ +

"But you're off to sea aren't you? Shovelling coal on a lugger."

+ +

"It's diesel."

+ +

"Never mind what it is. If we can stop the sale of the land, Sproat could be forced to re-think, and that could at + least save the dairy. We've got to try."

+ +

He had the bag held tight under his arm and normally he'd be pleased to dawdle up the road with her and maybe + persuade her to invite him in for a coffee or a nightcap. The last time he'd done that she'd got her sketch book out + and done him in pastel and that had ended up in oils the MacLellan Galleries, but now he wanted to get home and get + through the stuff they'd managed to snatch from Tim Farmer's house. He had all the research he needed from the river + boatmen.

+ +

It had been dark and the pigeon loft was empty, thanks to the Pigeon Club sense of justice.

+ +

"Whose house is this?"

+ +

"Doesn't matter. Some old geezer ran away with a woman. He'll be gone for some time."

+ +

"You sure?" Ed kept his voice low.

+ +

"Maybe he'll peg out on the job. He's pushing seventy."

+ +

"Hope I'm still going when I'm that age."

+ +

"Hope I'm still going when I'm half that."

+ +

"I thought you were already."

+ +

"Very funny, Eddy."

+ +

Ed searched the bird-hut first, going by feel in the shadows over the door lintel and checking under a couple of + feeder trays.

+ +

"People leave their keys in the garden hut most times," he explained.

+ +

"How do you know?"

+ +

"My cousin was an expert. He got me into a whole heap of shit when I was a kid."

+ +

Ed checked a couple of flower pots, but old Tim Farmer had been more careful then than he was now. The house was + secure.

+ +

"What now?"

+ +

"Shhh... I'm concentrating." Ed had his fingers through the letterbox on the back door, eyes tight closed. Something + knocked against the inside panel.

+ +

"Typical," he said. "He must have skinny hands."

+ +

"What is it?"

+ +

"Letterbox at the back. Nobody gets mail in the back door." Jack's eyes had accustomed themselves to the dark and he + could see Ed smiling in the faint moonlight from a thin crescent in a cobalt sky. He drew his hand out slowly, along + with the braided twine. Metal jangled softly and a mortise key dangled between them.

+ +

"Bingo."

+ +

The door opened with hardly a creak and they were inside. The kitchen was cold and the still air held a flat scent of + mouldy carrots. They eased through towards the front of the house. Jack flicked on a little maglight, casting a pool + of illumination on the floor at the front door.

+ +

"What do you want?" Ed whispered.

+ +

"This." Jack was down on his knees, sifting through the pile of mail behind the door.

+ +

"Is that all?" Ed stood at the other end of the hallway, peering into the small living room. A row of trophies + glinted along the length of a shelf above the fireplace. "He's got some silver."

+ +

"Sure. All of it with his name on it. Let's try and stay out of jail for a while yet. "

+ +

Jack was separating the spam from the rest, rejecting all the book offers, the take-away flyers and the pigeon + magazines.

+ +

"Here," he said. Ed came down and hunkered beside him, the pair of them kneeling in the faint glow. Jack lifted up a + large manila envelope and focused the flashlight on the address. A post office sticker showed it had been + redirected.

+ +

"Sparta D'Angeli? Who are they?"

+ +

"The key to our fortune. Ever wanted to be a company director?"

+ +

"Sure, wear a suit, fart about all day. And I want to win the lottery an' all."

+ +

"Now's your chance. You've just been appointed to the board as director, special projects."

+ +

"What do I have to do?"

+ +

"More of this." Jack started sorting the mail, moving fast, weeding out Tim Farmer's mail from the envelopes from the + banks in different names. He just watched for the redirect mark and started to build up a small bundle, whispering + to himself as his hands moved.

+ +

"What's it for?"

+ +

"The only way to get ahead is to set up for your self. Nobody takes you seriously unless you look the part and talk + the talk, know what I mean? And I need this to make Sproat an offer he won't understand. First rule of + business. Get an image and some credibility."

+ +

"Just the same as conning folk."

+ +

"What's the difference?"

+ +

"What offer are you going to make?" Ed's voice was just a whisper.

+ +

"I can't tell you yet. I've still got some detail to work out, but you have to think of every eventuality, and I just + want to keep ahead of the game."

+ +

"You really think we can pull this off?"

+ +

"It's gone okay so far. You got us in here, didn't you? Anyway as long as we pull most of it off. Then you + have to work out what you do if you don't, and even more important than that, what we do if we do."

+ +

"And what will you do?" It was a serious question. Jack experienced a little unreality flip. Here they were, + kneeling behind somebody else's letterbox in the middle of the night, calmly discussing the proceeds of a robbery. + "You say there's a million eight."

+ +

"You work it out yourself. No income tax, no VAT. No money back, no guarantee."

+ +

"Just like Del Boy. And what about selling it? You going to have to bottle it? "

+ +

Jack grinned in the dark. "You think we should use the dairy? That might be an idea!"

+ +

"It'll take a long time to shift a zillion bottles."

+ +

"Lateral thinking. We have to cut the time down, and I have a plan. But first, it's supply and demand. We have the + supply, we create a demand, and there's always a demand for good scotch. Look what happened during prohibition. + Everybody wanted booze. We have to get ourselves a real- life prohibition scenario."

+ +

"Okay, but you'll have the customs on your tail."

+ +

"Not me. We. If we don't do this right they'll be all over us like a bad suit. Trick is to think of ways to + do it right. Make them look the other way."

+ +

"So now what?"

+ +

"We have to start a diversion. So we're going to start a shipping business." Jack turned back to the bundle of mail. + "You have to speculate."

+ +

"Hey," he said, lifting up a small brown envelope into the cone of light. "What's this?"

+ +

"What's what?"

+ +

"A present from Uncle Ernie. Sandy won the premium bonds last month. Fifty notes. This old bugger's won something as + well." He grinned in the dark and stuffed the envelope into his inside pocket. "Finders keepers. I'll say this was + delivered by mistake."

+ +

He was just turning to pick up the first bundle when something slammed into the door only inches away from his + head.

+ +

"Jesus!" His heart vaulted into his throat and sat there shivering.

+ +

"Come out you old bastard," a man's voice bellowed. "I know you're in there."

+ +

"Shit! Who's that?" Ed's voice was a harsh shaky whisper, and Jack could almost hear the sudden pulse beat in his + temples.

+ +

The door slammed again, making the letterbox flap open and close with a snap. Dust flew.

+ +

"Get out here and take what's coming, you geriatric lecher."

+ +

"Who the hell is that?"

+ +

A heavy boot crashed hard into the bottom panel, sending little splinters spinning into the circle of light.

+ +

"Turn it off, for Christ sake."

+ +

Jack hit the button and the faint light died.

+ +

"I saw you," the voice came again, angry and petulant at the same time.

+ +

"It's Gordon McLaren," Jack said. "He's well pissed."

+ +

"What does he want?"

+ +

"Old Farmer ran away with his missus. He's not happy."

+ +

"I know her. She's a torn-faced old slag," Ed whispered. "Who would want her back?"

+ +

"No accounting for taste."

+ +

The boot hit the door again and threw off more paint splinters. Jack scrabbled back in case the bottom panel came + spinning off.

+ +

"He'll have the whole street up."

+ +

"That's what I was thinking." He started moving slowly up the hallway.

+ +

Two more crashes shivered the door and there was more bawling and shouting, then, outside, a winking blue lit up the + frosted glass at the top of the door.

+ +

"Bloody hell," Ed whispered. "It's the busies."

+ +

"Get your skanky arse out here and take what's coming," Gordy McLaren sounded as if he was going to burst in to + drunken tears.

+ +

"What seems to be the problem here?" The voice was firm, a policeman's tones.

+ +

"That old bastard won't come out. "

+ +

"Which particular old bastard would that be sir?" PC Douglas Travers came up the path.

+ +

"The dirty old shite's been shagging my wife."

+ +

"Oh dear sir. That would be a disappointment."

+ +

"I want him out here to sort it out. Sort him out."

+ +

Jack and Ed sat dead still on the bottom stair.

+ +

"Not a good idea sir." A powerful flashlight beamed through the living room window, sending silver highlight + reflections from the line of pigeon club trophies. "And there seems to be nobody home."

+ +

"There is. I saw a light behind the door. The old bastard's hiding."

+ +

Footsteps thudded on the outside and then the knocker rapped four times in quick succession.

+ +

"It's the police, Mr Farmer. You're quite safe."

+ +

The flashlight pierced the darkness of the hallway and they jerked to the side, in against a couple of coats hanging + from hooks.

+ +

"Jesus!" Ed's whisper was just like a prayer.

+ +

The knocker rapped again and then a two-tone tubular bell chimed only inches from Jack's left ear. He jumped like a + cat.

+ +

"Sit quiet man!" Ed's stayed still as stone.

+ +

"The old man's away abroad." A woman's voice broke in.

+ +

"Is he hell. The old shite's in there with my wife."

+ +

"Come on sir. Let's go down the station and get this sorted out."

+ +

"Are you arresting me?" the voices were fainter now, down at the end off the path.

+ +

"No sir."

+ +

"Well go fuck yourself then." The footsteps thudded up the path again and then a weight hit the door with such a + clatter that it almost came right off its hinges.

+ +

"Right, get him."

+ +

"He'll knock the door in," Ed said. "We'd better shift."

+ +

Outside, the shouting got louder. The pair of them got off the stair and into the kitchen, closing the door behind + them.

+ +

"They'll come round here any minute," Jack said. He opened the back door. Round the front, somebody was bawling at + the top of his voice and they assumed it was Gordon McLaren. Another weight hit the front door again and Jack said a + silent prayer that the glass would stay intact. He had more mail to collect.

+ +

They came out into the dark of the back garden while round the front, the men's voices were getting louder and a + woman's had joined in. There was no way they could get to the front gate again, and lights were now coming on in the + neighbouring houses.

+ +

"Which way?"

+ +

"There," Jack pointed. A big lattice fence stretched from the pigeon hut to the neighbouring garden. It was six feet + high and in front of it, some dark shrubs huddled together. Jack slung the mail in his haversack and clipped the + flap shut and then the two of them took a run at the fence. Ed hit it with one foot raised, intending to clamber + over the top, but his other foot got caught in the thorns of the shrubs and he fell forward. His weight careered him + over the shrubs, slammed him into the thin lattice and the whole fence buckled and cracked from top to bottom with a + sound like a gunshot. Ed slipped, hit the dirt. Round the front the noises suddenly stopped.

+ +

"Damn!" Jack was up and half-way over the swaying fence. The flashlight flickered round the side and sent a bright + beam up the path.

+ +

"Come on!" he was balanced there, swaying, but he managed to reach down, get a hand to Ed's collar, and hauled him + over. Ed scrabbled up, tumbled over to the other side, falling heavily and a big bamboo cane jammed right up the + crack of his backside. He let out a little squeak of surprise and pain and then the two of them were over, through + the withered chrysanthemums and hollyhock, out the gate at the far side and running hell for leather down Swanson + Street.

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch09.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch09.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6101b5b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch09.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,854 @@ + + + + + + 9 + + + + +
+
+

9

+ +

They stowed Tam Bowie in a big oak barrel. It was the only way to get him inside Aitkenbar Distillery, and he was not + at all happy..

+ +

Things had happened so fast it all seemed to go in a blur of urgency and motion. Kate had stopped Jack on his way + home with the mail from Tim Farmer's house just after Ed peeled away, and his heart was still thudding hard from the + adrenaline hit of near miss.

+ +

"You should come in with us," she said. "If we stop Sproat, then it can maybe save the dairy, and you'll have a job + again."

+ +

"I quit," he said. "For good. No more running around for somebody else, working before anybody's awake. It's time for + me to move on and up."

+ +

"In the hold of a lugger?"

+ +

"It's a supply ship. There's big business out on the north sea. It's the last frontier."

+ +

"It's the last place you want to boldly go." Her expression couldn't hide the disappointment. "So what about Charter + group? Are you not interested in helping the town?"

+ +

He laughed out loud and she looked up at him, a little hurt, more annoyed.

+ +

"What's so funny?"

+ +

"This town just puts its head under its wing and goes to sleep. You said it yourself. That Millennium Wall just shows + that this town hasn't got the bottle or the stamina and it just doesn't care. People like Sproat have the council in + their pockets and they do what they want. To hell with the rest of us."

+ +

"That's why it's important to stop them now!"

+ +

"You think you have a chance?" She didn't know about the conversations he'd had with his Uncle Sandy.

+ +

"Yes, I do, really I do. And only because some people are getting off their backsides to do something, rather than + just accept what's been done to them."

+ +

He stopped and leant against a lamp post. She folded her arms and looked up at him, hair glinting like hot metal in + the helium glow.

+ +

"I'm not doing nothing," he said.

+ +

"Sure. You've got a plan."

+ +

"I'm working from the other end." He had to tell her something. "These boys from Dunvegan, they're bringing down a + bunch of pickets from Skye. They've called the press and I said I'd help them out, them and Donny and Ed Kane."

+ +

"I don't know why you spend so much time with that wild bunch," she said, changing tack. "They'll hold you back."

+ +

"Elitist," he said, but he kept it light.

+ +

"Great phrase for a milkman." She was angering a little, exasperated. "You've got a chance to improve your lot, show + them what you're really made of, and you plan to throw it away."

+ +

"What's it to you?" He was riling her and she knew it.

+ +

"I'd rather see you fly than see you sink. Of all the people I know, you could do it Jack. You really could. You were + wasted in that dairy and you'll be ruined on a lugger."

+ +

She reached up and knuckled his forehead. "There's a good brain in there. Don't waste it Jack. Honestly, you could be + whatever you want."

+ +

"And I still will. Anyway, I know all about the Bruce Decree. My uncle and his pals in the boat club did some + research at the library. If anybody can stop Sproat, these old boys can."

+ +

She pulled back, surprised. "You never told me that."

+ +

"You never asked. Anyway, I need a favour. I want to hire your talent."

+ +

"What makes you think it's for hire?"

+ +

"Art for arts sake, you said. Money for god's sake."

+ +

This time she laughed and he knew he had diverted her. He wasn't in the mood for an argument, even though he admired + the way she was so quick to burn hot.

+ +

"What makes you think you can afford the likes of me, Mr Lorne?"

+ +

"I'll make you an offer you can't refuse. I need some artwork."

+ +

"What's it for?"

+ +

"To have a go at Sproat."

+ +

"Well, if you'd said. I'm very reasonable."

+ +

"Who ever told you that?" He pushed away from the lamp post. "Come on. I'll walk you home and show you what I + need."

+ +

He turned around and she slinked a hand round his arm and it made him feel good, even though he hadn't exactly told + the truth.

+
+

Donny Watson had fixed the hogshead. He might have been half daft, according to Kate Delaney, but he could work wood + and he worked it good. It was solid oak and built up from spare staves from old Amontillado sherry casks that had + been dismantled and re-cut, bound with new iron hoops and end-panel flats.

+ +

The cooperage was the weak link in Aitkenbar Distillery's security. Jack had sat up on the knoll on the day after + Andy Kerr had drawn his short straw, watching the proceedings through the old field binoculars, taking zoom shots + with the little Minolta camera Neil's brother had sold him. Here, close by the river, busy flocks of goldfinch + fluttered and argued in the hazels and a lone wren, tiny and perfect, whirred back and forth on blurred wings to a + moss nest woven into the upturned roots of an alder. It had been difficult to concentrate on the job in hand, but he + forced himself to it.

+ +

The barrel store was closer to the harbour basin than the rest of the distillery, on the flat low ground bordering + the inlet that filled up to the slate flagstones at high tide, even through it was almost a mile up from the river + mouth. The bottling plant was to the west and Jack could identify the various sections from the shape of the roofs. + His notebook lay open on his knee, with the little sketch plan of the bottling hall and the stillroom and the big + decant tank, roughed out in pencil, with prison-garb arrows to indicate what was where.

+ +

The tank filling hall was furthest from the river, built on higher ground where the land rose close to the railway + line that once delivered the grain directly along the spur, crossing the dip in the road that swooped under the iron + bridge. From there the whole plant was cut off from the rest of the world, not like the cooperage which was bounded + on two sides by a chain link fence, but by a solid iron affair with triple top-spikes to discourage the reckless. + The geese marched up and down the grass behind the fence, honking at anything that moved within vision, or pausing + to feed on the scattered grain. Jack took a picture of the fence around the cooperage where the dark barrels were + stacked in rows five high. A couple of men shunted around on fork-lifts. At lunch-time, a group came out for a + kick-about and two men ambled over to the fence where it was shaded by the trees, surreptitiously drew dark bottles + from their overalls and pushed them through a hole into the undergrowth beyond.

+ +

They got Tam in at the lunch break, through the same hole a week later. Jed widened it with a big pair of bolt + cutters, snipping the links right down at the bramble level, just enough for Tam and his toolbox to slither through. + It was overcast now, threatening a summer downpour and Tam's face was as grey as the sky.

+ +

"I'm losing a day's wages," he complained, but that wasn't what bothered him. This was the first big risk. This was + the start.

+ +

"You have to speculate to accumulate," Jack told him. "Check the phone."

+ +

Paddy Cleary had come up with the goods just the night before and they had to move fast because they had to get in + and get things sorted before the decant. If they missed that, they missed everything. Jack heard it first from + Margery Burns and he hoped nobody else found out about that or he'd be dead in the water in so many ways.

+ +

She'd been at the bar in the Castle Bowling Club and the beer had gone down a treat. The boatmen had stagged the + function room and then once the drink had started flowing, they'd opened it up to women members, using Sandy's cream + liqueur as an enticement and some of the old duffers were three sheets to the wind by half past nine. Jack had + helped load Willie McIver's van with the crates of Irish stout and lager in bottles of every shape and size and when + they were uncorked, the place really did smell like a brewery. Sandy insisted he had a beer and he took a stout that + had sat in Willie's cooler in the garage for the weekend and Jack couldn't believe how much it had improved with + age.

+ +

He had promised to go down and see Neil and the girls in the Starlight show where they were trying an ambitious + version of Shop of Horrors, but it was only Wednesday and he'd some things to work out and needed the time to + himself. If he turned up there, Kate would nab him and take him backstage where she had designed and painted all the + flats and then she'd give him more earache about going to sea with big Lars Hanssen.

+ +

As it turned out, Margery Burns was worth her weight in gold and he didn't even have to push it. She had short, + shiny-blonde hair that looked as if it had only minor assistance from a bottle and very good legs that she took no + precautions to hide. She must have been going on forty five, but could have traded at a good handful less than that. + Jack had pulled away from the boat club gang when the speakers had started belting out the fifties rock and jive and + the old biddies started to believe they could still throw themselves about the way they used to.

+ +

He moved up to the bar and Harry Conroy who had the license for the place gave him the nod.

+ +

"Bad news at the dairy."

+ +

"Bad news all round," Jack said. "This'll be like the saloon in Deadwood."

+ +

Harry laughed. The club didn't take passing trade, so business would go on.

+ +

"Better that than competing against your Uncle," Harry said. "That devil's brew could wipe us all out."

+ +

The woman at the end of the bar spoke up.

+ +

"You work in the dairy?"

+ +

"Until Friday," Jack said. He hadn't seen her, but as soon as he looked up he recognised her. She'd been married to + councillor Ronnie Burns, still was, despite the fact that he'd moved in with one of the council secretaries. Jack + wondered how Jed Cooper had managed to pull her.

+ +

"So you'll be another victim of the great A.J. Sproat master plan."

+ +

"One of many," Jack said. Harry turned away and began pouring for somebody else and Jack moved along a little.

+ +

"And you work in the distillery, right?"

+ +

"For the next six weeks," she said. "Then we're all expendable, even his PA."

+ +

"I thought you office staff had a chance of new work."

+ +

"So you'd have thought. That's not part of the plan."

+ +

She was about to go on when a mobile phone rang inside her bag and she fished it out. Jack pretended not to listen. + She spoke quickly, short sentences and then disappointment registered clearly on her face.

+ +

"Damn," she said. "I've just been stood up. And by a woman." Jack had guessed that already.

+ +

"It's happened to me millions of times," he said, making light, and gave Harry a signal to give him another beer and + a gin and tonic for the lady. They segued into a conversation about what a bastard Sproat was and how he had let + down the whole town and how it would be nice to get a come-uppance. He offered her another drink and she told him + she was driving and was about to lift her handbag when she paused.

+ +

"Listen. I was having dinner with my sister and she'd had to cancel. I've still got a table booked. You want to have + a bite and have a moan about the bastards of this world?"

+ +

It was as easy as that. He paused just enough then shrugged and then they were gone before his uncle came out. It was + just a small restaurant at Barloan Harbour where the old canal tipped itself through the lock and into the Clyde, + nothing fancy and not expensive. They had pasta.

+ +

"You're Sandy Bruce's nephew," she said. "You're like him."

+ +

"But younger."

+ +

"That's a plus. He had a thing for my mother, so I'm told, or vice versa."

+ +

"She wouldn't have been the only one, so I'm told. Does that make us related?"

+ +

"God, I hope not," she said and she laughed out loud and it took another five years off her in a split second.

+ +

Jack had steered the conversation round to the Charter group and the plan to stymie Sproat's pull-out and she said + she'd contribute to the cause any time.

+ +

"Men. They think they own the world." It came out in a bitter snap.

+ +

"Some of them do," he said. "Glad I'm just a boy."

+ +

She raised her eyebrows and gave him a look.

+ +

"I'm just waiting for the third thing to happen. Life can be shit when you get dumped twice in the one year."

+ +

"Twice?" he tried to look innocent. She saw through it.

+ +

"You know what I mean. But I need that job and that little chinless shit couldn't give a damn. Once the big + bottling's done on the sixth, the place will be closed in eight weeks."

+ +

"The sixth?" Jack's brain did a very fast calculation. His forkful of pasta was poised half-way and stayed + there.

+ +

"You look surprised."

+ +

"I thought it was earlier."

+ +

"They have to get the last shipment from Dunvegan and they're gone. We're gone. After fifteen years that's a + real slap in the face."

+ +

"I know a few guys who want to have a go at Sproat."

+ +

She raised her eyes. "How are they going to do that?"

+ +

"They're working on something. To do with the old charter. They're well pissed off at what he's doing."

+ +

"They're not the only ones. Fifteen years I worked for him. Where am I going to get a job?"

+ +

"There could be a job in it at the end of the day. . . " Jack just let that dangle.

+ +

"What would I have to do?"

+ +

"Nothing much. Just keep an eye on a couple of things. It would be very worth while."

+ +

She looked at him straight in the eye and then slowly reached a hand across the table and placed it gently on + his.

+ +

"And you think you could make it worth my while?"

+ +

She squeezed his fingers, still holding his eyes level with hers. Her touch was smooth and warm. Jack gulped. His + throat was suddenly dry.

+ +

"I can be very helpful," she said, letting a lazy smile spread. It spelled mischief. "When I want to be. Why don't + you get us another gin and see if we can work something out?"

+
+

The phone chirruped a high warbling note. A starling in a high elm mimicked a passable repetition before Jack + answered.

+ +

"Hello?" He was only ten feet from Tam but despite the closeness the phone crackled in his ear. Neil had only managed + to get the mobiles that morning and swore blind he'd had them on charge since breakfast.

+ +

"These things better work," Jack said. "Hello?"

+ +

"I can hear you," Tam said. He was wearing a set of green overalls that made him look just like any of the other + warehousemen at Aitkenbar. All of his tools were wrapped in an old blanket - to deaden the sound - and stuffed into + a huge hold-all.

+ +

"Okay, smartarse. Speak through the damn phone." Jack squeezed down on the tension. This was the only chance they + would get at this and if they blew it today, they might as well all troop down and sign on the dole.

+ +

Tam laughed, high and girlish, and they all knew he was nervous as hell. Ed gave them a quick hand-signal from the + far side of the fence, way over at the corner of the bottling block. Donny was out of sight, but well primed.

+ +

"Hello, hello, who's your lady friend?" He sang it.

+ +

"Jesus, keep it down!" Jack could hear him in the earpiece, but the static was like sand shifting on a flat + shore. "Okay, it's not great, but you're on. You got the number?"

+ +

"I pasted it on the back," Neil said.

+ +

"Okay." He clasped his hands together, cupping them into a hollow and blew into the space between his thumbs. It made + a summer sound of woodpigeons in the trees. Right away a woodpigeon above them called back and Tam laughed again, + tight with apprehension. Ed lifted a hand and came away from the corner, tapping a plastic football with his toe. A + hundred yards away, a group of workers were kicking another ball about, interested only in running themselves ragged + for the scant hour. Jed got the bolt cutters and worked them fast, scissoring through the wire links, unzipping them + from the ground up. Neil bent to it and forced the edges apart.

+ +

"Right. Showtime." Jack clapped Tam on the back. "You up for this?"

+ +

"Can I back down?"

+ +

"Can you hell. Stay cool and this will go like clockwork."

+ +

Ed kicked the ball. He was halfway from the corner, dribbling it as he walked, and when he got to the grass verge, he + swung hard and lofted it into the air. They all watched it sail up. Ed's face was a picture. He was supposed to tap + the ball in at the corner of the fence, where the elm hung over the triple barbed line, but the miss-kick sent it + right over the fence and into the trees.

+ +

"Shit!" They all heard it from the shadows of the undergrowth. Above them two woodpigeons exploded into flight and + went clattering away.

+ +

"Where it is?" They were all craning their necks.

+ +

"What a duffer," Tam said. Jack groaned a string of curses. The ball was wedged in a fork ten feet above their + heads.

+ +

"What do I do now?" Tam looked as if he'd won a reprieve. The plan was for him to come out from the shadow, kicking + the ball, looking nonchalant. Jed didn't wait. He dropped the cutters, started shinning up the tree and managed to + get along to the fork. The ball looked like a big white egg. Jed knuckled it out of its wedge and it came tumbling + through the thin branches. Tam grabbed it. His hands were shaking.

+ +

"Stay cool," Jack told him, clapped a hand to his shoulder, turned him round, and shoved him towards the gap. As soon + as he was through, Neil and Jed started stitching the hole up with thin wire so that the cut ends wouldn't show, and + then pushed some thick bramble runners around it to discourage closer inspection.

+ +

Tam crawled through, got to his feet, slung the green bag over his shoulder on the opposite side from the playing + men, then tapped the ball out.

+ +

"Sorry about that," Ed said.

+ +

"You'll never get off the subs bench." He kicked the ball to Ed and they went across to the corner, just as Donny + came rolling the hogshead round from the cooperage. That part worked just like clockwork. Jack breathed out a long + slow breath. It had all started now and the clockwork was ticking. There was nothing for it but to wait and + watch.

+
+

Jed Cooper got in through the back toilet window at the dairy. It was filled with echoes and shadows and very + different from the bustle of the early morning when the vans were loaded, or the afternoon when the bottling + operation made the place shake, rattle and roll. It was still and hollow and somehow haunted. He shivered. He + thought he could walk this place blindfold, but in the dark of night it was all different.

+ +

He closed the window behind him, just in case, and wished Jack had come with him instead of sitting in the little + tent on the far side of the knoll. It was all in Jack's head, the whole plan, or most of it anyway, so everybody had + things to do. Jed was the only one skinny enough to get through the little vent window and that was fair enough. He + still wished Jack or one of the others had come with him, instead of just handing him a copy of the key that he'd + picked up from christ knew where. Jack was playing it pretty close to his chest. Jed knew he'd been wasted on the + milk round, but Jack always did it his way. Now they were all doing it Jack's way, and Jack still + played it close to his chest.

+ +

The washroom door squealed in protest when he eased it open and the high sudden sound made his heart kick like a + scared rabbit.

+ +

"Fuck this," he muttered aloud and his echo hissed back at him. It was creepy, somehow damp and the smell of chlorine + from the floor wash hung in the air. Strange that out on the stock track Jed was scared of nothing at all, doing + eighty in a souped-up Skoda shell, ramping around the dirt with tons of old rolling stock trying to mow him down, + while here, on his own in the dark, the unfamiliarity of the daytime familiar made him nervous as a cat.

+ +

Andy Kerr's office was at the other side of the bottling hall and Jed made his way past the gantry that shuttled the + bottles down to the filler. In the night it was like the inside of the Nostromo in Alien, all angles and + points of faint brightness where the metal edges picked up moonbeams through the skylight. Jed cut across, going + more by memory than sight, alert for any sound.

+ +

The office door was locked and when he tried it, the key protested and stuck and it took him a deal of manoeuvring + and jiggling to get it to turn. Inside it smelt of Andy's thick plug tobacco. A coat hung from a hook behind the + desk and for a moment it looked like a floating entity. Jed pulled back before his eyes adjusted to this dark and + realised what it was. He cursed again and made his way to the big filing cabinet, using Jack's tiny maglight to + search for what he wanted.

+ +

Ten minutes later he was on his way out again, creeping past the lines towards the far door. He was halfway through + the loading bay when a faint noise stopped him in mid stride and he turned, holding his breath, eyes wide for any + movement, wondering if he'd been seen climbing in the half-light. He held still until a pulse started pounding in + his temples and he realised his breath was still backed up and he had to let it all out. He turned quickly in the + dark, too quickly and crashed straight into a pile of crates stacked at the doorway. Little stars swirled and a + balloon of pain swelled where his nose had hit the corner of the crate. For a second the column swayed back and + forth and his breath backed up again. He stumbled forward, eyes watering, and his shoulder hit the stack just on the + out-sway. Jed stumbled to the left and the column of crates continued to the right. He grabbed for it and snatched + only air and the top crate flipped off, throwing the empty bottles outwards.

+ +

They hit the floor in a crash of exploding glass that rose to a sudden crescendo in the hollow of the loading bay. + .

+ +

"Fuck!" The expletive was drowned out by a deafening crash that reverberated from wall to wall. Glass shattered and + scattered all across the floor. A thick shard flipped through the air and caught his ankle and he felt a strange + cold trickle into his shoe.

+ +

The wave of sudden sound flared and then faded into a musical tinkling. By this time Jed's hands were shaking so + badly he wasn't sure he'd be able to climb out of the window. He got to the washroom and hauled himself up onto the + line of washbasins and forced the half-light open again, listening out for any hint that the crashing of broken + glass had been heard, fully expecting the wail of a siren approaching from across town. He was half-way out when he + remembered what he'd forgotten and cursed non stop for a minute with hardly a repetition, before easing himself down + again and back through the whole route to Andy's office. He unshipped two keys from the dozen on the hook board, + replaced them with a pair he had in the pocket of his jeans and then had to make his way back through one more time. + They needed those keys just in case.

+ +

By the time he got out into the fresh air again, a faint summer rain had begun to fall and dawn was slicking the low + east sky.

+
+

Tam Bowie never even got to see the dawn.

+ +

He kicked the ball to Ed and tried to look casual as they walked across the grass towards the corner of the decant + hall. Jack watched them go, knowing it all depended on Tam now. And Donny and Ed. Damn, it depended on every one of + them and if Jed found out he'd come sneaking out of Margery Burns' house at the time he'd normally be getting up to + deliver milk, it could get down to some serious hooking and dodging, even if nothing had happened. And if Kate found + out, then that would be the and of any ambition in that direction, and he really needed Kate Delaney as much as he + needed Margery Burns in the big plan. He shucked those thoughts away, knowing Jed had to get in and get what he + needed from the creamery because since Saturday and his final pay-packet, the doors and the high sliding gates were + closed to himself.

+ +

They sat still while the men played football and Tam and Ed reached the corner and the timing came together + perfectly. It just couldn't have been better. Donny came up from the cooperage, rolling the big hogshead on its + convex curve, one-handed with ease of practise, and flipped it through a gap between the stacks of barrels, close to + where one of the red fork-lifts stood idle. Jack watched through the binoculars, thinking of all the things that + could have gone wrong, like Ed kicking the ball out of sight, or one of the other men lofting their ball into the + same patch of scrub and them all having to scramble for cover. That hadn't happened and Tam and his tools were + across there and now they were out of sight. He breathed out and opened his little notebook.

+ +

"Okay, so far so good. I just hope he's half the plumber he cracks himself up to be."

+ +

He jammed the mobile into his pocket and they all pulled back from the fence once the edges had been zipped together + and waited under the trees, not far from the inlet on the river that would soon be filled up and sold, if Alistair + Sproat had his way.

+ +

Donny left the big hogshead on its side until the pair of them came round to the lee of the wall, and into the little + hollow passage between stacks.

+ +

"Is this it?" Tam looked at the barrel with a measuring eye.

+ +

"No, it's one I just found a minute ago."

+ +

"Don't get sarcastic."

+ +

"Don't get stupid. It's taken me three days to get this right."

+ +

"Right guys," Ed said. "We can stand here and argue or we can get on with this before the whistle blows."

+ +

Donny pulled out a small monkey wrench and stuck the shaft end into a shallow depression in the end panel. Ed kept + watch, but at this time of the day, there was nobody around, and all the security cameras were up at the front of + the building. Donny pushed anti-clockwise and the whole panel turned quite easily before it gave a little pop and + sprung upwards. He pulled it clear and they all looked inside."

+ +

"Neat," Ed said. Donny had worked a screw thread right round the edge of the barrel. The inside plate had a + two-handed bar that could be used to twist the plate open or closed.

+ +

"There's two holes for air, and that's plenty," Donny said. "They look just like knots in the wood. And look, I built + you a bench seat. All home comforts. "

+ +

"There's not much room in there," Tam said.

+ +

"Think yourself lucky they're using hogsheads. Barrels would be a real tight fit. Come on, we've not got much time. + Get in."

+ +

Tam got a leg over the rim while Ed put his hands together to form a stirrup to help him up and in two seconds Tam + was standing inside.

+ +

"Still not much room," he complained. Ed handed him the bag of tools and pushed down on his shoulders, making him sit + on the little shelf bench. It left very little room to manoeuvre.

+ +

"Check the time," Ed said and Tam did, making sure the face lit up when he pressed the button. "It's okay." Donny + lifted the lid and Ed forced Tam's head down and then the end panel was screwing down. In another two minutes, it + just looked like a normal sixty-gallon keg.

+ +

"Check the handle," Donny said.

+ +

"Jesus. I can't move." Tam's voice was muffled and indistinct, but too still far too loud.

+ +

"Shoosh man. What's the problem?"

+ +

"It's too tight. I can't breathe."

+ +

"What's wrong with him?" Ed asked.

+ +

"I'm claustrophobic!" The word came clear enough through the little breathing hole. They could hear Tam sucking hard + for air.

+ +

"Why the hell didn't you tell us?"

+ +

"I never bloody knew. Jees man. I got a cramp in my leg. I'm going to suffocate in here."

+ +

"No you won't. Just take deep breaths."

+ +

"Deep breaths of what?"

+ +

"What a panic merchant!" Donny looked around. Tam was still sucking air through the hole. Donny grinned, turned to Ed + and then learned back against the barrel and let out a watery fart right on the level with the airhole. Ed doubled + up in silent laughter.

+ +

"You ginger prick." Tam's claustrophobia seemed to vanish. "When I get out of this I'm going to wring your neck."

+ +

The pair of them erupted while Tam banged on the inside and Donny kept the monkey wrench in the slot to make sure he + didn't try an early exit. Finally the noise subsided.

+ +

"Are you going to behave, or do you want more of the same?"

+ +

"Okay, okay. Just keep that arse's arse away."

+ +

Ed went for the fork-lift and Donny tipped the keg up. The tines went underneath and Ed backed out of the bay. He + swivelled, winked at Donny and then hustled for the big blue shutter door. Donny followed round, keeping the truck + between him and the footballers and Ed paused it just beside the three little hatches on the wall. Donny took the + spare cutters and snipped the padlocks one by one and replaced them with new matching brass ones, before peeling + away and back round to the cooperage.

+ +

It was now up to Tam and Ed.

+ +

The whine of the engine in the forklift truck sent a sympathetic vibration through the keg, enough to rattle Tam's + teeth together and the shiver made the tight wad of tools jangle, despite the deadening insulation.

+ +

It was pitch black and only seconds after the lid screwed down, the air got hot and thick. Tam jammed his face up + against the little hole and sucked. It was so tight in here that he couldn't move his hands, and the big bag of + tools clamped into his lap prevented any movement at all. It gave him the trapped sensation he always felt when he + woke up after a good drink, lacquered with sweat and knotted in damp clinging sheets.

+ +

"What am I doing here?" The question popped into the front of his mind and stayed there.

+ +

Just what the hell was he doing here?

+ +

It was okay for Donny Watson and Ed. They worked in the place. But if he was caught inside Aitkenbar, that was + breaking and entering. Conspiracy. Worse even. And he had a job to lose.

+ +

The air thickened and got clammier and Tam braced himself against the sides of the barrel while he slipped a hand + inside the toolkit and rummaged for a piece of plastic piping. He drew out a two foot length and felt in the dark + for the air-hole and forced the end into it. Cool air flowed in.

+ +

The fork-lift trundled round the corner, straightened and rolled on over the old cobbles, vibrating hard enough to + make his molars clash.

+ +

"Slow it up, Ed," he called out, but the trundling rumble drowned him out.

+ +

Finally the motion stopped. Tam took two breaths, listening for the motor to start up again.

+ +

"Where are you going with that?" It came faintly, but he heard it clear enough through the other air-hole.

+ +

"They sent it round from the cooperage," Ed explained to the unseen voice. "They said they needed another + hoggie."

+ +

"Get it later Ed. Take the truck round and pick up half a dozen pallets for the bottling hall. "

+ +

Tam held his breath and listened intently. Suddenly the was a fierce bump and the whole barrel rocked violently.

+ +

"Shit!"

+ +

"Keep quiet," Ed grated from close in. "I'll be back in a minute."

+ +

"What's happening?"

+ +

"Shut up and stay still."

+ +

The barrel rocked again and the lower lip cracked against the ground, but it was still upright.

+ +

"What's going on? Ed?. . . . ED?"

+ +

There was no reply.

+ +

From over by the scrub behind the fence, they could see the carefully prepared plan was all going catastrophically + wrong.

+ +

"Who's that?" Jed craned to see through the brambles.

+ +

"Billy Butler," Jack said, almost a whisper. "The plant manager. What the hell does he want?"

+ +

They watched as Ed clambered off and tilted the barrel on the tines of the lifter and then eased it, still upright, + onto the ground. Jack clenched his teeth and discovered his nails were pressing into the palms of his hands.

+ +

Stay cool. That's what he'd told Tam. He had to do the same himself. Stay cool and hope for the best and + pray that it's not all over before it's even begun.

+ +

Ed reversed the lifter and then trundled away towards the corner leaving the barrel on its end just at the big blue + shutter door. Billy Butler made a pantomime of checking his watch and then gave a whistle to the men on the sloping + grass.

+ +

"You men want to play football for the rest of the day?"

+ +

One of them shrugged and even at this distance you could read plenty in the body language. They had six weeks left to + work and they were all on protective redundancy notice. A couple of minutes here and there would make no difference + at all. You could even see in Billy's posture that he was going through the motions. He wasn't bad as gaffers + went.

+ +

"Come on men, we might as well just get on with it. Shift that hoggie for me. Put it in the stack with the rest of + them."

+ +

Two of the men in green overalls got their hands to the keg just as Ed came round the corner with a stack of wooden + pallets balanced on the forks. He came round doing thirty, just about the top speed the little truck could make, and + a whole lot faster than anybody ever travelled here at Aitkenbar. The pile of pallets swayed alarmingly as Ed tried + to get back to Tam before the rest of them started to pull and haul.

+ +

He tried his best, but in his haste to reach the hogshead first, the speed was just a little too much and as he + turned in at the shutter, the angle was so tight that Billy Butler had to jump back or lose his toes. Over at the + fence they heard him bawl.

+ +

"Slow that thing down. You think you're Michael bloody Schumacher?"

+ +

Ed jammed on the brake right on the turn and if the pallets had been secured, everything would have been fine, but + they weren't and when he stopped, they kept on travelling.

+ +

"Fuck sake Ed!" Billy bawled, and then the rest of them were scattering as the pile slipped forward in a slow + avalanche and clattered to the cobbles.

+ +

The phone rang just as Jack clapped a hand to his brow, unable to believe the farce that was unravelling his plan + only forty yards away. For a couple of seconds, the mobile chirruped its little bird-like call and it took that time + for them to realise it was actually ringing. Jack finally connected and snatched the thing out of his pocket.

+ +

"Who the hell. . . . hello?"

+ +

"What's going on? Is that you Jack?"

+ +

"Who is this?"

+ +

"It's Tam, you bam. What in the name of Christ is happening, man?"

+ +

"Jesus Tam, would you just sit still? I said we had to have radio silence."

+ +

"He's gone and dumped me."

+ +

"Well they're coming back right now. Over and out."

+ +

Jack switched off. Jed looked at him, chuckling. "Over and out? What is this, Memphis Belle? Roger wilco Ginger! + What's your vector Victor?"

+ +

"Piss off." Jack was back up at the fence, peering through.

+ +

Tam heard the clatter of pallets and some shouting and then the silence as the phone went dead. He took another + breath through the tube and then the whole world just flipped over and his head hit hard against the hard oak staves + and a sharp pain flared in the dark.

+ +

"What was that?"

+ +

"What was what?"

+ +

He was on his back and the big bag of tools thudded right down onto his stomach, knocking all the wind out.

+ +

"Just get that inside and a stack it. Ed, what are you playing at?"

+ +

"Sorry Billy. Something was in my eye. Here, I'll get that."

+ +

"Never mind. It's just an empty. Get them stacked up and over to the loading bay."

+ +

Tam listened, gasping for breath. His head was jammed up against the end panel, twisting his neck to the right. A + cramp pain was starting in the muscle at his shoulder. For a moment everything was dead still and then without + warning he was spinning and rattling as the big keg rolled over the uneven cobbles.

+ +

Jack watched in dismay as the two workers put their backs into it and wheeled the hogshead out of sight.

+ +

"He'll be sick as a parrot," Jed observed.

+ +

The nightmare seemed to last forever, even if it was only for fifty yards and Jed almost had it right. The barrel was + rolling and Tam was rolling with it, face down and then face up and every motion cracked the back of his head + against hard oak or thudded the heavy bag down onto his belly and for a second or two it was touch and go. He gulped + against the reflex and kept his breakfast inside, screwing his face against the hot acid heartburn.

+ +

"Where do you want it?"

+ +

"With the rest. Just dump it and get back to the bottling hall."

+ +

Tam was rolling again and the nausea came rolling with it, looping up in his throat and then the world flipped + violently and he was heels over head and crumpled in the bottom of the barrel.

+ +

"What the fu. . . . ?" His neck was stretched as his whole weight pressed down on his cheek and a grind of pain + knuckled in on his temple. He shifted, succeeded only in jarring his ear against something grainy and hard and then + the phone rang, right in his ear.

+ +

"What was that?"

+ +

"What was what?"

+ +

"I heard something again."

+ +

The phone bleeped insistently and Tam couldn't get his hand to it. He tried to twist and found himself jammed under + the weight of the tools.

+ +

"You hear that?"

+ +

"It's a phone. Have you got a phone?"

+ +

"What would I be doing with a phone?"

+ +

Tam twisted again and his neck squealed a protest. The mobile was loud in the tight confines and he knew it would + give everything away and there was not a chance that he'd come anywhere near to thinking up a plausible excuse for + being inside an empty hogshead in Aitkenbar distillery.

+ +

"It's over there."

+ +

Footsteps came closer. Somebody bumped into the barrel. Tam grunted. The phone cheeped a cheery tune.

+ +

"It's somewhere here."

+ +

"No that's just an echo." The voice faded then came back stronger. "Hey Billy, did you leave a mobile somewhere?"

+ +

Tam found it jammed inside his shirt and he forced his thumb down on the face, hitting as many buttons as he could to + silence the thing. It took five hits before the ringing stopped and he shoved it up against his ear.

+ +

"Jake, for Christ's sake," his voice was suddenly hoarse. "I'm upside fucking down."

+ +

"Can I have a taxi for Castlebank?"

+ +

"What?"

+ +

"Twenty Four Bruce Street, Castlebank. The name's McMenamin."

+ +

"Jake, what the hell are you playing at?"

+ +

"What?"

+ +

A sizzle of static fuzzed out the word and then another woman's voice came on.

+ +

"Taxi for Castlebank." She sounded unbelievably bored. "Taxi for Castlebank. Any takers?"

+ +

"Hello?"

+ +

"Jake, quit screwing about!"

+ +

"Where are you going dear?"

+ +

"Just down to the town centre."

+ +

"Taxi for Castlebank. Red six, come in Jimmy. Town centre drop."

+ +

Outside the barrel the voices came again.

+ +

"Did you hear that?"

+ +

"Hear what?"

+ +

"There's people over there."

+ +

"Don't be daft."

+ +

"I'm telling you. I can hear people talking."

+ +

"You better lay off the sauce, man. You're hearing things."

+ +

Tam hissed into the phone, frantically trying to find the off button. "Get off this line."

+ +

"I want a taxi to the town centre."

+ +

"We don't have any bloody taxis."

+ +

"There's no call for that language, you. I'm a paying customer."

+ +

Outside, a man's voice came from close in.

+ +

"There. I heard it again. There's people in here. I can hear them talking."

+ +

"You've definitely loony-tunes, you are."

+ +

"Shhhhh. . . . can't you hear it? In amongst the barrels. There's people in there."

+ +

"You better go see a doctor. You've scooped too many free samples. Maybe you should go and lie down for a + minute."

+ +

Billy Butler called from much further away. "What's the matter with him?"

+ +

"Nothing much. He just thinks this place is haunted. Isn't that right Wullie? He says he can hear voices."

+ +

"He'll hear my voice in a minute if he doesn't get moving. Come on you lot, we haven't got all day to hang + around."

+ +

"I'm telling you," the first man insisted, audible through the breathing holes. "There was people talking right over + there. Swear to God."

+ +

The voice faded away, leaving Tam still upside down, with a dreadful crick in his neck and an even worse sensation + that the walls were closing in on him. His hand finally found the off button and the angry voice in his ear + died.

+ +

Jack called Margery Burns because there was nothing else for it and the whole radio silence routine went straight out + the window.

+ +

Ed managed to get to the payphone on the far side of the bottling hall.

+ +

"He's stuck in the loading bay."

+ +

"Can he get out?"

+ +

"God knows. I don't even know where they put him."

+ +

Jack scratched his head.

+ +

"You'll have to go in and find out."

+ +

Ed came back round the corner, this time on foot, and he looked right and left before ducking into the bay and out of + sight. They waited in silence until he came back out again five minutes later, did the right and left again and his + eyes found the old ball at the corner. He reached for it and booted it hard in their direction. This time his aim + was much improved. He came across to the shadows under the overhanging tree.

+ +

"Jake, all this plan's gone to pot."

+ +

"What's up?"

+ +

"He's stuck in a pile of barrels. I can't get near them just now."

+ +

"You'll have to try later."

+ +

"Aye, but there's a problem. He'll never get out of there on his own. They've turned him upside down. He's + stuck."

+ +

"Holy mother." Jack slapped his own forehead. "This should have gone like the cat-sat-on-the- mat, no bother at all." + He paused and chewed on his knuckle. The whole plan in his head was complex enough without it turning into the + keystone cops. "Right. There's nothing for it, but you'll have to stick with him."

+ +

"Until when?"

+ +

"Until you can get him out. There's none of us can get in there and do it."

+ +

"I could be there all night."

+ +

"If that's what it takes, Eduardo. Donny and Jed have a job to do themselves tonight."

+ +

"And what are you going to do?"

+ +

"I got plans. You stick with him."

+ +

"Okay, but I'll need clocked out at five. Otherwise the customs will come looking for me."

+ +

Jack leaned back against a tree, thinking fast. He looked at Jed, already feeling guilty.

+ +

"Okay. Leave it with me. I'll get that fixed. You stay with Tam and make sure he gets out. We have to get this sorted + by tonight."

+ +

Ed looked dubious about the whole thing, but they were all in, for good or bad, and Jack had told them they might + lose their shirts. He'd do what he could to save his, even if it meant taking more of a risk. Finally he + nodded.

+ +

"If they catch me in there, it's all blown to hell."

+ +

"We're sunk if we don't," Jack said. "Just tell them you fell and cracked your head." Ed walked back towards the big + blue door and Jack turned away.

+ +

"Give me a minute, Jed. I have to make a private phone call."

+ +

He wandered to the edge of the scrub and it took three attempts before he got through to Margery Burns.

+ +

"Hello stranger," she said. "I never expected you back so soon."

+ +

"I need a favour," he said. "Can you clock somebody out?"

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

"It's a 'need to know' kind of thing," he said. "But it's important."

+ +

"Oh, we're Mr Mysterious today. All I need to know is, what's it worth? I do you a favour, you do me one."

+ +

"Right."

+ +

Jack thumbed the off button. Yet another fix he'd have to get out of.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch10.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch10.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45335af --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch10.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,543 @@ + + + + + + 10 + + + + +
+
+

10

+ +

At ten minutes past five Margery Burns made an excuse to get out of the office and took the back corridor + down to the loading bay where she waited for two minutes before selecting Ed Kane’s card from the slot and + feeding it into the time-stamp.

+ +

Ed was only sixty yards away and twenty feet higher, reading an old Hello magazine he'd found in the + washroom, out of sight, mostly in shadow, but with just enough fluorescent light to read by. It was + comfortable here in the barrel store and the smell of oak and old sherry thickened the dusty air to a mellow + fug. He had sneaked out to the washroom and from there taken a side door to the big load store where the + barrels were stacked lengthways in a great pyramid that reached almost to the high ceiling. It had taken him + only seconds, using the big kegs as steps, to get up almost to the roof and then along the stack just below + the skylight. Nobody could see him here, but the position gave him a view through to the loading bay and to + the bottling hall beyond.

+ +

There was no night shift, not this close to the end run, and in any case Sproat was saving as much as he + could before having to pay out the statutory redundancy, so at the back of five, everything started shutting + down. Ed watched Kerr Thomson, the fat customs man begin his round of checks before locking each + self-contained sector. In the distance, the other guards rattled their keys like jailors. Gradually + Aitkenbar Distillery was battened down for the night. Ed listened as the other sections shut down, the + clanging noises getting fainter with the distance, and then the place grew quiet. Muffled sounds told him + the cars were moving out of the car-park and finally the big front gate rumbled shut on its rollers.

+ +

Madonna grinned gat-toothed from the front cover, hugging some guy she'd married up in the highlands a while + back (and divorced later) and Buffy the Slayer pouted doe-eyed down the page. It was an old magazine. He + read the banal captions, forcing himself to wait until it was all dead quiet and then eased himself along + the top of the barrel stack.

+ +

Tam punched him a right hook that caught him on the cheek right under his eye, and if Tam hadn't been knotted + with cramp after six hours in a hogshead, it would have raised a hell of a lump.

+ +

Donny had marked the keg in big yellow stencil letters and that made it stand out from the rest of them, + which was just as well, with more than a hundred of them, all virtually identical, in the loading bay. It + was jammed in between two others, still on its end. A very faint grunting sound told him Tam was still + trying vainly to turn the handles to unscrew the lid, but he was getting precisely nowhere at all.

+ +

Ed rapped a knuckle on the base which was now the top panel.

+ +

"Tam. It's me."

+ +

"Where the hell have you been?"

+ +

"Never mind that. I'm going to get you out. Hold still will you?"

+ +

Ed put a foot to the base and hauled on the top, just giving it enough to cant the keg off balance. He stood + back and let it drop onto its side, rocking violently, spinning slowly at the same time. Something inside + clunked hard on wood. He hoped it was the tools.

+ +

"What in the name of Christ..... ?" Ed steadied the hogshead with a foot and jammed a big screwdriver into + the slot, heaved anti-clockwise and the panel suddenly popped out and rolled away on its edge.

+ +

Tam Bowie fell out onto the concrete floor, rolled, groaned, tried to get up and only managed to a knee. His + head was still bent over to the side and his shoulder hitched up almost to his ear. In the dim light of the + big bay he looked like some twisted, cursing goblin.

+ +

"Bastard," he repeated. "Left me upside fucking down."

+ +

He scuttered across, still unable to straighten his legs, and aimed a quick one at Ed who didn't expect it + and took it on the cheek, but there was no force behind it.

+ +

"It wasn't my fault."

+ +

"You put me upside fucking down," Tam said again, trying to straighten knotted muscles. "Look at the state of + me. I nearly died in there."

+ +

He hobbled forward quickly and aimed another one. Ed jinked back and Tam punched air.

+ +

"Come on Tam. It wasn't me."

+ +

"Six bloody hours in there. You could have killed me. Jesus, look at the state of me. There's no two bits of + me hanging together the right way."

+ +

He came lunging at Ed again, like a skinny bat-eared Quasimodo and Ed began to giggle.

+ +

"Come on, you twisted loony, give it a break."

+ +

"Give it a break? I'll give you a bloody break. Break your bloody neck. How would you like it, stuck upside + down in a barrel all day?"

+ +

"It was just the afternoon," Ed said, dancing away like a boxer. Tam swung and missed. Ed jinked in and + tapped him playfully on the chin. "Prince Naseem you ain't. Float like a bumble bee, sting like a flea."

+ +

"Bastard," Tam spat, all froth and temper now. "And when I get that ginger farty nutcase, I'll put a + blowtorch up his arse."

+ +

He came for Ed and managed to grab him and the pair wrestled each other for five minutes before Tam ran out + of steam and temper and Ed was unable to move for laughing and finally they collapsed in a heap.

+ +

"Are you all done now?"

+ +

Ed looked over at Tam. His neck was still twisted stiffly to the left and his arms still hugged in tight to + his body and Ed started to laugh again.

+ +

"Yeah, go on, laugh," Tam said. "I suppose you think this is funny."

+ +

Ed burst into another fit of the giggles and despite himself, Tam began to laugh and for a couple of minutes, + neither of them could move as the sound of it echoed all over the bay.

+ +

They hauled the toolbag through to the decant hall. There was a small ventilation and access hatch high on + the wall that they could reach from the barrel stack and then, once through, two parallel pipes only a foot + from the roof led round the perimeter. Ed slung the strap over his shoulder and the pair of them inched + their way along the pipe for thirty yards, almost twenty five feet off the ground, until they got to an + upright H-beam that let them shin down to ground level. They waited for five minutes to catch a breath.

+ +

"Where now?"

+ +

Ed pointed at the big tank lip. They were close to the half landing that would let them down to the maze of + pipes and connections below. Ed shouldered the bag and Tam followed him down into the dark.

+ +

The tank was fifteen feet across and its stainless steel sides gleamed in the faint light from the high + hatch. An intricate maze of pipes ran this way and that.

+ +

"Looks like a plumber's nightmare," Ed conceded.

+ +

"Not just looks like," Tam said. "I'm hoping I wake up soon." He opened the bag, drew out the blueprint copy + and spread it on the ground. Ed flipped on the flashlight and stood it on its side, so that light pooled + between them.

+ +

"Do you know what's what?"

+ +

"Not yet, but I'm working on it. You'll have to show me around." Tam was suddenly glad Ed was with him now. + He didn't fancy working here alone in the middle of the night, even if it was summer. From the looks of + things, it could take until dawn, and no matter what he'd told Jack Lorne, he wasn't entirely sure he'd be + able to do this at all.

+ +

"Right," he said twisting his shoulders to ease the ache. "Talk me through it."

+ +

"I thought you knew all this."

+ +

"You work here. Save me time."

+ +

Ed got to his feet, scratched his head.

+ +

"Okay," he strolled across and lay a hand on a manifold of pipes snaking round the tank. "These are coolers, + they come from the refrigeration unit. They help prevent evaporation. Here," another tap on a thick steel + pipe. "this is the wash drain. One of these will empty the tank after cleaning. This one will fill it with + cold, and this one with hot."

+ +

He marked them all off. Tam watched him and kept bending down, following them with his finger on the + blueprint.

+ +

Finally he stood up and brought the flashlight with him. Ed watched him angle across to the wall, following a + set of brass pipes.

+ +

"Where do these go?"

+ +

Ed shrugged. "I dunno."

+ +

Tam tapped the pipe with a wrench and the harsh metal clang echoed right across the hall and came back in a + jangle of sound.

+ +

Ed jumped. "Quit that. They'll hear it all through the building."

+ +

"You said it was shut."

+ +

"Yeah. But there's a security team and night customs."

+ +

They'll think it's a rat," Tam said. He moved back to the tank and crawled into the space underneath where it + was supported on a series of short concrete pillars.

+ +

"Is this a drain?"

+ +

Ed nodded. That's for when it gets cleaned out."

+ +

"So it's a gravity feed?"

+ +

"Sure, I suppose."

+ +

"Right. I got the picture. He put his hand on a two-inch steel pipe. "This here feeds the bottling lines, am + I right?"

+ +

"I think that's the one."

+ +

"Sure it is." Tam was into it now. "Okay. I need to see the valves."

+ +

"Over here." Ed hunkered down. "They're all marked."

+ +

"So we have to join the fill to the drain." He started unloading the tool-bag. "If we have to rely on gravity + it's the only way."

+ +

He pointed to the small hatch in the outside wall. "That's an ingress for a fire hydrant. I thought it was an + outlet pipe, but it lets water in."

+ +

"Is that a problem?"

+ +

"Not unless there's a fire. If I can get a connection to that, then we're cooking."

+ +

"And what if there's a fire?"

+ +

"They're going to flatten the place anyway, aren't they? But if all we have is gravity, then this is the only + way out, and we have to get to somewhere lower than that tap out there."

+ +

"There's only one place lower," Ed said. "Under the railway bridge."

+ +

"I hope that fits in with Jack's plan," Tam said, "Because it's the only way we're going to do this, and + we'll still need a pump."

+ +

He rummaged around and brought out a big tap wrench.

+ +

"Right, I need to find a two inch bore that nobody plans to use in the next two weeks." He went back to the + plans, spent five minutes tracing lines again with his finger. "Got it. Now watch the master at work."

+ +

He rummaged in the bag again and brought out a hacksaw. He bent to the pipe.

+ +

He was half-way through the pipe, building up a sweat when the phone rang. The pair of them jumped like + startled cats.

+ +

"Tam? Ed?"

+ +

"Ed. What is it?"

+ +

"Are you both in?"

+ +

"We must be in, or you wouldn't be speaking to us."

+ +

"Don't get lippy. Where the hell are you? And what the hell's that noise?"

+ +

Ed turned to Tam and held his hand up for his to stop sawing at the pipe.

+ +

"It's El Capitan," he said. "Hold it a minute."

+ +

Tam pulled back.

+ +

"Ed. Somebody's on their way in. A couple of cars pulled up."

+ +

"Great, that's all we need."

+ +

"Better find some cover. I'll give you a shout when it's clear. But tell Tam to stop that racket. You can + nearly hear it out here."

+
+

Alistair Sproat came in through the security doorway at the side of the big storage hall. It was dark now, + with only the small winking light from the heat detectors on the roof giving a faint illumination. Sproat + could walk round this place blindfold.

+ +

"Who's that with him?" Ed had his eye up against the security slot in the door that separated the decant hall + from storage. When the rattling of keys echoed through the empty space they'd frozen in sudden fright.

+ +

"Cops?" Tam's face had gone pale. Ed shrugged, face blank. Tam pulled back from the pipe and gentle levered + the hacksaw from the groove it had cut. It made a creaking scrape of sound that set the hairs on the back of + his head standing on end, then finally it worked free. Ed was already wrapping up the rest of the tools in + the big blanket.

+ +

A second door opened and they heard footsteps. Ed stashed the toolbag right underneath the decant tank and + the pair of them tiptoed to the far door. Tam eased the slot back and peered through.

+ +

"Two of them. It is the cops."

+ +

"Let me see." Ed shouldered him out and got his eye to the hole. "No. It's Sproat and Kerr Thomson. He's one + of the customs men. What are they doing in here at this time of night?"

+ +

Tam breathed a long and eloquent breath.

+ +

"You think they heard something?"

+ +

Ed paused for a moment, watching Kerr Thomson turn to re-lock the door they had just come through. That was + odd enough. Thomson was still in black uniform, a dumpy figure with badly pocked skin that he tried to hide + with a sparse beard, and an arrogant manner that came with the customs and excise uniform.

+ +

Sproat stopped ten yards from the door and waited for Thomson to catch up. He had a clipboard under his arm + and a thick file folder. The pair of them walked down the side of the hall and stopped at the first rank of + barrels.

+ +

"What's he doing here?" Ed asked in a whisper. "Nobody's supposed to be inside after lockup."

+ +

"As long as they're not after us, I couldn't care less."

+ +

"Thomson's a scumbag. He'll shop anybody unless he gets a cut."

+ +

Sproat and the customs man walked towards the stack and the distillery owner opened the file. He was just ten + yards from where Ed peered through the hole. Thomson flicked on a fluorescent flashlight and set it on top + of a barrel, casting a blue light over the first rack.

+ +

Sproat's voice came clear in the hollow.

+ +

"Let's start with the eighty six blend." He flipped the first page of the file and brought out a pen and + pointed to the rack. The light caught the stencil number. Sproat read it out.

+ +

"Fifty six gallons."

+ +

"Make it forty five. You can match this with the whisky safe records?"

+ +

Ed pulled back from the hole.

+ +

"Sproat's at the fiddle," he whispered. "That's the stock he's clearing out. He's changing the tallies before + it goes to the brokers."

+ +

"What good does that do him?"

+ +

"He'll declare a loss, and sell the rest off and pay only a fraction of the duty. That's neat. You need the + customs to back you up. Thomson must have a way into the back records. All the gear that comes out of the + still is counted up in the whisky safe. They must be fiddling them."

+ +

"But how can he say there's less whisky in the barrel?" the voices on the other side of the door were + checking off the tally.

+ +

"Easy. He'll just say there was extra evaporation. The customs can't do anything about the Angels Share. If + it's in the book, it stays in the book. Devious bastard."

+ +

"I don't care what he does," Tam said. "As long as he gets it over with before the morning and we can get + done and out of here."

+ +

"We better let Jack know," Ed said, grinning. "It's nice to have something on that smarmy bastard. And + Thomson? He's a snake. I'd like to see him fixed."

+ +

It was close to midnight and the tank hall was dark by the time Sproat and Thomson finished checking off the + barrels in store. Sproat finally flipped the folder closed and the pair made their way out by the steel + door. Ed and Tam listened silently as the successive gates clanged shut and the locks shot home and then + waited another ten minutes before they called Jack Lorne.

+ +

"They're gone now, whoever they were," Jack said. "I thought it was the cops."

+ +

"So did we. Tam nearly filled his pants. It was Sproat the stoat, and that spawney-faced Kerr Thomson, you + know him? The customs man?"

+ +

"Not personally."

+ +

"They were fixing the totals in storage. They never knew we were watching."

+ +

Jack listened silently as Ed talked him through what they'd seen and he was silent for a little while + longer.

+ +

"Can you get the barrel numbers?" he finally asked.

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

"Knowledge is power. You never know when we'll need it."

+ +

"I'll see what I can do."

+ +

"Roger," Jack said. Ed just laughed.

+ +

Tam sawed through the pipe in less than half an hour and it was tough going. He had to change the blade close + to the end before he could remove a whole section that was maybe ten feet long, and then he used the monkey + wrench to screw on two pressure ends that were half hidden behind other pipes. Unless somebody knew the + layout intimately, no-one would see that a length of steel pipe had vanished from the maze.

+ +

Ed watched him use a length of steel spring to bend the pipe, bracing it against the concrete pillars, into + right angles and curves until it was twisted all out of shape.

+ +

"This is the piece of the resistance, mon ami." He manoeuvred the misshapen pipe up against the wall, + threaded it behind the others until the one cut end was in line with a steel piece of exactly the same + width. The far end, ten feet away and kinked at an angle where it met the corner of the wall, came to rest + against the fire hydrant inlet.

+ +

"Perfect." Ed had to admire his skill.

+ +

"Now what?"

+ +

"Now we join them all up." He fished in the toolbag again and brought out a big butane blowtorch.

+ +

"Some solder and flux and then we can get out of here."

+ +

Ed looked at him. "You can't use that here."

+ +

"Why not?"

+ +

Ed pointed up at the winking blue lights. "No naked flames, no matches, no smoking. They're heat sensors. + They decant double strength whisky in here. The whole bloody lot could blow."

+ +

"I thought they just worked on smoke."

+ +

Ed looked at him. "No. You set of that torch and we'll have everybody down on us."

+ +

Tam leaned against the pillar. His big ears reflected, even more magnified, on the polished curve of the + massive steel tank.

+ +

"Okay then, I can fix that. Lift that blanket and bring it over."

+ +

Ed did as he was told and Tam rummaged in the box again and drew out the powered drill bit. "Just as well I + charged this up."

+ +

He reached up amongst the tangle of pipes on the wall, touching each one in succession and finally chose one + which came down vertically from the ceiling. He got Ed to use the blanket to form a sound shield around him + and triggered the drill. It bit into the metal with a high-pitched scream.

+ +

"What's this for?"

+ +

"You'll see in a minute," Tam, said, grinning.

+ +

The drill screeched again and little whorls of silvery metal peeled away from the hole.

+ +

"Come in closer," Tam said, moving to allow more space close to the pipe. Ed moved in. Tam kept up the + pressure and then, as the bit began to shudder in the hole, he motioned Ed even closer.

+ +

"Look at this."

+ +

Ed craned in. Tam squeezed the trigger, put his weight to it and then suddenly pulled back. Something hissed, + loud as a snake, and he snatched the drill-bit out of the narrow hole.

+ +

A hard jet of well-chilled water belted out of the tiny perforation under high pressure and hit Ed in the + eye. He yelped and fell backwards, slipping onto his backside while the thin stream expanded into a thick + spray that drenched him from head to foot.

+ +

"It's freezing.... " he finally said, catching his breath, crawling away from the misting spray hissing from + the cooling pipe.

+ +

"That's what we need. Get the blanket."

+ +

Ed shivered violently. The spray was condensing on his dark hair in silvery beads and the whole front of his + overalls was soaked from chin to crotch, but he reached for the blanket that had served as a sound dampener. + Tam made him hold it up to catch the cold water and waited until it had absorbed enough to start dripping to + the ground.

+ +

"Right Ed, you'll have to spread it round me, so keep it in the jet." Ed moved closer, holding the thing at + arm's length, but it didn't provide enough cover.

+ +

"Huddle round me," Tam told him.

+ +

"But that means I'll get soaked again. It's freezing."

+ +

"We need it freezing. Come on Ed, I'll be quick as I can, but if I can spend six hours upside down in a + barrel you can spend a couple of minutes in the damp." Tam grinned and Ed glared at him. "If somebody had + told us about the heat sensors, then I'd have thought of something else. But nobody told us and that's a + shame really, isn't it?"

+ +

"You're just getting your own back, aren't you?"

+ +

"Would I do a thing like that?" Tam nudged him with his elbow. "That's it. Stand right inside there." Ed's + teeth began to chatter and he held the blanket round him like a cloak. Tam sparked his lighter and the + blowtorch flame suddenly growled, a sharp blue dagger of heat.

+ +

"Nice and easy Ed, keep us all covered." Tam bent to the pipe and began to apply heat and solder to the + two-inch yorkie ring that could join the ends of the pipes. He worked carefully, making sure he wouldn't + have to go back over the job, and every now and again he leant back out of the protection of the damp + blanket to make sure the blue heat warning lights were still flashing at one per second.

+ +

"Come on," Ed said, hardly able to articulate the words. "I hate the bloody cold. I can't hold this much + longer."

+ +

"Another ten minutes," Tam said, trying not to smile. This revenge was worth spinning out.

+ +

Ed swore a shuddery curse. Even Tam could feel the cool of the spray water. Ed had the blanket across his + shoulders, taking the whole jet on his back and letting the fabric absorb all of the chill.

+ +

"What's a bit of water anyway?" Tam asked.

+ +

"It's bloody f... f...... "

+ +

"Cool?"

+ +

"Fuckin' freezing."

+ +

"All the better then." Tam carefully ran the flame over the join, watching the flux carry the gleaming solder + away.

+ +

"I'm getting a cramp."

+ +

"Nothing like the cramp I got stuck in that barrel." Tam's grin was pasted on. Ed squirmed away from the + jet.

+ +

"Back in," Tam insisted. "You don't want to blow it now."

+ +

"This is giving me an ice-cream headache."

+ +

Tam turned away, unable to keep from laughing.

+ +

"Only another five minutes, he managed to say.

+ +

"B.... b..... b..... arsehole."

+
+

Kate Delaney brought him the artwork and it was perfect. She was backstage at the Starlight show in the + little theatre where she was up to her elbows in paint and grease, hair pulled back in a rich copper + twist.

+ +

Jack stood in the corner as the cast prepared for the final curtain and he winked at Neil Cleary as his + sister dragged him on for the line-up.

+ +

"I thought you'd be all at sea by now," Kate whispered. The sound of applause from the front of the house was + muted beyond the heavy curtain.

+ +

"First things first." He still wasn't giving anything away.

+ +

"Good. You can make the final night party then, and make sure I don't get up to anything."

+ +

He was killing several birds with the one visit tonight. Joanne Cleary was a friend of his sister and he + needed a favour from her and Ed's girl-friend Donna Bryce, who was in the Starlight chorus and doubled as + make-up artist. Kate's flats were as vibrant as the paintings on the heritage wall, characteristic bold + strokes and contrasting shadows.

+ +

"Did you do the banners too?"

+ +

"You can't rush good art." She left him hanging and he had to wait. "What I don't understand is why you want + one of the council's sewage section. They're not going out of business."

+ +

"The committee asked for it," Jack said, knowing he was lying, hoping she didn't notice, not entirely sure + she hadn't. He'd have to get a whole lot better at this. "We have to show what a bunch of shits they + are."

+ +

"Oh, you're organised now? That makes a change for you."

+ +

"Yes mother."

+ +

This time she laughed. "You're up to something, Jack Lorne."

+ +

"That's what Uncle Sandy says."

+ +

"He's not so old he's addled. Come on, what's going on? What are these things for?"

+ +

She held up a big art folder and opened it up. She had done them just the way he'd asked, all in sections, on + clear plastic, the lettering perfect. Just what he needed.

+ +

"It's amazing what you can do with computers," she said. "I did some of these myself, and some of the class + did them on the CAD program. It's them you have to thank."

+ +

He lifted one of the sheets up and held it to the light. The letters were clearly visible, done in brown in + an old Victorian script, edged with gold. One quarter of an old pot still could be seen in the corner.

+ +

"They're terrific," he said.

+ +

"Want to tell me what they're really for?"

+ +

"The workers' revolution. We're taking over the world."

+ +

"You and daft Donny Watson? I don't think so."

+ +

She handed the artwork over with more questions in her eyes, but he just thanked her and said he'd reveal all + sometime soon.

+
+

Jack looked at his watch. Ed and Tam were still inside Aitkenbar and neither of them had phoned, which meant + they were still working, but there was nothing he could do to help them now. Donny had complained at being + left as a lookout with the spare phone, but he had the geese to feed for Neil anyway, and Jack had other + things to do. As long as Tam Bowie knew his stuff, they were on their way. One step at a time, that was the + way. But this was a big step.

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch11.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch11.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..77910c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch11.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,498 @@ + + + + + + 11 + + + + +
+
+

11

+ +

The geese fell in love with Neil Cleary, and the fish, well they caused a hell of a stink in more ways than one. That + was after Tam and Ed got out of Aitkenbar Distillery and after Jack Lorne had his hair dyed an odd shade.

+ +

Tam could hear the birds through the ventilation gap as dawn broke in the east, honking in that aggressive + territorial tone geese adopt. It had taken him two hours to finally get the connections made and he was + confident enough that whatever he had done couldn't be easily discovered. The maze of pipes still did what + they were supposed to do, for the time being at least. The final job had been to tighten a little grub screw + into the tiny hole in the coolant pipe and seal it. The freezing spray simply shut off. By that time Ed was + blue with the cold.

+ +

"God, I'm f... f... chilled to the bone." He could hardly speak for the chattering of his teeth and Tam + couldn't help grinning. Ed glared at him.

+ +

"You did that on purpose." It took him almost a minute to get the accusation out. The blanket was down on the + concrete and cold water pooled out from the fabric. Ed was scrambling to get out of his overalls. "Look at + me. I'll get pneumonia."

+ +

"It's only a bit of water. Us plumbers get wet all the time." Tam's neck was still sore from the cramp of the + barrel, and Ed just happened to be the nearest and easiest to take revenge on.

+ +

"If I snuff it, it's down to you." The overalls were off and Ed was trying to unbutton his shirt with stiff + numb fingers. Above him the heat sensor winked its blue metronome. He got the shirt off and stood there + shivering in his boxers, skin roughed and puckered with gooseflesh. He glared again at Tam.

+ +

"This had better work."

+ +

"Sure it'll work. Here, do you want something to heat you up?"

+ +

"Give me your shirt."

+ +

"Bugger off. I'm the tradesman here. You're just the hired help."

+ +

"Thanks pal." Ed stomped off, swinging his arms out and then around himself, trying to get the circulation + back. His jockeys dripped down his legs and left a trail on the floor. If it had been winter he'd have been + in serious trouble. Tam heard footsteps on the metal stairs and then a door open on the far side of the big + tank. A few minutes later Ed came back, wet feet slapping on the floor. He was buttoning a white lab coat + that built for someone several stone wider. Tam burst into a gale of laughter.

+ +

"What do you look like?"

+ +

Ed stopped and looked down at himself, hairy white legs poking down beneath the hem, and then he started to + laugh too.

+ +

"Here," Tam said. "This is the second Easter miracle." He held up a tin mug that was chipped with long rough + use. Ed took it, smelt it and his face lit up.

+ +

"Where did you get this?"

+ +

"Trust me, I'm a genius. You just have to know where all the pipes go, and a shifting spanner comes in fine + and dandy."

+ +

Ed took a big swallow of the overproof whisky and then coughed as it hit the spot. Colour came back into his + cheeks.

+ +

"Man, that goes down a treat."

+ +

Tam started dragging the toolbag away from the wall towards the shelter under the big tank, out of the direct + line of the heat sensor. He sat down with his back to a pillar and Ed joined him. He passed the mug back and + Tam took a fine swallow.

+ +

"Here's the good bit," he said. "If we have to wait for the morning, we might as well sit back and enjoy + this."

+ +

He dig into the bag and pulled out a long jointing compound tin, hut when he opened it, Ed saw a stack of fat + roll-ups.

+ +

"Finest Leb red," Tam said, handing one across. He lit up, sucked in and held it until his vision began to + waver.

+ +

"You're forgiven man, that's the business."

+ +

Sometime in the morning, after Marjory Burns had stamped Ed's card again, the pair of them hid behind the + barrels until Donny gave them the all clear, and Tam staggered out into the light of day, wove his way + across the grass, and stumbled face-first into the chain-link fence. The boys had to haul him and his + toolbag through the hole in the wire and drag him through the brambles. He was still singing an hour later + before he fell asleep in the sun. Ed was sent home sick.

+ +

The geese watchdogs had taken to the popcorn and somehow they had imprinted on Neil and now he couldn't get + rid of them. It had been a good idea that for a while had worked just a treat but now it had developed + unexpected complications. They had got used to coming to the fence for a feed, marching up and down, beaks + pointing at the sky, honking anticipation. Then he had weaned them away from the front, scattering mounds of + the stuff further and further way, until they became accustomed to gorging only a few yards from the + cooperage at the back of the building, well away from the decant hall.

+ +

"They can smell me half a mile away," he told Donny . "Either that or they're telepathic."

+ +

The pair of them had lugged another couple of plastic bags of corn feed through the new-worn track in the + bushes and far in the distance, the geese had already begun their cacophony.

+ +

"Listen to them," Neil said. "They love this stuff, but as soon as I get anywhere near the place they start + up that racket. It'll screw us for sure."

+ +

"You think we should shoot them?" Donny asked. "I've still got my old slug gun."

+ +

"Sure, great. Shoot the fuckers. Don't you think it might give the game away when they find dead bodies all + over the place?"

+ +

"If they keep that up they'll give the game away anyway. It's back to the drawing board."

+ +

Neil had been taken completely by surprise by the amount of popcorn that erupted from just a small pack of + kernels on that first night. His mother and his aunts had screeched like scalded cats when the stove had + turned itself into a fountain of the stuff and the kitchen ended up ankle deep after the boys had made a + fast exit. The women soon calmed down when he shovelled it up into a bin liner, but they were still finding + pieces of corn in all sorts of corners. It was more than a week since he had first turned up to wean them + away from the gatehouse and the first day they had set up such a commotion that the security men had come to + investigate and he'd had to sneak away through the undergrowth. Now the problem was even worse.

+ +

They reached the fence and two dozen big geese were strutting their stuff right up against the wire, ready + for a feeding frenzy. They had long white necks and strong beaks and little beady eyes that had a mean look + about them, but as soon as Neil started shovelling the popcorn through the wire they attacked it as if they + were starving. The noise of their bickering could have been heard across the other side of the river, and it + was just as well the birds were at the back end of the cooperage, where the high warehouse wall deflected + most of the sound.

+ +

"They're getting fatter as well," Neil said. "They must have put on a stone at least."

+ +

Donny watched in amazement as the birds fought and squabbled amongst themselves, scraping up against the wire + and flapping their wings with such force that the bushes rocked in the wind. White and grey feathers + spiralled into the summer air.

+ +

"What a commotion," Donny said. "You better tell Jack we got a problem."

+ +

"He just said keep them away from the front."

+ +

"But he never said you had to wake up the whole town."

+ +

Donny had problems of his own to worry about. He'd been detailed to get the decoys and that meant recruiting + his young brother and some of his pals to get themselves down the Kilmalid Burn with fishing nets made out + of old onion bags, trying to catch as many minnows and sticklebacks as they could find.

+ +

"What do you want them for?" Kevin Watson needed to know.

+ +

"I'm going to breed them," Donny said. "What's it to you? Just get down there and catch me a couple of + hundred."

+ +

"What's the catch?"

+ +

"No catch. I'll pay you"

+ +

"How? You'll be on the dole in a couple of weeks."

+ +

Donny grabbed Kevin by the collar and the boy's pal Danny Kane pulled back in case he got some too. Kevin was + just as red-headed as Donny was, that fine, bright, corkscrewed electric shock sort of ginger that's never + ever going to be in style until it's shaved right to the wood and maybe not even then. Kevin had been an + afterthought child, if indeed any thought had been put into his conception at all by his parents. He was + sixteen years younger than Donny, but you'd still know they were brothers.

+ +

"Listen, you cheeky wee bugger. I got money."

+ +

"How much?" Danny Kane had an eye to the main chance. He was Ed's nephew and every bit as smart on the + uptake.

+ +

"How much what?"

+ +

"How much for a fish?"

+ +

"Ten pence."

+ +

"Get lost, cheapskate." Donny still had Kevin by the lapels. His brother's voice sounded strangled, which was + not unreasonable under the circumstances.

+ +

"What do you mean get lost? That's a good deal."

+ +

"That's only a pound for ten. How much do you need?"

+ +

"About a hundred."

+ +

"A hundred my bum. It'll take us days to catch that many. A tenner for all that? No way."

+ +

Danny Kane piped up. "Tell you what, make it a pound and you got a deal."

+ +

"A pound?" Donny 's voice raised an octave. "A pound. For a stickleback? We used to catch them by the ton + when I was your age."

+ +

"Aye, well, you can go and catch your own ton then," Kevin said, "seeing you're such a big hot shot + expert."

+ +

"Look, I'll give you twenty pence a fish."

+ +

"Eighty," Danny said, grinning, and everybody could see where this would end up.

+ +

Donny let go when it got balanced out at fifty pence and hit Kevin a perfunctory slap on the back of his head + just for the hell of it. He'd have to ask Jack for a decent hit at the petty cash fund and he hoped there + would be no problem there. There was no chance he'd come back and lose face with Kevin and that sly little + Danny Kane by admitting he couldn't cough up.

+ +

What he didn't realise was that Danny Kane was every bit as smart as his uncle and despite the fact that + there was nothing better for twelve-year-olds to do in the high summer than spend a couple of afternoons + down at the Kilmalid stream hooking out brown trout and little tidal flounders, he had, even at this age, a + good estimation of time and motion and value for money. It was he who directed Kevin to build two lines of + stones in a downstream pointing chevron and drive two stakes into the steam bed with the onion mesh bag + stretched between them. After that the pair of them went fifty yards upstream, cut two straight ash saplings + with a thick crown of leaves and used them to sweep right down the little stream, driving every little fish + with the flow and into the bag. In less than half an hour they were trundling homewards pushing a wooden + bogey with ten big sweet jars filched from the back of Thornton's shop, each filled with an assortment of + gasping freshwater fish.

+ +

If it hadn't been for Danny Kane's ingenuity, then things might not have turned out the way they did, and + Donny Watson might not have ended up with an awful sore face and worse, but like the poem says, for the want + of a nail, the shoe was lost, and so on right up to the end where that one nail ends up closing the coffin + lid. But that's for later.

+ +

On the day Neil took Donny down with him to feed the geese, the boys made it back home with the fish gulping + for oxygen, and tipped them into the big plastic rain-butt behind the greenhouse that served as an ad-hoc + watering can during the height of the summer. Fortunately for the fish, the tub was full of mosquito larvae, + letting them gorge for a while until there were none left. Unfortunately for the little sticklebacks and + minnows, there was a hairline fracture in the base of the butt, that let out a fine trickle of water which, + as it was out of direct sight, nobody noticed. Even more unfortunate was the fact that the container sat at + the corner of the house, and for half the day it got the direct rays of the sun in the hottest summer + anybody could remember for a long time. Almost immediately the water began to heat up as its level lowered. + Donny treated the captives to a huge handful of goldfish food from Ryan's pet shop and left them to get on + with it, confident that they'd have enough to keep them going for the next couple of days.

+ +

It came as a great surprise to him when he next inspected the tank to find it half empty, filled with a + thick, foetid liquid, and giving off such a stench that he almost lost his lunch of pies and beans. And by + that time things had moved on. It was too late to send the boys out on another fishing expedition and Donny + had to think of another plan and that's what got him a really sore face and testicles and put the whole + operation in serious jeopardy.

+
+

Jack's brother Michael was a natural when it came to computers. Jack and their mother had scraped together + six years before and bought him an old Toshiba at Christmas. Mike had learned to programme by hacking in to + his games to gain more lives and become the envy of the gamers in street. It had seemed natural for him to + progress through school and now be applying for a place in a degree course on programming. He was eight + years younger than his brother and that gap was a huge chasm when it came to electronics. Jack could work + the phone and the stereo and managed to laboriously type his course reports on the old Dell, but Mike seemed + to be able to work the things telepathically.

+ +

"You want me to scan it or copy it?"

+ +

"What's the difference?" They were up in the loft that the pair of them had converted into men's territory, + with Jack's desk jammed in at a gable corner and Mike's study area festooned with wires and hardware. Mike + gave him a suffering look.

+ +

"If I scan it, I use the scanner. It has word recognition of a sort and will convert it into type. Or I can + copy the whole thing and jiggle it around to get the font right."

+ +

"Don't you get technical on me," Jack said. Mike was more slender, but dark like himself. "Jiggle it around. + Is that in the manual?"

+ +

Mike laughed. "It's quicker to scan. I got a program here that will do a great imitation."

+ +

"Then that's the one I want. I need it to look like the real thing."

+ +

He handed over the papers that Jed had sneaked out of the dairy.

+ +

"I need this and this," he said, spreading the sheets. He took out another paper unfolded it. "And can you do + me something like this?"

+ +

"Carson Convoy? Who are they?"

+ +

"Can you do it?"

+ +

"Does the pope wear a pointy hat?" Mike glanced up from the sheet of paper. "This is a lease document. What's + it for?"

+ +

"Trust me, Mikey boy, you don't want to know. Anybody asks, you know nothing, right?"

+ +

"What are you up to, Jack? Anything to do with those guys that duffed us up?"

+ +

Jack ruffled his bother's hair and Mike dodged out of the way. He'd always hated that. "Yes and no. I'm + trying to get a few things sorted out. And get a few people sorted out while I'm at it."

+ +

"But this is a hire agreement for trucks. You fake them and you're in deep shit."

+ +

"Look kiddo, we copy these and print them out, making them look like the real McCoy, and then you forget + about it, or I make you eat the damn things. Got the picture?"

+ +

"Don't get shirty, shorty."

+ +

Mike pulled back and looked Jack in the eye. "Listen Jake, you sure you're okay? I mean, if you're up to + something that could get you the nick, I mean.... "

+ +

"Nothing like that, egg-head. You're the brains of the family. I'm the brawn. You get this fixed for me and + I'll see you're fixed okay. Trust me, I'm your brother."

+ +

"That never made any difference before now," Mike said, but he was smiling now.

+ +

"Trust me or I'll kick the shit out of you."

+ +

"That's more like it."

+ +

"And we need a web site of our own," Jack said.

+ +

"Who's we?"

+ +

"Need to know," Jack said. He thought he should just engrave that phrase on his forehead. "And you definitely + don't."

+ +

"You have to start telling me something sometime. I can fix up a website, but I have to know what you want in + it."

+ +

"A whole lot of lies," Jack admitted.

+
+

Kate never recognised him at all. Joanne Cleary was an expert and Ed's girlfriend Donna Bryce had teamed up + with her to put fifteen years on him. He had done the deal backstage at the Starlight show, when the rest of + the cast were swilling beer and cheap white wine after the final curtain on the last night, air-kissing and + signing programmes and pretending to be real actors. Kate had given him the big posters he needed and after + the party he had gone home and sat up half the night, working a few things out.

+ +

Donna spread newspapers on the kitchen floor, slipped an old tablecloth around his neck and began to cut his + hair, starting with the hank that fell down over his eyes. She worked fast, talking all the time, while Neil + and Jed watched. Joanne was the direct opposite of her brother, fine featured and dark, with eyes that were + almost jet black and an olive complexion that contrasted with his freckles. She took after their mother in + looks and temperament and her three years at the Royal Scottish Academy of Music and drama were paying off + here. She sat at the kitchen table, preparing her make-up box while Donna began the bleaching process and + then added the colour that converted the former black into a steely grey. She blew dried Jack's hair into a + short slashback style and stripped off the tablecloth. When he turned round, even Joanne was amazed. The + change in style and colour had added ten years to him. It was up to her to do the rest with the collection + of brushes and skin tones and latex.

+ +

When they had gone, he put on his grandfather's old brown tweed suit and when he looked in the mirror, he + almost stepped back in real amazement. A stranger stared back at him over the top of grandad's rimless + glasses, a stranger who looked remarkably like the photograph of the wold man that stood on his mum's + dresser.

+ +

Jack's eyes were the same blue they'd always been, and his brows still dark and thick, but it was the face of + a forty-year-old who bent forward to examine him. He had one thumb hooked in the belly pocket of the + waistcoat, faint crows feet around the eyes and a sharper nose. He smiled and the brackets on either side of + his mouth appeared deeper and darker.

+ +

"Now would you look at that?"

+ +

The Irish accent came out of the blue, unplanned and spontaneous, but it fit with the image. He had the right + colouring and the right suit. "Top of the morning to you, and bottom of the afternoon as well, begod."

+ +

He grinned at himself and knew he could pull this off. Jack walked back into the hallway and began to strip + the jacket off when the door suddenly opened.

+ +

"What it the name of christ...." His uncle took one look and for a man on the other side of sixty he was on + him faster than even Jack himself would have believed. The old man flung a straight punch which caught him + right on the cheek with a meaty thud. Jack was standing with the jacket peeled off, his arms still jammed in + the sleeves, defenceless. The punch was hard enough to rock his head to the side. Two quick belly blows + doubled him up as he struggled to free himself and knocked the wind from him before he could get a word + out.

+ +

"Scumbag," Sandy grunted. Jack got his arm out of a sleeve, trying to shake the old man off, still unable to + catch his breath. "I'll teach you to break in on me."

+ +

He'd always been strong, Jack knew that, but he was still surprisingly fast. Jack squirmed out of the + head-lock, managed to push himself to his feet, grab a breath.

+ +

"Stop it, Sandy . You're killing me."

+ +

Sandy Bruce raised a gnarled fist to catch him another one on the eye and Jack blocked it with his left, + grabbed the wrist and hung on tight.

+ +

"Honest. I give in."

+ +

"Jack?" Sandy pulled back, startled. "What the hell.....?"

+ +

"Yeah, it's me. I never expected you back for ages."

+ +

"For heaven's sake, boy. What in the name's happened to you?"

+ +

Jack held on to the wrist, just in case. Sandy leant forward.

+ +

"Is that my glasses?"

+ +

"No, it's grandad's old pair."

+ +

"And what's happened to your hair, man. You look like you've seen a ghost." He pulled back further. "Just + what are you up to?"

+ +

Jack eased himself upright, and pulled Sandy up to his feet. He sat down while his uncle got his own breath + back.

+ +

"Put the kettle on. I suppose I'd better tell you the score before you kick the living shit out of me."

+ +

Sandy made a cup of tea and then he broke the first of the two rules of business. He told his uncle + everything.

+ +

They welcomed him at Dunvegan distillery and insisted he took a dram of the finest malt that was even older + than he was. It had taken two hours and twenty minutes to get from Levenford to the bridge across the sound + to Skye, and then another hour to cross the whole island to get to the little distillery nested in a narrow + little glen, huddled in from the big winds and storms that swept in from the other side of the Atlantic. The + time factor bothered him and his backside was numb and sore. Tam was used to travelling about on the big + Dragstar and maybe his skin was calloused by now, but three hours on the rough roads north wasn't merciful + on the tailbone and Jack needed a hot bath to soak the stiffness out. He glanced at himself in the mirror of + the hotel bedroom, and realised he felt the way he looked. Tam stayed out of sight when he called for a + local cab to take him up to the distillery and none of the Dunvegan union men who had been down protesting + at the closure gave him a second glance. He got a tour of the premises and the stock, and Alistair Sproat + called from Aitkenbar just to make sure everything was going to plan. Jack didn't even have to concentrate + on the accent. The very fact of wearing his grandfather's good tweed suit just brought out whatever Celt was + in him. His cheek still hurt, but Neil's sister had smoothed over the abrasions with some thick cream and + managed to get it to match the other one.

+ +

"Mr Gabriel," Sproat had shaken his hand, strong and surprisingly firm when Jack had expected it to be weak + and sweaty.

+ +

Never make assumptions, they just make an ass out of u and me. Was that from one of the business + course chapters, or had he heard it in a movie? Jack shucked the thought away, needing to concentrate. This + was the difficult part. The rest of it was just down to timing and organisation and making sure everybody + did their bit.

+ +

Margery Burns had given him the eye when he sat down in the neat reception area with the big coffee table + books that showed the basics of how whisky was made at Aitkenbar. She brought him a coffee and looked him up + and down, taking in the good handmade suit cut in a classic style, and the thick grey hair. Jack nodded, not + risking a smile just in case any of the latex peeled away from his nose.

+ +

"You're from Ireland?"

+ +

He nodded again, wishing she would go away. She'd made sure her fingers touched his when she passed the + coffee and he wondered if Jed knew he wasn't the exclusive stable jockey. Maybe he didn't care.

+ +

"And are you staying here today?"

+ +

He shook his head, lowered his voice and the Ulster accent didn't let him down.

+ +

"I'll be flying back tonight."

+ +

"That's a shame," she said, and smiled, letting him know that if he changed his mind, accommodation would not + be a problem. She was either making up for lost time or really going for revenge. Whatever way, she was + doing a fine job.

+ +

Sproat saw him in to the board room, narrow and panelled, with a big mahogany table from the golden days of + the past before the big conglomerates began to squeeze everybody and before designer drinks took the wind + out of the old whisky sails. Jack concentrated on his manner, glad that he'd spent the night going over + everything, predicting any questions. If Margery Burns hadn't recognised him, nobody would. The octagonal + rimless glasses gave him an air of aloofness, and that was no bad thing. We never get a second chance to + make a good first impression. Another rule. He was well primed.

+ +

"A client of mine understands you have a fine supply of whiskies that you might be looking to move on," Jack + said.

+ +

"There's always a possibility of business," Sproat said urbanely.

+ +

Jack had seen the books. Margery was truly helpful, if extremely insistent. It had not been an easy thing to + keep out of the grasp of those red nails.

+ +

"We'd be interested in an initial tranche of a hundred barrels of eight-year-old. You have that, plus another + hundred of five and a considerable bulk of under-age that's going to take a bit of moving. There's a + possibility we could be talking about a fairly sizeable order."

+ +

"I have to say you're very well informed, Mr Gabriel." Sproat was smiling as he crossed to the ornate + tantalus that caged three exquisite decanters.

+ +

"Call me Michael," Jack said. "Everybody else does. Sure, it's best to do the homework first, so you can + enjoy yourself afterwards."

+ +

"I've done some homework myself. Your brokerage is fairly new."

+ +

"Brand spanking new. It's a branch-out, some young heads and some old money. It's just a change of market. We + were mostly in the Balkans until the market fell away, if you understand. Now there's better business in the + Baltic. They're fed up with the Vodka and like a taste of the ould stuff, even if it's costing an arm and a + leg."

+ +

"Yes, I saw that on the web-site." Sproat poured two manly glasses.

+ +

"If we don't take care of the customer, somebody else will. My clients believe in that philosophy and if + you're interested, you can get a better deal than from any of the big boys. There's a lot of new money over + there looking for a place to come in out of the cold, if you take my meaning. Good quality Scotch is in big + demand, and over there, quality remains long after the price is forgotten."

+ +

"Over here too," Sproat beamed. Jack had done his homework and he knew just how keen Sproat was to empty the + warehouses now that the deal was almost complete with the developers. Everybody knew he'd be doing a stock + clearance and the buyers would be waiting to the last minute to scoop low at auction. Anything that upped + the price and achieved a quick sale would have the gleam of gold over it.

+ +

"Tell me Michael, do you play golf?"

+ +

"Indeed I do. You'll be looking for a challenge would you?"

+ +

"I'll fix up a game at the club," Sproat said.

+ +

"Good. You do that." Jack was well into it.

+ +

"Now, we also understand that your place on Skye, well, that's just going to be empty warehousing now."

+ +

"There's interest from the tourist board," Sproat said. Dunvegan was tiny, not a major part of the set-up. + "They've applied to enterprise for money to turn it into an attraction."

+ +

"Shame to see it change business," Jack said. "Now, we would be needing somewhere to store and mature."

+ +

He could see the money signs light up in Sproat's eyes. Jack lifted his glass and allowed himself to drain + it. It was the smoothest whisky he had ever tasted in his life. He wondered where he could get a bottle for + Sandy.

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch12.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch12.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..271dd33 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch12.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,733 @@ + + + + + + 12 + + + + +
+
+

12

+ +

Tam walked straight in through the front door of the dairy and slapped the papers down on Jim McGuire’s desk.

+ +

Everything was speeding up, moving in a blur, and now they had too few days to do too many things. Marjory Burns had + done her job and intercepted the outgoing mail at Aitkenbar and Jed had kept his ear to the ground in the dairy. He + phoned Jack from the call box round the corner.

+ +

"They're coming on Tuesday."

+ +

"Too soon. That just gives us two days."

+ +

"How are we going to do this?"

+ +

Jack paused. "I'll have to think of something quick."

+ +

"Andy Kerr's going to be away tomorrow. We might get a chance then."

+ +

It was only two days since he'd come back down from Skye, butt-sore from the long ride. Kate had passed him in the + street and taken a second glance and then walked on, and instead of going round to his mother's house, he had passed + straight to Sandy's. He'd already gone through all this with his uncle and didn't feel like making up any more + stories. Now the big Fruehauf dairy tankers were going back to the dealer and the window of opportunity was closing. + He called Tam and sent him round to Donna Bryce for a new identity.

+ +

The red hair and beard looked ridiculous to anybody who knew him, and just about everybody did, but with a pair of + aviator sunglasses it changed Tam's appearance just enough. So long as nobody examined him too closely, they might + get away with it. Jack hooked out an old flying jacket and pulled on a couple of sweaters to bulk him out and by the + time they got to the dairy he was drenched in sweat, from the heat and from the tension. Everybody here had known + him for years and he had to stay out of sight as much as he could. Jed had the spare mobile and he managed to sneak + away from the delivery bay and get into Jim McGuire's office when Jim was out organising the next day's deliveries. + All he had to do was steal his reading glasses and hope for the best. He waited at the end of the corridor when Tam + went inside.

+ +

Tam carried it off almost perfectly.

+ +

"You have to wait and see Mr Kerr." Jim searched around the top of the desk for his glasses. "He'll be back + tomorrow."

+ +

"No can do, my man." Tam's east coast accent was atrocious. He had found an old seventies car-coat and put on a + battered trilby hat from Oxfam and looked a total mess, but it was enough to get past the manager.

+ +

"There it is. Date stamped and all."

+ +

"I'll have to call the boss."

+ +

"You do that." Tam half-turned and when McGuire called to Jessie in the front office for Andy Kerr's mobile number, + he gave Jed a thumb's up. Jessie called out the digits and the manager dialled. Jed bent down and hooked + the little electrical field generator on to the phone cable in the hallway. Tam could hear the sudden burst of + crackle in the receiver. Jim jerked it away from his ear and looked at it as if it was a snake.

+ +

"Damn thing, half deafened me." He hung up. "Must be in a tunnel."

+ +

"Aye, well. Here you are. I have to get a signature."

+ +

The documents would probably have passed a perfunctory scrutiny in any case, but Jack had not been prepared to take + that chance. Jim called to Jessie again and got her to bring in the file and he opened it on the desk, leaning + forward to peer at the text.

+ +

"Damn and blast. Jessie, have you seen my specs?"

+ +

"It's just a standard repo agreement," Tam put in. "Mr Kerr knows all about it, y'ken? It's all fixed. I can leave it + with you, but they trucks have to go today, like."

+ +

Jim hesitated, wondering what to do.

+ +

"Bugger it," he finally said. A day wouldn't make any difference. He signed the sheet and Tam made a production of + peeling a back copy away. Jim stuck it in the file.

+ +

"You got the keys?" After Jed's night foray they already had spares, just in case this whole thing went wrong and + they had to come back at midnight, but he had to go through the motions.

+ +

"On the board. They're marked with the numbers."

+ +

"Aye, right." Tam reached for them, snatched and got himself out of there. Jed stayed at the back door, making sure + no-one was about, then motioned them forward. Jack sneaked in, got in the cab and started up the big diesel. Jim + McGuire watched as the silver tankers pulled out, with Jack taking the lead, as Tam had never driven anything that + size before. Jed ducked back in and palmed the static gadget and by the time he got back to the bottling hall, the + big shutter doors were closed again and the tankers were gone.

+ +

They got to the burgh boundary and Jack slowed to a crawl near the Drymains roundabout and took a side track that led + down by the old castle access road that was banked on either side by the tall walls that used to hem in the + shipyards. They stopped here and Donny pulled up in Willie McIver's van.

+ +

They began hauling the blue tarpaulins out from the back. The rest of the boys worked quickly, dragging the tarps + over the big silver cylinders and tying them onto the stanchions, while Tam used the electric drill to screw on the + fake plates. The whole operation took fifteen minutes and then they were off again. They headed out past Drymains + towards Barloan Harbour, then took a left up to the old Overburn estate grounds and when they reached the height, + they had a tricky turn up to the big forestry commission spruce plantation. Donny opened the gate and the tankers + eased through, taking the forest track for half a mile and then backing into an even narrower track. Tam only killed + one spruce sapling and that was good going for him.

+ +

"You better hope there isn't a forest fire," Donny said.

+ +

"We'll chance it for two days," Jack assured him.

+ +

The next day, the police were swarming all over the dairy, and Andy Kerr was really in the thick of it. Of all the + crazy things they did that summer, that was the one that gave Jack Lorne the most guilt.

+ +

But if they were going to do everything he planned, they had to have Andy's big tankers.

+ +

It hadn't been hard to figure out what Sproat had been up to with Kerr Thomson on the night Tam and Ed fixed the + pipes in Aitkenbar Distillery. The three of them had sat round the kitchen table late in the afternoon when + everybody else was out, and they'd gone through what the pair of them had seen. Jack had questioned them closely and + had modified his plan just a little, realising Sproat would fall heavily for the chance of some extra cash and + knowing he had made himself vulnerable. The following day he was back on the web again and set up yet another + company, digging in to the dwindling petty cash. Once again he got a re-direct on the mail and made sure Margery + Burns was well briefed. She was a demanding woman, but so well placed that her importance was strategic, and Jack + decided that all was fair in love, war and business, and just so long as Jed and Kate never found out, well he could + handle it. He hoped.

+ +

The faxes came in from Aitkenbar in the next few days and Jack took two calls direct from Sproat, calls that were + diverted from the land-line to his mobile, and Sproat never knew the difference, especially when Margery Burns was + handling the link.

+ +

"Michael, good to speak to you again. I think we can accommodate that request."

+ +

Jack punched the air, then held his hand up for total silence, Tam and Ed held still.

+ +

"That's terrific. My people will be well pleased at that. How soon do you want to get this done, for I know time's + pressing for us both."

+ +

"You come down here on Wednesday and I think we can do business. Maybe we could take in a quick nine holes if the + weather holds."

+ +

"Sure, that would be fine. Maybe we can make it interesting, Alistair. Perhaps a pound a hole."

+ +

"I'm sure we can do better than that Michael."

+ +

Jack hung up. "He's going for it. He'll probably go for more, greedy little reptile."

+ +

Tam looked at Jack's new hair colour. "You look just like your Dad, God rest him."

+ +

"I know. That's why I'm scared to go home. It would freak my mother. You, on the other hand, look like a child + molester. You think maybe you could take that daft beard off?"

+ +

Jed got a dose of the jitters because the following day the agent came down from the dealership to collect the + tankers and found them gone. At almost a hundred grand each, the theft was a very big deal in a small town like + this. Chief Inspector Angus Baxter handled this one personally and he took it personally too. He had Andy Kerr in + for a full day of querstions, and Jim McGuire for longer than that, dragging them through the details.

+ +

"It's clearly a fake," Baxter said. He had that slow island way with him, speaking the way DJ from Dunvegan did, as + if he was translating from the Gaelic into English every time he opened his mouth. That made him sound slow, but he + was sharp as a tack. "It's a forgery." He pronounced it four-cherry.

+ +

"I know that," Kerr said. "Unless Carson Convoy are at it."

+ +

"Do you think they are?"

+ +

Andy shook his head. "I don't know what to think. All I know is I was waiting for them to come down and take the damn + things back and now they're gone."

+ +

"And who else knew?"

+ +

"Everybody knew. It wasn't any big secret they were going. I don't think anybody knew when, though. I had to lay off + some people and the tankers were too big an oncost."

+ +

"Yes, I understand you have had cash flow problems. And these tankers, they'd be worth a lot of money?"

+ +

"Nearly a quarter of a mil.....what do you mean?" Andy's face was getting greyer by the minute. "Are you suggesting I + had anything to do with this."

+ +

"I'm never suchesting anything at all," Baxter said. "I'm chust inquiring."

+ +

Jim McGuire had it just as bad.

+ +

"And where were your glasses then?"

+ +

"On my desk."

+ +

"And you couldn't find them when you signed this fourcherry?"

+ +

"No, I couldn't. This chap with a Newcastle accent showed me the thing and said it was all okay. How was I to + know?"

+ +

It went on like that all day, with the rep from Carson Convoy relaying the details back to his head office and the + messages coming back that Andy Kerr was in the deepest shit imaginable and he'd better have a good lawyer. The whole + thing just spiralled down to a real mess.

+ +

"I feel really rotten about this," Jed said. "I mean, he's done his level best and we've gone and landed him well in + the shit."

+ +

Jack felt the same way, and he'd always known he would. That had been the difficult part, knowing the cost and still + going ahead with it.

+ +

"We'll make it up to him," he said, hoping he was right.

+ +

"How? Visit him in the Bar-L? He looks as if he's been hit by a truck. I really don't know if I can do this to + him."

+ +

Jack rounded on him. "Sure Jed. You want to pull out now? Maybe go talk to Baxter. What are you going to say?"

+ +

"I only said..."

+ +

"Only losing your nerve. Come on Jed. You back out now and we're all in the shit along with Andy with absolutely + nothing to show for it. We all go down for stealing the trucks that were going back to the dealers and we haven't + even had a chance yet."

+ +

He breathed out through pursed lips, as if he was letting off pressure. Casualties of war. You keep them to a + minimum. He clapped his hands to Jed's shoulders. The others watched silently.

+ +

"Come on man. You have to hold on. I told you could lose your shirt, but not if I can help it. And as for Andy, well + the business is going down the stank anyway, so if it comes sooner, then it makes hardly a splash, does it? If I can + help him, I will, but we have to get this thing done first. You have to trust me, right? It'll all come good."

+ +

Jed bit his lip. There was no bad in him. Everybody waited. They all felt guilt for Andy Kerr.

+ +

"Aye, sure," he finally said, head down. Jack felt a wrench in his belly. It was another hurdle he didn't need. + Another burden.

+ +

They were back in Gillespie's boat down at the sandy point where the river joined the Clyde. The first meeting was + only weeks past, and it seemed a whole lot further away than that. Tam had got rid of the hair and the beard, but + Jack was still wearing the grey and keeping out of sight.

+ +

Margery Burns had been determined to find out what was really going on, when she brought him the news.

+ +

"You're face is melting," she had hissed at him, taking him completely by surprise and his heart seemed to leap up + and lodge under his chin. "Into the bathroom, quick!"

+ +

She dumped the coffee, grabbed him by the elbow and hustled him into the ladies toilet round the corner from Sproat's + office.

+ +

"What a mess," she hissed again. "Was that you on Thursday?"

+ +

He nodded, trying to peer over her shoulder past the tampon machine. She leaned in.

+ +

"Just what are you up to, Mr fake-face Lorne?"

+ +

"No time," he managed to get out.

+ +

"Plenty of time. He's just taken a call from Trading Estates, those mall developers. He's never less than twenty + minutes. This is more than just a union thing, isn't it."

+ +

He managed to see himself in the mirror. A piece of latex was peeling away from his nose, like flaking skin. Jesus, + I don't need this, he thought.

+ +

"And it's not just the Charter protest either. You have me intercepting phone calls and outgoing mail and then you + turn up in a disguise like Val Kilmer in The Saint."

+ +

She reached up and smoothed the latex a little, leaning in close. "Tell you what though, you suit the distinguished + look."

+ +

Margery reached down to her bag and rummaged inside. "Here," She brought out a small sticking plaster. "It's the best + I can think of, unless you want to tell him you've got leprosy."

+ +

"Thanks Marge, you're a lifesaver."

+ +

"And you can dispense with that phoney accent with me. You sound like a thick Ulster oaf. Like my dear and very + soon-to-be-ex-husband."

+ +

"Is it working?"

+ +

"Passable," she said. "But tonight you're coming round to my place and you're going to tell me everything."

+ +

"What about Jed?"

+ +

"Don't you worry about Gerard," she said. "What's for him won't go past him, and after being stuck with that + dead-head of mine for twenty five years, I'm wasting no time. Life's for living. He can enjoy it while he lasts. And + so, young Mr Lorne, can you."

+ +

His heart was slowing down. She had him by the shorts and there was no getting round it. He wondered if she'd have + the bottle to know it all. It was bad enough bringing his uncle into it, but a woman? This woman?

+ +

"You're playing golf today?"

+ +

He nodded.

+ +

"Right. He hooks, so you'll get him on the ninth, thirteenth and fifteenth at least. And he cheats, so you can take a + few extra balls in your pocket, for he certainly will. And he's under a lot of pressure from these Charter people + who want the place listed, so take him for plenty."

+ +

She leant in even closer and nipped his bottom lip in a slow, sensuous, woman's bite and when she pulled back she was + wearing the most mischievous grin he had ever seen on a human, with the possible exception of Uncle Sandy. Maybe he + should fix the two of them up.She drew a hand down underneath his jacket.

+ +

"Just don't lose all your balls," she said. The quick squeeze almost doubled him up.

+ +

Sproat cheated shamelessly. It amazed Jack that he thought nobody noticed him, but then again, Jack told himself, if + Marge hadn't mentioned, maybe he never would have picked it up. He was a bad-tempered player and Jack could see why + he hooked the ball. He was all tight and tense on the left side, lowering his shoulder just on the strike. Jack took + a fiver on the three holes Margery had said and another four in succession. By the time they got to the thirteenth, + he was twenty notes up and Sproat was fuming, but that's the way he wanted it. He needed Sproat to get reckless.

+ +

"What if we double it for the final three," the other man said. He reminded Jack of the snooty members in pringle + jumpers and Ben Sherman polos who had chased them on that blistering savannah day. "Give me a chance to win + back."

+ +

"Sure," Jack said, easily, putting on the accent now he was sure it was working, hoping the latex wouldn't peel + further. "Whatever you think."

+ +

He deliberately sliced the tee shot out into the swamp and ignored the shouted offers from the three mud boys.

+ +

"Good that we could get this thing moving. My clients are delighted. Not at your tax though. Eighty percent? That's a + huge amount."

+ +

Sproat hit well down the middle. "It's killing us. That's why we're better off in the designer drinks market. It's + expanding when everything else is tightening up, takes less alcohol, and doesn't need to age for half a + century."

+ +

"Eighty percent tax. It's like prohibition. You look at America, what it was like back in the twenties. And Sweden, + that's even worse, you know. You wouldn't believe what they're paying for in spirits. It's got so bad they've + developed this new home brew yeast that gives them twenty percent alcohol. It keeps them comatose through the dark + winter nights. Instant hibernation."

+ +

"Each to their own," Sproat said. "The Customs and Excise, it's always been a law unto itself. The Scotch Whisky + Association has been banging its head on the front door of Downing Street for decades, but they're farting against + thunder."

+ +

Jack laughed at the mix of metaphor. Sproat just didn't realise that.

+ +

"Just think the profits you could make if you could push some untaxed onto the continent. Eighty percent! It would be + like a windfall would it not?"

+ +

Sproat nodded. Jack let it sink in. The other man lined up to the ball and was just on the backswing when Jack looked + away.

+ +

"Here, while we're talking I know some folk who might be interested in taking that wee distillery on Skye right off + your hands."

+ +

Sproat hooked so far into the marsh that he had to drop another ball.

+ +

The meeting had to be set up as a matter of urgency. Margery Burns slipped the note into his pocket when she helped + him on with his jacket.

+ +

"Face still intact," she whispered. Sproat looked up but she had turned away again. Jack took a glance at her legs + and thought she really still had it for a woman of her age. Just as well, he told himself. Sproat caught the glance + and smirked.

+ +

"I could maybe fix you up."

+ +

"Very nice thought, Alistair, but I've taken forty quid and I feel bad enough already." Jack grinned. If she knew + Sproat had said that, she'd personally strangle the little prick with one of her expensive sheer stockings.

+ +

She met him that night, after he and Sproat had chewed a few things over and got close to the heads of agreement. + When he'd heard there was interest in the Dunvegan distillery, Sproat's tongue had almost been hanging out, and that + had been enough to chivvy him into the first deal. He was in the bag. Mike had already printed out the contract on + his computer system. Apart from the numbers, it was word for word identical to the blanks Margery had managed to get + from the files. All Sproat could see were dollar signs.

+ +

Here on Gillespie's dry-landed boat they listened while he ran through the plan.

+ +

"Just as well we got those trucks," he said. "The decant has been switched again."

+ +

He didn't tell them that the change in timing was because Sproat thought he was clearing out one of the storage sheds + and wanted to get this out the way as quickly as possible. The rules of business still applied and the less people + knew, the less they could tell. And the fewer people who did know, the fewer you had to trust.

+ +

"To when?"

+ +

"Wednesday."

+ +

"Nobody told us," Ed said. "Are you sure?"

+ +

"Got it from as near the horse's mouth to smell the breath." Nobody knew about his deal.

+ +

Jed gave him an odd look.

+ +

"So now we have to get things moving. I need another ton from everybody, no cheques, no plastic and no IOU's. Just + cash."

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

"Diesel for a start. These tankers don't run on air. We have to hire a pump, so get a good Dewalt one Ed, something + that can do five thousand gallons an hour, and that's minimum. See what they've got and how heavy. Try Harcourt + Plant and if they haven't got what we need, we'll borrow one from Direct Works."

+ +

"The council don't hire plant," Tam said. "They're as tight as crab's arses."

+ +

"I said borrow from them," Jack said. "Big Shug Cannon will get us anything we want for two bottles of hooch. If it + comes down to it, we'll use drain pumps."

+ +

Everybody agreed with that, so there was no problem either way, but they had to move fast.

+ +

"Any problems?"

+ +

There was a silent pause. Neil looked at Donny and gave him a go-ahead sign, trying to make it look as if he hadn't, + but Jack caught it. It was all so close now that everything seemed picked out in a strange clarity, the edges + sharply defined, the colours clear and separate, as if all senses were up and working at max. He felt completely + alive.

+ +

"What's up Donzo?"

+ +

Donny's face tried to match his hair. He squirmed a bit and shuffled like a schoolboy trying to sneak his first + kiss.

+ +

"It's them fish you wanted."

+ +

"Yeah? You told me you'd got hundreds of them."

+ +

"Sure, I did."

+ +

"Good, they cost me fifty. That's our venture capital. A big investment."

+ +

"And then they died," Donny admitted and his face turned pure scarlet. "I had them in a tank, but it must have got + too hot in the sun, so they all cooked. I only discovered it today."

+ +

"That's okay. We don't need them alive."

+ +

"No, you don't understand. They cooked, man. I've got a tankful of mush, know what I mean? It's like + stickleback chowder and it smells to high heaven. It would make you puke."

+ +

"Great," Tam said. He looked at Jack. "What the hell did you need fish for?"

+ +

Jack didn't even respond to that. He rounded on Donny.

+ +

"Well, I paid fifty and I want fish. Just go and get some more."

+ +

"My wee brother's gone to scout camp," Donny said helplessly.

+ +

"I don't care if you have to go down the burn and hook them out with your teeth. But if we don't have a decoy, + everybody will know what's happened once we move. Just make sure you get them, right? That's your job, and we don't + have time."

+ +

"I might need some more dough."

+ +

Jack looked at Ed. "Give him a bullseye from the kitty." Ed opened the tin and flicked out the two tens and a five. + Donny took it sheepishly.

+ +

Jack breathed out. "Anybody else?"

+ +

This time Neil did the sand-dancing. It was hot in the boat and he had big damp patches under his armpits.

+ +

"Okay Neil man, you got the floor. Hit me now."

+ +

"Listen Jake, I did my best, honest."

+ +

"You only had to feed the birds Neil, what's the but?"

+ +

"They think I'm their mother, that's the but. I did like you said and it worked just like clockwork. I've got them + coming right round the back of Aitkenbar. But now if I get inside half a mile of the place they go berserk. You were + right about the popcorn, they're hooked on the stuff. But they go totally crazy for it. And they follow me all over + the place, but the noise would wake the dead, man."

+ +

Jack put his head in his hands, elbows on the little formica table. Sunlight streamed in the brass porthole and he + felt a little bubble of hysteria build up. All of a sudden it just burst out and a fit of uncontrollable giggles + shook him.

+ +

"Jesus," he gasped when he could finally get a breath. "Donny screws the fish, and geese fancy Neil. What the hell + are we doing?"

+ +

Ed let him go until the laughter finally subsided.

+ +

"And then there's these rottweillers," he said. "They've brought in new security guards."

+ +

Jack sat back, clamping down on the laughter.

+ +

"Dogs now? We'll just have to get a gun and shoot them."

+ +

"Shoot them? Jesus Jake, are you crazy?"

+ +

He held his hands up. "Probably, bringing you shmucks in on anything. Christ, you can't even catch a few fish and + feed a few geese? Right. Okay. We'll do it Chaucer's way again."

+ +

"What way is that?"

+ +

"Tam, don't you ever read anything without a staple in its belly? You ever read Canterbury Tales?"

+ +

"Listen to the mental milkman!"

+ +

"You have to learn, chance fights ever on the side of the prudent."

+ +

"Okay, who said that one?"

+ +

"Euripides.

+ +

"You rippa dese pants," Neil came in. "I kicka your balls."

+ +

"Jeez. I'm chief whip to a bunch of ignoramuses. Okay, forget the culture, just stick to the plan."

+ +

Sandy was blunt about it.

+ +

"It's far too complex," he said. "The best plans are really simple."

+ +

"This has to be complex if we're going to get away with it

+ +

"You're taking on too much. Listen Jack, you've got six of you involved in it, and that's six places for a tin can to + leak like a sieve."

+ +

"Eight now," he said. "Including yourself."

+ +

"Who's the other one?"

+ +

"You don't want to know."

+ +

"It's not that nice artist girl, is it? Pretty one with red hair and all the brains?"

+ +

Jack shook his head. "No. She's well out of it."

+ +

"I wish I was too. It's okay brewing a bit of beer and making that fancy woman's stuff for the club nights. But hell + and shite, Jack, this is in a different league."

+ +

"You're not in this. Not this part of it anyway. You tell Willie we'll give him a ton for the van for one + night. Any comeback and he says it's been nicked. And all we have to do is put on the dog for Sproat, and that's + legit anyway. He's got his tongue hanging out and he's not thinking straight."

+ +

"Just you make sure you don't get too smart, my boy. Big Angus Baxter's all over the town like a coat of cheap paint, + and he's nobody's mug. Your mother would kill you."

+ +

"So don't tell her."

+ +

"You think I'd cut my own throat?" His uncle grinned at him, but there was concern in it. Jack caught sight of them + both in the hallway mirror and, with the grey still in his hair, he was astonished at how similar they were. Margery + Burns was right. It did make him look distinguished. For a fleeting moment he wondered if he should keep it this + way.

+ +

Kate had been round at the house on the pretext of asking for Jack's help in the next Starlight production, but + nobody was fooled.

+ +

"I haven't seen him for days," Alice Lorne said. She poured them a cup of tea. "You know what he's like sometimes. + Just goes off on his own for a while. He's got a few plans."

+ +

"I know," Kate said. "He told me. I said I thought it was a complete waste of time."

+ +

"What was that, love?"

+ +

"Going out on the North Sea on a supply boat. It's just manual labour with no future."

+ +

"Out on a boat? He never told me anything about that. It would surprise me though, for our Jack, he gets awfully + seasick, always has since he was small. Are you sure that's what he told you?"

+ +

She asked Jed and Neil when she met them in the street, stopped at the traffic lights on River Street in the souped + up Skoda that Jed was still working on for the stock racing. It sounded like a hog with a sore throat and looked + like it was held together with string and duct tape. They were about to pull away when she climbed in the back and + leant on the roll-bar,

+ +

"Where are you guys off to?"

+ +

They were heading down to Gillespie's boat for the meet. Neil and Jed exchanged fast glances and she caught that + right away.

+ +

"A big secret then, is it? Just for the boys?"

+ +

"No!" They both replied at once.

+ +

"Oh really. And of course I believe you. Anybody seen Jack?"

+ +

They looked at each other again.

+ +

"Haven't you?" Neil asked.

+ +

"Now would I be asking if I had?" She leaned forward between them. "What's going on, boys? I hear Jack got a neat + haircut, and a wee birdie tells me he's gone and had it coloured."

+ +

"Who told you that?"

+ +

She laughed out loud, hanging on to the roll-bar. They were transparent to her.

+ +

"More secrets? I think I've stumbled into the masons."

+ +

"No, honest, Kate. I haven't seen him for days. He's got a job on a boat somewhere."

+ +

"And he hasn't told his mother?"

+ +

"It's just a try-out," Jed put in too quickly. "To see if he likes it."

+ +

She sat back, thinking. Jed slowed down at the bridge, hoping she'd take the hint, worried in case Jack came round + the corner.

+ +

"You sure he's not getting all tarted up for a couple of Swedish bimbettes?"

+ +

"Come on Kate. That was just a one night," Jed said.

+ +

"And he never put a hand on them," Neil interjected quickly. "Honest."

+ +

"So he's gone to sea, has he?"

+ +

"Far as we know," Tam said, trying to keep his face straight. They dropped her at the corner and she was still none + the wiser. But later in the afternoon she met Michael, and he was no match for her at all.

+ +

Gus Ferguson was also looking for Jack Lorne. He'd put the word around the Corrieside boys, who would always exchange + a tip for a bottle of Buckfast wine, but in the past couple of days, nobody had seen him or heard a thing.

+ +

The Irish connection had him beat, and he'd even made a couple of tentative inquiries up the city, just in case. You + never knew, with all these nutters out of the Maze and lots of time on their hands and here on the Clydeside, the + sectarian thing was still in the blood. You never knew who was related to who back in the old country. Wiggy Foley + had hit it on the head when he said he didn't know whether Lorne was a Tim or a Prod and at the end of the day + Ferguson still didn't know either. He'd found out Lorne's father had been Catholic, and his mother protestant, so he + was a half-caste in these parts. He could jump any way at all.

+ +

Guns: They put a different slant on things. Cullen and Foley, they were never the most reliable at the best of times, + solid muscle from ear to ear, and generally handy enough for a bit of shoving and shaking, although in recent days + he'd had to revise his estimate of their worth. Who knows what had happened in Whitehead's scrap yard. Somebody had + pulled a gun and almost singed Wiggy's ear, and that changed the situation. So far he hadn't heard the story + repeated on the jungle drums, and that was a good thing, because it meant he still had some face, but it would + eventually get out and he'd have to take some swift action to put that right, once he'd found out who and what he + was up against.

+ +

Lorne, on the other hand, seemed to have done a runner. Nobody had seen him anywhere and that could be a plus + depending on how you looked at it. Maybe Seggs and Wiggy had given him a tanking, despite the evidence to the + contrary, and maybe Lorne had buzzed off to lick his wounds. It could be that, but Ferguson didn't think so. Maybe + he was just lying low. He certainly had no team to back him up, not in this town.

+ +

But who was that masked man? It wasn't the Lone Ranger and it wasn't Batman either, Ferguson told himself. And the + stranger spoke with an Irish accent.

+ +

Which part of Ireland? North or South? Belfast or Dublin? No-one knew.

+ +

What Ferguson did not know was that he had passed Jack twice in the past two days, and once was on the golf course. + Alistair Sproat had waved him through when his ball had disappeared into the scrub and had given him the nod. The + big fellow with him had tipped his cap, but he'd been wearing mirror sunglasses and Ferguson couldn't tell where + he'd been looking.

+ +

The second time was when he was collecting personally from that mouth Watson's aunt Jean Bailey, standing on the + front doorstep to let all the neighbours know. She was a thin woman with hair dyed the colour she was sure she + remembered having some years back and it made her look like a Swan Vesta match. No matter what he'd said to Watson, + there was no chance in hell he'd put it to this skanky bitch.

+ +

"Haven't seen your Donny in a while."

+ +

"Me neither," she said, keeping her voice flat. She needed the dough week on week, just like the pawnshop, so she + wouldn't offend him if she could help it. Times were hard.

+ +

"That's a shame. I was hoping we could have a chat."

+ +

"I thought yon Cullen already spoke to him."

+ +

"Don't you worry, Ginger. It's not him I'm looking for. But I hear he's in with a bad crowd. Somebody should just + point him in the right direction, maybe give him good advice."

+ +

"Oh yes. You?"

+ +

"Has to come from somebody, Jean. You let him know it could be worth his while. And I tell you what, honey. I'll make + it worth your while too. I never forget a favour, know what I'm saying?"

+ +

"Okay. I'll let him know then."

+ +

He squeezed her just above the hip, one handed, like he was copping a quick feel.

+ +

"Good. See you next week then and see what we've got."

+ +

He drove away in the Jag, through Drymains and close to where Lorne had turned up to see the boys off. He slowed down + when he passed the Lorne house, just in case, and speeded up again, round the corner and along the straight. At the + far side of Drymains, close to where it gets to Gooselade, he passed Sandy Bruce's house. The old man was in the + front garden, talking to some other fellow. The man turned, saw him and kept on turning as if nothing had happened, + but Ferguson was long in the tooth and he had eyes on the back of his head. He knew he had been clocked.

+ +

Was that the Irishman? He had to find out.

+ +

Margery Burns followed the note up with the call and he dropped in just after he and Ed sneaked back in to Tim + Farmer's to pick up the mail. There was more behind the door this time and fortunately, no nonsense in front of it + and no police around. They were probably all out looking for the two tankers.

+ +

"Just what are you up to, Jack Lorne?" It was the third time she'd asked it, and about the tenth time he'd heard + it.

+ +

She was standing behind him, as he sat at the kitchen table, hands on his shoulders, squeezing them gently and trying + to be seductive, but it just helped ease the tension out of his shoulders.

+ +

"Just trying to give Sproat a taste of his own."

+ +

"Sure you are. But it's got nothing to do with the closure, that's for sure, nor the unions. They've accepted the + deal, damned weaklings."

+ +

"Best you don't know."

+ +

"So you're up to something illegal."

+ +

"I wouldn't say that," he lied.

+ +

"Then it's got something to do with that stack of barrels of three-year-old you're trying to con out of Sproat."

+ +

"How did you know about...?"

+ +

"Don't be daft. I'm the original eyes and ears. Knowledge is power, that's what you say, isn't it?" She chuckled. + "So, are you going to let me in on it?"

+ +

"Honest Marge, it really isn't a good idea. You can always say you never knew a thing."

+ +

"Oh, I'll say that anyway, don't worry your head about that. But so far I've snaffled the outgoing mail you wanted, + and I've diverted phone calls, and I've looked up some paperwork I shouldn't, so I'm in it, whatever it is, + no matter what. And I'm thinking I'd better know what to do when whatever it is that I'm not supposed to know about + takes place and various solid things hit the air conditioning."

+ +

He closed his eyes, enjoying the back rub, but thinking about Kate and Jed and feeling guilty. She ploughed into the + silence.

+ +

"Now, remember you wanted me to clock somebody out. Eddie Kane, wasn't it? And he got sent home the next day, first + thing in the morning just after I clocked him in again."

+ +

Jack stiffened and she slapped the back of his head, almost motherly. "Sit still. I don't do this for everybody, you + know."

+ +

She chuckled again. "So he got sent home an hour after I clocked him into the building. What I'm wondering is, where + was he all night? And if I put two and two together, I'd say he was inside Aitkenbar all night."

+ +

God, she was sharp as cut glass. Jack wouldn't want to be her soon-to-be-ex by the time she was finished with + him.

+ +

"Then I'd be wondering what he was doing all night," she said, still kneading, enjoying this now. So was he. + He had to admire her. "I know what you were doing for some of it."

+ +

He couldn't strangle the sudden smile.

+ +

"So here we have you trying to look like Al Pacino." She bent forward and pecked his cheek. "But a whole lot better + looking than that scrawny wee Italian. You get anxious when I tell you the next decant has been put on hold. You get + me to clock your friend in and out."

+ +

She paused. She had him. "Am I getting anywhere?"

+ +

"Maybe." If she could work it out this far, maybe anybody else could.

+ +

"So now I'm wondering, should I tell you that the decant date has been shifted again?"

+ +

He froze.

+ +

"Gotcha."

+ +

There was nothing for it but to bring her in.

+ +

Sometime later, when it was almost dark, she leaned over and cupped the back of his head, pulling him a little + closer.

+ +

"You think I can get a BMW roadster out of this operation, young man?"

+ +

She chuckled mirthfully in the shadows.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch13.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch13.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c47937 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch13.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,1017 @@ + + + + + + 13 + + + + +
+
+

13

+ +

They came down from the plantation in silent convoy. Up beyond the town, hidden from the lights by the black bulk of + Drumbuie Hill, it was truly dark, all shadows. They freewheeled it from the heights, rather than gun the engines and + wake people in the ranch-style houses of High Overburn and then on the straight slope they started up. Tam led the + way on the Dragstar, gauntlet easy on the throttle, his yellow reflector sash just visible in the tanker sidelights. + Jack stayed in low gear, keeping his foot off the air brakes so they wouldn’t sneeze, and let the engine take the + weight on the downslope. Jed followed nose to tail, handling the rig nicely. It was easier with them empty. Full, + they would take some hauling on the big wheel to get round some of the corners they’d face.

+ +

Above them the sky was solid as dark crystal, flawed with stars and a single blazing Venus like a guiding beacon, + hanging right over Levenford.

+ +

Three wise men, Jack thought. Three bloody lunatics.

+ +

Him, Jed and Tam trundling down from the hills in two stolen tankers and a big easy rider, sneaking them down the + narrow access road, hoping nobody would see them. His hands were clenched on the wheel, knuckles white in the + dashboard light and he had to tell himself to relax. Two in the morning and it was really happening. Overhead the + sky was clear, but as they rounded the sleeping bulk of Drumbuie Hill, it was evident the summer weather was finally + beginning to break. Way down the river firth, fine filament edges of approaching clouds brushed the thin crescent + moon. The air was still warm and humid, but far-off sheet lightning, way distant where the Mull of Kintyre stretched + down into the Irish Sea, flickered an insistent warning. Already the tops of the tall redwoods in Overburn Estate + were beginning to tremble in a gathering breeze.

+ +

Hold off, he told the weather. Give us a couple of hours.

+ +

The rumble of thunder was barely a murmur, miles and miles distant, but it was rolling eastwards on the warm wind. + Jack looked in the side mirror and got a pale glimpse of Jed mastering the wheel, caught in a brief flicker. He + could handle the tanker just fine.

+ +

It had taken them almost three hours to transform the big Fruehaufs, the three of them plus Neil, watched by + Fannieboz, whose personal problem was still chronic. Tam had got the paint while Ed was working on the pump and they + used the oldest sets of sheets any of them could heist to mask off the wheels and arches and then Jed and Neil had + swarmed over the surfaces with big soft brushes, changing the silver steel to the muted dun colour of the council + drains department. Jack and Tam barely had time to let the paint dry before Donny jig-sawed together the thin + plastic sheets with the blue logo on them and fixed them to the sides, and then they worked on the lengths of old + shelving brackets from the back-yard at Halfords, making sure they would fit the holes Tam had bored in the frame. + That was for later. For the moment, they bundled them together and lashed them snugly under the big cylinders and + out of sight. Donny took Willie McIver's van down to Castle Street to wait for them. Fannieboz whined and fretted in + amongst the tarpaulins in the back of the van.

+ +

Hold off. Jack was talking to himself and to the sky. The last thing they needed tonight was a summer + rainstorm.

+ +

They had really started at five the previous morning, up with the first rays and down to Gillespie's boat. Jack had + opened the book and began to tick each item off. Everybody sat around the cabin table, all serious now that they + were getting down to it.

+ +

"Ladders?"

+ +

"Check." Tam had spent another fifty on a light aluminium set that were now lashed to the second tanker.

+ +

"Sheets? Tarpaulins?"

+ +

"Sure. They're in the van."

+ +

"Donny, what about the fish?"

+ +

"No bother. I got them today."

+ +

"Are they fresh?"

+ +

"You could make a rare sushi. They're still trying to get away."

+ +

"Neil? Still chatting up the birds?"

+ +

Everybody laughed, nervous and high. When it came down to the wire, the tension was beginning to show. Before this it + had been a game, a plan, a gameplan. Now they were really going through with it. For the past two days Ed + and the rest of the workers in Aitkenbar had rolled the wide oak barrels of Glen Murroch from storage, old fine + malt, popped the bungs and emptied them into the big decant tank.

+ +

Ed had waited until the next man was trundling the empty barrel back and the customs chief Jim Gilveray had turned + away with the supervisor and then he had gone swiftly down the back steps, reached under the massive container and + used the turnkey Tam had given him. The little square nut had slowly rolled its half-turn and a faint hiss of + escaping liquid told him he'd got it just right. He was back up and down the other side, shoving the hogshead in + front of him and was fifty yards distant in less than a minute.

+ +

The geese were a problem. Jack had gone down for the previous feed after Neil had told him and the birds had started + up their racket long before either of them had got anywhere hear the fence. The big guard-dogs at the front gate had + picked up the alarm and began howling and gnashing, and they just added to the difficulty.

+ +

"Are the dogs here all night?"

+ +

"Just at the front. The birds have the run of the rest of the place."

+ +

"This won't do," Jack said. "They'll kill us dead."

+ +

"I told you. They love this stuff, but they can smell it a mile away."

+ +

They had got to the fence and the whole troop of the geese lined up at the chain links, squabbling in high flat + tones, and when Neil started shovelling the corn through the mesh, they fell on it like vultures in a free-for-all + frenzy.

+ +

There had been so little time to find a solution, so they had to go on instinct and invention. They sent Donny round + to his aunt Jean. Tam hit a couple of the pubs in Castlebank, and Jack borrowed a gallon of high-octane smelly mash + from one of his uncle's big plastic bins. Neil fed the birds at eleven, when there was still a hint of light in the + north sky and they just hoped for the best. If it failed, Jack had told him just to get his brother's slug gun and + shoot the damn things. It was too late to think of anything else. At a pinch they could eat the evidence.

+ +

Three hours later, they hitched the pump to the back of the trail tanker and the van followed on down past Drymains, + with Tam still escorting in front. They took the side road along by the castle rock and then swung up the wide bend + of the river, doubling back in from the west. They stopped in the lee of the sycamore and chestnut trees that formed + a natural barrier to the main road and pulled in, nose to tail, at the lay-by.

+ +

Thunder rolled, still distant but more threatening now. They gathered in a huddle.

+ +

"Get the tent set up," Jack said. He wet a finger and raised it, catching the faint, charged breeze. The wind was + coming in straight from the west. Neil opened the van door and everybody got to work. The dip in the road under the + railway bridge was only four hundred yards downslope, a natural depression bounded by the big Victorian brownstone + railway wall that gave natural cover from the side of the distillery. Somewhere along the front, a dog barked, low + and hollow, and another one followed on. Fannieboz whined and fretted, pulling at her leash. Her tongue lolled from + her narrow jaws. Jack grinned.

+ +

"They can smell her already," he said.

+ +

Ed and Tam started work on the canvas shelter they'd picked up the week before down at Arden after scouting all over + the area for twenty miles in either direction. It was typical, Ed said. Every time you drive there's a hole in the + road with a gang of men working in it, and a mile of traffic backed up at the lights. And when you need one, they've + all gone on strike. Finally they'd found a hole where a sewer had developed a smelly leak and the council team had + set up their camp, dug a hole, and promptly vanished. It could be another week before they noticed their little + canvas shelter had disappeared.

+ +

The pair of them used the iron key grips to lift the triangular manhole cover and clanged it on its side against the + wall, and without a pause, they set up the red and white striped tent.

+ +

Jack and Neil drove away in the van while Fannieboz pawed and scratched. They reached the front gate, where the + halogen spots glared down on the guard post and the car park, sped on past, and took the little access track along + the side of the iron fence, all lights off.

+ +

"This should do," Jack said. He got out, stripped off his black gloves again and tested the air.

+ +

"Perfect," he said. Neil unhitched the leather thong and Daisy Ray bounded out, straining at the choker, whip thin + and hungry, big eyes all a-glitter.

+ +

"They can smell her? She stinks like K-9's whorehouse."

+ +

"You would know," Jack said. Neil wrinkled his nose and hauled back, wafting the air with his free hand. The + greyhound wheeled around, keening an odd high-pitched note and stuck her nose right into Neil's crotch.

+ +

"Doctor Doolittle. First the geese fancy you, and now you've got a greyhound going for your goolies. Is there + something we should be told?"

+ +

"Get off, you daft bitch," Neil hissed.

+ +

Fannieboz whined again, nuzzled in a couple more times and them turned right round, tail in the air, backing in + towards him, head arched back, giving him a hungry look.

+ +

"You've done this before," Jack said, trying to suppress the laughter. "When's the engagement?"

+ +

A couple of hundred yards away, the big dogs began to bay. Fannie yipped and forgot about Neil. He dragged the + protesting bitch deep into the low trees, well out of sight, and tied the leash to a thin sapling.

+ +

The Rottweilers hit the fence like rhinos only yards beyond the bushes, howling and scrabbling at the mesh, charged + up with the scent of the bitch in heat. Somewhere off in the dark a man cursed and a light came on in the security + hut.

+ +

"That should keep them occupied for a while," Jack said. "By the time we're finished, she'll be primed and ready for + you."

+ +

He slapped Neil on the shoulder and they went back to the van, started up, and kept on the access road to get to the + river side close to the cooperage. So far, so good.

+ +

The fish smelt almost as strongly as Fannie. Donny Watson had wrapped them in a couple of plastic bags and emptied + the ice-trays in the freezer to keep them as fresh as possible, but even through two layers of polythene, there was + no mistaking what was inside. He made his way round the track by the golf course and then followed the little + rivulet upwards until he reached the concrete outflow from the distillery, hidden by a thicket of blackthorn. He + began to unwrap the fish and then slowly made his way back downstream, dropping one here and another there, making + sure there were plenty that could be easily seen by passing golfers. The smell would do the rest.

+ +

When he'd finished, he bundled the plastic up, making sure he got none of the fish stench on his hands, retraced his + steps back to the thicket again and bulled his way through the thorns to the outflow. The big eight gallon plastic + container was still where he had hidden it, well out of sight to any but the most determined bush-crawler. None of + the pringle sweaters would risk their expensive knit on these thorns.

+ +

Donny took the container and wedged it under the lip of the pipe which protruded from the banking about three feet up + from the streamlet, jammed it in with a couple of big water-smoothed stones, and backed out. If this all went right + he'd end up with a personal bonus without having to wait for the next phase of Jack's master-plan. What they didn't + know wouldn't hurt them, and Donny hated to see such a waste.

+ +

They almost fell about laughing when they reached the fence right at the corner of the cooperage. Neil said it was + the first time in a fortnight he'd turned up here without the geese going berserk and when they finally came round + the corner and got up close to the fence that separated the barrel-yard from the distillery grounds, they could see + why.

+ +

The grey plump shapes were scattered over the short grass.

+ +

The mix of barley mash, Lebanese hash and Aunty Jean's diazepam that they'd stirred in with the feed had worked + almost like magic. Jack held onto the chain link and kept a hand over his mouth, stifling the giggles. Neil was + holding his belly, but couldn't prevent a tight explosion of laughter from bursting out.

+ +

One of the birds stirred and drew its head out from under its wing, raised up its long neck to its full extent, but + then all the strength seemed to drain away and its beak flopped to the grass.

+ +

It made a pathetic little honk sound.

+ +

"Drunk as skunks," Neil said. "Smashed out of their brains."

+ +

One of the birds seemed to rally a little. It eased itself to its feet, made a strangled coughing sound and spread + its wings.

+ +

"It's trying to take off," Neil said.

+ +

"Chocks away."

+ +

It flapped a couple of times, head craned forward, but the force of its wings only sent the bird tumbling backwards + and it landed on its back with a heavy thump, yellow feet paddling at the air. A companion stirred and took a slow + motion peck at the fallen goose. Its beady little eyes looked as if they were completely of focus. The one on its + back blurted a white slug of guano that seemed almost luminescent in the flashlight.

+ +

"Quis custodiet custodii?"

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"Latin. Who guards the guards?"

+ +

"Hash, jellies and your uncle's hooch, who the hell needs guards?"

+ +

Over on the far side of the distillery, the big guard dogs had the scent of Fannie at her most fertile and were + attacking the fence like demons, trying to barge through the chain links, while the handlers were powerless to pull + them back.

+ +

When they got back to the tankers, Neil went in the back of the van, ignoring the musky greyhound scent and the + powerful stench of fish, and hauled out the AA roof sign he and Jed had picked up in the scrap yard. It clipped on + with a couple of bungee rope hooks and in the light of the street lamps, Willie McIver's wheels could pass muster as + a patrol van, so long as nobody took a really close look. Neil jammed the plug in the cigar lighter and the sign + glowed orange. He shrugged himself into the uniform. Tam was beside him, stripped out of the leathers and into Jed's + white stock-car helmet with new chequered stickers round the perimeter. Jed helped him into the white jacket with + the reflector cuffs.

+ +

"Shame about the bike," he said. "Just don't get too close."

+ +

"I'll tell them I'm from CHIPS."

+ +

"And you'll have had your chips."

+ +

Jack came across. "All set?"

+ +

"Now or never." Tam got a leg over the bike. He was about to clamp the visor down when Jack stopped him.

+ +

"This plumbing will work?"

+ +

"A bit late to ask now," Tam said. "Trust me, I'm a plumber. You do what I told you and it's whisky galore."

+ +

"Okay. You keep on the mobile and let us know what's moving. The sooner the better." He held up the bottle Ed's girl + Donna had given them. "We need time to get the masks on."

+ +

Franky Hennigan woke up with a blinding light in his eye. He'd been drinking wine for most of the night, straight + from the bottle, no niceties. He was huddled in the little access tunnel under the old railway, hidden from the road + by a burgeoning clump of elderberry. He grunted dozily, giving a little snort as he came close to being awake, + almost exactly like the staggering goose had done.

+ +

"Whassamatta...?"

+ +

The dry stone was shaking under him, just a shiver of vibration, but it had been enough to jolt him out of sleep. The + harsh light speared into his one open eye and he recoiled in some pain. Through the bushes, a big engine growled and + the beams made the saplings and bramble runners stand out in stark silhouette. A cloud of dust came billowing + through the arch of the railway bridge, backlit by the powerful lights.

+ +

Franky Hennigan saw movement out there and backed into a corner. He instinctively reached to protect his emergency + bottle of Eldorado fortified wine.

+ +

They got the first tanker down from the lay-by and Jed backed the second one up between the trees just off the + roadside. They had cut some saplings that morning and Jed stuck their sharpened ends in to the soft earth. As + camouflage it would have been ludicrous in the light of day, but at this time of night, it was enough to hide the + big truck from any passing traffic. Jed made it down the hill on foot just as Jack and Ed were setting the ladders + over the sharp spikes of the fence. Ed and Tam had keyed up the manhole and laid it on its side and the workman's + shelter was set around it.

+ +

Jack stood back and nodded. In black jeans and shirt and his grandfather's old balaclava he looked the part. "It + would fool me."

+ +

"Let's hope everybody else is as gullible," Ed said, his voice tight and tense, and that was understandable. He'd + already risked plenty and he was going back in to risk more. Jack turned and took a grip of the ladder.

+ +

"Hold this still," he said to Donny. "Once we're over, get it out of sight and wait for the signal. Five seconds and + it has to be back up again."

+ +

Donny said okay and Jack went up the rungs, got to the top, raised the second section of the aluminium steps over and + down, and then disappeared into the dark. Ed followed him, fast as a cat, and was gone in the gloom.

+ +

They went straight across the grass, angling to the right, in the opposite direction to where the deep bass of the + guard dogs echoed on the gathering wind. Jack could smell the cut grass and the ozone in the air, as if all of his + senses were somehow heightened and pin sharp. Their feet thudded on the hard-pack and then they were on the cobbles + close to the big store. Ed worked the gate between the two buildings, using the screwdriver to ease the hasp back + and they were through. On the wall, two red boxes were marked with flame signs. Ed opened one, Jack took the other + and then they started unreeling the big fire hoses. Jack lit out for the fence again while Ed headed for the little + doors at the drain. He fumbled the keys in gloved hands, dropped them, scrabbled in the dark and found them again + and managed to get the shutter open. By this time Jack was haring back across the grass.

+ +

"Say a big prayer," Jack said.

+ +

"Holy fuck, make this work." Ed laughed. Jack slapped him on the back.

+ +

"Move it."

+ +

The brass ferrule fitted the end of the pipe exactly. Ed jammed it upwards, gave it a quarter turn clockwise. They + both heard the metallic snick of good engineering.

+ +

"Holy Moses, take these hoses." Ed sounded as if he was strangling. Jack punched him on the shoulder. He grasped the + turnkey, the same one he'd used on the inside.

+ +

"You lock the other hose on?"

+ +

"Locked and loaded."

+ +

He turned and blipped the little laser pointer he'd picked up in the gadget shop the last time he'd been in Glasgow. + A red pin-point came from the shadows over by the rail bridge.

+ +

"Hit it."

+ +

Ed pulled on the key. It made a squeal of protest. Jack leaned in, got his weight to it, and the handle turned. For a + second there was a silence, then a sound like a cistern filling and the flat fire hose began to fill up like a + hungry worm. A hundred yards away, the sound of the diesel pump kicked in and settled down to a steady throb. The + hose jerked, straightened, became a cylinder.

+ +

"No turning back now," Jack said.

+ +

Way down the firth, a big flash of lightning careered and stuttered across the sky. A minute later came the rumble of + thunder.

+ +

"Twelve miles away, maybe a bit more."

+ +

"How can you tell?"

+ +

"I'm a smartarse," Jack conceded. "Trust me."

+ +

The car pulled in from Corrieside and came nosing down the narrow lane between the dairy and the railway bridge. Its + dipped lights had swung round as it turned in at the bushes, briefly illuminating the side of the tanker. Ed and + Jack had been half-way over the fence and they jumped for cover into the brambles. Jed hit the red switch on the + pump and the engine died. Tam had been patrolling the north main road, watching for any traffic that would take a + turn off down the Bridge Vennel proper, so it was only after the car turned that he saw the red flicker of its tail + lights and went chasing after it.

+ +

By the time he got halfway along the lane the car lights were off, but he could see its pale shape in against the + crowded elderberries. As soon as he had turned on North Main, he had switched the bike beam off and let the Dragstar + coast when he reached the lane. Whoever was inside the car had been in a big hurry.

+ +

He sat a few yards away, grinning, listening to the loud rhythmic squeak of the springs. The Toyota rocked on its + axle, back and forth. Inside, a woman's muffled voice spoke and a man grunted a response. Tam strolled forward, + realising this posed no danger. He reached the car and flipped the visor half way up, leant forward and peered + inside.

+ +

A pair of white cheeks loomed up from the back seat, flexing and closing in time to the squeaking sounds. The woman + muttered something and then a bare foot lifted up from the dark and planted itself against the nearside window. Tam + chuckled and pushed himself away, walking as quietly as he could towards the bike, opening his pocket as he walked. + He flicked on the light switch and then took the four strides to reach the car. Without hesitation he opened the + back door, lifted Jack's little camera and flashed it inside, catching the frozen startled faces in white light. A + man's voice growled and the woman let out a high canine yelp. Her foot flopped out of the car and pawed the air.

+ +

"Who the fuck....."

+ +

Tam stood with his back to the lights. He shot off again and all the startled pair could see was glare. He bent + forward and slapped the man on his bare cheek with the palm of the thick white gauntlet Jed had lent him. It made + him even more look the part.

+ +

"Well, well, well," he said. "What's all this here then?"

+ +

He used the flashlight to illuminate the parts hidden by his own shadow.

+ +

"Who the fuck are you?" the man finally got the sentence out. He was trying to turn to face the light, but the woman + held him by the shoulders, pulling him back on to her. She had seen the white helmet and tried to use him as cover. + She drew her leg back inside the car. Gooseflesh stood out like a pale rash on her thigh.

+ +

"Lewd and libidinous practises in a public place," Tam stated solemnly. He pushed in further, swinging the beam + across the woman's face. She closed her eyes.

+ +

"I assume you know this gentleman, ma'am?"

+ +

"I never...I mean...we never..."

+ +

"Never what, madam?" Tam kept the lights behind him. He tucked the flashlight under his arm, keeping them pinned in + the glare, pulled out a notebook from an inside pocket. He peered forward and suddenly the man's pale, wide face + seemed to come into clear focus. Tam had seen him before.

+ +

"Is this your car sir?" It was Kerr Thomson, the fat customs man from Aitkenbar Distillery. He and Ed had seen him + and Sproat re-marking the barrels in the distillery store.

+ +

"Please officer, we weren't doing anything." The woman sounded as if she might suddenly burst into tears.

+ +

"So I see," Tam said, twisting the light so that it beamed down on the man's bare backside.

+ +

"Name?"

+ +

She reached for a jacket on the back of the passenger seat and pushed the man away, rolling out of sight behind him, + frantically covering herself. Thomson almost fell out of the car. His legs were pure white in the light and his + socks were still pulled up to the calves.

+ +

"Listen man, can we not just keep this...."

+ +

"Name, please. Unless you want to come to the station as you are?"

+ +

"No. It's just that, shit, I'm married, you know?"

+ +

"What about me?" the woman said. Her hand came out of the dark and slapped him on the back of the head.

+ +

"Fuck off," Thomson grunted.

+ +

"Sir, I have to warn you about your language. Now let's have that name."

+ +

Thomson gave it, along with his address. Tam flicked the torch beam across the woman, now covered, but dishevelled + and pale.

+ +

"Ma'am?"

+ +

She lowered her voice until it was barely audible and gave her details. Tam recognised her as the manageress of one + of the charity shops in town.

+ +

"Please officer. We never meant any harm. I never meant to do it."

+ +

"Of course."

+ +

"Can't we just forget about this?"

+ +

"I don't know if I can, now that it's in the book."

+ +

"But I never did any harm," she said. Tam could picture her in her plain, long skirt and her hair pinned up in a bun, + a picture of respectability. He wouldn't have believed it himself if he hadn't seen that foot pressed against the + window. She had no taste, that was certain.

+ +

He let the light fall back on Thomson who had managed to get his pants back up and was urgently tucking his shirt + back in.

+ +

"Where do you work sir?"

+ +

"Aitkenbar Distillery."

+ +

"I thought so. A Customs and Excise officer, am I right?"

+ +

Thomson looked as if he would shrivel inside his shirt.

+ +

"That's a responsible position sir. Pity to jeopardise it. And you ma'am, I would imagine you would have more, em, + decorum."

+ +

She nodded meekly, now trembling with fright and embarrassment.

+ +

"Right then. On your way."

+ +

"What happens now?" Thomson asked.

+ +

"We'll just have to see, won't we?" He backed away and motioned them to turn back up the lane. Thomson hauled himself + into the front, shirt-tail still trailing, while she stayed in the shadows in the back. The engine started and he + cleared off fast. As soon as they were out of sight, Tam burst into uncontrollable laughter. No matter what Thomson + might have seen in the light of his headlamps, he'd never mention it to a living soul.

+ +

Tam hit the one-touch and Jack answered on first ring.

+ +

"Harley, who the hell was that?"

+ +

"Nobody to worry about. I've seen them off."

+ +

"You should have seen them sooner."

+ +

"Okay. I'll block off the lane. But I can't be everywhere."

+ +

"Do your best man. You just cured my constipation."

+ +

"Not just yours," Tam said. "Wait till I tell you."

+ +

"Later." The diesel pump kicked in again and Jack stifled a curse. "Get lost now and keep them well peeled."

+ +

Tam laughed and got back on the bike.

+ +

The fire hose sprung a leak. It was three in the morning now and the storm was picking up. Franky Hennigan crawled + out from the access space, head throbbing enough to make his vision blur. He still clutched the emergency bottle of + Eldorado. Normally he'd have slept at least until noon, but the rumbling thunder and the pounding of the pump had + roused him and finally he'd come as completely awake as was possible. The lights stabbed in through the brambles, + harsh enough to cause him to jerk back, eyes screwed up tight. He held a hand up and peered through the gap between + his fingers. The lights blazed under the railway bridge and every now and again, a blurred shape would drift in + front of the beam, sending long and eerie shadows up the walls and across his watery vision.

+ +

He shrank back, unsure of what was happening, but for Franky, at this time of the morning, that was far from an + unusual state of affairs. He managed to unscrew the top and poured himself a long glug of sweet fortified wine and + wiped his mouth with the back on his hand. After a while, he fumbled in his pocket for his glasses, believing + against experience that his vision might clear.

+ +

Dogs were baying somewhere in the distance. The second tanker was now in position. Jed had eased the first one up the + hill, close to where Kerr Thomson had been caught with his pale backside in the air, and Jack Lorne had steered the + empty one out of cover. Jed pushed the saplings back in place once Jack had trundled the machine down the hill and + they'd started the pump once more.

+ +

Then the hose sprung a leak. Donny was up on the gantry, close to where the umbilical joined with the tank and the + big corrugated pipe curved away down into the manhole. Jack and Ed were at the pump, huddled down among the exhaust + fumes that billowed out to catch the main headlight beams and writhed under the railway arch like electric blue + ghosts. A stutter of forked lightning jabbed across the sky and backlit the whole scene.

+ +

Without warning, a thin fountain of whisky spurted upwards in a clear golden arc and sprayed straight down into the + open manhole.

+ +

"Leak!" Donny bawled so loud and sudden that Jack jumped back with a start and almost tumbled down the hole.

+ +

"What's up?" Ed turned and saw the curve of escaping whisky. A heady scent cut through the fumes and the breeze + carried tiny, tasty droplets.

+ +

"Oh no."

+ +

"Plug that," Jack ordered. Donny clambered down and positioned himself over the thin arc, opened his mouth and let + the whisky jet straight inside. He gulped without closing his lips and excess whisky began to trickle from the + corner of his mouth.

+ +

"I said plug it, not glug it," Jack said. Jed stifled a laugh. Donny closed his eyes, gulped, choked and + coughed out a whole mouthful in a fine spray.

+ +

Donny pulled back, wiped his mouth. "We can't let it go to waste."

+ +

"And we can't have you getting pissed."

+ +

Jed shoved Donny out of the way and bent low over the leak. He sucked it in like a kid at a school drinking fountain, + pulled back and they saw his cheeks bulge.

+ +

"Christ, it's alcoholics unanimous," Jack groaned.

+ +

Jed swung his head back and began to swallow. He coughed, even more violently than Donny, and sprayed overproof + whisky into the headlight beams.

+ +

"Man, that would cut glass." He stood up, eyes swimming, giggled again and then took a smaller mouthful. "But it's + class, man. That's the real stuff."

+ +

"Come on guys," Jack said. "You can smell that a mile away."

+ +

Ed came across, cupped his hands out and let some whisky fill them up.

+ +

"Dead posh," Donny said. Ed took a sip.

+ +

"Not bad."

+ +

Jack held Ed's hands up. He supped a mouthful, swished it around with his tongue and spat it out.

+ +

"Good. It is real class. And we've got five thousand gallons to go, so plug that gap or we'll lose the whole + bloody lot."

+ +

Donny peeled away and climbed up into the cab. He came back with a big plastic container with a chamois cloth jammed + through the handle-space, unscrewed the lid and emptied all the water out of it. He pushed it under the curve of the + spray until the nozzle was right underneath it and immediately it began to fill.

+ +

"Five gallons," Donny said.

+ +

"Plug it," Jack insisted.

+ +

"In a minute," Donny countered. The water-drum boomed hollow as it slowly filled.

+ +

He turned back and a light blared just beyond the arch and they all froze.

+ +

"Only me," Tam said. He stopped and jacked the bike up on its stance. "Hey, you can smell drink halfway along the + street."

+ +

He bent to a knee and was just about to cup a mouthful when the phone chirruped. Jack answered. Neil spoke.

+ +

"Are you there Jack?"

+ +

"Use code."

+ +

"Okay, Elvis to Retro, somebody coming," he said. "It could be the cops."

+ +

"Where are you"

+ +

"Up on North Main, just at the corner."

+ +

Jack pulled Tam to his feet. "North Main corner. Intruders. Go see."

+ +

Tam looked thirstily at the trickle of whisky, but he did as he was told.

+ +

Up at the corner, Neil was leaning with his elbows on the top of the van, binoculars jammed up against his eyes.

+ +

"It is the cops."

+ +

"What do they want?"

+ +

"Your arse if they catch you."

+ +

Tam looked blank for a second.

+ +

"The uniform," Neil said. "Impersonating the fuzz."

+ +

"Oh shit!"

+ +

The car was approaching slowly on the narrow road and by now they could read the police sign on the roof. Tam jerked + the helmet off, threw it in the back of the van and crouched down behind the bike. Neal leaned over it, angling his + flashlight down at the engine.

+ +

"Need a hand?" The policeman leaned out of the passenger side.

+ +

"Just a broken chain. He'll be out of here in no time."

+ +

A big flicker of lightning sizzled across the sky. Ten seconds later, thunder rolled right across the firth.

+ +

"Looks like you're in for a filthy night," the policeman said. "Somebody reported some dogs out here. Have you seen + anything?"

+ +

Neil straightened up, but kept his face away from the light.

+ +

"Probably the lightning got them worked up," he said. "You can hear them now."

+ +

Down on the far side of Aitkenbar Distillery, the big Rottweillers were still baying in the dark, deep booms of sound + that echoed from the bay walls.

+ +

"We'd better check it." The window rolled up and the car moved forward. Tam eased himself up from the lee side of the + bike.

+ +

Neil was already on the phone.

+ +

"Police on the way. Coming now."

+ +

Jack spoke fast, urgent. Donny froze, mouth wide.

+ +

"Don't just stand there." Ed was moving, down into the manhole. Jack was hunkered down, delving into the + haversack.

+ +

"Plug that leak," he ordered. Donny unfroze, cast left and right, and then got to his knees. He pulled the chamois + cloth from the container, screwed the lid back on. Ed grabbed it and dragged it down into the hole. He slipped the + white mask over his face and they all followed suit, just as Jack opened the bottle of solution Donna Bryce had + given them, bent and poured its contents straight into the puddle of water and whisky at the bottom of the hole.

+ +

A cloud of acrid vapour billowed green in the light.

+ +

"Jesus fuck!" Donny coughed again, this time deep and retching.

+ +

"Mask on. And plug that hose." Jack got the words out fast before his throat began to constrict. Donny slammed the + mask over his nose, grabbed the chamois cloth and without a pause he stuck his finger into the little hole in the + hose fabric. The jet of whisky died. He covered his hand with the cloth and quickly wrapped it around the hose. + Seconds later, the police car headlights swung round the corner, swept twin beams across green fence spikes and came + moving slowly down towards the dip under the bridge.

+ +

Keep moving-keep moving-keep moving. Donny's plea was a monotone litany.

+ +

"Shut up, you numpty." Jed punched his shoulder and crawled into the shadow under the back wheels out of sight.

+ +

The car stopped. The window rolled down.

+ +

"Got a problem here?" Constable Derek Travers poked his head out. Jack recognised the voice he'd heard outside old + Tim Farmer's door.

+ +

He stood up, his grey hair blue-tinged in the light. He cupped a hand to hear over the throbbing of the pump and the + policeman pushed out further. He caught a whiff of the ammonia fumes and his face screwed up into a grimace.

+ +

"What in the name....?"

+ +

"It's a wee leak," Jack said. The ammonia swamped the sweet scent of the whisky. Mixed with the carbon monoxide from + the pump engine, it tasted rank and poisonous on the warm air.

+ +

"A leak of what? Toxic waste?"

+ +

"Old sewage," Jack said. "Don't come too close unless you've had tetanus jags."

+ +

"My god, boys, that smell is awful. I don't envy you at all, working in that shite."

+ +

"Somebody's got to do it."

+ +

"Rather you than me." The policeman sat back and scanned the scene, taking in the masked men in the hole, the pump, + the big tanker. "I hope you're on double time."

+ +

The car began to ease forward as the window rolled upwards and Donny turned, keeping his back to them. His finger was + growing numb from the high pressure in the hose. Just on the point of turning he lost his balance and reflexively + moved his hand to steady himself.

+ +

Whisky jetted up in a powerful squirt and splashed across the back window of the police car.

+ +

Everything seemed to stop. Ed let out a low groan. Behind the mask it sounded as if he was in deep pain. Jack's heart + thudded in his chest and then seemed to somersault. For a second his hearing faded out in a sudden thick pressure + pulse.

+ +

The patrol car stopped.

+ +

"What was that?" The window was only half-way up. "I hope that wasn't sewage."

+ +

Donny scrabbled to get his finger back on the leak. Ed jumped up out of the hole. He hoisted the big container that + now sloshed whisky.

+ +

"Not at all. Just some of this disinfectant. Keeps the germs down."

+ +

Jack put his face in his hands. The ammonia smell was catching in the back of his throat, making him want to retch + very hard. His stomach was turning over in loops, but that was caused by a powerful attack of awful anxiety. He + tried to hold his breath.

+ +

Ed stuck a hand in the pocket of his overalls and pulled out a towel rag. He leant forward and rubbed the whisky off + the window and the bodywork.

+ +

"Funny smell for disinfectant."

+ +

"Got a lot of wood alcohol in it," Ed said, thinking on his feet. "Kills all known germs dead. Environmental + protection."

+ +

He moved up towards the front.

+ +

"Don't breathe any of that in," he said. "And give the car a quick slunge down, just in case."

+ +

The first policeman turned to the driver.

+ +

"Don't bother. I'm not touching that stuff. We'll just run it through the wash."

+ +

The driver coughed, rasping. "Roll that up, would you? That stench is making me vomit."

+ +

The window completed its travel very quickly and the car sped away.

+ +

Jack let out the big breath that had backed up in his lungs. Ed tottered back against the side of the tanker and + clamped his hands to his chest.

+ +

"Nearly gave me a heart attack.," Jack muttered."Now do me a huge favour and plug that leak, loony tunes."

+ +

Jed got the duct tape from the cabin and they stopped the pump for a minute while the pair of them wrapped the + binding round the hose until the fountain dwindled to a trickle, then a slow sweat. Jed pulled the starter cable and + just at that moment lightning flashed almost overhead. A crash of thunder ripped the sky only a second later and Jed + jumped so violently his feet came clear off the road.

+ +

"Steady," Jack said, but he was wondering just how much his own heart could take. The wind was really picking up now + and that was good. It helped clear the awesome stench of ammonia out of the hole.

+ +

"How are we doing?"

+ +

Ed checked the gauge. "Three quarters now. Half an hour max and we're full."

+ +

The wind eddied around them, swirling up the scent of strong whisky. Donny kept his head down and his hands planted + on the taped hole, making sure it didn't rupture again. The hose flexed again and throbbed like a vein as the malt + began to flow once more.

+ +

Fannieboz had done a marvellous job just by being herself. Neil, on the other hand, had been less than conscientious, + but he'd always been chubby as a kid and never really got into the scouting thing. He'd tied the bitch up to a + sapling deep in the cover of the scrub close to the east side of the chain-link fence, and if he'd known more about + knots the big Rottweilers would have exhausted themselves in an attempt to get through the wire.

+ +

Nothing the two security men could do made any difference at all. The dogs were just too strong and altogether single + minded to haul back from the fence. Out there in the dark of the trees, the little greyhound whined and fretted, + every bit as excited as the two big hounds. Every zip of lightning and every cannonade of thunder made her jitter + and jump, whimpering as if in pain and hauling at the thong that Neil had slung round a thin stem. By the time the + police car eased round to the front gate, she had almost choked herself in a determined bid to get free.

+ +

The gateman pointed over to the dark at the far side of the malt house where the booming of the dogs competed with + the wind that was now whipping the tops of the trees.

+ +

They were just nosing down the lane that Jack and Neil had taken in the van when Fannie pulled again and the slack + knot finally tugged free and she was off through the undergrowth in a thin grey streak. The big rottweillers heard + her break through the dry stems and took off in pursuit, parallel to the fence, heading for the river side behind + the kiln where the barley was roasted. The two exasperated security men, neither of whom had much experience with + dogs, followed, cursing.

+ +

They just reached the corner, with Fannie well out in front, when the black sky opened and the summer heatwave came + to an abrupt end.

+ +

A bolt of lightning hit the old weathervane on top of the high church steeple and sizzled down the copper line, + sending blue arcs stuttering right over the town. The dogs howled their frustration when they skidded at the turn + and slammed into the fence on the river corner.

+ +

Rain simply fell out of the sky. A couple of big drops thudded on the top of the tanker where it protruded from the + railway bridge, drumming on the cabin roof and then it just came down in a deluge. Lightning flashed again and the + thunder ripped along north main along with the blast of wind that came on the forefront of the storm.

+ +

The thin emulsion paint began to wash away in big rivulets.

+ +

"Come on," Jack yelled to make himself heard. On the far side of the distillery, dogs were howling. "Are we nearly + there?"

+ +

Jed was up at the gauge.

+ +

"Eleven thou. Give it another five minutes and we're full."

+ +

Jack stood down there in the hole, already soaked through. The rain killed the ammonia stench but it was so heavy + that it simply ran off the dusty soil in the verges and onto the tarmac, spreading in a sheet right across the road + on the downslope.

+ +

"Just what we need," Jack bawled. He got on the phone. "Harley? Five minutes and we're out of here. You better come + on down now."

+ +

Ed lugged the five gallon drum from the base of the manhole. The pump kept on working. A fine spray of whisky forced + itself past the duct tape in a hazy sizzle.

+ +

"I don't think we can wait five minutes," he said, banging Jack on the shoulder. He pointed up at the tanker. Jack + looked up and saw the big silver streaks widen as the rain stripped the paint and he turned his face up to the + rolling sky. Heavy droplets filled his eyes and bounced from his cheeks.

+ +

"Thank you Lord, that's just what we need. Any cops come now and we're dead in the water. Nobody said it had to be + easy, did they?"

+ +

Jed pointed up the slope, where the cascade was now a stream cutting right across the road. A steady gush was pouring + straight into the manhole. "That's going to flood."

+ +

"Okay, get ready to shift."

+ +

Down beyond the perimeter fence, the dogs bayed like werewolves.

+ +

"They've moved," Donny said. "Something's happening."

+ +

Jack stood still and concentrated. The noise was coming from the far side of the distillery, much closer to the + river, where the malt house butted against the cooperage. Fannie's high pitched bark was on the move.

+ +

"Damn. She must have got loose."

+ +

"If they shag her, we're going to have a weird-looking litter."

+ +

"Catch her later. We'll just say it was Neil." The rain dripped from Jack's chin and ran down inside his collar.

+ +

"Twelve and a quarter," Jed called down. "Ready to shut off."

+ +

"Right Ed, get the ladders." Ed was already pulling them from the undergrowth. A steady dirty stream of water + cascaded from the edge of the bridge and the drain was now full and overflowing. Beyond the tanker a black puddle + was beginning to expand to the far side of the road. Tam pulled up on the bike. He'd changed out of the police + helmet and back onto the black.

+ +

"Anything moving?"

+ +

"No. Neil's up on North Main. No sign of the gendarmes."

+ +

Jed was holding his hand up. "Nearly there. Give it a minute."

+ +

"No time," Jack said. The paint was simply dissolving from the big tank and flowing down into the widening puddle, + turning it a hazy pale. Already the duct tape holding the posters was beginning to pucker and shrivel. One corner + had started to peel away from the steel.

+ +

"Up and over," Jack said. "You too Jed. As soon as it's full, lock it off and then start rolling the hoses back."

+ +

"What about me?" Donny wanted a job to do.

+ +

"Stay with Tam, keep your eyes peeled, and if anybody comes, just bluff it. If that fails, faint."

+ +

Lightning flickered again, juddered across the sky, turning the whole scene blue for an instant. Purple after-images + danced in Jack's vision and he held onto the top rung until his sight came back. Ed gave him a shove, urging him up + and they scrambled back over the fence.

+ +

The ground was sodden. They scuttered across the grass, slip-sliding in the new puddles. Over by the cooperage the + Rottweilers sounded as if they had cornered a bear. A high pitched yipping came from close to the river basin and + then, as if they had just woken up, the geese joined in.

+ +

"Better move it fast," Ed said. He reached the junction and was down on his knees in two inches of water. "They're + coming this way."

+ +

The turn key was out and he slipped it over the nut. Jack was on the phone.

+ +

"Bullitt, tell me when."

+ +

"Any time now," Jed said. Jack nodded and Ed put his weight to it. The drumming of the rain almost swamped the chug + of the pump. Jack strained to hear and made a fist when he heard the pump die. The hose lost its rigidity, seemed to + shrink in on itself and then began to flatten out.

+ +

Two hundred yards away the geese went berserk.

+ +

Ed shoved on the junction, turned anti clockwise and the connector dropped away. Whisky simply poured out of the + narrow pipe and went straight down the drain with a hollow gurgle. Ed coughed, jammed a hand under the flow and + copped a small taste again.

+ +

"What the hell," he said. "It's a rotten night."

+ +

Jack tapped him a pat on the back and without a word, the pair of them started to haul in the hoses. Several gallons + of the finest Glen Murroch whisky, the dregs of the filler tank, emptied away down the drain.

+ +

Down at the tanker Donny was all a-jitter. Jed was over the fence, rolling up the nearest fire hose, and Donny and + Tam had to haul the pump out from under the bridge where they could hoist it on to the back of the van. Tam called + Neil and told him to get down here. The gauge on the tanker showed it was carrying almost twelve thousand + gallons.

+ +

"What's that?" Donny said. He had to shout over the drumming of the rain. Big hailstones were mixed in with the + raindrops, and they clattered on the top of the big loader.

+ +

"What?"

+ +

Donny stopped, put a hand over his eyes, stared down the slope beyond the arch of the bridge. Tam caught a motion in + the shadows.

+ +

"Somebody's there."

+ +

"Cops?"

+ +

"How would I know?"

+ +

The two of them stood, undecided for a moment. Tam took the flashlight from his inside pocket and stabbed a beam of + light down into the side of the road where the saplings crowded out from a niche. A pale face jerked back into + shadow.

+ +

Tam turned to Donny, held a hand up for silence, and walked towards it.

+ +

Franky Hennigan saw the figure stride out towards him, backlit by the headlamps and turned to scurry back up to the + shelter just as a burst of lightning jittered from the base of the clouds and almost blinded him.

+ +

He grunted, barked his shin on the stone step and dropped the bottle of Eldorado that had been clutched in one hand. + By a miracle it landed right on the cork, bounded and rolled onto a patch of soft wet earth. Big hailstones tinkled + against the glass as the bottle slid back down towards the step.

+ +

The black figure loomed. The lightning was still dancing in Franky's eyes. All he saw was a big round shiny head and + his own reflection on the visor.

+ +

"You should not be here," a muffled voice spoke to him.

+ +

"I never did anything," Franky said, bewildered and scared. His eyes flicked to the bottle and the figure half + turned. It reached down, picked the bottle and twisted the cork.

+ +

It turned away and slowly vanished into the pool of light.

+ +

"Hey, that's my Eldorado," Franky mumbled plaintively.

+ +

Tam reached the tanker.

+ +

"It's just old manky Franky Hennigan," he told Donny. "Half jaked. He doesn't know whether he's having a shit or a + haircut."

+ +

He flipped the visor. "Watch this."

+ +

Tam emptied the remains of the cheap wine into the hole and then quickly opened the drum. He eased it forward and + poured carefully until the bottle was filled again. He winked at Donny and then flipped the visor back down + again.

+ +

Franky huddled in the corner of the shelter when the figure came striding back through the swirl of the halogen + lights, wreathed in the vapour of the fumes and the rain sizzling on the hot pump motor.

+ +

"Manky Franky Hennigan," the voice said. The tramp cowered back as it loomed towards him. "We come in peace."

+ +

It reached forward and for a befuddled moment he thought it was making a grab for him.

+ +

"We come from a distant galaxy far, far away. And we know who you are."

+ +

"How come?"

+ +

"We just know, Franky Hennigan. We know everything. And to show you our powers, we have chosen you. Take + this."

+ +

It held the bottle forward. Franky instinctively reached a grubby hand for it. Drunk as he was, he realised it was + now full.

+ +

"Open it and be astonished."

+ +

Franky popped the cork and a waft of whisky eddied up. The figure leant in further and a black shiny finger touched + him in the middle of the chest.

+ +

"Tell no-one, or we will return with a death ray to fry your brain."

+ +

He held up the little camera and blipped the flash. Franky screwed his eyes up against it.

+ +

"Nobody. Not a soul. Right. Honest. I'll not say a word." Franky tried to push himself through the stone wall behind + him. The black figure seemed to stare at him a long time before it turned and walked straight towards the lights and + vanished into it.

+ +

Franky raised the bottle to his lips and took a huge drink of the best whisky he had tasted for as long as he could + recall.

+ +

"It's a miracle," he said, as his vision began to waver.

+
+

They got out just in time. The storm reached a crescendo and now all the rain had turned to hail, great clear marbles + of ice that shattered on the road and bounced off the tanker. Down at the edge of the cooperage the excited dogs + were slamming into the fence, howling into the thunder and the geese blared back at them, whooping their wings + against the wind. The two handlers tried to pull the Rottweilers back but they were well beyond control. Beyond + them, the two policemen had their own flashlights out, trying to locate the source of the disturbance.

+ +

"It's like Sauchiehall Street in rush hour," Ed said. "We'd better get the hell out."

+ +

Jed was almost up alongside them now, working from the outside in as he rolled the hose into a spiral. The last of + the whisky was still trickling down the drain.

+ +

"What a waste," Jed said.

+ +

"That's what will save our hides," Jack shielded his face against the wind. "Believe me."

+ +

The little red light flickered over by the fence, three stabs and then it was gone.

+ +

"That's it," Jack said. "Store the hoses and let's move."

+ +

Donny bawled something from across the grass and Jack cursed.

+ +

"Bloody big mouth." Out in the dark the geese were going haywire, but they sounded closer now. The Rottweillers were + stuck at the fence, where the flashlights stabbed through the dark. A grey shape came looming out of the gloom.

+ +

"Brilliant" Ed said. The goose lunged for him, furiously beating its wings, running bottom-heavy and ungainly. Its + mean eyes glittered. He jerked back and the snapping beak missed him by a scant inch.

+ +

"Come on," Jack urged. Jed came out from the side gate where the hoses were stacked, clanged the gate shut. Jack + slipped the little padlock back on the hatch. The big goose came rushing in again, honking like a donkey and took a + nip at Jed's backside.

+ +

"Piss off," he growled and then the three of them were running for the fence with the big grey bird hissing at their + heels. They scrambled over and Jack hauled the ladders up while the angry gander craned its neck through the + rails.

+ +

"Stow it," he told Donny, slipping down the nearside into the brambles, catching his sodden boiler suit on the + thorns. He rolled and then tumbled out onto the road. The big tanker stood in its own pale paint puddle. It looked + as if it was sloughing its skin.

+ +

"Let's get to hell out of here," Jack said. He clambered into the cabin just as Neil came down in the van. Jed and + Donny unhitched the pump, clipped it to the towbar. Jack backed the tanker out, turned at the corner and waited + until Ed got in front and they pulled up the hill once more.

+ +

In his alcove, a bleary Franky Hennigan felt the ground shiver and tremble as the bright headlights seemed to recede + into the storm, leaving nothing but a hazy white puddle and wisps of fumes that rolled blue in the darkening gloom. + The lights winked out and he was alone with his miracle gift.

+ +

They worked fast up at the trees while Neil and Tam kept a watch out on either side of the hill. The police and the + security men were still trying to calm the dogs down, though the geese, having woken up, possibly badly hungover, + were now set to attack anything that moved.

+ +

Jed and Neil unshipped the metal shelving brackets and Jack pulled the collection of old power drills from the + toolbox. They had practised this before, so there was nothing to be said. They all worked in tight unison, quickly + erecting the frame, using the drills to screw the bolts through the nuts and onto the tanker frames. In less than + twenty minutes they had the simple box-frames assembled. Jack called Tam back down and they hauled the green + tarpaulins from the back of the van and again worked as two teams, tenting the fabric over the makeshift frames. Tam + lashed them down to the stanchions and stood back.

+ +

The two tankers had vanished under the tarpaulins. Ed put the finishing touches, unshipping the Fruehauf decals from + the front grilles and bolting on the Daf badges from the scrap-yard. The box-frames were now hidden from view under + the big green sheets. To any passer by, they just looked like covered container wagons. Where Tam had managed to + swipe the Eddie Stobart tarpaulins was his secret, but as camouflage, there was nothing better.

+ +

They pulled away from the trees, Jed following nose to tail, and left the furious geese craning up to vent their fury + on the storm.

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch14.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch14.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f49272d --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch14.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,574 @@ + + + + + + 14 + + + + +
+
+

14

+ +

It took ten minutes before anybody realised the tank was empty.

+ +

The shift was just starting and the bottling hall was primed and ready. Billy Butler and the filling-line charge + hand were over in the glasshouse going through the paperwork when somebody knocked on the door. Billy looked up.

+ +

"You better come and see this." One of the operators stood there, rubbing his jaw.

+ +

"We're just about to start. Give us ten minutes."

+ +

"No, I think you really should come and see this."

+ +

Billy stuck a pen into his top pocket and came walking out, white coat flapping.

+ +

"What's the problem?"

+ +

"Best you see for yourself."

+ +

The man walked along the gantry and stopped at the balcony. From there, the big tank was almost directly underneath, + its sectional hinged lids thrown wide like stainless steel petals. The inside walls gleamed in the overhead + light.

+ +

"Oh, holy fuck," Billy's face went slack.

+ +

"That's what I though too."

+ +

It had been simple for Ed to get in quickly, turn the key to close off the bottling line feed and then throw the + handle that would drain the tank after a sterile wash. It took him eighteen seconds in all and he was back in the + washroom before anyone even knew he was gone. Jack had insisted on that last move, even though Tam had said it + wouldn't be needed.

+ +

Good enough, never is, Jack had said. Or conversely: there is absolutely no substitute for a genuine + lack of preparation. Another of his throwaway lines, but Ed had gone along with it. Jack Lorne had it all + together. One mistake, he said, and we're all in the shit.

+ +

Out of the corner of his eye Ed saw Billy Butler take two steps back and come to a halt against the banister. His + face seemed to turn the colour of old putty and he looked as if he was having a heart attack.

+ +

"Are you all right?" Jim McCabe, the charge hand was starting up from the bottom stair.

+ +

Billy Butler was far from all right. He came down the stairs, went straight to the glasshouse and picked up the + phone.

+ +

"Get me Alistair Sproat."

+ +

"He's tied up at the moment Mr Butler," a woman's voice answered.

+ +

"Fucking untie him and get him down here," he said. "And I mean pronto."

+ +

Alistair Sproat had not seen Billy Butler's shock, but he made a very passable imitation when the manager took him to + the tank rim. He clutched a hand to his chest and almost doubled up.

+ +

"What's happened?"

+ +

"It's gone."

+ +

"Oh my god. Oh my god!" Sproat held on to the rail. "Where's my Glen Murroch?"

+ +

"Damned if I know," Billy said. "We left it to settle out last night after we emptied the last barrel. It was ready + for the bottling filter."

+ +

"So where is it, man? You had twenty five thousand gallons."

+ +

"I know that Alistair."

+ +

"So where in the name of god is my whisky?" He couldn't assimilate this yet.

+ +

Billy shrugged helplessly. The tank was completely empty. It had been six feet deep in fine malt twenty four hours + ago.

+ +

"I'm buggered if I know. The Glen Murroch's gone. Disappeared. Vanished. Vamoosed."

+ +

"That's three million pounds Billy. The bottling line's waiting to go. We've spent a fortune on presentation boxes. + For heaven's sake, Billy. It's Murroch twenty-five-year-old."

+ +

"I know that Alistair. But it's not there now."

+ +

Sproat was backed against the rail, still holding on, white knuckled.

+ +

"Billy." Sproat sounded as if he was choking. He looked as if he'd been hit with a bung-mallet. "Billy. + Don't bugger me about now. Just tell me what's happened."

+ +

"We've lost a whole decant."

+ +

"Well, you'd better damn well find it, or we're both in extremely deep manure."

+ +

The whole town knew all about it by mid morning. Sproat was besieged in his office and the customs men were crawling + all over the place.

+ +

"It was there yesterday", Jim Gilveray, the excise chief said to Angus Baxter. The big inspector had his pipe jammed + in the corner of his mouth. Powerful blue smoke billowed from his nostrils. "I saw it myself. Here's the + paperwork."

+ +

Gilveray pushed a thick file across the table. "It's an excise matter anyway. The material has not left customs bond + yet."

+ +

"So we would hope," Angus said. It wasn't a police matter, not yet, but Alistair Sproat had been in such a panic he'd + put a call through to headquarters before he sat down to think, so for now, at least, there was police interest. + "Such a shame to think somebody has misplaced all that whisky. It would be criminal negligence, is my view. An + affront to our Scottish heritage."

+ +

Kerr Thomson shifted from foot to foot. The big detective had given him a weighing look when he'd come in to + reception and for a moment Thomson thought he was about to say something. He hadn't had a wink of sleep all night, + thinking of that patrolman and his flashlight. Had he gone straight back to the station and told everybody?

+ +

"I've had to call in the investigation unit," Gilveray said. "Just in case."

+ +

He was looking Sproat straight in the eye.

+ +

"Just in case of what?"

+ +

"Just to protect Her Majesty's interest." All of the brass sat around the boardroom table. "They'll be here by + lunchtime."

+ +

"I don't think that's going to be necessary," Billy Butler said. He had just arrived up from the decant hall with one + of the maintenance men.

+ +

"Why is that?"

+ +

"We've found the problem." Billy started to unfold a schematic that was almost an exact replica of the one Jack Lorne + had spread on Neil Cleary's kitchen table. He bent over it and everybody crowded round. He jabbed a finger at a + junction where lines converged. "Somebody opened the cleaning cock."

+ +

"What would that do?" Angus Baxter.

+ +

"Very similar to the bottling valve here," Billy said, indicating a small detail. "Except that instead of pumping the + whisky to the lines, it just vents the tank. We use it after a steam clean."

+ +

"And what would that do?" Baxter insisted.

+ +

"What it did do," Billy corrected. His face was still ghastly pale. "I just don't know how anybody could + have made that mistake."

+ +

"You vented the decant?" Gilveray demanded. "Twenty five thousand gallons?"

+ +

"I don't know who threw the cleaning cock. But somebody has pulled the wrong lever."

+ +

"How many barrels would that be, now?" Baxter was curious.

+ +

"Four hundred and fifty hogsheads. They're bigger than barrels. Take about fifty five gallons apiece. We emptied them + over the past two days. It's a big operation."

+ +

"It was the last big operation," Sproat said, voice hollow and weak. "It's priceless."

+ +

"So where does it vent to?" Baxter seemed to take charge now.

+ +

"Here." Billy jabbed a finger at the schematic. They could see his hand was shaking. "It just goes down the drain and + out."

+ +

"Out where?"

+ +

"Into the river."

+ +

In five minutes they were all at the chain link fence and the smell of whisky was heavy on the wet air. The + thunderstorm had passed by in the early morning, leaving the ground sodden and soft, and beyond the fence, the golf + course was punctuated with big puddles in the fairway dips. A light smirr of rain fell out of low clouds.

+ +

They had paused by the little hatches where Billy Butler indicated the different pipes.

+ +

"Two inlets for fire hydrants. The third is a freezer valve." He moved between them. "This here is the vent for the + tank. He hunkered down close to the wall where a pipe curved down into a drain sump. "From there it discharges into + the runnel beyond the fence."

+ +

"I think that's confirmation enough," Baxter said, sniffing the air. His face was a picture of disgust. "It seems you + have a few problems, Mr Sproat."

+ +

Everybody turned to him.

+ +

"That's a lot of whisky to lose. We'll have to see what damage has been done."

+ +

"Damage?"

+ +

"Pollution. That much whisky can't have been good for the environment. The protection agency will have to be + informed."

+ +

He tapped his pipe out on a concrete stanchion. "And anybody who flushes away twenty five thousand gallons of good + Scotch whisky." He started filling the bowl again. "It's a personal thing, mind you, but in my opinion, that should + surely be a hanging offence."

+ +

Sproat looked as if he might faint. His face was drained of all colour and now matched the grey of this suit. + Everybody could see the mental calculations going on.

+ +

"This can't get out," he said.

+ +

"It already did," Gilveray said. "We'll have to find out how. And who is responsible."

+ +

"No. This has to remain confidential. Completely confidential, That's imperative, is that clear?" Sproat was + frantically thinking of how he would make up the shortfall. The three million was crucial for his development plan. + Without it he could be in serious trouble.

+ +

What he thought was, that without it he was totally fucked.

+ +

"I'm swearing you all to secrecy."

+ +

The big policeman took a step back, hunched over his pipe, straining to get it lit again. His eyes twinkled with arid + humour.

+ +

"Oh yes, I'm sure I remember the very mention of the secrecy clause in the police operational handbook."

+ +

Sproat looked at him, anger chasing shock.

+ +

"Just how secret do you think this can be?" Baxter asked him. "You've twenty workers in there who saw your empty + tank. It's going to be all over the town in ten minutes."

+ +

In less than an hour, the phone calls were coming in.

+ +

They had hid the tankers in plain sight, right at the back stretch of the container park on the east end of the town. + It was enough out of the way, and the fake tarpaulins on the makeshift brackets were sufficient camouflage amongst + the scatter of other trucks and trailers. They unhitched the drive units and left the big tanks up on their + brace-legs and parked the cabins on the other side. Anybody hunting for Andy Kerr's vehicles would be looking for + complete tankers.

+ +

"Nobody else is to know where they are," Jack said after he and Jed eased them into position. "Just let them think + they're back up on the plantation."

+ +

"You mean don't tell the lads?"

+ +

"I mean that exactly." Rain had been pouring down Jack's face and he slicked it away with the back of his hand.

+ +

"I thought we were all in this," Jed protested.

+ +

"Sure we are. But from now on it's going to get hairy. The customs men will be all over the place like flies on a + cowshit. The less people know, the less they can tell, even accidentally."

+ +

"You mean Donny?"

+ +

"I mean we just play it safe. Just you and me know where it is. That's enough for now."

+ +

They met at Gillespie's boat late in the afternoon after Donny and Ed clocked out. The pair of them looked as if they + could use some sleep.

+ +

"They bought it," Ed said. "The shit really hit. Every one of us got hauled in. You should have seen Sproat's face. + He looked like he'd swallowed a dead rat."

+ +

"They brought in the council and a whole team of big shots from the Customs and Excise." Donny was animated. "They + could get done for polluting the river."

+ +

"Did you leave the red herrings?"

+ +

Donny gave him a blank look.

+ +

"The fish, Donzo. Are the fish in the stream?"

+ +

"Sure they are. They can't miss them."

+ +

He had got up before dawn, unable to sleep, and taken the river towpath shortcut while the rain was still pounding + down. By the time he got to the little runnel, the smell of whisky was thick and powerful. He followed the streamlet + up to the bushes, counting off the pale bodies of the fish in the shallow water and then he plunged into the sodden + undergrowth until he reached the drainpipe. The big plastic container was full to the brim. He hauled it out, + grunting with exertion as he managed it onto his shoulder, and then bulled back out onto the path. In half an hour + he was back home again, and the five gallons of whisky hidden behind the old outhouse at the bottom of the + garden.

+ +

"What now?" Tam wanted to know.

+ +

"Now we sit and wait for the heat to die down."

+ +

"How long will that be?"

+ +

"We have to be careful," Jack said. Jed caught his eye, but said nothing. "As long as they think that stuff's gone + into the river, they won't come looking. But we have to make sure."

+ +

"How are we going to get rid of it?" Donny asked.

+ +

"Good question," Jack said, grinning. Some of the grey had washed out of his hair in the thunderstorm, leaving it + dark and metallic. He'd need more work. "Next question."

+ +

"No, really," Donny said. "It's a hell of a lot to start hawking." Neil backed him up.

+ +

"You all said you'd trust me, didn't you?" Jack was amazed that Donny hadn't asked the obvious question before.

+ +

Donny nodded.

+ +

"Right. Trust me some more. We just sit still until the time is right, and we'll know very soon. Be patient and don't + get greedy."

+ +

"Greedy? We're in this for the money," Neil said. He flipped his accent into Michael Douglas: "Greed is + good. Greed is right. Greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary + spirit."

+ +

He held both hands theatrically wide. "Greed, in all of its forms."

+ +

"Greed just gets you caught," Ed said quietly.

+ +

"But are we going to have to fill up lemonade bottles or what?" Donny wanted to know. "That would take forever."

+ +

Jack laughed. "You fancy selling this door to door?"

+ +

This time Ed caught his eye and held it. He was cool.

+ +

"You've sold it already, haven't you? You've done a deal."

+ +

Jack winked, but he said nothing. Since first thing in the morning he'd been up and all over Glasgow, working on the + next leg of the plan. He hadn't had any sleep and he was now so tired he could drop.

+
+

Big Lars Hanssen crushed his hand in a big double-handed grip. "Yack!" He boomed like a foghorn, hauled Jack + up the Valkyrie's gangplank and guided him past the wide open hold.

+ +

He'd been standing up at the boat prow, leaning in a proud pose over the dry dock. A radio somewhere was playing the + theme from Titanic. Jack hoped it wasn't an omen.

+ +

"Nearly ready to roll and rock," Lars said. "You do good business?"

+ +

"Good enough," Jack said. Lars closed the door on the foredeck and sat on the swivel seat.

+ +

"You want a vodka?"

+ +

"No. Here, try this." He pulled a bottle from the backpack and held it up.

+ +

"Is this it? Lagavullin?"

+ +

"That's just the bottle. What's inside is much better."

+ +

"We'll see." Lars unshipped the top and took a big swig. He held it in his mouth then swirled it around like a real + wine-taster. But instead of spitting it out, he closed his eyes and let it drain down his throat. He breathed out + through his nose and Jack got a whiff of strong whisky.

+ +

"Holigan-goligan. This is the business, no?"

+ +

"I think so."

+ +

"How much you got now?"

+ +

"Twenty thousand gallons plus. Double proof. Lets say forty thou at forty percent. Let's say a quarter of a million + standard bottles."

+ +

"That's one big hell of a lot of whisky, you know." It came out viskie.

+ +

"What would that cost in Norway?"

+ +

"A king's ransom, Yack. In Sweden, even more than that, and Finland, you must go see the bank manager for a big loan. + With tax, at least sixty a bottle, your money. Some more maybe."

+ +

Jack had done his research. That came out about right.

+ +

"And a premium for prime twenty five year old."

+ +

"Not as much as you would think, ya? With the tax so high, those Swedes, they drink any old cows piss out of a rusty + bucket and like it, true? But still, maybe half the same again.

+ +

"So even at a big drop, taking it down to five apiece, we're still on for one and a quarter."

+ +

"Easy. In the winter when it gets dark, there is nothing else to do. Drink and women, this is all. The whole of + Scandinavia, it needs to cheer up and stay warm in the cold weather."

+ +

"Good. It'll have to be a quick turnaround. Now we have to talk business. I've fixed up for a marine assessor to come + round today. Some time in the afternoon. Is that okay with you?"

+ +

"Why would you want to do something like that?"

+ +

"To find out what your boat is worth."

+ +

Lars took his massive arms off the table.

+ +

"I know what my boat is worth." His voice had a sudden hard edge.

+ +

"Sure you do," Jack said. He had to handle this fast and steady. "But I don't know the first thing about boats."

+ +

"But why do you want to send someone to my boat to find that out?" Lars' brow was creased into a heavy frown. His + blue eyes glared across the table.

+ +

Jack sat back. It was always going to be a game of chess, but he'd already drawn Lars out.

+ +

"Simple. I need a guarantee, and the best way to get that is for you to give me a carried interest in the Valkyrie's + operation."

+ +

"I think you better explain this. I thought we did a deal."

+ +

"So we did, and it's a good deal."

+ +

"We shook hands on it."

+ +

"That's true. We did. You nearly broke my knuckles. And now we move to the next stage. I've got the whisky, twenty + thousand gallons of it, and you've got the boat. Now I've got something you want, and vice versa."

+ +

"I don't think I like this way of doing business," Lars said.

+ +

"It's the only way, Lars." Jack put his hands down on the surface, palms up, showing he was hiding nothing. "Cards on + the table, okay?"

+ +

Lars shrugged, as if it didn't matter what Jack could say.

+ +

"Right. You can get in and out of Norway and Sweden. You've got a thousand miles of fjords and a customs set up + that's full of holes. You can get the stuff in."

+ +

"Sure I can. Nobody searches the Valkyrie, especially on the waste disposal."

+ +

"And you've got a market for the stuff?"

+ +

"For sure I have."

+ +

"So all you have to do is load up, pull out, and make a million plus, no tax."

+ +

Lars shrugged again. "Easy."

+ +

Jack knew he'd make a lot more than that.

+ +

"So we've done all the work, taken all the risk, and now you have to take a little risk for me."

+ +

He leant over the table, holding Lars with his eyes.

+ +

"Listen, big man. You know I don't want your boat. I don't know the first thing about sailing. I'd ram it + into the other side of the dock if you put me up at the wheel. What I do need is for you to give me half the boat, + half the operation, as a loan. That's what a carried interest is. Equity. And this way none of us can lose. You sign + half the boat to my company, all above board and legal. We get a paper drawn up so you're still the operator and + senior partner. But I have a share."

+ +

"So why do you need to do this?"

+ +

"Simple. I need an asset, and it's only temporary, like an advance. A deposit against future profits. Carried + interest gives us a share that we give back to you when we divvy up."

+ +

"Divvy up?"

+ +

"Redistribute the spoils."

+ +

Lars still held that frown and Jack knew he's have to work on this a bit more, or the deal would go down the pan. His + big weapon was the fact that Lars Hanssen had a whiff of big money. He'd just have to be convinced to take another + risk for it.

+ +

"Look at it this way. Your boat's been on the stocks for what, four?"

+ +

"About that."

+ +

"A month of good summer weather. I did my homework and I know the North Sea has never had it so good. Must be + something to do with global warming. Anyway, four weeks laid up with no money coming in. A big boat like this? That + should have been working every day, so your profits are down the swannee. And the repairs, okay, that's probably + insurance, assuming you have some."

+ +

"I have insurance."

+ +

"But you're off hire. You're not trading, so you're in a loss situation that's getting deeper every day, and that + means you're spending your own hard-earned cash or spending the bank's money. If that's the case, you're on + short-money interest, and that's making your eyes water."

+ +

"How do you know all this."

+ +

"Trust me, I'm a smartarse. I'm doing a course. Anyway, now you have a chance to make a million, maybe one and a + half. Higher than that if I know you. That'll give you a chance to buy another boat and start your own fleet, double + your profits, or just retire to some tropical island. I don't know."

+ +

Lars watched him, truculent, like a bear in a corner, but didn't answer.

+ +

"It's a big chance for both of us. So we each have to take some of the risk. For you, it's not that much, and you + have to speculate to accumulate. Anyway, you could take the stuff in legit, pay the tax, and still make a fortune, + except that it's stolen and you'd have to find a supplier to back you up. You give us the carried interest for, + let's say, two months, three at the outside, at which time you have the option to buy it back at a fixed price + agreed between us. I've got a good contract lawyer set up to draw up the deal, but you can pick one of your own if + you want. Anyway, that gives me the security I need, and you keep your option."

+ +

"You want to hold my Valkyrie hostage?"

+ +

"You're the Viking, Lars. I just see it as a good deal. It's security."

+ +

He wasn't being exactly honest in this, but he told no lies. Lars didn't have to know everything he had up his + sleeve. Nobody did.

+ +

The big man scraped his nails across his beard. It sounded like wire wool. Jack kept talking.

+ +

"And as soon as you do your deal across the water and weigh in with the cash, I have to sign it back to you."

+ +

"What if something goes wrong?"

+ +

"You make sure it doesn't. Something goes wrong between now and delivery, I'm facing five years. If it goes wrong at + your end, then we're both sunk. Customs and Excise is just the same here as it is there. I checked. They'll impound + your boat and we both lose everything. They call this a pendulum deal. It's win or lose, no in-between. But when we + win, we win big. Lose and we drown together."

+ +

Lars bent forward, looming right up to Jack. "My father, he was a whaleboat captain. He bought the Valkyrie when they + stopped the whaling. He's one tough ol' man, you know. If I lose his boat, he'll put a harpoon in me."

+ +

"Families," Jack said. "You just can't pick them, can you?"

+ +

He raised his eyebrows, and smiled at the big boatman.

+ +

"What do you say?"

+ +

"I keep the option to buy back?"

+ +

"Of course you do, what do I want with an old rust bucket like this."

+ +

Lars pulled back. His eyebrows shot up and then he suddenly burst into a gale of laughter.

+ +

"You got the nerve Jack, I say this much for you."

+ +

He reached and clapped a vast hand on Jack's shoulder. It almost cracked with the impact.

+ +

"Okay, we sink or we swim together. That's fair enough."

+ +

Jack opened the bottle and poured Lars another shot. "But try to stay afloat, okay?"

+ +

"What you think I been doing all this time? Okay, we got a deal again. I can tell you what the Valkyrie is + worth."

+ +

"Sure you can, but I need it official."

+ +

"You don't take my word another time?"

+ +

"Let's not go down that road again. The man's coming at three and he'll do a rush job. He thinks we're going to + change the insurance policy. We'll get the paperwork tomorrow and then we get the agreement drawn up. Couple of + months down the line, you get to tear it up and sail into the sunset, or the northern lights or Val-bloody-halla. + Wherever."

+ +

"And you, Jack? What will you do?"

+ +

"I'm sure I'll think of something," Jack said. "Oh, and there's one more thing."

+ +

"Another thing, he says now."

+ +

"This one's easy. I don't want paid in notes. A simple cash transfer will do. I'll give you a number when the time is + right."

+
+

Jack spent the rest of the day criss-crossing the city, making a round of calls and he got back just in time to meet + the boys on the boat. By the time they got finished it was after eight and they were all hungry and tired and just a + little deflated after the excitement of the night. Jack arrived at his uncle's house just in time to catch the nine + o clock news.

+ +

The disappearing whisky made the headlines.

+ +

Blair Bryden at the Levenford Gazette had been onto the story like a bloodhound and by two in the afternoon he had + syndicated it to every tabloid in the country, TV and radio as well. It was a silly-season certainty. The cameras + panned across the front of Aitkenbar Distillery and then flicked to an ashen-faced Sproat who stammered his way + though an interview.

+ +

Jack listened to the reporter who could hardly keep from laughing.

+ +

"Apparently somebody turned the wrong tap, and enough prime Scotch whisky to fill a swimming pool simply flushed down + the drain."

+ +

The scene shifted to the end of the fence where the geese were up and honking at the intrusion.

+ +

"The famous geese guards may be upset, and they're not the only ones. The thousands of gallons of famous Glen Murroch + had been maturing for a quarter of a century and was about to be bottled in special souvenir packs. It was the final + operation in the two hundred year old distillery which is being sold to make way for a new retail centre and leisure + complex."

+ +

The camera zoomed through the chain-link fence and got a good close up of an angry, mean-eyed goose, then panned + again, round towards the golf course.

+ +

"It is believed that the missing whisky ended up in the River. And the evidence?"

+ +

The reporter gave a lop-sided grin, turned his head, and the lens followed his downward gaze.

+ +

"A stream full of dead fish. Some might even say, dead drunk."

+ +

Jack had been only half awake on the couch, eyelids too heavy to keep open.

+ +

He snapped completely awake as the camera brought the scene in the little runnel right into sharp focus.

+ +

The pale bodies of the dead fish floated in a small pool, all belly-up.

+ +

Jack covered his eyes with his hands, unable to believe what the television showed him.

+ +

"Oh brilliant," he breathed. "Donny, you stupid, stupid bastard."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch15.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch15.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7632eaf --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch15.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,544 @@ + + + + + + 15 + + + + +
+
+

15

+ +

Sandy Bruce shook his shoulder and woke him out of a deep sleep. He surfaced from a dream where pale, bloated fish + swam lazily in an amber stream and he tried desperately to hook them out with his hands, but they slipped easily out + of his grasp. The more he tried to catch them, the murkier and deeper the water became and he could feel the mud + sucking at his feet, trying to drag him down.

+ +

"Wake up Jack," Sandy shook him and the dream shattered into fragments, leaving him with nothing but confusing + afterimages and a deep sense of unease.

+ +

"Have you not been home yet?"

+ +

He shook his head, rubbing sore eyes.

+ +

"Your mother thinks you've been run over by a bus. From the looks of you, she's not far wrong. Better show up + sometime before she starts to worry."

+ +

He sat up, yawning. "What time is it?"

+ +

"After twelve. The club was late finishing. Did you see the news?"

+ +

"Yeah."

+ +

"So you daft buggers really went and did it."

+ +

"I told you we would."

+ +

"I never really believed it until I saw it for real."

+ +

"You told me to take the bull by the horns, make something of myself."

+ +

Sandy gave him a sidelong look.

+ +

"Don't you go putting the blame on me. There's a fine line between courage and foolishness and it's a damn shame it's + not a high wall. You want a cup of tea?"

+ +

"Sure. It's been a long day and a night."

+ +

"So what's the next move?"

+ +

"We have to wait until big Lars can get his act in gear. I'm back up town tomorrow, doing a bit of business. A few + more days and then it's gone."

+ +

"And after that?"

+ +

"Not what people think. I need to speak to the boys up on Skye. Then we'll all have to wait for the heat to die + down."

+ +

He kept seeing the after-images of the fish in the stream, pale eyed, slipping out of his grasp, and the images + somehow superimposed themselves on the memory of the camera shot on the news. The feeling of unease stayed with him, + stale and greasy.

+ +

"They all think it went straight down the drain. That's what it said on the news. The whole town's having a + laugh."

+ +

"That's the plan. As long as they keep on believing they pulled their own plug, then we're home and dry."

+ +

"Dry, with a zillion gallons of whisky? Sure you are. Where is it now?"

+ +

Jack tapped the side of his nose. "Need to know, Sandy. No offence, okay? I have to see a lawyer and a banker and a + bunch of would-be tycoons."

+ +

"Just you watch yourself. I told you there's too many people in on this. I said to keep it simple as possible."

+ +

"Smash and grab is simple. I have to make sure they all look the other way."

+ +

"You think it's a game of chess."

+ +

"It is a game of chess. You have to keep four or five moves ahead. With this much moonshine, there's going + to be a hell of a lot of interest, and that customs man Gilveray, he's not entirely daft."

+ +

"He's a jobsworth, Jake, just a civil serpent. He's well up his own arse. He's not the one I'd be wary around. Yon + big highlander, Baxter, that's one who doesn't miss anything. I saw him along there at the bonded warehouse. He acts + like a half daft big hick, but he's pin sharp."

+ +

"There was always a chance they'd call in CID. I hoped it would stay in-house."

+ +

"Now you're beginning to talk like one of the suits."

+ +

"We better get used to that."

+ +

"So what's the next move?"

+ +

Jack knew he was going to be asked that a lot in the next couple of days. His job was to keep a lid on the rest of + them, make sure they stayed quiet, make sure they stayed tight.

+ +

"Hopefully the diversion worked. We just wait and see how the wind blows."

+ +

The image of the dream came back to him and he shoved it away. In any plan as complex as this, you had to allow for a + few things going wrong, or some people doing stupid things. He'd a big bone to pick with Donny Watson.

+ +

"You just take care then."

+ +

"I will. Oh, by the way, your popcorn idea worked a treat. That and your beer mash."

+ +

"I'm glad I was some help. I just hope I haven't helped land you in the jail."

+ +

"There's something else I'm hoping you can do for me." Jack knew he should keep this for the cold light of morning. + Waves of tiredness were washing over him in a tide.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"I want you to become chairman."

+ +

"Chairman of what?"

+ +

"I'll tell you in the morning. And it will be legit. One thing though, how's your Italian?"

+ +

"A bit rusty. I haven't needed it since my Nato days when we were running bootleg wine up to Germany, but I watch all + the gangster movies. They're my refresher course. Why do you ask?"

+ +

"I'll get you a tape. And I think we'll have to spruce you up in a good suit. Any preference?"

+ +

"Remember what old Thoreau said." Sandy had eclectic reading tastes. "Distrust any enterprise that requires new + clothes. So what's all this about?"

+ +

"Our Mr Sproat wants to meet the client. I need somebody respectable."

+ +

"Thanks very much." Sandy shot his grandson a questioning look.

+ +

"But I suppose I'll just have to settle for you."

+ +

Kate called him in the morning and woke him out of a dreamless sleep. The sun was high, but hidden by low cloud and + the air, eddying through the open window, had a fresh, cleansed scent of blossom and dug earth.

+ +

"What time is it?"

+ +

"That depends on where you are."

+ +

"Oh, it's you. Hi. What's happening?"

+ +

"That's what I phoned you to ask. That was a bit of a brush-off the other night."

+ +

"Yeah. Listen I'm sorry about that." He was coming awake now, grasping at reality. "I was kind of in the middle of + things, you know?"

+ +

"Middle of what, the North Sea?"

+ +

"No," he fumbled for an answer. "There's been a hold up on that. The boat's not ready."

+ +

"So I still have some time to talk you into seeing sense."

+ +

He didn't have much time for anything. Everything was moving at light speed and he when he finally located his watch, + he realised he had already wasted too many good hours of daylight. He stretched with one arm, getting the blood back + into his muscles. At least he was rested.

+ +

"When's the big demonstration. I want to be there. A gesture of solidarity."

+ +

"What demonstration?"

+ +

A hollow silence developed on the line. Finally she came back.

+ +

"What do you mean what demo?"

+ +

Damn! He could hear him talking himself into a corner. And who had given her the number?

+ +

She over-rode the thought. "The one you wanted the posters for. I presume you still have some sort of social + conscience, or did I just waste my time?"

+ +

"No, not at all. The posters are brilliant. Absolutely perfect. I'll be talking to the Dunvegan boys later today." + That much was true, if nothing else was, and nothing else was. He would have to get used to the deceit, but + this was not the same game as chess. Lies were different from bluff. He didn't like lying to Kate, and if she ever + found out about Margery Burns, well he'd be dead in the water with her, that was for sure.

+ +

"Good. Maybe you can do me a favour."

+ +

"Sure I will."

+ +

"You haven't heard it yet."

+ +

"You wouldn't ask if I couldn't do it."

+ +

"That's very sweet of you to say. Okay, I need some money."

+ +

His heart sank. He had been spending it like tomorrow was wiped off the calendar, and there was more spending, big + spending to come. He knew he would have to drain the kitty dry over the next couple of days and squeeze the boys for + more.

+ +

"How much?"

+ +

"About five grand to start with."

+ +

He hesitated and she heard it. She laughed.

+ +

"Oh don't worry, I'm not after your redundancy. I'm just collecting, and you can pass the hat round as well. We + finally got the Charter group moving, and we got some free advice. The next stage won't be free."

+ +

"What next stage?"

+ +

"We have to raise a lot of money to slap an interdict on Sproat. Him and the council. We got a rough legal + opinion at the citizen's advice office. They think we've got a case to interdict the distillery, which prevents them + filling in Bruce's harbour. After that, we would have to argue it in court, and that will take plenty."

+ +

This time Jack smiled. His uncle and the boatmen had all the free time in the world, when he wasn't making beer and + hooch and racing his pigeons. They had trawled through all the old records in the library and Jack had seen what + they had turned up even before Charter 1315 had been anywhere near it. It had convinced him.

+ +

"So if we raise the cash, we can get the buildings listed and stop Sproat. We prevent the council from giving him + permission to demolish and dump. Just as long as we can fund it before they send the bulldozers in. It takes time, + but an interdict could hold everything up long enough. If the developers think they're going to have a fight on + their hands, it could make them back away."

+ +

She was sharp. He'd already realised that. If Trading Estates realised there was any smell at all, they would pull + out. Any whiff of fish about the deal, the money would dry up. Jack came fully awake. Another plan took root in his + mind.

+ +

"How can I help?"

+ +

"We're having a fund-raiser. The Starlight Company are putting on a show. You can come and help backstage, move the + flats."

+ +

That was one promise he couldn't make.

+ +

"Maybe," he extemporised. "When is it?"

+ +

"Two weeks."

+ +

It was well out of the question. "I'll see what I can do."

+ +

She sensed his hesitation. "Sound enthusiastic, won't you? If we stop the demolition, we keep the distillery. Maybe + we can find a buyer. And the dairy might be able to keep its lease. Jack, we're trying to do some good for the + town."

+ +

"Yeah." He closed his eyes. This was a no win, not with Kate.

+ +

"Where are you?" She took him by surprise.

+ +

"Out of town." He lied.

+ +

"Can't say, or won't say? You're being evasive, Jack Lorne, and you're not very good at it."

+ +

"No. I'm not really. I'm just kind of tied up at the moment."

+ +

"Are you avoiding me?"

+ +

"No, not at all."

+ +

"Doesn't sound like it. Doesn't matter anyway, does it? It's not like we're joined at the hip. I just thought we were + friends, that's all. You know, thick and thin?"

+ +

"Of course we are." She was better at this than he was. He wondered how much of that she really meant, or if she was + just pressing the right buttons. She was good.

+ +

"Doesn't sound as if you really mean that, but suit yourself. So, are you hooked up with Captain Lars and the sveedish + bimbettes?"

+ +

"He's agreed to take me on," Jack said, and that was true enough in its fashion.

+ +

"So you're going through with this?" The disappointment took the strength out of her voice.

+ +

"It's the only way."

+ +

"When?"

+ +

"Soon." He could tell her nothing. He couldn't speak to her, not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't + trust himself to stop once he got started, and there were so many things he needed to get done.

+
+

Angus Baxter stood back from the rest. The environmental experts were taking samples of the water from the runnel, + using plastic bottles as scoops. A couple of golfers had stopped by to watch the proceedings, sniffing the air as + they slowed. Here the smell of malt whisky was thick on it. Jim Gilveray had already been down with his own scoop + and ascertained that a substantial quantity of Her Majesty's excisable liquor had indeed disappeared down the + drain.

+ +

Two small boys paused in their treasure hunt in the marsh, legs black with mud. The big policeman lit up his pipe and + blew out a plume of strong fumes. The health men finished their work, capped off the jars and stowed them in the + boxes.

+ +

"What about the fish?" Baxter asked.

+ +

"First things first," the lead man said. He shouldered the bag and started off with his colleague.

+ +

Baxter stood for a while, looking down into the runnel.

+ +

"Funny that," he said.

+ +

"What's that?" Gilveray saw his presence as an intrusion on his patch. Baxter didn't give a damn what he thought. He + knew Gilveray was just a turnkey in a warehouse.

+ +

"The fish," the policeman said, no elaboration.

+ +

"Alcoholic poisoning probably."

+ +

"No. I don't think that was it."

+ +

Blair Bryden from the Gazette had a photographer with him. He and Baxter knew each other well. "How do you mean?"

+ +

"In fact I know for certain it wasn't alcohol poisoning."

+ +

"Ethyl contamination," Gilveray said. "We're wasting our time here. My samples show high levels of ethyl compounds + here. We're satisfied that it was a spill. I'm only interested in explaining the loss of revenue. I don't know about + the environmental damage."

+ +

"So what's the next move?"

+ +

"A customs tribunal will decide if there is any duty payable and by whom. I imagine Sproat's insurance will cover his + loss."

+ +

"You would hope so," Baxter said, agreeably. "Such an awful waste, though."

+ +

He turned away and called to the boys in the bog. "You there. Is that a fishing net?"

+ +

One boy held up a small net on a pole.

+ +

"Aye."

+ +

"Bring it here then."

+ +

"Get lost."

+ +

Baxter walked across the narrow fairway and stood at the brink. "If I have to come in and get that net, the pair of + you will spend the weekend in the jail for trespassing and stealing golf club property." He reached in his pocket + and drew out a shiny pair of handcuffs and held them up. He grinned widely.

+ +

"I never knew you were the polis, mister."

+ +

"Just bring the net and we'll say no more about it."

+ +

He wiped the muddy cane with a tissue and went back to the runnel. Gilveray and Blair Bryden watched him get as close + as possible, lean forward, and dig the net under the clear surface. A trail of muddy brown swirled down with the + current.

+ +

"I was an expert at this as a boy. You never forget." He jerked his arm, scooped and brought it out of the water. + Gilveray expected him to bring up one of the bigger fish that were caught where the streamlet narrowed. Instead, + when the policeman turned, they saw he had two tiny silver fish wriggling slowly in the net.

+ +

He beamed. "Still got the knack, eh? Once a fisherman, always a fisherman."

+ +

"And what's the point of that?"

+ +

"You'll observe that these fish are very much alive. Lethargic, maybe, but still going."

+ +

Gilveray raised his eyebrows. "So what?"

+ +

"So there's a noticeable discrepancy between these and the deceased down there."

+ +

He winked at Bryden. "Maybe your man will want a picture of this?"

+ +

The newspaper man nodded the go-ahead and Brian Deacon shot a couple of frames.

+ +

"Maybe they're a bit wobbly. Might even have an awful hangover, who can say? But they're definitely not dead." He + pointed down with the net. "Now why do you think that is?"

+ +

"Maybe whisky affects some fish more than others," Bryden ventured.

+ +

"Not at all. They all breathe in through their gills, all sorts of stour in that water." Baxter flicked his wrist and + the two little fish shimmered through the air to make tiny splashes in the pool. He scooped up one of the dead + floaters and brought it round for them all to see.

+ +

"The big difference is that these fish were deceased before they got into the water."

+ +

"That's amazing." Bryden was well impressed. "How can you tell?"

+ +

"Elementary." Baxter's blue eyes twinkled mischievously. The sun was poking out through the evaporating clouds and + the fish were going off as the temperature rose. "These fish are the wrong species." He turned to Gilveray. "You + should take up the fishing. It's good for the mind and calms the soul."

+ +

Bryden could tell he was relishing this, spinning it pout.

+ +

"It gives you time to reflect on the perfection of nature and the folly of jumping to conclusions. Now," he brought + the net down and emptied it onto the short grass, "speaking of reflections, you'll notice how this fish throws back + the sunlight. I'd call that iridescence, hm? All the colours of the rainbow."

+ +

"Okay," Gilveray conceded. "You've got a bright shiny fish."

+ +

"All those colours tell you that this fish is not native to these waters. It's not a brown trout, which is the best + you could expect. In fact, there's only three places that you'll see a fish like this."

+ +

"That really is amazing," the photographer whispered to Bryden. "He's like Cracker. He must really know his + stuff."

+ +

"So where would you find them?" Gilveray suckered himself.

+ +

"The lakes of Canada for one. Marvellous fighters they are, rainbow trout. I went there fishing the lakes with a + cousin of mine, and they were simply jumping out of the water and into the boat, there was that many of them."

+ +

He turned and winked at Bryden again.

+ +

"And the other places?"

+ +

"You get them in fish farms these days. And then again you might look on the slab in Gallagher's fish shop window. + They're six pounds a kilo. One thing's for sure."

+ +

He held them all while he fished out his pipe again and got it stoked up.

+ +

"Somebody planted these fish in the steam so they'd be found. They left them here to make folk think there had been a + leak."

+ +

"But there was a leak," Gilveray said. "The air's full of it, man."

+ +

"I smell something. I'd even concede that it was whisky an' all."

+ +

He blew out a long breath.

+ +

"But if there had been twenty five thousand gallons down that trickle of water, then I'm sure even the wee fish would + have died happy. So now, I'm afraid, this is a police investigation. Either somebody has taken off with a lot of the + amber nectar, or some poor soul has the mother of all hangovers today."

+ +

Baxter beamed, and the photographer caught it for the news.

+
+

Sproat took his call right away. Margery Burns transferred him through and Jack could hear the strain in the other + man's voice.

+ +

"I hear you had a bit of a setback," he said.

+ +

"Just an accident," Sproat said, trying to make it light. "It's a damned nuisance."

+ +

"Four hundred barrels is more than a nuisance." He tempted Sproat out.

+ +

"How did you know how much it was?"

+ +

"You have to keep your ear to the ground," Jack said. "I hope you're well covered. I hear that the presentation packs + would have brought you in three million. That's good cash flow."

+ +

"We're in talks today."

+ +

"And my principals hope you've some stocks left."

+ +

"Don't worry about that," Sproat said, too anxious. "We're sorting that out now."

+ +

"Good. We can refine figures and times, if you're still on."

+ +

"Of course we are."

+ +

"Okay, my principal is keen to do a deal."

+ +

"Sooner the better," Sproat tried to keep his voice flat.

+ +

"Oh, and we'll probably need to borrow transport." Jack threw it in casually.

+ +

"That's not a problem."

+ +

Sproat put the phone down and let out a sight of relief. A quick deal with Michael Gabriel's group could turn this + around while the insurers argued over who was to blame for what and how much they would pay out. He'd have that + jumped-up clerk Gilveray breathing down his neck, but that was always an occupational hazard.

+ +

Jack sat back and cupped his chin in his hands. It was all chess now. Sproat was about to expose his queen. On the + other board, big Lars was drawn right in to a corner. So far, so good, apart from that daft prick Donny. Margery + Burns was proving worth the cost. Just a few more days and they'd be home and clear.

+ +

He'd been up at the crack of dawn and in to the city. The marine assessor had been and gone and given Lars the + re-insurance documents which went straight into the bin. Jack called a cab and took them up to Bath Street and into + the lawyer's office. It was a straightforward deal. Lars needed more talking to, but when he was totally convinced + he'd never get his hands on the whisky without a signature on the bottom of the agreement, his good business sense + finally won out.

+ +

They shook hands on the steps on a brightening morning. Jack winced and rescued his fingers.

+ +

"So now you got half a Valkyrie," Lars said. "But only for a loan. I want my baby back."

+ +

"You can have her," Jack said. "She's got the looks only a mother could love."

+ +

The big man slapped him on the shoulder.

+ +

"Anybody else says that and they finish up in the water, tied to the anchor."

+ +

He left Lars to make his own way down to the dock and checked his pocket for cash. The kitty was running low now, but + he had the top copy of the document in his pocket and enough company plastic to make a couple of big buys. He + whistled up another taxi and in five minutes he was down in the Italian Centre looking at the racks, before picking + up a little android phone and a fine brushed-silver fountain pen.

+ +

Rule number three from the ten steps to success. You never get a second chance to make a good first + impression. Jack really had to put on the dog.

+ +

In an hour he was just two minutes late for an appointment down on St Vincent Street where all the banks huddled + cheek by jowl.

+ +

The young banker took in the Armani and raised his eyebrows appreciatively. Jack accepted a weak tea and presented + the company's credentials. He laid out his new passport on the walnut desktop, the incorporation papers, and details + of planned trading, along with the heads of agreement Sproat had signed.

+ +

"So what you want, Mr Gabriel, is a rolling letter of credit."

+ +

"My company hopes to expand. We may have to make moves very quickly and credit will give us the flexibility." He was + talking straight out of the manual now.

+ +

"And how much credit would you require?"

+ +

Jack held his breath for a moment. This might still be chess, but it was a big league game.

+ +

"Half a million for now," he said, and bit down on the dainty little chocolate biscuit.

+ +

"You'll need security, of course." He delved into the shiny new case that smelled of well-worked leather, and brought + out the documents.

+ +

"We have a carried interest in a successful North Sea supply operation. Here's the assessor's valuation as of + yesterday. As you'll see, my company has forty nine percent of both the operation and the vessel. We plan to make + more acquisitions and establish trading connections in this country and on the continent."

+ +

By one in the afternoon, Jack Lorne had his letter of credit and a cash transfer into the company account, express + clearance. The interest might have been fierce, but in all the lessons he'd learned on his course, one thing always + held true. Money begets money. Even a promise of money was enough. That's how it worked, and he wished he'd known + that years ago.

+ +

Now he had what he needed for the next step, and as long as everybody held their nerve, as long as Margery Burns + could do her job, and old Sandy Bruce could pull off a fast act, they'd all be on the final straight.

+ +

And just as long as big Lars Hanson didn't ever find out his old whaling father's pride and joy had been hocked to + the bank.

+ +

Jack stood for a minute in the sun, almost paralysed with the enormity of it all. He caught sight of himself in a big + dark plate glass window and for a moment he was completely taken aback.

+ +

Three weeks ago he had been studying in the afternoons after driving round Levenford in a rattling milk-van, scraping + to get his brother into university.

+ +

The tall man who faced him, eyes hidden behind the designer dark glass was somebody else entirely. The brief-case + caught the high rays of the sun as it burned off the thin clouds and the burnished reflection gleamed back at + him.

+ +

He held all the strings, and while he knew that any one of them could slip from his grasp and fray at the end, he + knew he'd come this far and had to take it to its conclusion, come what may.

+ +

Take your future in your own hands, old Sandy had said. Now it was there, in his own hands and everybody else's + future besides. A shiver of excitement and anticipation juddered down his back, and a trickle of sweat eased its way + down his temple. He took the monogrammed handkerchief from his top pocket, looked at the embroidered letter + G on the silk, and wiped the bead away.

+ +

Across the road, a Starbucks coffee house was open and all of a sudden he needed either a strong coffee or a strong + drink. He opted for an espresso. He'd have to be very sober from here on in. He paid the girl and couldn't miss the + appreciative look as she took in the Armani gear. He gave her a big tip and a wide smile.

+ +

Ten minutes later, armed with a letter of credit for half a million pounds, he was in the plush office of one of + Glasgow's most successful corporate law firms.

+ +

"I'd like to fund a legal action," he told Kerrigan Deane.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch16.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch16.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4491cd9 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch16.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,604 @@ + + + + + + 16 + + + + +
+
+

16

+ +

He grabbed Donny Watson when he was half-way up the ladder and hauled him so violently into the boat that the pair of + them ended in a struggling tangle of arms and legs.

+ +

"What the fuck.....?

+ +

Jack hit him a slap, hard enough to sting, not to really hurt. He wanted to curl his hand into a fist and really give + him a couple of dull ones, maybe some worse even than that. He kept a hold of Donny's collar and dragged him to his + feet, gripping it in a twist that was tight enough to make his face match his hair again.

+ +

"What's going on?" Ed asked. Nobody interfered at all, they all just watched, taken by surprise. Neil pulled back, + face slack. He hated violence.

+ +

Jack hit Donny another slap, catching him on the ear, getting really right to the edge of some serious stuff. Donny + tried a punch back but Jack knocked his hand away. His brows were drawn right down and his dark eyes hot. None of + them had ever seen him this angry. They hadn't seen his face when Michael came home with a bloody nose.

+ +

"You stupid lazy bastard. Everybody is in this, we all pull together. You had the easiest job in the world + and you fucking blew it."

+ +

"I don't know what you're talking about." Donny struggled to force the words out past the tight constriction.

+ +

"Yes you bloody do, you lazy wanker. All you had to do was get a few fish for a diversion."

+ +

"I did that. I got the fish. There was plenty of them."

+ +

"Some diversion."

+ +

"What's the score?" Ed wanted to know.

+ +

"Did you see the news?" They all had.

+ +

"Big close-ups of half-a-brain here's effort. Did you see them? Bloody rainbow trout. I swear to god they + still had the parsley in their mouths."

+ +

Donny struggled. "It was fish, wasn't it? They cost me a fortune."

+ +

"Sure they did. Cost us a fortune. We'll be lucky if they don't cost us the jail. That big inspector, he's a + fox. It'll be a miracle if he doesn't spot them."

+ +

"They were just fish," Donny protested again. He got his hands to Jack's wrists and tried to pull them + apart. Jack simply let go in disgust.

+ +

"Rainbow trout from the shop. Am I right?"

+ +

Donny nodded. "They're all the same, aren't they?"

+ +

"No, they're not all the same. How are fish that size supposed to get up a trickle of water like that? And rainbow + trout? You don't even get them in the river. You should know that. Christ, we went there fishing every weekend when + we were kids. Where did you get them, Gallagher's?"

+ +

"No, they never had any." Donny's head was down. "I had to go up to Barloan Harbour."

+ +

"You better hope nobody else goes there to check. If they do, you better be ready to say you had the biggest barbecue + in the fucking town."

+ +

He turned to them all, his face tight with strain and anger.

+ +

"I told you, good enough never is. We're all on this together. If somebody fucks up, he fucks everybody + up. Miss a chance and it's no boomerang. It doesn't come back. You have to treat your mind like a + parachute; it only works when its open. We all have to think and we all have to go along with the plan, or we're all + down the drain."

+ +

He pulled Donny close again and sniffed.

+ +

"And I'll tell you another thing. You better lay right off the booze, okay Donny? You're hitting it too hard and I + can't have any drunks on the team."

+ +

"I'm not a drunk," Donny protested.

+ +

Neil put his chin in his hands. "Red, I do believe you're talking out of your ass."

+ +

It was meant to be light. Jed got the Shawshank connection, but didn't manage a smile. Ed sat still, realising now + how important Jack's idea of a diversion had been. It gave them time, and that was most precious of all.

+ +

Jack loosed his grip and let Donny sink to the little bench seat, panting with anger and shame, while Jack tried to + shake off his own fury at Donny's stupidity.

+ +

Yet as he did so, he knew he himself had broken one of his own cardinal rules.

+ +

He had humiliated one of the team in front of the others

+
+

Alistair Sproat was aghast at the news that the huge decant of Glen Murroch had been stolen. He had spent most of the + morning with the insurance rep and the loss adjusters while Billy Butler and the customs men had hauled everybody + who could have been near the flush valve into the glasshouse for interrogation. Ed Kane wasn't one of them. His + worksheet showed that he'd been stowing barrels all afternoon, and Butler recalled sending him round to get the + pallets.

+ +

"Stolen? What do you mean stolen?"

+ +

"I could give you the dictionary definition," Baxter offered. "Purloined, appropriated, swiped, filched and pilfered. + Wrongly removed from ownership."

+ +

"Yes, thank you inspector," Sproat said. His throat was dry as his sarcasm. "What I mean is, how can anybody steal + twenty five thousand gallons of scotch?"

+ +

"It's only a theory, mind you, so that's what we have to ascertain. In the meantime, I've called headquarters and + they're sending down a couple of lads from the crime squad to help out. We'll have to speak to everybody involved in + the process."

+ +

Sproat ran a hand through his thinning hair. Everything was coming unravelled, and he'd spent the whole morning going + over the company insurance policy. Aitkenbar was covered for fire and flood and all sorts of disasters that can + befall a distillery and a bonded warehouse. He couldn't recall seeing the word theft anywhere at all. A hollow + sensation of impending disaster had started to expand in the pit of his stomach.

+ +

"Impossible," he said. He tapped the intercom and told Marge Burns to get Billy Butler.

+ +

"What, are you saying we can't interview your staff?"

+ +

"No. We're already doing that, trying to find the idiot who pulled the flush-cock. His feet won't touch, I can tell + you. I'll have him charged with sabotage."

+ +

"I don't think it might be quite as simple as that."

+ +

Billy Butler arrived from the glasshouse where every man had stared blankly at him, insulted at even being asked the + questions.

+ +

"I'd like to inspect the whole area," Baxter said.

+ +

"What for? We know what happened." Butler knew his job was on the line, even if he'd be out of one in a month's time + when the gates finally shut. He didn't want this on his reputation.

+ +

"I want to make sure that what you know happened actually did happen."

+ +

"Sure," Butler said, obviously puzzled. "Be glad to help."

+ +

Baxter beamed. Sproat put his head in his hands.

+ +

They found the connection at seven that night, after the place was closed. The women on the bottling lines had been + sent home early, seieng the Glen Murroch would never be bottled, and the two constables from CID were going over the + work records.

+ +

"That shouldn't be there," Butler said. He had the big plan spread on the floor and the maintenance crew were with + him.

+ +

"What's that?" Baxter walked over.

+ +

"This pipe. I never saw that before."

+ +

The big policeman peered behind the tangle of other pipes and followed the line of the torch.

+ +

"Wait a minute," Butler said. "Somebody's welded in a new length of pipe."

+ +

The pair of them traced it back and saw the join where it connected to the bottling filler.

+ +

"That's where it comes from," Baxter said. "But where does it go?"

+ +

Butler followed the wall. Baxter told him not to touch anything, an unnecessary warning. In the flashlight he could + see the pipe was shiny clean. They came to the turn and the pair of them had to admire the workmanship. Only a very + close examination of the maze of connectors could have shown up the new piece of pipework. Butler pointed out where + it had been sawn from the original and capped off.

+ +

"So we've got an expert," Baxter said.

+ +

Butler looked at him, grinned, feeling a sense of relief that the blame for this might be shifted from his shoulders. + "That rules out anybody from in here."

+ +

The policeman went along with it.

+ +

"So, it joins to here." He hunkered down, admiring the clever line of the pipe that kept it hidden from view. "And + what's this."

+ +

"That's the fire hose inlet."

+ +

Baxter stood up and took out his pipe.

+ +

"You can't smoke in here," Butler said. "All the high proof spirits. It's a fire hazard."

+ +

This time Baxter winked. He bent over and flicked his lighter on, sucking furiously.

+ +

"All the spirits, eh? You show me all the spirits first." He nodded at the connector. "That's where all the spirits + went, I imagine. But where did they go after that?"

+ +

They found the fire hoses and when young constable Jimmy Balloch unravelled them, the smell of whisky was + unmistakeable. Butler made them roll it into a wheel, so that any residue would be forced to one end, and he managed + to get a mere half pint of liquid from the hundred-yard length. He held up the little jar, letting it flash amber in + the setting sunlight.

+ +

"Can you test that here?"

+ +

"Sure I can," Butler said. Sproat stood there in the humid evening, squinting against the sun, audibly grinding his + teeth. There was nothing he could do now. He just wished Butler would drop the damn sample and let it shatter.

+ +

Baxter walked across the turf, crouching here and there, trying to see if there were any tracks in the grass, but + even with the sun so low in the sky and sending slanted shadows in the low dips, it was hard to tell.

+ +

He called Butler across to the fence, about forty yards down from the bushes on the other side, close to the barrier + gate that led to the cooperage. The grass was strewn with little wormy coils of goose shit, and peppered with + hundreds of little white down feathers.

+ +

"What's this?" he said, hunkering down low again. He picked up some light material from the grass and held it out to + Butler.

+ +

"Looks like popcorn to me," Butler said.

+ +

"Is that what your geese eat?"

+ +

"I think they'll eat anything. But I'll have to ask."

+ +

A half hour later, Butler had used the hydrometer and confirmed the tiny drop of whisky they'd found had exactly the + same specific gravity as the Glen Murroch they'd decanted into the holding tank. He showed Baxter the shade-match + apparatus, turning the little coloured glass spheres clockwise until he had an exact match with the sample in the + hopper.

+ +

"We can do an ethyl alcohol and trace elements check," he said. "But I'd say that's pretty conclusive. At a hundred + and forty proof, it's particularly volatile. Fast evaporation. Another two hours and there would have been nothing + left. What's in the hose hasn't been there long. The rain probably helped keep it humid."

+ +

Sproat stormed out, fists clenched. It was all coming apart.

+ +

"Marge!" She had stayed behind when the rest of them had gone. Sproat appreciated that.

+ +

"Get me Michael Gabriel," he snapped as he walked into his office and slammed the door behind him.

+
+

Donny Watson got drunk. He'd hefted the water container into Willie McIver's van and stowed it behind his garden + shed. He was thinking how they'd all been on an adrenaline high on the night of the heist. They'd all been wet and + excited and absolutely amazed at what they'd done. Like Commandos on a mission. Like the SAS. Like a team. +

+ +

Tonight they had all gone and left him on Gillespie's boat, still smarting at the humiliation.

+ +

"Shouldn't have done that," he muttered to himself. The whisky burned a trail down his throat. "Not in front of + them."

+ +

He had been embarrassed and ashamed and totally taken aback that Jack had treated him like that. Hell, they went back + years. Before school even. They'd been friends so long he couldn't recall a time when they'd not been. That's what + hurt. He'd hauled him up in front of Tam and Neil and the others. Friends never did that.

+ +

He took another swig from the plastic bottle and felt hot tears nip at his eyes.

+ +

"Bastard Jake," he said aloud. All this over a couple of fish in the burn. He'd tried his best, hadn't he? It wasn't + his fault the first batch had turned to mush, and then his young brother had gone to scout camp with the rest of the + kids, and there was nobody to go up the stream and catch some more.

+ +

Another slug of whisky.

+ +

He'd done his best. That was enterprise, wasn't it. And who would know? Really! What stung was the other thing Jack + had said. You had the easiest job you lazy wanker.

+ +

Jack had given him the easiest job, the simplest task, and everybody else were doing more important things. Like Neil + in the van, and Jed on the tanker. Ed and Tam inside. Jack doing his own thing, organising the whole operation. But + Donny had ended up with the easiest job, and that stung and itched at him. Jack hadn't trusted him, had he? His old + mate Jack Lorne. He remembered Jack explaining what he had to do, telling him to make sure he got it right. And on + the night when the hose burst he had to sit like that little Dutch fucker with his finger jammed in the + hole. And there just now, he'd told him to lay off the booze. What the hell did that mean? And if they were all in + it together, how come nobody knew what was happening to all the whisky they'd heisted? How were they going to share + it? That was all a big secret. Jack's big secret.

+ +

Donny took another pull at the whisky, now feeling misery pile up on his anger, and maudlin distrust climb on top of + that.

+ +

"They could be out selling it now," he mumbled. "For all I know."

+ +

He tried to shake that thought away. No! No? They had all gone off together, hadn't they, leaving him to + stew in it.

+ +

He sat back, thinking. No, they couldn't leave him out of it. They were all in it together, weren't they? He'd paid + in his two hundred smackers.

+ +

But why should he wait to get his money back?

+ +

Donny's mouth twisted down in something close to a grin, seeing a little ray of sunshine poke through the gloom. He'd + got himself a bonus, something of his own. It was sitting behind the garden hut, all five prime gallons. Ten if you + diluted it by half. Sixty bottles at a fiver apiece, that would do for a start.

+ +

He jammed the cap on the bottle and twisted it tight, hauled himself off the bench. The boat swayed alarmingly and he + had to steady it with his hands. It took him several minutes to find his way down the narrow ladder to the ground at + the corner of the boatyard and a lot longer to wend his way home. In the morning he had a monstrous hangover, but he + still had five prime gallons behind the shed.

+ +

"You're in a lot of trouble, Jack," Marge Burns said. Her voice was sharp and terse. She sounded wound up. + Worried.

+ +

"No names on the phone." At least she'd called this mobile.

+ +

"Okay. The police are crawling all over the place." Margery Burns spoke in a whisper. "They know it was stolen."

+ +

"Shit!" A long silence drew out and then he was back. "Sorry about that."

+ +

"That's all right. I've heard a whole lot worse. I was married to a councillor."

+ +

"How do they know?"

+ +

"I got it from one of the customs men. They found something down in the stream. He said it was some kind of + fish..."

+ +

Jack punched the wall in his uncle's house. Sandy came in from his pigeon hut and looked at him, eyebrows raised.

+ +

"Anyway, they're all over the place and Sproat's going berserk. He's as mad as a wet hen and now he wants to talk to + you."

+ +

"Stall him," Jack said. "I have to think." He gritted his teeth so hard they creaked glassily. "What are the + insurance people saying? Can you talk?"

+ +

"Just for a minute," she spoke so softly it was difficult to make it out. "He's expecting you right now. Anyway, he's + been on to them all day. They sent a loss adjuster, but that's all up in the air now, isn't it? He's not covered for + theft."

+ +

Jack blew out slow. They had needed the few days to let the heat die down, and now it was clear they'd be denied + that. It squeezed the pressure too tight.

+ +

Stupid lazy bastard Donny!

+ +

"Right. That's in our favour." You always had to think of a way out, not get caught in a corner. Every disadvantage + carried a hidden advantage. So they said. He was thinking fast.

+ +

"If he's not insured, then his three million is down the drain."

+ +

"That's what he's worried about."

+ +

"Fine. That puts him well on the back foot, so let's keep him hanging on. You tell him I'm out of the country. I + won't be back for two days. We have to turn the screw."

+ +

"That will be my pleasure, young man."

+ +

Jack clicked off and closed his eyes. They'd have found out eventually, nothing surer, but he'd hoped to be home + clear by then. That was the plan, but like every plan, there were weak points and when he'd seen the item on the + news he knew he'd found one.

+ +

He recalled Donny's red, shameful face and his hand drew into a fist again, just in sheer frustration. He punched the + wall hard and the pain in the knuckles brought him up sharply.

+ +

They'd have found the pipe sometime and eventually put two and two together and they'd have come looking. He had + hoped that would have been later. The window of opportunity was closing, but Sproat would be in a blind panic, and + Lars was in the bag. He had a couple of people to speak to first and then work out the next move under the new + circumstances.

+ +

Christ, he said to himself. Nobody ever said it had to be easy.

+ +

"Sandy?"

+ +

There was no reply and he had to shout.

+ +

Sandy came back in and took the safety goggles off. He slipped the walkman plugs out of his ears and Jack heard the + faint sounds of Louisiana blues.

+ +

One whisky, one bourbon, one beer.

+ +

"What's up?"

+ +

"I was right about the fish. Big Baxter worked it out quicker than I thought."

+ +

"I told you he was sharp. Okay, he knows. You tried to make it idiot-proof and somebody came up with a better idiot. + Like I said before, you can chalk it down to experience."

+ +

"Some experience."

+ +

"Experience is what lets us repeat all our old mistakes, except with more finesse, panache and je ne sais + quois. So what's the next plan. I have to assume you've got one?"

+ +

"We're going to have to take the fight to them. I hope you brushed up your Italian. How do you fancy a shave and a + haircut, all on me?"

+ +

"And there's a catch of course."

+ +

"Of course there is. But you're going to love the suit."

+ +

The two patrolmen faced Angus Baxter across the table. He flicked from one to the other and settled on the one on the + left. Constable Derek Travers.

+ +

"So tell me again," Angus said. "You spent half the night chasing a couple of dogs round the distillery. Tell me, did + you see anything at all?"

+ +

"There was nothing to see. The dogs were going wild," Travers said. "We had a couple of calls from people on the far + side, complaining about the noise."

+ +

"And it turned out they were the guard dogs," Walter Crum said. "Something got them all worked up. We thought we'd + have to send for a vet and get them tranquillised."

+ +

"So, just to get this straight, the guard dogs were all excited, and nobody thought to check if perhaps they had + scented intruders?"

+ +

Blair Bryden had agreed to hold the story for a day at least, and that suited him, because he could slam it on the + front page of the gazette and then make a fortune selling it to every paper across the country. So far the two + patrolmen didn't have a clue. Baxter savoured his moment.

+ +

Travers shrugged. "The security men would have told us if anything was going wrong. Is there a problem?"

+ +

"So you think, with all the training you've had, and all the money we pay you, plus the overtime, the nice uniform + and the cosy patrol car for you to skive off up Overburn, shiny handcuffs and yankee-style night-stick, you think + that two part time security men on a bare five quid an hour should do your job for you?"

+ +

"I don't follow you, inspector. Nothing much happened. The dogs quietened down after a bit and that was that."

+ +

Baxter treated them to one of his very rare and special smiles. For a second Derek Travers had the sensation that he + was looking at a crocodile, and it was staring back right hungrily.

+ +

"Nothing happened." He nodded. "Nothing happened. Nothing at all except that while two of the county's + finest are chasing through the undergrowth after a couple of barking dogs, some enterprising ruffians were making + off with some of Aitkenbar's finest. Some twenty five-year-old Glen Murroch, to be precise."

+ +

Travers looked at his mate. He shrugged. "There's bottles of that stuff go out the door all the time. Everybody's at + it. The Customs just turn a blind eye."

+ +

"Not to this, they didn't. Like I was saying, you two were plowtering about in the bushes while these nameless + individuals took an entire decant tank of the stuff. Some twenty five thousand gallons, to give a rough estimate, + all pumped out of the place and gone."

+ +

Travers pulled back.

+ +

"They never did!"

+ +

Baxter started stoking his pipe again.

+ +

"I'm told it had a retail value of between two and four million. Not to mention the revenue accruing to Her Majesty's + exchequer."

+ +

He blew a thundercloud of smoke and let it hang in the air for a while, then bulled forward.

+ +

"And you two were right there when it happened."

+ +

"Oh shite," Travers said, with deep feeling.

+ +

"Indeed, I'd say that's what you are deep in, the pair of you."

+ +

He pulled back again and surveyed the two young constables who shifted very uncomfortably under his gaze.

+ +

"This is going to look extremely interesting on your records."

+ +

"Honest inspector," Walter Crum said. "There was nobody there. You can ask those council workers. They were right + next to Aitkenbar the whole time."

+ +

"And which council workers would they be?"

+ +

"The ones with the big tanker and the pump. They were emptying out a.......drain."

+ +

He gulped. Travers looked at him, a kernel of realisation beginning to form. Baxter glared at them both. A very long + pause developed while the smoke drifted slowly towards the ceiling.

+ +

"Now," the inspector finally said, speaking very softly. "We're going to go through this one step at a time, missing + nothing out, not a cough nor a splutter nor a sneeze, you got the picture?"

+
+

Franky Hennigan woke up in a haze, disturbed by the crackling of bracken and twigs. He closed his eyes tight and when + he opened them again it was still fuzzy.

+ +

"What's that smell?"

+ +

"Oh, that's awful. Something must have crawled in here and died."

+ +

Franky saw blurred motion and moved back into the shadow, shading his eyes now against the light that filtered + through the brambles and into the little niche near the bridge.

+ +

"I hope at least it's an animal."

+ +

The dead bramble runners from last year crunched under heavy feet and Franky shrank away from them, cuddling his + bottle like a cherished child.

+ +

"There's something here."

+ +

"What is it?"

+ +

A flashlight stabbed on, speared straight into his eyes, and Franky let out a yell.

+ +

"Oh, man. What a stench."

+ +

"What is it?"

+ +

"I found a body."

+ +

"Jesus."

+ +

"And the really horrible thing is, it's still alive."

+ +

A big shadow loomed forward.

+ +

"Manky Franky Hennigan. Heavens above, man, you need a heavy hose down with a drum of industrial strength + disinfectant and carbolic soap."

+ +

"Leave me alone." He pulled himself into the shadows, shielding his eyes. The air in here was thick with the smell of + drink and the unwashed Franky.

+ +

"Come on out, Franky. I want a word with you."

+ +

"Bugger off, you."

+ +

"Don't make me come in there after you."

+ +

"Rather you than me," the second voice said. "You're on your own."

+ +

"Leave me alone."

+ +

"You don't come out right now and I'm going to take that bottle away from you, and I'll be back every night for the + next one."

+ +

"Don't touch him. Get some gloves."

+ +

"Don't worry. I've not had my tetanus jabs." The first man switched off the flashlight and Franky made his way out of + the gloom, like a dishevelled bear at the end of winter, blinking in the daylight, a week-long growth grizzled on + grey cheeks.

+ +

He still held tight to the bottle.

+ +

Angus Baxter stood under the bridge, hands jammed in his pockets, sniffing the air and scanning the road surface.

+ +

"What's that here?" He scraped a toe across the tarmac where a light film stained the black.

+ +

"Looks like paint to me," the CID man said.

+ +

"Me too." He followed the stain across the spine of the road where it hadn't been washed away in the sudden downpour, + and hunkered down, poked it with his finger and sniffed again.

+ +

"Fresh emulsion," he decided. The two patrolmen were shifting from foot to foot.

+ +

"And this is where you saw the tanker?"

+ +

Derek Travers nodded. "They had that manhole up and had a pump taking the sewage out. It was definitely sewage. You + could smell it halfway up the street."

+ +

Baxter nodded agreeably. "And it was definitely a council vehicle?"

+ +

"Definitely. It had the council logo on the side. I saw it myself."

+ +

"What colour would the tanker have been?"

+ +

"The usual. Sort of buff colour. Beige."

+ +

Baxter tapped the road with his foot. "By any chance was it this colour?"

+ +

Travers felt his face go crimson. His mate looked as if he wanted to disappear.

+ +

"And this manhole here," Baxter went on. He beckoned to the council official and motioned him to get the lid lifted. + The inspector waited until it had been prised up and clanked to the ground. A deep hole yawned and as soon as the + cover was off, the acrid smell of ammonia soured the air. "This manhole, you're sure it was sewage?"

+ +

"That's the smell. They couldn't have fixed the leak."

+ +

Baxter covered his nose with a handkerchief and bent over the hole. Finally he straightened up and asked the council + drain man to lift out the plastic bottle five feet below the surface. He gave him the handkerchief and told him to + touch nothing else. The man went down and brought the bottle up. The Inspector stuck a pencil in the nozzle and + lifted it clear. He sniffed again, winced and they saw his eyes begin to water.

+ +

He held it up to the two patrolmen.

+ +

"Permacurl. Home perm solution. Recognise it?"

+ +

Travers wrinkled his nose.

+ +

"That's not sewage," Baxter said. "It's ammonia."

+ +

Franky Hennigan was surprisingly strong and not just in an olfactory sense. He was rake-thin and despite the heat, he + wore a big ex-army overcoat that had seen better decades. His dirty fingers clasped the bottle in an iron grip.

+ +

"Och, just let him keep it," Baxter said, running out of patience. "I can't see him reaching the fence, never mind + climbing it."

+ +

Franky sat on the wall, breathing powerful fumes.

+ +

"So tell me again Franky."

+ +

"It was the spaceman."

+ +

"The spaceman. Yes."

+ +

"In a space ship." Franky's eyes had cleared and were now wide and certain, if a little red-rimmed. "It was there. + Just there." He pointed a dirty nail at the space beyond the bridge.

+ +

"It was a miracle. A real miracle." Franky was surprisingly lucid. "It was a UFO, Just there. All silvery and the + whole sky was all lit up."

+ +

"And what did this UFO look like, this space ship."

+ +

"Big, and silver, like. And all the lights were flashing. And smoke coming out of it. And then the spaceman came out + and took my bottle and changed it."

+ +

"Run that past me again Franky." The two patrolmen snickered and Baxter shot them a look.

+ +

"I came out to see what the noise was and I saw it. The lights under the bridge. And then the spaceman came out and + took my bottle. It was a miracle. He went back to the ship and it was all smoke and when he came back again he + turned the wine into whisky. He must have had a transformerator or something."

+ +

Franky stopped dead and a sudden comprehension flicked in his eyes.

+ +

"I'm not saying any more."

+ +

Baxter leant in as far as he was able to brave the smell. "Why's that, Franky?"

+ +

"He said I was picked out special. He said if I told anybody he'd be back, with a ray-gun or something and blast me. + Fry my head. They're from a galaxity far away, but they can come back and find me. That's what he said, so I'm + saying nothing more."

+ +

He reached out surprisingly quickly and took Baxter by the lapel.

+ +

"Gonny just lock me up now Mr Baxter. If they creatures come back and find out I've blabbed, I'm a total goner."

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch17.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch17.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb84f48 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch17.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,641 @@ + + + + + + 17 + + + + +
+
+

17

+ +

She hit him such a punch he landed on his backside with a jolt that shunted up his spine and rattled his teeth. It + took him completely by surprise.

+ +

"You are a lying, cheating, deceiving shit, Jack Lorne."

+ +

He sat on the grass, rubbing his chin, while tiny points of light spangled in peripheral vision. Kate waded in and + took another swing at him, clipping his ear with a sharp knuckle.

+ +

"Ow! Cut it out." It really stung.

+ +

"I'll cut out your black heart," she said, green eyes narrowed, hair like smouldering coal, temper several degrees + hotter still.

+ +

She jabbed another fast punch and he caught her by the wrist, trying to keep her off without hurting her. She pulled + against him, stronger than he'd have thought..

+ +

"Come on Kate. Stop that before you do me a damage." He could feel the skin begin to swell and his ear was ringing + hot. He held her and grabbed the other wrist and then used her to get to his feet. He had been strolling down the + lane from his uncle's house and she had turned the corner, walking fast, taken one look at him and hit without any + explanation.

+ +

"I'll do you a damage Jack Lorne. Helping the protest indeed! You lied to me. You deceived me. And you've + dragged me into whatever daft scheme you've hatched up, haven't you?"

+ +

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

+ +

"Oh no? Did you see the news at teatime? You can't have missed it. I didn't." She tried to pull out of his grasp, but + he knew she'd only have another go at him. She could really do him a bit of damage if she put her mind to it, and he + guessed rightly that her mind was made up.

+ +

"What do you mean?"

+ +

"You know exactly what I mean. Getting me to do some artwork indeed. Trying to help those Dunvegan boys get their + jobs back? The next thing I know it's on television, shown in every home in the country."

+ +

"Oh, that," he said.

+ +

Blair Bryden had got the story into the Gazette and then freelanced it across the news bulletins. The banner headline + was big and black and the story spared no detail.

+ +
Twenty five thousand gallons of vintage Scotch whisky which vanished from Aitkenbar Distillery was + stolen in + a daring raid, police confirmed today. +
+
What was at first believed to have been a freak accident when the 25-year-old special malt whisky + disappeared from the distillery's decant tank, was in fact a highly organised theft. +
+
The thieves are believed to have got away with exclusive vintage scotch worth upwards of three + million + pounds. +
+
The theft was uncovered by Detective Inspector Angus Baxter of Levenford CID after customs officials + and + company management insisted that the spirits had been accidentally flushed down a drain and into the river. +
+
The thieves had laid a decoy trail of dead fish in the polluted water, in an attempt to lead + investigators + to believe they had been killed by the powerful ethanol pollution but DI Baxter proved yesterday that the fish had + been planted as a ruse. +
+
It is understood that the professional gang used a pump and a tanker disguised as a council drainage + vehicle + to siphon off the huge haul of Scotch. +
+
It is believed they had painted the tanker in council colours.
+
Gazette sources reveal a complex operation which must have taken months of careful planning. Inside + sources + say the thieves welded a section of pipe to a bottling line filling pipe and connected it to a fire hydrant inlet on + the outside wall. They then used two of the distillery's own fire hoses to drain the huge haul of whisky into the + tanker and vanished in the small hours of the morning. +
+
It is not clear how the raiders managed to sneak past the famous geese which guard the distillery + from + intruders, but police are working on the theory that they must have had an inside accomplice. They are now + interviewing staff at the distillery. +
+
Mr Alistair Sproat, Aitkenbar Distillery chairman, whose family have owned the business for several + generations, refused to comment. Only three weeks ago he announced to the workforce that he planned to close the + complex which has produced malt and grain spirits for more than two centuries. The proposal includes the dumping of + the existing building into the river harbour basin and selling all the present and reclaimed land to a property + developer who plans a new shopping mall. The deal also means the closure of the adjacent dairy, which occupies + Aitkenbar land, with the loss of forty jobs. +
+
Inspector Baxter said: "I think we are dealing with a professional gang of criminals here. But no + matter how + clever they are, or think they are, we will do everything in our power to bring them to justice." +
+ +

Jack had read the piece in clenched silence when Sandy had brought the paper in along with the morning rolls.

+ +

"What are you going to do now," Sandy asked, genuinely concerned.

+ +

"Sit tight. Pray. Nothing else for it."

+ +

"Too many people know."

+ +

"The only ones who know are involved."

+ +

Sandy shook his head. "Three people can keep a secret only if two of them are dead.

+ +

You've got a lot of nerve Jake, I'll give you that. But, like I said, that big highlander, he's no fool."

+ +

"Just a couple of days and it'll be gone. Sproat's going to need a deal and quick."

+ +

He sounded more confident than he felt, but now was the time to hold it together, hold himself together. "He'll be + worried the cops think he was involved, but he's now got a three million pound cash flow problem, and he's going to + have a few more worries very soon. I'm going to force him out of his corner and catch him on the move."

+ +

"You really think this is a board game, don't you?"

+ +

"Come on, Sandy, it's just juggling. He's had the ball so long it's about time he dropped it. What did he ever do + that he deserved to have so much control over people's lives? He's got no talent and no brains and no sense of + social responsibility, just Daddy's money that was made on the backs of our family and everybody else's."

+ +

"What I want to know is how you plan to get rid of the stuff."

+ +

Jack smiled. He trusted his uncle implicitly, but he himself had already made a couple of mistakes. One of them was + trusting Donny, and the other was humiliating him. God love that ginger haired cretin, he thought, you should keep + your friends in the pub and out of business altogether. Family? You kept them away if you could, but old Sandy, he + was still razor sharp, and could put it on when he wanted.

+ +

"Don't you worry about that. I've fixed up an appointment for you. Have you read the papers?"

+ +

"Sure I have. Child's play. We used to run a few good scams in National Service. Don't you forget Jake, I'm the + original wee fly man."

+ +

The job made headline news at six o'clock and Jack had sat fixed in front of the screen. It was almost word for word + what Blair Bryden must have sent round the newsdesks. The camera picked it all out, the runnel and Donny's stupid + rainbow trout. Jack fervently hoped the idiot hadn't gone to Barloan Harbour and then paid for them by plastic. The + idea that he had almost bought a crate at Gallagher's fish shop still gave Jack palpitations. That would be the + first place Baxter would look, and Jack would have had to raise another levy just to get Donny out of the country + for a while. He wasn't worried about the pump. He and Ed had got that well sorted out, and his hours trailing around + Glasgow had proved very worthwhile. The fish had been a mistake, but he'd made sure other things were battened down + tight. He hoped. It was time for more diversions. They were already in place, just in case.

+ +

The camera zoomed through the fence and picked out the two fire hoses and then the scene flashed to the spot under + the bridge. Baxter and the uniforms were hanging around while a man in council overalls lowered himself down the + manhole and handed the bottle up to the big policeman.

+ +

Jack shrugged to himself. The fish were a giveaway. Everything after that was up for grabs.

+ +

On screen, the reporter faced the camera:

+ +
This is where the thieves are believed to have siphoned the whisky from the decant tank which is just + a + hundred yards beyond the fence. +
+
Unbelievably, it is claimed that a local police patrol actually spoke to the raiders, who were + wearing face + masks, and who were pretending to be council workmen repairing a sewage leak. It was a skilfully planned operation + that relied on split-second timing, and a great deal of inside knowledge of the high-security distillery and plant + which is guarded round the clock by customs and excise officials, security teams, dogs, and, of course, the famous + geese. Police now have to work out how this elaborate security was breached. +
+

The reporter stepped to the side and blurred out of shot as the camera focused in on Angus Baxter. He was standing + just outside the shadow of the bridge, holding a clear plastic oblong in his hands. The camera expanded the scene + just as he looked up, directly into the lens, and the lettering on the plastic snapped into crisp focus.

+ +
ENFORD COUNCIL
+
ECT WORKS
+
EWAGE
+
EPARTMENT
+
Police are convinced that this find, some two hundred yards away confirms the suspicions that the + thieves + used a tanker disguised as a water and sewerage bowser. +
+
So far, there are no clues as to where the whisky is now.
+

The reporter stared into the camera and allowed himself a slanted grin.

+ +
Except for the testimony of one witness, who allegedly came across the raiders during the operation. + We'll + let him tell you his own story. +
+

The camera flicked to Franky Hennigan, somewhat cleaned up and shaved for his moment of fame, and obviously topped up + with sufficient alcohol to make him forget the threat from beyond the galaxy.

+ +
It was a space-ship. I saw it with my own eyes. They took my bottle and changed Eldorado into whisky. + Then + there was this big flash and smoke and it took off again. +
+

The reporter smiled again.

+ +
There you have it. The truth is out there....somewhere.
+ +

"Yes that," Kate stormed, "All my own work. You conned me Jack Lorne. You told me you were doing + something special, something important and I believed you."

+ +

She pulled back and he opened his hands, letting her wrists spring free. Two old ladies along the end of the lane + paused at their gossip and stared down towards the commotion at the far end.

+ +

"How could you do that, Jack?"

+ +

"It's not what you think."

+ +

"Not what I think? A fortune in whisky goes missing and the only piece of evidence they have is that logo you asked + me to do."

+ +

He scanned the lane, up and down.

+ +

"Shhhh."

+ +

She came in at him again, raised her hands and thumped him on the chest and then, without warning, she burst into + furious tears.

+ +

"You told me it was for a demonstration. To try to save the jobs. All for the workers."

+ +

The tears trickled down her cheeks and a sore twist wrenched in his heart.

+ +

"It's not what you think." He reached for her, caught her shoulders, brought her in and held her tight. Her sobs + heaved against his chest. There was nothing to do but wait until they were done. After a minute, she pulled back, + drained.

+ +

"Just what is going on Jack? First of all you tell me you're going out on the North Sea, then you disappear and the + boys won't tell me what's going on. You get me to do those damn logos, and it's just as well I didn't get the fourth + year kids to do that one or I'd be up there talking to Inspector Baxter, wouldn't I? Accessory to theft."

+ +

She looked up at him, tear streaked but still fiery.

+ +

"So what's happened, Jack. Can't I trust you any more? I really thought you were one of the good guys. I had faith + in you."

+ +

He blew out between tight lips, wondering what to say and where to start..

+ +

"Listen, Kate. I'm sorry I got you into this, really I am. I wasn't thinking, and I never thought for a moment + anybody would ever see it. They were supposed to be stripped off and burned."

+ +

Fuck Donny Watson. That had been his other job.

+ +

"So it was you? You really did it?"

+ +

He nodded, hardly able to look her in the eye. She had no such trouble.

+ +

"You stole a tanker of whisky?"

+ +

"No. I stole two tankers of whisky."

+ +

"My God, Jack. Just what have you got yourself into?"

+ +

He shrugged and then dived in.

+ +

"That's what my uncle said. But you and him, you're both the same. You said to me I was wasting my life. Get off my + backside and make something of myself."

+ +

"Sure we did. You're half way to getting your degree, aren't you?"

+ +

"And then what? Start on the corporate rung at my age." He reached a hand out and put it on her shoulder. Underneath + his fingers she was trembling like a tuning fork, fast and tight. He gently pulled her out of the lane and into the + field where he'd fought off the two heavies beating up Donny after the golf. The sun broached the hawthorn hedges + and he eased her away from the lane, away from listening ears, towards the old blowdown sycamore trunk that + sprawled, barkless in the grass. He sat her there and lowered himself on to the thick smooth jutting branch that the + small kids used as a step up.

+ +

"You said it yourself, these people, Sproat, the council, everybody, they just take advantage of the workers. Look at + all the firms that pulled out and went to whatever third world shithole would do the work cheaper than we would. + Sproat selling up for a shopping centre, putting Andy Kerr out of business, and everybody, every single person in + this town just tugs the forelock and says yes bwana. Turkeys voting for Christmas every time."

+ +

"But it's criminal, Jack."

+ +

"What he's done is criminal. But every court in the land will back him up, because it's all loaded against the common + man."

+ +

"So you think the answer is to steal from him?"

+ +

He wished he could tell her just what his answer was, but nobody knew that, not even his uncle, nor Lars Hanssen. + Nobody could.

+ +

"In a way. Change starts at the bottom. You only want a new deal when you've got a shit hand, not when your sitting + on four aces."

+ +

"So that's the philosophy. A little redistribution of wealth? When I said you should get into business, this is not + what I meant."

+ +

"I needed a head start. It was payback time for that cretin. All he needs is the money to take over Red Planet and + get in on the designer drink business and make another fortune. Goodbye sunny Levenford, it was nice knowing you. + Well, no matter what, he'll have something to remember us by."

+ +

"So you decided to risk jail and everything, all you've worked for, just to get even?"

+ +

"I'm not getting even with him. I don't give a tuppenny damn about him. I just needed an asset. Money breeds + money. It's like a magnet. Once you have it, you can pull in more, and when you have enough, you can do anything at + all. Look at me. I'm twenty seven years old. I'm a milkman for christ-sake with a half chance of getting a degree + and maybe a job in an office. Work my way up to middle management by the time I'm forty and then get kicked out for + being past it."

+ +

"That's the way you see it?"

+ +

"That's the way it is. Risk? What have I got to lose?"

+ +

"Freedom for one thing."

+ +

"Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you."

+ +

"Don't you give me Sartre. He wasn't talking about crime."

+ +

"He was talking about life, Kate. Real life, which is what we're stuck in." + "There's more to life than just money."

+ +

"You said yourself, art for art's sake, money for god's sake."

+ +

"Just the words to a stupid song, you idiot." She was angry and exasperated and close to tears again. "Try + this: don't risk what matters most for what matters least. There's no right way to do a wrong thing.

+ +

"How about, if two wrongs don't make a right, try three." He'd read the books. He could match her here, even if it + left a sour taste in his mouth.

+ +

"If it's is not right don't do it; if it's not true don't say it. You thought you'd just make yourself some + easy money."

+ +

"Nothing easy about it. The hard part's just starting." He reached and took her two hands in his. She seemed to + crumple in on herself.

+ +

"I never meant for you to be involved, honest I didn't. There's some things I have to do, and some people I have to + protect. Including you now. I'm really, truly sorry about that and I won't let it happen again. But what I have to + know now, is what are you going to do?"

+ +

"How do you mean?" Her eyes widened.

+ +

"I mean, now that you know, what are you going to do about it?"

+ +

She stared up at him, holding his eyes with his, the way she could. She pursed her lips into a tight bud and he felt + her grip tighten on his fingers.

+ +

"If you mean what I think you mean, you're going to get another punch," she said tightly. "You're asking me if I can + be trusted, aren't you?"

+ +

He said nothing, still locked on her eyes.

+ +

"Don't you ever dare ask me that again, Jack Lorne. Do you really think I'm going to see you thrown in jail?"

+ +

Sandy Bruce looked at himself in the mirror and let out a chuckle. The Armani fitted just as Jack knew it would. + Pierre Cardin shoes gleamed. Donna Bryce gave him a big smile.

+ +

"You look like Al Pacino, Mr Bruce, so you do."

+ +

"I hope I look better than that skinny wee 'Tally."

+ +

"Oh, much better. I mean you just look like the godfather, know what I mean? And that suit, that's just pure + brilliant, real class."

+ +

She beamed at Jack. "I never knew the two of you were into the acting. Where did you say the audition is?"

+ +

"Up at the Kings. They're doing the Capone story."

+ +

"Well, I hope he gets the part," Donna said. "That wee bit of colour takes years off you Mr Bruce, honest it does. + Dead elegant, know what I mean?"

+ +

"Nice of you to say, Donna." Sandy admired himself in the mirror again. "And this is our wee secret? I don't want + people to be thinking I'm getting vain in my old age."

+ +

"Totally confidential. That's me. What happens in the salon is between me and the client."

+ +

She stood back. "What a difference. No offence Mr Bruce, but you look dead young. A real catch, by the way."

+ +

Jack put his hand on Sandy's shoulder and caught both of them in the wide hallway mirror. His grandfather's thick + white hair was now almost black, and grey at the temples. Two days ago he'd been sweeping out the pigeon hut, + sporting a three day growth of silver bristles, a torn old boiler suit and balaclava. Now he was somebody you'd take + another look at. Jack took the light coat from the hanger and draped it across Sandy's shoulders.

+ +

"Look at the state of you, you old poser. I'll have to get a chisel to take the grin off your face."

+ +

But Donna Bryce had been right. She'd done a great job. He now did look the part.

+ +

All he had to do was play it.

+ +

The car picked them up at the Marriott hotel just south of Charing Cross. Jack paid the account with his new platinum + card and the doorman held it open for them as they stepped out into the morning.

+ +

"Mr Gabriel?" The driver was in grey livery, like the one who'd delivered that rich guy Hammond Hall to his uncle's + door what seemed like a lifetime ago.

+ +

"That's us," Jack said, switching to the Ulster accent. The Bentley had darkened windows and a rich mirror finish. + Sandy looked at his reflection and turned to Jack.

+ +

"Get in, you old Mafiosi," Jack whispered, pushing his grandfather by the elbow.

+ +

"Watch the schmutter," Sandy said. They got in, Jack gave directions and closed the hatch.

+ +

"Look at you. I get your old cast offs and you get the fashion statement."

+ +

"Class goes to class," Sandy said. They had wondered about a moustache and rejected the notion. The dark hair took + ten years off the old man, and that was enough. The double parenthesis that bracketed his mouth just made him look + weather-beaten and tough. Graduated amber lenses made him remote, slightly dated.

+ +

"We meet him in the Drumbuie Hotel. He's booked a side room. Remember, start at the outside cutlery and work your way + in."

+ +

Sandy turned to him, raised the glasses.

+ +

"You thinka I no unnerstan' how to eata da pasta?"

+ +

The pair of them suddenly burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter that took five minutes to subside. The + chauffeur checked them out in the rear view. They were out past Anniesland and heading for Levenford when the + laughter finally drained away.

+ +

Sproat met them in the foyer, checked out the limo, the Armani, the gold watch fob. Jack had thought he might bring + the company sales manager, but there was a good chance he'd picked up the hints he'd dropped. When they got to the + little bay-windowed private room, the table was set for three. Jack allowed himself a smile. He was drawing him + out.

+ +

"Alistair Sproat, meet Alessandro D'Angeli."

+ +

"Pleased to meet you," Sproat said. "Very glad you could make it."

+ +

"Grazie," Sandy said, keeping his voice low. "You call me Andro, capiche?"

+ +

He sounds like Marlon Brando, Jack thought. Don't overdo it, Grandad.

+ +

Sproat ordered an expensive Monticello and sat them down, poured for all three. Jack did the talking and let Sandy + come in with a few monosyllables.

+ +

"Acting as agent for Mr D'Angeli's company, I can say he will be in a position to place an initial order for + two-fifty barrels of three-year-old blend. We've checked your stock, and we're quite satisfied. On the heads of + agreement already discussed, we would take one hundred barrels on letter of credit, full price on delivery."

+ +

"We're talking half a million," Sproat was sitting forward, elbows on the table.

+ +

"Si. Demi millione," Sandy said. He was half turned, feigning disinterest, looking at the birds feeding out + on the lawn. "Instante. For now."

+ +

Jack tapped him under the table. No need to push his luck.

+ +

"We'll need transport, but you've confirmed that would be included. And we would like this to be the precursor to a + larger purchase." Jack had practised this in the mirror. "We understand that your entire stock will be cleared and + auctioned in less than a month's time. Going by brokerage realisation for three-year mature, you will drop ten to + fifteen percent plus auction fees of about the same. Mr D'Angeli and his partners can, without doubt, improve on + that."

+ +

Sproat's eyebrows went up. Jack could almost sense his need. He drew him out further.

+ +

"And for cash, of course. No ninety-day invoicing."

+ +

Sproat took a sip of whisky and tried to hide his smile.

+ +

"That would be a fair amount of whisky."

+ +

"We might," Jack gauged it, "be in a position to take the immature stock. At discount of course for added warehousing + costs."

+ +

Sproat shrugged, but his eyes were giving him away. The anti-pasti arrived and Sandy used the correct fork to pick at + it.

+ +

"Multo bene. Ver' nice."

+ +

"I thought you'd like a taste of home. The ciabatta is wonderful."

+ +

Sandy nodded, chewing on Parma ham. "Michaelo here tells me you had some...what is the word. Difficulty?"

+ +

Jack kicked him under the table.

+ +

"A full decant." Sproat knew it was all over the television news. "A wonderful twenty five year old Glen Murroch. + They knew what to take and when to take it."

+ +

Sandy tapped his nose. "My associates, I will ask them to, ah, check this matter out. You understand?"

+ +

What are you up to? Jack twisted the napkin under the table.

+ +

"A bad business for you. Three million, maybe some more?"

+ +

"About that."

+ +

"And all this at a very bad time for you. Which is why it is good we do this business. We help each other, no?"

+ +

"That's what business is all about," Sproat agreed.

+ +

Jack felt a bead of sweat trickle down his ribs. Sandy was winging it solo, totally off the rehearsed lines.

+ +

Not the Godfather, he suddenly realised. He's doing De Niro. Talking Italian.

+ +

Sandy gave him a sidelong glance and a little nod, every bit the egund don.

+ +

"You show him the papers, Mikey."

+ +

Don't gild it, Grandad. Jack opened the briefcase and brought out the letter of credit, eager to draw + attention away from Sandy.

+ +

"Everything will be channelled through my agency," he said. "Mr D'Angeli and his partners wish this to remain + confidential."

+ +

"Of course," Sproat put in, a little too fast. He could see a way of getting his cash flow running fast again.

+ +

Sandy leant forward. "Cash on delivery, am I right? Michael here will handle all the arrangements. "And after the + first consignment, we talk about the rest."

+ +

"Sounds good to me. When do you want the delivery."

+ +

"The end of this week," Jack put in. "No point in delay."

+ +

Sproat poured another round of wines. Jack put his hand over Sandy's glass.

+ +

"The doctor only lets him have one."

+ +

Sandy shot him a look, gave a little snort of disgust and turned to Sproat.

+ +

"Orders, orders. Nothing changes, Si?" he bent forward. "Like your tax, eh? Ochento per cento? Eighty percent. Infamita! + Worse than anyplace else."

+ +

Jack clenched his fists under the table, gritted his teeth, unable to stop the old man.

+ +

"Nothing we can do about that."

+ +

"Nothing the small people can do, maybe. But a pezzonovante like yourself, must be different eh? Eighty + percent out of a business, that is extorte. You go to the jail in Sicily for that."

+ +

Italy, I told him Italy!

+ +

Sproat didn't seem to notice.

+ +

"If there was a way," Sandy said. He made a quick motion with his hands, sliding one palm past the other. "If there + was a way to evade such extortion, then good businessman should look for opportunities, no?"

+ +

"I'm not sure I understand," Sproat said.

+ +

Sandy motioned him forward, flicked his hand to Jack, sending him back. There was nothing for it but to go along with + it. Sandy's accent hadn't dropped once.

+ +

"You and me, we know business. You had some trouble that was not your fault, but will the taxman give you money back? + No. It is take, take take, all the time. You don't have to tell me. I know these things. It is criminale, we + understand each other."

+ +

"We do indeed," Sproat said urbanely. He was bending forward, drawn in.

+ +

"What I want to talk about is, maybe a good price, just between you and me. No tax, no customs. No nobody. What they + don't know, don't hurt, am I right?"

+ +

Sproat's eyes flicked from Jack to Sandy and back again. Jack gave an almost imperceptible nod. Sproat knew what they + were talking about. If he'd any brains, he'd know he'd already been well primed for this.

+ +

Sandy switched tack just then, catching Sproat off balance. Jack sat back and let him run with it, knowing there was + nothing he could do. Sandy had the Armani and the tinted glasses. He was the big client. That's what Sproat + thought.

+ +

"All the laws, they don't let a business do business, am I right? This protest, these interferers. They want to stop + you selling the business, eh? The small people want to tell a pezzonovante, a ninety-calibre, how to run + his own affairs. Infamita egundo!

+ +

He motioned Sproat forward with a very Italian beckoning of his fingers.

+ +

"I hear they want to drag you through the courts. After a hundred years, they tell you what to do. One big problem + for you, am I right?"

+ +

"We'll beat them in court," Sproat said, eager to get back to the business.

+ +

"Maybe you will. Tell you what I'm going to do. I speak to my associates and I make this protest go away. I make them + an offer..."

+ +

Don't you dare say that Grandad!

+ +

"I make them an offer they don't understand," Sandy said. Jack breathed out. What the hell did that mean. "That's for + the good faith, yes?"

+ +

He jabbed his hand in front of Sproat, who took it automatically. Sandy clamped his other hand on top of Sproat's + knuckles, confirming the deal. He looked the part.

+ +

"Andro, why don't you come back to the plant with me and I'll show you around," Sproat said. "You and I can talk some + more."

+ +

"Prego," Sandy said through a mouthful of ciabatta bread. "I ever tell you about the time I met Carlo + Luciano? Lucky Charlie? A very nice man....."

+ +

The sweat began to cool on Jack's ribs. Sandy had played the black knight and hooked Sproat right in. He had to hand + it to him. It was finesse.

+
+

The Charter campaigners had set up a little booth opposite the distillery gates and a few well-meaning local folk + hung about, self conscious about their protest. They had put up a few banners which read Hands off Our + River and Jobs not Shops, and Pollute, Poison and Pilfer.

+ +

Sproat growled as the limo swept them in through the gates and Jack slipped on the dark sunglasses when he saw Kate's + face in the little crowd. It was only when he got into the atrium that he realised he'd left the briefcase back at + the hotel.

+ +

"You take the limo," Sandy said, keeping up the accent beautifully. "Me and Alistero, we get a chance to talk."

+ +

There was nothing for it. Jack needed the signature on the document he'd drawn up, identically worded to the ones + Marge Burns had managed to get from the files. It was the only way to make sure Sproat was tied right down. He + gritted his teeth, knowing it was crazy to let Sandy loose on his own, and went back to the car.

+ +

"Back to the hotel," he said. "Speed of light if you can make it."

+ +

"I'll see what I can do, Sir," the driver said. It was the first time anybody in the world had ever called him + Sir.

+ +

Margery Burns was giggling like a schoolgirl when he got back. Sandy had the long Armani coat draped over his + shoulders, Mafiosi style.

+ +

"You Italians," she said. "You've always got such great style. Real elan."

+ +

Sandy shrugged like a Frenchman. She leant in towards him and from twenty yards away, Jack recognised the body + language. He almost laughed aloud. She was incorrigible.

+ +

"And what part of Italy are you from."

+ +

"Just beside the Lake Como," Sandy said. "In the mountains. Beautiful."

+ +

She took his cup and saucer, then took his hand. "Why don't you sit down here."

+ +

Sandy caught Jack's eye before she turned round, and gave him a big wink. Sproat put his coffee on the table.

+ +

"Ah, Michael. That was quick."

+ +

The driver had crashed two ambers for him there and back. The Bentley had a surprising turn of speed for such a big + limo.

+ +

Margery turned and saw him and had the grace to blush.

+ +

"I'll just clear these away," she said. "You want anything else, just give me a call."

+ +

Jack smiled again. She'd tried to make it general, but he knew it had been aimed at Sandy. That dark colour did take + years off him. The Armani and an open-razor close shave did the rest.

+ +

"I've pulled," Sandy whispered as Sproat closed the boardroom door. "Can you spring me for another night in the + Marriott?"

+ +

"You pull this off and you can have a week there," Jack said.

+ +

He suddenly realised he could kill two birds with one stone. It could get him off the hook.

+ +

Sandy turned to Sproat. "Maybe we can get the business done, no?"

+ +

Sproat walked right in, stepped right up.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch18.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch18.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3bbf43 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch18.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,456 @@ + + + + + + 18 + + + + +
+
+

18

+ +

They picked Donny up on the quayside and slammed him in the back of the white van. It hadn't been that + difficult, because he was drunk at the time and while he'd put up a bit of a struggle, his co-ordination was + well off. He had a hundred and twenty pounds in crumpled notes in his hip pocket, and an Irn Bru bottle half + emptied of whisky in a haversack.

+ +

He'd got very drunk and he'd been very stupid

+ +

Cullen and Foley picked up the word late in the afternoon and that was easy to figure. There had been a + steady drift of the layabouts and workshy down to the quayside where the Corrieside team hung about playing + quoits and pitch and toss, waiting to sign on the dole, the sick, share a bottle of wine, or get a deal on + any of a number of exotic substances to inhale, ingest or inject.

+ +

Donny had sold three gallons to some of the happy lads at a fiver a pint and told them they were getting a + bargain. He'd done his own decant and filled eighteen Iron Brew bottles and stacked them in two plastic + crates. As soon as the wasters who hung about down the Riverside Quay got a taste for it, there was a rush + on the market and business was brisk. Donny's trade made him the most popular man on the cobbles and there + was always a scam going on down here where car radios had been replaced by CD players, transistor sets by + mobile phones. Alloy wheels were a regular deal, along with fake designer jeans. A couple of months back, + two Irish labourers had strolled out of Aitkenbar Distillery with ten feet of nine-inch drainage pipe slung + between them and five gallons of immature spirit sloshing about in the curve of the hose. It might have been + clear as water and strong enough to bubble paint, but it had sold like a drug on the market and nobody had + asked any questions about where it came from. It only mattered that it was there, it could help blur the + remainder of the day, and it was going cheap.

+ +

Donny's enterprise elicited few questions, but one was enough. The trouble was that he had kept back a bottle + for himself and was taking slugs from the bottle every time he did a deal, so by dinnertime he was half + drunk and when the sun was over the old bridge upstream, with the whole crate gone, he was well over the + line.

+ +

"I hear it's good stuff," Cullen said.

+ +

"You'd better go find out," Ferguson told him. "Anything that gets sold down here, I get to know about it. I + don't remember giving anybody a franchise. Whoever's dealing pays double community tax."

+ +

Cullen and Foley bumped into Franky Hennigan's drinking buddy Tig Graham who was in the shadow under the + bridge and took the bottle off him, which was easier said than done, because any time Tig had a bottle of + anything he held onto it with ferocious determination and it took a couple of dull ones on the ribs to make + him loosen his grip. Seggs Cullen poured some into the empty can of coke, rather than put his lips to the + neck of the same bottle Tig had been drinking out of.

+ +

"That's the business," he said, while Tig struggled with Foley to get close and snatch it back. It was no + contest. Wiggy Foley was slab-like and lived on beer and burgers, while for Tig, solid food was only an + irregular necessity.

+ +

"Where did you get this?"

+ +

"Bought it this morning. There was a rush on."

+ +

"How much?"

+ +

"What's it to you?"

+ +

Cullen held the bottle out beyond the walkway railing and poured a golden drizzle in to the deep fast + current.

+ +

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you. It cost me a five spot. It's class stuff."

+ +

"How would you know, Tig? You'd drink watery shite out of my dirty boxers, wouldn't you?"

+ +

"Come on guys. Away and buy your own. He's still down there at the end of the quay."

+ +

"Who's dealing?"

+ +

"Some young fella from Drymains. Forget his name. Ginger-headed lad. Come to think, he might be one of Skid + Watson's boys."

+ +

Cullen looked at Foley and Foley grinned back.

+ +

"Bingo," he said. They jumped back in the van, sped round River Street and came down the Barley Cobble at the + far end of the quay half a mile away near the river mouth. They picked up Donny Watson as he sat on an old + worn capstan, with half a bottle of the moonshine still in his bag and a wad of notes in his hip pocket.

+ +

"Where did you get this?"

+ +

Donny had tried to fight them off, but he was no scrapper and his co-ordination left him swinging at fresh + air. After the last beating down the lane he remembered the pain of the bruises and the cracked ribs and + that recollection took the heart and fight out of him as much as anything else.

+ +

Wiggy Foley dragged him into the back of the van and casually slapped him around while Cullen held him in a + head-lock. After that Foley sat on him and the doors slammed and no matter how hard Donny tried, he couldn't + move.

+ +

When the doors opened again he was in Whitehead's scrap yard. You could tell by the smell of rusty and oil + and burning cable, and the sounds of hammers and wrenches and angle cutters on old metal. They were far down + one of the lanes, bounded on either side by stacks of bent cars. Foley dragged him out the back and into the + big shed. Cullen slammed the door shut.

+ +

"I hear you're in business," Ferguson said. He had his feet up on an old metal desk that bore a couple of + battered biscuit tins and big black welding mask. The chair was tilted back. Over by the wall, a crumpled + BMW stood up on bricks. Cullen had come in first before Foley had brought him out and the half-empty bottle + from Donny's bag now stood on the surface beside the tins.

+ +

"And it's class merchandise."

+ +

Donny said nothing.

+ +

"Not like you, Ginger, is it? Most of the time you're running off at the mouth like a burst main, am I + right?"

+ +

"I got nothing to say to you, Ferguson."

+ +

"Oh really. You really reckon?"

+ +

Donny shook his head.

+ +

"You're going to tell me what the fuck this is." He nudged the bottle with his foot. It teetered dangerously + and then righted itself.

+ +

"Piss off," Donny said. His eyes flicked left and right, trying to see a way out of this. He'd been down here + often enough with Jed and Neil, looking for parts for the stock cars, to know he was at the far end of the + yard. The chances of making it through the warren of aisles to the big gate were between zero and damn all, + even if he could fight his way out of the shed. A trickle of sweat started between his shoulder blades and + worked its way down.

+ +

"Fighting talk," Ferguson said without even raising his voice. He sniggered. "You'll have met Mr Foley. He's + just out of Barlinnie Jail, you'll have heard. Armed robbery and grievous bodily harm. He's trying to mend + his ways, but it's never easy is it? And by the way, when I say grievous, I mean really fucking brutal, know + what I'm saying? Desperate stuff."

+ +

Ferguson looked at him, squat and weasel eyed.

+ +

"Everybody wants to get into business these days. But, son, you know you can't go selling without a license, + am I right? Anybody deals down the riverfront, they got to come and see me."

+ +

"You don't own the place. I can do what I like."

+ +

"You would think that, wouldn't you? But you still owe me one from the golf course."

+ +

"Oh yeah, and I've got Deja Moo: I've heard all this bullshit before." Despite everything, Donny's mouth + broke free and was off on its own.

+ +

"Don't try and get smart with me." Ferguson's eyes glinted with irritation.

+ +

"Am I getting smart with you? ....How the hell would you know?

+ +

Ferguson shook his head. He raised an eyebrow, let his eyes drift to Foley, lowered them. Foley hit Donny a + fast one in right the kidney and the shock of pain dropped him like a sack. Ferguson waited until he'd + slowly got back to his feet again, using the desk for leverage, gasping painfully for a breath.

+ +

"You would think you can do what you like and say what you want, but you better get real. You know the score + and I know the score so you and me, we're going to stop fannying around. I don't have the time. So," he + tapped the bottle again. "unless you want more of the same, let's try again. Here's you doing a brisk trade + down on the quay, and we find out it's not the usual dregs that's been siphoned out of a barrel. I should + know. They serve this at the golf club and they charge you less for Glen Grant and if you swirl it around it + dries up before you even get a taste. And now you're selling it out of soda bottles and drinking it by the + pint."

+ +

He took his feet off the old desk and let the chair fall forward.

+ +

"Give him a spin," he said. Cullen put a meaty hand on Donny's back and slammed him forward over the surface. + He patted him down quickly and fished the notes from his pocket. Ferguson counted them, slipped off about + half and chucked the rest back.

+ +

"Don't say I'm unreasonable. You don't pay the tax, you get to pay double. But I'm an honest man, so you get + to keep the rest."

+ +

"Thanks a million," Donny grunted. He felt as if something had burst inside. He urgently needed to piss.

+ +

"So where were we? Yes. You're doing a turn on hooch, and it's no fucking moonshine. Now what I want to know, + is where did you get this?"

+ +

"He works in the place," Cullen put in. Ferguson froze, slowly turned to face him and Cullen's eagerness + vanished. Ferguson stared hard for an uncomfortable stretch.

+ +

"I want to ask you, you'll hear me ask you, right?"

+ +

Cullen backed right off, two or three steps. Even Foley shifted his stance and Donny sensed the tension + suddenly rack up tight. He began to sober up very fast. If Foley was scared of Ferguson, that made Ferguson + even worse than that lunatic. Outside, the angle grinder shrieked like a pig in the slaughterhouse. The + smell of burning rubber and plastic was thick on the air. The money lay untouched in a crumpled heap. + Ferguson lit a cheroot.

+ +

"Just to recap, in case anybody forgot where we were, here's you selling some prime brew, and here's me + wondering where you got three gallons of Grade A, single malt."

+ +

He turned to Cullen and Foley. "You wouldn't recognise this because you've got no class and no style, but + this is definitely the bees knees. The real McCoy. You ever watch the fuckin news? Read the papers? Some + team of hot-shot bandits just swiped a distillery load of the stuff that's been lying there since the + seventies, since Noddy Holder was wearing platforms and Elton John still had his own head of hair. No + offence Wiggy."

+ +

Donny swallowed hard in a dry throat. Ferguson turned back to him.

+ +

"Not that I think you've got half the brains or half the bottle, Skid, but I have to ask the fuckin question, + don't I? Where the fuck did you get this?"

+ +

"Fuck off, arsehole" Donny said, unable to stop his mouth spitting out the words. As soon as they were past + the retrieval stage he felt a sudden clench of fear in his stomach.

+ +

Ferguson flicked his cigarette at him. It whirred in the air and caught him just under the eye. Sparks flew + and little needles of fire stabbed at his skin.

+ +

"Now, we can do this the hard way, or the very hard way. And after that we can do it in ways you + don't fuckin' want to think about. Bobby Whitehead's got a fuckin' monster crusher out there. Put you in + that old car and you're gone for good and we let his Alsatians lick up what leaks out."

+ +

Donny's knees started to tremble and without warning the image of Jack and the others down at the boatyard + swam into his memory. They had all stared him down when Jack had told them about the fish.

+ +

Bastard, Jack. You got me into this!

+ +

"So I'll ask you one more time. Where the fuck did you get it?"

+ +

"I found it," Donny's voice was shaky.

+ +

"Sure you did. And I'm Mother fuckin' Theresa." Ferguson heaved himself off the chair and turned away, bent + and picked up a piece of equipment on the floor nearby. He held it up to Donny.

+ +

"A sticky situation," he said. "That's what you're in. Just you watch this."

+ +

He picked out big sixteen-mil bolt from a box on the table and rolled it across the surface. With the same + hand, he lifted the welder's mask and slipped it on. He held the nozzle, pressed the little trigger and + touched the thin wand of the arc-welder to the bolt. Bright blue sparks fountained into the air in a hot + sizzle and the bolt jerked across the desk as if it was alive. Donny pulled back to protect his eyes. Foley + slammed him forward.

+ +

"You get this stuck on your prick and you'll stick to anything." He grinned. "How would you like to be the + Rolls Royce lady? I can weld your balls to the hood of that Beamer.

+ +

Jack, you bastard. Resentment and fear tussled for dominance. Jesus, Jack I need you now. +

+ +

"Now what can you tell me?"

+ +

"I found it. Honest."

+ +

The wand touched the bolt. It was only inches away from Donny's groin. Foley kept him pressed forward.

+ +

Ferguson hit the trigger and pressed it straight down, jamming the bolt against the metal surface. A volcano + of sparks shot upwards and the hot air screeched. A shock of heat blasted through Donny's denims and he let + out a strange high squeak. Little metallic rivulets skittered silver across the surface.

+ +

"How many inches can this get through?" Ferguson asked. Blinding afterimages danced in Donny's vision. The + big bolt was white hot, all the rust cascading off like falling stars

+ +

"Ever smell human flesh roast? It's like pork, they tell me. Long Pig."

+ +

He turned off the power.

+ +

"You know how much it was worth? Three million, maybe four. And you know something else? Trust me Skidmark, + for that kind of dough, I'd skin my old granny alive. You're going to tell me."

+ +

And he did.

+ +

Angus Baxter was quick on the uptake and he hauled Andy Kerr in for another session of questions and answers. + It was all over town and when Jack heard it, he had to bite down hard on the surge of guilt. Andy's business + was down the drain and everybody was beginning to think he'd nicked his own tankers for the insurance. He + was even greyer now than he had been when he'd called them all into the meeting.

+ +

"He's like a dead man walking," Jed said. "Honest man, I wouldn't be surprised if he goes and tops + himself."

+ +

Jack had heard that Baxter had put two and two together and come up with four. If he hadn't heard, the news + on Radio Clyde was fairly explicit.

+ +
Police now believe that the two tankers stolen from Levenford Dairy may have been used in the theft + of the twenty five thousand gallons of Scotch whisky from Aitkenbar Distillery. +
+
It is now thought that a gang of professional thieves were involved in the daring, highly organised + robbery. +
+
But CID sources reveal that inside accomplices are still being sought, and staff in both companies + are being questioned. +
+

CID sources, Jack sneered. Just big Baxter putting out propaganda, trying to put the wind up. He'd know there + had to be some local involvement.

+ +

"I feel sorry for Andy," Jed said. They were on the boat again, five of them, down the end of the yard. + Nobody could find Donny, and he wasn't at home. "The cops think he was involved and the dairy's down the + tubes. He's going to lose it and we've dropped him in the shite."

+ +

"He was going to lose it anyway. The finance company owned the tankers."

+ +

"That's a bit callous," Jed countered. Neil agreed, but Ed and Tam said nothing. They knew they had come too + far. There was nothing they could do for Andy Kerr, no matter what they thought.

+ +

"What do you want me to say? What can I say? The tankers were no good to Andy. He told me that + himself, said he was going to get second hand wheels and give these back. We just did it a day early, that's + all."

+ +

"I was just saying..." Jed started. Jack snapped at him.

+ +

"Just don't say, all right? We've done this. Okay, sure, Andy's a good bloke. I know that. I'll fix it so + nothing happens to him, but we just need a couple of days. There's been a delay."

+ +

Neil pounced on that. "What delay?"

+ +

Lars had contacted Jack on the mobile later in the day, about an hour before Ferguson's heavies picked Donny + up on the quayside.

+ +

"The screw, that they fix okay. Did good work too. But the engineer, he found in the testing, a bend on the + shaft."

+ +

"So what does that mean?"

+ +

"It gives a vibration and metal fatigue. After a while the heat causes the shaft to crack. They say they can + take it out and replace. That's what they are doing just right now. But now I need four more days."

+ +

"Four days? Lars, that's much too much. We were ready to roll."

+ +

"I know Yack. Me too. But if the shaft goes out there on the North Sea, that is bad news."

+ +

"Okay. I'll have to think of something."

+ +

Four days. Like Donny always said, every silver lining had a big grey cloud inside it. Four days would have + been fine if it hadn't been for Donny's stupid bloody rainbow trout in a trickle of water, and the fact that + big Angus Baxter spent any off duty hours fly fishing on the Endrick and the Fruin rivers. He knew what fish + looked like. Because Donny had lost a piece of Kate's artwork from the tankers, Baxter had made the + connection between them and the job, and that mean the whole of the force would be scouring the country for + the big Fruehaufs.

+ +

"Where's Donny?"

+ +

"He's not home. I checked Mac's and he's not there either."

+ +

Jack had initially formed the idea that he'd give him a going over for the lost logo, but now he just wanted + them all together, pulling together.

+ +

"He took the huff with you," Neil said.

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

"You put him through the blender. He was well pissed off."

+ +

Jack put his head in his hands. There were too many things to do than get bogged down in this.

+ +

"Okay. Let's find the daft bugger and give him a big hug. I'll talk to him and make him feel better, right? + It's not the end of the world."

+ +

But Baxter knew about the tankers and the logo. Sooner or later he'd really start asking a lot of questions + and they had to be well out of this town before he got some answers.

+ +

"Keep your eye on the job and keep steady. The only thing that's going to kill us is if we lose our nerve + now."

+ +

He knew nothing about Gus Ferguson and what he was doing to Donny.

+ +

The interdict was slapped on Aitkenbar Distillery at four thirty on the Friday afternoon and that left Sproat + no time at all to counter it that weekend. He put a call in to Jamieson on the council and caught him just + as he was leaving the chamber for a weekend break.

+ +

"Who the hell are these people?"

+ +

"Charter 1315? I told you, just a bunch of locals," Jameson Bell tried to assure him.

+ +

"But I thought you said you had it sorted?"

+ +

"How was I to know they'd interdict? I never thought they had the finances."

+ +

"You've got a whole team of lawyers down there. Good god man, they say they own the whole damned river and + they got that information from your damned library?"

+ +

"It appears so," Bell said. "It's a public library. The documents go back centuries."

+ +

"They can go back to the age of the fucking dinosaurs for all I care. What I want to know is what you are + going to do about this."

+ +

"There's not much I can do. They've hired Kerrigan Deane, and he's no slouch."

+ +

"He's slapped an interdict on me. It prevents me reclaiming the river land."

+ +

"And he's taking us to the court of Human Rights. In Strasbourg for Christ's sake. They're now demanding that + we defend their rights under the Bruce Charter, and prevent you dumping the building into the river + basin."

+ +

"You can tell them to get stuffed." Sproat's voice was rising. He was losing his cool. Out in the vestibule, + Marge Burns listened to the conversation with her hand over the mouthpiece.

+ +

Bell sighed. "I really wish it were as easy as that."

+ +

"What could be simpler? I fund your party and you make sure I don't get shafted. Which I am + most definitely getting. Totally and completely."

+ +

"Well, they seem to have got the public fired up about this. And there's an election coming up in three + months time. I can't just tell them to bugger off now, can I? It would be suicide."

+ +

Sproat spluttered into the phone. The Charter 1315 protesters had somehow raised the money to get Kerrigan + Deane to fight their corner and it would cost him an arm and a leg to get the interdict lifted.

+ +

"So what are you telling me? You're going to back them?"

+ +

"I might have no choice in the matter. Our legal people think they might have a case."

+ +

"Nonsense. I told you, all this land and the river have been owned by my family for nearly two hundred years. + I'll be damned if I let a bunch of unwashed hippies tell me what to do. And as for you, you damned spineless + cretin, you better think of something. If I can't infill the basin, I can't reclaim the land, and that means + Trading Estates will pull out of the mall development. That happens and you can forget any funding forever. + That happens and everybody gets to know about all of it, you got me? All the brown envelopes. Let me give + you a for instance, shall I?

+ +

"I hear you," Bell said dryly. "I really think there's no need to make threats. I really don't see what I can + do. There's not much I can do in the face of public opinion."

+ +

"You just wait and see what opinion the public gets, you treacherous shit." Sproat was almost frothing at the + mouth. "If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will. And believe me, I'll break you into the + bargain."

+ +

He slammed the phone down and on the far side of the door, Marge Burns eased the receiver onto the + cradle.

+ +

"Marge," Sproat bawled, his voice strangely high and tight. He sounded as if something had burst in his + throat.

+ +

"Get me Michael Gabriel. I want to speak to that Italian client of his."

+ +

"Mr D'Angeli?"

+ +

"Him. Right away."

+ +

Kate could hardly believe the letter from Kerrigan Deane. It had come in the post, right out of the blue on + the Tuesday morning, addressed to her personally.

+ +
Dear Miss Delaney
+
We have been instructed to offer our services to the Bruce Charter 1315 organisation of which, we + are reliably informed, you are a key member. +
+
Our client, who wishes to preserve anonymity, has supplied us with a study and complete historical + background to the protest and the ramifications of infilling the tidal basin in Levenford. Our client has + financed such action as is necessary to counter these proposals by way of injunction or interdict against + any and all parties involved, such funding being sufficient to cover our estimated legal and court costs. +
+
You have been nominated to us as representative of Charter 1315 and as such, we would require you to + speedily obtain the consent of your organisation to enable us to immediately apply for interdict in the + first instance and to prepare a legal case. +
+
We eagerly await your instructions in this matter.
+ +

She stared at the letter for five minutes, letting her morning coffee grow cold, hardly able to comprehend + what she had read. Finally she picked it up again, folded it carefully, and put it back in the envelope.

+ +

"This is what we needed, Jack Lorne," she said aloud. "Real action."

+ +

She pushed her chair back and found her summer jacket and stepped out into the sunshine. She would show him + the letter that could help scupper Crichton and save the jobs at Aitkenbar

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch19.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch19.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7390c55 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch19.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,558 @@ + + + + + + 19 + + + + +
+
+

19

+ +

They had to move the stuff and fast. It should have been out of Levenford by now, long gone, but for the fact + that the engineers had found a bend in the prop shaft of the Valkyrie and that set Lars back at least four + days. Four days in the rising heat of the town was four too long as far as Jack was concerned. Big Angus + Baxter was good and eventually he’d come sniffing around. No doubt at all about that now.

+ +

They just had to be clean and clear when he did.

+ +

"They'll find the tankers," he told Jed and Ed on the way out towards the east of town to pick Tam up. He + wanted a lift with his tools for a weekend home job. He always kept his eye on the next contingency in case + the big plan fell on its face. In his view, that was not an unlikely scenario.

+ +

"It's a miracle they've not been discovered before now, so we'll have to find somewhere else to stash the + stuff."

+ +

"Easier said than done," Ed said. "The only place to put it is in another couple of tankers."

+ +

"We could pump it back and hope they don't notice," Jed offered and they all laughed, but they knew they were + in trouble.

+ +

"We need to store it for a couple of days. Eventually Baxter will get round to checking out every twelve + wheeler that comes in and out of the place. The decoys are good, but if anybody looks under those + tarpaulins, then we're all down the tubes."

+ +

Jed turned the beat-up yellow Skoda in at the far side of the building site where a whole block of little + brick houses were being thrown up on the wide flat wasteland of the old engineering factory that used to + employ three thousand souls in its heyday. Most of the site workers were clocking off early for the + weekend.

+ +

"Where is he? I told him to be ready to move."

+ +

A couple of dirt-encrusted cars passed by in convoy on the access road as the workers clocked off, sending up + little whirlwinds of dust and grey cement powder.

+ +

"I know where he'll be," Jack said. "I caught him skiving with a couple of noodie books the last time I was + here."

+ +

He pointed over to the enclosure where the big moulded-resin tanks were stacked like monstrous children's + blocks.

+ +

They piled out of the car and went across the strip of ground. Most of the joiners and brickies were gone by + now, leaving that distinct unfinished building site smell of tar and cut wood and diesel oil. Jack and Ed + carefully climbed up on the giant staircase of the tanks and peered down.

+ +

"Bowie, you're fired," Ed bawled, and Tam came awake with a dreadful start.

+ +

"What the fu....?"

+ +

They burst out laughing and jumped down into the hollow where Tam had been napping.

+ +

"Rip van Bowie," Ed said. "You could sleep standing up."

+ +

"So would you if you worked as hard as me." Tam rubbed his eyes. One side of his face was bright red where it + had faced the sun and that told them he'd been bunking off in the makeshift shelter for most of the + afternoon.

+ +

"Lazy git. No wonder you can never get a plumber when you need one."

+ +

They clambered back up and over the pile and down to where Jed waited in his stock-car.

+ +

"Don't tell me," he said. "He was zedding it, right? Out for the count."

+ +

"You could hear the snores across town." Jed started the engine and the pair of them piled in the back. Jack + had turned back and was facing in the opposite direction. Jed gave the horn a toot.

+ +

"Has he lost something?"

+ +

Jack slowly swivelled and came back to the car.

+ +

"Tam. What's the score with this place at the weekend? Is it busy?"

+ +

"No. Maybe a couple of roofers and glaziers on the other side, and some of the plasterers will get some + double time on the houses that are nearly finished. Everybody else will be at the match."

+ +

Ed came out of the car and stood beside him.

+ +

"You've got that look in your eye again."

+ +

"I think I've just seen the answer to the problem." For the first time that day, Jack Lorne seemed to be + happy about something.

+ +

"And we might just get away with it."

+ +

Old Tim Farmer came back two hours past midnight on the Saturday morning and almost gave Ed Kane a heart + attack. That was after Donny showed up and after five of them had sneaked into the transport park and got + the disguised tankers out through the big gates.

+ +

Donny was in a real mess.

+ +

The found him soaked to the bone and limping up the towpath, one side of his face swollen to twice its normal + size and a shirt stained a deep rosy pink where the blood had washed into it. "What the hell happened to + you?" Ed had asked, stopping him on the track. "You look like you walked in front of a bus?"

+ +

Donny tried to keep walking, tried to turn away so they wouldn't see the bruises. Jack put an arm round his + shoulder and felt him shiver violently despite the mildness of the evening.

+ +

He groaned at the pressure.

+ +

"Come on, Don. What's the score?"

+ +

"Bastards," Donny grunted, chittering with the chill.

+ +

Jack and Ed got him into the van and took him straight to Sandy's house.

+ +

Foley had hit him, back of the knuckle stuff, hard on the mouth, and his lip had split like a ripe tomato. + Cullen had him by the hair, pulling his head back so that his face was an easy target. Ferguson still held + the welder's wand, clicking the trigger on and off.

+ +

"So you and your teardrops swiped a tank-load of whisky, but you don't know where it is, that's what you're + telling me?"

+ +

Donny tried to nod against the tight burn of Cullen's grip.

+ +

Foley slapped him again, easy meaty thuds. Ferguson touched the wand to the table and made the bolt leap in a + bluster of sparks.

+ +

"I'll put your fucking eye out with this."

+ +

"Stick his head in the vice," Foley said. "You see Goodfellas? Put his head in and turned the handle. His + fucking eye popped out. It would give you the puke."

+ +

Ferguson turned to Foley, momentarily diverted. He stared at him a while.

+ +

"That was Casino," Cullen said.

+ +

"What the fuck is wrong with your mouth? You want to put a zip on it. Maybe a padlock, even. Christ, I can + weld your trap shut just as quick."

+ +

They made no reply. This was Ferguson's show.

+ +

"You and that smart cunt Jake Lorne and a bunch of losers. You hooked into Aitkenbar and went walkabout with + a tank of high tension and you don't fucking know where it is?"

+ +

"No. Honest to god," Donny was panting against the pain and the taste of blood at the back of his throat. + "Jack said it was need to know stuff. Just in case we got caught. It was just him. Christ knows where it is + now."

+ +

Ferguson sparked the gear. The sizzle reflected in his eyes.

+ +

"You want me to pop a ball for you? That what you want?"

+ +

Donny shook his head, despite the hurt it cost. "God's honest. He just drove it away."

+ +

"So where did you get the stuff you were trading down the quayside?"

+ +

"In the drain. I stuck a big plastic bottle down there. All the rest was going to go in the river, so I just + took some. The others never knew. It was just a bit extra."

+ +

Ferguson turned to the heavies. "See you guys? You never think of a scam like that. All muscle and gristle + you are. Right. Get him out of here and make sure he keeps that trap shut."

+ +

He leant over the old desk top and jammed the metal up close to Donny's face. The smell of burned metal was + sour and heavy.

+ +

"I see you again, Ginger pubes, and you get this torch up your arse. I'll cure your constipation for good, + know what I mean? I hear you've blabbed, the same goes."

+ +

Cullen hauled him backwards. Donny grunted. Ferguson held a hand up.

+ +

"Oh, now that I remember. Who's the Irishman?"

+ +

"What Irishman?"

+ +

Foley slapped him casually. "Mr Ferguson asks the questions. You do the answers."

+ +

Donny held his breath, scared to talk, scared not to.

+ +

"Who's the fucking Irishman who backed him up against me. The one with the shooter? What is he? IRA? UDA? + Family or what?"

+ +

"I don't know any Irishman," Donny said truthfully. "He never told me."

+ +

"Keeps you well in the dark, does our Jake. More need-to-know stuff? I find out you're lying and you won't + like what I'll do to you. Got the picture?"

+ +

They slammed him in the van again and Foley got in with him while Cullen drove out of the yard and along to + the station on the west side of town before taking the curve of the road that went down towards the river + and the little warren of streets and alleys off the main drag. It was late and it wasn't quite dark, though + the sun was low and just behind the Cardross hills out to the west. Down by the river it was shadowed and + silent.

+ +

Foley hauled him out and the pair of them dragged him, a hand clamped over his mouth, along the old cobbles + to the shadow under the bridge where they had come across Tig Graham drinking the whisky.

+ +

Cullen pushed him back against the railing, shoving so hard he thought he heard his spine creak with the + pressure. Foley dug fast knuckles right into his belly and all the air exploded out. The punch drove in + against skin and flesh stretched taut and Donny felt something rip. He grunted, unable to cry out and Foley + hit him again, hooking up between his legs, catching him right on the left testicle. The explosion of pain + was so sudden, so great, that Donny's teeth clenched together in a violent spastic snap.

+ +

Cullen's fingers just happened to be in the way and the teeth crunched right to the bone.

+ +

He let out a howl that echoed all across the river and reverberated from the unseen bridge arches, and Donny + felt the fingers drag out from his teeth. A new taste of blood hit his tongue.

+ +

"You bastard!" Cullen's other arm slammed against his shoulder. "Fucking bit me."

+ +

The blow was just enough. Donny was bent so far over the rail that the force against his shoulder just tipped + the balance. For a moment another huge screech of pain twisted in his back just above the thin part at his + pelvis and then his legs were in the air, feet lifting higher and he toppled towards the water.

+ +

"Get him," Cullen bawled. Foley snatched for the rising legs, got a hand to an ankle. Cullen's free hand, the + one that wasn't now between his own teeth, being sucked tenderly, caught Donny by the calf, but not fast + enough, not tightly enough. Donny was up and over sliding down the hand-smoothed railing bar. Something + gripped him at the heel and he felt his weight stop and judder.

+ +

"Weighs a fucking ton," Foley growled. Another hand made a grab for Donny's knee and Donny kicked out at it, + squirming, suddenly desperate to get away at all costs. His flailing heel caught Foley right on the eye and + raised a grotesque soft bruise that instantly purpled. Foley grunted, swore, hauled at him.

+ +

His boot came off. It just popped off as Foley tried to drag him up and over the bar and Donny's own momentum + carried him down, tumbling into the dark.

+ +

He hit the water with a numbing crack and five feet below that, drove into the silty bed with a soft, + smothering squeeze and for a moment all movement stopped.

+ +

"Where'd he go?"

+ +

"Fucked if I know."

+ +

The fading sun didn't reach under the bridge. Ten feet below them, the water at flow tide was dark, almost + black. The sounds of the splash faded away and the fast current carried the foam and ripples down with + it.

+ +

"He'll drown," Cullen said.

+ +

"I could care less."

+ +

"Don't come the cunt, arsehole. He kicks it and we're in the shit."

+ +

"Not me. Never saw him, don't know him. Never met him."

+ +

"Well, for a start, you better get rid of that fucking boot."

+ +

Foley looked at it, shrugged, let it fall into the water.

+ +

"Will that do?"

+ +

"You better be right."

+ +

Down in the water all he could hear was the ripple of the current over the bricks and stones and bottles, + thrown in by generations of drunks and small boys. Above him a thin crescent moon wavered in and out of + existence, and as the motion turned him over, he saw the two dark shapes leaning out from the rail, until + the fine silt of his impact rose in a cloud and obscured everything. The river rolled him down along the + slick side of the quay wall. For a second his one boot snagged on a brand new supermarket trolley, but he + was too numbed to panic. The boot came free and he drifted out from under the bridge moving faster as the + flow quickened. His groin ached and his back hurt, but the chill was leaching the pain away and down here in + the dark it was cold, but somehow hazy and comforting.

+ +

He surfaced forty yards down while Foley and Cullen still bent over the railing further up at the bridge. A + couple of swans powered themselves out of reach, hissing in fright as he gasped for breath, glided away like + ghosts, and he was past them, heading towards the Clyde as the numb cold of the river water began to drain + the heat from him. A hundred yards down the river shallowed at the old ford, and if the tide had been any + higher Donny would have been carried right on past the town, drawn on the flow beyond the old boatyard at + the sandy point where the rest of them had talked about the danger that Inspector Angus Baxter posed.

+ +

As it was, the tide was just low enough now and he got his feet to the slippery rocks and half crawled, half + stumbled across the current, towards the high wall at the far side, spluttering and gasping now with cold + and exhaustion and the aftermath of fear. When he reached the other bank he stopped and held on to an old + iron boat ring, trying to get his breath back. It took him twenty minutes to cross the water, and another + ten to climb the slippery stairs that led up to the towpath, and had begun to stumble homewards when out + from the trees two shadows suddenly loomed and for a moment he thought he'd been caught all over again.

+ +

They needed the van again and Willie McIver was glad enough to take another cash donation. If they were + caught, he'd say it was stolen and apart from that deal, he wanted to know no more. It was none of his + concern.

+ +

Neil hauled the pump around and waited for them behind the workmen's hut. When they arrived, they just looked + like two big covered container wagons and their passing made the ground tremble. Jed went ahead, reversed + expertly, and slowly backed the first vehicle across the hard-pack mud and dirt on the edge of the building + site until he reached the stack of tanks.

+ +

"Will they take the weight?" he asked.

+ +

"Sure they will," Tam assured him. "They're epoxy resin and PVC. They can take two hundred pounds a square + inch before they rupture. They have to be tough in case they ice up."

+ +

Tam had assured Jack that the big water sumps would not be used for weeks, when the diggers would come in and + excavate the drainage pits for the second phase of the project. Neil backed the van and pump up on the far + side, away from prying eyes and the old watchman who was half asleep on the other end of the site, and the + bulk of the sumps hid the noise of the little engine.

+ +

The whisky began to flow, gallon by gallon, barrel by barrel, for more than an hour, each minute racking up + the tension and the chances of being caught in the open, caught in the act, and after that, Jed got into the + cab and reversed in again to repeat the process. They filled six of the sumps to the brim and Tam used a big + steel chuck key to fit the coin-shaped lids back on. Jack slathered them first in epoxy glue that would bind + them tight in an hour. After that, the only way in or out was to cut a hole in the sides.

+ +

Hide them in plain sight. You couldn't get any plainer than this. Half the labourers on the site + would be passing by here or climbing over to dodge work for a half hour. It was a risk, maybe a big risk, + but Jack thought that for a couple of days more, they could take it. Maybe it was all the other ends of the + strings he was holding that tired his brain out, but he had run out of ideas. This was as good a place as + any, and because Tam was on site all the time, they could keep an eye on it. The rest of them could come + strolling through in denim jackets and workers' boots and pass for any one of the sub-contractors mates. + Building sites were like that.

+ +

Ed and Jack dropped the others off and went round to old Tim Farmer's house to pick up the mail, close to ten + thirty when the sun was just sliding down to the curve of Cardross Hill, turning the sky a deep red that + held the promise of a fine bright morning.

+ +

"What's all this stuff," Ed asked as they sneaked up the garden path, screened by the tall bushes.

+ +

"Phase four," Jack told him.

+ +

"How many phases has this scam got?"

+ +

Jack laughed. "Getting to the end-game soon."

+ +

"Okay," Ed conceded. "You've got a buyer. But the last time we were here, we picked up a whole bunch of + stuff. Different names too. You're up to something."

+ +

"Just diversions," Jack said, appreciating the compliment. He began to roll down the woolly hat until it was + over his eyes. Ed was sharp, totally wasted shoving barrels in the distillery. So far Jack's judgement had + been right. He could use Ed Kane. "We have to keep several jumps ahead of everybody, try to figure + them out two, three steps down the line. That way, when things go wrong, you can't get taken completely by + surprise."

+ +

"You can't think of everything," Ed said, tucking his own hat down. He was on his knees, feeling for the + string through the letterbox. His fingers found it and he drew it out. "There's always something you haven't + thought of."

+ +

He slotted the key in the door and they both sneaked inside, closing it behind them, walking softly through + the back kitchen and down the darkened hallway.

+ +

Without any warning at all a light clicked on, leaving them totally exposed.

+ +

"What the hell...?"

+ +

Old Tim Farmer stood at the top of the stair in a dressing gown.

+ +

"What the fuck do you want?" His voice was high and shrill and his white legs stuck down like + matchsticks.

+ +

"Oh shit," Ed said, with great feeling. "Bet you never thought of that!"

+ +

Up on the stair, Tim Farmer was raising the long barrel of a shotgun. Jack caught the motion and + instinctively dragged Ed back, his heart leaping right into his throat.

+ +

"Is that you McLaren?" Farmer's voice was even higher. "That bitch of yours isn't here. She cleaned me right + out."

+ +

Jack jerked Ed back and the pair of them hit the wall and just then he saw it wasn't a gun. Farmer was + holding an old walking stick in one hand. The other one reached out and snatched a big vase from a stand + beside the window and the old man slung it down at them. It caught Ed on the shoulder and smashed against + the wall. Ed yelped.

+ +

"Get out of here and don't come back and if I see that gold-digging bloody wife of yours I'm going to call + the police."

+ +

Jack almost laughed with relief. He pulled Ed away, crunching the fragments of pottery underfoot, and the + pair of them scuttled for the kitchen and out into the air, leaving the old man still bawling from the + stairhead.

+ +

"Dead right you are. I never thought of that."

+ +

"That old man, he ran away with some bird?" Ed was scrambling through the hedge behind Jack. "No wonder you + never expected him back. He should have had a thrombo by now."

+ +

They got out the far side and down the small slope to where they had parked the van, got in quickly and sped + away.

+ +

Jack stopped laughing. "I thought he had a shot gun. No kidding, I thought that was it for the pair of + us."

+ +

Ed rubbed his shoulder. "Skinny old bugger. Nothing wrong with his aim, though."

+ +

"You'd think at least one bloody thing would go right without any problems," Jack said. "Just when you think + you've hit bottom, some loonie throws you an anchor."

+ +

Ed had to agree. "No matter which way you ride, it's uphill and into the wind." + "All we have to think of is how to get the mail out of there. Any ideas?"

+ +

"You're the ideas man, Jake. I just do the lifting. You'll think of something."

+ +

In the light of day, it was Ed who came up with the idea, but that was after the pair of them realised their + troubles were only beginning. Just along the road they came across Donny Watson stumbling up from the + towpath.

+ +

He was chilled to the bone, shivering like a child. Jack's uncle put a big quilt round him in the kitchen and + fed him a mixture of hot chocolate and the cream liqueur he was selling to the women at the bowling club + dances.

+ +

"Take your time with that," he said. " You'll get drunk and scalded at the same time."

+ +

Donny's face was pumped up swollen and he listed to the side, cradling some part under his ribs that was + causing him pain. The mud and the blood on his shirt had merged into a flesh-coloured stain on his + chest.

+ +

"Tell us what happened, son," Sandy encouraged. "Somebody had a good go at you."

+ +

"Ferguson," Donny managed to get out in a shuddery breath. "Him and Seggs Cullen and that nutter Foley. I'm + sorry Jake."

+ +

"Don't worry Donzo. That lunatic. After all this time I thought he'd forgotten about it."

+ +

"Not Ferguson," Sandy said. "He's a stoat." Ed nodded agreement.

+ +

"No, not that, Jake." Donny's face crumpled and he coughed, sending a spasm though him. "I had to tell him. + He had a welders lance. Jesus, he was going to stick it right in my eye."

+ +

Sandy put an arm round him. "You're okay now son. Take it easy."

+ +

"Tell him what?" Jack had gone very still, so still that Ed felt it.

+ +

"God, man. Jack, I'm really sorry. I thought it would be okay, just a couple of bottles. No harm in it. What + you don't know can't hurt you."

+ +

What you don't know will always hurt you. Hadn't he told them all?

+ +

"No harm in what, Donny?"

+ +

"I had to tell him." Donny lifted his head and looked Jack right in the eye, held it for a moment and then + flicked to Sandy.

+ +

"That's all right Donny. You can tell him what you tell me. So what did you tell Ferguson?"

+ +

"I had to tell him about the whisky, Jake. Christ, he was going to skewer me. They took me down to the + scrappie's and he had this thermic lance. It would put a hole in you."

+ +

"I know what a lance does," Jack said. He put his fingers to his temples, closed his eyes. It was all coming + unravelled. Sudden anger at Donny flared up inside him and he squeezed down on it, damping it away.

+ +

"Let the boy tell it," Sandy said softly.

+ +

"How did he know what to ask."

+ +

Donny turned back to him, looked up and then dropped his eyes.

+ +

"I punted some of the stuff. God, Jake, I'm really sorry. I never meant it to happen, but I got mad, you + know? When you tore me up in front of the guys. I got a bit pissed and I took the buckshee stuff."

+ +

"What buckshee stuff?"

+ +

"I stuck a container in the pipe to catch some."

+ +

"Oh shit." Jack breathed out. Ed bit his lip. If Ferguson knew, then they really were in it, chin deep and on + tiptoe.

+ +

"Honest Jake. I never thought."

+ +

"No." What else was there to say? Jack's words dried up as he saw the whole plan going down the stank.

+ +

"I thought it would be okay. It was going to waste, you know? God, I was just mad after that time on the + boat. I got pissed and stupid and I fucked up." The three of them watched him, let him run on. "They got me + down on the quay and slammed me in the van and next thing I'm in a shed at the scrap yard. He put this thing + up to my eye and said he was going to burn it out."

+ +

"Bastard," Jack said through his teeth. "I knew he was going to be trouble."

+ +

"I'm sorry Jake. They kicked the shit out of me and then I was in the river. I don't know how I got away, but + I crossed at the ford and then I met you guys. I think they bust my ribs again."

+ +

He coughed hard, holding his side down at his hip, and a little trickle of blood oozed out of this mouth and + trickled down his chin.

+ +

The spasm passed and he shuddered again.

+ +

Jack's moment of anger peaked and then oozed away, like Donny's trickle of blood. There was no point in + holding on to it. What was done was done.

+ +

"Okay man. You had to tell him."

+ +

He moved round the table and sat next to Donny, clamped a hand round his shoulder and drew him right close. + Donny! Crazy schmuck!

+ +

They'd been friends longer than he could remember, since playschool days. Before that even, just babies, just + kids, toddling together, all the way through school together. Friendship and history counted, Jack realised, + friendship and history and the whole of their lifetimes. He'd ignored Donny's fast mouth and death-wish + craziness, never analysing it. He knew now. He'd given Donny the easy tasks because he wasn't the brightest + spark, not the sharpest. That was something he'd never consciously thought, never had to consider. He'd + brought him in because he was a mate, and loyalty was the thing, and he should never have humiliated him + down at the boat.

+ +

He clapped him around the shoulder.

+ +

"Don't worry about it old son. If he'd come at me, I'd have told the bastard." Donny was shuddering and Jack + knew he was crying now, from pain and fright and shame.

+ +

He looked past him at Ed, at his uncle. "Can we keep him here tonight?"

+ +

"Better here that anywhere else."

+ +

"Okay mate. Come on. You get the good bed and I get the hard couch. Come on and get these wet clothes + off."

+ +

"I never meant it," Donny whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

+ +

"I know that Donzo. You don't have to tell me that."

+ +

It was well past midnight, and the three of them sat in the kitchen. Sandy had poured them all a cold beer + when Jack came back down.

+ +

"He's sleeping. Those two animals gave him a doing."

+ +

"It's about time we sorted them right out," Ed said.

+ +

"Yeah. Later. We'll have to think of something."

+ +

"That's the second time you said that tonight," Ed said, and Jack managed an arid laugh.

+ +

"That's me. The man with the plans. Except I'm running out." He closed his eyes, rubbed them with his + thumbs.

+ +

"Ferguson's going to come after you," Sandy said. "Sure as night follows day."

+ +

"I know that. I'll just have to stay out of his way for a couple of days. That's all I need. And all you need + to get the business sorted out."

+ +

"What business is that?" Ed asked.

+ +

"I'll tell you everything tomorrow, the point of this whole thing. You need to know now. We have to think + about Ferguson, you and me. And Tam and Jed. Neil's no scrapper and Donny's had the guts pulled out. But + Ferguson, he could screw up the whole thing, so it's a real game of chess now. I'll have to figure out his + moves. Be diplomatic."

+ +

Sandy laughed. "I told you before. Being diplomatic means saying nice doggie and getting ready to + hit with a half brick."

+ +

"I know. What did you think I meant?"

+ +

Ed came in. "You reckon you can outguess him?"

+ +

"We don't do that, he'll carve us up or put us in jail, and we lose everything."

+ +

"I thought I was going to lose it tonight," Ed said, and he laughed. Sandy looked from one to the other, + eyebrows raised.

+ +

"What happened?"

+ +

"I'll tell you tomorrow as well. Right now by head's full of mince and broken bottles. I need some sleep. + Tomorrow, Ed, you and me, we're up the city, get a couple of things sported out, see a couple of people. + Sandy, you better get yourself up and see DJ and the boat boys."

+ +

Sandy took off his tammy hat and ran his fingers through his dark tousled hair.

+ +

Ed whistled.

+ +

"Nice colour Mr B. It takes years off you."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch20.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch20.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d9ec9b4 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch20.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,659 @@ + + + + + + 20 + + + + +
+
+

20

+ +

She saw him coming down Bothwell Street as she was walking to the lawyer’s office and pulled back into the open + doorway of Starbucks coffee house, wondering what he was doing in Glasgow. Had he followed her here?

+ +

"Can I get you something?" The girl held up a cup.

+ +

Kate shook her head, craning forward to watch him striding fast down the street towards George Square. Something was + different about him. The suit looked new. And she'd never seen him with a briefcase either. It gleamed a burnished + ox-blood.

+ +

Kerrigan Deane had persuaded the sheriff to slap on the interdict against Aitkenbar Distillery.

+ +

"It's a holding operation," he said. "All that does is prevent any action on their part until they come to court and + try to get it lifted."

+ +

"Can they do that?"

+ +

"Of course they can try. But at the moment they can't take any action, which gives your organisation the chance to + prepare your case. As I see it, the research we have provides us with a prima facie case."

+ +

"We've got some research. Where did you get yours?"

+ +

"I'm afraid that's confidential. But it is very informative, very detailed, and as far as I can see, historically + accurate."

+ +

She wished she knew his source, but that was as far as she was going to get today.

+ +

"Whatever. It's there. On the face of it, there is a strong a case for public ownership of the River Harbour which + will stand as long as Mr Sproat cannot produce title deeds. Initial checks show this is a strong possibility, but + one never knows when we're dealing with ancient history. This will at least prevent the destruction of the harbour + in the meantime. In a word, he's stuck."

+ +

"That's all we want," she said. "If he can't dump the buildings in the basin, we'll win."

+ +

Jack had talked through it out on the Creggan Cliffs, before that boy almost drowned down near the rocks. Sproat + needed that big hole in the river to bulldoze the rubble and reclaim all that acreage of land. If he couldn't use + the river, it would have to go somewhere else and that would cost millions in landfill tax, millions that Sproat + didn't want to spend, millions Sproat didn't have anyway, Jack had said.

+ +

Now they had a chance, thanks to whoever the mystery benefactor was who had funded this operation. Kate had a + sneaking suspicion about that. It could have been the fellow from the big yacht, the one who had somehow traced her + and gone round to thank Jack for saving his son. He certainly looked as if he was worth some sort of money. Kerrigan + Deane was steadfast in his refusal to disclose that piece of information, but it didn't matter. It would have taken + Charter 1315 months to raise the money they needed, maybe a year, and by that time the distillery would be down, + dumped in the river, and the shopping mall developers in on the new site.

+ +

Damn Jack Lorne. He had helped kick this whole thing off, in a way. His anger at the steady drain of jobs + and money from the area had spurred her on with the charter protesters.

+ +

Then despite all that, he had turned his back in it and his bunch of wild men had hijacked the big whisky decant like + a gang of hoods. She couldn't understand that at all.

+ +

She recalled his look of surprise and incredulity when she had come round the corner, sizzling with anger, and lumped + him one on the jaw.

+ +

You stole a tanker of whisky?

+ +

No. I stole two tankers of whisky.

+ +

He'd kept his face straight, dead serious.

+ +

I needed a head start. It was payback time for that arsehole.

+ +

That wasn't the laid-back Jack Lorne of old. He'd had a look in his eye she'd never seen before. What was it, anger? + Bitterness? Maybe both. He sounded tougher, harder. And he wasn't for backing down one inch.

+ +

....twenty seven years old milkman with maybe a chance of a job in an office. Work my way up to middle management + by the time I'm forty and then get kicked out for being past it.

+ +

This was a new Jack Lorne. He'd been coasting for so long, taking it easy, the original laid back retro-music man. + Now the police were after the raiders at Aitkenbar, after him, and if they caught up he'd go down for five + years, Jack and that whole team of daft boys who never grew up.

+ +

And it would break her heart.

+ +

She froze, just on the point of stepping out of Starbucks.

+ +

"Cappuccino? Latte?" the girl's voice seemed way in the distance.

+ +

He could go to jail and it would break her heart. The realisation of just how much she cared felt stopped her dead + and shook her to the core. Damn damn damn!

+ +

Kate finally got a hand to the door and walked out into the busy street. He was far down the slope now, waiting for + the lights to change and her heart was still pounding harder than it should.

+ +

Did he have any idea how she felt?

+ +

And how did she feel anyway?

+ +

Damn him.

+ +

He was way in the distance now, head and shoulders just visible.

+ +

It was just then that his appearance finally struck her. What was he doing with an Armani suit? And what the hell had + he done to his hair?

+ +

Early Monday morning and Jack juggled the grille and the frying pan. The smell of bacon and eggs and fried tomatoes + filled the kitchen and soon percolated through the house. Donny was at the table, still wrapped in the dressing + gown. Jack was stiff from another night on the couch, but that would wear off quickly when he got busy. Ed buttered + the rolls while Sandy read the paper.

+ +

Donny had woken in the middle of the night and come downstairs, still favouring his side.

+ +

"What's the matter? You still hurting?" Jack came awake quickly at the sound of the door opening and sat up, yawning, + while the dream he'd had fragmented into shards and he tried to hold on to them as they scattered.

+ +

"It's okay," Donny said.

+ +

"You need a doc?"

+ +

"No. I think I just tore a muscle."

+ +

"You never had any muscle to tear, you big Jessie." Jack reached over and ruffled Donny's hair. All the anger was + gone now. Friends. You couldn't pick them, not when you were a kid. They were just like families sometimes. + You had to make allowances.

+ +

The anger had evaporated, replaced by a determination to get past this.

+ +

Donny's face was still pale and miserable, more so in the thin light that leaked in between the slats of the + blinds.

+ +

"Jake, I..." he began.

+ +

"You tell me you really, really love me, I'll hook you."

+ +

"No its..."

+ +

"I know what it is, man. You screwed up. Okay. Right. That's it said. And so did I."

+ +

Jack punched him on the shoulder, hard enough to get his attention. "We can go on about it all day, or we can get on + with the business, you and me and the boys."

+ +

Donny looked back at him, surprise and shame fighting it out.

+ +

"Come on Donzo. What's done is done. Everybody has to fuck up. The trick is to shove past it and move ahead, which is + what we're doing. We've got a long way to go and you're still my main man. We're all solid, and I mean all + of us. And I need you in the team."

+ +

He sat back, suddenly struck by the desire for a fast shot of Lars Hanssen's good vodka.

+ +

"You want a drink?" he tried to change the subject.

+ +

"No. I'm off it."

+ +

"Good. Stay off it until this is over." The thing with Donny was past. They had to get by the obstacle and think of + what to do now. If he dwelt on it, that would slow everything up. He poured a shot, added some fresh orange, using + the time to think.

+ +

"What about Ferguson?"

+ +

"Him? He's all mouth and muscle. If he'd brains, he'd be dangerous."

+ +

Jack was just talking now, still holding on to the half dream. Ferguson was dangerous, and not just because + he had Cullen and Foley and a whole team of the Corrieside animals on the payroll. He was dangerous because of what + he knew, and if he didn't get what he wanted, he'd shop them all, that was for certain. Honour amongst thieves + wasn't in his lexicon.

+ +

"He's not daft," Donny said.

+ +

"No. He's got animal cunning, but can he think?"

+ +

Could he really think? Muscle and cunning was sometimes enough. But put Sandy Bruce up against Ferguson, and Jack + knew who his money would be on. But Sandy had taken a big risk for him before, and Jack wasn't ready to let that + happen again. He'd do it his way. In fact, he'd already, and quite instinctively, started the battle, the + first time he went up to Glasgow.

+ +

The dream kept trying to force its way back in on his thoughts again. Jack took another sip of the drink. He'd be all + the better for a good night's sleep and a tightener. Something had clarified while he slept and he smiled to + himself. It wasn't the first time that had happened. He should sleep more often.

+ +

"Listen man. You get to your bed and we'll talk in the morning. I'm going to need you to do something for me."

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"It's a big job. And it's Something only you can do."

+ +

Donny looked at him, grateful, strangely tongue tied. Jack punched him on the shoulder again, the way friends + can.

+ +

"You tell me what it is Jake. I'll do it right."

+ +

"I know you will. Now piss off before you start kissing me," Jack said.

+ +

But they hugged anyway. Friends, what could you do?

+ +

Jed Cooper took him aside to ask him a question. They were down by the boat and Donny had gone to start his shift. + Tam was on the site, keeping an eye on the big tanks. It had been a busy morning and Ed had woken him at dawn with + an idea.

+ +

It was dead simple. Tommy Dunbar was a regular in Mac's Bar and it was easy to keep him occupied for five minutes + talking about football at the post office hatch where they handed out the parcels that hadn't been delivered. Ed + simply reached around the door and snatched one of the red and blue jackets hanging there and then they both went + round to Tim Farmer's house.

+ +

Ed knocked tentatively, while Jack remained outside.

+ +

"What do you want?" The old man's voice came from behind the door.

+ +

"It's the postman," Ed said. He leant in towards the frosted glass, showing the colours. Tim Farmer took his time, + and finally opened up.

+ +

"You think this is the town dump?"

+ +

"What do you mean?" Ed was taken by surprise.

+ +

"Look at all this stuff here. Somebody just dumped it through the door. I've a good mind to chuck it in the bin."

+ +

"That's what I'm here about," Ed said. He looked beyond the old fellow and noticed that the shards of pottery had + been cleaned up. "There was a mistake. We had a new boy, stuffed the wrong mail through the door. I'm here to + collect it."

+ +

"I could charge you storage," the old man said.

+ +

"You could, but that would be interfering with her majesty's mail. You can get three years for that. And a big + fine."

+ +

"Really?"

+ +

"True. It's the law."

+ +

"Well you better take it then. Just make sure I don't get any more of this."

+ +

Ed bent, stacked it all together and was gone in a minute. Jack sorted through the pile of envelopes on the way down + the road and by the time they reached his grandfather's place, Sandy was gone.

+ +

"Good stuff," he told Ed. "We're finally on our way. Just a couple of days more and we're home clear."

+ +

"As long as we can stay ahead of big Baxter and that nutter Ferguson."

+ +

"He doesn't know where I am."

+ +

"Let's keep it that way."

+ +

Alistair Sproat had signed on the line, eager to get his cash flow going now that his own deadline was rushing + closer. He had aged five years in the past fortnight and Jack could see the need in his eyes. Daddy's money might + have given him the firm and the lifestyle, but he'd never been hungry until now, never really had to work at it, and + it was a bit late to learn the tricks. Jack had drawn him out and Sandy had played him like a trout. Kerr Thomson + had been crucial to the deal.

+ +

They had cornered him in the car park off river street just after the end of the shift and it was clear he was + waiting for Betty McKinley from the charity shop to get off so they could go somewhere quiet. Tam Bowie wondered if + they should wait and follow them, but Jack vetoed the idea. There was always a chance she'd get such a fright that + she'd blurt it out to her husband and do true confessions. That would just open up a new can of probabilities and + imponderables. They needed Kerr Thomson by himself and preferably by the balls.

+ +

Tam knocked on the window and the customs officer didn't recognise him through the glass. Tam flashed him a wallet + and mimed rolling the window down. He leant an elbow on the car roof.

+ +

"Mr Thomson?"

+ +

"Yes?" Wariness showed already.

+ +

"I'm afraid you'll have to come with me and answer a few questions."

+ +

"Who the hell are you?" Thomson tried bluster despite the quick fear in his eyes.

+ +

Tam flipped the wallet open again and this time Thomson got a clear look at his own white backside sticking up in the + air and his face half turned, mouth slack.

+ +

"Oh shit." He'd seen the flicker in the dark and had thought it was a flashlight.

+ +

"The lady in question works in the charity shop?"

+ +

"How did you.....?"

+ +

"Never mind how. You were warned about your behaviour and it seems you haven't learned a lesson. But there is + something else we have to talk to you about. Please step out of the car."

+ +

"Am I under arrest?"

+ +

"That remains to be seen." Tam enjoyed putting it on. He turned to Jack, who stood with his arms folded at the + entrance to the car park and gave him an exaggerated wink. Jack kept his face totally straight. He looked the + part.

+ +

They shut the private car park gate behind the chemists shop, shielding themselves from the traffic. Thomson looked + Jack up and down, took in the well cut tweed jacket and the rimless glasses.

+ +

"We have good information that you and Alistair Sproat have been involved in an attempt to defraud Her Majesty's + Customs and Excise of its rightful revenue." Jack kept his face stern.

+ +

When Tam showed Thomson the picture of him and Betty McKinley the blood had drained out of his face. Now he looked as + if he might have a stroke. Thomson put a hand to his chest and slumped back against the brick wall, breathing + hard.

+ +

"No need to tell you how many years you could be facing for offences of this nature," Jack kept up the pressure. + "Fraud, conspiracy to defraud. Breach of trust."

+ +

"I...I...I...."

+ +

"You were involved in remarking barrels of bonded spirits in B Hall at Aitkenbar Distillery. I can give you date and + times, and if you would like to see them, the surveillance tapes."

+ +

"But there's no surveillance in...." Thomson's mouth closed like a trap.

+ +

"You might think that," Jack said. "You would be wrong." He stood back, folded his arms.

+ +

"However, this is your lucky day. We don't want you. You're small fry. We're even prepared to grant you immunity for + your complete co-operation. And my colleague here will try to forget he ever took that interesting artwork. We've + been watching you for some time."

+ +

Thomson licked his lips. The beads of sweat that had sprung on his forehead had transformed themselves into rivulets. + They could almost see steam rising from under his armpits.

+ +

"What do you want me to do?"

+ +

"I want you to sit down and tell us everything you can. Times, numbers, amounts, everything. Tomorrow, we'll expect + to see the relevant paperwork, and we'll expect your complete co-operation and total discretion. You tell anyone + about this and the deal is off and I'm afraid you'll be facing multiple charges. Total silence is imperative."

+ +

"And I get immunity? You won't charge me?"

+ +

"You might even get to keep your job if you do this right. We always reward good citizens who realise the error of + their ways and help the police with their inquiries."

+ +

Kerr Thomson started talking and didn't stop for two hours.

+ +

Alistair Sproat had supplied the big flatbeds and drivers and it took a morning to roll the barrels out and load + them. Things were looking up today, with the news from Dunvegan. They had done the deal in the Drumbuie Hotel on the + Friday and Sproat had been cheered up enough to offer them champagne. Sandy took a brandy, looking quite the part in + Armani.

+ +

He'd passed the envelope across the table. Sproat made a play of opening the flap and taking a cursory glance inside, + too arrogant to get right in there and check in front of them. That was a mistake. The deal was bent and they all + knew it, and if you did bent deals, you dealt with bent people. You counted your fingers if you had to.

+ +

"Go on, you count," Sandy said. His accent stayed the distance.

+ +

"This is just the first tranche," Sproat said. "I trust you."

+ +

The five thousand was all there, just a taster. For good faith.

+ +

"We're loading up today. It'll be ready for you tomorrow. And thanks for helping out with the Dunvegan deal."

+ +

Sandy waved his hand, as if it was nothing, and Jack smiled. DJ Munro and the rest of the boys up there had taken a + bit of convincing, for it was their redundancy money and their futures stacked up on the line.

+ +

"I hadn't expected a management buy out," Sproat said.

+ +

"All they needed was some leverage," Jack told him. "Mr D'Angeli's associates were pleased to assist."

+ +

"Frankly I thought I'd never get rid of the place. I'm just glad to see it off my hands. No demand for those single + malts these days, and it's far too labour intensive. Designer drinks, that's where it's going. You can sell the + stuff in three days, not three years, and the tax is by alcohol volume, so your costs are a third. You can't + lose."

+ +

"We're just pleased to help," Jack said. "We kill two birds with the one stone. They give us the storage, which means + we don't have to take the goods out of customs bond until we need them, which is good for cash flow, and we give + them the business."

+ +

"You're happy, we're all of us happy." Sandy said.

+ +

It had been more difficult to persuade DJ Munro than it had been to persuade Sproat. All Sproat could see were fast + dollar signs and they had focused his attention on another target. All he needed was to get shot of Dunvegan to + concentrate on the Mall deal. Jack had brought DJ down to Kerrigan Dean's office and with the big credit guarantee + from the bank they'd thrashed out the details and the lawyer had gone to Aitkenbar to fix it up. Sproat would rather + have had the money up front, but Deane explained that the local boys were talking a chance, and Sproat knew they had + no major market. At the end of the day, he'd be stuck with an empty distillery and the redundancy payments for the + men he was throwing on the scrap. Sproat signed the deal for a ten-year reducing payment and washed his hands of an + asset that would have cost a fortune in care and maintenance. What he didn't know was that the money to fund the + buy-out came from a bank guarantee on a share of a boat that had been bought with the whisky that had been stolen + from under his nose. That would have rankled.

+ +

It would have been a lot worse if he'd known the first moves had been made to obtain the European regional grants + that would mean the buy-out by the Dunvegan management and their backers would cost them virtually nothing over the + ten years.

+ +

But he didn't know that, and Braveheart Distilling became a reality.

+ +

Jack phoned ahead and told DJ to expect the first delivery. Kerrigan Deane rang him just after that to tell him the + property transfer had gone through the register. Everything was coming together now, building up under the plan's + own gravity.

+ +

The big trucks got rolling. From Levenford to Skye, it's a long and winding road up through the highlands and out to + the wild wastes of the west, and it's rare for Scotch whisky to travel in that direction. Normally it's made up in + the north and gets transported south by the same road. But times were changing.

+ +

Kerr Thomson had aged faster than Alistair Sproat had. Ed had watched him as he worked, all the bravado and bluster + knocked out of him; like a man imploded. By the Monday afternoon, he had come up with the paperwork Jack needed and + Margery Burns searched the records for the rest of it. By this stage, the operation had gained its own momentum. All + Jack needed was the word from Lars Hanssen.

+ +

He used the time to set up yet another mail drop, and that was one thing he had planned for, just in case Murphy's + Law kept to the usual rules: Anything that can go wrong, will.

+ +

When he said that, Ed told him Murphy was a rose tinted optimist. He was probably right.

+ +

"Trouble's like a wet-suit," Ed said. "Easy to get into, murder to get out of."

+ +

They had a week's credit on the batch of whisky Alistair Sproat was glad to see gone from Aitkenbar distillery, + especially since most of the money would be clear profit, no income tax, no VAT. That gave Jack Lorne a breathing + space, so long as Lars Hanssen got his boat fixed and managed to get out of the Clyde in just a couple of days time. + He could sense Angus Baxter ferreting about the town, working his way closer. No matter what happened, it was only a + question of time before he came sniffing around.

+ +

"He knows it was an inside job," Ed told him.

+ +

"Not entirely."

+ +

"You know what I mean. I'm in the clear anyway, but he looks right through you, as if you're guilty anyway. They + haven't figured out when the pipes were welded. There were a dozen guys in the decant room on the night and they're + all in the frame."

+ +

"They'll be all right," Jack said with some certainty. "They haven't done anything."

+ +

"That's what you think. They've all been scamming whisky out of that place since they were boys just out of school. + They're all shitting their pants thinking Baxter will get them for something."

+ +

Jack laughed. "That's the trouble these days. You just can't trust anybody."

+ +

He got up to Dunvegan on Skye by six that night, almost dead on his feet, and stayed at DJ Munro's place a half mile + down the road from the little old distillery that was tucked into a little narrow glen not far from the old castle. + He had a fast meeting with DJ's cousin, two quick beers in the back room of the village pub, tying up final details, + and when he hit the pillow at nine he fell asleep immediately. DJ's wife woke him with a big breakfast twelve hours + later, and at eleven in the morning, the big flatbeds arrived from Aitkenbar, with the hogsheads of young whisky + pinned down on their backs with ropes and steadied with big curved wedges.

+ +

At the same time Angus Baxter brought his team of investigators together in the CID operations room in Levenford.

+ +

"The engineers tell me they couldn't have used a gravity feed to fill the tankers." He managed to talk and light his + pipe at the same time, a trick that only veteran pipe smokers know. "And from what our observant patrol officers + noted, they had a pump. Any leads Jimmy?"

+ +

The young CID constable shook his head. "We're still working on it. The local hire companies have eighty pumps + between them, most of them on lease to local contractors. We're checking them all out, but some of them are working + out of town, or don't have proper schedules."

+ +

"Give me the full list. Check them with companies house, Benefits Agency, Inland Revenue, the lot. We want to pin + them down by tomorrow, so get them at home if you have to. We find that pump and we'll have our men."

+ +

He turned to the rest of them. "They had to have a man on the inside, and somebody who's an expert on pipes. We need + to know who all had plans, and we've narrowed the field of expertise down to four people inside the plant. Now I + want everything you can get on them. Who they see, where they go. If we have to get taps, them we'll do that. One + thing's for sure, we're going to catch this bunch of buggers."

+ +

One of the other constables put his hand up and waited until Baxter caught his eye.

+ +

"I heard there was some whisky getting dealt down the quay."

+ +

"The day it's not, then that'll be a first. The distilleries around here leak like burst mains."

+ +

"I though we should check it out."

+ +

"Fine. Make a couple of inquiries, but they won't be selling this piecemeal down the quay or anywhere else. This is a + bulk job and it's been sold already. We just have to find out who it was sold to, and by whom."

+ +

Gus Ferguson was not happy. He was down in his yard adjacent to the lorry park, where he sold a couple of used cars + as a cover for the rest of his business. He did not know that he had been operating only yards from the loads of + whisky he was now desperate to get his hands on.

+ +

"So where is he?"

+ +

"Nobody's seen him," Seggs Cullen said. "Not for the past week."

+ +

"He must be somewhere. That ginger idiot said he hasn't left town."

+ +

"Well, he's not staying at home. We've asked around."

+ +

Ferguson bit on his thumbnail.

+ +

"Okay. He's gone to ground. All we have to do is give him a reason to come out again."

+ +

Just as Ferguson began to outline his plan, Jack had gathered the others down at Gillespie's boat to talk about that + very problem.

+ +

"He's going to come at us," Tam said.

+ +

"Sure he is. We have to figure out how and when. First we have to keep a low profile. Donny and Ed are staying at my + Grandad's place. You three hole up together and keep out of the way. I don't want you on the streets. We need the + advantage."

+ +

"Cullen and Foley have been asking questions."

+ +

"Sooner or later, they'll get answers. All we have to do is hold them off for a couple of days."

+ +

"What will Ferguson want? Can we do a deal?"

+ +

"No," Ed said. "You can't deal with him. He's a hyena. We make the kill, he wants to eat it."

+ +

Jack agreed. "We've come too far now. Just so long as we can hold out. Once it's gone, he can't touch us. And neither + can Baxter. If he comes asking, we stick to the plan. If he takes anybody in, he'll try the usual trick, playing one + off against the other, trying to make you believe somebody's caved in. Just as long aswe all walk together we'll + beat that big highlander. Just have to have confidence in each other to know that nobody will say anything, and if + we stay tight, he can't break us no matter what."

+ +

He turned to Donny. "How's your end coming along?"

+ +

"Good. I've got fifteen barrels ready to roll. Stencils and the brander."

+ +

"Right. I've got the numbers we need."

+ +

"What's that for?" Tam asked.

+ +

"Need to know. Everybody does their own job."

+ +

Tam knew where the whisky was stashed, but Donny was still in the dark after the Ferguson complication. Jack needed + to play it like that. Only he knew the final plan, and if the others knew exactly what it was, maybe they'd have + second thoughts. Definitely maybe.

+ +

"How did you get the numbers?"

+ +

"A friend of a friend," Jack said. Nobody else knew what he was talking about.

+ +

Marge Burns had promised the rest of them from the computer files, but Kerr Thomson had come up with what they needed + and despite the catastrophe over Donny's fish, the fact that Jack had got Tam out on the bike scouting the streets + for intruders on the night of the raid had been a major piece of serendipity. It allowed him to ratchet the plan + into another dimension.

+ +

But he was acutely aware of the pressure of time. The only thing he couldn't hurry was the repair job on Lars' + boat.

+ +

"Just watch your backs everybody," he said. "Stay away from Ferguson and his hoods, and just act normal."

+ +

Tam laughed. "How can you act normal with your hair like that?"

+ +

Jack ran his hand through it. "Look at the state of me. I'm old before my time."

+ +

Everybody had a job to do. Neil was detailed to hire the lifting gear they'd need and Ed had to help Donny with the + empty barrels. Jack knew Ferguson would make his move sooner than later and he had to be ready for him.

+ +

"He thinks he's got us by the balls, down and out. But remember there's a big difference between kneeling down and + bending over."

+ +

Jed stopped him at the bottom of the ladder as the rest of them strolled away from the boat. Night was falling here + where the river flowed into the Clyde, and the oystercatchers out on the flats wheedled in the dimming light. A + smell of pine and oak woodsmoke mixed with the exotic scent of gorse blossom.

+ +

"Have you seen Marge Burns?" Jed seemed almost embarrassed.

+ +

"What do you mean?"

+ +

"I know you were talking to her. I just wondered if you knew what she was up to."

+ +

Jack swallowed, wondering what Jed was going to say next. A little greasy trickle of guilt ran through him and he had + to force himself to ignore it. Sometimes a man had to do what a man had to do, he'd reasoned. Desperate times needed + desperate measures. Any old excuse would do. Jack felt guilty for Jed and for Kate, but no matter what, Marge had + been worth her weight in any currency, and paying the price had not exactly been dogged with unpleasantness. Old + Marge knew just exactly what she wanted, and she was no hesitant maiden when it came to collecting. Jack just + wondered how he could extract himself from it without offending her. Right now he needed everybody pulling together. + The last thing he needed was a fatal attraction, and Sandy's racing pigeons baked in a pie.

+ +

"I'm not with you," Jack lied.

+ +

"I think she's seeing somebody else."

+ +

Jack stopped and stared Jed straight in the eye, forcing himself to look concerned for his friend and not worried for + himself.

+ +

"You think so? Any idea who?" Jed could twist and turn on the stock track, but he wasn't really devious. Jack + wondered if he was just testing him.

+ +

Jed shook his head glumly. "No. We had a great time, but I don't know what's the matter with her. I went round last + night and she never came to the door. I'm sure she was in. That's happened a couple of times. A few weeks back she + was all over me like a rash, and now it's like I've got a dose of the pox."

+ +

Jack's mind raced. Had he been round there? Things were moving so fast that it was getting difficult even to keep + track of himself. No. He hadn't been there. He breathed a sigh of relief and managed to disguise it.

+ +

"I don't know," he said. "But you know Marge. She's just split up with her man, so she's not going to let the grass + grow. And you're not planning to tie the knot, are you?"

+ +

Jed shook his head. "I suppose not. But, jeez Jake, she knows her stuff does Marge. Taught me a thing or two, I can + tell you."

+ +

I could believe that, Jack thought.

+ +

"Don't tell me," he said, trying to keep it light. "There's some details I don't need. Anyway, you better just ask + her straight out, and if it's bad news, don't worry. Remember those Swedish twins at Robert Wardell's party? They're + coming back across in a couple of weeks. I can definitely fix you up."

+ +

"I thought you were well in with them. The boys said you had a Swedish sandwich."

+ +

"No, that's just a scurrilous rumour," Jack said. "I've got my eye on somebody else."

+ +

"Kate Delaney, right?"

+ +

Jack tapped the side of his nose.

+ +

"Need to know, old son."

+ +

He smiled conspiratorially, but he still felt like a shit.

+ +

Jed's suspicions gave Jack the excuse he needed. She had been demanding, but he'd always known what a tightrope walk + it had been, trading off what he could get from Marge Burns against what she wanted. Now he could genuinely tell her + that Jed was asking questions and if he found out what had been going on, well, it would upset him for a start, and + he didn't need any cracks developing right now.

+ +

He rehearsed the scenario as he made her way round to her bungalow in Castle Lane in the easy gloaming light just + before dark. He'd have to play her and he hoped she wouldn't make a big thing of it. He'd tell her what he'd told + Jed: there were plenty of fish in the river, and new ones swimming past every day.

+ +

It was close to midnight when he pushed the gate forward, automatically checking right and left for neighbours + peering from behind curtained windows. Her garden was encircled by a high hedge, which gave her plenty of privacy, + for which Jack had been grateful.

+ +

He walked round the side of the house to the back door, more intent on getting the figures he needed from her for the + next phase of the plan. He was concentrating so much that he didn't see the figure loom out of the gloom until he + was right on him.

+ +

"What the...?"

+ +

"Who the....!"

+ +

Jack pulled back a tight fist, ready to throw a jab, and he froze.

+ +

"Sandy?"

+ +

"Jack?" More of a whisper than a spoken question.

+ +

"What are you doing here?" The pair of them spoke at exactly the same time.

+ +

Jack pulled him round towards the front, where a street light gave just enough illumination. He couldn't see the + colour, but Sandy was shifting from foot to foot, body language eloquent of cringing embarrassment.

+ +

"You dirty old bugger," Jack finally said, when the coin dropped. "I thought you were kidding about this."

+ +

"Hell Jack, I was kidding, but she wasn't."

+ +

Jack had to really get a grip on himself to stop from bursting into laughter.

+ +

"Does she still think you're Italian?"

+ +

This time Sandy coloured to the darkened roots of his hair. "No. But she likes me to talk it. She says it's like + Robert Di Niro."

+ +

"More like John bloody Cleese," Jack said. He let go his grandfather's lapel and looked up at the sky where flimsy + clouds scraped past the thin crescent moon. "Thank you dear lord!"

+ +

"What's that supposed to mean?"

+ +

"Nothing. It's too long a story. All you have to know is you've solved a big problem for me. Just so long as you + don't have a heart attack while you're at it."

+ +

This time Sandy pulled him forward and lowered his voice.

+ +

"You're not kidding Jack. She's bloody insatiable. But I'll tell you one thing."

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"I can still pull the chicks, right?"

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch21.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch21.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e5e0b88 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch21.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,685 @@ + + + + + + 21 + + + + +
+
+

21

+ +

Seggs Cullen and Wiggy Foley snatched Jack’s young brother in the lane as he made his way down to the library a + couple of hours before noon. They were at the tight bend where Kate had surprised Jack, and as an ambush point, it + was ideal, for the tall bushes and the dog-leg in the narrow lane hid them from either direction. They had watched + Michael come along the street, ambling in the morning sun, daydreaming as he strolled. The van was backed in to the + open gateway into the football field and when Michael passed it, Cullen came round the side, clamped a meaty hand + over his mouth and he and Foley lifted him bodily into the back.

+ +

Michael tried to fight them off, tried to yell for help, but he'd never been a scrapper. Foley just batted his fists + away and gave him a lazy slap before he pinned him to the floor and told him if he made another sound he'd really go + to work. Foley stank of stale sweat and old tobacco. Cullen was on the mobile.

+ +

"We've got him right now. In the back of the van. Where do you want him, the scrappie's?"

+ +

"No, that's the first place anybody's going to look, and there's going to be too many faces watching out after this. + Bring him down to the yard where we can keep an eye on him."

+ +

Foley sat on Michael the way he'd done to Donny Watson, keeping his weight on his shoulders and forcing him face down + to the dirty floor. It only took five minutes to get to the yard on the east end of the town and Michael felt every + inch of it. Cullen was no smoothie on the wheel and when he finally swung the van onto the rough cobbles on the + narrow road up to the yard, Michael's cheek hammered up and down against the metal.

+ +

The door slammed wide and Foley stood for no ceremony. He grabbed Michael by the hair and yanked backwards, forcing a + cry of pain. He just kept on walking and Michael had no option but to follow on fast or lose hair and some scalp. + The big blue door slid open and Michael was bundled inside. It slammed behind them and he stood there, blinking back + tears of pain, as his eyes began to adjust to the dim strip light.

+ +

"Is this him?"

+ +

"Yeah. It's him all right." Foley pushed him forward, twisting his fingers just before he let him go, and smirked at + the grunt of pain.

+ +

Michael watched as the stocky man came out from behind an old Rover that was up on the ramp. He had a thin cheroot + jammed in the corner of his mouth, and thick grey hair that needed a trim. Michael knew who he was. He'd heard his + reputation and he knew that Ferguson was a hard man. Everybody knew he and some of the wasters from Corrieside were + into every scam from hash and smack to sharking and cut-and-shut cars. If there was an illicit buck to be turned, + Ferguson's hand was on the lever. Michael bit down on the rising panic, wondering what this was all about.

+ +

Two chairs stood in the middle of the concrete floor. Ferguson took one, spun it and straddled it, thick arms crossed + on the back. He gave a quick nod and Foley forced Michael into the other chair, keeping a hand on his shoulder, in + where the muscle curved at his neck, digging deep with hard fingers. If he really squeezed, Michael would know all + about it.

+ +

"You know who I am?"

+ +

Michael looked blank. Behind the expression he was thinking furiously. What had Jack always told him? Never give + anybody an advantage. Always keep them guessing.

+ +

He shook his head. "No. Am I supposed to? Who are you?"

+ +

Ferguson raised his eyebrows, surprised.

+ +

"Never mind, son. All that matters is, I know who you are. Got the picture?"

+ +

"What picture?"

+ +

"Don't get smart. You answer what I ask. What's your name?"

+ +

"Chandler Bing."

+ +

Ferguson's eyes flicked to Cullen. "You sure this is the right guy?"

+ +

Foley hit Michael another slap, rocked his head to the side. Michael gasped.

+ +

"That's some guy on the telly," Foley said. He bent to Michael's ear. He had a big half-moon bruise under one eye. + "Listen wanker, you think you're as smart as that brother of yours. We've got news for you. He's not as smart as he + thinks he is, so don't get any ideas."

+ +

"Oh really? And who did you come off second best to?"

+ +

Foley drew back a hand. Ferguson laughed.

+ +

"Got you there Wigs." Foley dropped the hand.

+ +

Jack. That's what it's about. Michael had guessed that already and his mind was racing. What did they have + against Jack? All he knew was that it had been Foley and Cullen who had given him a sore face last time, and he'd + been told to give Jack a message. He just assumed that there had been an argument in the pub, or that thing with + Donny Watson. Jack was the kind of guy who would wade in when somebody was in trouble and sometimes that could earn + him a sore face. But this was different. It had to be more than just some pub fall-out.

+ +

This was real trouble.

+ +

"You're Jack Lorne's brother." Ferguson kept his voice even.

+ +

"What's it to you?"

+ +

"Oh, you really are a wee hard man?" He looked at Foley. A hand came down and slapped Michael right off the chair. He + sprawled on the greasy floor, head ringing, blinking against the tears once more. Foley grabbed him by the collar + and almost choked him as he dragged him back again.

+ +

"We want to know where he is."

+ +

"I don't know where he is," Michael said. He flinched at the expected blow and mortifying tears trickled down his + cheeks.

+ +

"Really. He's your brother and he stays with you and you don't know where he is?"

+ +

"He hasn't been here for a couple of weeks. He got laid off at the dairy. I think he's away looking for work."

+ +

"Oh, he's working all right. He's done a great job."

+ +

Michael rubbed the tears away, wondering what Ferguson was talking about. This had to be something to do with the + papers Jack had got him to print off.

+ +

Keep them off balance. It wasn't easy when your head was ringing.

+ +

"He's going to be well pissed at you," he said, battening down the fear, preparing for another dull one on the side + of his head.

+ +

Ferguson laughed. "That's for sure."

+ +

"You hurt me and our Jack'll come for you."

+ +

He was dead sure of that. Despite the tears that spilled over he would show these scum he was tougher than he + looked.

+ +

"Yeah yeah." Ferguson puffed his cheroot and blew smoke across the space between them. "That's just what I want. Him + to come to me. Now how are we going to go about that?"

+
+

The flatloaders had arrived at Dunvegan at eleven in the morning, stacked four barrels deep. From Levenford the + journey had taken four hours, given the speed of the laden trucks on the narrow roads through the highland + glens.

+ +

Jack was up and ready for them after the huge breakfast DJ's wife had cooked for them. They stood at the gates of the + little distillery with its distinctive malt-house chimney. A light breeze brought the scent of seaweed and ozone + straight in from the Atlantic. He let DJ handle the drivers, made a quick call to Alistair Sproat, and the + deliverymen went back down south in the three trucks, leaving two empty ones here as agreed. Sproat would have + agreed to anything to clinch this deal and get shot of the young whisky at a better price than he'd ever get in an + auction.

+ +

"So what now?" DJ stood beside the lines of barrels in the storage hall, stacked on their ends in ranks that reached + the far wall. The customs man for the island had signed them in to bond. Jack took DJ aside.

+ +

"We take what we need out of bond," he said.

+ +

"Can't do that. It's illegal."

+ +

Jack chuckled. "Sure we can. And it's not illegal, not the way we're going to do it."

+ +

He reached in to his inside pocket. DJ still had the customs docket in his hand, each barrel accounted for on a long + printed list, its contents clearly marked out in gallons beside its own identifying stencil code.

+ +

"How many barrels?"

+ +

"Two hundred. And they're hogsheads."

+ +

"Excuse me, Mr distillery manager. I bow to superior knowledge of the trade. And let's have a bit of respect for the + senior partner, if you please."

+ +

"Aye, and you can go take a flying fu......" DJ had put his redundancy money into this, and he was taking no + nonsense.

+ +

Jack laughed aloud. It rang around the long store.

+ +

"Now, here's the miracle." He unfolded the sheet that Marge Burns had copied from the files at Aitkenbar. "Two + hundred barrels, sorry hogsheads, at an average of thirty."

+ +

"The total's here," DJ said. "Six thousand. They're all carrying light for young spirit."

+ +

"That's what it says. Now see here."

+ +

Donny crowded in, looked at the sheet, which was an exact replica of the input paper except for the numbers in the + columns.

+ +

"What's this?"

+ +

"This is what we've really got in those barrels."

+ +

Donny scratched his head in momentary puzzlement. "That's more than eleven thousand gallons. How do you work + that?"

+ +

"Eleven sixty. That's five grand extra. We call that the Angel's Share. Somebody up there is really watching over us. + They gave it right back."

+ +

"I still don't understand."

+ +

"This stays between us, just you and me, or this new venture goes down the tubes, right?"

+ +

Donny nodded seriously. "Not a word."

+ +

"Sproat was at the fiddle. And he thinks I am too. He had a customs scam going down south, but he just met somebody a + little bit smarter. Now here we are, with three thousand free gallons, courtesy of your former boss. And there's + nothing he can do about it."

+ +

"What do you want us to do?"

+ +

"Take every barrel and subtract what it says on that sheet from this sheet. Siphon it off and then just hammer the + bungs back in again."

+ +

"Then what?"

+ +

"Then customs are happy. We have what we signed for, and the rest is ours."

+ +

"What will Sproat say?"

+ +

"What can he say?"

+ +

"And what do we do with the barrels then?"

+ +

Jack cocked his head. "Need to know DJ. You just store them for me until the time is right."

+ +

"Are you sure this is legal?"

+ +

"What we're doing is legal. Now we have our first batch, all for free, and that means we're into profit + already. Twelve thousand litres, that can't be bad for a new business."

+ +

By one in the afternoon, DJ's team had started popping the bungs. The scent of young whisky was sharp in the air as + the boys decanted the spirit into the tank, letting it slowly fill, a pool of light wavering gold.

+ +

Jack watched them for a while, savouring the fumes that competed with the sea breeze, as DJ checked off the barrels + after the men hammered the bungs home on each of them, and then he asked if he could borrow the van.

+ +

"It's the company van Jack," he said, shrugging. "Just as long as you're insured."

+ +

He drove down the hill from the glen, taking the narrow little road that the flatloaders had struggled to negotiate, + until he reached the flat pasture fields where the herd of jerseys lazily chewed the cud, udders pumped like pale + bagpipes.

+ +

DJ's cousin Ronnie Munro met him at the modern production shed where the small factory had produced the strong island + cheeses.

+ +

"You want to do business then?" Jack asked.

+
+

The call came in at three, as Ronnie Munro shook hands with Jack on a deal that was just between the pair of them for + now. He now had to wait for the word from Lars, get back to the lawyer, and see another man in Levenford to tie up + some final loose ends.

+ +

DJ took the call at the distillery and spent an hour trying to get Jack on the mobile, but up here, with the high + Cuillin Ridge blocking off all but the most powerful signals, the cellphone service was hit and miss. Finally he + contacted his cousin Ronnie who handed the phone over.

+ +

"He says it's urgent."

+ +

"Hello?"

+ +

"Jack, is that you? We've been trying to find you for hours."

+ +

"Sandy? What's the matter?"

+ +

He listened, not saying a word, letting his uncle do all the talking. After a while he nodded, hunched over the + phone.

+ +

"I'll be right down. Don't do anything and don't let anybody else make a move. Not a word to anybody. You know what + I'm talking about." He put the phone back on the hook, breathing long and slow between pursed lips.

+ +

"Problem?" Ronnie was taller than his cousin, quicker on the uptake.

+ +

"Nothing for you to worry about," Jack said. "Listen, I have to get back down the road right now. You tell DJ I'll be + back whenever I can."

+ +

"Have we still got a deal?"

+ +

"Sure we have," Jack said. He had his fingers crossed. He hoped he would have a deal to come back to, but there was + no point in voicing misgivings right then. It took three hours to get back down and he had to force himself to stay + under eighty all the way. There was no point either in skidding off the road or getting pulled over by the mountain + cops, not today.

+ +

He got over the Skye bridge to the mainland driving at the limit down past Fort William and once he was through + Glencoe, the phone chirruped, letting him know he was back in range again. He pulled into a lay-by.

+ +

"Yack, is that you?"

+ +

"Lars. Good to hear from you." The call broke into his thoughts, and he welcomed the interruption. His mind had been + racing all the way down from the west, working out his next moves, trying them in his head like mental chess. "What + can I do for you."

+ +

"You can give me half my boat back."

+ +

"Sure I will. As soon as you come up with the goods."

+ +

"You, that's who the damn Viking is." Lars started to laugh, big deep guffaws that made Jack pull the phone a safe + distance from his ear. "You pillage and plunder with paper."

+ +

"Just getting our own back for Eric Bloodaxe," Jack went along with it.

+ +

"I got good news. The shaft, it was only a small twist, and just at the stern. They will have it fixed in two days. + Can you be ready by then?"

+ +

"I hope so," Jack said. He'd been pressuring Lars to get out of dock and gone, and now he himself sounded + hesitant.

+ +

"What you mean you hope so?"

+ +

"It means I hope I still have the whisky. The shit has just hit the fan down here."

+ +

"You better have the damn whisky Yack, You still have half my boat."

+ +

"Just you keep thinking happy thoughts. I'll get things sorted here and get back to you."

+ +

"You make me worry Yack. Should I worry?"

+ +

Jack eased round a long, slow bend, letting the big flatloader drift into it and the mountain's bulk suddenly cut off + the signal, leaving Lars and his question unanswered.

+ +

"Nothing to worry about," Jack thought, repeating in his mind what he had said to Ronnie Munro. "Nothing for + you to worry about."

+ +

Behind him, north and west, the sky was clear, turning a deep red beyond the high peaks as the sun began to sink. + Ahead of him, big clouds were building darkly.

+ +

It was close to six in the evening when he finally turned up on his own doorstep.

+
+

"Where in the name of God have you been?" Alice Lorne was drawn and pale. Sheena and Linda sat close, Linda with + mascara smudged, Sheena bare of make-up as usual, lips moving to silent prayers on the rosary.

+ +

"I'm here now."

+ +

"My God, Jack Lorne. I haven't seen you for two weeks and now this happens." Sandy put his hand on her + shoulder, making her hush.

+ +

"Give him a chance Alice. Let the boy catch his breath." Sandy was in denim overalls and his woollen hat. It hid his + new hair colour. Jack looked at the table. Three cups, a half filled ashtray. A crumpled handkerchief. A book.

+ +

"Aw Mam, you haven't been smoking?"

+ +

"Don't you talk to me about smoking Jack Lorne. I want to know what this is all about."

+ +

"Me too, Mam." He sat down and put his hands on the table, looked up at Sandy.

+ +

"What's the score."

+ +

Alice pushed the book across the table. She had given up cigarettes ten years before, so the ashtray showed him she + was really upset. That he could understand. He had to force down on the churning in his own stomach. It was time for + thinking, not emotion.

+ +

"It's Michael's book."

+ +

He flicked the cover open. His brother's name was written on the fly-leaf.

+ +

"Where is he?"

+ +

"We don't know," Sandy said.

+ +

"Well, that's what we've got to find out first."

+ +

"Linda, be a pal and make me and Sandy another cup of tea, would you?"

+ +

She shot a look at her mother, drew him a dark and angry one that was so like himself it would have made him smile + under other circumstances.

+ +

"Go on darlin' I'd love a cup." Sandy threw her a wink and Linda got up, filled the kettle and came back to the + table."

+ +

"You and Sheena, give us a minute."

+ +

Sheena stopped muttering her hail marys. "He's our brother as well, you know. Where were you when he needed you?"

+ +

Sandy broke in again. "What matters is, he's here now. Go on, let Jack talk to your mum."

+ +

"No. They can stay. We're all family." Alice Lorne put her hands flat on the table.

+ +

"Right Jack." She looked him straight in the eye, measuring him up. "What's going on? What's Michael got to do with + that Ferguson? Is this got anything to do with that leathering he got a couple of weeks ago?"

+ +

"He's got nothing to do with him. Ferguson wants me."

+ +

"What for? Do you owe him money? That man's a money lender. And I heard he sells drugs as well. Have you + been....?"

+ +

"No, don't be daft Mam. I wouldn't touch him with a long stick and gloves on. It's just, just an argument. Something + between him and me that needs sorted."

+ +

"I don't believe you."

+ +

"It's all I can tell you. But don't worry. I'll sort it."

+ +

"Just what are you up to? Where have you been?"

+ +

"I've been fixing up some business."

+ +

"Business? What kind of business? If it's the kind of business Ferguson's into, you better get yourself right out of + it. I won't have it."

+ +

"No, Mam. I'm not doing business with that scum." What could he tell her?

+ +

"Was this why you gave me the money for Michael? That bank account?"

+ +

She was quick. He had inherited his height from his father. His dark colour and his brain he got from Alice + Bruce.

+ +

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that I get this sorted out."

+ +

"I'm going to call the police. They could be doing anything to that boy."

+ +

Sandy broke in. "I never let her call."

+ +

"Good." Jack leant across the table, took his mother's hands in his own. "I don't think that's the thing to do, + Mam."

+ +

"Why not? They're a bunch of animals, the whole lot of them. What right have they got to put their hands on him?"

+ +

"None at all. But leave it to me. I'll make sure he's okay."

+ +

"The police can sort them out. It's their job."

+ +

Sandy broke in again. "I don't think so, Alice. You listen to Jack."

+ +

She turned on him, quick as a cat. "You're in this as well, aren't you?"

+ +

Sheena was beginning to sniffle. "I'm going down to light a candle," she said. "Come on Linda. I don't want to hear + any more of this."

+ +

Jack waited until they went, both of them flicking hurt, hard looks at him.

+ +

"You just let Jack handle this," Sandy said. "He'll fix it."

+ +

Alice put her head in her hands. A big tear built and spilt, trickling down her cheek. She looked younger than she + was, older than she should. Jack shifted his chair closer and put an arm round her shoulder, pulled her closer + still.

+ +

"You call the police and there's a chance he'd get hurt in the scramble. They won't hurt him."

+ +

"How do you know?" She was trembling under his hand, holding herself tight. For the first time he was aware how + slight she was.

+ +

"Because they want me."

+ +

"For what?"

+ +

"That doesn't matter." He looked her back, keeping his eyes steady, forcing her to accept it, not liking the way he + could dominate his mother. It made him feel cold and heartless.

+ +

"What are you going to do?"

+ +

"I'm going to make it better. I'm going to get him back."

+ +

This time she put the pressure on him, dark, like Linda, like himself. "You promise me Jack?"

+ +

"I promise, Mam. You know I'll do it."

+ +

He felt her fingers clench round his.

+ +

"And what about you? What's going to happen?"

+ +

"Don't you worry about me, Mam. I can look after myself."

+ +

"Sure you can Jackie." His stomach clenched. She hadn't called him that in a handful of years, not since he'd left + school and started bringing in some money after John Lorne had collapsed halfway across River Street, dead before he + hit the ground. "Sure you can. And you've been looking after yourself and the rest of us since you were younger than + your brother."

+ +

Her grip tightened. The strength of it hurt his heart. "You've taken a lot on yourself, and I'm sorry for getting + sharp at you."

+ +

"Nah, Mam. You'll have me bubbling. Now, what I'm going to do is have a talk with Sandy, and get this all sorted + out."

+ +

He waited until the girls came back and then went out with Sandy. The clouds were building again, like they had on + the night they'd raided Aitkenbar, but there was still a red sheen in the west. The air felt heavier, but it + wouldn't rain yet.

+ +

"What happened?"

+ +

"I got a call. Michael must have said there was no point in calling your Mam's, but they sent his book to the house, + just to make sure."

+ +

"Good for him. That means he's thinking. Who called?"

+ +

"Never gave a name. Said he was speaking for the man you met at golf. It wasn't hard to figure that out. He said your + brother was paying them a visit, a kind of paying guest. They said they want you to get in touch."

+ +

"Did you say where I was?"

+ +

"I didn't know where you were, I just guessed. But no, of course I didn't. I just said you were out of town."

+ +

"Just as well you were in, then. You could have been round at Mrs Burns' place for the night, rattling the + bones."

+ +

Sandy coloured, then managed a hard smile. It was the effect Jack wanted. Inside he was clenched with hot anger, but + on the outside, he knew he had to be calm. It was all going to depend in him, on what he could do, and what he could + persuade people to do. The long ride down from Skye had given him the time to think, and now he needed some more + time to act.

+ +

"So what's the plan? They left a mobile number for you to call."

+ +

"Plenty of time for that," Jack said. "I'll call them tomorrow."

+ +

Sandy pulled back, but Jack had anticipated his surprise.

+ +

"Don't worry. They don't want Mike, so they won't hurt him. A couple of slaps and I'll get them back for that, + believe me. They'll call you first, that's a given. When they do, you tell them I was in London, and I'm on a train, + so I can't call them until I get back. That gives me some time to get myself organised."

+ +

"But it means young Michael will be left the night with them. Your Mam won't go for that."

+ +

"She'll go for it. You just make sure you stay close. I don't want any calls in or out of the house, so you'll have + to take care of that. If you have to cut the wires, get the clippers out. We don't know where he is, so if we call + in the gendarmes, he could get hurt, and even if he doesn't, they'll come at me again, and this time they won't take + prisoners. Don't you worry about Mike, he's a lot tougher than he looks, and smarter than the pair of us. He'll sit + tight and make them work for their money, and it'll be a good experience for him. Listen Sandy, they're just local + neds, all shell suits and pit bulls; no class, no brain. No finesse. They've got muscle and mince where + their brains should be."

+ +

"That doesn't stop them hurting the boy."

+ +

"There is no them. It's one man. Gus Ferguson. He's a shark, right? It's just a business to him. We know + what he wants, because he wormed it out of Donny, and as long as we know what he wants, it gives us an edge."

+ +

"You're pretty sure of yourself."

+ +

"Learned it from you Sandy. You taught me chess, good books, and how to whistle at girls. And hopefully when I get to + your age, I'll still be shagging women half my age."

+ +

"You're a cheeky bugger, Jack. I hope you got this right."

+ +

So did Jack Lorne.

+
+

Angus Baxter had a couple of leads and he'd worked out how the big decant had been pumped out of Aitkenbar. He'd sent + one of the team down to the quay to rumble the Corrieside boys just in case the rumour of the whisky auction down at + the waterside had been connected. So far he'd nothing to show for it. The first sign of a question or a black shoe + at that end of town usually precipitated an immediate dose of temporary amnesia and three monkey syndrome, which + caused all senses to fail.

+ +

But the job had to be local, and for his money, it had to be inside, although there were other possibilities to be + considered too. He had worked it out that the theft of the tankers from Levenford Dairy had been stage two. Stage + one was getting the intricate plumbing work connecting the outflow to the fire inlet. They'd hidden the tankers + somewhere, anywhere, probably not in this patch, kept them for a couple of days and then wheeled them out for the + job. But to do all that, and to get inside Aitkenbar, they had to have local knowledge of both companies, their + security, their business. That made it reasonable to assume that it had been inside work, completely or in part. The + fish in the stream, that had been a mistake, but Baxter had worked out the why of it. Putting fish, even the wrong + kind of fish, in the rivulet had been an attempt to reproduce the damage of the previous spill that had killed the + tiddlers a couple of months back and earned Aitkenbar and environmental slap on the wrist. That could only have been + known locally. It had made only an inside page in the Levenford Gazette, knocked off the front page by the news of + impending job losses and a pretty spectacular accident up near Drumchapel where a local man had a head-on argument + with a tree and came off decidedly second best. All the clues told him this had been a home baked affair.

+ +

So if it was local, and organised, who could have done it?

+ +

Baxter had spent the last couple of nights thinking long and hard. Sproat had called the police in the first + instance, and that could have been a crude attempt at double bluff. The distillery owner was not out of the woods, + not even close to the scrub, despite all his protests. If it had been an insurance job for quick cash, it had been + an inside job that had failed. But if it had been simply an attempt to fleece the customs, then it could have + worked. Angus worked it out that even at a big discount for risk, selling whisky without the burden of an eighty + percent tax slice, that could be lucrative, but he had to balance that against the amount Sproat would make on prime + spirit a quarter of a century old, packaged and marketed to the connoisseur. The scam came out slightly ahead, but + it was still an either-way call.

+ +

Andy Kerr? He had a motive to screw Sproat, no doubt about that. Everybody knew the story, and when Baxter had gone + over the books, it was written in easy-to-understand arithmetic. The land lease had come up for renewal, and Sproat + had hiked the rent to a level that made Kerr's business so marginal that one lost contract could flush it down the + bend and into the Clyde. Everybody knew Billy Kerr had taken his cut from the bottom and left his cousin in a lot of + trouble, and his fiddling had never quite got to the stage of being reported as a crime. Andy knew, and the town + knew, but it was a family thing. Could Kerr have had a go at Sproat, out of revenge, out of desperation? Another + each-way call. Kerr could have done a deal for his own tankers, trying to keep the company afloat, and he could have + used them to take from Sproat just as Sproat was taking from him. He'd need a team, people who could do the job, and + while Baxter knew there were a couple of handy guys working in the creamery, he didn't know of anybody who would + shit so heartily and so publicly in their own back yard.

+ +

It could have been neither of them. There was Gus Ferguson, who had his dirty fingers in every mucky deal from here + to Barloan Harbour, and a big Irish fellow called Stick Milligan, from along Arden way who ran the franchise on the + west of town and up as far as the Loch. Ferguson was a player, and every cop knew he ran the sharking and was the + money behind all the smack and some snow that was coming in via Glasgow, but while he was dirty and he stank like + the fish in the stream, he was cunning enough to keep the business at arms length and use his hired muscle.

+ +

Could he have done it? Set up the team, carried out the planning? Baxter was not so sure about that. He + would have done it, sure. But it would take more than Cullen and Foley and the Corrieside wide-boys to get + it done right. Baxter was sure of that.

+ +

The pressure was coming down from upstairs to get this one nailed and he was making very slow progress.

+ +

Big Angus Baxter was professional enough and sure enough to be able to walk between the pressure points and keep + steady. But he'd better come up with something concrete pretty soon, just to stay on the safe side.

+ +

He sat down at his desk, puffing on the pipe, going through all his notes. The answer would be in there somewhere. He + turned a page and somebody knocked on the frosted glass. Young Jim Balloch popped his head round.

+ +

"I've been through the local list of hires," he said, holding it up as if to prove it. "Nothing out of the ordinary, + so I've spread it a bit out of the area. There could be something."

+ +

Inspector Baxter sat back. "Let me see it?"

+ +

Constable Balloch brought the papers across and put them on the desk.

+ +

"There was one hire, one day before the event. A diesel-powered water pump, silent mode, high capacity."

+ +

"How high?"

+ +

"Ten thousand gallons an hour, maximum."

+ +

"That would do the trick."

+ +

"And it's still out on lease," Jimmy Balloch said, pleased with himself. "And better still, it's a local hire."

+ +

"Let me see that." Baxter took the papers and held them up. He scanned the docket. "Never heard of them at all. + You?"

+ +

The young detective shook his head.

+ +

"And where do you get the idea it's local? This is a Glasgow address."

+ +

"Sure it is. But I had a hunch and I took a turn round there, just to check, and it turns out to be an empty student + flat. Nobody's stayed there since the end of the term. So I went to the post office, and guess what?"

+ +

"I'm not into guessing games, constable."

+ +

The smile faded just a little. "They got a redirect on the mail. Here's where it's been going."

+ +

He handed another sheet of paper across. Baxter looked at it and his eyebrows slowly reached for his hairline.

+ +

"Well done that man. That is a good piece of police work. But let's not go off half-cocked. You check them out. Do a + company search and see who's who in the zoo. Soon as you have it, we'll have a chat. Keep it to yourself for the + moment."

+
+

Jack called an emergency session and they met late on Gillespie's boat when the last of the light was fading from the + sky and after that there was no time to spare.

+ +

"We really needed this," Jed said.

+ +

"Is he okay?" Donny asked. He still had a bruise under his eye and bigger, purpling ones on his ribs and kidneys + where they didn't show.

+ +

"He'll be fine," Jack said. "There's no point in hurting him. Ferguson won't do that unless he has to, and there's no + point in pissing me off for no reason."

+ +

"Have you spoken to him?"

+ +

"No. When I do, he'll want everything fast. He thinks I'm still travelling, and that gives us time to get organised. + I'll talk to him in the morning and we'd better be ready by then.

+ +

"What are you going to do?"

+ +

"We're going to have to give him something."

+ +

"Fuck that, man," Jed said. "We don't owe him a thing. I say we get some of the boys round and rough him up, teach + him a lesson he won't forget."

+ +

"No," Ed said quietly. "He'll expect that, so he'll be team-handed. And even if we did, Mike could get hurt. And + after that, word would be out and everybody would know. Jack's right. We have to give him something. See what he'll + take."

+ +

"Good man." Jack was impressed again at Ed's quick assessment.

+ +

"That bastard will want it all," Donny said bitterly.

+ +

"Maybe," Jack said. "We'll have to see. But we might as well get things ready. Donny, I've a few more barrels on the + truck. I want you to have a look at them too."

+ +

He brought out his notebook and began to detail what needed to be done. After half an hour, Neil sat back, cupped his + chin in his palm.

+ +

"This was supposed to be easy money," he said. "But it gets harder all the time."

+ +

"Life's short and hard," Ed said. "Like a dwarf pumping iron." It got a wry smile.

+ +

Jed picked it up. "As one door shuts, another one slams in your face."

+ +

"Okay, I'm too tired for this," Jack said, pleased they were into the spirit. "I'm away to my bed, we got an early + start."

+ +

"It's money and adventure and fame," Neil quoted in his fake accent. "It's the thrill of a lifetime and a long sea + voyage that starts at six o'clock tomorrow morning."

+ +

"Earlier than that," Jack said. "Make sure you're awake."

+ +

A half-hour hour later, Jack Lorne let himself into Sandy's house. He went upstairs and stood on tiptoe to reach the + catch on the loft hatch, eased it down and lowered the aluminium steps to the floor. He climbed up and in to the + musty dark, using the flashlight to find his way around. He hadn't been up here since he was a kid, but he'd spent a + lot of Sunday nights exploring the boxes his uncle kept up here, relics of his army days, and the times after that + when he was on the merchant boats. It hadn't changed at all since then. The dust was just a bit thicker.

+ +

It didn't take him long to locate what he wanted, and he let himself out again, closed the door, and was back home by + one in the morning. Nine hours later, four hours after he'd got up and got busy, Jack knew he couldn't delay it any + longer. He put a call through to the number Sandy had been given.

+ +

"I want to talk to my brother," he said.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch22.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch22.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a404a0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch22.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,724 @@ + + + + + + 22 + + + + +
+
+

22

+ +

They were on the move by eleven. The clouds had built up overnight, dull weight pressed low over the Cardross Hills + and the big line of the crags on the northeast of town, making the air moist and heavy. A thin misty drizzle turned + the whole town grey.

+ +

Donny and Neil looked dog tired, which was not unreasonable. They'd been working until first light and everything was + set. The barrels were stacked on the loader from Aitkenbar, held in place by webbing belts and Neil had built the + frame around them the way he'd done with the tanker, covering the whole load with tarpaulin. Donny had re-stencilled + the barrels and used a soldering bolt to rework the brands on the heavy oak, following the numbers from the papers + Jack had given him. It had taken them a good hour to load the barrels and get them set in place and Donny had + checked and double checked to make sure they wouldn't shift in transit.

+ +

"Okay," Jack said. "Wagons ho."

+ +

Ferguson had been all smiles when he turned up at the yard in the morning. Cullen opened the gate and closed it + behind him. Foley made a big play of patting him down, the way they did in the movies, and Jack knew if he'd been + carrying, the big dope would have missed it. With Michael still out of sight, that would have been too risky. He + wasn't here to fight.

+ +

The call had been brief and to the point. Ferguson was holding Michael and he didn't want to waste any time.

+ +

"Put my brother on," Jack had said.

+ +

"Fuck off. He's here. You get your arse down here pronto."

+ +

Mistake, Jack thought. Ferguson was so sure of himself that he had told Jack what he had suspected already. + They were holding him in the used car yard. He knew it well from the times he'd helped Jed pick up rally gear. In + the early hours, before the dawn had backlit the swirling low cloud, he'd gone over his own diagram once more.

+ +

"How do I know he's there?" He had to make sure.

+ +

Through the phone he heard the sound of a flat slap, and winced. Michael yelled, cursed. Jack gritted his teeth. + There would be time to think about that later on.

+ +

"Okay, okay," he forced the anger out of his voice, made it sound anxious. "I'll be there."

+ +

Michael was out of view when he arrived. Besides Ferguson and the usual shadows, there were a couple of others there, + hard men from Corrieside. Jack knew them, Buzz Barclay, Face McQueen who'd had a run in with a heavy ballpeen hammer + once that had crumpled his cheekbone and left him lopsided and wall-eyed.

+ +

"Down to business," Ferguson said. Jack watched him, stocky, but charged with energy, all set to make a big + score.

+ +

"We don't do any business unless I see my brother," Jack said evenly. Ferguson looked at him, taking his time, + pretending to decide. Jack knew he'd expected that.

+ +

"What the fuck. Come on in." Cullen opened the door to the workshop and stood back, letting Jack and Ferguson in + together. The rest of the heavies followed. Michael was hunched on a plastic chair in a corner, next to the ramp. He + got up quickly when they came in, and Jack saw the red weal on his face. Cullen clamped a hand to his shoulder and + forced him back down. Jack gave him a look that told him to stay still. He forced his own face slack.

+ +

"Right. What do you want?"

+ +

"You know what I want. You got twenty five thousand gallons of hooch."

+ +

"No. We only got ten thousand. The rest went down the drain." Jack knew what Donny had told him, so he could take a + chance.

+ +

"The cops say twenty five."

+ +

"That was in the tank. We couldn't take all of it, and we couldn't turn it off."

+ +

"That's a shame," Ferguson said. Disappointment was evident on his face but he recovered quickly. Donny Watson had + jammed a container in the pipe to catch the outflow. "Well, whatever. Nice work, good plan. But now I want it."

+ +

"Not all of it." Jack knew he'd be expected to protest.

+ +

"Yes, all of it. You got no cards to deal. If you'd asked me if you could play, I'd only tax you fifty percent. But + tough, that's business. You never asked."

+ +

"All of it's too much," Jack pushed the protest some more. "We took a big risk for it."

+ +

"Maybe you did, but like I said, tough shit. What are you going to do? Go to the cops? Big Baxter will sling your + arse into Barlinnie. We'll come and visit."

+ +

Ferguson came right up to him, not as tall as Jack, but thick set, wide shouldered and solid. He could handle himself + if he wanted.

+ +

"You get it down here, or I put his head in a vice. You ever see that movie? What's it called?."

+ +

"Casino," Foley told him.

+ +

Jack got the picture. He'd seen it.

+ +

"You're over a barrel, and just to let you know I'm serious," Ferguson said. He turned away and Jack followed him + with his eyes.

+ +

The blow came from behind, a hard jab right on the kidney, plenty of weight behind it. He went down in a sudden + explosion of pain and breath.

+ +

"Leave him alone," Michael bawled, leaping to his feet. Cullen slapped him down. Foley braced and swung a boot into + Jack's belly, humping him up off the ground. He rolled, vomited bile and dribbled blood from where he'd bitten his + tongue, got to his knees. He held a hand out at Michael, palm forward, shoving the air. Michael took the silent + instruction, and sat down.

+ +

"That's for the fucking golf club," Foley said. He bent and grabbed Jack by the collar and he and Face McQueen hauled + him to his feet.

+ +

Ferguson jabbed a finger. "Any time this morning will be just fine. Okay?"

+ +

Jack nodded, hauling for breath, shoulders down, beaten.

+ +

"What about my brother?"

+ +

"Straight swop. Make a mistake and he gets hurt. And you know I mean damage."

+ +

"Right. I'll bring it. Give me an hour."

+ +

"Smart man," Ferguson said, clapping him on the shoulder, really pleased with himself. This would be the easiest pile + he'd made this year.

+ +

Jack looked at Michael. "You stay cool Mike. I'll be back."

+ +

"Fuckin' Schwarzenegger," Foley said. He slapped Jack casually on the back of the head, like an adult chastising an + insolent child, and the pair of them hauled him through the open doors and led him to the gate. They said nothing as + it closed behind him.

+ +

Jack closed his eyes, getting his breath. Mike was fine, apart from the slap in the face, and he was holding up. He + flipped the hinge on the mobile, called his mother.

+ +

"I've seen him, Mam, and he's fine. There's not a mark on him." A white lie, but Mike could take a slap or two with + no real damage done. Ferguson would know just far he could go before it got out of hand and there was no percentage + in going further and hurting the boy.

+ +

She burst into tears on the other end and he was glad he'd called, rather than going round.

+ +

"I'll have him home in the afternoon."

+ +

They had the barrels filled and it hadn't been easy. Tam had managed to get a roll of blue plastic water pipe and + somehow coupled it to the pump. He ran it through the chain link fence, past the pallets of bricks and along to the + corner where the big tanks still stood. He used a circular immersion heater bit to make a hole in the resin and fed + the hose inside. Neil started the pump and they sucked up what they needed.

+ +

For all that work it took them only eight minutes to get enough whisky into the two barrels, and that was all Jack + wanted. Donny had sorted out the rest of them before dawn, and they were stacked and ready to go. All they had to do + was manhandle the pump onto the trailing edge of the flatbed and Jed curtained the tarpaulin over the frame. To the + casual observer, the rig looked like any longhauler. Jack took the duct tape they'd used to mend the hose on raid + night, climbed up on the cab and worked quickly, stripping the tape off and laying sections behind the curve of the + roof.

+ +

"I want to come in with you," Donny said.

+ +

"No," Jack said. He finished off, climbed down. "Best if I go on my own."

+ +

"I'm not scared," Donny protested, clearly lying. He was scared and so was Jack Lorne. He just hoped he had judged + his man correctly.

+ +

"And I have to go in with you. I set up the barrels, and you'll need a hand."

+ +

Jack looked at him, pondering. He could hear the apprehension in Donny's voice, and he didn't want him to freeze at + the wrong moment, but there was value in what he said. Donny was desperate to make up for all this. He needed to + make amends, and that drive might be stronger than the fear. In any case, he knew the load and what needed done.

+ +

"Okay, fine. You come with me." He turned to the others. Jed and Ed, you better get moving. Neil, you got the + gear?"

+ +

"Sure. Everything's cool."

+ +

"Good. Get climbing." He patted Neil on the back, winked at Ed. "Wagons ho."

+ +

The big hauler started at first turn and sneezed a cloud of black smoke. Jack let the handbrake off and eased it + forward, pulling out of the side street that led down to the boatyard, and headed up towards the old bridge. Once + over, he made his way to the east side of town, taking it easy, to attract no attention. A patrol car sat quiet on + Quay Street, not far from where Donny had punted his eighteen bottles of whisky, and Jack took a quick glance. It + was the same two beat men who had stopped at the pump on the night of the raid and almost given them collective + thrombosis.

+ +

Ferguson had a man on the corner and he banged on the big gate as soon as the loader turned along the narrow lane + that followed the line of the high wall on the east side of the yard. There was only one way in here, which might + have suited Ferguson. Now it suited Jack Lorne. One way in and one way out. A dead end.

+ +

The brakes snorted as he slowed the approach and he had to swing right to the opposite wall to get the nose through + the entrance, whipping the wheel fast and taking the rig right at speed past the service bay where they'd held Mike, + deliberately scattering the small group who stood in the yard centre so that he could manoeuvre the load into the + space on the far side. It was exactly as he remembered it. Mentally he pictured the sketch he'd made of the place + and glanced upwards towards the block of high flats towering on the other side of the river. He imagined he saw a + flash up there on high, but with the low cloud, there was not enough light for that. He just hoped Neil had a good + view. They had to depend on his eyes.

+ +

Neil watched the truck approach and smiled to himself. The light frame he'd designed held its shape and the tarpaulin + stayed taut, so that nobody could guess what was underneath. He saw the group on the centre as the gate swung wide + and had another smile when he saw them jink out of the way as the big loader hauled in. The binoculars had a little + spindle on the right side and when he thumbed it down, the whole scene zoomed into sharp detail. Ferguson was close + to the bay door, with Cullen and Foley.

+ +

Jack stopped and opened the door. Donny was out of sight in the back, as planned, staying quiet, which wouldn't be + easy for him, but Jack knew he would put his heart into this to make up for before. He stood on the plate and stole + a quick check glance at the roof. The lump under the duct tape seemed very conspicuous from here, but the chances of + any of them climbing on top of the cab were remote. If his uncle knew he'd been up in the loft and swiped the big + old Italian gun, he'd be far from pleased, but Jack needed that protection. With six of them waiting, he had to be + able to control the moves. The second last thing he had done, early in the morning, had been to thumb the shells + from the biscuit tin, one by one, into the magazine, and slam it home. The last thing had been to click the safety + clip to off. He didn't want to fumble.

+ +

He climbed down to the ground, mouth dry. It all depended on Neil, and Donny. Hell, it depended on them all.

+ +

Neil watched from the high vantage, lying flat. On the near side of the yard wall, another truck rolled up to the + corner of Castle Street, did a complicated reverse and trundled back until it reached the lamp post. He had to force + himself to wait a few minutes more as Jack crossed the yard, taking it slow. Finally he reached for the mobile and + called the number.

+ +

"I want to speak to Detective Inspector Angus Baxter," he said, in the accent he'd developed for Little Shop of + Horrors. It was awful.

+
+

They hit Tim Farmer's house with a search warrant and gave the old fellow the second biggest fright of the year.

+ +

He was on the toilet when the door caved in with such a crash that he fell off the pan and got jammed between it and + the bath, gasping for breath, his face the dangerous purple it had achieved in Majorca after heated sessions with + Gordon McLaren's wife. They found him there and hauled him out, skinny legs trembling, and Angus Baxter made them + brew up a cup of tea for him, just in case the old fellow did peg out. It would look bad if they hadn't tried to be + courteous after kicking the door off its hinges.

+ +

"I'm telling you, it was a mistake. The postman said it came to the wrong address."

+ +

"What postman?"

+ +

"The one that was here the other day. Jesus, you nearly gave me a fit and a bad turn, so you did. Look at the state + of my door. I been on syrup of figs for the past week, and I'll never need them again, I can tell you. You turned my + arse inside out."

+ +

The old fellow was feisty enough. Angus showed him the papers.

+ +

"You know this company?"

+ +

"FF Enterprises. Never heard of them."

+ +

"They have an address up in Glasgow. Maryhill Road, you know it?"

+ +

"I told you, I never heard of them. I know Maryhill Road. That's where Partick Thistle play. Been there a couple of + times, useless bastards. Can't kick, can't pass, never win. Waste of space."

+ +

"What I'm trying to understand is, why they had their mail redirected to this address."

+ +

Baxter looked at the old fellow. He was still waiting for Jimmy Balloch to come back with the company search which + would tell them who was who in FF Enterprises, if they were registered. Normally a search would take ten + minutes on the net, but for a new company, it would take longer. He'd despatched Balloch up to Company House in + Glasgow, but he'd still heard nothing yet.

+ +

The old man sipped his tea. The flutter of his hands had settled down the Richter scale to a mere tremble that + rattled cup on saucer.

+ +

"Well?"

+ +

"Well what?"

+ +

"I asked why they had the mail redirected."

+ +

"No you didn't"

+ +

"Yes," Angus said patiently. He took out his pipe and clamped it between his teeth. "I did."

+ +

"No. You said you was wondering why they did it. That's not asking a question, so don't you get smart with me young + fella, not when you and those numpties have kicked my door down. And I want to see a right good job of getting it + fixed, mind. And a new lock an' all. One of them mortise security ones with deadbolts. I'm fed up with folk just + coming and going as they please. You're as bad as the last lot."

+ +

"Oh? What lot would that be?"

+ +

"I had a couple of them break in the other night. Thought it was that daft Gordon Mclaren come for a set to over his + missus, the bitch. Great in the sack, mind you, so she was, but a damn gold digger if you ask me. You ask me again, + I think she was trying to get me to pop an artery. Tell you something, she nearly did, but it was worth it while it + lasted."

+ +

Baxter flicked the lighter.

+ +

"And don't you smoke in here either. Bad enough you give me a heart attack and make me shit my pyjamas without I get + that damn cancer as well. Does your mother know you're out?"

+ +

Angus put lighter and pipe on the table.

+ +

"Sorry. Tell me about these people you say broke in."

+ +

"What's there to tell you? I threw a big stookie vase at them and saw them off. I might be knocking on, but I'm no + pushover. You ask Meg McLaren."

+ +

Angus leant forward, needing to know more, when his mobile rang.

+ +

Neil made the call. It was all down to timing now. He had the binoculars trained on the scene in the yard. He waited + while the operator put him through to CID and he listened to the hum on the line. Somebody picked it up.

+ +

"Mr Baxter?"

+ +

"No. he's out. Can I take a message?"

+ +

"No, you can't. I need him personally."

+ +

"Who's calling?"

+ +

Neil kept up the accent. "It's just somebody with some information. It's very urgent that I speak to him right + now."

+ +

"I'll have to take your number."

+ +

Neil felt his heartbeat skip a beat. This could fall at the first hurdle just because of a missed connection. He felt + a little panic rise in his chest.

+ +

"No, you can't take my bloody number. I told you it was fuckin' urgent." The accent had started to slip already.

+ +

"No need to take that tone sir. And I don't appreciate the language either. Now, can I have your name?

+ +

Down there Jack was on his own. Neil felt like shouting, but he forced his voice to be steady.

+ +

"No, you can't take my name either. Give me Inspector Baxter's mobile."

+ +

"I can't do that sir."

+ +

"Fuck!" Neil couldn't help it.

+ +

"Sir, I did mention the language."

+ +

"Listen. And listen carefully." Down there Jack had reached the group of men. Ferguson was walking with him towards + the back of the truck. Jack pulled back the tarpaulin. From up here the little pump was a dull red, squat on the + back of the loader.

+ +

"It's that whisky they stole from the distillery. Thousands of gallons? I know where it is right now, and if you + don't get me through to your boss, right now, it's going to disappear. I'm going to call you back in two + minutes, okay? And when I do, you better patch me through to him or he's never going to get his hands on it. By the + way, what's your name?"

+ +

"Well well." Ferguson was almost expansive when Jack pulled the tarpaulin back from the end of the loader. "What's + this?"

+ +

"That's the pump we used to get it out."

+ +

"Neat. Well, we don't need that." He climbed on the back and motioned to the others to shift the equipment. They + unloaded it right behind the truck.

+ +

"Give me a jemmy," he called down to Cullen. "And a length of window-washer tubing."

+ +

He might have been strong, but he knew nothing about popping a bung. He worked on it for five minutes, cursing as he + did. Finally Jack asked for the jemmy. He had no time to waste here. He took the bar, rapped the curve end on either + side, six or seven times, setting up a vibration. He jammed the sharp end in, levered fast and the little beechwood + puck flipped away to roll on the ground. Ferguson nodded his appreciation, fed in the clear plastic pipe and sucked. + Cullen handed him a bucket and they watched it slowly fill. Ferguson took a mouthful, swallowed, nodded.

+ +

"Good stuff. That's the very stuff. I think I'll accept the whole delivery."

+ +

In the back, behind the barrel stack, Donny listened, braced in the little hollow right at the top of the pile. He + could hear them pop the barrel, a sound he'd recognise in his sleep, and then he picked up the scent of fresh air + and whisky. Ferguson spoke, Jack spoke back. Somebody laughed.

+ +

A jagged cramp started to twist in his calf.

+ +

Angus Baxter answered the phone, turning away from the old man who glared at him over the top of his teacup. + Constable Jimmy Balloch spoke into his ear.

+ +

"You'll never believe it," he started.

+ +

"I might if I hear it," Baxter said, automatically reaching for his pipe. Old Tim Farmer slapped his wrist and the + inspector drew back, a massive man with the response of a chastised boy.

+ +

"FF Enterprises. They set up business only three weeks ago, brand new, which is why they're not on the system. But I + have it here. They're registered office is in Maryhill Road, and the post office confirm the company had the mail + redirected."

+ +

"Yes, we know all that already," Baxter said. "So what is it I won't believe?"

+ +

"It's a limited company, with three directors. You'll love this." Jimmy spun it out, so pleased with himself he + couldn't sense his boss beginning a slow burn on the other end. Baxter forced himself not to light the pipe or bark + down the line.

+ +

"One Fergus Ferguson, home address, Brewery Lane, Levenford."

+ +

"Gus Ferguson!" Baxter allowed himself a smile. "And that's not his home address. That's the used car yard. Who are + the others?"

+ +

"Seamus Cullen and Anthony Foley."

+ +

"The usual suspects," Baxter said. "Bring me the paperwork."

+ +

He ended the call. Tim Farmer looked at him expectantly.

+ +

"So who's going to fix my door then?"

+ +

Baxter would have repaired it himself, now that he had a name in the frame. Ferguson was one contender for the + Aitkenbar Distillery job, but Baxter had relegated him down the list. He had been sure the dirty little dealer + didn't have the brain for it. He was strictly a heavy. The inspector shrugged to himself. Everybody could get it + wrong now and again.

+ +

He was about to respond, when the patrolman, knocked on the door and came in holding his radio. "I've just had a + message. Can you call the ops room?"

+ +

"I'm busy at the moment," he said.

+ +

"They said it's urgent, sir. Very urgent."

+ +

Jack heard the grunt at the back of the load. The muscles all down the back were bunched with tension and all his + senses were wound up tight. Don't screw it now, man. He scratched his head through the woolly hat. Ferguson + heard something, looked round, Jack waded in.

+ +

"Are you quite happy now?"

+ +

"Is this is all of it?" Jack nodded. There was no chance Ferguson knew how much a hogshead could take. Stacked four + deep, the load looked like an immense amount of whisky. But there was less than a hundred gallons on board. And they + had stacked them so that only the first two barrels held any of the good Glen Murroch from Aitkenbar, filling only + plastic containers Donny had built into them. The stack behind them were filled with a mix of the cheap young scotch + that DJ had drained off up on Skye heavily diluted with tap water. Jack had taken a risk, but it stood to reason + that Ferguson wouldn't open them all and even if he did, all he'd smell would be whisky. There hadn't been time for + Jack to lay a perfect scam. He'd been down south in London, hadn't he?

+ +

"So, I want my brother now." He couldn't help a glance at the high flats. Up there, the low cloud was swirling around + the winking red flight warning light. He hoped it would not obscure the view completely. They were getting right + down to the wire.

+ +

Donny squeaked. Ferguson paused again, looked towards the back of the truck, then shook his head. It sounded enough + like metal in the engine. Jack cursed silently.

+ +

Ferguson cocked his head at Cullen who went back into the bay and brought Michael out, gripping him by the back of + the neck. Mike tried to swing a punch at him, but he still didn't have the weight for it. He saw Jack and went still + when he caught his brother's eyes. He had a big bruise under his eye, curving round his temple and Jack forced the + surge of fury down to a tight ball.

+ +

Mam, she'll kill me. He forced himself to keep his mouth shut. This was no time for bravado and heroic + gestures. The clear part of his brain, the part that played the fast chess against Sandy, was counting off the + seconds.

+ +

"Maybe I should hold on to him a while longer, just until we get this stuff out of here."

+ +

"We did a deal."

+ +

"No, son. There was no deal, remember? You just did what I told you. Now, once you're out of here, why should I trust + you? You could call the cops."

+ +

Jack wasn't surprised. He'd have done the same. He dug into his shirt pocket and pulled out the little phone. Mike + watched him silently, knowing to keep his mouth shut.

+ +

"I don't have to call the cops." He made a show of checking the time. "I don't make a call in five minutes, somebody + else calls them. You got the stuff here."

+ +

"You'll go down as well."

+ +

"So, we all go down together, and you get done for kidnap." Not quite checkmate, but better than stalemate. Ferguson + was stuck. He rubbed his chin with his free hand, eyes glittering and angry. Foley took a step back, just in case. + The crowbar was within easy reach and Ferguson could sometimes just explode.

+ +

Jack waggled the phone.

+ +

"Okay. Okay." He turned to Cullen. "Reverse that over to the door. We don't want to hang around here with this + lot."

+ +

He grabbed Michael by the shoulder, making him wince, taking his temper out in that one savage grip. The youngster + made no sound and Jack was proud of him.

+ +

Neil was in a real panic. He'd timed the two minutes to the second and then got a voice telling him lines were + engaged and he was in a queue. He thumped the roof bitumen with the heel of his hand, the cloud was lowering now and + the drizzle up here falling in a continuous spray, making the view through the binoculars hazy and indistinct.

+ +

Murphy's law. Jack had got it right: If things can go wrong, they will.

+ +

Ed had it closer. Murphy was a rose-tinted optimist.

+ +

A woman's voice came on.

+ +

"CID please."

+ +

It took another ten slow rings before the phone was picked up. He recognised the voice.

+ +

"It's me again." The fake accent had to work because they'd be taping this, Jack had told him. "Did you get the + inspector"

+ +

"He's still out, but I've got somebody standing by." The seconds ticked on and Neil's heart started began to pick up + speed.

+ +

The woman came on again. "Putting you through now."

+ +

"Inspector Baxter?"

+ +

"This is he."

+ +

Neil started talking, very fast. But his appalling accent went the distance.

+ +

The phone rang in Jack's hand. Everybody froze. He held it up and Ferguson nodded, bending to pick up the black steel + jemmy. Michael was only yards away from him and Jack waited until he reached his side. In the back, Donny heard the + sound and braced himself against the barrels, trying to ignore the pain in his calf muscle.

+ +

"Elvis calling Retro. Roxanne."

+ +

Jack smiled. Neil was trying to be funny, but he knew Jack would get it right away. No red light. That meant green + for go.

+ +

"Who the fuck's that?" Ferguson wanted to know.

+ +

"It's just Elvis, calling from up there." He pointed at the skyline.

+ +

"Smart cunt," Foley said. He looked a question at Ferguson, ready for action.

+ +

"Just kidding. Wrong number," Jack said. He had Michael by the cuff now and pulled him closer towards the cab. "I'll + just get my jacket."

+ +

Very quickly he turned to his brother, keeping his back to the others. "Stand there," he hissed, "and don't move a + muscle."

+ +

Finishing the turn, he stepped on the plate, reached up for the handle and clambered in the open cab door. Michael + stood straight, not moving any of his muscles.

+ +

Just then somebody hammered on the big yard door, hard fast thuds.

+ +

Jack turned the key and the engine roared. He floored the accelerator, not bothering to close the door, slammed the + stick into reverse and let the clutch out. The truck shot backwards.

+ +

Inside Donny yelped as the nearest barrel the other way a couple of inches, crushing his thumb against a stanchion. + But over the noise of the engine, and the wool of his balaclava, it was drowned right out. Michael stood there, + frozen, wondering what Jack was doing.

+ +

The rig careered backwards and scattered Ferguson and the rest of them, knocked the pump two metres. Ferguson bawled + a string of curses, Cullen jerked away. Buzz Barclay was standing pretty close and the nearest of the twelve wheels + went over his toes. He screeched in pain just as the back end went crashing through the bay door with a sound like + an explosion.

+ +

Jack glanced down at Michael, slammed the stick into drive as soon as the rig hit and it virtually jumped forward. + The barrel just behind the cabin rolled backwards, freeing Donny's thumb. The tip was crushed flat and it oozed dark + bruised blood.

+ +

Shit! He was missing it. He pulled the carpet knife from his belt, got the hook round the holding strap, + ignoring the sudden flare of agony in his thumb. He slashed upwards, once, twice and the tension in the weave + snapped the lashing like a guitar string.

+ +

Over the sound of splintering glass and wood, the hammering at the door came again like bass drumbeats. Jack was too + busy, but Michael heard it.

+ +

"This is the police." A voice on a PA system. "We have a warrant to search the premises. Open up immediately."

+ +

Ferguson spun away from the truck towards the door.

+ +

Jack hit the pedal hard and the loader launched itself towards the space where it had been before. Michael stood + still, pale face, wide eyed. It missed him by a mere foot and Jack held it on the line until it went straight up to + the corner beside the tall brick wall. The forward momentum shunted the load of barrels backwards. Donny grabbed the + wooden mallet and slammed it against the peg holding the stay-rope he'd rigged to the frame. He put all his weight + behind it, not trusting to finesse. The thin peg snapped at the end and the pull on the rope jerked it backwards. + The single vee-wedge under the curve of the back barrel shot out like a missile. It missed Face McQueen's good cheek + by a half inch.

+ +

As soon as the wedge launched out, the whole load started to move. Donny knew barrels and he'd worked on this lot + since before midnight. The top shifted, as if just settling, and he pulled backwards, scrambling out from the + tarpaulin, grabbing for the stanchion on the back of the cab roof. Just as he did so, the supporting barrel shot out + from under him. He held tight to the mallet with one hand.

+ +

Ferguson whirled towards the door. Cullen was running towards the truck. Buzz Barclay was bawling and hopping around + on one leg.

+ +

The first barrel tumbled out and hit the pump with a sound like a cannon-shot. Immediately the steel hoop that Donny + had rasped down in the night snapped on its weak edge, sending two vicious curves of metal whooping through the air. + One went straight over the big gate. Out there somebody yelled and a sound of breaking glass followed. The pump + crumpled under the shock.

+ +

The barrel exploded in a golden eruption. The curved staves blossomed open and the amber liquid blasted outwards, + sweeping the foot from Buzz Barclay, knocking him into the flood.

+ +

"Jesus fuck!" Ferguson spun back like a pit bull, unable to decide who to go for first.

+ +

The second barrel rolled out and the whole stack sagged forwards. The third barrel hit the second, knocking it to the + side. Donny had not touched these. The kegs stayed intact, but the fourth and fifth shot out like skittles, end over + end, and the bottoms spun off like wheels, pouring a hundred gallons across the ground and through the wreckage of + the bay doors.

+ +

A noise like thunder rolled out from the truck and Donny swung over the edge and down the side as the framework + collapsed on itself and the rest of the barrels cascaded, tumbling and rolling, off the back of the lorry, breaking + up as they did, sending staves whirling across the yard. Harsh fumes filled the air.

+ +

"You, bastard! Where do you think you're going?"

+ +

Seggs Cullen reached for Donny as he clambered down from the back. Jack was up on the cab, a foot hooked on the + window edge, reaching across the curve of the roof.

+ +

"Watch out," Michael suddenly broke his silence.

+ +

Donny spun just as Cullen was reaching for him. Whether by accident or design, as he turned the wooden mallet came + swinging upwards and caught Cullen right on the chin. His head snapped back so fast you could almost hear his neck + crack. The second swing was no accident. Donny used his two hands this time, pivoting on one foot. The head took + Cullen on the top of the thigh just as he was tumbling backwards and the blow almost snapped the bone. Cullen + flipped to the side with a groan like a stunned bull, flopped into the pool of whisky, throwing up a bow-wave.

+ +

"Open this door." Jack recognised Angus Baxter. "We have the premises surrounded. Do not move. Do not try to + escape."

+ +

Liar, Jack thought. There was only one way into Brewery Lane, one way out. Neil would have called again, + three rings if there was any danger. He rolled his uncle's woolly hat down, converting it to balaclava mode and + snatched at the duct tape, grateful for the foresight in leaving a loop free to get his hand through, for he'd never + have managed to unpeel it wearing thick leather gloves. He pulled it back, and the big black pistol almost leapt + into his hand.

+ +

"Get Michael," Jack rasped over his shoulder. Foley was wading through whisky, coughing as the fumes caught in his + throat. Face McQueen was pulling himself out of the wreckage of the service bay. Ferguson had the jemmy in his hand + and was rushing towards the truck. Donny already had Michael and was dragging him to the front and he climbed + upwards, a foot to the bumper, another on the hood, a third on the wing mirror. It was like climbing a ladder.

+ +

Jack was on the roof, feet planted apart. He snatched a look behind him to make sure Mike was clear. Donny had him by + the arm, clambering fast. Ferguson would never reach them in time, not through a foot of swirling whisky.

+ +

He squeezed the trigger. The gun roared.

+ +

Everybody froze. It sounded like a grenade in the confines of the yard, a sudden huge punch of sound that + jerked them all to a stop.

+ +

"Fuck!" Ferguson skidded to a halt, splashing in the mix of water and whisky. The cannonade reverberated + from the walls in solid blows that could be felt as well as heard.

+ +

The big lead slug slammed the edge of the door and kicked off a six-inch splinter of wood.

+ +

"Shit! It's the fucking IRA"

+ +

"I'll give them I-R fucking A."

+ +

Cullen was rolling in the whisky, trying to get to his feet, but his injured left leg kept giving way. He was + cursing non stop.

+ +

"Cover," somebody bawled outside. "Take cover. They are armed and dangerous."

+ +

Jack aimed again and the gun bucked, once, twice. Michael almost fell backwards and Donny held him by the arm just as + he got to the cabin roof. Down below, Foley had instinctively dived behind an old car. Ferguson was running for his + office shack, jinking behind the pile of broken barrels. The whisky swirled in a maelstrom as it began to disappear + down the big storm-drain.

+ +

Three shots, four. He counted them off in his head, each of them slamming into the big, heavy door. He sighted along + the barrel, taking the shocks on straight arms, making sure he hit the metal reinforcing plates. The slugs + ricocheted off with deadly little hornet whines.

+ +

Five six seven in quick succession.

+ +

Ferguson came out again, unwrapping something from a piece of sacking.

+ +

"Go, go go!" Jack felt the gun heat up through the gloves. Donny pulled Michael up and then pushed him forward, + towards the high brick wall.

+ +

"Move it. Grab the fence."

+ +

Michael reached up, got a hand to the metal bar that held the three strands of barbed wire, Donny gave him a boost + and he was up and out of reach.

+ +

"Good man," Ed Kane said from the other side.

+ +

Michael got such a surprise he almost fell off the wall. Donny kept a hand clamped to his belt, steadied him, pushed + higher.

+ +

"Come along the ladder," Ed told him. The aluminium steps they'd used to get over the high Aitkenbar fence now + bridged the pavement between a second truck and the high wall. "And don't look down."

+ +

Ferguson was bawling non stop, the total incoherence of bewilderment and rage. Foley was reaching under his jacket. + Jack aimed the gun at him and he pulled back.

+ +

Eight, nine. Hard shunts of sound. He'd knelt on the cab, taking good aim, kicking rust from the doors, + making them shiver on their high posts.

+ +

"Cease firing. This is the police."

+ +

Ferguson was on one knee, now only six inches deep in draining whisky that sloshed in a spiral whirlpool into the + ground-drain. He drew something black from the sacking and Jack saw the twin stubby barrels of a sawn-off + shotgun.

+ +

Hell! There had always been a chance, but Jack had reckoned he wouldn't be so stupid, not with the police at + the door. Maybe he thought it was all a con. Ferguson swung the gun up and Jack switched his aim. Two slugs slammed + into the glass right beside Ferguson's ear. The panes shattered into dust, but the force and shock was enough to + make Ferguson pull up.

+ +

Both barrels blasted within a split second and this time the sound really was like a cannon. A deep shockwave almost + threw Jack off the roof, but it was only sound. The crash of glass was just enough to spoil the aim and the heavy + goose-shot went buzzing harmlessly into the air.

+ +

"Nice try," Jack said tightly. Foley came darting out from between the two rusted hulks. Cullen got to his feet + nearby, leaning against the car. Jack turned, held the gun up. He aimed it directly between Cullen's eyes.

+ +

The other man's mouth opened into a shocked circle. He sank backwards.

+ +

"Want this?"

+ +

Cullen shook his head. His eyes were wide and his face a blank mask of fear.

+ +

"Sure you do."

+ +

He pulled the trigger, but as he did so his foot seemed to slip on the paintwork on the roof of the cab. The gun + bucked and the recoil tumbled it out of his hand and dropped directly towards Cullen who was taken by surprise and + instinctively caught it. He looked at it, almost puzzled, then he turned it up, aimed and fired.

+ +

Jack clutched at his chest and staggered backwards, out of sight.

+ +

"I plugged the bastard!" Cullen bawled.

+ +

Michael almost fell off the wall. He was just stepping over when he turned and saw Cullen fire up at Jack. A streak + of flame shot out from the barrel and Jack slipped backwards. Cullen fired again, holding the pistol in two bare + hands. Foley was running towards the corner.

+ +

Donny was up and over, forcing Michael across the wall.

+ +

And miraculously Jack was behind him, a wide grin splitting his face. He was still counting. Thirteen, + fourteen.

+ +

The third last thing he'd done, before he loaded the gun and slipped the safety off, had been to use the pliers to + prise out the old lead slugs in the last three shells. He'd replaced the lead with soft wax from one of Sheena's + holy candles, making the final two shots totally harmless.

+ +

Jack croosed the ladder. Foley reached the corner, him, got a foot to the truck plate, started to clamber + upwards.

+ +

Ed's face was just visible above the top of the wall.

+ +

He gave Foley a little wave. "Hasta la vista, baby."

+ +

Foley snarled so viciously he started to slaver at the mouth.

+ +

Somewhere in the distance, the wail of a siren tore through the misty air, getting louder every second. Jack crossed + the spindly ladder and onto the roof of the truck. He and Donny helped Ed haule the steps back, banged hard on the + roof.

+ +

Jed Cooper stepped on the pedal and got them moving.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch23.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch23.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7cc2f12 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch23.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,616 @@ + + + + + + 23 + + + + +
+
+

23

+ +

Neil watched them from his high vantage, focusing in on the other side of the wall, then down the street to the main + road. Jack had set the phone so it only took one thumb touch to call Jed in the covered tanker.

+ +

"Elvis calling Bullitt. The road's clear, go, go, go. Johnny B Goode."

+ +

Jed floored it and hustled towards the corner, wanting out before the back-up arrived in the approaching hurry + wagons. After the gunplay, they'd be all over the place like ants. He got to the junction, spun the wheel, taking a + huge arc to keep the weight in place, was out and down the road with the winking blue lights far behind him.

+ +

Angus Baxter commandeered a bulldozer from a demolition site two hundred yards away and the big blue door simply flew + off its hinges, broke into three pieces, one of which whirled across the yard, slammed through the crumpled service + bay and almost decapitated Seggs Cullen as he crawled through the dwindling puddle of dilute whisky. The fumes of + evaporating spirit were so strong that they caught in the back of the throat.

+ +

The firearms team went through the space like the SAS and Gus Ferguson raised the empty shotgun in an even emptier + gesture. He took a butt under the jaw which dislocated it on the left side, but as he fell, he slammed against the + brick wall and miraculously popped the bone back into the socket. It was the only good thing to happen to him that + day.

+ +

Six policemen surrounded Cullen, each of them with a vicious looking fully automatic held at arms length, every + stubby barrel pointing at his head. Cullen's leg gave way under him and he flopped once more to the draining golden + pool.

+ +

"Drop the weapon," the lead man ordered. He put his boot right on Cullen's neck, forcing his head under the surface. + The thug coughed, spluttered, managed to raise his head up and sprayed whisky for a yard.

+ +

"It's not mine," he managed to gasp. A gun-barrel was dug right in behind his ear and he dropped the Beretta.

+
+

They were out on the main road, haring for the turn that would take them up past the castle on the circle road out of + town, Jed and Michael and Ed Kane in the front, with Jack and Donny in the tight space at the back of the cabin.

+ +

Jed had the wheel and he handled the big rig the way he drove on the stock circuit, fast and hard and very sure. The + only difference was that this one had twelve wheels and a lot more inertia once it really got going.

+ +

He turned to Michael. "That's a hell of an eye you got there. It'll be shut like a clam tomorrow."

+ +

Michael grinned shyly. "You ought to see the other guy."

+ +

"Oh, and what's he like?"

+ +

"He's built like a fucking brick shithouse. There's not a mark on him."

+ +

Jack reached forward and cuffed his brother lightly on the back of his head.

+ +

"Language! You're supposed to be the smart one. Your mother would clap your ear."

+ +

"So let her do it," Michael shot back. It was as if his overnight captivity had never happened. "You don't have + mother privileges."

+ +

Everybody laughed. Jack ruffled his hair.

+ +

"You did good Mike. You stayed cool."

+ +

"I knew you would show up, one way or the other." He dabbed his cheek, gingerly testing the skin. "Has anybody got + anything to eat? I'm starving to death."

+ +

Ed flipped the glove box and pulled out a couple of Mars bars.

+ +

"Okay Jake, that's two pints I owe you."

+ +

Michael only raised his eyebrows, not stopping to ask the question. Half the bar was in his mouth already.

+ +

"Jack said those cretins wouldn't feed you. He tries to think of everything."

+ +

The phone trilled unexpectedly. Ed snapped it open.

+ +

"I got bad news," Neil said quickly. "You've got a passenger."

+ +

"What do you mean?"

+ +

"Somebody must have jumped off the wall. I never saw it, but he's there now."

+ +

"Where?"

+ +

"He's on the nearside. High on the load."

+ +

Ed leant to the left, as close as he could get to the wing mirror.

+ +

"What's the matter?" Jack pushed forward, following his gaze. He froze. They were on the road out of town now, past + the old quarry behind the school, hammering along the road as the buildings petered out through a stand of old oaks + and tall birches, sending up a buffeting silver spray from the big wheels.

+ +

Jed craned over the wheel to view the mirror.

+ +

"Warning," he said. "Arseholes are much closer than they appear."

+ +

"Right, that's it," Ed said quietly. Wiggy Foley was hanging on to the tarpaulin rope with one hand, and gripping the + top of the frame with the other. His face was twisted with effort and anger as he inched his way along the side of + the truck.

+ +

"I don't believe it," Jack said. "He thinks he's Bruce Willis. Try to shake him off."

+ +

Jed got to the straight, spun the wheel left hard and then right again, as much as he dared with such a big load. The + tail swung alarmingly and Foley flipped outwards, legs in the air, but he still hung on.

+ +

"Coming up to bends. I can't risk that again."

+ +

Ed opened the door, forced it wide with his foot.

+ +

"Where are you going?"

+ +

"I'm going to knock him off."

+ +

"Don't be crazy. You'll kill yourself."

+ +

"That Foley, he's the crazy one," Ed said. "He always carries a blade. He's mad enough to do somebody some hurt. And + I owe him one."

+ +

"Where's the shooter?" Donny wanted to know.

+ +

"I gave it away."

+ +

"Brilliant," Donny said. He didn't know Jack's plan. "We could finish it right now."

+ +

Ed gripped the handle above the door, waited until they were on a right bend which let the door swing wide, and he + flipped himself out with athletic grace.

+ +

"Get back in," Jack bawled. "You're Ed Kane, not Eddie Murphy"

+ +

Ed hung onto the grip, facing backwards. "Hold it steady, and don't hit the trees."

+ +

He winked at Jack and then he started moving towards the back.

+ +

Foley had his face against the tarpaulin, trying to clamber on to the top of the truck and when he raised it again he + saw Ed clinging to the side. He snarled and let go with one hand, reaching into his pocket with the other.

+ +

"He's got something," Jack said, pushing past Michael, clambering onto the front. "A knife. A gun maybe." Foley had + done six years in Barlinnie for grievous bodily harm and had earned no remission. Anything at all was possible.

+ +

Ed was fast and his next move surprised both Foley and Jack. He took one of the rope lashings in his free hand, wound + it round with a few flicks of his wrist and gave it a tug. The slip-knot looped to the frame came free and Ed just + threw himself outwards.

+ +

As an act of sheer audacity Jack had never seen anything like it in his life. For a moment he thought Ed had slipped + off the speeding tanker and his heart leapt into his throat.

+ +

But Ed hadn't slipped. The momentum carried him out and away from the side, flipping close to the bushes that lined + the road and the edge of the tarpaulin followed him like a sail. As soon as the wind caught the canvas, it drove it + back in to the side again, carrying Ed's weight with it, but the length of rope looped round his wrist gave him + another couple of yards. He was swung back, beyond the point where Foley was reaching into his pocket, and the + tarpaulin simply folded on itself to trap the other man behind it. Ed grabbed the frame and held on with his right, + keeping the tarp tight. Underneath it Foley bellowed like a bull. Ed used the frame like an exercise bar, pivoted + his weight again and drove both feet forward, just where he estimated Foley's ribs would be.

+ +

The hard jolt and the immediate grunt from under the flapping canvas told him he'd connected.

+ +

He swung again, and this time used his knuckles, one-two-three, hitting in a blur, short powerful jabs. Foley punched + outwards, trying to shove his way through the material. Ed pulled back just as a thick steel blade stabbed through + it, curved down in a fast slash and ripped the canvas open in a four-foot shriek.

+ +

"Bastard." Foley's frothy snarl was almost lost in the flapping of the tarp and the strangle of his own rage. He + slashed again, hauled himself through the hole in the fabric, swung the knife back at Ed. The point of it sliced air + only inches from his face and Ed pulled back, quickly unspinning the rope from his hand to free it.

+ +

"I'll fuckin' fillet you." Foley lunged again and the tanker hit a pot-hole, jolted and one foot slipped from the + frame. He scrabbled for purchase, still gripping the knife. Jack Lorne was clambering through the cabin window, + wielding a big tyre iron. Foley got back up again and pushed past the flapping canvas shreds, digging the knife + forward. Ed gripped the frame with both hands, flipped himself up onto the roof, ignoring the buffeting turbulence, + and scrambled to the other side. He was faster and fitter than Foley, sure of his grip. The big thug came scrambling + after him, round the back of the tanker. Ed braced, dug a heel into his face, two quick slams. Foley roared fury and + frustration. His nose burst flat and the wind carried the blood round to both ears. But without hesitation, Foley + slashed forward and caught Ed's calf, slicing his jeans to the knee, and digging a groove up the front of his shin. + The pain burned like brief fire and was lost in the adrenaline surge.

+ +

Ed kicked again, another two quick ones, driving his heel in hard, catching him on the other eye. A plummy bruise + began to match the other. Foley cursed, dripping blood and came swinging round on the off-side. Ed scrambled away, + hand over hand, until he got half-way to the cabin.

+ +

Jack was up on the roof, crawling over the top, desperate to get at Foley. The trees were flashing past in a blur as + Jed speeded up, sending up a buffeting spray from the wheels. He took the corner tight on the left, trying to give + Ed as much room as he could, when a lorry came hurtling round in the opposite direction.

+ +

"Shit," Jed blurted, jerking at the big wheel. The other truck was way across the centre line. The other driver's + face was a pale wide blur.

+ +

"Watch out!" Michael was thrown to the right as the tanker slammed right.

+ +

Jed felt it happen before anyone else did. Years of hammering round the stock track gave him the edge. The other + lorry was past in a roar and a cloud of spray, scraping by with only inches between its front and the tanker's rear. + He flicked a glance at the wing, saw Ed thrown outwards by centripetal force, with Foley close to him.

+ +

He spun the wheel again, forcing the tanker right, aiming to pull Ed back in and then he just ran out of road. The + tight bend was only fifty yards ahead and he was on the wrong side. He pulled left yet again, braking sharply and + that's when it happened. The whole rig slewed out, all wheels drifting on the road-slick. The whipping action of the + weight on the tail dragged it round on the off-side.

+ +

Trees loomed dead ahead. Jed slammed the stick forward, gunned power to the drive as he felt the front and rear began + to shut on each other like a jack-knife. The corner came zooming up, a tangle of trees and scrub.

+ +

"Hold on," Jed bawled. Michael grabbed the handle above the door. Up on top, Jack felt the slide and threw himself + flat, grabbed for the whipping rope end and the side of the frame.

+ +

The rig slewed on... Jed gauged it, feeling for the weight, got the wheels to grip and just on the point of + sideswiping the big oaks, he caught the line. Branches lashed at the windscreen, slammed against the wing and + slapped the mirror right back against the door.

+ +

Ed Kane was catapulted right off the side and his weight tore the lashing from the canvas. He went tumbling though + the air and disappeared into the trees.

+ +

A big branch caught Foley under his chin and flicked him off the side. The knife whirled out of his hand and thudded + twenty feet high in the trunk of an oak tree to bury itself four inches deep in the solid wood.

+ +

Jack saw them disappear, tumbling through the foliage to crash somewhere out of sight in the dense undergrowth. The + force of the turn dragged him right across the roof to the far side and his own feet were dangling out into space by + the time Jed straightened up. He hauled himself forward, wind whipping his hair, and hammered on the roof of the + cabin.

+ +

"Stop. Pull up."

+ +

A hundred and fifty yards along the Glen Murroch Road, Jed managed to slow down with a howl of rubber and a grind of + protesting gears, pulled right in and got wheels up on the verge. He drove forward for another hundred, to where an + access lane led away into the trees, steered up as far as he could until the tanker was out of sight of the road. + Jack clambered down, face white.

+ +

"What happened?" Jed was just as pale.

+ +

"Ed got thrown off," he said. "Come on. He could be hurt."

+ +

Michael clambered down from the cabin, hands shaking.

+ +

"You stay here," Jack ordered. He turned and started running back through the scrub with Jed right on his heels and + Donny close behind.

+ +

They reached the turn, scattering a couple of blackbirds rooting in the undergrowth and plunged through the clumps of + honeysuckle clinging to the saplings just in from the edge. Jack still had the tyre iron, ready to use it on Foley + if he put up a fight.

+ +

Apart from the sound of their passage, the trees were silent.

+ +

"Where did he come off?"

+ +

"Just on the turn." Jack pulled back out onto the road. Wide parallel lines curving from one side to this showed + where Jed had braked, throwing the load into a slide. Twenty yards back from that, the lines took a sharp angle to + the left, where he had managed to whip it out of a jack-knife.

+ +

"In here," Jack said, shoving back in. here two big oaks reached for the sky, trunks hoared with moss and overgrowth. + He stopped and listened. Something moved, but a good few yards further in away from the road. He hefted the + iron.

+ +

"Ed? Is that you?"

+ +

Jed looked at him. "Foley's got a blade."

+ +

"I know. Watch for him. Don't let him near you."

+ +

Something shivered the branches ahead of them and they barged through.

+ +

Somebody was on the ground, driven right down into the soft mud where a puddle had formed in a hollow. All they could + see were a pair of legs and some of the back. The mud had splashed all over it, making recognition difficult. There + was no movement at all.

+ +

Just to the left, the branches started to shake again.

+ +

"Ed, is that you?"

+ +

Jack turned and saw Foley caught in a thick hawthorn bush, his face jammed right up against the front of an oak tree, + arms pulled back by the clutch of thorns. His eyes were wide open and his legs were kicking against the branches. + Blood trickled from his nose.

+ +

"This must be Ed," Jack said, turning to the prone shape. "Come on."

+ +

The Donny was right beside him and without hesitation they grabbed the blackened legs.

+ +

"Watch, he could be hurt."

+ +

"He'll be hurt if we don't"

+ +

They hauled on the feet and Ed came slurping out of the soft mud. Jack let go and the pliant body oozed to the + ground. Jack got to his knees, used a hand to wipe the mire from his face.

+ +

"Ed! Come on man." He jammed a finger inside his mouth and hooked out a plug of leaves and slime. "Come on!"

+ +

"Is he....?" Jed couldn't even say it. Jack didn't hear him. Instead, he flipped Ed round onto his face and thudded + him hard between the shoulderblades with the flat of his hand. The force of it drove another black wad out of Ed's + throat and his whole body jerked in a violent spasm. He coughed, spluttered and rolled over, gagging for breath.

+ +

"Jesus man. You scared the shit out of me." Jack moved forward, clapping Ed on the shoulder and just as he did so a + movement at the side caught his eye and he turned in alarm.

+ +

Michael stood there, pallid and out of breath..

+ +

"Is he all right?"

+ +

"Jesus Mike. I told you to stay by the truck."

+ +

Jed got to his feet, turned to the left. Foley was still suspended in the hawthorn bush, still trapped by the thorns + which had hooked into his denim jacket, but there wasn't a mark on his face apart from the blood from where Ed had + kicked his nose and those two bruises. His legs still kicked violently against the branches, making the whole bush + shudder and shake.

+ +

"Jack," Jed said. "You better come and see this."

+ +

"What is it?" Jack was wiping the thick mud off Ed's face, making big pale streaks. Ed was coughing, still + winded.

+ +

Foley's eyes were rolled up so far all you could see was white. His neck was twisted at an odd angle. Meaty hands + trembled with uncanny life.

+ +

"I think this one's a gonner."

+ +

Michael looked at Foley. A thick of saliva and blood drooled from the thug's slack mouth. His hair was unpeeled from + the front to the back of his head, leaving an angry bloody patch.

+ +

"Oh god," Michael said in a stricken gasp. "He's been scalped."

+ +

He turned away and without warning at all he was violently and comprehensively sick in to the forest ferns.

+ +

Donny clapped him on the back, holding him steady until he was finished.

+ +

"No, man. That's just Wiggy's toupee."

+ +

Blair Bryden got the story of the big raid out on the news long before anybody got a sniff of it. He and his + photographer were on the scene seconds after the heavy squad arrived with all sirens blaring and their squat black + guns locked and loaded. This time Blair was smart. The money he'd made from spreading the whisky theft story around + the networks had been well invested in a good handicam video and Brian Deacon captured all the action for the + tea-time news.

+ +

Gus Ferguson's face was pixelated out when he was seen being hauled away by a couple of tough looking policemen, + dragging his heels and hauling at the cuffs. The sound had to be damped right down for family listening.

+ +

The camera panned round the scene of devastation, the curved barrel-staves scattered in all directions, the + demolished bay and the bullet-holes in the big blue doors. Customs officers and policemen were everywhere. It seemed + as if every one of Levenford's finest had been roped in to get this done right.

+ +

Only one intact barrel remained in the middle of the yard. The one that Donny had made sure wouldn't explode.

+ +

"This is in customs jurisdiction." James Gilveray drew himself up to a height a good span shorter than Angus Baxter + .

+ +

"That might be the case, once it's been identified. We'll let you know."

+ +

"No. If it was removed illegally from customs bond, it's up to us."

+ +

"As I said," Angus paused to light the pipe, making Gilveray wait for it, "we'll identify it in due course of time. + Until we do, then you'll just have to cool your heels a little. It's evidence in a major police investigation."

+ +

"It was ours first."

+ +

"And you made a good job of keeping it," Angus said. With his highland accent it was hard to discern the dripping + sarcasm, but Jimmy Balloch didn't miss it. "Now, you run along like a good wee exiseman, and let proper policemen do + their job."

+ +

"You can't do that," Gilveray protested. He could see his own job whirling down the drain with the rest of the + whisky.

+ +

"Constable Balloch, would you be good enough to escort Mr Gilveray off these premises. And get some tape set up. This + is a scene of crime. We can't have every Tom, Dick and jumped up railway porter messing up the evidence."

+ +

"You can't do that," Gilveray was almost hysterical.

+ +

"Oh, and by the way," Angus said, blowing out a blue plume. "We'd like you to come down to the station as well. + Everybody who had anything at all to do with this whisky, well, you're all witnesses. I'll need a full statement + from you, if you don't mind."

+ +

The chief customs man looked as if he might suddenly burst a blood vessel.

+ +

Ferguson demanded to see his lawyer and Angus made him cool his heels too. The sawn-off shotgun was already in a + plastic bag and on its way down to forensics. Ferguson had been stripped to the skin and now he was dressed in a + papery one-piece that made him look like a pantomime polar bear. He sat and glowered as the forensic men swabbed his + fingers for traces of powder.

+ +

Billy Butler had come down from Aitkenbar Distillery and identified the contents of the two remaining barrels. There + was nothing left of the rest, all of it gone down the drain, leaving only a wide damp patch and a stench of raw + whisky.

+ +

"It's the Glen Murroch, all right. What I can't understand, is why it's back in the barrels."

+ +

"Explain that to me."

+ +

"Every barrel is stencilled when it's filled. After a while you get to know the codes. These are definitely the + barrels it's been stored in the for past twenty five years."

+ +

"And how would it get back in there?"

+ +

Billy shrugged. "I really don't know. Somebody must have put it there."

+ +

"Or maybe it never left the premises after all."

+ +

Angus turned to young Jimmy Balloch, whose good work had helped crack the case. "You can have the dubious privilege + of inviting Alistair Sproat esquire down for a chat."

+ +

In the interview room, Ferguson's lawyer sat with his hands on his briefcase. Baxter kept his eyes on him as he + spoke.

+ +

"Fergus Hector Ferguson, I am charging you with a number of offences. They are: possession of an illegal firearm; + discharging a firearm within a built-up area, discharging a firearm with intent to wound, discharging a firearm with + intent to murder, resisting arrest, assault, breach of the peace, theft of twenty five thousand gallons of whisky, + conspiracy to defraud Her Majesty's Customs and Excise, and loitering with intent. None of these charges are in any + particular order at the moment, are by no means comprehensive, and other charges will most definitely ensue. You + don't have to say anything."

+ +

The big policeman read him his rights.

+ +

"Now, as I said, you don't have to say anything. But..."

+ +

"I never took that whisky. It's not mine."

+ +

"We know that," Baxter said easily. "It's most definitely not yours."

+ +

"I never saw it before."

+ +

The lawyer leant forward. "You don't have to say anything."

+ +

"Fuck off you." Ferguson turned to Baxter. "I've been fucking set up."

+ +

"Indeed. And how do you explain this paperwork? The hire of the pump which is in your yard. Your company. Your + signature."

+ +

Ferguson stared at the document that was now sealed in a flat clear envelope.

+ +

"I never saw that before in my life."

+ +

"And I suppose you and Mr Cullen and the other one, Mr Foley, are not involved, or have no connection whatsoever, + with this company?"

+ +

"FF Enterprises? I never heard of that in my life. It's a fucking set up."

+ +

"So what you are telling me is that some time this morning, some individual drove a lorry load of stolen whisky into + your yard, with customs documents relating to the manufacture of said whisky in the glove compartment, with a pump + used to steal the whisky, hired by a company with you named as a director, and paid for by a cheque from the same + company, again with your signature. This person then left the premises without myself or any one of a number of + officers witnessing his exit, leaving you and the others armed with a shotgun and a handgun. Which you discharged + with criminal intent.That's the sum of it, am I right?"

+ +

"That's exactly it. We were set right up. I'll fucking kill that bastard."

+ +

"Which particular bastard would that be, Mr Ferguson?"

+ +

Over by the door, Jimmy Balloch chuckled. Angus looked at him and winked.

+ +

"None of your business. Once I'm out of here, though...."

+ +

"I think that should conclude this interview for the moment," he said. He checked the time and turned to the + lawyer.

+ +

"You don't mind if I take your client downstairs? He won't be leaving today."

+ +

Seggs Cullen couldn't believe he was up on an attempted murder charge. His leg hurt like all hell and an x-ray later + discovered a hairline fracture close to his pelvis. Any harder a hit with the keg mallet and he'd have been down for + months. He vowed a hard and bloody revenge against Donny Watson. That was twice now he'd had a go at that + ginger-headed Jessie and twice he'd come off distinctly second best.

+ +

Despite the evidence on the assault team's video tape, forensics made doubly sure and the swabs proved positive for + powder burns on his fingers, showing he had indeed fired the gun he'd been carrying. The bullets dug out of the wood + on the door were an exact ballistic match.

+ +

"So just to go though it again," Angus Baxter said. Cullen looked pitiful in the white overalls, pitiful and thick. + The inspector was beginning to think his own tone of weary incredulity would be fixed permanently. "This person threw + the gun to you?"

+ +

"Sure. He was blasting all over the place, then he threw it at me. Or he dropped it. I grabbed it, like. I mean, I + was down in the deck and all that hooch was spilling out. What could I do? He'd been shooting all over the shop. I + just turned it and fired at him. Christ knows what happened. He dropped. I plugged the bastard. It was self + defence.

+ +

"So you admit you shot the gun."

+ +

"Sure I did. He shot at me."

+ +

"And this Mr....ah, Lorne. Where did he go."

+ +

"He went over the wall."

+ +

"Over a fifteen foot wall, with barbed wire at the top?"

+ +

Cullen nodded, so engrossed in the memory that he couldn't see how ridiculous it sounded. "Him and his brother. See, + we'd snatched the boy, me and Wiggy. Just to put the frighteners on Lorne. He'd nicked the whisky, and Gus, well, he + wanted it, like."

+ +

"So, you and Foley, you kidnapped, this young man?"

+ +

Cullen nodded enthusiastically. Ferguson had not been so stupid. He hadn't even mentioned Jack Lorne's name. He knew + a kidnap charge and conspiracy would be even worse when piled on top of pulling a gun.

+ +

"So this Mr Lorne came in, rescued his brother from your clutches, gave you the whisky and the gun, scaled a wall, + and disappeared."

+ +

"Got it in one, Mr McLeod. That was after that bastard Watson swiped me with a hammer."

+ +

"Oh, there were three of them now?"

+ +

"Nearly broke my fuckin' leg."

+ +

Jimmy Balloch jammed his knuckles in his mouth to hold back the explosion of laughter.

+ +

Alistair Sproat was beginning to panic. Baxter had stared at him long and hard, forcing him to drop his eyes, and + that made him feel even more vulnerable.

+ +

"What puzzles me is this documentation." The inspector pushed the clear plastic wallet across the table. "It gives a + list of the barrels which we found this morning, all from your company. It's on your Aitkenbar Distillery transfer + sheets."

+ +

"I don't know anything about it."

+ +

"But the serial numbers on those barrels match those on the stock which was stolen."

+ +

"That can't be true. That was all decanted. The barrels were emptied into the tank. They'd be round at the + cooperage."

+ +

"Indeed." Baxter seemed to be enjoying this. "So, can you explain how we were able to retrieve intact barrel, bearing + the correct stencils, and containing the exact amount of your Glen Murroch as is stated in your own documents?"

+ +

"It can't be true," Sproat spluttered.

+ +

"Oh, I can assure you, it's true alright."

+ +

A bead of sweat started to swell at Sproat's thin hairline and quickly gathered enough weight to trickle down his + temple. This was a complete nightmare. He'd been hit with the writ from the Charter 1315 tree huggers and his legal + team had spent a whole day at court trying unsuccessfully to get it lifted. But somehow the protesters had raised + enough money to hire Kerrigan Deane, one of the sharpest legal infighters in the game and the interdict still stuck. + It would now take a fight to prove the big river harbour was distillery property, and until he did, he couldn't + demolish the old buildings and reclaim the prime land. The developers had already been on the phone demanding an + entry date and threatening to pull out of the deal. He was facing total ruin.

+ +

"I can't explain that. I'll have to go through all the stock sheets and transfers."

+ +

"No," Baxter said. "We'll go through all the stock sheets and transfers."

+ +

Back at the distillery, Sproat seemed to have shrunk into himself after his afternoon session with Baxter. Marge + Burns hung up his coat and watched him slump in the chair behind the wide walnut desk. A couple of weeks ago he'd + stood there in the hall, chest out and confident, and told all of his workers they'd be kicked out of their jobs. + Now he looked as if he himself was getting very close to the end of the line.

+ +

She made him a coffee. Two days ago, she'd got into the files and duplicated all the necessary papers, just as Jack + Lorne asked her to.

+ +

"Marge," Sproat said, voice hoarse. She bent over him, almost motherly, and gave his shoulder a sympathetic pat. He + didn't even seem to notice.

+ +

"I have to get in touch with Michael Gabriel. It's urgent. Really urgent."

+ +

"I'll see if I can raise him," she said.

+ +

Jack Lorne had told her he'd do just that.

+ +

They had all stood there in stunned silence, while young Michael bent low and retched the mars bar into the + woodferns.

+ +

Foley's suspended leg twitched and jerked. His eyes were wide and unfocussed, and he was definitely not + breathing.

+ +

"Get him out of there," Jack said.

+ +

"I'm not touching him," Donny said vehemently. He looked as if he might suddenly lose his breakfast. "Is that + normal?"

+ +

"What, the leg thing?"

+ +

"Yes, the leg thing."

+ +

"Sure. It'll stop after a while."

+ +

"How do you know?"

+ +

"I saw it in a movie."

+ +

"No, how do you know he's dead?"

+ +

Jack pushed into the bush, reached a hand to touch Foley's bull neck. The scraped-back wig made him look as if the + entire skin on his head had been torn away, but the blood was just from the hawthorns and the rough oak bark. He + pressed two fingers under the jaw, feeling for a pulse in the strangely warm neck. The body jerked again, and a + little gasp of air blew from the lungs. He felt his own throat tighten.

+ +

"Nothing at all."

+ +

"He might be faking it," Donny insisted.

+ +

"No. He's a stiff," Ed said quietly. Only a few moments before he'd been kicking and punching the man in the tree, + and then he'd been head first and up to his ribs in mud. He looked like he'd crawled through the trenches. "He + hasn't blinked once."

+ +

"For a stiff he's doing a lot of jinking and jiving. Should we get somebody?"

+ +

"Who should we get?" Jack asked. Michael was pulling himself upright again, wiping his mouth with the back of his + hand. Jack gripped his shoulder and made him face the other way.

+ +

"An ambulance?" Jed suggested. "They could use those jump lead things."

+ +

"What for? He's dead. Probably broke his neck. A zillion volts won't do him any good. And we can't call the cops + unless we want to hold out hands up and say it's a fair cop guv. You got me bang to rights. No. + He's a goner and it's nobody's fault but his own. He shouldn't have snatched Mike and he shouldn't have hit you Don. + And he shouldn't have come at us with a knife. The man was a cockroach, a disaster on feet, so I'm wasting no + worries on him. Sooner or later he'd have had another go and somebody would have got really hurt. Worse maybe. + Somebody could have got dead. One of us."

+ +

"So, what are we going to do?" Jed insisted. "Just leave him stuck up in a tree like the Christmas gargoyle?"

+ +

"No. Get one of the tarpaulins and wrap him up. We'll take him with us."

+ +

"Jesus man," Jed said. "What do we want to take it with us for? We get caught with a stiff, and we're in even bigger + trouble."

+ +

Jack managed a cold laugh.

+ +

"Might as well get hung for a shit as a scam."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch24.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch24.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..627910b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch24.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,781 @@ + + + + + + 24 + + + + +
+
+

24

+ +

Dawn, and they were on the move again after the call from Lars Hanssen when he was just rounding the Mull of Kintyre. + Jack was haunted by the possibility of his boat hitting another rock en route and the whole plan + foundering. It was two days after the crazy scene at Gus Ferguson's yard and a lot had happened since then.

+ +

Jack had a new big bruise on the side of his jaw that Linda and Neil's sister Joanne had managed to hide to an extent + with some makeup from the Starlight stage box. His face still ached, and he had to chew on the other side of his + mouth until the loose molar settled back in. It hurt, but he knew he deserved it.

+ +

He'd arrived in Glasgow a bare seventeen minutes after they had lashed the rolled up tarpaulin that contained the + ponderous body of Wiggy Foley on top of an old container in the truck park where it couldn't be seen by anybody + passing by, or dug up by the local dogs. Tam Bowie was waiting for him with the spare helmet and the Dragstar engine + ticking over.

+ +

"You got out okay? How's your Mike?"

+ +

"He's okay, a bit of a sore face but it went like clockwork. In, out, shake it all about." His own hands were still + trembling just a little as he came down in the aftermath.

+ +

"Apart from this," Jed said. He and Donny were hauling the tarpaulin from the side, while Ed fixed the covering back + on the frame. Young Michael sat on the footplate, looking pale and lost.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"You mean who."

+ +

Tam pulled back a step. "What's going on?"

+ +

"That scumbag Foley. He came after us."

+ +

"And what happened?"

+ +

"He's snuffed it."

+ +

"Dead? You killed him? You killed Wiggy Foley?" Tam's face was a picture of incredulity.

+ +

"No," Ed said. He turned from the tanker, shaking his head. He was still covered in drying mud and old leaves. "He + killed himself, that's what he did. He came after us with a knife and fell off the truck. He must have broke his + neck."

+ +

"He was stuck up a tree," Donny said. "Like a big baldy gorilla."

+ +

"What are you going to do with him?"

+ +

"Just stash him for now," Jack said. "He's not joining our gang."

+ +

They had to get moving, then and there. Jack pulled on the windproof one-piece and the helmet. He came across to Mike + and grabbed him round the shoulder in a one armed big brother hug, holding him tight to let his own anger and fear + drain away now that he was safe.

+ +

"Mike, you go with Ed and Donny, okay? Get Sandy to take you to casualty right away to get that face seen to, no + delay at all, got that? He knows what to do. Tell Mam, not a word to a soul, no matter who it is. And for God's + sake, don't tell her about this, okay?"

+ +

Michael nodded silently, still struggling to cope with his first taste of violent death. Jack swung a leg over the + pillion and they were gone through the mesh gates. Tam slowed at the lights down on Castle Street, plugged the comms + lead into the helmet.

+ +

"Speed of light, Tam," Jack said. "Warp factor nine. I'm the only name they'll come after."

+ +

Tam sat back, throttled up and in five minutes he was across the big span of the bridge beyond Barloan Harbour, onto + the motorway and nosing up from ninety. Somewhere beyond Glasgow Airport, a patrol picked them up and started + flashing blue. Tam didn't twitch. He gave it a twist, reached a hundred and ten until he was far enough round the + bend, was up the exit and through the Clyde Tunnel and gone before they knew what was what. Jack took the samsonite + pannier into the bathroom in Starbucks and three minutes later he came out in the Armani suit carrying the + serious-business briefcase. He checked the wallet inside, made sure he had the return train ticket Tam had bought in + the morning.

+ +

Kerrigan Deane shook him by the hand.

+ +

"Sorry I'm late," Jack said, checking his watch. "The traffic gets worse."

+ +

"Tell me about it," Kerrigan Deane said. He led Jack into his plush office. "Just a couple of papers for you to sign. + Everything go well at Dunvegan?"

+ +

"I'll know by tomorrow," Jack told him. He had a couple of people to talk to and he knew it wasn't going to be + easy.

+ +

Kate Delaney smacked her face against the glass and reeled out of the revolving door into the arms of the concierge. + The thud rattled the pane in its metal frame. She had pushed her way inside just at the same instant that Jack was + coming out and when she did a double take she forgot where she was and stopped dead. The door kept right on spinning + and catapulted her into the atrium

+ +

Jack heard the jarring crack and saw the motion just as he stepped out into the street. He turned, peered through + against his own reflection and saw Kate steadying herself against the reception desk.

+ +

For a moment he was caught in a dilemma. He'd stayed out of her way since the day in the lane when she'd hooked him a + fast one. There had been too much to do and he didn't have enough excuses that she wouldn't see right through. Her + eyes were closed and her free hand was rubbing at her cheek and temple where the toughened glass had connected. He + needed to be gone, but he couldn't just leave her like that.

+ +

Then she opened her eyes, saw him, and that ended the debate. He pushed through the revolving door again.

+ +

"I suppose that was revenge," she said. Tears were silvering her eyes, and she blinked them back to prevent them + spilling over.

+ +

"I never even saw you," he protested. "Are you all right?"

+ +

"Sure I'm all right. You just broke my damn jaw." She knew it had been her own fault for stopping. He put an arm + round her, took her weight against himself. She sniffed and turned her head away, not wanting him to see the tear if + it got loose.

+ +

She dabbed at her cheek. "My head's ringing like a bell."

+ +

"You shouldn't have stopped," he said.

+ +

"Tell me something I don't know. I should have kept right on walking, right?"

+ +

He took the hit. "I suppose so."

+ +

She pulled away from him, kept a hand to her cheek. The skin under her fingers was swelling nicely. In a couple of + hours she'd be still pretty but lop-sided..

+ +

"So this is what it's all been about," she said, looking him up and down. "Armani labels from head to toe?"

+ +

There was no answer to that.

+ +

"Suits you, Jack. I just hope the rest of your ex-workmates can afford such nice gear."

+ +

He darted a concerned look at the concierge before she kept talking.

+ +

"You want a coffee?"

+ +

"I've got an appointment," she said, finally forcing the tear back. "But I'm early."

+ +

"Come on," he put a hand behind her back and steered her towards the doors again. The concierge came forward and + opened the side door for them.

+ +

"Just to be on the safe side, Mr Gabriel," he said.

+ +

He winced, kept on moving until he got across to Starbucks again. Tam was long gone.

+ +

"So you got a designer suit and tie," she said. "And a poncy briefcase. Was it worth it?"

+ +

He shrugged. The girl took the order and she waited until they were alone again in the corner.

+ +

"You might as well have got it covered in arrows."

+ +

"They let you wear denims in Barlinnie," he threw back.

+ +

"Maybe they'll let you finish your course. Then you can start your career the week before you retire. So what brings + you up here? Are you following me?"

+ +

"If I had, I'd have been behind you, not coming out the door you were coming in."

+ +

"So who were you seeing? Your criminal buddies?"

+ +

He didn't say. He knew who she'd been going to meet.

+ +

"Just a man. Doing some business."

+ +

"That's what they call it in the movies. There are other ways to describe it."

+ +

He sat back. Her face was swelling on one side. There was no point in arguing with her. She still felt betrayed and + let down, and there was nothing he could do about that. He hadn't meant to expose her to any danger, and he wasn't + going to risk any more. The best he could do would be just to take the punches and wait until it stopped. Maybe duck + a few.

+ +

"How goes your fight?"

+ +

She looked up. "What's it to you?"

+ +

"I'm interested."

+ +

"Oh, you mean the big battle against Sproat and his cohorts. The fight to save the river harbour and all the jobs? + The fight that you pretended to be interested in before, when you were just planning to get into the + robbery business?"

+ +

One, two, three, hard and fast, like Ed's punches and he was on the ropes. He felt like going down and staying there + for a mandatory eight count. He put his head in his hands, rubbed his temples. She paused, running out of steam and + fire.

+ +

"If you must know, we're going to win. It's going to be all over the Gazette tomorrow. Blair Bryden said he'll put it + on the front."

+ +

The girl arrived with the coffees, gave Jack and his fine suit a blatant once-over. He took a sip of cappuccino. Kate + didn't know anything about what had happened today, but he'd bet five to one that the scene in Ferguson's yard would + knock everything else off the front. Gunplay in the home town and a river of stolen whisky, that was the new story. + That was news. A fresh court action would make it somewhere after page six.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"We've won the interdict, thanks to our guardian angel. No thanks to some folk we could mention, including you and + your wild bunch."

+ +

He ignored that. He'd just have to get used to rolling with them.

+ +

"Guardian Angel?"

+ +

"Somebody who believes in the cause. Somebody who is willing to put his money where his mouth is. He's set up a + fighting fund to take it all the way. Kerrigan Deane, that's the lawyer I'm meeting today, he served a writ against + Sproat that stops him demolishing the distillery and dumping into the harbour."

+ +

"So, does that mean it's over?"

+ +

"No. Sproat's people are applying to have the interdict lifted. It's probably going to end up in court. At least now + we can consider putting up a fight."

+ +

"That could take months."

+ +

"It could take years."

+ +

Jack smiled. He knew all this.

+ +

"Mr Deane says we should now write to the developers to let them know about the legal problem, which might make them + pull out of the deal. He's dug up some research that shows Sproat's family might never had clear title to the + harbour, and even some of the land that's been reclaimed from the river."

+ +

Jack nodded, keeping his face straight. His uncle and the boat-club boys had spent many afternoons in the library + archives digging through the old records. They had only been trying to save the harbour for the flotilla of little + wrecks that took up their weekends, but they all had plenty of time on their hands and while none of them had a + university education, they knew the tides and currents and how to avoid the sharp rocks. They had done a real + job.

+ +

"Now the good Mr Sproat wants to speak to us. Amazing isn't it? Last week we were a bunch of agitators and + anarchists. He refused even to acknowledge our letters. Now he's invited us down for talks."

+ +

"Good for you," Jack said, and he meant it. Maybe she had got some leverage, but he knew that when Kate Delaney + started to fight, she wouldn't stop until it was won or lost. She'd give Sproat a real run for his money.

+ +

She looked at her watch.

+ +

"Time for me to go. What are you going to do?"

+ +

"This and that," he said.

+ +

"You're learning to be evasive, Jack Lorne. I really liked the straight version."

+ +

"Things happen," he said, aware of how lame it sounded.

+ +

"Indeed they do. Maybe you shouldn't let them."

+ +

He held the door open as they walked out into the thin rain. The bruise was beginning to colour now, titian, like her + hair.

+ +

He walked her across the street, weaving through the stalled traffic and stood on the pavement while she mounted the + steps. She turned, paused, came back down.

+ +

"Two things I'd like to know," she said.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"Why did the doorman call you Mr Gabriel?"

+ +

He felt colour flush into his face.

+ +

"Must have the wrong man," he said quickly. "Mistaken identity."

+ +

She stared up, held his eyes, measuring that response and finding it wanting. She was sharp.

+ +

"And what on earth have you done to your hair?"

+ +

Marjory Burns caught him on the mobile just as he came out of the railway station, only three hundred yards from + where the scene-of-crime boys had taped off Ferguson's yard. A thin smell of whisky still hung about in the soft, + damp air.

+ +

Jack backed in under the railway bridge out of the misty rain. The scramble over the wall and the crazy careering + along the old Quarry Road out of town, that seemed long ago and far away.

+ +

"Mr Gabriel?" He knew she was being overheard. "I have Mr Sproat for you."

+ +

He pulled out and round the corner, away from the traffic. There was a little nook of a shelter where the porters + used to keep their trolleys in the old days, and he squeezed in there for privacy.

+ +

"Hello?"

+ +

"Michael? Caught you at last, old boy. Alistair here." Sproat was trying to sound expansive, casual, but Jack knew + he'd be having a severe case of the squitters after the police found what he'd left behind in the lorry glove + box.

+ +

"Hi there, how is business?" He remembered the Irish accent just on time.

+ +

"Frankly Michael, it's just bloody awful. Some of that Glen Murroch turned up today. Seems a bunch of local idiots + stole it, but they're trying to implicate me in the whole mess. Me? Can you imagine that?

+ +

Jack almost chuckled, listening to Sproat's outrage. He'd been involved in scamming the customs, probably all his + life, if the flash car and the yacht down on the marina were anything to go by. Maybe Sproat didn't interpret that + as theft.

+ +

"They found some lading documents. Obvious forgeries, of course, but they've started a whole inventory of the stock. + I just had to touch base with you to warn you."

+ +

"Warn me of what?"

+ +

"The police and customs will want to go over the Dunvegan delivery, just to check the amounts against the files."

+ +

"That's no problem. They can come and have a look if they like."

+ +

"Good man. And I've got these Charter protesters all over me. You know they hired a lawyer and slapped an interdict + on me? Me! I'm going to talk to them this afternoon, see if I can palm them off. If I don't get reclaiming + the land, then the development deal will be down the river and I'll be up the sewage creek sans paddle." +

+ +

Jack could heard the rising panic in Sproat's voice. His family had cruised it for generations, and according to his + uncle, they'd been running unmatured whisky across the Atlantic way back in the twenties during the prohibition + days. This was probably the first time in his life that Sproat had been really worried.

+ +

"Two things, Michael. Your associate, Mr D'Angeli, he said something about sorting these people out. If I can stall + them for a while, maybe he can do something for me? I really need some help on this one."

+ +

Jack paused, bit his lip, wondering if the time was right.

+ +

"Well, there's a bit of a problem there. It's Mr D'Angeli. He's not with us any more."

+ +

"Not with you? What, did he get fired? He quit?"

+ +

"No. I mean he's not with us any more. He's...ah....he's gone."

+ +

"You mean he's..."

+ +

"Yes," Jack broke in. "There was a bit of a run in with his....um, associates. They sort of voted him out. + Permanently. But don't worry, I'll make sure they don't know about you."

+ +

"Know about me?" Sproat's voice went up a whole octave. "What is there to know?"

+ +

"They know Mr D'Angeli was making a major purchase. If they thought there was anything untoward about the deal, maybe + they'd think they could put some pressure on you. I know them. It wouldn't be nice."

+ +

He had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

+ +

"Pressure, what pressure?" He was all questions now.

+ +

"Don't worry about it. It's all there and documented. We got the two hundred barrels, average thirty gallons. Six + thousand in total. And you've had the five K up front."

+ +

"What are you talking about? It was two hundred at fifty five gallons per cask. That's eleven thousand + gallons."

+ +

Jack paused again.

+ +

"No Alistair, that can't be right. I've got the paperwork which tells me and everybody else that I bought six + thousand. All the barrels were carrying light. Must have been evaporation or something. What do you call it, the + Angels Share?"

+ +

There was a silence at the other end of the line. Jack could almost hear the workings in Sproat's brain. The cogs + reached the end of their travel and a cold realisation began to dawn.

+ +

"You can't do this to me." Sproat's voice had a cold shiver in it, as if he'd been sitting on ice all morning and big + cracks were starting to spread out from under.

+ +

"Do what, Alistair? You signed the paper."

+ +

"I'll have the law on you, you slimy shit, you and your greasy Italian hoods."

+ +

"Sure, Alistair. You go tell them you were selling short. Tell you another thing, you only saw half the + paperwork. I've got the other half. It shows the amount that went through the spirit safe when those barrels were + first filled and marked. Mr D'Angeli, he had a lot of contacts, God bless his dear departed soul. Don't go checking + the computer records, because they've all been put back to the original versions, and I've got a sworn affidavit + that details exactly what you were up to. You raise any waves and you have to tell the customs why you've been + ripping them off."

+ +

"You.....you...." Sproat sounded as if he was strangling. "You fucking bastard."

+ +

"Very possibly," Jack said, agreeably. "You could come and take the barrels back as they are now, if you like. Oh, + no, sorry Alistair. There's a problem about that too. With the unfortunate Mr D'Angeli's disappearance, his + partnership's been wound up. Having sold on the latest delivery from yourselves, there don't seem to be any assets. + So you really can't come to collect, can you? Your former employees bought them in good faith, and paid good money + too. All receipted. That seems to have gone with Mr D'Angeli, wherever he is. I'm afraid this really hasn't been + your day."

+ +

He paused for a moment, savouring this. "In fact, I'd go as far as to say, you've had your day."

+ +

Sproat made spluttering sounds. Jack allowed himself a hard smile. He remembered Andy Kerr's face when he told the + men they were laid off, and he remembered how Sproat had brazenly told his own people they'd be out of work. No + matter what happened from now, he could take some satisfaction on hearing Sproat losing it.

+ +

"And as for those protesters who are soon to haul your well tanned arse into court, well, you're big enough to take + them on yourself. They'll skin you. Mr D'Angeli has checked out beyond reach, and now, as far as you're concerned, + so have I. And I have to say, it's been a real pleasure doing business. Pip-pip, old boy."

+ +

He hit the clear button on his cloned phone, dropped it to the hard tiles of the old railway room and stamped down + with his heel. He put all his weight into it. The mobile crunched and scattered, the last contact with Sproat + severed.

+ +

He went home first to get changed and get half an hour's sleep before he went round to Andy Kerr's house. Andy lived + on the far side of Drymains and Jack had been there many a time before, in pleasanter days. Sylvia Kerr was taking + the boys to the scouts.

+ +

"He's in the garden," she said, hustling the kids into the car. "Just go right round."

+ +

Sylvia flashed him a smile that she tried to make bright, but he could see the strain on her face from the events of + the past few weeks. He took a big breath and pushed the gate.

+ +

"If you've come for your job, I'd love to help, Jake." He poured them both a cold beer. "But it looks like + everybody's going to go."

+ +

"What's the score on the lease?"

+ +

"Sproat's squeezing my balls so tight my eyes are watering. I'm really sorry I had to lay you off, but I did my best. + Billy skimming from the bottom and then Scotmilk forcing me to cut to the bone on the Co-op contract, they were both + backbreakers."

+ +

Andy looked as if he hadn't smiled in months. His mouth was turned down at the edges, and last year's laughter-lines + had turned into deep, depressed furrows.

+ +

"And that Angus Baxter, he's run me through the grinder and back again. I hear they picked somebody up for the whisky + this morning. There was a bit of a shoot-out in the east end, so it said on the radio. I hope the bastards squeal + like pigs."

+ +

Jack bit his lip. This was not going to be easy.

+ +

"I've got some news for you. Maybe it'll cheer you up."

+ +

"It would have to be really good," Andy said. Jack hadn't touched the beer. Andy told him to drink it while it was + going.

+ +

"I heard Sproat's in big trouble."

+ +

"Couldn't happen to a nicer wanker. But who isn't in trouble?" He pointed at his fine sandstone house. "I'm going to + have to put this place on the market. Want to buy it?"

+ +

Jack laughed drily. "With what you paid me? That's a good one."

+ +

"So what about Sproat, may that creep rot and burn."

+ +

"He won't get the mall deal. He's had a writ slapped on him that stops him demolishing and dumping into the harbour. + It'll be tied up in court for years. He can't reclaim the land, so the mall doesn't get built. And that puts him in + a whole lot of trouble."

+ +

"Too late for me."

+ +

"Well," Jack said. "Not necessarily so." He prepared himself.

+ +

"There's a couple of other things I can't tell you about, but he's in a real heap of trouble."

+ +

"Nice to have company," Andy said. "I'm in so deep I'm on tip-toe."

+ +

"What I mean is, he's getting very strapped for cash."

+ +

"How do you know?"

+ +

"Trust me. I've been working on it. Anyway, I've got some friends who are looking for business. They want to know if + you're up for a deal."

+ +

"What kind of a deal?" Andy bent forward over the garden table.

+ +

"Remember I told you about that cheese business that went flat up on Skye?"

+ +

"Sure. I told you it was too far away."

+ +

"Well, they've got five hundred head of jerseys that they're sending to slaughter unless they find a market for the + milk and cream. Scotmilk won't touch it because of the distance."

+ +

"That's the problem."

+ +

"I've worked out something that might just come together. If they were to get the milk to you, could you process it + for them?"

+ +

"What do they want, cream? Pasteurised, UHT? I don't have the transport, remember."

+ +

"They've got wheels. You can work the percentage between you."

+ +

Andy pushed back and sized him up.

+ +

"What's the score Jack? You've only been out of work a couple of weeks."

+ +

Jack met his look. He remembered his uncle playing with Sproat.

+ +

"I'm going to make you an offer you won't understand. How do you fancy getting into the drink business?"

+ +

"I am in the drink business. For about a month, anyway."

+ +

"No, I mean real drink."

+ +

It was time to put the cards on the table. "Listen to this, I've done a deal with some friends of mine up there. In + fact, what we've done is, well, we've gone and bought a distillery."

+ +

"You bought a distillery? You? Come on Jake, don't yank it. Where would you get the cash?"

+ +

"I didn't need cash, just a promise. That's how it works, only I never knew it before. Anyway, it's only a wee place, + falling apart, but it makes malt and it's got plenty of storage. But best of all is, along with this distillery + comes a licence to make spirits. That's a licence to print your own banknotes if you use it right. And it's + mine."

+ +

Andy's face was a picture of incredulity. Jack pushed on regardless.

+ +

"Anyway, here's where you come in. You've got the plant and the bottling line. I've got somebody working on a grant + that would cover the transport costs back and forth, and some development dough for tooling up."

+ +

"But I won't have the premises. Sproat's rent is through the roof."

+ +

"Don't you worry about Sproat. Anyway, you sign up and no matter what happens, you can work a deal or relocate, but I + don't think you'll have to move."

+ +

Andy shook his head, and Jack could see the faint ray of new hope tussle with old despair.

+ +

"If I was to change production, I'd need a cash-flow and I'm strapped Jake. The bank's pushed me so far out, they + only touch me with a billhook. The pointy end."

+ +

"You won't need the bank. I'll fix you up with some rolling credit. They've got the transport. They deliver and you + get paid per processed load. It's guaranteed. Look, there's a herd of Jerseys up on that farm with tits like full + bagpipes making them buckle at the knees. We're talking fifty percent cream. Champion grass munchers. And the + farmer, he's desperate for the business too or his herd goes down for dog-meat. You're teetering on the edge. The + distillery needs a supply. It's like a triangle. Each side supports the other."

+ +

"Jeez, Jake, this is all a bit sudden. How did you get into all this?"

+ +

Andy picked up the beer and downed it in a single long swallow. He put the glass down and then groaned. He put both + hands up against his forehead and rocked back and forth. For a moment Jack though he had burst into tears.

+ +

"What's the matter?"

+ +

"Ice cream headache. I drank it too fast."

+ +

Jack exploded with laughter in a sudden release of tension.

+ +

"You scared me there. I though you were having a stroke."

+ +

Andy shook his head as if to clear it.

+ +

"I've thought that myself this past couple of weeks. Listen Jake, I have to tell you, Angus Baxter thinks I'm + involved in some scam over these tankers. I'm not out of the woods yet."

+ +

"Don't worry about that. Everything's going to be okay. You were going to give them up, weren't you? They just + repossessed them a day early. They'll turn up, I'm certain about that."

+ +

Andy Kerr froze on the point of leaning forward.

+ +

"How did you know that?"

+ +

"Know what?"

+ +

"They were repossessed. Nobody knew that. Just what is going on?"

+ +

"Nothing you need to know about Andy. Everything's going to be okay. If we've stopped Sproat in his tracks, he can't + sell, and the only reason he hiked your rent was to get you out. If he can't sell, he's stuck for cash and he can't + afford to lose you as a tenant. He's in the bag."

+ +

"You've got it all figured out Jake," Andy said, but his tone was all full of gravel.

+ +

"I hoped if I could bring you a deal, you could keep the boys on."

+ +

Andy stared unblinking. "Jake, what happened to my tankers?"

+ +

Jack met him eye to eye again.

+ +

"You don't want to know."

+ +

"Jake. I'm asking you again. What the fuck happened to my tankers."

+ +

"Well, if it's between you and me. I really have to trust you on this." Jack made it a question.

+ +

"Between us then. You and me. Just tell me."

+ +

"We had to borrow them, Andy."

+ +

He never saw the punch. One minute he was eye to eye with Andy Kerr and the next he was right out of the garden chair + and flat on his back. The crash of his landing socked all the air out of his lungs and little golden stars spangled + in peripheral vision.

+ +

Andy was across the table, knocking it on its edge. The beer glass spun away and smashed against a small grinning + gnome. He grabbed Jack's collar with one hand and swung another roundhouse. Jack just had time to block it and + almost dislocated a thumb.

+ +

"You nearly put me in the fucking jail. Jesus! I've been hauled in there and that big Baxter's put me right through + the wringer and everybody's been pointing the finger." He swung again, clipped Jack on the chin and Jack didn't have + the heart or the urge to fight back. He knew he had this coming.

+ +

"I've had the house on the market and Sylvia going half demented and people round to put a price on the plant." + Andy's voice was rising. "All because you and a bunch of loonies think they're Ronnie fucking Biggs!"

+ +

He swung again and Jack caught his hand, held it in a tight grip, taking the force out of the blow and preventing + Andy from drawing back. They lay on the glass, straining, faces almost touching, both of them breathing hard. + Finally Jack felt the strength go out of him. He eased himself out and rolled away. Andy got up, his anger part + spent in the action.

+ +

"Fuck." A long exhale.

+ +

"Okay. You're right. I deserved that. But it's done and it's almost over, and I know you won't believe this, but we + had to do it, so we could get the rest of the stuff in place. You were always going to be part of the deal, but you + couldn't know about it. You're no crook. You'd never have gone for it. But if that's out of your system, and you + won't start hooking and jabbing again, we can talk. You were screwed anyway, you told me that yourself. This is a + chance to get unscrewed. You don't need tankers any more, so when they turn up, they'll be repossessed again, and if + they don't, the insurance will cough. All you have to do is take delivery from Skye and convert the supply."

+ +

"Into what?"

+ +

"Condensed milk."

+ +

"The Carnation stuff? There's no market for that."

+ +

"Sure there is. I can guarantee it. So do you want the business?"

+ +

"What's the catch?"

+ +

"No catch. You and me become partners. We save the dairy, and we make a few bucks. No, we make a lot of bucks."

+ +

Jack held out his hand. Andy looked at it for so long that Jack almost drew it back again.

+ +

Finally he reached out and took it.

+ +

"You've turned out a right devious bastard, Jack Lorne."

+ +

It was after seven by the time he got home and he felt as if he'd been on his feet for a fortnight. He went straight + into the shower to rinse off the grime of a long day, changed and came downstairs. His mother came in from the + garden and as soon as she saw him she threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight he felt his ribs creak.

+ +

"Mike okay?"

+ +

"He's fine." She put a finger to his cheek. "He's better off than you. What happened to your face? No, don't tell me. + Today's going to be a total blank from now on."

+ +

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Andy Kerr was no slouch. The bruise was already turning purple and + swelling outwards..

+ +

"There's somebody here to see you," Alice said.

+ +

"Who's that?" For a moment his belly clenched tight. He didn't need any more surprises.

+ +

"She's out in the garden. Wants to talk to you."

+ +

"If you're going to start punching at me again, I've already had my quota for the day."

+ +

Kate Delaney looked up at him, saw the bruise that matched the swelling on her own cheek, and despite the ache, she + couldn't keep the smile off her face.

+ +

Kerrigan Deane had been all business, but by the time she got to talk to him, Kate's thoughts were all over the + place.

+ +

She'd gone through the revolving door again, with the last question still unanswered. The concierge pressed for the + lift and she rummaged in her bag for the papers the lawyer had sent to her. She was still doing that when she walked + through the open doorway, attention elsewhere, and stumbled straight into Deane's secretary who was coming in the + opposite direction, equally preoccupied.

+ +

Papers fountained and scattered all over the expensive carpet, while Kate and the other girl held on to each other to + save from falling, both of them apologising. They bent simultaneously to pick up the strewn papers, scooping at + random.

+ +

She was on her knees, a sheaf of documents in one hand, picking up another, when Jack Lorne's name seemed to jumpe + out of a mass of type into sharp focus.

+ +
...just to confirm the legal opinion is that there is a prima facie case + for common ownership of the harbour at Aitkenbar Distillery. From the research studies you supplied, our own + investigations have been unable to discover any clear private title to the harbour basin. Such title is not included + in the Sproat family holdings or within the aegis of Aitkenbar Distillery. +
+
Consequently we are preparing a writ for interdict which will be served under the auspices of the + Charter 1315 organisation. We are confident this action will succeed and that attempts to have it lifted will be + denied. It is likely that the other party will seek an action of declarator, to get a + formal ruling on ownership, which, whether it succeeds or not +
+
— and it is our considered opinion is that it will not - will lead to an extensive delay. Ms + Delaney will, of course, be kept apprised of developments. +
+
As you requested, details of costs will be forwarded to you as they arise. We thank you for the + initial retaining fee. +
+

Kerrigan Deane's flourish of a signature was jet black below the typeface. Above it Jack's name stood out in bold. + The address below it said: c/o Bruce, Thornbank Cottage.

+ +

Kate knelt on the carpet while the other girl scrambled for the remainder of the papers. It was only when the type + began to waver in her vision that she remembered to breathe again.

+ +

Damn you Jack Lorne. How the hell did you manage this?

+ +

She got up and came towards him.

+ +

"No. I'm not going to start punching, idiot. Though I really should, for the catalogue of bloody lies you've told + me."

+ +

"I only told you one." He looked at her warily. Her last hook had caught him on the same cheek that Andy Kerr had + cracked. A third punch would be too many. But she reached out and took both of his hands in hers.

+ +

"You put Kerrigan Deane up to it." A statement, not a question.

+ +

"He told you that?" A sear of indignation flared.

+ +

"No, he's a total professional," she said, squeezing his fingers. "I asked him, but he wouldn't say a thing. I had an + accident and knocked some papers out of his secretary's hand. Your name was on some of them. It wasn't her fault or + his."

+ +

He returned her gaze, saying nothing.

+ +

"Well?"

+ +

"You really should watch where you're going," he finally said."

+ +

"And so should you by the looks of it." She pulled him towards the bench where his mother liked to sit and read on + hot days. He caught Alice out of the corner of his eye, just passing the kitchen window. She flashed him a mother's + smile. He let himself sit.

+ +

"You paid Mr Deane to start the action, and you set me up for it."

+ +

"I'm saying nothing until I see my lawyer."

+ +

She laughed. "You really are an idiot, Jack Lorne. Why didn't you tell me?"

+ +

"You didn't need to know. You shouldn't know now. It could get dangerous."

+ +

"How did you do it?"

+ +

"Leverage."

+ +

"I don't understand." The sun was forcing its way through the thin clouds, low rays glinting copper on her hair.

+ +

"Aristotle's the man. He said if he had a long enough lever and a place to wedge it, he could move the world. It + turns out that leverage is what the Sproats and their likes have had all this time. It's time we had a turn. And a + crowbar helps."

+ +

"You're talking in riddles."

+ +

"I told you before. People like Sproat, they just push too far. Everybody gets used to it and they take, take, take. + They get so used to taking that they don't know what the real world's all about. They think it's their god-given + right, but it's not. Sproat never had it tough and he never had to work and all he's ever learned to do is use money + his daddy earned and fiddle the system."

+ +

"Is this a lecture?"

+ +

"It's a lesson it took me long enough to suss. Everybody was talking about what was happening to them, what was being + done to them. but words mean nothing. Action is the only thing. Doing. That's the only thing."

+ +

He paused, trying to rein himself in, but he was still hyped from everything that had happened and couldn't put a + brake on it.

+ +

"Sproat doesn't realise that it goes both ways, and now he's finding out what it's like to be under the gun. You get + enough people angry and one of these days they'll all gang up on you and you won't have anybody to back you up. That + is where Sproat is. His arse will be nipping, believe me."

+ +

"Nice picture," she couldn't keep the smile away. "And so eloquently put."

+ +

"And the higher up they are, the bigger the splat they make when they hit. Sproat's swaying on his feet when he + should be down and taking a long count. He's going to hit like a comet. A blaze of glory."

+ +

"The last one that hit wiped out the dinosaurs."

+ +

"That's a mighty metaphor, Kate. Those dinosaurs had their chance. With them gone, it gave all the little creatures a + start."

+ +

"You are one damn smartarse, Jack Lorne. You've always got the smart answer. Always have to have the last word, don't + you?"

+ +

"Does that mean I'm forgiven for the Armani?"

+ +

"Jack. You're a bastard, pure and simple. But I think I love the hell out of you."

+ +

"You what?" He wasn't sure he'd heard that.

+ +

"You heard what I said." She pulled on his hands again, eased him forward. "Thank those crazy boys for me, will + you?"

+ +

"No. They don't know I've been spending money on a good cause, not yet. I haven't got round to telling them the whole + plan."

+ +

"So what happens next?"

+ +

"I could tell you," he said, gripping her hands. "But then....then I'd have to kiss you."

+ +

"What did you say?"

+ +

"You heard what I said." He pulled and she bent into it. Both of them winced when their bruised cheeks collided, but + the pain faded out in the middle of it.

+ +

"Two things," she said when they broke away.

+ +

"No surprise there."

+ +

"I think you look terrific in Armani."

+ +

"And the other?"

+ +

"If your hair goes like that in twenty years, I won't really mind."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch25.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch25.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9631a68 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch25.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,900 @@ + + + + + + 25 + + + + +
+
+

25

+ +

They were on the move with the rising sun at their backs as the mist still hung in a thick veil over the curves of + the river.

+ +

Neil was at the controls of the crane in the wee cold hours, when the night watchman on the site was asleep and + snoring loud enough to make the hut shake. It was too early for any movement except the flutter of small birds in + the bushes beside the fence. The town was almost silent.

+ +

The crane, that hadn't been difficult to get a hold of, not when Shug Cannon was the chargehand in the direct works + site yard. Neil had told him he'd only need it for a couple of hours and would put it back long before the shift + started. Shug was okay about it for a couple of bottles. It was a town council mobile job and security was would be + so haphazard that nobody would ask any questions unless Neil hit an overhead cable or a passing bus, but he promised + not to do that.

+ +

Big Lars called at half past midnight when he and the Valkyrie and his four-strong crew were down off the south tip + of Kintyre and heading round to the little port at Tarbert on the Atlantic coast of Argyll, the jump-off for the + western isles. Jack took it on the spare mobile in the back seat of Jed's runaround.

+ +

"We have to change the plan Yack."

+ +

"We can't change the plan. We're getting ready to move right now."

+ +

"It's the harbour at Tarbert." Lars bawled against static on the ship-to-shore. "There's a big boat stuck on a shoal. + They have to wait for the high tide to tug her off. You can't get in there with the load and I can't get in with the + Valkyrie."

+ +

"So what do we do? Put it on a boat and row out from shore?"

+ +

"It's okay. I spoke already to the harbourmaster at Oban. It's only two more hours and they have a boom rig to lift + heavy cargo. All fixed up, it is now. And the Valkyrie, the screw is okay. She is running sweet."

+ +

"Problem?" Ed asked. His face was rough with the scrapes and scratches of his flight through the bushes after he had + climbed out to battle Foley. Otherwise he was cool as ever.

+ +

"Was there ever a day without one? Eric the Red says we can't load at Tarbert. It has to be Oban. But at least his + screw is working."

+ +

Neil leant back over the seat. "Der scroo is voorking in de vooter." It got a laugh.

+ +

"How many miles to Oban?"

+ +

"Just over a hundred. It's nearer here than Tarbert, but he'll need another two hours, which is two hours more + exposure. We have to move now before the town wakes up."

+ +

The keys were in the crane truck. It belched black fumes until the engine heated up and Neil used the side roads to + get it beyond the building site and down the little track road on the other side of the fence, hidden from view from + most of the building site. Ed had the snippers and unzipped the chain-link in a matter of seconds. He and Tam + squeezed through the gap and made their way to the stack of big tanks.

+ +

"What's the weight of these things?" Neil was getting used to the controls. He was a good singer and good with his + hands. Jack thought he under-rated himself because of his weight.

+ +

"A zillion tons," Jack said. "Each of them's full to the top."

+ +

"This should take it."

+ +

"It better. You spill one and we're done for."

+ +

"We spill one and Donny will get down in the mud on his hands and knees and start licking."

+ +

They used the cradle hawsers to snag the first tank, Ed and Tam working fast and quiet. Tam stood on the stack and + waved the all-clear and Neil eased back on the sticks, taking the weight. The whole crane shuddered and the line + sang with tension and then, very slowly, the ponderous weight sucked up from the rain-wet earth and swayed in the + air.

+ +

"Told you it would take it." Neil pulled back on the little control with one hand and flipped down his sunglasses + against the sharp rays of the rising sun.

+ +

"Thank God for that." Jack allowed himself to exhale. Neil touched the lift again and the crane creaked and squealed + in a protest of metal and the big yellow tank raised slowly upwards until it was just over the height of the + fence.

+ +

"This is the tricky bit," Neil said. Jack said nothing while he worked. The crane arm swung slowly to the left and + the tank began to pendulum even more slowly, following the motion.

+ +

"Perfect," Neil said, but Jack's breath was backed up again as the first load approached the concrete fencepost.

+ +

Without any warning everything tilted downwards in a blur of movement and Jack was thrown forward so hard his bruised + cheek thudded against the window. The crane groaned as it lurched down and to the left.

+ +

Beyond the fence, somebody shouted in alarm and the yellow weight careened to the end of the pendulum swing, hit + against the post and then dropped to the ground again. Everything stopped.

+ +

Jack picked himself up, shook his head.

+ +

"What the hell happened?"

+ +

"Maybe it couldn't take the weight after all."

+ +

The whole cab was canted forward and the cables on the gantry arm had gone slack. Beyond the hedge and the fence, Ed + was bawling at them to lift the tank. A sharp whiff of whisky soured the morning air.

+ +

"Shit, we've sprung a leak," Neil said.

+ +

Ed came pushing through the hole on the fence.

+ +

"You have to lift it up again. Tam was under the tank when it came down."

+ +

"Is he hurt?"

+ +

"I don't know. He's yelling like a banshee."

+ +

Jack hauled himself out of the cab and ran for the hedge. It was only five in the morning and everything was going + wrong. He just had time to notice the crane's front wheels were buried up to their axles in the soft earth at the + side of the track and the whole machine was leaning at a drunken angle. He shoved through the gap in the fence.

+ +

"Get this off me," Tam was yelling. At least he was alive.

+ +

"Shhh...you'll wake the whole town." The early sparrows scattered in alarm.

+ +

"Screw them. Are you trying to kill me?"

+ +

Tam was face down in the mud, arms splayed out to the side. The back of his thighs and his calves were jammed + underneath the big tank and a tiny jet of good whisky was hissing from a puncture close to the top where the tank + had slammed into the upright. It splashed on Tam's back and soaked into his shirt.

+ +

"Are you hurt?"

+ +

"How should I know. I can't feel my bloody legs."

+ +

Neil came barrelling through, snagged his sweat shirt on either side of the gap.

+ +

"I can fix it," he said. "There's a set of bracing legs on the front, but I need something to wedge them on. Hi Tam, + are you okay?"

+ +

"No thanks to you. I thought you could operate that crane?" Tam made the statement a question. His fingers were + scrabbling at the rough earth, trying fruitlessly to pull himself free.

+ +

"I need some planks and I'll get you out."

+ +

"If my back's broken I'll kick your arse," Tam threatened. Jack managed a laugh despite the panic, sounding almost + hysterical. It was clear Tam was just stuck and not hurt. It took them another fifteen minutes to get some + scaffolding planks from the site and form a thick platform to brace the jacks against the mud. Neil was up in the + cabin again and the runners protested at the cable went taught again. Jack watched from ground level, just able to + see Neil beyond the hedge.

+ +

The big tank sucked upwards an inch at a time and when it was just clear of the muck, they dragged Tam free.

+ +

"Look at the state of these," he said, clawing the thick clay off his trousers. "I got these in the Gap sale and + they're totally ruined."

+ +

This time Neil got it right and the container cleared the fence by at least a foot, drizzling whisky all the time. + The hole in the tank was very close to the top, and they'd have to live with the small loss. If Jack could find the + duct tape he'd make an emergency repair to minimise the damage, but they were getting near to the end now.

+ +

It was almost six thirty when they got the last container onto the back of the flatloader and lashed into place. Ed + had found a hose hear the cement mixer and used it to jet the mud from Tam, pressing his thumb over the flow to set + it at stun. Clay flew everywhere but after a few minutes, most of it was elsewhere. Tam stood glowering and + dripping.

+ +

By seven they were gone and it was only when the flatloader cranked up to move out in a rumble of gears that old + Charlie Oliver woke up in his watchman's hut and stumbled out into the morning. It took him another half hour to + notice that the big tanks had disappeared and when he went to investigate the vacant space, he discovered the + miraculous puddle of pure scotch whisky.

+ +

He used an old enamel mug to scoop some for a cautious taste and by eight in the morning he was as drunk as a lord. + That's how the site foreman found him when the shift started and he called the police right away.

+ +

By that time the boys were on the road again.

+ +

"I never knew you had a gun until you started firing," Neil said. He'd taken the crane back to the old depot on the + broad meadow near the river and now they were all at the lorry park close to Gus Ferguson's yard, with the tall + tanks lashed and wedged in-line on the back of the flatloader. "It sounded just like a pop-gun from up there."

+ +

"It was like a cannon down there," Donny said. "He never told me what was happening. I nearly shit myself."

+ +

"I had the binoculars right on them. You should have seen the look on Cullen's face. He was like a goldfish when you + pointed the shooter at him. I kept thinking of that guy in Dirty Harry."

+ +

"What guy," Donny asked.

+ +

"You know the one." Neil's voice went husky and western. He held up his hands together, finger on an imaginary + trigger.

+ +

"I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? Well, to tell you the truth, in all this + excitement, I've kinda lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, + and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'Do I feel lucky?' Well, do ya + punk?"

+ +

Jack laughed, and not just at Neil's word perfect soliloquy. He was picturing his uncle in mask and balaclava in + Whitehead's scrap yard, with the fake gun up at Foley's ear. "Go on, make my day." He'd been doing Clint + Eastwood too.

+ +

Neil snorted with laughter. "And then the cops came in. Oh, you should have seen that. Cullen was down there in the + puddle with the gun in both hands, and six of those swat guys on him. It was like Lethal Weapon all over again."

+ +

"What do we do about him?" Donny asked.

+ +

"He was caught shooting at the cops. We don't need to bother about him."

+ +

"No, I mean him." He jerked his thumb towards the top of the tanker. Nobody had mentioned Foley for a while. +

+ +

"Better get him down here. We have to use everything we got. By now Baxter will have my name and I don't want to be + around when he comes sniffing. Old Sandy, he'll keep the family tight, but very soon Tam's site boss is going to + notice a big space where these tanks used to be, and with the amount of hooch we managed to lose, somebody's bound + to make a connection. So it's diversion time."

+ +

After he'd told them he had a market for the stolen whisky, four of them had gone out in Jed's wreck and Tam's bike, + scouting possible routes north. In this part of the west, roads are narrow and twisting and some of them won't take + a heavy load. It was imperative to Jack to have alternative ways to go, just in case of trouble. As he told them + many a time, straight from the manual of good business practise: There is absolutely no substitute for a genuine + lack of preparation.

+ +

Tam came rolling up on the bike. He'd gone home and changed into his leathers. The spare helmet dangled on the + pillion hook and he swapped it with Jed's white racing lid. He slipped on the pale jacket with the big reflectors + while Jed carefully stuck the chequered tape round the helmet.

+ +

"All set?"

+ +

"Ready to rock and roll," Neil said. "Give us a hand with old Wiggy, would you?"

+ +

"I just had a shower."

+ +

Jack rapped his helmet with hard knuckles. "Don't get squeamish on us."

+ +

They got the heavy roll down from the frame Neil had fixed to disguise the tanker's shape, manhandled it to the + ground, and then stood it up as best they could against the lorry.

+ +

"Jed, you and Neil take him with you. But you better unwrap him first."

+ +

"Aw, come on," Neil protested. "I'm not travelling with that stinking up the place."

+ +

"It's okay," Jack said. "Me and Jed, we were out yesterday checking out some places. You just go along with him and + we'll be cool. Both of you, keep listening to the police band and make sure you watch my back. Make sure you run + interference all the way."

+ +

Foley's grey face lolled from the top where the canvas unpeeled and his wig was askew. Dried blood stuck to the scalp + where the hairpiece had been scraped off by the rough oak bark.

+ +

"God, he smells as bad as ever," Neil said dismally. "It's like Weekend at Bernie's."

+ +

Despite his misgivings, he hauled the stiffly sagging corpse up to the passenger seat, with a look of serious disgust + twisting his mouth downwards.

+ +

"Who's got the spare phone?"

+ +

"What happened to yours?" Neil reached for the bag.

+ +

"I stood on it. It's as dead as he is."

+ +

Jack took the mobile and put it in his inside pocket.

+ +

"Okay, this is it. We blow it now and we're blown away, so try hard not to blow it."

+ +

Jed took the other helmet, hauled Neil's arm and pushed him ahead into the cabin, up against their unwelcome + passenger. Ed climbed up into the second tanker and made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, no need for words. + He started the engine and gunned the throttle.

+ +

Jack waved to them, got in the cabin of the flatloader and closed the door. He clapped Donny on the shoulder, checked + the phone, made sure Neil had programmed the one-touch.

+ +

"Calling Elvis?"

+ +

"Uh-huh-huh."

+ +

"Wagons ho!"

+ +

"Thang you ver' much, ladies n' gennelmen."

+ +

The big diesel snorted and the whole frame shuddered. He eased the long stick forward and the transporter picked up + speed as it headed for the gate. They all went in convoy and Tam paused outside, closed the gate behind them and + then got back on the bike, following the trail of new blue exhaust fumes.

+ +

Jack took the north route that would take the load up past Loch Lomond, easing the rig round the bends on the Quarry + Road where Foley had taken his fatal last powered flight.

+ +

The phone rang.

+ +

"Retro?" Neil's voice.

+ +

"Speak to me."

+ +

"It's 106 miles to Oban," his Philadelphia accent was spot-on this time. "We got a full tank of gas, half a pack of + cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses."

+ +

"You keep your mind on the job and tell him to keep his eye on the road."

+ +

"Sure. But which movie was it." Jack could hear Jed laughing in the cab.

+ +

"Elroy Blues. Blues Brothers."

+ +

"Got it in one....."

+ +

A tremendous crash blasted through the receiver and Jack jerked the phone away from his ear. He tapped his foot on + the brake. Neil bawled a curse that even through the phone could be heard yards away.

+ +

"What's happened?" Donny turned round.

+ +

"Sounds like they've wrecked the truck."

+ +

Angus Baxter hunkered down to examine the marks on the scaffolding planks on the other side of the fence, puffing + furiously at his pipe. He'd been on his way to ask a few questions when the call came in and he'd diverted fast when + he heard the mention of whisky. The solid clay had kept the puddle from draining away.

+ +

"Is the watchman sober yet?"

+ +

"Not until next Tuesday," Jimmy Balloch said. "He's had a tankful."

+ +

"These marks here. Something heavy was pressed down on them. They've made square indentations in the surface."

+ +

Colin Dundas bent to join him. "Those are struts. You can see where the wheels went down in the mud, but the planks + took the weight here."

+ +

"And there's a yellow mark on the concrete post," Baxter said. "So it seems they used a crane to steal your + tanks."

+ +

"That's a bit risky for what they're worth," Dundas said.

+ +

"Not if they were filled up with the finest Glen Murroch, which is what I'm thinking."

+ +

He eased to his feet and turned to Balloch. "Get me control room. We've a chance to tie this whole thing up + today."

+ +

He walked away with him to gain some privacy.

+ +

"From the barrels in Ferguson's yard, they had only half the load, assuming the rest of it didn't all go down the + drain, which it didn't from the evidence here. But we know there were two tankers, so my guess is, they hid the + other half of it here where nobody would think to look. But they're moving now, and from the amount in that puddle, + they're not gone long. I want every available patrol car out looking for big loads."

+ +

"Where should they look?"

+ +

"Every damned where. I want tankers and containers. They're not daft, these people. They'll either have pumped the + stuff back into the tankers, or they'll have covered those big drain sumps so they don't show. One thing we can be + very sure about."

+ +

He sucked on the pipe until it blazed: "They won't be travelling very fast."

+
+

Manky Franky Hennigan got such a fright that he fell off the pile of pallets he used for a bed and dropped his last + bottle of Eldorado wine. It shattered like a bomb on the old brickwork floor. The whole place shook and shuddered + the way it had on the night the black figure had come striding out of the light and replaced the wine with whisky. + He stumbled out of his little niche into the misty morning, pushed his way through the undergrowth until he came to + the side of the road and then he stopped dead, swaying only slightly.

+ +

The big silver thing was only yards away.

+ +

Franky took two steps backwards, reaching a dirty hand into his pocket for his glasses.

+ +

"We come from a distant galaxy far far away. We know who you are." The clarity of that memory was pretty + spectacular for Franky at this time in the morning.

+ +

The figure had pushed in further and a black shiny finger touched him in the middle of the chest. "Tell no-one, + or we'll be back with a death ray to fry your brain."

+ +

A sudden panic filled him. That crafty big policeman had got him to tell everything and then they'd stuck a + microphone in front of him and he just couldn't help himself. Didn't the thing in the black suit know he was a + drunk?

+ +

Had they come back? Had the come all that way for him?

+ +

The frame was a clear foot higher than the cabin roof and when they came to the low railway bridge behind Aitkenbar + Distillery, that bare twelve inches was just enough to catch the cast iron lintel edge as they went underneath.

+ +

It hit the metal with a sound like an explosion and the force of it ripped back the entire covering off the top, the + way Foley's wig had peeled.

+ +

"What the hell was that?" Jack heard the blurted question on the other phone.

+ +

Jed stamped on the brake and brought the whole rig to a sliding stop. His heart had somersaulted into his throat and + sat there shuddering. He finally got his breath.

+ +

"I think we hit the bridge."

+ +

Foley's body had pitched violently forward and was now jammed against the windscreen, the grey mouth oddly + fish-like.

+ +

"Put a seat-belt on that, would you?" Jed opened the door and hauled out. He swung on the footplate, looking + backwards and let out a groan. All of Neil's handiwork was a tangle of metal struts and tarpaulin, accordioned back + from the leading edge and piled at the rear.

+ +

"So much for the camouflage," he said. "The truck's okay, but we'll have to shift that lot."

+ +

He took the phone.

+ +

"It's okay, we did hit the bridge."

+ +

"You did what?" Jack sounded furious and incredulous all at once.

+ +

"No, it was just the covering on the tank. It was too high. We'll just strip it off and dump it."

+ +

"Nobody hurt?"

+ +

"Just Foley. He wasn't wearing a belt."

+ +

"I'll send him a get-well card. No more crazy stuff, Bullitt. Remember it's not a stock car."

+ +

"Roger wilco."

+ +

It took them only five minutes to rip the thin framework from the back and leave it beside the road under the bridge. + They were just about to pull away when Jed spotted Franky Hennigan standing in the undergrowth, face wide and pale, + mouth working silently. He grabbed the phone from Neil and reached out from the cab.

+ +

"You've been told before," he said, pointing the antenna straight at him. "You saw nothing."

+ +

Manky Franky Hennigan slowly sank to his raggedy knees, closed his eyes tight and clasped both hands together in + unspoken plea. By the time he opened his eyes again, the big silver machine had vanished in a swirl of blue + smoke.

+ +

They were rolling through the morning countryside by the time Inspector Baxter got round to Jack's house and already + Jack knew the big policeman had got the arithmetic right. Ed had picked up the cavalry call on the police band and + relayed it to him as he drove up past Luss on the Loch shore road.

+ +

"They're looking for tankers and heavy load," he said.

+ +

"Contact Bullitt and let him know. I need those diversions now."

+ +

Ed made the call and waited until he got to the junction of the main road crossing east to west and took the west + route, which could keep him well in range while Jack hurried on northwards. Here, the roads were narrower, and + allowed for some manoeuvre, especially with the height and panoramic advantage you got from the cabin as you + travelled past the country hedges. Sometimes you could get plenty of warning in the distance and take action.

+ +

Sandy Bruce let Baxter and Jimmy Balloch in. Alice sat at the table with a cup of tea. After the one-day lapse when + Michael was missing she had reverted to non-smoking mode. Michael ate his toast, nose buried as usual in a + text-book.

+ +

"I'm looking for Jack Lorne," the inspector said. He flashed a card very quickly. Sandy Bruce recognised him alright, + but he wasn't in the mood to make it easy.

+ +

"Who are you?"

+ +

"Detective Inspector Angus Baxter, Levenford CID."

+ +

"Show me your card."

+ +

"I showed you already."

+ +

"You must think I've got eyes like a hawk, young fella."

+ +

Baxter showed it again. Sandy took it, made a play of unfolding his glasses and putting them on. Jimmy Balloch + smirked behind his superior's back. Michael bit down on his toast to keep from laughing, despite his own + nervousness. Jack always said, keep them off balance. He must have got that from his uncle..

+ +

"Police eh? What do you want our Jack for?"

+ +

"Can we come in?"

+ +

Sandy stood back for a moment, rubbed his chin as if considering and finally nodded. "I suppose so. I expect he's + found some money and you're here to return it? Maybe a reward?"

+ +

"No, not that. Is Jack in? Or his brother?"

+ +

"Jack's down in London. He went two days ago, looking for work. It's a crying shame what a young fellow has to do to + get work around here these days. It's cost him an arm and a leg in train fares. Hey Alice, you think Jack should + apply to the police? He's got the height for it. And he's easily got the brains as well."

+ +

Michael snorted, unable to keep it in. Sandy made it sound as if he was rambling. Alice looked up as the two + policemen came crowding into the kitchen.

+ +

"Sit down," she said. She offered them a cup of tea, which both of them accepted, and then she asked what this was + about.

+ +

"We're hoping to speak to your son Jack."

+ +

"My brother-in-law just told you he isn't here."

+ +

"And is this your other son, Michael?"

+ +

Mike looked over the edge of the book, grinned and stuck his hand out quickly. Baxter took it, shook it, taken by + surprise. Sandy threw the boy a wink. Keep them off balance.

+ +

"Pleased to meet you. You're an inspector? CID? Cool." He made himself sound naively enthusiastic. "Can I see your + badge?"

+ +

Baxter showed him the warrant. "Michael, can you tell us where you were on Monday at eleven am?"

+ +

"I don't think so, Mr Baxter," Alice butted in. She put both hands on the table. "You're in my house and you haven't + told us what you're doing here. I asked you what this is all about and so far you haven't answered."

+ +

Jimmy Balloch looked at her with some respect. His boss had been wrong-footed three times now. Baxter leant back, + seemed to ponder a moment.

+ +

"We're investigating a number of incidents surrounding the disappearance of a large quantity of Scotch Whisky."

+ +

"And you think my Jack is involved?"

+ +

"We're just checking out some information, which may or may not be correct. But unless we ask, we won't find out." + Baxter was trying hard to get control of this. "Now, can you tell me where Jack was on Monday at that time?"

+ +

"Sure," Sandy said. "I can tell you. He was up at his lawyers in Glasgow. He had an appointment. Do you want the + number?"

+ +

"What would he need a lawyer for?"

+ +

"That's surely none of your business, inspector," Alice cut across.

+ +

"Maybe we should call the lawyer, Alice. This sounds like harassment."

+ +

Baxter changed tack. "We have information that Jack may know some thing about the disappearance of whisky from + Aitkenbar Distillery."

+ +

"Where did you hear that?"

+ +

"I'm not at liberty to say. Michael, were you down at Ferguson's car yard on Brewery Lane?"

+ +

"Me? I don't have a car. I'm still at school."

+ +

"Is that where the shooting was?" Alice demanded.

+ +

"You think my nephew was involved in that?" Sandy put both hands on the table. "That's taking a big leap, Mr Baxter. + The boy's still at school, he just told you that."

+ +

Michael's nervousness was evaporating. He could see the big policeman struggling.

+ +

"What happened to your face son?"

+ +

Michael's hand flew to his cheek. Baxter smiled. Changing direction often produced results.

+ +

"It was my uncle. He hit me with a big bit of wood."

+ +

"He what?"

+ +

"Yeah, I was helping him with his pigeon hut and he turned round with a plank. It was an accident. That was on + Monday. At about eleven, I think. Grandad took me to the cottage hospital for a check.. Then he bought me a + burger."

+ +

"And you weren't down in Ferguson's yard?"

+ +

"What would I go down there for?"

+ +

"Has Jack ever owned a gun?"

+ +

"You should check your records, inspector," Sandy came in. "And you should check with Jack's lawyer. Here's the + number. And if you have any more questions about guns and shooting, that's awfully serious business and I really + think you should speak to him. And when Jack gets back from London, I'll get him to call on you. With Mr Deane, of + course."

+ +

Jimmy Balloch tried not to smile. His boss only had Cullen's word for it, and while they had to check out every + statement, the big man had been on to a hiding here. Baxter said his grudging thank-you and after he left, he sat in + the car for a while.

+ +

"There's something not right about them," he said.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"They had that too pat. As if they expected me and had rehearsed it."

+ +

"Or maybe they were just telling the truth."

+ +

"Maybe. We'll see when we speak to Mr Jack Lorne himself."

+ +

Before Jimmy Balloch could reply, the radio coughed and he put it to his ear before handing the receiver over to the + inspector.

+ +

"They've a possible sighting of one of the dairy tankers," he said.

+ +

"Bingo." Baxter smiled for the first time that day.

+ +

The patrol spotted Ed's rig just south of the Cardross Hills on the back road from Levenford. He was driving alone, + the way he preferred it, rather than having Donny in the cab chattering for an Olympic title. Jack said he needed + Don to help with the unloading up in Oban and Ed reckoned that had been diplomacy. Whatever it had been, Ed knew he + had room to manoeuvre when he only had himself to worry about and he'd thought about this for a while. He was in so + deep there was no point in worrying at all. That's the way he had felt when he had climbed out the back of the truck + to face Foley. It was make or break.

+ +

They all had a chance to make it.

+ +

He saw the white top of the patrol car from half a mile, well before the policemen saw him. It was moving fast on the + parallel road that would curve north to meet this road when it turned south, at the Cross Keys junction. Ed had the + phone stuck against the dashboard with glued-on velcro and the fine hands-free clipped to his shirt pocket. There + was no point in calling Jack. He had Donny to listen out on the radio and watch the rear-view. He keyed the third + number and raised Tam.

+ +

"Harley here. What's happening?"

+ +

"I'm coming down to the Cross Keys, heading east. A mile and a half to go and there's a boy scout coming up to it, + moving pretty fast."

+ +

"Got the picture," Tam said. The wind was muffling his words, but he shouted over it.

+ +

"Bullitt's four miles away with the canopy ripped off, so he'll be right in line if they keep going and it's a dead + giveaway. I think we try Plan B."

+ +

"Give me some time to catch you up," Tam said. He clicked off, dropped the visor and the front wheel lifted off the + tarmac when he fed the engine in a tight twist.

+ +

Ed hammered down to the cross, needing to get to the junction in time to catch their attention. The road curved to + the left and he held the rig close enough to the hedges on the slow bend that the thorns spanged off the struts that + held the green canvas taut. Any closer and he'd rip the whole cover right off.

+ +

Down in the distance, the white top bobbed above the hedgerow and a flash of red showed every time the patrol passed + a gate. Beyond it, about a mile away, Ed got a glimpse of the pale helmet. Tam was moving on the straight at suicide + speed, racing to catch up. They had gone over this in a lot of detail, using the road maps and a big cross country + ordnance survey job that covered the table, and then they'd gone out to get it first hand, Ed and Jack and Jed and + Tam, working out a few moves, if they ever got the chance.

+ +

The policeman saw him just as the patrol car crossed the junction. Ed had hoped it would be sooner, but on these + roads he couldn't get the weight moving fast enough, and he was doing plenty by the time he got to the cross.

+ +

The car reached the corner, nosed out. Ed was aware of it before the driver saw him. The policeman did his crossing + code, right, left and right again, judging the distance by the size of the truck and the speed of the road. He was + half-way across when he realised the big rig was moving faster than anything should have been on the narrow country + route.

+ +

The man's face was a pale oval and his mouth a dark one inside it that expanded hugely as Ed's juggernaut barrelled + down the road, clipping off pieces of straggly hedge that remained untrimmed. The patrolman let out a one-syllable + sentence that Ed lip-read with no difficulty whatsoever, and stamped on the accelerator. The car jumped across the + junction and almost into the hedge at the corner, so fixed was the driver's attention on the approaching + destruction. He compensated just in time and scooted up the north side of the cross as the lorry hurtled west, + buffeting them with its passage and missing them by mere feet.

+ +

The police driver cursed non-stop for forty seconds without repetition. He stamped on the brake just as hard as he + had hit the throttle, slammed into reverse for a very swift three-point turn while his colleague, equally pale and + shaking with the fright of near miss, dropped the receiver and had to bend to pick it up again and call in.

+ +

Baxter heard about the close call just two minutes later.

+ +

By this time the patrol car was moving in the opposite direction, following the tail of exhaust and clipped hawthorn + flourish in the wake of the big covered tanker that was doing at least sixty on a road where thirty was risking it, + but Ed had the height advantage and could see everything coming. Nothing was.

+ +

The phone beeped and he answered. "Ace."

+ +

"Harley. You've got an audience."

+ +

"I see them. I've got five miles."

+ +

"Okay, let's take them round the houses. Stay on line."

+ +

Tam was coming up fast, with the police car a half mile ahead, seen only occasionally on the few straight sections. + The patrol were closing quickly on the rig, pushing their own luck, but the driver was determined to get this one, + get in on the kudos of the Aitkenbar job, and to get revenge for the little cooling wet patch in his jockeys after + the fright he'd just had.

+ +

He looked in his mirror, saw the white shape on the bike, and the chequered helmet, and growled under his breath. No + traffic cop was going to steal this one. The road here was twisted and narrow and nothing could get past him on the + tight zigzags.

+ +

Ed pushed the speed up, now assured that Tam was close behind, and they kept going all in a line round the twists for + close to five miles until they got to the curve behind Cardross Hill where the road leads down to the little village + of Arden on the Clyde. Here there is a short straight section that has been widened to let traffic filter down to + Arden, and Ed knew the patrol would make their move at this junction, using their acceleration to get ahead. He + slowed down just a little, swaying from side to side, sure there was no oncoming traffic, keeping them behind + him.

+ +

The swerving kept the driver's attention on the shifting back of the big twelve wheeler where the tarpaulin flapped + like a loose flag. Because he was so focussed in front, he mistimed the straight by only a couple of seconds, but + that's what Tam had counted on. He came right up to a couple of feet from the patrol rear lights, and as soon as the + little filter gap expanded, he gunned the engine and went through it in a flash of white.

+ +

"Bastard," the policeman snarled. "What's that idiot up to?"

+ +

Tam never heard that. He was up parallel to the patrol car window and without changing his line, he took his clutch + hand off the grip and thudded the white gauntlet against the glass, three hard slaps. The driver was so startled, he + almost lost control and had to jerk the wheel again to avoid ending the chase in a ditch.

+ +

"Okay. I've got it," Tam spoke into the throat mike. "Give Bullitt a call and then get back." He keyed the off, + twisted the clutch to lower gear and swung right in front of the car.

+ +

"Who is that lunatic?"

+ +

The bike was careering left and right, only inches from the front bumper, blocking their passage and slowing down as + it did so. The high rig picked up speed, got past the wider straight and onto the narrow. There was no change of + getting past the bike now. It slowed still further.

+ +

"That's not a BMW," the passenger said. "It's a... it's like a Harley D."

+ +

"Son of a bitch. He's not even a cop." Realisation hit them simultaneously. "You better tell them he's getting + away."

+ +

In front of them, the drag-bike with the white jacketed figure had slowed from fifty down to thirty, crazily risking + a collision with his back wheel. The truck disappeared round the corner. Two small vans came in the opposite + direction, but each time one passed, the bike swung out to prevent a sneak overtake. He slowed to twenty, then + ten.

+ +

The police driver was now fuming with frustration. The bike slowed even further, forcing them to follow suit and then + eased to a halt right in the middle of the road. The patrol stopped just behind it, and for a moment of impasse, + nobody moved. The biker looked just like a police cyclist on an outlandish set of wheels. He cocked his head to + check the rear view, held his right hand up and waggled his fingers.

+ +

"Cheeky bastard. Get his number."

+ +

"I got it. They're checking."

+ +

"What next?"

+ +

"We arrest that joker," the driver said. "Then we get him in the back here and kick the shite right out of him."

+ +

The driver plipped the lock, pushed the door, hauled out warily. The bike engine revved and the cop almost got back + in the car. but the machine didn't move. He walked forward and his companion got out the other side. There was only + a twenty yard gap between bike and car. They got half way and Tam gave it a little fuel and eased away from + them.

+ +

They started back to the car and he stopped. They turned, knowing he was taunting them.

+ +

"We'll never catch him on foot."

+ +

"This is why they should give us guns," the driver said.

+ +

"What's that smell? Did you piss yourself."

+ +

"Don't you start."

+ +

They began to walk forward again and the biker turned right round in the saddle, beckoned them on. He held both hands + up. The big driver thought he had an opportunity and broke into a sprint. His hat flew off as he raced to make a + grab.

+ +

The phone chirruped a warble of notes and the biker dropped his hands to the grips. The cop skidded to a halt, turned + back to where his companion was now racing towards the car. For a second he looked as if he couldn't make up his + mind, which was true, and then he dashed forward again, hand outstretched to grab.

+ +

The engine roared and the bike took off like stallion, wheel in the air, rear treads burning a black strip on the + good country road.

+ +

"Come on," his partner bawled, quite unnecessarily. The patrolman reached it just as the bike was disappearing round + the corner.

+ +

"Hurry. We'll lose him." He hit the pedal and the car fishtailed crazily as he took off in pursuit.

+ +

"I see you," Ed said into the phone.

+ +

The bike came whizzing round the corner, going like a streak and seconds later the patrol car shot into view, lights + flashing, siren wailing. Ed was up the farm track where a big line of new birches had been planted as a windbreak + from the sea breezes pushing up from Arden. They were just tall enough to give the rig some cover. Ed eased the + clutch off, held everything still with the brake, though the powerful engine tried to shove everything forward. With + no load in the tank, there was a lot of spare muscle.

+ +

He was forty yards up from the entrance, watching through the only gap where he could see the road on both sides. It + would all depend on whether some innocent passer-by was travelling in the opposite direction. Ed craned in his seat, + making sure no farmer was plodding up from Arden. None was. He held his breath, fed in fuel.

+ +

Tam hurtled past the gap and was gone in a blur. Ed heard the protest of gears and axle as he launched the truck + forward right across the road and stamped on the brake. The tyres squawked like the angry geese and ground like rasp + files as they dragged grit across the surface. The rig juddered and the engine stalled. The road was now completely + blocked.

+ +

Out to the left, the police car was doing sixty, just coming out of the turn. He got a blur of white, a flash of blue + and red, and just an impression of two pale faces in aghast mode. He snatched up the phone in his gloved hand, + shouldered the door and was out the other side and running hard. All he could hear was the wailing ululation of the + siren and the urgent scream of rubber against rough road metal.

+ +

If he had been in the patrol car he would also have heard two grown men screaming.

+ +

The driver forgot every lesson he had learned on the advanced pursuit course. Maybe it was his temperament, or the + way the rider had blatantly taunted him, thumping the window, slowing them down, daring him to hit.

+ +

Whatever it was, all caution and prudence turned to uncontrolled rashness. He saw the bike disappear in a flicker of + white past the trees on the bend and took off in pursuit, cut the corner on the wrong side of the road, causing his + partner to grab the strap-handle and pray a hay-spiker or anything else big and mechanical wasn't out for a trundle + at that moment.

+ +

The pursuit cop double-declutched, dropped a gear tight on the cusp of the corner and used the centripetal force to + gain him another couple of clicks on the turn.

+ +

"I'll get that bastard if it's the last fuckin' thing I........"

+ +

The tanker lurched across the road like a charging dinosaur, its green tarpaulin skin iridescent in the spangled + light through the leaves, and sun glittering on the curve of the windscreen.

+ +

"Holy mother of......hit the brake...hit the fuckin' braaaa......"

+ +

That last consonant was lost forever in the horrified wail.

+ +

The driver stamped down, gripped the wheel in two death grips, eyes bulging in sudden realisation as the big truck + stopped dead, jolted back on its massive wheels as if pausing for breath.

+ +

The patrol car just kept on going. Hedges whizzed by in a blur and the slab-like side of the juggernaut just got + bigger and bigger until it filled the screen.

+ +

"You stupid mother-fucking pratt... we're going to hit the..."

+ +

The sound of the tyres on the road and the wide mouthed yell drowned out everything else. The patrol car fishtailed + again, burning parallel curves from one side of the narrow road to the other. They clipped a sturdy hawthorn stump a + foot in from the verge and lost the driver's mirror in one hard crack and then they were juddering forward, smoke + billowing from underneath as the brakes seized entirely. A tyre burst like a bomb.

+ +

"Hold on we're going to hit the....."

+ +

They were twelve feet away from the exposed nearside when the partner realised what would happen if a saloon car + their size hit the trailer-chassis that was four feet from road level. In a sudden burst of frantic motion, he + scrabbled to get the belt release and squirm downwards, out of the path of that murderous edge.

+ +

"Oh Jesus," he blurted feebly when the belt refused to loosen.

+ +

They hit with an almighty crack and the nose crumpled into the low protection bar, dived under it and the angle of + metal sliced the whole bonnet backwards in one violent rip.

+ +

The driver let out one last yell just as the side stanchion loomed towards his face and then everything just stopped + in a tremendous wrench of torn steel and the two airbags exploded simultaneously, smashing them back against the + head rests.

+ +

It took a couple of minutes for both of them to realise they were still alive.

+ +

The partner clutched his chest where the expanding bag had punched so hard it cracked two ribs. The driver made a + little mewling sound.

+ +

"You crazy fucking lunatic," the other man groaned weakly from behind the deflating bag. "You nearly had us + decapitated."

+ +

The driver moaned, got a hand to the door.

+ +

"What's that smell?" he managed. "Did you just piss yourself?"

+ +

"No I didn't," his partner grunted.

+ +

"Oh fuck. Tell me you haven't shit.....!"

+ +

Ed was on the back of the bike and they were gone down the Arden Road in a streak, leaning forward against the wind. + He was already on the phone, sheltering behind Tam, shouting to make himself heard over the slipstream.

+ +

"This road's blocked. You got ten minutes or so. Anything else will be coming up the Loch Shore Road."

+ +

That plan had worked, just as Jack said it would. He'd known just what Tam could do on a bike when he put his mind to + it, after the record-breaking runs up to Skye. Now they had one team out of the running. Ed had seen the sudden gout + of steam and smoke from the far side of the tanker and he'd known they had hit, but the loud cursing after the crash + told them they weren't dead, which was a bit of a relief.

+ +

"There's only one more car up here," Neil came back. "They're not happy with you."

+ +

"I'll live with it. Where are they?"

+ +

He and Ed shared the details they needed. The patrol was diverted north to check out a heavy load at the head of the + loch and they all knew there was a fair chance somebody had spotted Jack and Donny. There was a possibility the + tarpaulin had come loose and the big yellow tanks were showing. Anything could have happened.

+ +

"Do you need a back-up?"

+ +

Jed's voice came on the line. "No. Once they see us they'll follow. We lost the cover at the bridge, so the sign's + there for anybody to read."

+ +

Ed tapped Tam and he slowed.

+ +

"Drop me off at the junction. I'll get you back at the car."

+ +

He told him what Jed was planning, and Tam gave him a thumb's up from behind the visor. A few minutes later Ed patted + him on the helmet, waved him off, and began to take a short-cut through a grove of tall beech trees. The sun was + well up now and it was promising to be a good day. There was nothing else for him to do but enjoy it. A woodpecker + beat out a rap rhythm somewhere in the shade and Ed started to whistle a happy tune along with it.

+ +

Constable Derek Travers was cruising up the Loch Road, knowing he was on a wild goose chase, knowing he'd been sent + on it because he and Walter Crum had drawn the short straw and been called out to a couple of barking dogs on the + night of the biggest heist in the history of Levenford since Bruce took the castle and its garrison back from Edward + Longshanks; the night he'd seen them in action and failed to notice a thing.

+ +

It would take a long time for his career to get over this hiccup. It would need the equivalent of a Heimlich + manoeuvre and maybe even cardiac jump leads.

+ +

"There's a million wide loads up this road every week."

+ +

"We just have to check it out."

+ +

"They've sent us because we're the total numpties of the entire force."

+ +

Walter nodded glumly. "What's the opposite of Mensa?"

+ +

"Dunsa. We get to wear the pointy hat and sit in the corner with everybody laughing and pointing. Swear on my + mother's grave Walter, that big highland git would have been fooled himself. Totally."

+ +

"I've asked for a transfer."

+ +

"You what?"

+ +

"I have to get out of...." Walter paused. "Wait a minute, what's that?"

+ +

A big silver tanker crossed the main road about a half a mile up ahead.

+ +

"Go faster," Walter urged.

+ +

"What, you don't think....?"

+ +

Walter was scrabbling in the glovebox for the little binoculars he used for birdwatching on the quiet afternoons when + the pair of them sneaked up beyond Overburn for a smoke. They'd been having a contest for months, totalling the + sparrows and robins and magpies. It passed the time very equably instead of cruising around Corrieside and being + stoned by teenage layabouts and harangued by junkies.

+ +

He pushed the focus ring, just the way Neil had on the high tower block.

+ +

"You're not going to believe this," Walter said. For the first time in days there was a confident ring to his voice. + He thumbed the zoom just to be sure. The blue lettering stood out against the silver on the massive cylindrical + tank.

+ +

"Levenford Dairy," he said. "Prop. A. Kerr. Established 1934."

+ +

He turned to Derek Travers. "Consider that transfer application withdrawn. You and me, we're back in business."

+ +

A bird fluttered in a streak of black and white across the road.

+ +

"Magpie," Travers bellowed triumphantly at exactly the same time.

+ +

"We'll split the points later. Let's go catch those arseholes."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch26.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch26.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c3f1046 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch26.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,495 @@ + + + + + + 26 + + + + +
+
+

26

+ +

Despite the rigor mortis, Wiggy Foley was a very fidgety passenger. Neil had strapped him back against the + passenger seat and edged away from him, trying to avoid any contact with the clammy body. Every time the + tanker hit a rough patch or pot-hole, Foley slumped right or left, his dead head thumping against the glass, + wig flapping in tempo.

+ +

"This would give you the bloody heebie-jeebies," Neil asserted. "How come it has to be us who end up with the + zombie?"

+ +

"Ed's on his own. You could hardly expect him to drive about just himself and the stiff."

+ +

"Another couple of inches and they could both have been stiffs."

+ +

Foley swung away from the window, lurched against Neil.

+ +

"Get off," Neil grated, pushing him back in disgust. He turned to Jed. "I think his beard's still growing. + That stubble's longer than it was. Maybe he's not dead at all."

+ +

"That would make him the world's best mime artist. Or he's in the dead gorilla sketch. Fix that wig, would + you, in case anybody gets suspicious."

+ +

"Suspicious? We're driving around in a nicked tanker with the cover ripped off and a baldy corpse waving to + pedestrians and you worry about being suspicious?"

+ +

"Well, put like that, I suppose you can maybe forget the wig."

+ +

Neil turned and stared at him and suddenly both of them burst into whoops of laughter. Some of it sounded too + close to hysteria.

+ +

Ed had called and told them about the end of the chase, and that meant there was only one other patrol car in + this area. Here in the west, there are too many roads with wide empty spaces and farm tracks between them to + ensure they're all easily covered. They had the police band on low, just to monitor the position, knowing it + would only be a matter of time before they crossed the path of the other patrol who were heading north.

+ +

They came along the Creggan Road which is five miles north of the Arden by-pass where Ed and Tam had put the + other pursuit out of commission. Here the road heads west to join the main route northwards and they + followed it for a while until they approached the junction. Jed eased down to a stop with a hundred yards to + go while Neil leant forward, past the unwanted guest, to view the southern approach.

+ +

"Five or ten minutes," he said. The airwaves had been punctuated with urgent calls back and forth after the + first two had hit the side of the tanker and the normally precise operational coding had been abandoned for + a few minutes of incoherence and panic. Three patrols were racing up from the other side of Levenford and + would be here in less than half an hour, along with the fire tender and the emergency rescue unit, Angus + Baxter and his team of detectives and anybody else they could muster.

+ +

It took only four minutes before Neil saw the approaching police car way down the straight and he nudged + Jed.

+ +

"Time to shift. Try not to kill us all."

+ +

"I'm an excellent driver," Jed drawled.

+ +

"Dustin Hoffman," Neil guessed. "Rain Man. Now pretend you're a real driver, get this heap in gear and keep + your mind on the job."

+ +

"Fat man, you think you're uncle Jack Lorne." Jed stuck it in gear and eased out onto the main road, giving + himself plenty of time. He had to assume the cops were not entirely stupid and would notice the dairy logo + as they approached, though if they didn't, he could easily find a way of attracting their attention.

+ +

There was a slight uphill pull, which allowed the approaching car to halve the distance by the time they + crested and then they were on the downslope and pulling hard left to get to the back road from Arden to + Creggan that cut from the hills to the high coastline overlooking the broad firth where Jack had sat with + Kate on a sunny night. From up here, distant water sparkled in the slanted rays. Jed checked the mirror just + before they disappeared from view.

+ +

"They're moving," he said. "They must be quick on the uptake."

+ +

"That makes a change. Just pray they're not heroes."

+ +

"When this baby hits eighty eight, you're gonna see some serious shit."

+ +

"I told you, Bullitt. Save it for later. And if you put it above sixty on this dirt-track, I'm asking Stiffly + Formal here to drive."

+ +

Half a mile behind them, Derek Travers was drumming his fingers impatiently on the wheel as the patrol car + picked up speed.

+ +

"Should we call in?" Walter had his thumb in the radio.

+ +

"Give it a minute," he said. He pointed at the tanker in the now closing distance. "Let's see which way they + head at the junction."

+ +

Two miles north, the road split right and left. The tanker flashed silver through the patches of trees and + hedges as the police car hurried up behind it. After a few minutes, the nearside indicator began to flash + and the truck slowed for a turn.

+ +

Derek Travers turned to his partner. "We got them now. Where can they go?"

+ +

Walter thought about it. If it kept on this road, it would come to Creggan village at the end of the + peninsula overlooking the estuary. After that was the big submarine base round at Loch Long and the only way + out from there was on the high back road where a one-in-ten incline meant the big tanker would be gasping + uphill at walking speed.

+ +

"If we call in now," Derek said, "everybody and his dog will be in on it, and we'll be back where we started. + Let's give it a bit more."

+ +

In the truck ahead, Neil called Jack.

+ +

"Retro, looks like you're home clear."

+ +

"Speak to me, Elvis."

+ +

"We've picked up the boy scouts earning merit badges. You'll have it all your on way from here on in. Just + don't crash and burn, good buddy."

+ +

"We'll try our hardest," Jack said. The relief in his voice was pretty clear, even over the phone.

+ +

Neil pushed Foley to the side and watched in the mirror. The police car was closing the gap quickly now. Jed + breasted the hill and used the long downslope to gather his own momentum.

+ +

"They're sticking to us," he said. "Nothing yet on the squawk."

+ +

"I don't think they could have called in," Neil guessed astutely. "I think we've got a pair of wannabe + heroes."

+ +

"All the better," Jed said. "Two against two is very good odds these days."

+ +

Neil slapped the solid body beside him.

+ +

"Two against three."

+ +

Jed laughed, nervous bravado. "And twelve wheels against four. Man, they have no hope."

+ +

A quarter of a mile behind, Walter Crum was on the radio now, relaying their position and target to control. + Angus Baxter got the call within twenty seconds and was a patched right through.

+ +

"You're sure it's the one we want?"

+ +

"Yessir." Walter read out the dairy legend on the back of the silver cylinder.

+ +

"And they're moving in the direction of Creggan?"

+ +

"On the shore road, Sir. We are in pursuit, directly behind them."

+ +

"Stick with them. Don't lose them. Try to get close and find out who they are."

+ +

Angus Baxter got clearance to summon the force helicopter down from Glasgow and every other patrol car, + fire-tender and rescue vehicle that had been heading to the first crash scene diverted north and west in a + fast-moving convoy, leaving the first patrol sitting by their wrecked car arguing over who's bodily + functions had the least control.

+ +

"You heard the man," Walter said. "Let's be having them."

+ +

The tanker came hurtling down the hill at breakneck speed and Jed held the line steady on the bend, taking + the wheels right to the edge and giving the pedal just enough to get hard traction when they pulled out of + it. Wiggy Foley swung away from the window and Neil had to brace himself to shove him back.

+ +

Ahead of them was a straight stretch where the route widened just a couple of yards on the left as it + approached the cut-off to yet another small and lonely hamlet.

+ +

The pursuit sped up on the straight and Jed edged to the right, ensuring he couldn't be forced down the slip + and trapped on a single track. Behind them, the car jinked left. Jed pushed for more speed and the patrol + car more than matched them.

+ +

"They're coming up on the inside," Neil said.

+ +

"Just what I need," Jed told him. "Give them a wave."

+ +

Derek Travers ground out a curse when the tanker hogged the right. On this straight, they had the chance to + power ahead and block the road and that way they could have a leisurely wait for the back up posse, with the + suspects cuffed in the back of the car. All past failures would be forgiven and forgotten in one easy + move.

+ +

He pulled left just as the road widened and saw an opportunity develop. He gunned it hard.

+ +

"Take it easy," Walter warned, checking his belt.

+ +

"I can take them," Derek boasted. He nosed up on the inside, past the tail lights. The road seemed to vibrate + with the truck's weight and the turbulence buffeted them hard and then they were pulling alongside, doing + nearly sixty.

+ +

The car held it steady, creeping up to the cab. Walter leant forward to peer up.

+ +

A pale face swung towards him and a meaty hand waved through the glass.

+ +

"That's Wiggy Foley," he said excitedly, "one of Ferguson's minders. Cheeky sod. God, this is going to be + good."

+ +

Travers grinned. "We're in the money now."

+ +

He slammed down a gear to coax an extra burst just as Jed Cooper did the same in the high cab. They were + still on the downslope, which gave the big tanker a weight advantage. They were three hundred yards from the + turn off and now that the police car was still on the inside, Jed eased the tanker back to the left, forcing + the pursuit car closer to the edge.

+ +

"Watch out, he's going to force us...."

+ +

"Bastard," Derek mouthed. He got to sixty five, managed to get the nose past the front of the racing + juggernaut.

+ +

Wiggy Foley stared down at them, nose flattened against the glass.

+ +

Walter Crum got another glimpse, and something struck him as odd about the way Foley was sitting, but in the + heat of the moment, he had other things to think about. The two machines raced together, nose to nose.

+ +

Jed just held the line. The police driver might have had training on the skid-pan, but Jed Cooper had been + ramming round the stock circuit since he was sixteen. Derek Travers almost made it, and then, very abruptly, + the road disappeared..

+ +

"Derek....Derek...!" Walter panicked just a little.

+ +

There was suddenly nowhere for them to go. Jed got that extra few yards out of the rig, timed it to the split + second and the gap closed too tightly for the car to swerve through and get ahead. The truck thundered along + on the straight and the police car was suddenly facing a thick tangle of briars and brambles dead ahead. + Derek Travers jerked on the wheel with a bare second left and the car shot down turn-off curve. Even over + the roar of the diesel, Jed and Neil heard the squeal as he hit the brake hard.

+ +

"Back up, back up, they're getting away."

+ +

Walter managed to get the words past his heart which was now throbbing at the back of his throat. The fear of + a headlong crash into the undergrowth only beat the terror of career failure by a thin lip. His partner + slammed into reverse, wove at speed back along the curve and managed to get back onto the main road in + surprisingly quick time. The big rig was down the hill and round the bend and gone.

+ +

"Hurry, hurry. Come on man, he said don't lose them."

+ +

"Bastard forced me off the road. Could have killed me." Travers's face was a complex mix of fury and + fright.

+ +

He got onto the main road again and hared after the tanker.

+ +

"That was too close," Neil said. "You could have killed them."

+ +

"No chance. Cops don't kill themselves, not on duty anyway. He was trying to get in front of us, and if he'd + done that, there's no way I was stopping for him. It was just as well I sent him the wrong way, rather than + skite him off."

+ +

Neil was peering in the mirror, expecting the flash of white any second.

+ +

"I think we should have kept on the road north," he said. "I don't know why you took this road anyway. We're + heading straight for Creggan."

+ +

"So?"

+ +

"We're going to run out of road. There's nothing between us and the firth of Clyde, and there's a whole posse + chasing us."

+ +

"Plus Batman and Robin," Jed said, "if they haven't driven into a tree. Don't you worry, I can handle this + thing."

+ +

"You better start handling it good. They're back in the picture again."

+ +

Jed took a backward glance, saw the patrol gaining once more. He thumped the horn, making it roar like a + beast. Neil gave a visible start.

+ +

"Jesus, Jed. You scared the hell out of me."

+ +

They were coming up fast, lights flashing. The car feinted left as before, then came up on the right, on a + fairly tight bend.

+ +

"He's trying to take us."

+ +

"On this road? He must have a death wish," Jed said. He changed down to get more muscle. The police car + pulled out, began to accelerate and then a little post van came bizzing round the corner in a flash of red + and a wail of alarm. The patrol yanked fast back in behind the tanker at the last split second.

+ +

It tried again, risking it once more on a right bend and this time a slow-moving tractor was trundling close + to the hedge and the police car barely missed it in a screech of brakes.

+ +

"Definitely a hero," Jed said, watching as the pursuit tried again, nosing out on a little straight stretch. + He eased the tanker across the centre line, blocking its path. The policeman's face was just a pale shape, + but he knew he would be mouthing curses. It tried to squeeze through the cap and Jed pushed it almost into + the hedge. It braked sharply and its horn barked.

+ +

"Can't see why Ed should have all the fun," Jed said. He grabbed the helmet from the floor and slung it on, + fixing the strap one-handed with ease of practise.

+ +

"You get lidded up," he told Neil.

+ +

"I won't hear the phone, or the radio."

+ +

Behind them, the police siren began to howl angrily, and a flicker of red and blue winked bright in the rear + view.

+ +

"Doesn't matter. This loony fancies his chances. I'm going to try a few moves."

+ +

"What kind of moves?" Neil was clasping the helmet on, looking worried.

+ +

The phone rang and he paused to answer.

+ +

"Calling Elvis." Ed's voice.

+ +

"Uh huh huh. You're a wunnerful audience."

+ +

Ed came on.

+ +

"A whole squad of them just passed me north of Arden. Angus Baxter, a couple of fast cars. And he's called + out the chopper. You're running out of time."

+ +

Neil relayed the message to Jed.

+ +

"That's what we planned," Jed told him. "Now get that helmet on."

+ +

They were coming down the long slope now, with the flashing lights right on their tail, sun heliographing + through the tall trees. Jed pushed the big rig to the limit, taking the corners in a fine tight line, + getting the speed just right. In other circumstances, Neil would have admired the skill.

+ +

"Bullitt, we've only got a mile to Creggan and then we're done." He was sounding puzzled and worried. + "They'll have the local fuzz out with a barrier. Road blocks."

+ +

"You think a road block can stop this beast?"

+ +

"Don't you dare. I'm not going down for murder."

+ +

"Don't worry, Mr Elvis," Jed assured him. "We've got Wiggy here as a good luck charm." He bent to the left + and clapped the corpse on a meaty shoulder. "Touch wood."

+ +

"Watch, watch!" The rig swung to the left, clipping very close to the hedge. They were hammering + down towards a very tight right turn and Jed was picking up speed. Neil's voice was rising, suddenly + panicked. "Jeez man, keep your eye on the fucking road."

+ +

The turn loomed, all too sudden and they were going all too fast.

+ +

"Road?" Jed laughed crazily. "Where we're going, we don't need roads."

+ +

The engine was screaming and Jed's knuckles were white.

+ +

"Jed man. Oh holy mother of..."

+ +

He was doing fifty, sixty, far to fast to take this curve.

+ +

"You crazy pratt...." For a second Neil thought Jed was paralysed. His hands were gripped on the wheel, not + moving, just bracing it. He wasn't even making an attempt at the turn.

+ +

Neil saw the hedges loom. The tanker bulleted towards them, unstoppable now.

+ +

It smacked them flat with a crack like gunfire. Neil let out a little squeal that was miraculous high for a + big baritone.

+ +

The tanker rammed through the hawthorn hedge, scattered twigs and stumps like shrapnel and a confetti of + white flourish blasted out in a fluttering fountain. On the other side of the hedge a small field drain, a + couple of feet deep and three feet wide presented no obstacle at all. The speed and momentum carried the + front wheels over it and everything else followed, hurtling through the gap and into the field beyond, + bouncing crazily on the grass and carving great brown tracks through the turf. A herd of cross + jersey-friesians took off like chubby wildebeest, scattered in panic.

+ +

Derek Travers was thirty yards behind the tanker's tail lights, desperate to find a gap to shoot through and + halt them before the rest of the cavalry arrived. His need had made him reckless and he didn't even hear + Walter Crum's warning as they raced down the hill in pursuit.

+ +

He was so close to the rig that the corner was on him before he realised it and suddenly shrubbery and wood + was flying all over the place.

+ +

Walter Crum bawled another urgent warning and Travers hit the brake so hard the nose of the car dipped + towards the tarmac. Tyres howled on the dry road as he tried to hold the line and the patrol careered + forward, slowing as it went. The big tanker disappeared in a flurry of leaves and the road disappeared along + with it. Walter was still bawling incoherently as the back end began to swing round, even though the driver + had got it down from fifty to twenty. Travers over-compensated right on the point of the corner. Rubber + squealed and so did Walter. The car mounted the little verge, bounced nose upwards, shot through the raggedy + gap in the hedge and slammed down in to the small ditch, sending up a spray of mud, moss and tiny + frogs.

+ +

For a moment, nothing moved. The siren was still wailing and the lights still flashing, and the windscreen + was completely blanked out by a skin of red muck.

+ +

Derek Travers groaned through the numbness in his nose where it had hit the wheel. He eased himself out of + the car and stepped straight into two feet of mud, cursed and hauled himself away from the steam jetting + from somewhere in the front. Walter Crum stumbled out the other side, lost a shoe to the glutinous sucking + mire, amazed that he was totally unhurt.

+ +

Both of them looked at each other, faces pale and slack. Then, simultaneously, they turned.

+ +

The tanker was hammering on across the field, leaving parallel scars in the green, scattering the livestock + and a flustered flock of woodpigeons, rumbling like a runaway beast as it headed for the breast of the hill + beyond.

+ +

"Where the hell do they think they're going?" Walter asked.

+ +

"Nowhere for them to go," Derek said. "Come on. We've got them now."

+ +

Walter fished in the mud in the little runnel until he found his shoe, pulled it on and squelched to dry + ground. The pair of them set off in pursuit, leaving the patrol car nose down in the muck, but relatively, + miraculously, undamaged.

+ +

Jed stopped the rig on the brow of the little hill on the far side of the meadow, engine chugging exhaust as + if catching breath. It had been an exhilarating ride. Ahead of them, beyond the down-slope, the blue of the + Clyde firth scattered back spangled sunlight, below the precipice of the Creggan headland.

+ +

"You scared the living shite out of me," Neil finally said, tight with emotion, most of it pure + shock. He unstrapped the helmet and took it off, holding it in two shaking hands. Foley had slumped to the + side, his face smeared on the glass.

+ +

"I thought you'd like it," Jed said.

+ +

"Like it? You crazy schmuck. You could have killed us both."

+ +

"Don't be daft. You never really thought I couldn't take that bend, did you?"

+ +

"Are you telling me you had this planned all along?" Neil's breath was fast and shallow. "And you never even + told me?"

+ +

Jed grinned pure mischief.

+ +

"Sure we did. There's half a dozen places we worked it out, just in case we had to. This was the best of the + lot."

+ +

"How come?"

+ +

Jed pointed ahead. "Because of that."

+ +

Neil saw nothing. He was about to ask when Jed unclipped his own helmet and turned to him.

+ +

"Let's unfasten our mystery guest." He looked in the mirror. "And we'd better make it snappy. We've got + company."

+ +

Neil started to unsnag the seat belt that hadn't quite restrained Foley. The dead man's wig was flopped to + the side now, as if it was crawling down to his collar. Neil scanned the rear view and saw the two policemen + running across the field, maybe a quarter of a mile behind, while the herd of cows ran in confused little + circles, hampering their progress.

+ +

Jed helped haul Foley across the bench seat, pulling on the stiff arms. He heaved until the body was behind + the wheel and then let the handbrake off a couple of notches. Ahead of them, a row of thin gorse bushes + formed an insubstantial barrier and below that, a steeper slope leading right down towards the lip of the + old sandstone cliffs that marked the edge of the highland boundary. The truck eased down from the crest + until only its back end showed. Jed clambered up to the back of the cab, to make sure the policemen were + still in pursuit.

+ +

"What now?" Neil demanded.

+ +

Jed had to use a lot of force to get the stiff arms onto the wheel. He clamped the fingers around it, just + making sure. The truck wouldn't need any steering down this slope. Very quickly he pulled and hauled at the + dirty jeans until he got a dirty Doc Marten placed over the accelerator. He pressed down and the engine + roared.

+ +

"If you're going to do what I think, you're crazier than you look."

+ +

"How do you mean?"

+ +

Neil pointed ahead. "That's the Creggan Cliffs. I don't care what kind of a driver you are, you'll never + survive that."

+ +

Jed pushed on the leg again, making the engine rev faster. Behind them, panting very heavily, came two + policemen, one of whom had lost his shoe again. They reached the crest and stood there, holding their + sides.

+ +

"Open the pod bay doors, Hal."

+ +

Jed revved, stuck the gear stick forward and sent the whole rig running down the hill. "Smokestack + lightning!"

+ +

"Let me out," Neil bawled. " I can't swim?"

+ +

"Swim? The fall's going to kill you."

+ +

They were through the gorse, flattening a swathe of it. Foley was stiffly propped behind the wheel, his rigid + leg just enough weight to keep the pedal pressed. Behind them the two policemen stood dumbstruck as the + truck went straight down the slope, past the gorse and disappeared from view on the lower slope, on a direct + line for the cliffs.

+ +

"Come on man," Jed said. "Let's hit the ground."

+ +

He opened the door, grabbed the helmet, and baled out.

+ +

Neil bawled a string of curses, kicked open the other door and fell out onto a matt of jagged gorse, rolled + and skidded five yards, mainly on his face.

+ +

From the crest of the hill, the policemen saw the tanker disappear over the lower ridge, too exhausted to + chase it any more. They stood with their hands on their knees, hauling hard.

+ +

Derek Travers pointed ahead of them and eased upright, pulling Walter Crum with him.

+ +

"Look at that!"

+ +

The tanker suddenly appeared in view again, about half a mile away now, a big silver bullet trundling fast on + a straight line for the cliff edge.

+ +

"Thelma and fucking Louise," Walter said.

+ +

The rig reached the edge, no pause, no slowing, its own momentum taking over. The sun glinted off its bright + curve as it took off into the air above the blue, turned in slow motion in a very graceful, ponderous twist, + plunged downwards and was gone.

+ +

By the time the patrolmen got down to the cliff edge, a tower of thick black smoke was billowing high into + the air, and the police helicopter was chugging inwards over the Clyde Firth.

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch27.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch27.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71cba0f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/ch27.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,230 @@ + + + + + + 27 + + + + +
+
+

27

+ +

Tam came racing along the trackway just below the flattened patch of gorse and pulled the bike up when the + reached the pair of them. Neil was brushing the matt of gorse bristles from his overalls, still slightly + winded by the heavy fall.

+ +

"What a show," he said, holding up Jack's little camera. "I caught the whole thing. Ka-boom!"

+ +

"Bloody maniac," Neil growled at Jed. "You could have warned me."

+ +

"And spoil the surprise?" Jed was laughing uncontrollably, hardly able to stand. "You should have seen the + look on your face."

+ +

He grabbed up the helmet. "Come on, let's get out of here before Mutt and Jeff show up."

+ +

"Will that take us all?" Neil had to know.

+ +

"It's just a short trip, climb on."

+ +

Neil squeezed behind Tam on the pillion and Jed squeezed behind Neil and the three of them trundled for the + trees at the south end of the big field, keeping under cover of the ridge. They were long gone by the time + the helicopter arrived to hover out over the drop where the tanker had thundered over. A hundred feet below + the cliff edge where Jack Lorne and Kate Delaney had sat watching the sun sparkle on the firth, the crushed + and mangled tanker was well ablaze on the big red rocks that were exposed at low tide.

+ +

It would be late in the evening before they would recover the charred body of Wiggy Foley still trapped in + the crumpled cab, and three more days to made a proper identification based mainly on the metal plate that + held his false teeth.

+ +

By that time it was all over and done.

+ +

The boys on the bike caught up with Ed Kane just north of Arden where he had reached the bright yellow stock + car in a clearing close to the by-pass road on which Ed had given his pursuit the fright of their lives. + Neil got the toolbox out and helped Tam refit the bike, stripping away the Harley logos and replacing them + with the originals. He used the electric drill to screw the panniers back on the sides. Ed lit a fire of + pine branches and slung on the white reflector jacket and the gauntlets, and almost as an afterthought, he + put the fake plates on the flames and watched them curl up and blacken. Tam hammered the chrome Harley + trademark to a big Scots pine tree as a souvenir of the trip and it's still there to this day.

+ +

They called Jack Lorne just as he and Donny were on the fast downslope that would take them and their heavy + cargo to the harbour at Oban where big Lars Hanssen was ready with the derrick and an hour after that, when + the first teams arrived down on the rocks below the Creggan Cliffs, the Valkyrie was ploughing into a gentle + headwind past Lismore Island and out towards the Atlantic for the run up and round the north of + Scotland.

+ +

There was nothing more to do but wait.

+
+

The call came three weeks later, and plenty had happened in that time.

+ +

Angus Baxter cornered Jack and put him through it, and it was clear he knew Jack was somehow involved in all + of this, but the policeman didn't quite understand how. He had worked out that of the bunch of good friends, + three of them worked in the dairy and another two in Aitkenbar, and the sixth had worked the summer on the + building site where the big tanks had vanished.

+ +

He knew it, but what could he do with it? All that was just circumstantial. With Kerrigan Deane at his side, + Jack Lorne just blanked him, followed his own advice and kept the inspector off balance. Deane was able to + give him an unbreakable alibi for the day the whisky went down the drain in Ferguson's old yard. His uncle + backed him up for the rest. Jack's planning and foresight made it all unimpeachable.

+ +

Baxter had no muscle to push it. He had Ferguson and Cullen, and the carbonised body of Wiggy Foley, guns and + whisky, and while he could not put his suspicions to rest, they had to remain just that forever more. His + bosses were pleased that he'd solved the case, or most of it, and if there was any more whisky, it remained + a mystery.

+ +

At the end of the day, he wrote up the report saying most of it must have gone down the drain at the golf + course, and everybody was happy to let it lie.

+ +

Alistair Sproat was left with a big hole in his accounts and nothing to fill it with. His meeting with Kate + Delaney taught him only that she was one very stubborn lady and if he thought he could buy her off, he had + another think coming. Kerrigan Deane's legal action just inexorably ground him down and the development + company pulled out of the deal which left him with an unprofitable distillery, no way to buy the new plant + he wanted, and after paying all the redundancy, a mountain of backbreaking debt.

+ +

The big customs investigation into excise duties ripped through his books and records going back twenty years + and he ended up facing a string of fraud charges that was the final straw. Nobody cried for him.

+ +

"Yack!" the big sailor's voice boomed in his ear. "I want my boat back."

+ +

"You've got your boat."

+ +

"Just the half. You've got the other half, and I want it back. You can't sail just half a boat, and I want to + buy another as well, start my own line."

+ +

"I take it everything went well? They didn't blow you out of the water?"

+ +

"Everything is better than I even thought, myself. Tell you another thing, they will take twice as much next + time round."

+ +

"I don't think there's going to be a next time," Jack said. "My heart couldn't take it."

+ +

"You wait and see. We do good business again, you and me."

+ +

"And what about my share?"

+ +

"You check the number you gave me. We split fifty-fifty, right? It's all there."

+ +

And when Jack Lorne checked the number of the Cayman account he had set up in the summer, what seemed like a + lifetime ago, it was all there. One million, three hundred and fifty thousand. Untaxed, untaxable, + untraceable.

+ +

Now he had the difficult job of telling the boys they wouldn't get their hands on a penny of it.

+
+
Levenford Gazette. November 18.
+
By Blair Bryden.
+
A full sized replica of King Robert Bruce's warship will be the centrepiece of an ambitious + new heritage centre based in the Bruce Harbour at Aitkenbar Distillery. +
+
The educational and tourist attraction is the end result of a remarkable chain of events + which has turned around the fortunes of the town and given it great hope for the future. +
+
Announcing the construction of the warship, Charter 1315 Chairman Kate Delaney said it would + provide a historic link with the town's illustrious past and its promising future, provide new jobs in the + tourist industry and give the town a centrepiece which will be the envy of the country. +
+
Ms Delaney led the fight against the destruction of the historic harbour and the legal action + against Aitkenbar Distillery owner Alistair Sproat is seen by many as the catalyst in the recent upheaval in + Levenford. +
+
Sproat, who is facing a number of serious allegations regarding customs declarations lost + control of the family business earlier this year after a number of deals went spectacularly wrong and after + an equally spectacular raid on the distillery in which more than 20,000 gallons of vintage Scotch whisky was + stolen. +
+
Police inquiries into alleged connections between the whisky theft and the accused are still + continuing. Four arrests have been made. +
+
After announcing major job losses in the summer, and his plan to site a new designer drinks + premises in Glasgow, Alistair Sproat unloaded the failing Dunvegan Distillery in a management buy-out + leveraged by offshore firm Gabriel and Company. In a remarkable turn around, the small island distillery + altered its thrust to a new malt liqueur and cream-based drinks production which secured markets in the + supermarket and off license sectors. +
+
Levenford Dairy, facing closure to pave the way for the ill-fated mall development, joined + the co-operative in the production of milk products for the various drinks and also in the bottling sector, + which saved the jobs of more than forty local employees. +
+
The mystery Gabriel and Company, based in the Cayman Islands, seems however, to have put down + roots in Levenford, having appointed a number of local businessmen and former employees of Aitkenbar to its + management team. +
+
In October, the company stepped in when Aitkenbar faced receivership, and took over the + production and storage facility, and for the first time in 200 years, malt whisky production in Levenford + ceased. With the development of new plant, the premises have embarked on a radical 'designer' drink venture + which has so far secured the jobs of the former employees who were threatened by the mall development. +
+
Spokesperson Mrs Margery Burns, former PA to Alistair Sproat said: "We plan to convert the + old malt whisky production section into an industrial museum and tourist facility which will operate in + conjunction with the new heritage centre on the harbour. +
+
"Gabriel & Company have relinquished any claim to the harbour and will match public + donations to ensure its success." +
+
The first production of the new designer drinks will begin next week to take advantage of the + Christmas trade. Already markets have been secured in Norway and Sweden and once again, the international + victualling and drinks chain Hammond Hall, has stepped in to support the company and concluded a deal for a + massive order. +
+
Ms Delaney, a local artist and teacher, whose works are on show in Kelvingrove Art Gallery in + an exhibition sponsored by the Gabriel Foundation said: "The change of fortunes in Levenford are all due to + the determination of some people to take huge risks and to show that with effort and imagination, they can + take charge of their own destiny. Without them, this town would remain forever a backwater." +
+

JUNE:

+ +

The sleek red car made its way down from High Overburn, flicking round the turns at ramming speed. The sun + was still low in the sky, sending bright rays through the thick leaves, making promise of a scorching day + ahead.

+ +

The car followed the same route down the hill that almost a year before, two stolen tankers had trundled in + the dead of night, freewheeling down from the hiding place in the plantation. This time the open-topped + tourer was using its power to negotiate the leafy bends.

+ +

It sped down to the dual carriageway, along the straight past the looming bulk of the castle rock and + followed the new river road to the big wrought iron gate of the distillery. It paused at the gatehouse and + the driver waved to Kerr Thomson, who, once badly bitten, could be trusted with anything. Somebody, + somewhere, still had the prints, and well he knew it.

+ +

It waited there until a big new truck pulled out from the loading bay and exited on the other side of the + security box, a twelve-wheeler flatbed with a silver container on its back. Along the side of the container, + a bright red piece of graphic art showed a winged vision flying. It was done in the fast, flash brushstrokes + that Kate Delaney had used on the heritage wall way back then.

+ +

Below it, in a red slash, the words could be read half a mile away.

+ +

The Angels Share.

+ +

The driver and passenger stopped to watch as the big truck eased out of the compound out, and then the car + swung away to pull in at the front of the new glass building. The driver stepped out, showing long and + shapely legs and a very expensive pair of stiletto heels.

+ +

She bent back into the car as the passenger shifted across to get behind the wheel.

+ +

"Pigeons or sailing today?" She pecked him quickly on the cheek, leaving a red smudge.

+ +

"Life is short," Sandy Bruce told her. "Probably both."

+ +

"Lazy old scoundrel," she said, and turned towards the tall glass door.

+ +

Margery Burns reached the big conference room at the end of the bright corridor, went in, closed the door + behind her.

+ +

"Okay," Jack Lorne said. "Lets get down to business."

+ +

Margery sat two seats away from him and began to write quickly in the minute book. The rest of them waited to + hear what he had to say.

+ +

"I've just had this idea," he began. He looked round at the faces of his friends.

+ +

"I think you might like it."

+ +
THE END
+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/content.opf b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/content.opf new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e46cfd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/content.opf @@ -0,0 +1,104 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof + en + http://www.impera-media.com/fullproof.epub + Thriller, Action + + http://www.impera-media.com/ + Joe Donnelly + Impera Media Limited + 2011-05-17 + Copyright (c) 2012, Joe Donnelly. All rights reserved + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/contents.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/contents.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..30c78e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/contents.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,48 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof : Contents + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b89a3a --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css @@ -0,0 +1,87 @@ +/* Impera Media stylesheet v3 2012-08-15*/ + +body { color: #000; background-color: #FFF; font-family: serif; line-height: 1.4em; text-align: left; text-indent: 0; border: 0 none; margin: 0; padding: 0; } + +.edge { color: #FFF; background-color: #000; } + +#cover img { text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin: 0 auto; 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zUCn&?*O<$^;KB)+pZj6v{_2LaSiM++Owh&|U;bg1^0R)8TM>!$yV(h-%D_IwY)Ecm Z+o+rib00r{pzjZ)RpQAz5xw(?e*rSDRFD7w literal 0 HcmV?d00001 diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/other.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/other.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d8d93f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/other.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,34 @@ + + + + Other books + + + + +
+
+

Other books by the author available on

+ Amazon Kindle + +

Full Proof

+ +

Shrike

+ +

Incubus

+ +

Dark Valley

+ +

All available now on the Amazon Kindle

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a0447b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/title.xhtml b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/title.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5703e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/title.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof + + + + + +
+
+

Full Proof

+
+
+

Joe Donnelly

+
+ +
books@impera-media.com
+

2012-08-15

+ + +
This work is copyright.
+
+ + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/toc.ncx b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/toc.ncx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c8a2b70 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/OEBPS/toc.ncx @@ -0,0 +1,210 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Full Proof + + + + + + Title Page + + + + + + About the Author + + + + + + About the Book + + + + + + + Chapter 1 + + + + + + Chapter 2 + + + + + + Chapter 3 + + + + + + Chapter 4 + + + + + + Chapter 5 + + + + + + Chapter 6 + + + + + + Chapter 7 + + + + + + Chapter 8 + + + + + + Chapter 9 + + + + + + Chapter 10 + + + + + + Chapter 11 + + + + + + Chapter 12 + + + + + + Chapter 13 + + + + + + Chapter 14 + + + + + + Chapter 15 + + + + + + Chapter 16 + + + + + + Chapter 17 + + + + + + Chapter 18 + + + + + + Chapter 19 + + + + + + Chapter 20 + + + + + + Chapter 21 + + + + + + Chapter 22 + + + + + + Chapter 23 + + + + + + Chapter 24 + + + + + + Chapter 25 + + + + + + Chapter 26 + + + + + + + Chapter 27 + + + + + + + Other Books + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/Full Proof/mimetype b/build/Full Proof/mimetype new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57ef03f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/Full Proof/mimetype @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +application/epub+zip \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/build/dark ways/Untitled-2 b/build/dark ways/Untitled-2 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e69de29 diff --git a/build/darkvalley/META-INF/container.xml b/build/darkvalley/META-INF/container.xml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..82697bd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/META-INF/container.xml @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ + + + + + + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/001.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/001.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3e18805 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/001.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,154 @@ + + + + 1 + + + + +
+
+

1

+ +

July 27.. .

+ +

"His ghost hangs around here," John Corcoran said. "I heard it was seen, plenty of times. They say it creeps about in the mist coming off the river. This place gives me the willies."

+ +

"Me too," Doug Nicol said. "I was told he calls out to other kids. He wants to drag them down there." Doug twisted his face into a snarl and held one hand up in front of his face, fingers clawed but drooping. "Like the monster from the black lagoon."

+ +

Everybody looked at Doug who was leaning against the trunk of the old elm tree that sprawled across the grass, an old giant that had given up the fight against a winter gale and had dug great gouges in the turf in its dead fall. Doug was running the blade of his knife under the bark, twisting it hard to break off chunks of powdery wood. He nodded as he spoke, showing his big, prominent teeth. The sun was shining through his equally prominent ears, tinting them red. "He hates being down there on his own."

+ +

"That's rubbish," Billy Harrison snorted. He blew out a grey plume of smoke and then let two tendrils curl down from his nose. This was a trick he had spent a lot of idle time mastering in the summer and it made him look like a big shot. Most of the time the smoke rose up and went into his eyes and everybody laughed while Billy spent the next while blinking back sudden tears. This time it worked just fine and Billy raised himself up to kick his heel against the bare root of the toppled elm.

+ +

"If he wanted company, he'd drag them up to the graveyard, wouldn't he?" Billy looked round, challengingly. There was a moment's silence while they all thought about it.

+ +

"No," John Corcoran contradicted and if it had been one of the others, maybe there could have been a bit of pushing and shoving because Billy was quick off the mark when it came to taking offence. "It would be his ghost. They always go back to where they died, trying to get back into the body. I read that once, so it's true. They don't know they're dead for a long time, years even, and that's why they haunt the places where they died."

+ +

Danny Gillan shivered and said nothing. He was sitting up on the sprawled trunk, his feet almost level with Billy's head. Billy nodded agreeably and blew two smoke rings in quick succession, making his jaw work like a fish to get the effect. The rings rolled in the air and played hoops with a rootlet before breaking up. "Maybe that's it, Corky, just maybe," he conceded. "I bet you wouldn't come down here at night."

+ +

"Not when the mist comes off the river." Tom Tannahill agreed vehemently. "You never know what's in there. It creeps like it's alive."

+ +

" Gives you the creeps," Billy said and laughed at his pun.

+ +

Over at Drumbeck Hill, a mile, more like two from where the boys were idling, beyond the double hump of the looming rock and the castle ramparts that rose above the flat mud of the estuary firth, a puff of smoke came billowing out from the crater where the quarry had dug a great scar into the side of the hill. Eight seconds later the booming rumble of the explosion came rolling over the town and across the black, fast water of the river.

+ +

Danny Gillan shivered again and though none of the other boys noticed, his eyes had taken on that flat look of someone whose attention is far away.

+ +

"Just like when they were looking for the body," Corky said, running with his story. He was goopd at that. "Remember? I thought they were firing cannons from the castle to raise him up. I read that too. They fired cannons over the water when they got a man lost overboard. In Treasure Island. The noise brought bodies up to the top."

+ +

"Like, wake them up, you mean?" Doug asked. Corky shrugged.

+ +

"It wasn't the quarry," Danny said quietly, not looking at any of them. His back was turned and he was facing across the river towards the rising plume of smoke and rock-dust. Over the distance came the heavy rumbling thunder of falling stones as the payload slid down the crater. Danny's eyes were now focused closer however, fixed on the quayside on the other bank of the river where the low tide had left a man-high slick of greasy algae and where the seagulls wheeled and squalled over something rotten among the mud and old tyres beside the mouldering ribs of some long-dead boat.

+ +

"It was a bomb. The one they found up in the reservoir up by Overbuck House."

+ +

"What a cracker," Doug nodded, remembering. "Smashed nearly all the windows up in Corrie Street, and a big boulder from the dam came right through McFarlane's barn roof like a + meetcherite comet or something. You should have seen the hole it made." Doug was grinning, showing most of his big rabbit teeth. +

+ +

"They blew it up all wrong," Billy said. The bomb was an old story, from way back in spring and that was ancient history. A lot had happened since that spring. "I heard a flock of Barrie's sheep got such a fright they went crazy and took a header off the cliff on the Langmuir Crags.

+ +

"An' I heard...." Billy told another rumour they'd all heard a dozen times since the spring, but never tired of repeating.

+ +

"But Paulie came up, didn't he?" Tom Tannahill asked. "Just like that book Corky was telling us about. Must have wondered what was happening up there."

+ +

"Yeah." Doug laughed and held his hands up on either side of his mouth. "Hey, who's making all the noise," he said, in a voice that wasn't quite ghostly enough.

+ +

Danny Gillan shivered again and not from the cold. The sun was high, beaming through the thick umbrella of leaves on the limes and elms that had weathered the winter gales and the air was thick with pollen and the sleepy high-summer buzzing of bees. He lowered his eyes from the skeleton of the dead boat and looked down into the black turbulence of the river. The sun reflected bright from the rippling water, spearing right back into Danny's eyes and in that instant the other boys' voices faded away and he was back in the springtime, on the far side of the river, on a day cold and sharp enough to make your eyes water and scrape the inside of your nose. There had been no leaves on the trees then, only buds sill tight-wrapped on stark branches and the big fallen elm showed redwood circles on the truncated ends where the council's parks department workers had chainsawed the massive branches that had fallen across Keelyard Road.

+ +

"Who's making all the noise?" Doug mimicked a dead boy and Danny saw it unreel again in his mind. Who's making the noise? + Who?

+ +

He'd been there when Paul Degman went down into the water, tumbling with the current. Danny was glad he hadn't seen Paulie Degman's eyes, for that would have made the nightmares so much worse, but still, he swam and rolled in his dreams, drawn under the surface by a desperately strong hand clutching for rescue, clawing for life. He'd been almost there, almost at that very spot on that very day.

+ +

+ It could have been me! The thought reverberated again and again, a boy's sudden comprehension of sudden, permanent end. +

+ +

Paulie Degman was thirteen, just the same age as Danny and while they came from different parts of town - Danny lived up on Corrieside where the municipal housing scheme petered out against the cleft of the gully and gave on to farmland - they knew each other. Paulie was a down-town boy, who lived in one of the gaunt old tenements that backed on to the river. This had been his playground, the alleys and closes of the quayside, the cobbles and old capstans where boats had tied up when the quay had bustled, back in history. He'd played here all his life and it had killed him, while Danny had come playing here one rare spring day and he'd stayed alive.

+ +

Danny remembered the scream. Some other kid had been playing there too, heaving rocks at the gulls they'd tempted down with old crusts from Christie's bakery. The sound had cut into his consciousness and frozen him in the act of hefting the stone he was aiming at a beer bottle bobbing along on the current. Over the space of the months since spring - and everything that had happened in the town since then - Danny was never sure why that sound had frozen him to the quick. There had been some quality to the cry, some urgency that had snaked into his nerves and set the hairs prickling under his woollen tammy-hat. He'd turned quickly and the high screech, so like the fighting gulls, had been joined by the frantic cry of a woman, somewhere high up in the sandstone tenement close to Barley Cobble. The stone had dropped from his hand and bounced glassily on the kerbstone at the edge of the harbour.

+ +

"Jesus Christ get back...." Shouts, hoarse and urgent and somehow riven with shock.

+ +

+ "Oh mister it's Paulie he's in..." panic in the voice of a small boy, closer now as Danny Gillan followed the strange and terrible magnetism in the air. +

+ +

A clatter of feet, seggs and hob-nails staccato against the cobbles.

+ +

"Oh sweet mother of god it's my..." a woman's prayer in a voice that said she didn't yet believe. +

+ +

Big John Fallon the sergeant running the length of the quayside, leaping over a jumbled pile of bricks from the old boatshed that had collapsed in the frost of winter. He was stripping his tunic as he ran, hat flying off to roll alongside him for a few seconds. His white shirt flapping where it pulled out of his blue serge trousers.

+ +

Paulie Degman had fallen into the river and he'd gone down in the fast black current and his boots had got snagged on something.

+ +

+ And that was the worst of it, Danny Gillan knew. Paulie hadn't collapsed and banged his head. He hadn't been hit by a big red bus going hell for leather round the corner from the old bridge to slam him against a wall and kill him stone dead in the blink of an eye. He'd gone down in the water and he'd got stuck and he must have fought and cried and hauled for breath and all the black silt had gone down his throat and he must have coughed out all of his air. Of all the million ways to go, all the hundreds of thousands of ways for boys to die, that was just about the worst, with only one exception young Danny Gillan could think of. You could fall off the big fan-shaped cliff up on Langmuir like Neil Kennedy's big brother who fractured his skull or you could take a header from the overhang under the castle ramparts down onto the flat basalt slope of eagle rock. You could climb one of the high tension pylons that strode over the hill from the power station to Barloan harbour and get fried to a cinder, so they said, to a crisp. You could slip on a rope swing and twist your neck in the noose and be gone before you knew it. You could even die in your sleep like they said in the prayers, + if I should die before I wake. I pray the Lord...

+ +

But drowning...

+ +

Paulie had gone down in the river and he'd drowned. In a couple of minutes, Danny, casually walking towards Barley Cobble, targeting the bobbing bottle, would have got to where the boys had been chucking stones and he'd have joined in the fun, making it a team effort, enjoying the company and the contest, the way it always is with boys. He'd have seen Paulie heave his rock, one of the shards from the brick-shed, hurl arm over shoulder, seen him slip on the slick algae at the edge, take a tumble, arms outstretched, a yelp of surprise blurting before he plunged in like one of the big spring-run salmon going up the weir.

+ +

Except Paulie was going down...

+ +

Danny had seen big John Fallon come thundering down, scattering the pigeons feeding on the spilt grain from the distillery wagon. They had gone clapping into the air in a flutter of panic while Danny's heart had been fluttering inside him and the very air had been charged with a dread tension.

+ +

"Out of my way," the policeman had roared. + Owramawae! Like some charging clan chief, the words crammed together but as eloquent as any cry and somehow crystal clear. A cart of firewood went tumbling as his boot caught it. John leapt over a cringing dog, reached the quayside and launched himself into the air. Everything about the moment was fixed in Danny Gillan's mind. He could see again the arc of the big sergeant's dive, perfect in every way. Arms straight out, shirt tail flapping. Two rowing boats were anchored just out from the side, a two-man span from the wall. The tide was in, and running high though the downward current was still fierce from the melt rains, but there was still a six-foot drop to the water. The policeman went between the boats with hardly a splash - and if he'd hit either one he'd have broken his neck for certain. He went straight under and disappeared. Black ripples shivered outwards and the boats rocked on the surface. +

+ +

The boy saw all this from the other side of the loading stair where the old grain barges used to park in days gone by. Forty yards ahead a crowd had gathered, atoms drawn together by the magnetism of death. Two men came down in a boat, rowing hard to cut across the current, backs bent with strain on the downpush. The screaming woman had reached the bottom of the tenement and she was running down the uneven cobbles, one shoe on and one off. Another splash, this one huge and there was a second man in the water. John Fallon had disappeared under the surface. Danny knew him. The policeman sometimes came round the school if there was ever an accident, or maybe a spate of shoplifting at Woolworth's, the kind of thing which always peaked before Christmas (and wasn't it an amazing thing that mothers always lost the knack of arithmetic when they unwrapped presents pocket money could never have bought?) Fallon was a decent enough big fellow. His son Jackie was only a few years younger than Danny and the two boys sometimes knocked around together.

+ +

A clock inside Danny's head was ticking off the seconds.

+ +

Another man jumped in red haired and red faced. It was Paulie Degman's uncle Peter who drove the cleansing wagon that hosed down the drains and sucked up the crap inside them.

+ +

+ Come up, come up. The words came of a sudden, with their own beat, like a metronome. It was for the boy and for the policeman both. +

+ +

The water erupted. John Fallon came splashing up, hauling for breath, his face smeared with thick river-bottom clay. He gasped once, twice, and then went porpoising down again. A siren came hee-hawing along River Street and its tone changed as it came fast as it could down the narrow scrape of Rope Vennell. Above it, up close to the shadowed back of the old tenement building, on the roof of the outhouses behind Cairn House, something flashed and glinted, a piece of metal or a shard of broken glass, catching the low light of the sun. It sent a white needle of light into Danny's eye and he screwed his eyes tight for an instant against the sudden glare. When he opened them again, the light was gone. Danny stopped and held onto the railing at the only part of the quayside where the council had fixed a safety barrier. Something made him turn away from the scene and look down into the water where sun glinted on the tumbling surface. The red wall of the distillery vented steam in a shriek of heat and a cloud passed over the sun. Down in the depths, something white moved. Danny's heart kicked like a mule and his throat clicked in a dry spasm. Something down in the depths of the water rolled over.

+ +

It could have been anything. It really could have been anything, a bundle of leaves, a piece of old rag, a discarded newspaper. Anything.

+ +

But for weeks after that, for months after that, in the dark of night as spring turned into summer and brought with it its own strange and terrifying days, Danny Gillan saw the bloodless face of Paulie Degman as he tried to claw his way to the surface.

+ +

"He came up, didn't he?"

+ +

Danny's daydream imploded and he came reeling back to this present.

+ +

"It could have been the bomb. What a blast. Like that Jap place." Doug's face was animated.

+ +

"Hirohito," Billy said.

+ +

"Naw, couldn't have been," little Tom Tannahill disagreed, shaking his head. "That was the atom bomb. It would have knocked the whole town flat. It was one of the five-hunner pounders. They say if it had hit the shipyard the whole place would have gone up like a rocket."

+ +

"Probably meant for the dummy village," Corky said. "That's where most of the bombs went."

+ +

Danny forced his mind away from the river and thoughts of the drowning of Paulie Degman. In a way he too was drowning. In their own way, all of them were, in this town on this strange and heavy summer. Mention of the Dummy Village had helped knock his mind off the dismal track.

+ +

"They say it's still standing," he told them. "Like a ghost town."

+ +

"Nah. Must have been blown to bits during the war," Billy said. "It was like the dambusters up there on the moor."

+ +

The war was twenty years gone and done but it was still close enough for each of them to remember the backlash. + Eat that and be grateful, you couldn't get it during the war. Austerity of a sort lived on for a while longer. +

+ +

"Has anybody ever been there?" Danny asked.

+ +

"My brother said he and a couple of fellas went up to have a look," Corky said. "But the place is guarded. Commandos or somebody. You can't get in, and if you do they can shoot you. It's the law. They've got the right."

+ +

Corky looked at them all, with a grin on his face. "But Phil's a lying toad. He couldn't find his arse with both hands in broad daylight."

+ +

Billy Harrison had just taken a deep draw on his cigarette. All of the smoke came out in a rush with his first bellow of laughter and then he went into a helpless fit of coughing. The others fell about laughing and even Danny laughed so hard he lost his balance fell off the tree trunk to land with a thump on the short grass.

+ +

That's how it all began....

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/002.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/002.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..91c5dcf --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/002.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,127 @@ + + + + 2 + + + + +
+
+

2

+ +

March:

+ +

On the same cold spring day that Paul Degman went into the river, on the same side of the harbour, though some three hundred yards upriver close to the weir at the bridge, Neil Hopkirk was watching the commotion from his vantage point on the roof of some outhouses behind the buildings fronting River Street.

+ +

Neil was sixteen years old and had lank dark hair hanging down below his collar and dangling in a straight and somehow imbecilic fringe over the rims of his glasses. He had a dark, pear-shaped birthmark on his left cheek, which earned him the nickname of Mole, but which only his best friends, a handful of idlers (including John Corcoran's brother Phil, who couldn't find his arse with both hands) could get away with, chiefly because they were as big and tougher than Neil Hopkirk himself. Neil had a vicious temper as many of the smaller kids could testify. He kept a bunch of keys on a long chain hooked to the belt-loop of his jeans, keys he had picked up here and there and which opened nothing, but they sounded good and important as they jangled on their chain, and to Neil they were the trophies that told the world that Neil Hopkirk was going to be the Best Cat Burglar in the History of Crime.

+ +

Whenever he daydreamed of his illustrious future, or occasionally confided to anybody who would listen, those words always had bold capital initials. Ever since he could remember, his hero had been Gentleman Johnny Ramensky, who had been a thief of heroic achievement, grace and style and whom the intelligence service had once sprung from Drumbain Jail to carry out a daring wartime raid behind the lines. Neil Hopkirk had seen that film in the old Regal Cinema four times, sneaking in without paying for three of those visits and demonstrating his uncanny ability (all of his abilities were uncanny, so Neil was convinced) to pass unseen, like an Indian tracker. In his fantasies he saw himself abseiling into a darkened vault from such a height no-one believed it humanly possible, snatching the diamonds, the bag of gold, the trunk of cash, or the secret plans worth a fortune. In those dreams, even the cops hounding him across rooftops - where he would slow down just to give them a sporting chance or a cheeky, swashbucklers wave - had a grudging respect for him. The newspapers would be full of stories of the Black Shadow, a name derived from another of his comic-book heroes, the Black Sapper who would tunnel under the earth in his mechanical mole. They would wonder who he was and in the Regal Cinema he would sit in the back seat, surrounded by the classiest girls in town - Neil was strictly limited in this part of his imagination - smoking king-sized cigarettes and tipping the ice-cream girl a wad of notes, seeing her eyes light up with gratitude and hero worship. All of the guys would be with them, Phil and Cammy and Pony McGill, basking in the warmth of his friendship while Tina Denny and Corrine Latta hung on his every word.

+ +

He would be the best, Neil knew. He'd boasted to the rest of the guys that he'd be a legend and while they'd laughed him down, he knew they'd eat it when he became the Best Cat Burglar in the History of Crime.

+ +

And now he was up on top of the old outhouses, lounging on the slates, with one casual arm hooked across the galvanised ridging.

+ +

He'd been trying a locked window at the back of the ironmongers, sliding the blade of his knife between the sash frames to kick the catch back, tongue out between his teeth. Crawford's Hardware sold fishing gear and hunting gear. In the front shop there was a glass case with expensive penknives including a horn-handled three-bladed beauty with Neil had been eyeing for some time. They had axes and glass-cutters, all part of the cat-burglar's kit, but they also sold shotguns and cartridges which were always stored in the back of the shop. Old man Crawford, who had a large white hearing-aid jammed up behind his ear and the milky, somehow mouldy beginnings of a cataract in his left eye always kept the guns in a back store and while nobody ever got in to the back room, Neil was convinced that this window was where the gun cabinet had to be, where big shotguns were stacked on a rack, along with boxes of shells. Already his imagination had taken over and he saw himself with a black balaclava, a figure of imposing menace, while the bank manager (though he'd never actually been in a bank, never mind met a bank manager) pleaded with please don't shoot. And the pretty cashier, she'd be eyeing up the tall, masked stranger, wishing he would take her away from this boring, humdrum job, to a life of luxury and hot adventure.

+ +

It was all within arms reach, Neil just knew.

+ +

Then, behind the bars, behind the frosted glass, a shape loomed up in front of him.

+ +

"Wah....!" The eloquence that came so naturally in Neil's daydreams deserted him completely.

+ +

The shape leaned forward, right up against the pane. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" a voice roared from behind the pane, losing none of its force, making the glass itself rattle.

+ +

Instantly Neil recognised the bull-tones of Donal Crawford, the old man's nephew who worked Saturdays. He was six foot four and built like a brick shithouse and as tough as steel bolts too.

+ +

Big Donal reached for the catch and shoved the window up with a ratchetting clatter. Fortunately the frame hit the safety lock when the window was only six inches open. Neil backed against the wall at the far side of the alley and hit his head a smart crack on the crumbly stonework, hard enough to hurt but not enough to damage. Big Donal was yelling non stop, all the phrases jammed up against each other and ever one of them promising lasting pain to whoever had tried to break into his uncle's premises.

+ +

In the two seconds before Neil turned and scooted down the alley, he saw he had been mistaken in assuming the window led on to the storeroom where the shiny shotguns were stacked. Through the six-inch gap, quite clearly, he saw the hairy, spotty thighs of old man Crawford's nephew and he realised that he'd tried to break into the outhouse where big Donal was having a crap.

+ +

Neil came skittering out of the alley. There was a broken down wall where the old boatshed had collapsed in the storm and beside it a straggle of weeds from last year. Neil went ploughing into the scrub, crashing through the dried heads of dockens and the wood-saw teeth of bramble runners. Behind him Donal was still bawling in fury and Neil knew it would only be a matter of seconds before the big fellow pulled up his trousers and came barging out the back door on the alleyway.

+ +

Somewhere downriver somebody screamed, high and glassy on the cold spring air. Neil came stumbling through the weed patch when without any warning at all, a big dark shape loomed up. Neil whipped round and saw a policeman come running towards him. His heart stopped still and he felt the blood drain right out of his face.

+ +

It was big John Fallon. His black boots thumped on the cobbles and his hat went flying off to roll like a spare wheel along the flat. Neil's first instinct was to run, but the sergeant was going full tilt. The boy measured the distance to the corner of Rope Vennel, the next alley which led up to River Street, and he knew he'd never make it and even if he did, he'd be caught before he was halfway up and the sergeant would give him an extra toe up the backside for making him run.

+ +

Neil turned, hands out in a gesture that said he gave in and was ready to come quietly.

+ +

Big John Fallon came powering towards him. Neil stepped forward but the policeman simply leapt over the pile of bricks and crumbled mortar from the ruined boatshed. For an instant the boy thought the Sergeant was going to land on top of him, but Fallon's eyes were fixed dead ahead of him. He didn't even notice the cringing would-be burglar.

+ +

Amazed, Neil Hopkirk followed the thundering progress. The sergeant was stripping off his tunic. Neil watched him throw it to the side and again his instinct almost took over. There would be a whistle and maybe a set of handcuffs. Certainly a police warrant card that would come in handy to an international jewel thief. But just then he heard the slam of the service door at the hardware store and knew he shouldn't hang around.

+ +

John Fallon was halfway down the quayside. A couple of boys came round the corner, pushing a cart heaped up with chopped firewood and they tried to take evasive action. The policeman's foot sent it and all the bundles rolling across the cobbled walk. Neil went up the alley for a few yards, then turned, jammed his hands in his pockets and came sauntering back the way he'd come.

+ +

Big Donal stopped for a moment, his face red and so swollen with anger it looked as if it would burst. Neil nodded as calmly as he could, while thinking to himself that for such a big fella, Donal wasn't too gifted in the equipment department. In the hardware department, Neil thought, and started to giggle. Donal gave him a suspicious look before he turned to run down in the same direction as the policeman. Neil took a left up Fish Pend, the narrowest alley in town and which bore the powerful aroma of the fishmonger's filleting and gutting slabs. Phil Corcoran and Campbell Galt, they'd been with a couple of girls, at least so they said and they swore blind that when they got wet, they smelled the same way. Neil, who had never got as much as a kiss playing postman's knock, hoped that wasn't the case, otherwise it would make him pretty sick for sure.

+ +

He held his breath until he got to Boat Pend which led to the arched walkway right under the old tenements. There was a narrow niche here and a downpipe on the wall out of sight of people passing by up on River Street. Without much hesitation, Neil jinked into the space, took hold of the pipe and went up the wall, hand over hand, bracing his feet against the rough sandstone. In a matter of seconds, he was up on a low, swaybacked slate roof. He went over the ridge and slid down the lee, still out of sight. There was an old skylight here, which let little light though to whatever was below. He wiped the glass with the heel of his hand and peered in. It was some old shed full of rusted machinery, though the shadows changed everything and gave them all interesting shapes. The skylight was shut but he could have broken a pane and slipped the catch. He decided to leave it for the moment, at least until he'd swiped a few flashlight batteries out of Woolworth's.

+ +

Up on the roof, despite the cold of the spring day, the slates were surprisingly warm. Neil Hopkirk sat in the valley formed by the two slopes between the ridges, completely hidden from view. It was exactly his kind of place. Further down the quayside, there were a couple of men in a rowing boat and people were shouting. From along near Barley Cobble, a woman was yammering something and Neil thought that maybe somebody had fallen into the river. It was too far away to make out. He sat for a while, enjoying the warmth of the old slates and then he turned to look at the building behind him.

+ +

The tenement was in shadow. It was tall and gaunt and the windows were darkened and for a moment Neil Hopkirk didn't know which particular one it was. They all looked different from the back. Round on River Street, most of them had shops on ground level, Woolworth's, Crawford's the Ironmonger, Christie's bakery, dozens of shops in a busy town's main street. Round the back they didn't look so good. It was as if the builders knew the only people who would come round here would be fish-gutters and draymen and van drivers. This was the town's tradesman's entrance, dirty and unfinished, the hidden backside of a bustling town.

+ +

Neil stood up and took his keys out. He was far enough out from the wall to be in the sunlight. He swing them around, letting the round metal dog-tag glitter in the sun while he checked out the windows. The sunlight sent a circle of white reflected light flashing as it tracked up the slates and then sparked out down the quayside.

+ +

The valley of the low roof still afforded cover. The boy followed the line of the gutter and got to the first low window. It was only a foot square, probably a vent from a cellar and completely festooned with cobwebs. A roan pipe came down from the edge of the high roof, a slender tree of metal with chevrons of branch drains going left and right. Without hesitation, Neil scrambled up the pipe, followed the first branch out for five feet, straining to grasp the nearest window ledge. He reached it, hauled himself up to sit with his back to the window to check if anyone had seen. There were no shouts of alarm, at least none other than the turbulence down there where the men were rowing and the urgent yelling of men and women mingled to create a twist of tension on the air.

+ +

He felt behind him, got his fingers pressed up against the first panel of the six frame-panes and pushed hard. There was a soft squeal of protest, or dry wood on wood, and the window lifted just a little. Neil's heart started to beat faster. He turned on the ledge to peer inside. For an instant, his own reflection moved, as if there was somebody else inside the dark room and Neil almost fell down onto the slates. He had to wait until his heart climbed down from his throat before he could get a hand over his eyes to cut out the reflection and peer inside. The gloom had cleared and in that second he knew where he was. It was Doctor Green's old surgery. He'd moved out a couple of years ago and nobody had seen him since. There was some talk of abortions, but nobody knew why he had just upped and left. He had lived and worked here, using most of the third floor of Cairn House. From where he sat on the ledge, the boy could make out a table and chairs. Some cupboards. A bag which might contain a doctor's medical kit, shiny and deadly scalpels, maybe a syringe, or even some chloroform to overpower guards. Neil Hopkirk's imagination was off and running again.

+ +

He eased the window up, inch by inch, fearful that it might jam and he'd fail again this day. The window opened six inches, ten, a foot, a bit more. Enough to let Neil Hopkirk through. He squirmed in, head and shoulders first, feeling the weight on his ribs then his belly. The flat plaque of metal on his key-chain, where he'd had his name engraved in the cobbler's shop, caught the sun and flashed a sparkle of light over the roof and into the eyes of a boy who was watching a tragedy unfold down on the quayside. Neil wriggled some more, pushed forward. His legs were sticking outside when he got to the balance point of no return and started to slide forward. Unable to stop, he put his hands out in front of him while he slid down. His shins scraped painfully on the edge of the window and he landed with a thump and clatter.

+ +

He was in.

+ +

It took a minute or so for his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom and for the hot abrasion-burn to fade from the skinny shin-bones. It was dusty in here, and there was a smell that was worse than the flat and slimy reek in Fish Pend. Neil wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was a sickly reek that reminded Neil of the time he'd reached into the pigeon's nest last summer when he was collecting eggs. He'd reached over the rim and put his hand into the flat twiggy saucer. His fingers had touched something cool and yielding and then they'd slipped inside the small mound. He'd felt the cold wetness and brought his hand back and he'd almost fallen off the wall under the railway bridge where the street-pigeons nested. It had been an abandoned nest. The two chicks had been half grown and now both of them were now half rotted. Their innards had the texture of cold custard and their half-feathered skins were thin as wet paper. Neil had brought his hand down to eye level - to nose level - and the white maggots had been pulsing in the viscid mess on his fingers and the smell had hit him so hard he had almost retched. He'd flicked his hand to whip them away and some of the mess had splattered Cammy Galt's cheek and he'd been far from pleased about that. Neil recalled Cammy waiting for him to gingerly descend and then he'd kicked Neil a smart one right up the crack of his arse with those winkle-picker teddy-boy boots he always wore and Neil's backside had gone into a puckering spasm that made him feel as if the boot was still stuck up there a full hour later.

+ +

The smell inside the old surgery was almost - but not quite - as bad as the foul reek from the dead squeakers in the nest. Neil supposed a pigeon had found its way in and not been able to get back out again. There was an overlying mustiness on the dusty air, a hint of dry rot, stale urine. This place hadn't been used for a couple of years, maybe more. There might not be anything worth stealing.

+ +

But he was inside, and that was a part of it, almost the best of it. There was an excitement of just getting inside a building, coming in through a window or down from a skylight into an empty place. Trespassing. Breaking and entering. Gaining illegal access. Neil's heart had speeded up and he could feel the delicious tension in the pit of his belly. All of his senses were alert, though he wished his nose wasn't quite so efficient. The hairs on his forearms were standing up as his hands clenched into fists. He was aware of everything, the far-off noises of whatever was happening down at the quay. The muted piping of gulls. The steamy crash of the jackhammer down at the shipyard next to the castle rock. He waited, listening for a few moments. The back room was still in shadow, but the sun glanced off a window of the yacht repairers across the river and sent a shaft of light straight in, cutting the darkness in an almost solid beam in which tiny dust-motes twirled and sparkled. Out on River Street, a big haulage wagon from the distillery rumbled past, shivering the foundations. The door of the room was open, just an inch or two, not much more. Beyond it, the rest of the building beckoned. It tugged at Neil. Somewhere in the dark of the hallway, something small squeaked twice and then stopped. For a small instant, all sound was cut off and the silent ambience of the empty building was filled with hollow echoes.

+ +

Neil crossed from the window, keeping low. There was a set of drawers which he opened one by one, instinctively doing it right, starting at the bottom so he couldn't have to close the next. Inside, there were some brochures about pregnancy and the kinds of things mothers should eat. The bag on the shelf was oddly clean. Inside there was some clothing, not very clean, and a half bottle of whisky with little more than a mouthful left at the bottom. Neil twisted the top and drank the dregs, savouring the burn, and he shuddered at the strange taste. He slung the bottle back in the bag and crossed to the door. The whisky fumes were warm on his breath and he was feeling pretty good about this whole thing.

+ +

The door opened with a tiny creak, not much louder and just as high-pitched as the squeak made by the distant mouse or bat or whatever small creature had panicked. He slowly crossed the narrow hallway. Here, on the floor, somebody had smashed a pane of glass and the shards crackled under his feet like sharp gravel. Three doors led off and Neil knew one of them would lead down the stairs and out onto River Street. As far as he remembered the whole building was empty and if he'd read the Levenford Gazette he'd have known that a development company planned to convert the whole of it into apartments, but Neil Hopkirk had progressed none since getting the basics and struggled even to read the shiny Superman and Fantastic Four comics from America.

+ +

The first room was the old surgery. It was not big, but laid out with a flat and mouldering trolley-bed with a thin plastic cover ripped in so many places that it looked as if it had been raked with machine gin fire. The stuffing puffed out like flak-bursts. The desk was plain wood and thick with dust. Neil opened a cupboard door and jumped back in fright as a white shape swung with it. It took a second for his brain to identify the floating ghost as a white overall. It took several seconds more for Neil to get his breath back.

+ +

There was nothing in the cabinet by the window where an old porcelain sink caught the light. It had two neat tap-handles that could be operated with an elbow.

+ +

There was nothing here worth stealing. On the wall, a couple of tracts, pages torn from a bible, were white against the peeling green floral wallpaper. They held no interest for the Best Cat Burglar in the History of Crime.

+ +

He turned away from the wall and sauntered back to the hallway.

+ +

Something froze him in his tracks.

+ +

Neil Hopkirk stopped still. The hair on his arms stuck out so high they formed gooseflesh. The hairs on the back of his neck began to crawl and the skin between his shoulder-blades puckered and tensed.

+ +

There was something else in the building. He started to turn, got one hand up against the doorpost. His breath had backed up tight in his throat.

+ +

A harsh scraping noise came from behind him. In that split second Neil Hopkirk realised it was the sound of broken glass grinding into the floor.

+ +

Something, someone, had taken a step behind him, crushing the shards of window-glass. Neil completed his turn. A white face came swooping out of the darkness of the corridor, fast, too fast to be anything more than a blur. A hand came up even faster and slammed into the side of his head, open handed and hard. Neil's head whipped back in a bright flash of pain and cracked against the doorpost, gouging a gash into the skin of his scalp.

+ +

A blurt of panicked sound escaped him. He reeled, instinctively going with the blow in the same direction as his reflex had swung him in an attempt to dodge it. The pain flared bright for only a second and then he was moving. Feet crunched on the glass again and he saw a grey motion out of the corner of his eye. He twisted, squirming past the doorjamb, fright galvanising him into suddenly fluid motion. A hand reached for him, almost caught the back of his jerkin and merely slapped him forward towards the stairs.

+ +

He hit the first flight running like a startled rabbit, whimpering as he went. All he had seen was a blurred shape and the hand that had swung round to slam into his head. There had been no warning at all, only the sudden violence.

+ +

Footsteps thudded now behind him in the hall. He took the steps two at a time, grabbing onto the old banister for purchase, heading up into the darkness. He skittered to the landing, swung himself round and up again into the gloom. Here there were another three doors, one of them slanted, torn from its hinges. The other two gaped black. Behind him, he could hear the blundering progress of whoever had hit him. He dived to the left, out of sight of his pursuer, got through the broken door and swung right down a very narrow little lobby that smelled of pigeon shit and rotted paper. He reached a small room with one window boarded with planks of wood. Over in the corner, there was a tall cupboard with no door. The backing plaster was punctured and rotten, and most of it had fallen to the floor in mouldering grains. The room was gloomy, but Neil Hopkirk's eyes were wide with fright and with the burst of adrenaline now shunting down his veins. He crossed quickly to the cupboard, all of his senses straining for signs of pursuit. He could hear the heavy footfalls of someone who did not care how much noise he made, and the harsh breathing. A meaty thud told him a hand was slapping on the smooth wood of the banister. He tried to slow his breathing to absolute stillness while he crossed the floor, silent now as a cat, to the open cupboard. He crouched, seeing no other avenue of escape, his glasses already dimming the poor light. He turned, pushed himself into the hole where the plaster had fallen away. It had looked deep, as if there was a passage that might lead into the thick wall itself. He pressed further and came to a sudden stop against the crumbling sandstone, jammed half in, half out.

+ +

The man's breathing came harsh. He reached the top of the stairs, paused. Neil could envisage him wondering which room to try and he pressed himself further into the cavity, managing to get his legs out of sight, but unable to pull his head and hands back. He curled himself tight, trying to make his shape as small as possible. In this gloom, if he stayed still, maybe the man wouldn't see him. + Maybe

+ +

A scrape of sound came from beyond the room, much like the first noise that had alerted him, then a motion in the doorway.

+ +

His heart thudded in two hard kicks. A man came in, walking very slowly. His whole shape seemed to fill the space, shoulders almost touching each side. He came in, stood there, just a fuzzed shape in the darkness, but scarily defined, solid. Neil heard him breathe, fast and slightly ragged, but other than that, he made no sound. He cocked his head to the side, as if listening, turned to go out again.

+ +

Mole coughed.

+ +

It was as simple as that, a little catch at the back of his throat and a cough that just jumped out unbidden. The man turned, came stalking back into the room with no hesitation at all, pinpointing the source exactly. He reached, grabbed Neil by the hair, hauled him right out so violently one of his shoes caught in the old plaster and went whirling off. The world spun as the boy was thrown across the room towards the doorway. He tried to get to his feet and almost made it, too scared to cry out, his whole scalp burning in pain. Behind him the man moved, caught him by the back of the neck, and drew him to his feet pulling him out through the doorway. He dragged him down the stairs to the lower level, slammed him through the first doorway, feet crunching once again on the glass shards. Neil's glasses went spinning off to the side. All the sharp shapes blurred. The boy went staggering backwards and the man's other hand came up and straight-armed into his nose.

+ +

Brilliant hurt blossomed in the middle of his face and in his eyes. Tears simply spurted, just like the blood which blurted from both nostrils. Neil let out a squawk of pain and dreadful fear. The massive shape that had come through the darkened doorway slapped him again and sent him crashing against the desk. His thigh hit with almost enough force to break the bone and this time the hurt was so much that for an instant the room went completely dark, as if the power had somehow failed inside his brain. He went tumbling over the desk and his chin connected with the hard surface of the sink, thumping hard enough to clash his teeth together and strip a slice of skin from his tongue.

+ +

Neil was swimming in a sea of pain, shock now powering up so that his brain was unable to comprehend what had happened. Within the first seconds the shock began to overpower the pain, layering and lacquering it with a strange numbness.

+ +

A hand clamped on the back of his neck and lifted him straight upwards. The pressure was so great that Neil Hopkirk only felt himself hauled off the floor before everything faded away and a complete darkness swamped him.

+
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+

3

+ +

August...

+ +

"I bet we could find it."

+ +

John Corcoran had swivelled on the fallen elm and was clambering to stand up on the massive trunk. He shaded his eyes against the high sun and pointed across the river, indicating roughly north.

+ +

"It's up beyond the barwoods," Corky assured them. "Up on the moor."

+ +

"I heard that too," Tom Tannahill agreed. "There's the bomb craters on this side of the woods. Remember the craters where we used to catch newts and frogs? The dummy village must be up that way, 'cause that's where the bombs fell."

+ +

"I heard it was up at the Blackwood Stream," Danny Gillan pitched in. "Right at the source,"

+ +

"I bet it's not as far as that," Billy Harrison countered, which was not entirely unexpected. "That's about twenty miles away. You could never walk that far in a month of Sundays."

+ +

All of them had spent the better part of every summer holiday - except this one which was different from all the rest - playing in and around the Blackwood Stream which tumbled down a deep gorge beyond the barwoods and meandered to empty itself into the river just north of the town. They had been up beyond Blackwood Farm, and even to the low ridge of heathery hills beyond, but none of them had ever reached the end of the stream. There was a rumour that like Strowan's Well down in Arden the water came gushing pure and clear out of a cleft of rock, like the story in the bible, but nobody knew for certain, so Billy's estimate went unchallenged.

+ +

"It's pretty far up, I reckon," Danny insisted. "It would have to be if they didn't want the Jerries to miss and drop them right here."

+ +

"It would take too long," Billy argued. "We'd never get back in time. It would take more'n a day."

+ +

"Who cares how long it would take?" Corky said. He turned back towards them, spinning quickly and almost losing his balance on the smooth wood where the bark had been stripped away. He pinwheeled his arms for balance, regained it and stood with his legs planted apart. "We could take the tent."

+ +

Everybody stopped. It was one of those odd moments when an idea is tossed in the air like a shiny coin and just catches everyone's attention while it spins. There was a drawn-out silence. They all knew which tent. Phil Corcoran and some of pals had dumped it out of the scout lorry after a camp a couple of years before and it had never made its way back to the scout hall. Sometimes Corky and the rest of the boys would set it up on the flat meadow by the Ladyburn stream that wended its way down past Corrieside and on hot summer nights there would always be a selection of youngsters sitting out under the stars beside the red embers of a stickwood fire, playing three-card brag and pontoon, telling jokes and tall tales, poring over tattered copies of an old Parade magazine where they'd get all hot and bothered if they saw so much as one bare tit.

+ +

Not this summer, though.

+ +

Since long before the school term finished at the end of June, since April at least, there had been an unofficial curfew in the town that was as tight as any the council could have tried to enforce and for most of the summer, since the trouble began, no mother in town would allow any of her children to camp out at night. Most wouldn't let their children play out of sight.

+ +

"No chance," Billy said. "My ma would throw a fit and a bad turn. She'd go + bonanza if she even knew I was down here. She thinks I'm round at Doug's house reading comics right now." +

+ +

"Mine too," Doug agreed. "I have to tell her where I'm going and when I'll be back. After what happened to Don Whalen she was a nervous wreck. Our Terry isn't even allowed out of the front garden."

+ +

Danny nodded along with them. There was still a nervousness about the town after what had been happening since the spring, and although it seemed to be over now, seemed to be over, it took a while for mothers to settle down again. They were like chickens in a coop still fretful after the stoat has gone, leaving the thick scent of blood in the air. Mothers were instinctive that way. They could still smell the blood. They were still scared in case the next blood they smelled would the blood of their own.

+ +

"They would never know," Corky said, green-brown eyes bright and alive with that combination of mischief and adventure that made him the natural hub of their group. "We could say we're going along with the Scouts. They're doing the weekend camp up at Linnvale."

+ +

That was true and well enough known. The past couple of summer months had meant every kid was kept on a short leash and the community had organised a series of events, summerplay picnics and day-trips, just to give the mothers a break, and to relieve the boredom of boys who needed to roam. The scout troop were taking groups of boys, sometimes forty and fifty strong, to a campsite nearly thirty miles outside town and as far as most parents were concerned in that particular summer, the far enough away, the better.

+ +

"Nobody would ever know," Corky repeated. "We could load up with food and just skin out when the scout bus leaves. As long as we get back at the same time, we could still do it."

+ +

"It would be some hike," Billy objected. "Could be twenty miles like I said, even more."

+ +

"But we could be the first. The first ever. Nobody's ever found the Dummy Village before. Nobody's ever seen it, except Phil and he's a liar. We could bring something back to show the rest of them, eh? Better than hanging around all day going doo-lally, bored out of your brains."

+ +

"But what if...?:" Somebody asked and somebody else threw in another spanner and somebody else thought they might get away with it and while they were talking the quarrymen let off another blast up on Drumbeck Hill. The sound of man-made thunder came rolling down on the still air and rumbled across the water. Each of them stopped talking.

+ +

"Come on," Corky said. "This place still gives me the creeps."

+ +

Billy ground his cigarette out under his heel. Danny picked up a pine-cone and flicked it against Corky's head. Doug loaded his little slingshot with a smooth acorn and aimed it at Tom's backside. In a minute they were out of the trees that bordered Keelyard Road by the river and were heading up towards the bridge, the memory of Paul Degman's death fading just a little in the light of the sun and in the heat of the agreement which might have been yet unspoken, but was somehow fixed between them all.

+
+

March:

+ +

Sister Julia Gillies had come sweeping into the classroom in a rustle of beads and a jangle of keys. She was small and round and had a deep, almost masculine voice and an eye that could fix you like a spear when she meant business which was pretty much all of the time. She had a raised mole on her cheek with three stiff black hairs sticking out, as if her skin had trapped a fly under the surface and it was trying to work its way back out.

+ +

She nodded to Matthew Bryden who was attempting to teach a class of thirty boys and girls the finer mysteries of Shakespeare and, only with a phenomenal amount of luck, getting through to more than a scant half-dozen. Quarryhill School was perched on the edge of an abandoned hole in the ground where sandstone had been blasted and cut to build half the old tenements in the town. It was just like any other school, a place where kids were sent for five days of the week for the catch-as-catch-can lottery of learning. Here, the teachers churned and hashed their furrows, never deviating one year to the next, scattering their knowledge like confetti, or + shite in a field, as the local expression would have it. It landed on some and missed others completely and the grey teachers ploughed on regardless. It was up behind the school that something would happen, later that year, in the drop off at the old sandstone quarry. At this moment, however, the madness that would settle on the town was yet to stoke up. Only one person was aware of it, and he was not going to tell a soul. +

+ +

The tough little nun who ran the school turned at the table, one hand clenched around the wooden cross dangling from the outsize beads tied at her waist. She swivelled, as if on castors and scanned the class, eyes flicking from one desk to the next.

+ +

"Paul Degman is dead." No preamble, no softening of any blow, though everybody knew it anyway. In schools and in schoolyards rumours, gossip and truth travel somewhere close to the speed of light. "He drowned in the river on Saturday and now he is with Jesus." She nodded her head when she said the holy name. Down near the front, two girls sitting side by side burst into tears and automatically turned to hug each other. Up at the back Billy Harrison and Doug Nicol stopped digging each other's ribs and leaned forward on their desk tops.

+ +

"As you have often been told, playing by the river is dangerous. By now you will realise why. Remember that all of you."

+ +

She swept her eyes round them again, somehow catching every one of them, making beady contact.

+ +

"It could have been any one of you."

+ +

Danny Gillan felt that cold shiver again. John Corcoran saw the look on his face. "We can swim like fish," he whispered. "Paulie couldn't."

+ +

"The Good Lord can look down on you at any time and decide to take you, and that's what he did with Paul Degman, which is why you must always try to be in a + state of grace."

+ +

"That's total shite," Corky said, keeping his voice low and Danny could tell he was angry just by the use of that word. Corky hardly ever swore, no matter how much his ne'er-do-well father and his crazy, jittery brother might curse. "What's she want to say a thing like that for? He fell in, poor sod. He was just unlucky."

+ +

Sister Julia's voice boomed on. "So let us hope that Paul Degman's immortal soul was in a + state of grace when the Lord decided to take him, otherwise...."

+ +

Otherwise, he'd be in - Danny Gillan closed his eyes - + He'd be in the bad fire, wouldn't he?

+ +

Danny didn't have to hear Sister Julia to know what was coming. He'd lived with the spectre of the + bad fire flickering hot at the edge of his consciousness since before he'd even started in the primary school. Four and a half years old and he knew about hell and the everlasting flames that would burn and sear and never, stop. + Not ever! If there was a hell, then it had to be burning flames that went on and on and on and shrivelled your skin and flesh and could never be put out, while God in his infinite mercy and wisdom allowed it to go on. + And on.

+ +

"Remember now, Daniel," It was always Daniel. Never Danny, or Dan. He'd read about Daniel in the lions den - and read every other book in the bible besides - and sometimes he felt a strange kinship with his namesake. There were times when he felt he'd been put into a hole and somebody had rolled a rock over to close out the daylight and down in the shadows, eyes would watch him and beasts might roar. In his imagination, lions prowled in the darkness. Somewhere in the distant dark, there would be the hint of burning, the smell of smoke. "Remember Daniel," his father never tired of reminding him. "He can see everything you do, and you don't want to go to the + bad fire do you now? That's where you go if you're bad."

+ +

Always a warning, always a parable, and hardly a laugh along the way. This God business was a serious thing, as the young Daniel Gillan discovered at a tender age, and + He was always ready to look down with fire in his eye and give it to you good and proper. No messing about here. His heavy hand could come out of nowhere and knock you to the ground. A paternal thing. What fathers were for, especially fathers almighty. +

+ +

Jesus loves me this I know… But Good God's getting the furnace stoked and glowing.

+ +

At the age of three, Danny's sister Agnes had been helping their mother in the kitchen. She had come out with a bowl of piping hot custard and Danny had stumbled against her, sending the bowl flying. The boiling custard had come down in a searing, cauterising splash to cover his back and his neck and he'd fallen, screaming to the linoleum floor, trying vainly to crawl out of the puddle of scalding liquid. His hands and knees could gain no purchase and the more he tried the more he slipped, while the skin on his neck and back puckered and blistered. The family had no car then - and still didn't - so it took a half an hour to get to the cottage hospital and another hour to be transferred to Lochend General where he spent three weeks getting the dressings changed twice a day by nurses with kindness in their eyes and ruthlessness in their fingers. At the age of thirteen, Danny could still remember the sear of the pain as the nurses pulled the lint away, taking off the thin slick of blistered skin while another nurse held his shoulders flat on the bed to stop him squirming. They could not stop him hurting and they could not stop him screaming. That had been bad. That had been excruciating.

+ +

But it had been nothing compared to the scalding custard and the shriek of his nerve endings on the day it had happened. That had been the most fundamental experience of his entire existence. The pain had gone on and on and never seemed to stop while the skin all down his shoulders and back sloughed away and shrank on his flesh while he screamed and shrieked and tried to crawl.

+ +

Burning was something he knew about. + Oh Hallelujah. And according to Dan Gillan Senior, if you weren't in a state of grace when God took you, then burning is what you got. An eternity of it. +

+ +

All of his life, young Danny had been made aware of the + Bad Fire and until he was seven years old, his dreams had been fraught with heat and flickering red shadows and the smell of burning flesh. +

+ +

And the idea of a God who could do that, who knew everything from start to finish and had it all planned in his vast mind, that was a very scary idea altogether. The young Danny didn't want to believe in the kind of God who was so two-faced he would pretend to love you while he knew you would burn forever. It was a set up. + It was a fix.

+ +

But as a kid he'd been too scared not to believe. He had prayed at night so that the God of his father would spare him from the flames. He'd prayed. And occasionally his own father would get the priest, Father Dowran, to come round and reinforce the lesson, Father Dowran with liquor on his breath and a strange heat in his stroking hands. They'd all prayed. For a state of grace.

+ +

"So tomorrow morning there will be special prayers offered up for the repose of his soul," Sister Julia was saying. A girl close to Danny and Corky burst into tears and beside her a boy started to snivel. Danny felt the cold shiver crawl up his spine and in his mind's eye he saw the pale shape under the dark surface of the river and the strange twinkle of light on the roof of the old outhouse buildings on the far side of Boat Pend.

+ +

"Everybody be there at nine sharp."

+ +

Yeah, so we can all pray, Danny thought, + that he doesn't end up in the Bad Fire. Danny knew prayers did no good. What a deal for poor Paulie. Down there in the cold water. One minute he was playing on the bank, throwing stones at gulls and tin cans and the next he's down there in the cold and the murk, swallowing river mud, and then we've got to pray so that he doesn't get hauled away to the + Bad Fire by a terrible, vengeful god.

+ +

Danny wondered what a boy like Paulie Degman could ever have done to have been allowed to drown down there in the river; what he could possibly have done to be allowed to burn. He couldn't think of + any reason, any sin that would be bad enough to make you burn forever. On the curve of his shoulder, just beside his neck on the fine skin on the collarbone, there was still a flat, puckered scar that had been the mark of the scald as a child. Automatically, his fingers stroked the memory. +

+ +

"It's shite," Corky said again, snapping Danny out of the black thoughts. "Once you've had it, that's it. Finished. Gone and done. That's why you better make the most of it while you've got it, and you only ever get the one chance." He turned to Danny. "You believe in all this garbage?"

+ +

Danny shook his head. He'd shucked off his belief in an almighty only a year or so past, but old habits died hard and old indoctrination ran deep.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/004.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/004.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14e88e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/004.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,147 @@ + + + + 4 + + + + +
+
+

4

+ +

March:

+ +

On the Wednesday that Neil Hopkirk was finally posted missing, big John Fallon had been round to have a chat with Phil Corcoran who answered in slow monosyllables. Danny and Tom had been sitting with Corky under the aluminium shelf that served as a porch when the policeman had come round. He'd stood on the step, nodding to them all in his sage and watchful way, letting them know that he saw everything they did and was all right about it so long as they didn't overstep his mark. They all nodded back, even Corky, which came as a surprise to the other two. They'd thought he'd hate the police after what happened to his old man, but Corky made a silent acknowledgement, as if determined not to show any weakness. It was almost man to man.

+ +

When the policeman had gone inside, Corky had shrugged off their inquiring glances and Danny sensed there was more to that simple nod than any of them realised.

+ +

"Sit up straight," Mamie Corcoran chided her son with a swift knuckle to his shoulder. He grunted a guttural response and through the open window - the three of them sat still so they could catch every word - they heard the policeman patiently try to ascertain Mole Hopkirk's last whereabouts. Phil Corcoran swore blind he hadn't seen Neil since Friday when they were down at Biagi's snooker hall on Kirk Street. In fact, he'd been with Mole Hopkirk on Saturday morning testing the locks on the old warehouses at the far end of the rough drain just in case one of them hadn't been snapped shut. Neil had had to go off on some errand and that's the last he'd seen of him. But Phil knew that the busy-boys could be sneaky and while it was true he hadn't seen Neil for a couple of days, he couldn't be sure that this was all a pretence on John Fallon's part and that he was just trying to draw Phil out so he could pin something in him like they had done to his old man.

+ +

The three boys listened to Phil's verbal swerving, grinning each time he sounded nervous and began to stammer but the policeman didn't hang around long enough to make him really sweat. The next day it was all round the school. Neil Hopkirk had left the previous autumn, having reached the age of fifteen. He was well known to most of the younger boys. The last anybody had seen of him was when Donal Crawford had passed him in the alley after somebody had tried to jemmy the hardware store's window. Now that Donal thought about it, that very person could very well have been Hopkirk, but now it was too late to do anything about it. As far as anybody knew, Mole had gone up the alley and disappeared along crowded River Street.

+ +

During the week, a different policeman had come round the classes, introduced by Sister Julia who would have been better at wringing a confession than a squad of police with truncheons. Had anybody seen Neil Hopkirk? Everybody had.

+ +

"...And he's a swine," Doug said when they were out behind the boys toilets, sheltering from the cold and blustery rain. "As crabbit as a stoat. He tried to kick me in the balls just because he thought I was staring at that birthmark of his. Chased me all down the Aitkenbar Hill when we were sledging. I thought the creep was going to kill me. Probably would have and all."

+ +

"Aw, there's nothing to him," Billy said. "He just talks big and flashes that bunch of keys about, but he couldn't punch his way out of a wet paper bag. He's as strong as a dry fart."

+ +

"I suppose you've fought him then?" Danny asked. He'd taken the odd sharp-knuckled punch on the arm, or the occasional dead-leg from a well placed knee. Mole Hopkirk could be mean whenever he wanted and with the younger kids, that was most of the time.

+ +

"No, I never fought him, but that doesn't mean I wouldn't if he claimed me," Billy asserted. "He's all mouth."

+ +

"So why did you give him a smoke down on Rope Vennel last week?" Tom demanded to know. He turned to the rest of them. "It was the same day Paulie went into the river. Mole came down the alley near the ironmongers, swinging those keys of his that don't fit anything and he saw me and Billy smoking. Right away he's in at us for one."

+ +

"I had plenty," Billy protested, his face reddening. "It wasn't a big thing. I just gave him one out of the goodness of my heart."

+ +

"Either that or he'd have swiped your face with his keys and taken the whole packet."

+ +

"Yeah, he can be a mean swine," Danny agreed, taking the heat out of it before Billy got any angrier and felt he had to prove something. "Maybe he's just left. Moved on."

+ +

"With any luck he's fallen in the river along with Paulie. Couldn't happen to a nicer person." Doug laughed. "I wouldn't miss him, I can tell you."

+ +

"Maybe he took on somebody bigger than himself and got a severe tanking," Billy said. "Maybe somebody beat the shite out of him and threw him in."

+ +

"Too much to hope for," Corky said. "He'll turn up sooner or later. Anyway, who cares about him? He's as thick as shit in the neck of a bottle."

+ +

The bell rang out, muffled only slightly by the drizzly rain. They hitched up their collars and filed across the yard from the old toilet block. The rain was still spring-cold and blustered in up the firth on the west wind. Summer hadn't yet arrived, but it was coming.

+
+

In the back room of Cairn House, in the old abandoned surgery, Neil Hopkirk was dying.

+ +

It was dark in the shadows, but a slanted beam of light piercing between some boards over the window, white and solid in the dust-laden air at the far end of the hallway told him it was daytime. The occasional rumbling vibration of a truck passing on River Street confirmed it.

+ +

The hurt had faded for now, faded to a burning glow from the intense flame of the last time he had come round and that had been really bad. Bad enough to make him scream but no sound had come out and all the screaming had been inside his head.

+ +

Mole was dying and he couldn't move. He had come swimming up from the black depths, floating towards the surface of wakefulness, unable to prevent the return of conscious thought. His dreams had been filled with a deeper dark where shadows came lunging from beyond his sight and grabbed at him and twisted and bent and broke him until he slipped away again.

+ +

He had broken through into a dopey wakefulness and after a while he had been able to open one eye. The other one was clamped shut and there was a numb sensation under his eyelid that felt like a pulse but his skin was wet and Mole was no longer sure whether or not his left eye was still in his socket. A slow breath escaped him and a jagged shard of pain dug into his back, making him wince involuntarily, again setting up a ripple, a vibration of hurt. With a great effort, he closed his eye and made the motion stop. After a while he struggled to lift the lid again. It slowly cracked open with an almost audible squeal of protest as if it needed oiled. The room was twisted somehow, with no vertical lines at all and even in his state - and at the best of times Mole Hopkirk was never the most eloquent or observant - he realised it was not the room, but himself that was twisted to the side. The light from the far window was a silver bar slanting down to a floor where it sparkled on scattered diamonds of shattered glass.

+ +

If thine eye offends thee, pluck it…

+ +

The memory came unbidden and the horror came on its heels and all of it came swimming back. His breath came ragged, through his nose and occasionally past the obstruction in his mouth. He had tried to get his tongue around whatever it was and force it out but there was something wrong with his jaw. It wouldn't work properly and when he did move it, splinters of pain ground inside him so fierce and hot that he had to stop. Every now and again, his nostril blocked and whether it was blood or snot he couldn't fathom, but when it happened he was convinced he was going to suffocate and a part of him didn't really mind that at all. His body, on the other hand, refused to go along with it quite as readily and his frantic breathing reflex took over and convulsed him so violently that he would pass out under the pressure of the pain.

+ +

If thine eye offends thee...

+ +

He had said that. The man in the shadows.

+ +

Oh Jesus where is he....? Is he coming back Oh mammy don't let him...

+ +

In through the window Neil had come creeping like a mouse while outside the seagulls were screaming as they wheeled around the chimney-tops and the masts of the old fishing boats and a woman was screaming and some men were yelling and it was all right because nobody was looking and he was ... + in.

+ +

And then it had all happened so fast. The white face, just a blur, a ghost high up in the shadows and then the massive blow on the face and he'd been running and hiding and the man had filled the doorway. He'd coughed. Coughed. That was all, and that had finished it. The man had grabbed him and thrown him and dragged him, flopping and helpless down to the room and there had been a blurt of hot blood. He had hit something hard and the lights had gone out for a dreadful second when the pain had screeched inside his thigh and then a grip of metal - it had to be metal - on the back of his neck hauling him upwards, lifting him like a doll.

+ +

He was in.

+ +

The pain had been there, waiting patiently for him to waken. The axons and dendrites inside his head were re-connecting themselves after the fragmentation of the shock of hurt and for a while he was cocooned in warmth, numbly aware of low sounds far off and for a sweet moment he imagined he was in his bed on a Saturday morning, dozing in the mid-morning light of the sun coming through a crack in the curtain. Even as he slowly uncoiled from unconsciousness he was aware of the heat in his nose, a burning throbbing just under his eyes, and another augur screwing into his thigh.

+ +

He breasted the tape and came through to the real world and the fear came exploding up from within as memory came back. He had twisted round, blurrily aware of the light in the hallway and a scraping sound, the noise of heavy shoes on broken glass had come in from the right.

+ +

Who comes like a thief in the night? A man's voice, low and somehow hot, almost wheedling.

+ +

Neil was not an academic and he had left Quarryhill School having achieved a proficiency certificate in horticulture (he weeded the shrubbery) and a failure in metalwork and technical drawing. But he was not completely devoid of intelligence and at that very moment he knew he was in desperate danger.

+ +

The feet had crunched on the broken glass again, now louder, now closer and he had shrunk away from the shadow that came looming to cut off the dim light.

+ +

"The first woe is past, and the other woes are yet to come," The voice had been closer, hoarse and cracking as if the speaker had been breathing the dust.

+ +

"Wha...?" Neil had started to say, but a hand had come swinging up and clamped over his mouth.

+ +

The shadow came closer, right up to his face. Through the clog of blood in his nose he could smell bad breath and smoke and the flat scent of unwashed clothes.

+ +

"Nice and quiet now lad, eh? Nice and easy," the voice rumbled. The hand still clamped his mouth, fingers and thumb squeezing so hard on his cheeks that it forced his jaws apart. The other hand started pulling at the narrow leather belt around his waist.

+ +

+ "What's he doing?" the jolted inside his head. The belt buckle jangled, fell free. The hand groped again and yanked at the popper stud. His zipper rasped and cold air puckered the skin on his belly. The hand dived straight in, horny and tough and everything Neil had shrank upwards reflexively. +

+ +

"No!" he blurted, though the pressure on his face made the sound come out in a single grunt. He had squirmed away from the probing, groping hand.

+ +

"Lie still," the man had hissed, hot and shivery. He'd leaned forward....

+ +

Time had changed. Everything had changed.

+ +

Neil was slumped against something hard that could have been the waste pipe of the wash-hand basin. His right eye creaked open and every movement set fire to some part of him. How long had it been? He couldn't say. He'd climbed in the window on the Saturday, sometime in the afternoon and while it seemed like a lifetime ago, it might only have been a day, maybe two days ago. Some things were hazy in his memory and other things might have been crystal clear, sharp as glass, but for the moment he kept them battened down. The numb sensation under his left eyelid was pulsing again, throbbing in time to the beat of his heart the way a finger will begin to throb if you coil a rubber band around it and let it go from red to purple. Another slow breath let itself out and the sliver of pain came arcing into his back. The puzzling slant to what should have been the vertical lines of the window shutters and the corner of the wall made all the perspectives incomprehensible. The light spangled blurringly on the scatter of broken glass and he remembered the other footsteps crunching them into the floorboards.

+ +

The pain had been intense, unbelievable. It had come burning up into the root of him and he had felt as if he would split apart.

+ +

The hand had kneaded between his legs and his panic had taken wing. He couldn't speak and the force on his jaw had made his eyes water so that the room swam in liquid ripples.

+ +

Oh mammy daddy it's a homoqueer..it's a BAD MAN

+ +

He'd been turned over, roughly, as if he weighed next to nothing and the calloused hand had slid across the skin of his buttocks. He felt the skin pucker and he felt his sphincter pucker and the fear had simply erupted.

+ +

Two days ago? Three days? It was far away, a lifetime away but the pain was here and now. Every movement scattered the anaesthetic affect of dehydration and blood loss. Every motion woke some broken and torn part of him. Down there, where his skin was pressed against the flat of the floor, he could feel the trickle begin again and he couldn't tell whether he'd pissed himself or shit himself or whether his insides were slowly leaking out onto the boards.

+ +

If thine eye offends me, pluck it....

+ +

A memory was trying to work its way back and Neil tried to dodge away from it because it came scrabbling up inside his head like a scary spider, dripping pain and poison and he didn't want to see that again....oh no!

+ +

"Don't look at me," the shadow had said and by now Neil Hopkirk knew it was the devil talking to him. This was sometime on the second day, maybe the second day, so it must be more than two, more than three days now and Neil knew he would never get out of here. His head slumped towards the floor making the slanted angles list even further. His arm twisted up his back but that was only a minor pain, adding little to the rest. He needed a drink and inside his mouth, where his tongue rasped against some rough fabric that might have been a piece of sackcloth but felt like sandpaper and the memory came crawling and scuttering back.

+ +

"Don't you look at me or I'll..." Neil had closed his eyes quickly. He had seen nothing except the looming shadow. All his senses were focused on touch and smell. The scent of old tobacco and the metallic cloy of his own blood and the burn of piss down there on the floor.

+ +

Then the voice had changed. There had been a silence for a moment, no more than two seconds and when the devil spoke again, it was in the different voice.

+ +

+ "Eye for eye, tooth for tooth and do not resist an evil person. If thine eye offends me pluck it OUT." +

+ +

Sour breath blew in at him. The hand on the back of his neck squeezed tight, so tight Neil thought the thumb would come through the skin and into the muscle, popping through his windpipe. His eyes opened involuntarily and something fast flicked up, quicker than he could blink. It hit him in the eye, pecking like a blunt-beaked bird. His head jolted back and for an instant there was no pain at all inside him. It all flew away, leaving him floating in warmth. His right eye wheeled, panning in a short arc, taking in the shadow and the sliver of light and the other hand pulling away from him. There was a small sucking noise and a wetness trickling down his cheek and it might have been a tear.

+ +

"Love your enemy and pray for he who persecutes you that you may be sons of the father."

+ +

Neil Hopkirk had floated away on clouds of shock.

+ +

Now the shadows were lengthening and the angle of the beam of light was changing as the sun swung, weak and still wintry in the early spring and Neil knew it would be night soon. The memory had come crashing through, forcing past his defences and the realisation of all that had happened came back to him but he was too tired now to fight it, to exhausted to react. There was something wrong with his left eye and he didn't know exactly what it was because he couldn't move it and the eyelid wouldn't open but there was a strange feeling there as if something had caved in and he couldn't really tell whether he still had an eye in there.

+ +

The fabric in his mouth absorbed all of his saliva and made his throat dry and bleached. Neil felt himself slide to the floor and the motion blocked off the airway at the back of his throat. He breathed through his nose, or tried to and found it blocked. For a second the exhaustion claimed him, then he snorted hard, clearing the clotted blood, found another breathing hole and drooped further. One of the hands tied behind his back hit against a metal upright, just a touch but it felt as if a ton weight had slammed down on it. Another memory tried to come back, one in which a foot stamped down on his fingers again and again, but this time the lethargy was creeping into his brain and it was hard to think.

+ +

The hunger was gone and the thirst was so bad it felt as if all the moisture in him had been wrung out, but the tiredness was overwhelming and after a while the slanted light began to fuzz out. From his slumped position, jammed against the old wash basin he could just make out the gleam from the bunch of keys and the little polished metal disc as they reflected the light. The sun moved and the glimmer faded away and Neil Hopkirk went with it.

+ +

Over in the corner, a still shadow remained motionless. It stayed there for a long time, just waiting. After a while, a black fly came buzzing through the door and settled on Neil Hopkirk's cheek.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/005.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/005.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12e80d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/005.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,262 @@ + + + + 5 + + + + +
+
+

5

+ +

August 1. 9am......

+ +

"Here come the teardrops," Phil Corcoran sneered and Campbell Galt and Pony McGill sniggered. "Snivel, sniffle and bawl." He winked at his two pals then turned back to his young brother. "And who said you could take my tent anyway?"

+ +

"Your tent?" Corky retorted. "You stole it from the scouts."

+ +

Phil had been sitting on the gate at the end of the road where the tarmac petered out when it met the hawthorn barrier of the farm track. In a couple of years all of the hedge would be gone and the road would continue in a wide arc past the cemetery and down to the main road and the greenery would be replaced by nearly three hundred council houses. It was all a time of change.

+ +

Phil stopped working the blade of his knife into the top gate spar where he'd been carving his initials. "Are you calling me a thief? Eh? You little shit that you are."

+ +

Being called a thief was a sore point with Phil. Old man Corcoran was banging the Drum, as they said hereabouts, banged up for six months up in Drumbain Jail. He was just half-way through his time for hoisting three hundred in used notes from the pigeon club's cashbox, which had been set aside for taking of all of the club's best birds to a race from Cherbourg in France. Everybody wondered why Paddy Corcoran had ever been voted in as club treasurer. Everybody knew that he hadn't done a day's work since before the war and hadn't had a drink-free day since it ended, even if he was good with the homing birds. Of his three sons, Phil would see the inside of Drumbain in four years time after several visits to approved school in his later teens for a rampage with a broken bottle along River Street in a drunken frenzy. Pat Junior was already in an army jail for head-butting a colour-sergeant to his severe injury. Both were cast in the same mould, and it looked to everyone like an odds-on certainty that John, the youngest of them (Corky to his friends) would be unable to avoid the consequences of his natural inheritance. He'd no doubt end up banging the Drum too. +

+ +

"Are you calling me a thief?" Phil wanted to know, and he wanted to know + now. They'd called his old man a thief and put him inside over what had to have been a misunderstanding, and according to Phil that was a slur against the whole clan. He came down off the gate and as he did so, his left hand casually hauled at the black lock-knife he had been digging into the wood. Behind Corky, Billy and Doug saw the glint of metal. +

+ +

"Let's get out of here," Doug muttered. He took a couple of steps backwards, pulling at the tent slung between himself and Corky. Billy agreed.

+ +

"Yeah. Let's skeedaddle." Corky turned slightly and they could see the freckles standing out like sepia ink-blots on his cheeks. Billy took up the weight of the old green tent.

+ +

"Are you? Huh? Calling me a thief?" Phil came strolling forward, all langorous and slow, arrogance on two feet. He had the same colour of hair as his young brother, the same cow's lick all the Corcorans had, but where Corky was stocky and looked small for his age, Phil was tall and thin as a stick. He threw the knife, spinning it with studied casualness to catch it by the handle again.

+ +

"Just saying it isn't yours." Corky said. "Everybody knows that."

+ +

"Just put it back where you found it. Right this minute."

+ +

"No chance. We're going with the scouts."

+ +

"Over my dead body," Phil said slowly. He put both hands on his hips.

+ +

"Suits me," Corky said. Campbell Galt snorted, dribbling beer-foam down his chin. Pony snickered like his namesake. Corky turned to the two of them, and while he was pretty sturdy for his size, he was completely dwarfed by his brother's friends.

+ +

"What are you laughing at plook-face," Corky snapped. The sunny day went suddenly quiet.

+ +

"Oh shit," Billy muttered. He and Doug were edging away and were half-way through the narrow gap in the hedge where the old blasted oak had come down. A blackbird chirped and clucked its liquid panic as they startled it among the nettles. A wasp flew right up against Doug's ear and he almost dropped the tent while batting it away. Corky stood there and Pony McGill's ravaged face looked as if it would erupt from within in to even greater devastation..

+ +

Pony was taller even than Campbell Galt, who himself would end up nearly six foot and he had shoulders that could have shored up a house. He was strong as an ox and would have been a good-looking big man but for the havoc his teenage acne had wreaked upon his face. His skin was angry and livid, rough as pebble-dash.

+ +

Face full of plooks + and a head full of broken bottles. That was how Danny Gillan had described him after he'd kicked their football down into the stream where it had burst among the thorns. Corky had convulsed into manic laughter while thinking that Danny must have some kind of death-wish. That remark had almost cost Danny an arm after Pony had swing his big toe-tector boot again and clipped the smaller boy on the elbow so hard it had gone numb for the day. The phrase had come back to Corky just them and it had slipped out. +

+ +

"Plook-face?" An instant surge of blood suffused the big broad face, reddening in the clear spots but purpling among the acne scars. Very deliberately, he put down the beercan onto the flat top of the gatepost. "What the fuck did you call me?" +

+ +

"Come on Doug," Billy said, dragging the tent through the thorns and onto the farm track while they were out of the immediate focus. "Let's go." Doug didn't need a second telling. The pair of them scooted up the path.

+ +

Pony came lunging forward just as Tom and Danny came out from the lee of the end house in the gap where the fence had broken. Tom saw Corky, but the other big lads were hidden by the hawthorn hedge.

+ +

"Hey Corks," Tom called. "Did you forget the tent?"

+ +

Corky turned, taken by surprise and a big meaty hand came whooping out from the side in a wide arc. Corky must have caught the motion out of the side of his eye and ducked quickly, not quite fast enough to escape, but sharp enough to diminish most of the force of the swipe. His head was moving back and down, so instead of catching the knuckles on his temple, a blow which would have felled him like a bullock in the slaughterhouse, or at least knocked him arse over tit right into the sharp thorns of the hedge, he went with it. Pony McGill caught him by the underside of his big hand and sent him reeling backwards.

+ +

"What's happening...?" Tom started. Corky went stumbling back, whirling as he went, trying to catch his balance. It was then that Danny saw Pony McGill and Corky's big brother, along with Campbell Galt.

+ +

"Hey, leave him alone," Danny bawled before he had a chance to get a rein on his tongue. He'd had run-ins with all of them before - in fact there was no-one in the nearest five streets who hadn't - but the words just blurted when he saw Corky staggering back..

+ +

Phil Corcoran spun around. He was walking away from the fence and the two boys saw the sunlight spangle on the blade of the knife in his hand.

+ +

"Oops," Tom said, and then, quite unaccountably, especially for Tom, he giggled.

+ +

"Another couple of teardrops," Phil said. "We've got the complete crying match here."

+ +

"Bastard," Pony grunted. He'd expected his haymaker to connect squarely with Phil's cheeky shit of a brother and the force of it had almost thrown him off balance. He spun, moving much slower than the smaller boy. The two others had turned to face the new arrivals.

+ +

"They will insist on butting in," Phil went on, shaking his head with exaggerated regret.

+ +

"Leave him alone," Danny blurted again. Corky ducked another hooking punch, quite easily this time and as he did so, he snatched up a dried piece of hawthorn root from the demolished hedge which still had a hard sod of earth around it. He swung it against Pony's shin and the big fellow let out another grunt.

+ +

"Want to join the party?" Phil asked, smiling that creepy grin of his that made him look somehow like a weasel. He held up the knife and turned it slowly in his hand, the way knife fighters did in films, making sure it caught the light. As he did so he let out a beery belch.

+ +

"What, play with you three stooges?" Danny's tongue was off and running again, like the day he'd made the remark about Pony's acne. "Tweedle dumb, tweedle dumber and Crater-mess with the pits."

+ +

Big Pony was spinning around on one leg, lifting his shin up to cradle it in both hands. Campbell Galt, another big fellow whose blonde hair was slicked back into what the younger boys called an old fashioned teddy-boy quiff, took his eye off the action and whipped round. Phil Corcoran's grin froze solid.

+ +

"Hells bells, Danny, " Tom said. "I don't think he liked that."

+ +

"What did you say?" Phil's voice was as icy as his grin. For an instant his eyes seemed to flicker as if a sudden charge of emotion had sizzled behind them, which it most probably had and in that instant Danny and Tom saw the little craziness that lived inside Phil Corcoran's head. "What the fuck did you call me?"

+ +

Both boys stopped still. Big Pony was still hopping about, unable to keep his balance. He backed into the five-bar gate at Aitkenbar farm track and slammed it against the post with a sound like a gunshot.

+ +

"Bastard," he grunted. "Just wait 'til I get you."

+ +

Corky danced away from him, swinging the heavy root, unconsciously imitating Pony's hopping jig. "You and which chorus line, you big Jessie," Corky jeered, his mouth even more of a runaway now than Danny Gillan's ever was. Pony roared like a bull. Phil Corcoran didn't even look, his eyes were fixed right on Danny Gillan.

+ +

"Stop horsing around," he said. "This fuck-mouth needs shutting up." He favoured Danny with a wider grin this time and his eyes gleamed. "Maybe we'll have to make sure he gives us less of his lip." Phil held the knife up again, and flicked it forward.

+ +

Danny didn't wait. He turned on his heel and ran, not before Tom who was one split second ahead of him. Corky jinked back , swung the root again but this time it snapped in his hand and the heavy club of root and dirt went spinning away. It caught Campbell Galt just under his ribs and pushed him forward, sending him crashing against Phil whose hand came slashing down even as he went spinning sideways and the knife went flashing through the air.

+ +

Danny and Tom were scooting up between an old wooden garden shed and the side of the hedge, with Tom leading by three clear yards. Danny reached the corner, stuck a hand out to whirl himself around a fence-post when the knife hit him right behind the ear.

+ +

Corky saw it all, virtually in slow motion. The knife heliographed the sunlight as it spun black and silver, black and silver, through the air. Then it hit.

+ +

It made a small bonk sound and bounced off into the bush.

+ +

"Jesus, Phil," Campbell bawled.

+ +

"Jesus, Danny," Corky yelled.

+ +

"Bastard," Pony grunted again.

+ +

A hot pain blossomed behind Danny's ear and a sound like a gong vibrated right through his head. For a second he thought he'd been hit by a half-brick, but then he realised it wasn't sore enough for that. He didn't miss a step as he whirled round the corner.

+ +

Corky watched his pals disappear from view. Then Pony's meaty hand clamped on his shoulder. Without thinking, Corky turned and bit the big man's finger, not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to make Pony think he had. The big fellow grunted again, let go. Corky didn't hang around. He ran for the gate, clambered up the bars and threw himself over into the lane.

+ +

Campbell Galt swore comprehensively at Phil and + he swore unintelligibly and explosively at everything. It took him nearly half a minute to gather himself and set off running in thundering pursuit. Danny and Tom heard their approach and took off like rabbits. They got to the far end of the field where the bulldozers hadn't yet churned everything to mud and angled for the corner where the two thorn hedges met at right angles. Here, generations of youngsters had broken and worn a crawl-way through to the far pasture. Both boys, panting with the effort, unslung their haversacks as they ran. Tom slung his along the ground at root-level, followed it and Danny and his bag rolled in behind him. They came out of the other side, covered in dead leaves and spiked here and there by hawthorns, but otherwise unhurt. Behind Danny's ear, a hot glow of pain pulsed. He reached there, expecting to find blood, but there was none. +

+ +

They ran down the hill and onto the farm track angling across to the gully. Ahead of them, Billy and Doug were lumbering along with the green tent between them. Over the far side of the bushes, curses exploded. Danny and Tom reached the cross-roads where two farm roads intersected. A figure came hurtling out towards them and they pulled up in dismay.

+ +

"Only me," Corky said breathlessly. He grinned widely. "I don't think they're too happy with us." He giggled and the other two couldn't help but laugh, despite the fact that Crazy Phil and his crew would come crashing after them in a matter of seconds.

+ +

"He's a flippin' nutcase," Danny managed to say. They were running hard up the hill and he was getting a stitch in his side.

+ +

"You're telling me. I got to live with him."

+ +

"What will he do when you get home?"

+ +

"Hell knows. You can come to the funeral. No flowers please. And no priests." Corky laughed again, almost sadly as if death was a distinct possibility, then he turned, grinning. "He's not too bright, so he might have forgotten by the time we get back."

+ +

The boys caught up with the other two and with hardly a fumble, Tom and Danny each grabbed an end of the tent. They breasted the low hill just as Phil and the others came hammering round the corner. The younger boys went over the brow and down the lee and then, without a word, when they reached the corner, out of sight of the others, they slung the tent and the rucksacks over the three-strand barbed wire fence into a field of yellowing corn. They crawled underneath the lowest strand, Corky still laughing almost hysterically, and then doubled back for about twenty yards. Here there was a line of saplings which framed the drainage ditch leading down to the Ladyburn Stream. They followed this for a hundred yards, came to the brook and followed it up to where they could shelter under the footbridge. For a while, the sounds of the chase had disappeared, but Phil or Pony had figured out that they must have gone into the cornfield and in a few minutes, the pursuit had trailed them along the line of the ditch.

+ +

Under the low bridge, there was a niche, hardly more than a foot wide, where some of the masonry had crumbled. They crawled through into the small service duct where the waterworks engineers had built the valves for the reservoir up on the hill. Billy dragged the tent through and they all sat in the darkness, trying to slow their breathing, listening for the others. This had been their place last summer since Corky and Tom had found the hole in the wall while fishing for trout in the stream.

+ +

Two minutes later, footsteps came thudding on the bridge. Danny put his ear to an arrow-slit vent in the wall. Above the sounds of running water, he could hear voices.

+ +

"Must be here someplace," Phil said, breathless and wheezing. "Little bastard called me a thief. And Gillan, I'm going to wring his scrawny neck."

+ +

"You nearly stuck him like a pig. + Jeez Phil. If that knife had hit blade-first it would have pinned him. You could swing for that."

+ +

Overhead, the footsteps came louder then faded as the others crossed the bridge. Down in the dark, they heard Pony shout something and then came a pop and the sound of shattering glass. One of them had thrown a bottle into the stream.

+ +

"That's really great," Tom said. "Some kid's going to go paddling and get cut to pieces."

+ +

"They should be locked up," Doug said, he looked quickly across at Corky, whose face was just a pale oval in the dim light of the narrow vent. "Sorry Corks. I didn't mean anything..."

+ +

Corky shrugged. "You can't pick your family. I sure didn't. And anyway, everybody knows about the old man. Sometimes I wish he was still at home. At least Phil wouldn't be acting so big. He's really off his head."

+ +

He looked at Danny who was sitting beside the opposite arrow-slit. "Flamin' hell Dan, I thought that blade was going to nail you."

+ +

Danny rubbed the tender spot behind his ear. "I thought it + had." The others looked from on me to the other, unaware of what had happened.

+ +

"Phil threw it at Danny. You should have heard the noise. Just like that xylophone in the school band. The Glockenspiel thing." Corky let out a low laugh that threatened to get louder. He clamped his hand over his mouth until it subsided. Outside the others had moved to the other side of the bridge and then come back, their footsteps echoing down to the dark hollow - + doom doom doom - as they passed overhead. After a few moments they were gone.

+ +

"I tell you Danny boy. You shouldn't have run. Phil's been trying that knife thrower's trick all summer. Wants to be just like that knife-fighter in the Magnificent Seven. He says if he comes across ol' Twitchy Eyes he'll give it to him right in the eyeball. I've been watching him try to stick it in the old man's pigeon hut. + Jeez-oh, I've never seen him hit the flamin hut yet, never mind stick it in."

+ +

He went off into another convulsion and it was a moment or two before he could speak again. "Must be your lucky day Danny. Must be your lucky + year."

+ +

They all giggled at that, but the laughter stopped soon enough

+ +

It had not been a lucky year, not for any of them. It had not been a lucky year, not since the spring, since the day that Paulie Degman had gone down into the river and Neil Hopkirk had clambered in through the window on the old surgery at the back of the house on River Street. Corky had just touched upon it when talking about Phil's lack of expertise with the knife which had bounced off Danny's skull.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes.

+ +

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the hushed sound of running water from the Ladyburn Stream, running low and slow at the end of a dry summer.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes. The mad stranger who had slipped into town in the spring.

+ +

The silence ran on for a moment longer. Danny rubbed the hot spot behind his ear, feeling gingerly for the signs of swelling, but there was none. Billy leaned back against the wall, his face the dimmest of all in the shadows.

+ +

"They found her in the other bridge," Doug said after a while.

+ +

"No, the next one down from this," Tom contradicted. "It's got a bigger access tunnel. They think he was staying there a while, camping out."

+ +

"God a'mighty. We had a ganghut there last year before we found this place," Billy said. "Imagine we'd come crawling in there and found + him."

+ +

"As long as we had Phil with us he could have used his knife," Corky said, trying to lighten it a little. "Then we'd all have been up shit creek without a paddle." They all had a laugh, though a subdued one.

+ +

It had only been a matter of luck.

+ +

"They say she was cut to bits," Billy said. "They found her in a puddle of her own piss."

+ +

"Don't," Tom barked, and they all jumped, startled.

+ +

"Wha...?" Billy started to say.

+ +

"Don't talk about her," Tom said quickly. His curly fair hair framed him like a dim halo. "Jeez, she's dead, isn't she? It wasn't her fault."

+ +

Billy looked at him then as quickly looked away. He didn't say anything. Corky stuck his hand out and clapped Tom on the shoulder, the way boys do when they're on the way to becoming men and still have a way to go. Too old to put their arms around each other, still young enough to touch.

+ +

"Hey Tom," That was all he said.

+ +

"It's just that she was just a kid," Tom said and his voice cracked just a little, a hint of the pressure that was building up behind whatever dam he'd built. Everybody knew he was thinking about his little sister and what had happened in the winter.

+ +

"Sorry man," Billy said finally, reaching out a hand in the darkness. He took a hold of Tom's narrow wrist and gave it a squeeze. "I didn't mean anything, you know?"

+ +

Tom gave a little snort, like he was sniffing back hard. "Yeah. It's just..." He sniffed again then hawked and spat out, letting them know he was just clearing the dust from his throat. "It's just sometimes it looks like the whole place is going crazy."

+ +

"And Phil's leading the parade," Corky said, doing his best, easing them off this threatening track. He made an effort. "He's the craziest loony still walking outside Dalmoak. Crazier even than old Annie Monkton and she's so far round the bend she can see herself coming back."

+ +

"But not as crazy as old Twitchy Eyes."

+ +

"Yeah, but he's long gone, and Phil still lives at my house," Corky said, finally getting a laugh. In the gloom, Danny was the only one who saw that he wasn't smiling.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes.

+ +

He'd haunted the town for almost the whole of the summer, haunted the hearts of mothers, the dreams of children. He was the bogey-man, the + Bad Man, the ogre under every bridge (he'd been under the bridge with little Lucy Saunders, hadn't he now?) and the shadow outside the window in the night-time. +

+ +

"I reckon the cops caught him and hung him," Billy said. "They do that with some of the really bad ones. Just take them away where they can't be found again and do them in." He crept over to the hole they'd clambered through and began to crawl back out again. "I'll just see where they are."

+ +

"And made sure they don't see you or we'll be stuck in here with no way out."

+ +

"They'd brick us up and we'd never get out," Danny said, "like in the House of Usher."

+ +

"Jees, don't say that Dan. It gives me the creeps," Doug said. Already he was edging towards the hole in the wall, towards daylight. In an instant, Tom was clambering after him as the idea of being walled up inside the inspection chamber struck him.

+ +

Corky and Danny followed them out, neither of them just as panicked, but each unwilling to stay alone in the dark after what had been said. Corky started moving and as he did, his foot kicked against a loose stone which rolled into the corner of the small chamber. It hit something which rustled dryly and almost simultaneously, a clodden smell of rotting shit came wafting up accompanied by a frenzied buzzing of flies.

+ +

"Oh for God's sake," Corky said, gagging at the smell. At the same time, he realised that the five of them were not the only ones to have discovered the inspection pit under the arch of the bridge. Somebody else had been there too. They had all scurried in through the niche in the masonry and crouched in the first chamber, but there was a narrow crawl-way to the sump trap which they had explored weeks ago, using candles to reach the narrow space. It had been dry and dusty and festooned with spider's webs which showed it hadn't been touched for a long time. If somebody had found their way in to the first hollow, then they could get through to the back chamber.

+ +

They could be sitting quiet in the dark of the back chamber right now.

+ +

The same thought had struck Danny, but worse, the buzzing of the flies had brought back a powerful memory, an image from late spring, before the real impact of the stranger had hit the town.

+ +

There had been flies in the window of the house on River Street, and that's where Mole Hopkirk had been found dead, with his hair and his fingernails still growing. The flies had pattered against the windowpane like black rain, hundreds of them. Thousands.

+ +

Suddenly the smell and the buzzing and the dark all gelled into one enormous powerful threat.

+ +

"Move it," Corky hissed in a voice that said he really wanted to shout but didn't dare. He shoved at Danny who was halfway through the hole and right at that instant Corky felt the creepy eyes on his back and sensed the long crooked fingers reaching out to grab him and drag him back into the darkness. That was enough to send him crashing into his friend who stumbled out, rolled off balance and landed with both feet in the stream.

+ +

"Bloody hell," Danny yelled. Billy and Doug turned round, right on cue.

+ +

"Shhhhh!" they both said, holding their hands up, miming the need for hush.

+ +

Tom was up on the bridge, peering over the parapet. Far along the road, the three others were sauntering away, almost out of sight round a slow bend.

+ +

"We're safe," Tom said.

+ +

"Good," Corky said. You can go back in and get the tent."

+ +

He was thinking of what Tom had said. + We're safe. But he wasn't prepared, right at that moment, to go back into the dark and put it to the test. +

+ +

Safe. He hadn't felt safe for a long time. Had anybody?

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/006.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/006.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7c8ca17 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/006.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,156 @@ + + + + 6 + + + + +
+
+

6

+ +

May:

+ +

"Come on Jeff, it'll be dark by the time we get started." The voice floated up from ground level.

+ +

"It'll be the bloody weekend," somebody else chipped in. From the Irish accent, it had to be Neil Kennedy, who lived in Swan Street. Some time far in the future, Neil would go through the nightmare of losing a son in another spate of madness that would hit the town, but for the moment he was sixteen and had only two cares in the world. The second was to get on with the game of football they had going on the flat space next to the river where the old barge-loader shed used to be. Its flat base was now an ideal five-a-side pitch.

+ +

Jeff McGuire had punted the ball with an uncoordinated foot and sent it sailing over the low roofs of the outbuildings on the corner of Fish Pend where it had bounced on the slates, landing on the valley of the roof, well out of sight. He who kicked last was obliged to climb for it.

+ +

There were some little girls at the far corner, waiting for the end of the shift in the fishmongers where their mothers worked at the filleting slabs. They were playing a kid's skipping game chanting the kind of schoolyard rhymes that seem to have gone out of fashion.

+ +

"Hey McGuire get a move on," Neil Kennedy called up again. "Shift your arse. Another goal and we've got them beat."

+ +

+ Them were the River Street team as opposed to the Swan Street crew in the days before the heart was ripped out of the town and replaced by a concrete and steel barracks of a shopping centre. Then, on this particular May afternoon, with President Kennedy dead only a couple of years, Mick Jagger every mother's nightmare and the Beach Boys getting around-round-round in surf city, there were plenty of people still living down by the river and there was always a game going on. +

+ +

One of the girls giggled. She was holding one end of the rope while her partner spun the other. A whole team of kids, all with pigtails or ponytails had lined up to skip in for a couple of fast beats of the rope before dancing out again on the far side in the elegant rhythm of play. When Neil Kennedy shouted up at the roof telling Jeff McGuire to hurry it up, the rhyme instantly changed.

+ +

+ Missus McGuire sat in the fire....a tiny girl skipped in, agile as a fawn, kept the beat, feet feathering on the ground before skipping out again. +

+ +

"Okay, give me a minute willya?" The disembodied voice floated down. "Think I'm spiderman?"

+ +

+ The fire was too hot she sat in the pot...the pot was too wide, she sat in the Clyde...and all the wee fishes swam up her backside.... +

+ +

The girls tittered, some of the smaller ones holding their hands up over their mouths at the use of a naughty word..

+ +

"Hey Jeff, they're singing songs about your mother," Neil shouted up

+ +

Jeff McGuire didn't hear him. He'd just been bending down to pick up the old tattered leather football when a motion to his left caught his eye, a shadow at the window just above the slope of the low roof. He put a hand over his eye to block out the glare of the sun and peered forward.

+ +

Some small particles, like grains of sand, rattled against the dusty glass. The shadow changed shape and Jeff saw it for what it was. Flies. There were dozens of them, flying in tight circles or crawling up the window pane. He picked up the ball and threw it over his shoulder. It bounced on the ridge and then down the far slope. Down below somebody shouted. The thud of a boot against leather followed immediately and the game was back on. Jeff took a tentative step forward and then another, raising his hands to the sill. He put his face right up against the glass.

+ +

The room was dirty inside, from what he could see through a pane crawling with big bluebottles. Every now and again one of them would go buzzing off and come hurtling back in a kamikaze dive for the light and freedom, rapping with a chitinous click against the flat surface. Jeff eased himself up onto the diagonal waste pipe and got up onto the ledge. He pushed against the frame and it squealed up in protest. Five or six of the big shiny insects bulleted out past his face. One of them brushed his cheek with tickly wings and he drew back. Inside the room a swarm of them, spiralling like a miniature tornado, buzzed and hummed angrily in the hollow emptiness.

+ +

Jeff climbed in, curiosity aroused now, the way it happens with boys and empty buildings. They attract each other like magnets, with an irresistible pull of gravity. A bluebottle landed on his forehead and he slapped it off. Apart from the flies the room was empty. Outside somebody shouted something which he vaguely heard. The window creaked and slid slowly down on the sash-groove until it almost closed. Jeff edged along the wall, avoiding the dense insect whirlwind and went through the open door.

+ +

The smell hit him half-way down the hall.

+ +

"Oh my..." he gagged, unable to finish the sentence. There were flies here in the dark of the passage, hundreds of them, maybe thousands. Most of them were crawling on the walls. Right away Jeff knew that something had died in here. Maybe a pigeon or a jackdaw which had come down the chimney and got trapped. Maybe even a cat. The smell was awesome, almost solid in the dusty air, flat, sweet and oily all at the same time. It was even worse than the throat-clenching stink of the dead sheep up on the moor if you got down-wind.

+ +

In that moment, Jeff knew something was wrong, but for some reason he could not turn back. The gravity of curiosity had him now. He took a tentative step along the corridor and the sound of his boot rasping on the shards of broken glass sent shivers up his spine. Something made him turn to look back into the room and in that instant, the cloud of flies coalesced, throwing a shadow against the pale light framed by the window. For a moment the shadow looked like the shape of a man and Jeff's heart kicked in a sudden spasm. He backed away, now gulping for breath through a dry gullet and knocked against the door half way down the hall. It swung open. Jeff stepped through, still half turned.

+ +

A black shape roared and came leaping up from the floor.

+ +

Jeff squeaked in utter fright. He flinched back, cracked his shoulder against the door jamb. The thing on the floor came bolting towards him. And he raised a hand up to protect his face, thinking that some monster was coming for him. Then it broke up into a cloud of black dots. More flies.

+ +

Jeff's heart came down from the back of his throat. He gulped again, still unable to speak, though if that had been possible he would have cursed without repetition for several minutes.

+ +

The insects were big and bloated, and where they passed the beam of sunlight coming through the chink on the wooden boards nailed over the window frame, they glittered the green-blue of rare metal. In the swarm they were creepy and scary, but in the sudden relief that they were only insects, only bluebottles, Jeff almost laughed. Flies couldn't hurt him.

+ +

Two of them tussled in aerial combat right in front of his eyes and then landed on his shirt. He swatted them away and just at that moment the stench really hit him.

+ +

"Oh my god," he mumbled, completing the sentence that he'd started in the other room. His hand flew to his mouth. His eyes watered and his throat spasmed. Jeff turned, ready to go stumbling out of the room when another shape on the floor against the sink snagged his attention.

+ +

At first out looked like a pile of rags and sticks jutting out from under the lip of the basin, hidden by the shadows. Despite the sickening stench, Jeff moved forward, brushing flies away with his free hand. They buzzed and hummed, skimming his skin and hair.

+ +

The form was crumpled and shapeless. He moved closer, holding his nose pinched tight shut between his fingers. Something stuck out from the bulk and for a long moment it didn't register on him. He turned his head, saw an off-white ridged line that reminded him of something. He drew his eyes along it, close to the floor, saw a gaping hole from which something liquid seeped. In that moment of time Jeff's brain seemed to have gone completely numb. He was tying to think but something inside his head was blocking out all thought. He shifted his gaze down the line of a ragged piece of damp cloth which covered a series of jutting lines.

+ +

Below the lines, where the fabric was ridged and folded, something moved. The cloth heaved. He stepped back one step. The thing sticking out from the mass moved too, just above the bent angle. Not a real motion, just a shiver under the skin.

+ +

Under the skin

+ +

It hit him then and the force of it was like a physical blow. He was staring at a corpse. It was bent almost double, face cheek down against the floor and the mouth agape, lips pulled back behind a line of teeth set in black gums. A trickle of some thick liquid had pooled by the head. An arm was hunched behind the body and a blackened hand was just visible, fingers hooked into claws.

+ +

The body was naked from the waist down, belly bloated underneath a desiccated and taut parchment surface and it was slumped in yet another pool of viscid liquid. At the abdomen, just up from the shrivelled crotch, the shirt was moving slowly as if the thing was trying to take a breath.

+ +

"Oh," Jeff said very quietly while his brain was yelling frantically at him.

+ +

getout getout oh for Christsake it's alive its fuckin' breathing!

+ +

He felt his knees sag as he stumbled backwards. The scene suddenly leapt into startling focus. The head was down on the ground and a hank of hair was trailing on the old oak boards, growing right along the blackened puddle. The fingernails nails jutted down like curved talons, half an inch beyond the end of the fingers, like the claws of a monster in a nightmare.

+ +

And it was breathing. The belly was moving under the shirt, enough to make the fabric shiver.

+ +

A small, pearly white maggot dropped own onto the stretched skin of the abdomen and rolled to the floor where it pulsed weakly in the slimy puddle.

+ +

Jeff reached the door and just as he did so, all the flies swarmed together and like a single entity, they alighted on the body. In the blink of an eye it was covered in a blue-black skin and for an instant it looked like a man made up entirely of insects. At the far end, the filaments of hair grew out.

+ +

He backed against the door. It shut with a hard slam and all the light was cut off except for two slender needles of daylight piercing the cracks in the boards.

+ +

Panic exploded. He grabbed for the handle, fingers scrabbling down the dirty surface. A splinter went digging right up under his nail and he never felt a thing. He was in the dark with the body with its nails still growing and its hair still growing and its belly full of maggots. Behind him the flies buzzed and it sounded like the movement of a heavy body rising from the floor. Jeff's heart almost burst. His hand hit the handle and he hauled. The door opened and he threw himself out of the room.

+ +

He crashed against the far wall, made it to the back room and ran for the window. In his panic he hit the frame and it shuddered down the last few inches and slammed itself shut.

+ +

Jeff whimpered. A dozen or more flies which had followed through from the dark room came smacking against the glass and the sudden noise was loud in the empty room. Jeff reached for the frame and hit it with both hands. His right fist went through the old glass and a jagged edge raked his skin from wrist to elbow, drawing an immediate line of blood. The terror soared. Behind him the tornado of flies sounded like the scrape of a body dragging itself along the floor. Jeff pushed desperately at the flame. It gave an inch and then slid all the way up. He shoved himself through, all the time expecting to feel a black and wizened hand, armed with long, still growing nails, clasp around his leg. He cracked his knee on the sill as he threw himself out, jabbering incoherently. A swarm of flies followed him onto the low roof. He went stumbling across the slope of the slates, clambered up to the ridge and slid down the other side.

+ +

"Hey McGuire," Neil bawled. "What the hell's been keeping you?"

+ +

Jeff went sliding down the slant on the shingles, skittered across the guttering and tumbled ten feet to the ground, miraculously landing his feet and rolling with the momentum. The impact left him with a hairline fracture in his heel and a badly bruised knee. The blood from the cut in his arm trickled down onto the cobbles. Otherwise he was fine, at least physically..

+ +

Both teams gathered round him where he crouched close to the wall. "Did you hurt yourself?" one of them asked. Jeff's eyes darted left and right. He could see people around him, insubstantial figures in the light of day. In his mind, more clearly than anything, he saw the dripping corpse with the hair growing out along the mess on the floor and the clawed hands with the sickle nails and the shivery motion under the shirt.

+ +

"Gha...." Jeff managed. "Gha..."

+ +

"Hey, the idiot's gone ga-ga," Neil said, laughing. "Come on McGuire, stop fooling around and get back in goal."

+ +

It was two days before Jeff McGuire spoke a full word and by that time Sergeant Angus McNicol from CID had been up to the empty house that backed on to Boat Pend and he'd found the body of Mole Hopkirk. He later formed the opinion that Hopkirk was the lucky one of the two boys. The shock of it all had such an effect on young Jeff McGuire that he was never quite the same again.

+
+

Fatal Accident Inquiry into the death of Neil James Hopkirk. (Verbatim extract)

+ +

John J. Mack, Crown Office: "So you believe the boy took several days to die."

+ +

Dr Colin Bell, Pathologist: "No question of it. At least four days. Five at the outside."

+ +

Mack: "He would have been alive, and conscious for all of this time and possibly in considerable pain?"

+ +

Bell: "Perhaps conscious for some of the time, although blood loss and shock may possibly have rendered him unconscious for the latter part. Pain? Most certainly he was in very severe pain because of the nature of the injuries, the beating and the bites and the rest"

+ +

Mack: "So in your opinion, what happened?"

+ +

Bell.: "The attack on this young man was designed and deliberate and savage. It took place over a considerable period of time, I hasten to add. If I may venture an opinion, it is almost certain that death was a merciful release."

+
+

Interlude:

+ +

"First real bad one I had to deal with," Angus McNicol said. "And that was the start of it, though nobody knew that at the time."

+ +

He was sitting in the front room of his house out beyond Castlebank Church and sipping a mellow whisky. His eyes were bright blue and frosted under grizzled eyebrows and his expression said he was way back in his memory.

+ +

"I was a sergeant then, just promoted to CID. We had to break the door down. Young McGuire was very disturbed for a long time after that, and to tell you the truth, I think the shock affected the poor lad's head. He was mad as a hatter. John Fallon kicked the door off its hinges and when we got in the smell would have knocked you down for the count of ten. Millions of flies too, not pleasant.

+ +

"We found the lad tied up against the sink and I could see what gave the McGuire boy the heebie-jeebies. There was a fungus growing along the puddle, and it looked as if the boy's hair had grown there. The skin of the hands was pulled back and the nails were sticking up. Old Colin Bell, he was police surgeon in those days, said the nails keep growing for a bit after a death, but that was the first time I'd seen it.

+ +

"One of the others was sick right away, but I managed to get a handkerchief up quick enough so I didn't make a complete arse of myself. Hate to have destroyed evidence with my own puke, eh?" The old man grinned and took another sip, finishing his drink. He poured another two whiskies and offered the glass over.

+ +

"Don't suppose there's any harm in telling you any of this. It's long gone. Hardly anybody remembers it, but it was a bugger of a summer. Strange that somebody like yourself wants to go digging it all over again."

+ +

Another sip and he closed his eyes, concentrating. "That poor bugger Hopkirk had been lying there a long time, ever since March, and the flies had made the most of it. His mother damn near died when we told her and she kicked up a stink about wanting to see her boy's body. It was all we could do to stop her. She'd never have lived with the sight. Hell. It was hard enough for me.

+ +

"The pages were sheets from a bible. An old bible, according to the book expert we spoke to. Maybe one that had been handed down in a family. Some of the pages had been torn out and the killer had wiped his backside with them. Some of them were crumpled up and stuffed in the boy's mouth. They'd been scrunched into a thick wedge and it was no wonder the lad choked to death. Bell was right. When it came, it was a blessing. That poor boy had walked down into hell.

+ +

"Whoever did it had been squatting in the old surgery for a while, but at this time, we didn't know a thing about the man you kids called + Twitchy Eyes, but I remember getting a really bad feeling. We'd been looking for Hopkirk for a few weeks by then, five or six as I recall. So we knew then that there had been a killer around a month and a half before. But by then one or two other things had happened. +

+ +

"There was little Lucy Saunders....

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/007.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/007.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1723b03 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/007.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,241 @@ + + + + 7 + + + + +
+
+

7

+ +

May.

+ +

"Lucy. Lucy Saunders!"

+ +

The hoarse voice echoed across the Rough Drain where the run-off from the gully at Corrieside found a flat level that was swampy and crowded with a tangle of scrub willow and twisted alder. The winking of torches could be seen as the line of searchers edged their way along the waste ground, some of them up to their thighs in the stagnant pools. Now an again, a beam would angle up towards the sky, seeming almost solid in the fine drizzling mist.

+ +

They searched all night, teams of policemen, workers just off the back shift at the shipyard. Neighbours from the row of houses at High Cross road, gardeners and pigeon fanciers who had their huts and allotments down the west side of the rough drain scrub. Every now and again, somebody would shout her name and the call would drift along the flatland. Everybody listened for the reply, the cry of pain, the whimper that would mean little Lucy Saunders was at least alive and with luck, maybe even well.

+ +

They searched all night and they found nothing.

+ +

Lucy Saunders was eight years old and she disappeared in the warm light of an early May afternoon. She had got the bike for her birthday in March, a little fairy two-wheeler and her dad Charlie Saunders had taken the stabilisers off only a fortnight before, down at the park where Lucy had wobbled her tentative way to learning to ride properly.

+ +

"There was a man," Chrissie McKane told John Fallon. He listened gravely, towering over Chrissie and her sister Janice who was only six. "We saw him on the path."

+ +

"What was he like?" John asked. He had a deep and rumbling voice, but despite that it conveyed gentleness and security. He gave the girls a smile and they grinned back.

+ +

"Big," Janice said. "A great big man and his hair was black like yours. But not short."

+ +

"Good girl. And where was he?"

+ +

"At the trees near the allotments," Chrissie said. "He was just standing looking at us and then he waved to us. Janice went across, but I said to her to come back. We had to go home."

+ +

"And then you saw Lucy?"

+ +

Both girls nodded. "She said she was going down to the shop. She asked if we would come with her, but we had to go home. She went round by the lane and we saw the man waving to her and then she went across to him."

+ +

"And what happened then?"

+ +

Chrissie shrugged. "We had to go home."

+ +

"He had twitchy eyes," little Janice said brightly. "Like this." She screwed her face into a grimace, narrowing her eyes to slits and blinked several times in rapid succession.

+ +

"Just like that. I think he had something in his eyes."

+ +

Twitchy Eyes.

+ +

Tom Tannahill and Doug Nicol had come across the searchers on their way up from the scout hall at Castlebank. Their only concern was that because of all the activity they couldn't cut across by the old willow that had fallen across another blowdown, creating a natural shelter. It was one of their places, out of the way of prying eyes where they and their friends could creep into for a smoke or a game of cards, or a fascinated scan of a crumpled black and white picture from the magazines they could swipe from the top shelf of Walter Dickson's shop.

+ +

They watched the line of men trampling through the gloom of the rough drain, calling out the little girl's name, one voice louder, more desperate than the rest and that had to be Charles Saunders of course.

+ +

One of the men passed quite close and Tom asked what was happening.

+ +

"A wee girl's gone missing," the man said. "The police think she's been taken away."

+ +

It was all revealed the following day. Little Lucy Saunders' bike had been found not forty yards from the corner where the McKane girls had seen the tall stranger with the dark hair and the twitch in his eyes. The bike had been thrown well away from the track, the front wheel and fork still brand new and shiny but the back end now covered in slime and mud where it had sunk into the marsh. Somebody spotted the cleat-marks of boots on the soft earth beside one of the many tracks that criss-crossed the barren ground and another found an imprint of a kid's sandal. They searched the whole of the wasteland and all the area around it, down past the allotments and the old dye works. The police tracker dogs were called in and they followed the trail of something as far as the edge of the Ladyburn steam where it took its dog-leg turn down to the castle and from there the trail went cold. Lucy Saunders was gone.

+ +

Danny Gillan's aunt Bernadette lived only two doors from the Saunders house and Danny had listened, sitting quietly doing his homework in the corner of the living room, as she told of the girl's mother's complete and utter collapse and how the sobbing had gone on all night.

+ +

"There's no hope now," Bernadette said. "Poor wee thing's been taken away and they'll find her in a ditch somewhere, raped and strangled and cut to pieces."

+ +

Bernadette's prophesy was fairly accurate, so it transpired.

+
+

August 1. 10 am:

+ +

"How did you manage to get away?" Corky asked. The other three had fallen behind, two of them struggling with the weight of the tent.

+ +

"It wasn't easy, but he believed the Scout camp story," Danny said, grinning. "But if he finds out, I'm right up the creek. He said I had to go to mass tomorrow, no matter what, so I'd better find out who the priest is. He's always trying to catch me out. Asks me what the sermon was about or what colour of robes the priest wears. Sometimes I'd be better off just going to chapel. If he catches me dodging, it's me that'll need a priest, that's for certain."

+ +

"Oh, he'll never find out," Corky assured his pal.

+ +

"Well, if he does, it'll be the Bad Fire for me. He's dead keen on the old hellfire."

+ +

"Still got it bad?"

+ +

Danny nodded. "You know what it's like. Everything gets round to prayers and the holy virgin."

+ +

"My old man never bothered with that. He doesn't like priests. Me neither. But he was always kicking the hell out of me."

+ +

"I know," Danny said. He'd seen the bruises many a time. "Same as my dad. He's started using the buckle end of the belt. Says I have to show an example to the rest of them and if I don't, he'll show me an example. I got a thick ear last night just for not kneeling up straight."

+ +

"That's a real bummer. Having to pray all night and then getting a smack, that's not fair."

+ +

"You're telling me. You've got it made. I sometimes wish my old man was in the jail sometimes."

+ +

He nudged Corky to let him know he was kidding. His friend took no offence.

+ +

"He'll be back in a month or so," Corky said. "With a bit of luck it'll get Phil off my back, He's been acting the hard man ever since my Da went into Drumbain. But sometimes the old man's just as bad. Once he gets a hold of a bottle then everybody has to stay out of his way. Sometimes he'll come looking anyway and if you think the buckle end of the belt's bad, you want to see what he can do with the toe of his boot."

+ +

Danny and Corky had grown up together, along with Doug and Billy. Tom had been born two streets away, but his family had moved down south when he was seven and had come back again only two years before, just after they found out Tom's little sister Maureen had leukaemia. Tom had fallen right back into the way of things until the winter when little Mo had died and then he'd gone quiet, hanging around on his own, and occasionally hanging around in the cemetery, close to his sister's grave. It was only when the spring had turned to high summer that he really started chucking around with the boys again, going down to the ganghut at the Rough Drain or even to the new place they'd found under the bridge, but he was still silent, still withdrawn. He was taking a long time to get to grips with his loss.

+ +

"My Ma just said to be careful," Corky said. "She's still scared of old Twitchy Eyes."

+ +

"She's not the only one. If my Mum found out I was going up the hills she'd throw a fit."

+ +

"He's gone," Corky said. "I heard they think he's topped himself."

+ +

"But they never found a body or anything."

+ +

"Only a matter of time. I just wished he'd grabbed Phil before he went," Corky said, very sincerely. "He's a crazy fool, so he is."

+ +

"He who calls his brother a fool is in danger of hell fire."

+ +

"Jeez Dan, wherever do you get all this crap?"

+ +

"That's one of the old man's favourites. It's in the bible."

+ +

Corky laughed aloud, head thrown back. "Well, I'm in for a right old roasting Danny Boy. I reckon I've called Phil a fool a million times."

+ +

"Maybe it doesn't work if you're telling the truth."

+ +

Danny glanced at Corky who looked back and then they both suddenly burst into a fit of laughter that swept through and over them, doubling them up so hard their sides hurt. It took them a while to chuckle it all out and it was the first real laughing Danny could remember since the spring. The sun was rising high over the oaks bordering the edge of the Corrieside Gully as they made their way up the hill in the warmth of the summer day. They were just two boys, only thirteen years old, glad to be out in the sun, glad to be out from under at last.

+ +

Behind them, tinny music floated up the slope of the path.

+ +

"Billy's brought his radio, silly idiot," Corky said. They sat down by the grass at the verge, waiting for the others to catch up. Corky leaned back and almost put his hand onto a wide cowpat and sent a riot of red dung flies whirling into the air.

+ +

Corky bared his teeth. "Remember the flies in the window?"

+ +

Danny nodded. His expression had gone flat and the bright twinkle of laughter faded from his eyes. "That could have been us, couldn't it?"

+ +

Jeff McGuire hadn't been the only youngster up on the roof behind the house on River Street. Corky and Danny and another fellow called Al Crombie had been on their way home from school, when they'd gone exploring up on the low roofs. You could always find a ball stuck up on the slates, or a birds nest in the eaves, even though it was still early in spring. All of the trouble was yet to erupt, so there was no reason to hurry home. They had gone clambering, pretending they were commandos, up and over the tin ridges and the swaybacked slopes on the roofs. Alan Crombie, who would have been with them on the trek to the Dummy Village if he hadn't been sent away, for safety's sake, to his uncle's farm at Creggan, had hooked a plastic toy glider out of a drainpipe.

+ +

They'd gone across the roof of the outhouse behind the old building and Corky had seen the movement in the window.

+ +

The flies had been crawling up the pane, hundreds of them, big and black, with that sheen of metallic blue at the edges. The three boys had stopped to look at the swarm on the glass, almost thick enough to cover half the window.

+ +

"Worth a look," Corky had said, but Danny had thought it was really creepy.

+ +

"There's millions of them. I read a story about flies that came and choked somebody to death and it gave me nightmares for weeks."

+ +

Just then, somebody shouted from a window of one of the tenements further along. A man was leaning out of a window and bawling at them to get down off the roof. The three of them had turned and scuttled over the ridge and down the far side, using the downpipe to get to the ground. They had forgotten all about the flies until Jeff McGuire had been a little bit more curious than they had. Now he was up in Barlane Hospital which was only one step away from being committed to Dalmoak where the real crazies were kept locked up.

+ +

"It could have been us," Danny said, giving a little shiver, though the day was warm.

+ +

"Flipping glad it wasn't." Corky said, chewing on a stem of grass he'd plucked. "Old Mole Hopkirk lying there with flies coming out of his mouth and all his hair growing across the floor. That would give you the heebie-jeebies. They say he was there for weeks and weeks and his nails just got longer and longer."

+ +

"If I'd have seen that," Danny said, "I'd have died on the spot. That would have been worse than Paulie Degman in the water and I had bad dreams for weeks after that."

+ +

Tom, Doug and Billy had almost reached them and the tiny music had swelled. Mick Jagger was growling that this could be the last time.

+ +

"Maybe the last time," Billy sang, well off-key. "I don't kn-o-ow...oh no."

+ +

"Give it a break Harrison," Corky told him, quite reasonably. "You can't sing for toffee."

+ +

"Great song that," Billy said. "But not as good as good ol' rock and roll."

+ +

"It is rock'n roll, idiot features."

+ +

"No. I mean the old stuff like Bill Haley and Elvis. My Ma's got dozens of records. Plays them all the time."

+ +

"So does our Phil. He's got all that old fashioned crap. He says Jagger's a poof and all the Beatles are big nancy boys." Corky turned to Danny and grinned. "Another step closer to hell for me. Phil really is a fool."

+ +

The other three looked at them askance. Danny and Corky burst into laughter again and the others watched them, wondering what the joke was. Billy waited until the end of the song and then turned the radio off. It was a tiny thing, hardly the size of a paperback, that he'd won by collecting tokens and you could pick up Radio Caroline, one of the pirate stations run from a boat of that name anchored just outside the official limit. Everybody agreed that the pirates were better at music and their deejays were far superior to anything on dry land. The radio was Billy's pride and joy.

+ +

They had reached the edge of the row of houses close to Cargill Farm Road that would take them up parallel to the Ladyburn Stream and then up onto the moorland. Here, the self-service general store served most of the families in the area. They came up round the back, still carrying the tent.

+ +

"How much have we got?" Doug said. They had pooled their money, not much of it, and certainly not enough for any expedition longer than a day. Corky told him not to worry as he unslung his haversack and brought out a bundle, wrapped in an old towel. He half unwrapped it until a beady eye showed, then a rounded head. It was a pigeon.

+ +

"What's that for?" Tom asked. Corky grinned.

+ +

"We can get what we want," he said. "You wait here and guard the tent". Billy laughed and Doug showed his big teeth. They followed Danny, who was holding the fistful of coins, into the shop and sauntered up the aisle while he went up the counter and pointed to the string of big beef sausages. He checked the price, saw that he could afford two pounds, and asked or it. Mrs Fortucci behind the counter, the mother of Brenda Fortucci who was a class above them in school and gifted with the most substantial breasts of anybody in the whole school, counted the sausages onto the weigh-plate, wrapped them, and passed them over. She cocked an eye up the aisle, checking on the other two. Danny was just handing over the change when the back door opened. He saw a hand push in, quick as a wink and then the sudden grey flutter.

+ +

The pigeon exploded into the air in a panicked clap of wings. A small downy feather tumbled out and rocked slowly as it fell towards the floor.

+ +

"What on earth...." Mrs Fortucci yelped. The pigeon came fluttering past her, heading for the window. It got half way there, saw the grille over the glass, veered, then flew in a tight, frenzied circle around the store.

+ +

"Oh, get it out of here," the woman squawked. She turned to the side and lifted a broom, swung it up into the air and started jabbing at the pigeon. Corky wasn't concerned. It was an old scrag from his father's pigeon loft, one of the street-tykes lured down b the big arrogant cock bird, and not a real homer. Even so, it was still easily fast enough to avoid the swinging brush head.

+ +

Up in the aisles, Doug and Billy were stuffing tins into their bags. Billy scooped cans of beans and tomato soup. Doug went for the corned beef and spam. He crossed the aisle, grabbed a loaf, stuffed it into his pack so hard that the paper burst, but he didn't stop. He spun and lifted a jar of strawberry jam and a packet of chocolate homewheat biscuits.

+ +

Above them the pigeon fluttered in a tight circle, wheeling round the light.

+ +

"I'll get it missus," Corky cried, running across from the back door. Beside him, the girl assistant was whooping in fright, hands clasped to her hair in the mistaken assumption that the bird's claws would get tangled in it. Corky crossed to the door, opened one side, then reached to swing the other, jamming it back. By now, Billy and Doug went out the back way. Light shone through the double doors and as soon as Corky moved away, the pigeon arrowed straight for the gap and swooped out into the summer air.

+ +

Mrs Fortucci dropped the brush, face flushed. Danny stood at the counter. She pointed at Corky.

+ +

"Come here," she said, beckoning with a thumb. Corky looked at Danny, wondered whether to make a break for the door, shrugged and came forward.

+ +

"I'd never have thought of that," Mrs Fortucci said. Her chest was heaving up and down, a vast double mound in magnificent motion. "That was good of you."

+ +

Corky shrugged again. She moved towards him and for a moment Danny thought she was going to hug him. He got a sudden vision of Danny disappearing into the deep valley and never coming out again. Mrs Fortucci passed him, heading straight for the till. She reached beyond it, lifted a large bar of chocolate and handed it to him.

+ +

"Can't stand birds in the shop," she said. "You go and enjoy it, son."

+ +

Corky almost burst out laughing, but he managed to keep it in until they were half-way up the farm track and then it all came out in a mirthful explosion. He sagged to the ground, dropping his end of the tent. Danny, holding his belly again, sat beside him. In a second they were all braying like hyenas. It took nearly five minutes before they could speak.

+ +

"Want a smoke?" Billy asked a while later, producing a packet. Doug took one and sat down on the rolled up tent. They were unfiltered full strength smokes that smelled like pipe tobacco. Doug inhaled, coughed heartily as the thick smoke dragged itself down into his lungs, and looked up at them, eyes brimming.

+ +

"Far to go now?" he asked through a dry throat.

+ +

"Miles and miles," Danny told him. "We've only just started."

+ +

"I'm whacked already."

+ +

Billy blew one of his famous smoke rings and made another one roll thorough the first. He'd been smoking since he was eight and had spent nearly six years practising the trick which he thought was just about the neatest party piece you could do.

+ +

"Great smoke. My old man used to smoke these in the war before he was killed."

+ +

The rest of them looked away hoping Billy wouldn't start about his war hero father.

+ +

"That's what my mum said. She's got a picture of him in his uniform and he's smoking a Capstan. Dead casual, like he's never been scared of anything."

+ +

Doug looked at Danny, a quick private glance.

+ +

"When we get up to this place," Billy continued. "And if we really find the dummy village, then I'm going to find something to bring back. Something from the war."

+ +

"Of course we'll find it," Corky said, trying to get Billy off the subject. Billy was fourteen and the oldest of them all and for most of his life he'd believed that his father had been a war hero, killed fighting the Germans. His ambition was to become a soldier when he grew up and go marching off, rifle in hand, to wreak his revenge. It was getting difficult for the rest of them to say nothing. They were hoping that Billy, who might have been the eldest but was academically the weakest, would do some mental arithmetic, some simple subtraction and come to the inevitable conclusion, and then shut the hell up. Nobody wanted to tell him to his face what he should already know.

+ +

"We should get going," Danny said. He stood up and took an end of the tent. Corky took the other and they hauled it up off the ground. Billy deftly nipped his cigarette and Doug tried the same manoeuvre without success. A red ember flew off the end and landed in the tall grass close to the hedge and immediately a wisp of smoke spiralled up. Billy stepped in and stamped hard.

+ +

"You'll set the whole place on fire," he said, giving Doug a shove.

+ +

Just then, something crackled, like a small branch breaking underfoot. It came from the shadows of the stand of trees on the other side of the track, and they all froze. Something moved again., a heavy object. Dry bramble runners snapped. Everybody looked at everybody else. Billy was about to speak but Corky held a finger to his lips. + Ssssh!

+ +

Another footstep, slow and deliberate. Somebody was in the trees, moving towards them, hidden only by the sprawling hawthorn that lines the track.

+ +

"Phil?" Danny asked in a tight whisper. Corky shrugged.

+ +

"Have they followed us?" Tom asked softly. "Sneaky rotten shites"

+ +

They looked at each other again, all of them holding their breath. Out there in the shadows beyond the farm road, under the canopy of oak leaves, something was moving slowly towards them, using the forest as cover. Danny felt his scalp prickle. Doug turned on his heel and scooted up the track. Billy was right on his heels and then they were all running, going hell for leather despite the drag of the stolen booty and the weight of the rolled tent. Behind them the sounds faded as the distance widened but they didn't stop until they reached the ruins of the old shepherd's cottage at the far end of the lane far above the town.

+ +

Tom climbed up onto the crumbling wall, right up the gable slope and craned over the chimney to see back the way they'd come. He scanned over the hedge and saw the black and white cow come shambling out of the trees, munching on the dry grass in the corner of the narrow field.

+ +

"It's only a cow," he called down. "We ran away from a bloody cow."

+ +

The relief was so great they all started laughing again. It wasn't Phil and Pony McGill come to beat the living daylights out of them. And it wasn't anything worse that all of them had thought of and none of them had mentioned.

+ +

Billy said how if it had been Phil he'd have pulled his own knife and squared up to both of them and everybody just jeered that notion to scorn. Billy was tough when it came to talking but everybody knew Corky was the toughest of them all and even he would think twice about taking his brother Phil on in a serious square go.

+ +

They were still laughing when they turned and squeezed their way through the stile and headed up across the field of gorse, listening to the seeds snap and crackle in the heat of the sun, winding their way through the maze of vicious little spines, heading for the line of trees that separated the high and low pastures, the rugged moorland from the rich agricultural loam of the farms.

+ +

They were quite unaware that while they struggled with the tent and the weight of the rucksacks, a pair of black eyes watched them from the cover of the thick plantation high on the far hill.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/008.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/008.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b10883 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/008.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,110 @@ + + + + 8 + + + + +
+
+

8

+ +

May.

+ +

Angus McNicol's boss, Commander Ross, who was head of the County force, made the announcement when Lucy Saunders was finally found. Angus the rest of the team under Hector Kelso who headed CID, had worked night and day for two weeks, going over the ground again with the tracker dogs, asking every boy and girl within a mile, trudging round the doors again asking them a second time if they'd seen anything. At the end of the day, it was the sergeant who pieced together what had happened to the child.

+ +

Her body was found under the third bridge over the Ladyburn Stream, a fair distance upstream of where it flowed to the sluggish marsh of the Rough Drain. She was lying crumpled and bloodied in a corner, slumped in a puddle.

+ +

From the Rough Drain, where the bike had been thrown into the muddy ditch, Angus McNicol, using hindsight, worked out the route the man with the twitchy eyes had brought the girl through the far side of the wasteland and up the curve of the stream where it skirted the lower end of the Overbuck estate, by the Dower House where the old Lady Hartfield had, according to legend, thrown some crazy, equally legendary parties back in the twenties.

+ +

He must have carried the child, it seemed certain, because it was unlikely a girl of eight would willingly go along with a man who had thrown her brand new bike into a stagnant pool. Also, Angus reasoned, she must have been unconscious, or silenced in some way, because to get to the stream, they would have passed by the old timber-frame houses still occupied by the estate workers. Somebody would have heard a child crying, or screaming, and would have come to investigate.

+ +

But nobody had heard a thing.

+ +

What was certain, from Dr Bell's post mortem report, was that Lucy Saunders had still been alive at that time. For, like Neil Hopkirk, it had taken her some time to die.

+ +

Danny Gillan's Aunt Bernadette had been right in her prophetic statement.

+ +

It was a matter of luck, if luck could be involved in such a thing, that they found Lucy Saunders so soon. She could have lain under the bridge for weeks, possibly months, had it not been for George Scott and his cousin Eric who had been poaching for rabbits on Overbuck Estate in the early hours of a May morning. They had just come down from the hill, using the trees by the stream as cover because the estate's fields were open and old Leitch the gamekeeper was as wily as a red fox. They came splashing down with the two terriers ahead of them and when they got to the bridge both dogs had started snuffling around at the darkened hollow of the metal access door into the water valve. The door had been pushed open and the two dogs disappeared into the gloom.

+ +

George bent in front of the low door, leaning into the gloom, calling on his terriers. They were scrabbling in the corner, both of them growling that low rumble, the way they did when they'd got too close to a fox in its den. Eric pushed by him and struck a match, sending a flare of light into the shadows. The dog's bobbed tails were sticking straight up, white salutes over in the corner. Beyond then, a white arm stuck upwards, as if waving.

+ +

Eric thought it was a doll at first and then he breathed in the stench. Right away he knew what he'd found. The arm was raised up and out. Below it, a small shape was slumped to the right, head down. The dogs were snuffling heavily and over the sound Eric could hear the humming of insects. He backed out fast, hissing at the dogs to come away, inadvertently grinding his heel down on his cousin's toe.

+ +

George yelped and cursed vehemently, but Eric didn't even hear it. "It's her George. That girl everybody's been looking for."

+ +

"You should watch where you're going," George said. "Nearly broke my flamin' toe."

+ +

"Wheesht man," Eric hissed, in the same stage whisper tone he'd used on the dogs. "It's that wee girl who's been missing. It must be." +

+ +

"What are you blethering on about?" George finally asked.

+ +

"Bloody hell man, would you listen to me," Eric grabbed his cousin by the lapel, forcing him to stop hopping around in the shallow gravel on the stream. "It's a dead fuggin' + body!"

+ +

Angus McNicol and John Fallon were up at the third bridge in the space of fifteen minutes from the panicked phone call, and under the bridge, in the square stone box normally closed to the world by a heavy iron door fastened with a big brass padlock on a hasp, they found Lucy Saunders.

+ +

The pale little body was sprawled in a puddle, legs spread-eagled in pitiful invitation, arms outstretched, each one tied by a ripped piece of cloth to pulley-hooks set in the stonework. Her head was thrown back over to one side and her hair hung in rat's tails down on her bare shoulders.

+ +

The only article of clothing was the collar of a shirt and a scrap of cloth which hung down on her chest. One of her sandals was in the puddle, but there was no sign of the other.

+ +

At first, when the beam of the flashlight swept across the body, Angus McNicol thought, just as Eric Scott had done, that they'd made a mistake and merely found a discarded doll. The girl's small frame looked waxy, almost plastic in the damp gloom. But the smell was unmistakable, the stench of rotting flesh.

+ +

Even Dr Bell found it difficult to keep the emotion out of his post mortem report.

+ +

The name + Twitchy Eyes spread like a searing brush fire around the town. Mothers panicked, and down at the distillery, the biggest employer of women, two of the bottling lines had to shut down completely because so many women had taken time off to make sure they were home when their children arrived from school. +

+ +

Down on Strathleven Street, at the edge of the leafy path that angled down towards the allotments, a telephone line worker stepped into the shadow of an overgrown privet hedge to relieve himself of the pressure of two pints of beer he'd drunk in Mac's bar over lunchtime. He'd turned round, shaking himself dry the way men do, unaware of the mother and two children passing by on the other side of the street. All she saw was a man looming out of the bushes and exposing himself . She screamed like a banshee and dragged her girls to the nearest doorway, both of them squealing in fear and alarm though completely unaware of the workman's presence - and banged on the door until the householder who'd been tending his dahlias came running round the front of the house. A window next slammed open and a woman leaned out, yelling and pointing an accusing finger. Postman Brendan McFall came round the corner into the melee. A car stopped and two men - canvassers for the upcoming council by-election got out.

+ +

All they saw was the pointed finger and all they heard was a gabbled and garbled accusation and the four men took after the line worker. The dahlia gardener still had a long-handled weeding hoe in his hand and without any hesitation he took a swipe at the man, knocking his hard-hat into the privet hedge and knocking him to the ground. By the time the police arrived, the unfortunate man thought the whole world had gone crazy. He'd a lump the size of a pigeon's egg on the side of his head. Two streams of blood were dripping from his nose and one badly blacked eye was closed tight shut. Not only that, but when he'd tried to escape from the four madmen, two of them had grabbed his arms and out of nowhere a demented, screaming woman had come rushing across the road and kicked him right in the balls and drawn a row of bloody lines down his face with her fingernails. To add insult to this injury, on the following morning, when it was all accepted that he was not the crazed killer, he was hauled in front of Baillie McGraw at the Monday morning court and fined five pounds for committing a public nuisance. After that he refused ever again to work on Strathleven Street.

+ +

More unfortunate was the poor Asian salesman who had just come into town to take on a new territory for the Housemarket Supply Company. He had a dark coat and a turban and a glossy black beard and was a pretty exotic fellow by the normal standards of the backwater where he planned to sell his plastic toilet brushes and knickknacks.

+ +

He was on the far side of town, up by Arden Road, and he stopped to ask a directions of a group of children. Everything would have been fine, but for the fact that a four-year old had turned round and seen the dark face under the turban and the shiny beard and taken him for a pirate. She gave a wail of fright, which was immediately taken up by her younger friend and in an infectious wave of panic a bunch of little girls who had been skipping gaily in the late spring sun, were screeching like piglets.

+ +

A group of men playing quoits with old iron carthorse shoes on the wasteland where the old quarry buildings used to be came running round and attacked the salesman with such violence that he ended up in Lochend General where he needed a three-hour operation to relieve the pressure caused by a dreadful curved dent in his skull caused by a solid iron shoe from a Clydesdale horse.

+ +

It was that kind of panic, the jitters that sizzled through the town. There was a + bad man here, a murderer, and while people naturally suspected it must be a stranger, all that was known was that he was a man, tall, with dark hair. And with twitchy eyes. +

+ +

From the pulpit in St Rowan's on Sunday, the Father O'Connor who ruled the parish took the opportunity to warn the children of his flock.

+ +

"Let us pray for Lucinda Saunders," he enjoined them, joining his hands together to show he little ones exactly how it was done, "who was only eight years old and who met such a dreadful end."

+ +

The old priest, who sported an Italian-style Beretta hat and an accent as thick as the bogs of Ireland, was hell on pagans, protestants and purgatory, along with the devil and all his wiles who was lurking around every corner waiting to snare a good catholic boy. And the said devil wasn't above using flirty teenage non-Catholic girls to do his dirty work either.

+ +

"Yeah, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death," he began. "The Lord is with us. This poor girl was not of our faith, children, and because of that she had never been baptised in the cleansing water of Christ's Holy Church, and that is a terrible thing don't you know."

+ +

He peered at them, hands clamped over the ornate polished marble edge, marble that would have cost six months wages in a good-paying foreman's job and leaned forward.

+ +

"For that means she was not cleansed of the original sin and because of that, she will be tormented by the purifying flames of purgatory, burning until that sin is purged away and she comes out shining and clean and fit to meet the Lord in all his great glory."

+ +

Danny Gillan put his head in his hands and as soon as he did so, his father leaned over and knuckled him sharply, letting him know he had to sit up and pay attention. This was God's business and He liked straight kneeling. The old priest lumbered along on his theme, purging and purgatory, cleansing fires. Over by the side altar, Father Dowran kept his eye on the unruly boys.

+ +

Danny had vaguely known Lucy Saunders they way all children know the connections. She was the cousin of some of the guys who played football on the spare field at the bottom end of Overbuck Estate, and while he might not have picked her out in a crowd of small girls, she was no different from anybody else. Just a kid.

+ +

Burning and purgatory. Just like the + Bad Fire, like hell itself, except that after a thousand years in the searing heat of the flames, you got a chance to get out and go to heaven and that was something Danny Gillan couldn't fathom out. He just couldn't get his thoughts to hold on to that concept at all. +

+ +

He looked up at his father, sitting straight-backed in his good Sunday suit, one long-knuckled hand clasped around Danny's little sister's dainty fingers, nodding all the while, as if mesmerised by the truth of the priest's words.

+ +

But Danny's thoughts had gone sparking off in a different direction. The kid was no different from anybody else, except fore the fact that when she was small and helpless, her parents hadn't brought her here to the old Italian marble fountain and had the water poured over her while they renounced Satan and all its works and all his pomps and because of that - according to old Father O'Connor - she would feel the cauterising sear of purgatory. After all she had suffered, (and Doc bell's report missed one of that awfulness) after having the life squeezed out of her in a puddle of her own piss, she had to suffer some more.

+ +

He shook his head at the immensity of it, the complete and utter wrongness of it. His father looked down at him, hunched in the corner of the seat, eyes diverted, and he thought Danny was daydreaming again. He reached once more and nudged his son's shoulder. Danny automatically straightened his posture while the priest asked them all to pray for the repose of the innocent but somehow tainted soul of Lucinda Saunders - and he wondered what his father would think if he knew that some of the boys in the Church Legion said that sometimes the curate, Father Dowran who ran the boys club would take them down to the room under the hall and chastise them for any perceived wrongdoing. And in the dark of the store-room, he would take their trousers down and....

+ +

"Daniel, pay attention."

+ +

Danny brought his eyes forward and thought of Lucy Saunders and Paulie Degman and not for the first time, he thought the whole world was going totally crazy.

+ +

Either that or he was going mad.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/009.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/009.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..732ba7d --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/009.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,297 @@ + + + + 9 + + + + +
+
+

9

+ +

August 1. 12 noon:

+ +

"Just climb down," Billy prodded, nudging Doug with his elbow. "Quick, before somebody sees us." The pair of them were up on the orchard wall, fifteen feet above the ground and it would have been an impossible climb but for the solid swathe of old ivy that festooned the stone. From up on the top, the thick growth helped hide them from view. An expanse of dead straight rows of vegetables, angled away towards the far wall, thick lines of lettuce, curly red or tight green footballs of new cabbage. There were beans on wires reaching for the sky, stalks of rhubarb as thick as a boy's arm.

+ +

They had taken a detour back down to the Ladyburn stream, rather than going up through the barwoods onto the high moor, for no particular reason except that it was a tiring hike up the hill and much easier going down in the shadow of the valley. Old Leitch the gamekeeper might chase boys off if he came across them, but it was hardly likely he was down in the gardens of Overbuck Estate, and so as long as they were quiet and careful, they'd be in and out again before anybody noticed.

+ +

"It's too high," Doug protested, "and there's no way back up." Doug had never liked heights.

+ +

"Course there is," Billy insisted, urging him over the parapet. " Look over there. They've planted trees against the wall. It's just like a ladder. No bother at all."

+ +

The pear tree espaliers slanted upwards, hugging the stonework, laden with half-sized stone-hard fruits. It was far too early in the season for them to be worth stealing but there were richer pickings on a hot August day and for the five boys, out on an adventure after the claustrophobic and tense summer months of the school holidays, they were too sweet to resist.

+ +

Already Tom, never one for taking huge risks, was crawling along by the wires where the tall raspberry canes nodded in a warm eddy of wind. Beyond him, Danny and Corky were leaning over the blackcurrant bushes. Billy could see their hands peck out and come straight to their mouths and in his imagination he could already taste the bitter-sweet juice bursting on his own tongue.

+ +

"Well, I'm not waiting around," Billy asserted. He scrambled along the top of the wall. Somewhere in the distance, in the shadow of the massive conifers, great Californian redwoods that towered over the water garden, a pheasant squawked its metallic challenge and overhead a wood pigeon murmured softly. Billy gingerly slid his feet over the other side and lowered himself down, tongue hanging out as he concentrated on finding a toe-hold. He dropped down another few inches and his tee-shirt, the kind of thing they used to call a + Sloppy-Joe scraped upwards, exposing his belly to the rough sandstone.

+ +

Finally his questing foot found a convenient cross-wire and he lowered himself backwards. Further along the wall, a lead fastener pulled out of its niche, instantly slackening all the tension out of the wire. Without warning Billy dropped almost a yard before it pulled him up sharp, wide eyed and heart-thudding. The wire sprung back, vibrating like an old guitar-string.

+ +

"Fu..." Billy mouthed, hands scrabbling for the edge of the wall, in case the wire snapped under his weight, but by luck, it held fast.

+ +

"Told you it was too high," Doug told him.

+ +

"Oh don't be such a + crapper," Billy shot back. The colour was coming back into his face after the fright. "Honest to God, Bugs, I never saw a bigger scaredy cat in my life." +

+ +

"Don't call me that, + fatso." Doug snapped back. He forgot his complaint and scrambled over the top, feeling for handholds. Billy climbed down the pear tree, one step at a time, trying to avoid the support wires. Over on the far side, they could hear somebody talking or singing, but there was nobody in sight. +

+ +

"Come on Doug," Billy cajoled when he'd reached the bottom. After a few moments, Doug carefully turned himself around and got onto sturdy lateral branch. Whispering loudly, Billy directed his feet, but it was slow going. It took several minutes of prompting and persuasion to get talk him down to earth. They finally reached the raspberry patch and found Tom stuffing himself with long pink fruits and the two of them tried to make up for lost time.

+ +

After ten minutes of pillaging, Tom asked where the others were.

+ +

"I saw them down at the far side," Doug said, his face stained with juice, making his chin as red as his big ears. "They getting tore into the goose-gogs, but I think they went through the door in the wall over there."

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

Doug shrugged. Billy was shoving raspberries into his mouth like a harvesting machine, making juicy little slurping noises all the while. He was enjoying this.

+ +

Danny and Corky stopped just beyond the green door at the far end of the vast greenhouse which took up half the length of the entire orchard wall. The panes had been whitened with the same chalky material that greengrocers used to advertise their prices on shop windows but there were a couple of clear patches which showed green shadows behind. Corky pushed himself up against the glass to cut off his shadow and peered inside. He turned and tapped Danny on the shoulder, eyes wide and mouth set into a perfect circle. Danny leaned, shaded his eyes and took in the enormous grape vine stretching from one end of the greenhouse to the other. For a second he saw nothing but a thick canopy of leaves and then the picture jumped into clear focus. Immense bunches of grapes, great purple inverted pyramids, hung down by the dozen. The grapes themselves looked as big and as succulent as ripe plums.

+ +

"I want some of them," Corky said. Danny nodded. He'd never seen such a wealth of exotic fruit, and he was sure nobody else had. If they were lucky, they'd maybe get an apple to eat in the schoolyard, but grapes, they were for rich folk. And nobody came any richer, in these parts, than the folk from Overbuck House.

+ +

The greenhouse door was unlocked and they let themselves in, looking apprehensively over their shoulders, every nerve alert and tingling, ready for the shout of rage that would follow discovery. Off to the side, they could see Billy's red shirt against the green of the raspberries. Inside the greenhouse the air was hot damp and just how Danny imagined it would feel inside a jungle in Africa. The vine was festooned with grapes, groaning and sagging with them. They seemed to glow with inner fire under the bloom on the top curves.

+ +

"We could take hundreds and they'd never even notice," Corky said. "But we'll need something to carry them in." He went out, beads of sweat already trickling down his temple and into the dry air outside. "Find a bag or something," he said, looking beyond the door. "Or a potato sack would be even better. We could carry more."

+ +

Danny thought they'd already done pretty well with the raid on the general store. They'd all shared the chocolate, giggling at the reward for mischief, none of them feeling particularly guilty at swiping a few cans from such bounty. Here was greater bounty, rich and lush; beyond their expectation. They went through the green door, following a line of nodding scarlet poppies towards the yew hedge.

+ +

"They must be as rich as sin," Danny said. The grey baronial columns of Overbuck house towered over the dark green of the tight clipped hedge, spiral turrets pointing to the sky.

+ +

"Richer than that," Corky said. "I read about them in the library. They've got millions and millions. My old man said they made their money out of making gas for the Germans to use and he says they should be strung up and bayoneted, but the book says it was guns and dynamite, and I reckon that's probably right. My old man doesn't read books unless they're about pigeons."

+ +

He turned, face earnest. "There was a picture of them from way back, before the first war, in the olden days. There were about a hundred people working in the house, just to look after the family, like make the beds and polish their shoes and even pour their drinks and wipe their arses."

+ +

He grinned. "They even had somebody to heat the bed up for them if it was old. Can you imagine that? Having as much dough?"

+ +

Corky raised up his hand, as if holding a glass. "More + cavvy-yarr, Jeeves," he said in a fake toff's accent. "And light me a cigar."

+ +

"You don't smoke," Danny said, returning the grin.

+ +

"I would if I had their fortune," Corky vowed. "Great big cigars."

+ +

The wealth of the place was unimaginable, beyond any of their dreams. The boys followed the track down to the stables and crept through the tack room, still buzzing with the delicious sense of danger. If the gardener caught them, they'd get a boot right up the backside, just for starters, but it was worth it. This was a fairyland, a film set. No money had ever been spared on Overbuck estate.

+ +

One of the dusty tack rooms was open, filled with sawhorses and horse-jumping fences. In the corner a trunk sat angled in against a horse-box. It was a wide, curve-topped wooden affair, bound with ornate metal ribs, and looked like every chest ever described in a pirate story.

+ +

"Treasure," Corky whispered. He pushed against the lid and to their surprise it creaked open. Corky got it up to head height and flipped it back slowly, letting it settle against the cobwebs on the wall. A shaft of light angling through the window made something glitter and for an instant Danny thought that they had indeed found treasure, but it was only the top of an old decanter, chipped on one side. It lay on a pile of old books.

+ +

"Some treasure," Danny said, but already Corky was turning them over in his hands.

+ +

"Celtic myths and legends," he said, leaning over to see the cover. "Must be about football."

+ +

"No," Danny said. "It's Irish stories. They're pretty good. I read some of them, remember I told you about Cuchullain the Hero. He beats superman any day."

+ +

Corky flipped the book open and a monstrous face, a witch from a bad nightmare glared out from an old woodcut print.

+ +

"The Morrigan," Corky read the caption. "The Irish goddess of destruction." He turned to the other boy. "Look at the mug on that. Looks like a really mean old bitch. Look Dan, she's a dead ringer for Sister Julia."

+ +

Danny suddenly burst into a fit of the giggles. The hideous face with feral eyes and the jagged, monstrous teeth looked nothing like the little nun who ran the school, but she looked just as fierce.

+ +

"Wheesht man, you'll get us both hung." Corky stuffed the book down the waistband of his jeans. On the wall, an old tattered nosebag hung from a nail and he reached to unhook it. They crept back up towards the greenhouse, keeping to the shaded side of the stables and just before they reached the green door in the wall, Danny heard somebody talking beyond the corner of the wall where the flower-garden sloped down to a shorn smooth lawn shadowed by trees. At first he almost called out, thinking it was the other three coming back. A shadow appeared, just a motion seen through a teardropped fuschia bush and a man came walking towards them, his head just turned away from them. Corky spun and pulled Danny backwards, yanking him by the collar of his tartan shirt back into a stand of flowering shrubs. +

+ +

The man was tall and had short blonde hair slicked back like an old movie star, though he was still young. He was dressed like a cricketer, all in white, with a pullover draped casually over his shoulders. It flapped behind him as he came striding up the path, his face sunburn-red.

+ +

"Fucking little whore," he spat, managing to curse in a way neither of them had heard before. It sounded like a dirty word properly spoken. He went loping down the path, feet crunching on the stone chips. "Dirty common + slut."

+ +

Corky started to rise out of the bushes but this time Danny pulled him backwards as another figure came tripping round the corner. This time it was a woman, maybe in her early twenties. Like the young man, her hair was that rich golden colour, but it fell in waves on either side of her face. She was wearing a pink shirt and a short tennis skirt. The top was open to her navel and as she moved, both boys saw one breast come swinging out. The motion flared the shirt, exposing its twin, both of them pert and firm and uptilted. She strode forcefully along the path, shoes grinding on the gravel, golden hair spilling and bouncing.

+ +

To Danny and Corky she was the most beautiful thing they'd ever seen.

+ +

"Don't you + dare call me a whore," she called out in an accent they had only heard in English films. "At least I know which side of the fence I'm on." She stamped her foot, petulant as a little girl, and then went chasing down the path after him. Danny thought she looked like Marilyn Monroe, but even prettier. Much prettier. A waft of perfume drifted towards them, sweet as climbing roses, yet mingled with another scent that none of them recognised, because none of them had ever yet smelled the true scent of a woman. +

+ +

They huddled by the door, wondering whether anyone else would come through, but there was no sound on the bath beyond. They sneaked up to the door in the wall. Corky turned to check on the lawn. He stopped and pointed. Another man was standing beside a slowly swinging hammock. His back was to them and he was tucking a shirt into the waistband of his trousers. He was tall and slim and his hair was thick and grey.

+ +

"That was Janey Hartfield," Corky said. "What a pair of knockers. Hell's bells, she must have been + doing it."

+ +

"What, right there in a hammock?" Danny was shocked, amazed, strangely excited. He and Corky, they'd both confided in each other that there were a couple of girls who weren't too bad after all. Danny found that in recent months, Claire Brogan had developed an uncanny appeal. Corky admitted that her friend, Ann Coll, who had jet black hair and eyes to match, had the best smile ever. In hat moment, however, both the girls seemed thick and clodden compared to the slender, hot and prancing grace of Janey Hartfield.

+ +

"Looks like it," Corky said. "Lucky swine that he is. Look at the age of him. He looks like a colonel in a war movie" Corky nudged Danny forward through the doorway, but Danny's mind right at that moment was elsewhere. It was the first real breast he had ever seen outside of the tattered pages of Parade magazine and he was still stunned by the sight of it. It was the first time he had smelt a perfume just as rich and as heady as that, and the first inhalation of that other special scent. He did not know it, but that smell had affected him more than the perfume. Little hot shivers went juddering inside his belly and for an instant his jeans felt as if they had shrunk. Danny hadn't quite crossed over into puberty yet, but the chemistry was just beginning to happen. He felt as if a warm and soft hand had trailed up the inside of his thighs, making the skin ripple into gooseflesh.

+ +

"She's a goddess," he said in a whispering sigh. "A film star."

+ +

"No. She's a whore," Corky said. "At least that's what her brother thinks."

+ +

"He didn't look happy," Danny said. In his mind's eye he kept seeing that pink nub of flesh swinging out followed by the other one, defying gravity, smooth as polished marble, ruby crowned.

+ +

"And with all that money," Corky observed. "If it was me, I'd be laughing every day of the week." "If it was me, if I had all that and I could speak that way, I could do anything." He winked and held up the old canvas nosebag. "But I haven't, so come on, put your eyeballs back in again and let's give him something to worry about."

+ +

He pulled Danny's arm and hauled him along the track. Together they went in to the jungly heat of the greenhouse. When they emerged, crouched low, five minutes later, the bag was stuffed heavy with the biggest grapes any of them could remember. They reached the pear tree and clambered up to the wall, giggling all the while, Danny still unable to completely cast away the spell of the fair haired woman, but doing his best. Up and into the waxy ivy leaves, with the release of tension juddering inside them at the thought of almost getting caught and then winning through, they crawled along the wall. Finally, the giggles subsided.

+ +

"Where's Billy and the rest..." Danny started to ask when suddenly there was a crash of glass and a loud, hoarse shout.

+ +

"Come back here you thieving little cretins," the voice echoed across from beyond the wall. A split second later, Tom came streaking through the other door across the far side of the kitchen garden, the one that led to the majestic main house. Billy came next and went blundering across the cabbage patch. Doug came last, his face white, even in the distance, but in a couple of seconds, elbows pumping, loping with the grace of a startled roebuck, he had overtaken Billy who was an inch or so taller, but carried more weight. In a moment he was right on Tom's heels. The three boys came racing over the rows of lettuce, sending the leaves flying. Doug hit the wall first and came clambering up the pear tree, no hesitation now. He didn't even see the two others lying in the thick carpet of ivy. Tom followed next, gripping his way up the ladderlike branches, climbing quickly, but missing some holds in his panic. His body seemed oddly stiff. Behind him Billy was jabbering.

+ +

"Come on, + Jeesacrist! Move, will you!" The fright had screwed his voice up so tight the words were all jammed up against one another. He gave Tom a shove and the smaller boy almost went flying off the top of the wall. He grabbed for a piece of the ivy, felt it rip away, began to fall backwards, a yell blurting out. Then, quick as a snake, Corky stuck his hand out and snatched his wrist in a tight grip. +

+ +

"You were nearly a goner there."

+ +

"Stupid fat shite," Tom gabbled at Billy. Doug was halfway down the tangled ivy creeper on the far side. A big lumbering shape came crashing towards them across the garden. Danny thought he saw a gun and simply threw himself off the wall, using the thin ivy twigs to slow his descent. He hit the ground hard but kept his feet. Doug was running for the trees. Danny followed with Tom and Billy pounding after them.

+ +

Beyond the wall the angry man's voice followed them, but they were safe. They got to the trees and along the beaten earth path that led down to the stream and splashed over the shallows and up the other side. They didn't stop until they were up on the edge of the woods, sitting on the fallen spruce tree under which they'd hidden the tent and the bags.

+ +

Tom was hauling for breath. Billy's face was so red with exertion that it looked as if it might explode.

+ +

"Don't you ever call me that again, runt-face," he grunted.

+ +

"Stupid fat shite," Tom repeated, this time in a grated whisper. Billy's brows came down, visible now under the fringe of black hair. His eyes went dark.

+ +

"Lighten up," Corky said in that reasonable way he had. "We all got away, and look what we've got." He held up the old nosebag. Oily-black grapes seemed to be bursting out of the top, spilling out the way Danny had seen in the old paintings in the art gallery. Big as plums, swollen and somehow magical.

+ +

Billy's face lightened and instantly he forgot his gripe with Tom. "Not bad. But you never reached the kitchen, did you?" He turned to Tom and winked. Tom ducked his hand under his shirt and pulled out a bottle that was jammed into his waistband. Now the reason for his stiff-gaited climb was apparent. The wine glowed a deep red in the light of the noonday sun.

+ +

"And look at this," Billy said proudly. From under his tee-shirt he produced a rolled up parcel. He unravelled it and it turned out to be a kitchen towel. Even before the full unwrapping occurred, they could smell the juicy tang of roast chicken.

+ +

"It was just lying there and the window was open."

+ +

"Jeez, if they catch us they'll shoot us." Corky said.

+ +

"Not if we get rid of the evidence," Billy replied. "It's our lucky day."

+ +

"Lucky bloody year!"

+ +

It was less than two hours after they'd run away from Phil and the others at the gate on the farm road, and they had plenty of time. They hauled the tent out from where they'd hidden it and followed the stream up the hill, beyond the fork where the Ladyburn and the Langcraig tributary met, taking the left branch which would angle them north and west and up into the hills, climbing all the while. They stopped about two miles upstream at a natural clearing where the trees had petered out and the sheep had grazed the grass short. They fell on the stolen chicken and the grapes and Billy spent a lot of time with the spike on Tom's old army knife, working the wine-cork free. He finally popped it and took a deep drink, belching and gasping when he finished.

+ +

"Great stuff," he pronounced. "It's really hot when it gets down."

+ +

Tom and Doug tried it and then Danny took a swallow feeling his taste buds leap at the sudden infusion of a taste he'd never experienced before.

+ +

"Don't hog it all," Billy said. "Finders get first dibs." He took another swallow then passed it to Corky. "Here, take a slug."

+ +

Corky shook his head. Billy nudged him with the bottle.

+ +

"I don't want any," Corky said. "I can get any amount of wine at home." He caught Danny's eye. "It rots your brains out."

+ +

"Oh big tough Corky. Don't smoke, don't drink and don't swear," Billy scoffed. "Just what do you do?"

+ +

Corky ignored him. Billy pushed the bottle at him again and Corky just hit it with his hand. It went tumbling out and fell on to a stone where it caved in with a liquid crash.

+ +

"Flippin' hell," Billy bawled, rising to his feet. "You didn't have to break it." He reached for the bottle, but the bottom had cracked wide open and all the blood red wine simply drained into the grass. Danny watched it go with some regret. His mouth still tingled with the tantalising, rich flavour. He could have used another swallow. He had savoured riches.

+ +

Billy sat down again, still complaining, but everybody ignored him. Doug told how a gardener had spotted him under the net of the strawberry beds and how he'd almost got tangled in the mesh in his rush to escape. Billy and Tom had been ahead of them and one of them had put his foot through the glass of a cold frame.

+ +

"Could have taken my leg off," Billy said vehemently, forgetting the wine, and now checking his shin for signs of damage.

+ +

"Then you could have really hopped along," Doug told him.

+ +

"And you could save a fortune on shoes," Tom added.

+ +

"And gone in for the hop, skip and hop," Corky said, laughing now.

+ +

"Let's go to the hop," Danny chipped in, shoving himself up from the grass and getting onto one leg. He hopped to the edge of the stream and started to sing. "Oh baby....let's go to the hop."

+ +

Without any hesitation Tom and Dog followed him, both of them hopping jerkily and singing raucously until Tom lost his balance at the edge of the bank and slid down to land backside foremost in a couple of inches of shallow water at the edge of the stream. By this time they were all laughing, even Billy. Corky was lying back, holding his sides and Doug, who had eaten more grapes than he had consumed in his entire life was almost sick.

+ +

They were just boys out on adventure, glad to be away, glad to be out from under. The day stretched ahead of them, all the trouble and excitement behind them. They fooled around by the stream for a while, then climbed up the slope of the far side of the valley to the last fields where they hooked out a few pounds of early potatoes and some carrots, adding to their provisions. In half an hour they were beyond the line of the barwoods now and as they straggled up the natural track made by the cattle coming down to drink, a pair of dark eyes watched their progress from the shade of the tall spruce trees.

+ +

The eyes blinked in the glare of the sun reflecting off the water in the pool of stagnant water. The rays heliographed dazzling white light that made the eyes blink furiously against the glare, but they did not turn away from it. The light flashed sharp spears, fading out the colour of the grass and the thick ferns that crowded down the shoulder of the valley. For a second, the scene was fuzzed in monochrome, in layers of misty grey.

+
+

He was out of this time again. He was back....

+ +

The light was in his eyes, reflecting from the black space in the floating weed. An iridescent blue damselfly helicoptered in on impossibly slow wings, great black eye-spots winging seductively at the ends where they stroked at the air. The light was in his eyes and the beat of blood sounded like a mill-weir behind his ears.

+ +

Dung fly. Dung fly.

+ +

Somebody had spoken. He twisted round as far as he could but the sound hadn't come from Conboy who was slumped against the wedged open door, lying half in and half out of the truck as if and he couldn't make up his mind whether to come in or go. The flies were crawling all over Conboy's eyes and he wouldn't do a thing to make them go away. Black flies, humping and bumping, jittering into the air, in Conboy's eyes and in his mouth and in the other eye in the corner of his forehead. Conboy stank and he hadn't said anything for a while, but maybe he would talk some more later on.

+ +

The light was in his eyes and the pounding was in his head and he soared with it.

+ +

Dung fly. Dung fly.

+ +

Somebody had called it out. The darkness came and the light went out and he slept for a while and then he remembered the pain. The truck had rolled and bounced and he'd been thrown and now he was stuck under the fallen tree, unable to free himself and the flies had gathered on Conboy and they were crawling on the deep wound that scored down his own thigh on the leg that was trapped in the mud.

+ +

Up there in the track, he heard people moving about, and the chants in that strange high and bell-toned language where every word was a shout of anger or a cry of pain.

+ +

"All of them," the Sergeant-Major had said. "They're all gun runners and terrorists. Just keep them on the move and that makes sure the Reds got fuck-all to live on. And don't worry, they don't feel the same as you and me. They don't think the same. Don't feel pain and they don't cry tears."

+ +

He knew that. They were pagan people. Little barbarians. They had no belief.

+ +

Up on the track, people were moving beyond the lush foliage and he shrank back, unwilling to call out yet scared of the next rain and the water level of the pool rising up to his chin or higher still. How long he'd been here he could not say. Two days, maybe three. No longer than a week. The pain in his leg came and went and the buzzing in his head ebbed and flowed and Conboy sometimes looked at him with the flies in his eyes and when night came he could hear his blaspheming voice accusing him.

+ +

"Mad bastard. Mad bloody bastard." Conboy's voice grated. The way it had done when he had pulled him back by the arm, reaching to grab the still hot barrel of the rifle.

+ +

"Jesus fucking Christ you crazy shit." Conboy had been angry and scared then when he'd come round the side of the hut. Everybody had panicked when the shooting started and a couple of grenades had gone off with sudden concussions punching into the air, converting two of the little huts to fountains of tumbling chaff. Blood was splattered over one wall, a whole line of it. A flop of bodies lay in the corner, beside an overturned basket of grain or rice.

+ +

"No comfort," a voice said, deep inside him. "Give them no aid and no comfort."

+ +

"Holy mother," somebody had whooped. "Gideon's flipped his fuckin lid."

+ +

Gideon they called him. Well they might, for Gideon was a warrior for the lord.

+ +

Now Conboy was lying there with his third, ragged eyehole and accusations in his voice.

+ +

"You shouldn't have done it, man. Shouldn't have touched the kid."

+ +

Pain pulsed up from his leg and he prayed for it to stop and for Conboy to go away and leave him alone and he prayed for mercy the way the priests had shown him. But there was no God to hear him and succour him out here in the heat and the steam. They were down in the valley now. + The valley of the shadow.

+ +

+ Dung fly. That's what it sounded like. Over and over, hollow little clucks that sounded like no true language. He heard it again and something touched his cheek. Very slowly he forced his eye to open. The left one was thick and glued and he could feel a fly crawling over it. +

+ +

He squirmed awake, fighting off the dreadful tiredness. Two children were standing on the far end of the fallen tree. The girl a head smaller than the boy, both of them tiny and very thin, with long black hair and patina skins. The boy plucked another small berry from an overhanging bush and threw it towards him. It bounced against his forehead.

+ +

"Dung fly," the girl said. She pushed at the boy.

+ +

He turned, ignoring the pulses of pain and the ripples in the water.

+ +

"Do it, Gideon," Conboy said drily. "Get them quick."

+ +

The boy's eyes widened and the girl's face puckered as if she would cry. She pulled at his hand, tugging him away. Conboy's flies spun into the air and the boy started back. He jabbered again, a tumble of hard consonants and nasal dipthongs. They turned quickly and went scampering off the trunk, disappearing immediately into the sea of green with hardly a rustle, but he could hear the girl's high-pitched voice for a while until it too faded.

+ +

The blackness came back.

+ +

"They're all head-hunters," Conboy had said. "They've been at it for millions of years." The flies buzzed around him and his sockets opened wide. "They take the head and eat the brains and that way they got your soul forever. That's what they think. Crazy little shits. You can't tell what they're thinking, but you know what's in their heads. They put people on spikes and watch them die."

+ +

The humming sensation was back again, a shuddery little vibration that sometimes lifted him out of the pain and up into cool height where his thoughts were clear and powerful. And he knew that God had abandoned him out here, turned his back on him, but he also knew that now he did not need any other. He had the power of life and death. His given right.

+ +

The bamboo crackled and he forced his eye open again. The boy was back and this time there were two men. A third joined them and then a fourth.

+ +

"Dung fly," the boy said. That's what it sounded like. He pointed. The men stood together. They wore long skirts made of some rough cloth and they all had the parang blades for cutting bamboo. They regarded him solemnly and in silence. Finally one turned to the rest and made a short speech.

+ +

Out of sight, he lifted the butt of the gun and drew it towards him. The pain was high and glassy and he swooped along it.

+ +

They all turned round again. They looked like any of the villagers he'd seen in the past six months and each of them looked the same as the rest. Their villages went up in flames and their rice-stores scattered and burned. They were herded into the trucks and taken forty miles up the track to start again, and that made sure they were in no position to help the hordes of Godless commies trying to beat the forces of the good Lord.

+ +

One of the men lifted his parang and spoke. Another raised his blade. He watched them coming, through the half closed eyelid. They edged across the log, walking warily, feeling for purchase with their bare feet. The darkness closed in again and the rush of blood pounded behind his ears. The black flicked out and he was up in the cold again and he saw them moving towards him with chopping blades and there was no chance a slant-eyed little heathen was going to take his head.

+ +

"Shoot them," Conboy insisted from his vantage point. "I can see them coming. They're coming for you. You should finish what you started, + Gideon."

+ +

The men stopped, eyeing him warily. He squirmed a hand forward, drawing the gun towards him, skating on the smooth ice pain.

+ +

The men scattered. One second they were creeping towards him and then they were off and his gun was bucking again and they were screaming in terror and crashing through the green. The smell of cordite mixed with the smell of broken leaves and wet sap and the scent of blood.

+ +

"That showed them," Conboy said. "Kill them all and they can't touch us." The flies crawled out with the words, crawled back in again. Conboy's silent yell went on and on. His other eye bristled with life. Up the slope a line of people were moving fast, following a track and he could hear their yelling and he knew they'd come back again.

+ +

"We'll be waiting," Conboy said in his buzzing, hazy voice and the darkness began to crowd in again in billows of shadow.

+ +

The next time he saw the light he was in a hospital bed with a drip snaking into his arm and a pipe coming out of his leg where the flies had been eating at him and after a while the Major wanted to know who had put the bullet through Conboy's temple. And he couldn't remember anything except the voices and the look in Conboy's eyes as he lay back, talking to him while the flies buzzed.

+ +

The sun spangled on the water and the Major's face wavered away and the world gave a little + shudder and he was back on the hillside watching the line of boys moving slowly, following a track up the slope and he could hear them yelling at each other. The sun was high and it was hot and the buzzing of flies came drowsily down from the trees and he could feel the beat behind his ears again, the surge of hot blood, and the feeling started pushing its way back into him. +

+ +

It was hot under his shirt and a trickle of sweat rolled down from his armpit, a cold little line tracing its way across his ribs, and he blinked his eyes hard, once, twice, against the glare and for a moment their cries sounded like...

+ +

He was going up now, into that cold place where he remembered

+ +

They sounded like....

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/010.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/010.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cd3522 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/010.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,370 @@ + + + + + + 10 + + + + +
+
+

10

+ +

August 1. 1.30 pm.

+ +

They sounded like.....

+ +

He watched from up on the hill, listening to them calling to + each other. He blinked his eyes hard, once, twice, against the + glare and for a moment their cries sounded like...

+ +

He was going up now, into that cold place where he + remembered

+ +

....."I have to go home mister." The girl had said, clear and + high.

+ +

She stopped her bike. Here at the edge of this waste ground + where the pools of run-off drainage water lay black and deep in + places, overhung by fronds of willow and the umbrella leaves of + giant hogweed that looked just like jungle rhubarb in the steamy + gulleys.

+ +

"Not far," he'd said, blinking against the sunlight on the slick + surface. "You'll like it."

+ +

"I don't see a rabbit," she'd said, looking up at him in + quizzical innocence. There was the slightest hesitation in her + eyes, the merest flicker of doubt. But they were beyond the low + bridge now. Here the pathway was narrow and it forked three ways + and he knew this place from a long time ago.

+ +

"Just down here," he told her. "You'll like it." He blinked + furiously. Under his tongue, the familiar surge of saliva squirted + juicily. "What's you name?"

+ +

"Lucy."

+ +

Lucy. Lucinda. The light. He remembered that from the + priests.

+ +

And the light was in his eyes.

+ +

He stood back to allow her past and she pedalled forward, + concentrating on avoiding a piece of broken bottle. He let her get + a yard ahead then stooped. Quick as a snake. His hand clamped + around her mouth and in a smooth motion he lifted her upwards. His + right hand shot out and grabbed the seat of the bike. She squirmed, + but he was too strong. He turned and slung the bike high over the + stand of hogweed. It spun in the air, red and silver, flickering in + the sunlight, to land with a splash.

+ +

She kicked her heels and he felt her fear sizzling through her, + letting it arc into his own body.

+ +

Dung fly. The sound came back to him and fell out of + his mouth. He repeated it again and again, just under his breath as + he made his way quickly along the path. No-one came. He crossed the + water, wading knee deep through the reeds and iris stalks and then + he was past them, reaching the heavy cover of the far side. He + travelled some distance, stopping only once to settle her up in his + arms to make the carrying easier and in his head the thrilling + vibration was as pure as the hum of a mosquito.

+ +

She shuddered, shaking her head from side to side and the air + snuffled through her nose. He glanced down, and saw her eyes roll + madly and the fear was wide and clear in them. After a while he got + through the scrub and reached the bridge. In an instant he was + under the span. The door swung open with hardly a squeal. He + turned, pulled the girl behind him. Her foot hit the ground and a + little red sandal flipped off. He hooked it back towards him with + his foot, leaving a heavy cleat-mark on the damp clay.

+ +

He pushed the door shut. The girl hiccuped, sending a delicious + shiver through him. He waited until it passed and then he turned + and sat down on the wide metal pipe that carried water down from + the reservoir. He loosened his hand from her mouth, confident now.. + She did not cry. A small groan escaped her but her whole attention + was focused on getting air into her lungs. He let her have one or + two breaths, great whooping scoops of air and then he closed her up + again.

+ +

"Blow," he said, and all she heard was the deep rumble of his + voice in the dark. "Blow hard."

+ +

She blew hard, clearing both nostrils. When he was satisfied she + could breathe easily, even though the lungs were bellowing fast as + a rabbits, he reached down and found her foot, tugged hard at the + sock until it came off, balled it in his hand and then used his + thumb to force it between her teeth. She shook head with violent + desperation and a spasm rippled through her, but he persisted until + she made no sound. He could feel the shiver and knew she was beyond + crying out for the moment. He knew the fear was running around + inside her. It would chase her down in to the valley of the shadow + and she'd come through the other side, up in the cool, place where + there was no pain, the place that he himself could reach.

+ +

She knew. The certainty of it came off her in waves, like + electricity. There was no escape. She would die here.

+ +

Whatever thou doest to these, the least of my children, you + do also to me

+ +

In the dark, he nodded and he smiled a sly smile. My Lord, + why hast thou forsaken me...? His desolation was past now. He + was.

+ +

I am who am!

+ +

He reached for the mtches and lit the little lamp by sense of + touch. It flared, sent up a sputter of smoke and then began to + glow. He turned to look at her, a small form, pale and shaking + uncontrollably, a frightened bird caught in a trap. Her eyes were + wide and fixed on him and in them he saw the knowledge.

+ +

Dung fly.. the eyes of a child far away, begging + him.

+ +

The lamp guttered and Conboy's flies buzzed in the shadows and + the voice of the priest had come back to him.

+ +

"Holy orders. A gift from God. To make sacrifice to him."

+ +

But there was no god here.

+ +

After a while he crossed to her.

+
+

Interlude:

+ +

"We knew, or at least we were fairly sure at + that time, that it had to be somebody who knew the area," Angus + McNicol said. "That was what we thought at first and we pulled in + the usual suspects, shirtlifters, flashers, the whole gamut. The + Hopkirk boy, he could have been just a one off, and that's what we + thought, until we found the girl. We'd spent six years teaching men + how to kill and were bad people then, just like there are bad folk + now. Look at your Nilson's and that nutcase down in Hungerford and + god save us, those babies in Dunblane. And nutters like the + Jonestown mob who think they're doing it all for the glory of + god."

+ +

Angus leaned back against the thick upholstery of his easy chair + and ran his fingers through a thick head of white hair.

+ +

"After we found Lucy Saunders we realised he knew that access + duct to the chamber under the bridge. "But how local is + local? "I mean it could have been somebody who had been in + the town before and moved away. I thought it had to have been some + fellow who played around the Rough Drain and up the stream as a boy + and knew the paths. But you have to remember when it + was.

+ +

"What I man is that there were no credit cards or the like. + "There was more work then, at least more than there is today and + people came to work the bottling lines for the summer and then were + off again. There were potato-pickers and dry-stone wallers, and + teams of folk who'd come in to help with the fencing for the + forestry commission, or digging the drainage ditches up on the + Langcraig moors for the plantations. A lot of movement in those + days, when you were doing the twist and growing your hair long. + Don't think I forget giving you a toe up the arse for breaking that + street light over at Station Street." He grinned again and the eyes + twinkled.

+ +

"The only thing we had was that people noticed more. If it was + somebody who lived in the town, he'd have been recognised and a + stranger would be noticed. That's why that poor Indian fellow got + such a beating up by Arden Road. Our man man was cunning enough, + though he took risks and let himself be seen a couple of times. + That made him arrogant and maybe not in control of himself.

+ +

"He was a big fellow. Bigger than me probably, going by the + weight he put on his toe-tector boots. And he took a size twelve, + which is about normal for a big man. He had dark hair and he + blinked all the time as if he had something in his eye and that's + how the name got around. We had his fingerprints, mostly from the + old surgery where they found the Hopkirk lad and they didn't match + with anything on CRO file. We could have done with some of this + computer technology then. Press a few buttons and you've got it. + Then It was all done with files and teleprinters.

+ +

"We had casts made of his boot-prints and we had pictures of his + bite-marks that showed he'd a bottom tooth mising. Fabric from his + jacket, hairs from his head and his crotch and we had bugger-all + really because Twitchy Eyes, he was a nobody. He just came + and he went.

+ +

"Oh, we knew he had religion, Christian religion, from + the pages of the bibles he left. You know this place. We've been + murdering each other for years in the name of God Almighty and + there's nothing to chose between them all. This man left the word + of God covered with shite and flies, and he was killing as + well.

+ +

"When I think of what he did to that wee girl under the bridge, + I tell you, I still wake up some nights and my hands are clenched + so tight the nails are digging half-moons into my palms. If I had + got that bastard, pardon my language, if I'd got him when I was on + my own, I'd have torn his arms off, I kid you not."

+ +

Angus McNicol drained his glass, but he did not smack his lips + as before. He put it down slowly.

+ +

"I would have done to him what he did to those people. I'd have + done to him what he did to that poor wee soul under the bridge, and + I'd have made it last. And then I'd have buried him."

+
+

Interruption:

+ +

Angus McNicol's face had twisted with anger when he described in + detail what had happened to little Lucy Saunders in the mud under + the bridge, and I believe then that he would have done what he + said. He'd have killed the killer. The memory for him was as clear + as day, as defined and sharp as if it had happened only yesterday. + Some memories are like that.

+ +

Here I have to intrude. Author intrusion. My editor + will scream blue murder and I'll have to explain that sometimes + when you tell a story, you have to find your own way through it and + round it, and that's just the ones you make up and knit together + from the ideas in your head. Maybe one or two of you have read my + other books under my pen name, and you'll know I butt in now and + again, but hardly ever. But that's in the stories I made up, or at + least the ones which I dragged out of my nightmares to make into + horror stories and chillers to help me get rid of the dreams.

+ +

Now I know the dreams will never go away because this is where + they all live.

+ +

Back then. Back in the memory, hunched in the shadows under the + bridge like the troll waiting to eat the billy goats, under the + bridge like the man with the twitchy eyes. Under the bridge with + the smell of rot and the buzzing of the flies.

+ +

When I spoke to Angus McNicol I let him have only half of the + truth. I told him I was researching for a book, but I had no + intention of writing one then, not a true story. I was + asking for myself, in the hope that I could find some + meaning for all of that, for the monkey that's been hunched on my + shoulder, pressing down with the weight of the years. I thought I + could find a cure, a magic bullet, that would kill the thing off + and rid me of the dreams.

+ +

Dreams don't give up easily, and memories don't give up at + all.

+ +

In the end, I had to admit that part of it was just a need to + bring the memories right out into the open and face them in the + light of day instead of running away from them. I honestly don't + know if it's done me one bit of good.

+ +

But writing it down lets me spread it around a little, maybe in + the hope that a nightmare shared is a nightmare halved and I know + that might sound a little bit flippant. I am just not sure any + more.

+ +

Anyway, a little more patience and I'll be out to leave you on + your own if you want to read further. I've tried to put the + thoughts into people's heads, to express them the way they were + thought. Not an easy job, but further along there will be + occurrences that explain enough, that gave me hints as to what + thought processes - some of them murky and dreadful - were going + on.

+ +

Also, for many years before I sat down to write my first book, + and for some years after that, I worked as a newspaperman, checking + out facts, digging in under the surface of things, and I'm still + proud of the little card tucked in my wallet that tells me I'm a + journalist, a reporter of fact, a life member of a tarnished, but + still honourable breed, no matter how governments wriggle and + twist. Some of the stuff I got from Angus McNicol and some of it I + dredged up my memory and a few other facts I got from digging + around in some old dusty places. Maybe I've taken a bit of licence + here and there, but I don't believe I've gone over the bounds. I + want to impart some of the taste, the bitter apples and + hard pears and exotic black grapes.

+ +

But remember also that the five of us boys knew reach other, had + known each other and you know what it's like being a kid of + thirteen or so, just getting ready for your hormones to kick in, + getting set for big strides into that big world up ahead. You can't + keep a secret and you try to keep a promise and most of the time a + thought's in your head no longer than the time it takes to speak it + out, spit it out. Mostly we knew, just at a glance, what each other + was thinking.

+ +

Five of us.

+ +

There was Corky with his drunk of a father banged up in Drumbain + Jail and not for the last time either. There was Danny and his + father who had given up a good paying job in the shipyards to start + at university and spent all of his time either studying or praying + and threatening everlasting punishment from an angry god. There was + Doug whose father was already in Toronto, run out of town by his + wife's shame and the need to take his family out from under the + cloud. There was Billy and his strange failure to accept his + inheritance, nurturing his belief in a father who did not exist, or + who lived and battled only in Billy's imagination. There was Tom + Tannahill who had watched little sister slowly die of leukaemia in + the front room of their house while his mother was out at the shops + and who walked with the knowledge of death shadowing his steps.

+ +

Five of us.

+ +

And yet despite the storm clouds of those strange and crazy + times, we were trying to grow our hair long and get away from those + slick-quiffed old fogies who jived to Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis. We + wanted to be different from teddy-boys like Phil Corcoran and Pony + McGill with his cratered face. We wanted to be like Donovan, trying + to catch the wind and we had a ticket to ride. Gil Favor and Rowdy + Yates were our heroes on Rawhide. Old William Hartnell was Doctor + Who, going through time in a police box and that was the + mind-blowing marvel that made adventurers of as all. Woolworth's + still had wooden panels on the counters and sold bags of broken + biscuits for a penny. And a policeman could still kick your arse + and send you on your way to sin no more.

+ +

It was a year when everything was exploding and we had no + control over it and we knew that Mick Jagger was telling the truth + when he strutted up and told us this could be the last + time.

+ +

Because it was the last time, and even then, in the + warm summer sunshine, struggling up the hill with a bellyful of + grapes and chicken, lugging the packed tent and (unsuspected by us) + a strange man's eyes drilling into the back of our necks, we knew + this would be the last time.

+ +

The world was changing and plans were in the air. In a couple of + months, in less than a year, most us would be scattered to the + winds. Jobs were hard to find even then, and besides that, other + things had happened that set in motion the irrevocable machinery + beyond our control.

+ +

There was the knowledge of the past season, from spring through + to summer, still fresh in our minds, the realisation forced upon us + that sudden death could come out of the blue, in the cold light of + day, whether by accident, or creeping sickness, or looming shadow + under the trees on the Rough Drain. There was the prescience of the + year to come that would change things forever.

+ +

Maybe it was to save something of it all, keep the essence of us + intact that we went up the hill searching for the decoy target, + looking for the Dummy Village. It was our last chance to find that + Eldorado before it was gone forever.

+ +

Maybe even then, we were trying to find ourselves before it all + slipped away from us and got lost.

+ +

And maybe that's what I set off to do when I began all of this. + Who really knows? I don't.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/011.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/011.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e714874 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/011.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,727 @@ + + + + + + 11 + + + + +
+
+

11

+ +

August 1. 2.30pm

+ +

A sound of thunder cracked way over at Drumbeck Hill and the + noise of the explosion at the quarry face came rolling over the + fields and up the valley. Doug stopped on the brow of the hill + where the drystone wall angled back towards the barwoods.

+ +

"Houston, we have lift off," he bawled in a dreadful American + accent.

+ +

"Bombs away," Billy hooted and the rolling grumble in the air + passed them by in a shockwave they could actually feel. Doug + clambered up on top of the wall and helped Danny heft the tent + over.

+ +

"Look there," Doug said, pointing south and east towards where + the tall spruce trees crowded on the other side of the valley, + marking the edge of the Overbuck estates. He shaded his eyes and + the others followed the direction of his outstretched finger. "I + saw something."

+ +

"Yeah. The wild larch tree," Corky said. "Very rare. That's the + last million larch trees in the whole world."

+ +

"No, you daft baskit. I saw somebody. Over there at the + edge."

+ +

The boys all made visors of their hands and peered under the + shadow towards the edge of the plantation. The high trees + straggling close to the edge were all in silhouette against the + heat haze of the summer. Nothing moved.

+ +

"I saw somebody watching us," Doug insisted.

+ +

"It was the cow again," Billy said. "It's supercow oh-oh-seven. + Trained to search and destroy. Fitted with exploding tits. It won't + give up until it's molocated us all." Everybody laughed, even Doug. + Nothing moved in the plantation. They all climbed the wall and + lugged the tent along the bare path worn by the sheep as they moved + up onto the moor. The peaty ground was dotted with thick clumps of + gorse, wickedly spiked but in the warm updraughts and eddies, + wafting an exquisite scent of coconut and delicate oils into the + air. They ambled slowly up the track towards where the line of + electricity pylons marched west, trailing black cables under the + sky. The quarry blast rumbled again.

+ +

"That's what it was like all the time during the war," Billy + said. "Must have been great."

+ +

"Must have been murder," Corky said. "You'd go to bed and never + know if you'd wake up again." He swung his stick and lopped the + head off a thistle, watching it go tumbling through the air.

+ +

"Wonder if there's any more bodies in the river," Doug said. + "They'll all come floating up."

+ +

"Jeez Dougs, give it a break," Tom snapped.

+ +

"I was just thinking about Paulie. Just when I heard the quarry + blast."

+ +

"He was covered in all sorts of crap," Billy said. "The current + took him almost across to the other side of the river and he must + have been stuck under the ribs of one of the sunk boats down in the + mud. Al Crombie said he was all grey and stuck like this." Billy + hunched his shoulders and stuck his hands out, mimicking a twisted + corpse. "But the crabs and fish had got his fingers and the toes on + one of his feet where his boot had come off. Chewed them all away. + His lovin' mother wouldn't have recognised him."

+ +

"Jeez Billy, give it a rest." Tom pleaded again. Billy ignored + him.

+ +

"And they think Mole Hopkirk got his the same day. That's when + he went missing."

+ +

"Everybody knows that," Doug said. They were ambling along, in a + ragged line, weaving between the jagged thorns of the gorse, + listening to the drying seed-pods crackle and pop open in the heat + of the sun. "That was really creepy. Like old Twitchy + fixed it so nobody was looking."

+ +

"No. Mole was off his head anyway. Remember we saw him down at + Rope Vennel?" Tom asked Billy. "When he was cadging smokes? He was + always swinging those keys, trying to swipe them down people's + faces. He could have put somebody's eye out with them."

+ +

"And then somebody put his eye out. What a horrible way to go." + Billy turned to Doug who was just behind him. "You said with any + luck he'd fallen in the river. You wished it on him."

+ +

"No I didn't," Doug protested. "And anyway, you said you wished + he'd taken on somebody bigger than himself, and that's what + happened, so you wished it on him too."

+ +

"Listen to yourselves," Corky said. He was ahead of them on the + pathway, just behind Danny, both of them lacquered with sweat and + panting. Corky had taken off his frayed shirt and tied the arms + around his waist, leaving a tail hanging like an apron. The marks + of cleg-fly bites stood out on his shoulders. "You two would start + a fight in an empty house."

+ +

"But he said..." Billy started.

+ +

"So what? He's a goner isn't he? He was dead before any of us + knew about it, and he was as crazy as a cat with a poker up its + arse and all. It wasn't our fault he met up with some loony. He + shouldn't have been breaking in to houses anyway."

+ +

"Like we broke into Overbuck's kitchen," Billy asked + mischievously.

+ +

"That's different," Corky said. "They're as rich as sin. And + there was no crazy about to grab us."

+ +

"That gardener looked pretty crazy to me. If he'd have caught us + we'd have been in real stook. I nearly crapped my pants."

+ +

"I thought you had, from the smell of it," Corky said and + everybody laughed again.

+ +

They got to the brow of the hill and dropped the tent. Doug had + taken off his faded tee-shirt, revealing a tattered string vest + which more holes in it now that when it was new. Billy said it + looked like a lot of spaces joined together and Doug admitted + without rancour that most of the holes weren't joined at all.

+ +

"I want to get a tan," he said. "All criss-crossed."

+ +

"You'll look like a chain-link fence," somebody said and they + laughed some more. They were all in a circle, Corky standing + astride the green bulk of the tent, rapping his knuckles on the + polished-wood of the support poles jutting from the roll. Billy was + leaning against the creosoted trunk of an electricity pole which + bore three parallel cables down the side of the hill and across the + valley. He lit a cigarette and offered them around. Tom took one + and Billy lit for both, before flipping the match to the side. + Immediately a clump of grass started to shrivel and crackle as a + flame, made invisible by the bright sunlight, caught the tinder-dry + brush. Billy casually stamped his foot and put it out. He lifted + the long ash stave he'd cut in the valley and started peeling the + bark back in strips. Danny got his slingshot from his pack and shot + some small stones at the glass insulating plates high overhead, + missing with every shot. He was better at throwing. Doug switched + on the radio, made it whinge and whine as he spun the little dial + searching for a station. For a brief moment, the Righteous Brothers + cranked up to losing that lovin' feeling then they were gone, gone, + gone in a crackle of static.

+ +

"You're too near the power lines," Corky said. Doug looked up, + switching the little radio off.

+ +

"There's a nest up there," he said. They looked up and saw the + little tangle of grass and moss out on the arm where the black + cables snaked in their loop from one set of insulators to the + other. He got up and reached towards the overhead spar joining the + two poles. Beyond them barbed wire set round the uprights offered + resistance to temptation, and as an added deterrent, a tin plate + bearing a lightning-bolt motif blared in red letters: Warning: + 130,000 volts. Danger of Death. Overhead, even though + the air was dry, they could hear the low, somehow animal, growling + vibration of power.

+ +

"Not worth it," Danny said. "You go near those wires and they'll + burn you to a crisp." He was sitting furthest away from the pole + and the trickling buzz of the voltage made him nervous. "And you + can't let go either. It makes you hold on tight and burns you up + until there's nothing left."

+ +

Doug moved back from the strut and ran a hand through his + straight fair hair.

+ +

"That can't be true," Billy said. "Look. There's a crow up on + the wire. It's just sitting there no bother at all and it's not + getting zapped."

+ +

"That's because it isn't earthed," Corky said. "Don't you ever + listen in science?"

+ +

"I don't believe it," Billy retorted. He jammed the cigarette in + the corner of his mouth and hauled himself up, using his stave as a + climbing pole. His weight drove the point deep into the earth and + he had to pull hard to get it out again. He hefted the straight + stick, holding it like a spear as he walked backwards up the hill. + They all watched him.

+ +

"What's he up to?" Tom asked.

+ +

"Damned if I know," Doug said mildly. Billy got about thirty + yards, right on to the shoulder of the slope. Behind him, two + lapwings flopped into the still air, beating jerkily while they + bleated their distress at the intrusion into their territory and + the danger to their nest.

+ +

Billy stopped, looked up and then came running back the way he + had come. He took ten steps and swung his arm back.

+ +

"Geronimo!" The stave soared like a javelin, heavy-end foremost, + curving through the air. It arrowed above the wires, seen from + where the rest of the boys were sitting and for a moment they + assumed it would fly straight over, to land in the gorse beyond. It + landed right on top of the wires, fifty feet from the pylon. It + made a pinging sound as it slapped across all three of the thick + cables.

+ +

A red flame flashed across its length.

+ +

There was absolutely no warning, no hesitation. It simply flared + with a sound of ripping canvas.

+ +

"Bloody hell," Tom mouthed.

+ +

"Yee-hah," Billy crowed triumphantly. The others watched in + amazement. The flames crackled across the ash stave, making it + jitter on the wires, twisting like a snake. An explosion of blue + sparks erupted where it lost contact with the centre-cable and a + sound like a road-drill came rattling down.

+ +

The five of them stood simply mesmerised.

+ +

"Look at it burn," Billy yelled. He was jumping up and + down, his tee-shirt flopping, waving both hands in the air. A sheet + of flame flew off the burning branch, coiled into a sphere and + rolled upwards, roaring like an angry beast. Even from where the + four nearest boys stood, open mouthed, they could feel the heat. + Another shower of sparks fountained outwards, sparkling like + sapphires. The drill noise came rapping across, shuddering through + the wires. Then the stave just exploded.

+ +

It was a real blast, not merely a disintegration. The white + peeled sapling had turned to black in the space of mere seconds. + The flames were reaching up towards a blue sky and then a crack + like a shotgun blast punched the air. The stick was there and then + it was gone. Burning cinders catapulted into the air, trailing + smoke in grey streamers. A piece of charred wood came whirling + past, making a whoop-whoop sound as itspun, and hit Billy on the + cheek making him yell, though none of the others heard him. They + were running to get out from under the falling debris. Doug and + Corky reached the tent first and heaved it up. Danny and Tom + grabbed the rucksacks and Billy's army bag.

+ +

The crack of the explosion faded away, though it still crackled + in their ears.

+ +

"Did you see that?" Billy bawled, racing down towards them.

+ +

"You're a crazy baskit," Doug asserted.

+ +

Just then, the first crackle of flames became audible. Doug + stopped, almost pulling Corky off his feet. "Listen," he said + holding himself still, head cocked.

+ +

"Nearly put my eye out," Billy was saying, still rubbing his + cheek where the piece of charred wood had left a sooty smear.

+ +

"Wheesht," Corky hushed him to silence. For a moment, they were + still. Billy was standing with his mouth open and his brows drawn + down angrily, about to argue with Doug. Corky had his hand up, + telling everyone to hush.

+ +

The crackle of fire came from beyond the pylon. They all turned. + A gorse bush burst into flame. It was as if burning petrol had been + thrown over it and it just blossomed fire. It growled madly like + the flame-throwers of war movies. One second it was thick and green + and festooned with golden blossom; the next it was shrivelling + under a ten-foot flame. The heat came rolling on the dry air, + slapping them like a hot hand. Behind them, another bush roared + into flame, like a fiery lion rising from a thicket.

+ +

"Christ man," Corky bawled. "The whole place is going..."

+ +

Ten feet away, a second bush erupted. The fine hairs on Danny's + arms twisted and shrivelled in the sudden flare of heat. To the + right, two smaller bushes crackled into life.

+ +

"....out of here," Doug was yelling, the first words lost in the + roar of the flames, but the meaning perfectly clear. He and Corky + ran between two reaching hedges, bent with the heavy weight of the + tent. Danny followed. Tom and Billy were somewhere behind them.

+ +

"Yee-hah," Billy hooted again. "Bombs away." Beyond them, a + towering forest of flame reached for the sky, a great red animal + clawing at the sky. The air all around them danced as if it had + been turned liquid in the scorch. It tasted of pollen and charcoal + and instantly seared their throats dry.

+ +

Something flew round the corner of one flowering hedge and + missed Corky by a hair's breadth in a flurry of whirring wings. The + panicked woodcock jinked and headed for the stand of pines further + down the slope of the hill. Overhead, two skylarks warbled their + distress while somewhere in the bushes their almost fully fledged + nestlings huddled in fear, their instinctive compulsion to freeze + now acting against them as the flames licked around them.

+ +

A pillar of fire exploded into life to Doug's left and he jinked + right, holding a hand up to protect his face. Corky followed, + dragged by the tent, stumbling as he went. A gust of wind, sucked + in by the powerful updraught, dragged with it a wall of grey smoke. + Danny stumbled into it, felt the incredible blast of heat and + backed away. Corky and Doug kept on moving. They got twenty yards + and came scooting out of the gorse bushes and onto the flat of the + sphagnum damplands.

+ +

Danny reeled away to the right, smoke in his eyes and searing + down his throat. Somewhere close by, Tom yelled something and Danny + stumbled backwards, knuckling under his brows to clear the dust and + smoke-induced tears. By this time, the heat was unbelievable. A + roaring noise thundered close by and he shied away from it, falling + over one small bush which stabbed him in what felt like a thousand + places. A gorse spine went right up under his nail and a needle of + pain drilled into his finger. Danny rolled and found himself in a + small clearing. A chance eddy of wind sucked the smoke away. Ahead + of him, up the slope, he could see a line of flames, twenty feet + high. Behind him, hardly fifteen yards away, a stand of scrub hazel + was well alight. He turned, panic beginning to bubble up. A minute + before, Danny could have outrun anything except Doug who could run + like a greyhound. Danny was fast and agile and he'd been able to + show Phil Corcoran an easy clean pair of heels. But this fire, it + moved. It ran like a red tiger, chasing and hounding. It + had leapt in front of him to bar his way, catching him no matter + how fast he could run, no matter how he jinked and dived.

+ +

"Danny," Tom's voice came wavering from somewhere to the right. + "Help me!" Danny whirled, truing to gulp down the rising terror. He + spun again and stopped. Right in front of him, a roe-deer fawn + stood shivering, a tiny, spindly thing, no bigger than a mountain + hare, balanced on four stick legs. Its eyes were huge and black. + The deer and Danny looked at each other. The animal was shivering + so violently it looked as if it might have been connected to the + voltage in the black cables overhead. Then it turned. Danny + couldn't tell how it had done it. There was no visible movement at + all. It stared at him and then its back was toward him and it + flicked, as if my magic , between two bushes. To his left another + wall of flame burst into life. To his right, Tom squealed, high and + clear and there was real fear in the sound. Danny blundered through + the small gap, brushing past the spines which dug through his jeans + and drove into his knees. His lungs were hurting and the skin on + the back of his neck felt as if it was turning crisp and a dread + horror came rippling through him.

+ +

He was stuck here. He was trapped in the fire.

+ +

The Bad Fire

+ +

Sister Julia's face came wavering on the heat-tortured air. + The Good Lord can look down on you at any time and decide to + take you

+ +

Like he had taken Paul Degman.

+ +

You must always try to be in a state of grace.

+ +

The fire was all around and the heat was searing his throat and + he was stuck in it. Real fear almost froze him to stone.

+ +

"Danny. Jesus Danny I'm stuck," Tom's cry came from just beyond + the next bush. It punched him through the membrane of + paralysis.

+ +

He fell over the hedge, almost blown over by the force of the + heat. Tom was snagged on a hazel branch. He'd been crawling under a + natural canopy and a dead branch had fingered down the neck of his + shirt and out the tail. Under any other circumstances, it would + have looked completely ludicrous. Tom's feet were scrabbling and + slipping on dried mud.

+ +

"Oh God don't let it get me," he babbled. In a flash of reality, + he saw the very real possibility that he could die. Panic soared. + The awesome finality of death had been with him since long before + Paulie Degman had fallen into the river, since little Maureen had + slipped away while his mother had been out at the corner shop + getting chicken soup. She'd gone and they'd taken her away and put + her in the ground, little Mo, his baby sister, and they'd all had + to pray while his parents stood frozen by a deadly graveside, too + poor to put up a headstone. Tom had held on to his other kid sister + Marie, held on so tight his fingers bruised her shoulder and as he + looked down at that hole in the ground, in the old graveyard behind + St Rowan's Church, it was like looking into a black well that went + down forever. Nobody who went down there ever came back.

+ +

"Danny," he screeched. "Help."

+ +

He pushed forward, the way a snared rabbit will, and felt the + branch strain against the cotton. He pushed again, felt the fabric + rip, pushed some more and was stopped dead. He could not go + forward; he could not go backward.

+ +

"Danny," he screeched again, voice high, just like a girl's. + "Help me Danny I'm stuck!"

+ +

He squirmed in a sudden desperate frenzy. He was stuck and the + flames were all around him and in that instant he clearly saw the + maw of infinity approaching fast. His feet shoved at the dusty + hardpack of the ground, gouging out two grooves but gaining no + purchase strong enough to break the branch that snagged him or rip + the shirt on which it hooked. The heat of the flames pressed in + from the side. A billow of smoke rolled over him and he coughed + violently, rasping his throat. Just then something hit him from + behind. At first he thought it was Danny pushing him through. Then + a soft body squeezed beside him, wriggled past in a shiver of + muscle and fur. The little roe deer, in its panic, hadn't even seen + him. It made it through the gap and flashed away. Tom was left + stuck.

+ +

Out on the far side, Corky and Doug watched the wall of flames. + Further up the hill, beyond the line of power-cable, Billy was + whooping with unfettered glee, completely unaware of the danger + Danny and Tom were in down the slope among the massed tangle of + burning gorse. It just hadn't occurred to him that they would still + be in there.

+ +

"Like a fuckin' bomb," Billy yelled. He had a bird's eye view of + the whole thing, but he couldn't see Tom or Danny were stuck in the + middle of it all. The flames absolutely gobsmacking fantastic. They + rumbled and roared, snarled and fought, leaping from bush to + thicket, a contagion of instant fire. The bushes just splurged into + flame. The heat warped the air so much the power-cables seemed to + shimmy and dance. Little birds spiralled up through the smoke. Only + fifty feet away he saw a yellowhammer come flitting up in its + bouncing, undulating flight and then suddenly fall like a stone + into the mass of flame below. Two hares came scooting from cover, + brown blurs that raced up the slope and swerved just before they + reached him, their eyes rolling.

+ +

"Christ on a bloody bike," he bawled to himself.

+ +

He trotted down the hill a little distance, getting to within + twenty feet of the nearest bush which had crumpled in on itself, + thin grey ash tumbling down in a stream where the spikes of gorse + powdered to threatless dust. The fire had eaten and moved on, + leaving a bare skeleton. Billy bent and grabbed at a tussock of + couch grass, rocking his weight from side to free the roots. It + finally came ripping up from the ground and without any hesitation, + he jammed it in against the smouldering roots of the burned bush. + The grass crackled and caught. He spun, whirling the turf and grass + around his head, then aimed for a clear patch down the hill where + the fire hadn't reached.

+ +

His grenade tumbled in the air, trailing smoke. He watched it + level out then curve down. It landed off to the right, almost due + south. Over the screaming of the flames he didn't hear the thud. + There was a pause and then, with a startling whoosh the + bush and its neighbour were ablaze.

+ +

Billy howled in delight. He saw himself in uniform, just like + his father, tossing grenades or hosing liquid fire from the + flame-throwers he'd seen in the films. The wavering air and the + heat, the smell of burning and the sudden violence of it + all was incredible. Billy just couldn't believe he'd done all that, + all with just one thrown piece of wood.

+ +

Out on the damplands where the sphagnum moss had sopped up the + moisture of the pre-summer rains and held it in the seeps and + depressions of the moor, Corky and Doug stood side by side.

+ +

"Can you see them?" Corky asked. Doug shook his head. His light + blue eyes were ringed with smudges and he used a finger to wipe a + trickle of dusty snot from his lip. A twig of gorse had snagged in + his hair like a miniature crown of thorns."

+ +

"Can't see a thing."

+ +

"I heard somebody. Sounded like Tom."

+ +

"What, in there?" Doug jerked his thumb towards the wall of + flames. His face went suddenly pale.

+ +

The flames rampaged along. Something came soaring over the smoke + and hit beyond them and another growl of flame started eating at + the gorse. The fire made strange sounds. It roared and rasped and + underneath that sound, it screamed and screeched as the branches + and roots twisted and gave off their gasses. It sounded as if lost + souls were writhing in agony in there, buckling and shrivelling in + the heat of the flames.

+ +

Corky remembered what Danny had said, his own vision of hell. + That's what it would sound like. Just screaming and shrieking and + it would go on and on. He shook his head. It was just fire. It was + just bushes. He'd seen the gorse go up before. It wouldn't last + long.

+ +

But what if...

+ +

It rustled and whispered, it crackled and it laughed as if it + could read his mind.

+ +

"No," Corky said, more in hope than in certainty. "They must + have gone down the other side. And Billy went up the hill."

+ +

Just as he said that, Billy let out a triumphant holler. They + saw a shadow move and he came lumbering through a pall of smoke. He + had a dry tussock in his hand and he set it alight before tossing + it down the slope, leading the fire on.

+ +

"Where's Dan?" Corky bawled, making himself heard above the + commotion. Billy shrugged. His face was aglow behind the + smudges.

+ +

"And Tom," Doug bawled. "You seen them?" Billy shook his head. + His mind was elsewhere.

+ +

Just then a flight of partridges came bulleting out of the smoke + on whirring wings, fat little propeller-driven birds. They arrowed + straight towards the boys, seemed to notice them at the last + possible second and veered up and over their heads. Right behind + them, the tiny roe fawn came springing out. It stopped on its + spindly legs, its tongue lolling. It didn't even see them. The + gorse crackled behind it and it was gone, a brown little blur, + spider fast, gone and away.

+ +

Corky looked at Billy. His eyes were alight and his face was red + with excitement. Doug followed Corky's look. Billy was prancing + around, throwing the sods of peat and grass into the flames, + spreading it further as if it needed stoking.

+ +

"He's off his bloody head," Doug said. The fire squealed as it + tortured a briar root into impossible torques.

+ +

Inside the burning swathe, Danny found Tom snagged on the hazel + branch. His old scuffed shoes were digging into the soft earth, + ploughing up their furrows as he frantically tried to free himself. + Danny could hear his panicked whimper. The heat was incredible now, + searing his cheeks, and there seemed to be no air to breathe. He + stumbled forward and tried to break the thin stick with his hands. + Tom's hand grabbed his ankle and pulled desperately, almost + throwing Danny off balance.

+ +

The branch wouldn't break. Without thinking it through, Danny + simply bent down and got his weight against Tom's skinny backside, + dug his own feet into the ground and pushed with all his weight. + There was a sharp crack as the branch snapped. Tom went flopping + forward and Danny fell on top of him, knocking the wind out of the + smaller boy's lungs.

+ +

"Oof..." Tom gasped and that was a whole lot better than the + fearful whimpering. Danny rolled, slipped and fell flat. Tom was + up, his canvas bag still slung over one shoulder. He grabbed for + the back of Danny's shirt and hauled first him to his knees, then + up to his feet. Without a word they stumbled forwards. Ahead of + them the flames danced in orange spires. But then a gust of wind + thinned them momentarily. They had reached the edge. Both of them + realised there was no turning back. They both closed their eyes and + ran for it. Charred twigs and branches crunched under their feet + and the dust rose up to clog their nostrils. They barged through + and for a second the heat soared up to an incredible scorch. The + whole world seemed to be on fire. Danny hit hard ground first but + the smoke was in his eyes. Tom reached for him, got a hand to the + strap of the rucksack and both boys came out of the burning gorse + like the two hares, running blind, cheeks tear-streaked. Danny went + crashing over the ridge of hummock-grass and down the far side, + lungs hauling for cool air, down the lee side, missed his footing + and started to fall. Tom was right behind him, flipping over, + bouncing on the moss, then tumbling in pursuit.

+ +

They rolled for fifteen feet past the ridge and then both of + them hit the water of the shallow pool at exactly the same moment. + The surface was covered in duckweed and the pond was less than two + feet deep, a low, circular depression on a flat shoulder below the + ridge of the hill. They tumbled into it and immediately the tepid + water sucked the heat from their skins.

+ +

Tom came up spluttering, coughing water out. It dribbled from + his nose in muddy streaks. Danny turned over, trying to push + himself to his feet and at first only succeeded in driving his hand + a foot into the mud. Finally he managed to get to his knees then + pushed himself up to a shaky stance. His tough jeans, cut-down + versions of workmen's denims complete with the long ruler pocket + down the leg, sagged with the weight of water. Tom was hauling in + great breaths, and still coughing violently, trying to expel the + slimy water that had splashed down his throat.

+ +

"Jeez, Tom, I thought we were goners there," he finally + blurted.

+ +

Tom nodded, still unable to speak. He opened his eyes and he and + Danny shared a look that expressed the words they couldn't say. It + had been a close thing.

+ +

Corky and Doug came running down the hill. "You all right?"

+ +

Both boys nodded breathlessly, chests hitching.

+ +

"Flaming hell," Corky said. "We thought you were in there."

+ +

"We were in there. Nearly singed all my hair off." + Danny held up his arm to show where the fine white hairs on the + side were twisted and curled. He peered closer and saw where the + ends were shrivelled. Each had a little dot of melted hair on the + end. He closed his eyes, remembering the heat on his face and the + back of his neck and felt the panic try to weasel in again. He + shook it away.

+ +

Billy came loping down the slope. Behind him the air was thick + with smoke. Pieces of grey ash were twirling skywards in the + updraught. The fire had crept down for more than fifty yards until + it reached a boggy patch where the gorse gave way to a dark patch + of low reeds. Beyond the marsh the land rose up again, golden with + furze and broom blossom, but the flames could not cross over the + reed bed to get to it.. Almost as quickly as it began, the fire + died, leaving little smouldering patches of charred briar root and + the twisted stems of the bushes blackened and skeletal.

+ +

"Pure brilliant," Billy said. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

+ +

Tom rounded on him. "You nearly killed us, you stupid fast + shite. Me an' Danny, we nearly copped it in there."

+ +

"Oh quit bubbling," Billy sneered. He took a step forward and + gave Tom a push, not hard, but enough to make the smaller boy take + a step backwards. "No kidding, your lip's always trembling. And + just watch who you're calling names, Titch."

+ +

Tom hit his hand away. "You're off your head. No kidding. You've + got screws loose. You nearly killed us. That fire was... it was..." + Tom's mouth started opening and closing, but his throat and tongue + had ganged up against him and refused to let the words out. His + eyes filled with tears. Doug and Corky shuffled their feet, + embarrassed for him. Tom turned away and the others could see his + shoulders jerking up and down.

+ +

"What did I tell you,? Billy started to say. "Always whinging + about something."

+ +

"Leave off," Danny told him. Billy's eyes opened wide, taking + offence again but Corky spoke up. "Yeah Billy, let it rest eh? You + could have killed somebody."

+ +

This time it was Billy's turn to act like a fish. He looked from + one to the other then shook his head in disgust. For a second, Doug + thought Billy might have a go at Corky, just because he was all + fired up with the excitement. Billy was the biggest of them all, + almost a head taller than both Danny and Corky and he towered over + Tom who looked as if his wet clothes would make him stagger. Canny + said nothing. He just looked at Billy without any expression on his + face. The confrontation faded. Billy shrugged and walked up the + hill to get his rucksack.

+ +

He stood there while the others waited for Tom. He could hear + them mumbling and he assumed they were persuading Tom to come along + with them rather than turning to go back down the hill and home + again. Finally, Tom wiped his eyes and they started to straggle up + the hill.

+ +

"Come on you lot," he called down. "This ain't a picnic you + know."

+ +

The fire finally died out. Down at the station near Castlebank + Church, and over at the waterworks post up from Cargill Farm, the + smoke and flames had been monitored. It was always a hazard at this + time of the year and in the high summer, hardly a week went past + without a brush fire or a gorse fire. It was what the kids did, + part of the tradition. Most of the time, like this time, the fires + burned themselves out. When the smoke cleared, the light wind + carried the dust high over Langmuir Crags and everybody forgot + about it.

+ +

The five boys straggled over the brow of the hill and down the + lee slope on a slow descent towards the Blackwood Stream. Billy was + still in a high state of excitement over the violence, and the + sudden destruction, and while Tom and Danny could have cheerfully + choked him, his actions that day, while they almost killed two of + his friends, had a long-reaching effect.

+ +

When he'd tossed the stave onto the wires, shorting out the + voltage between the cables, a heavy breaker-gate slammed open and + shut off the current in the junction station just west of Barloan + Harbour, the next village along, near Old Kildenny. All the power + in Barloan Harbour winked off.

+ +

Down on Barge Street, where in the old days, the hauliers would + unload their goods from the canal bay, Terry Hughes, an engineer + with the sewage department was inspecting a blocked duct when the + lights went out. He had planned to stay down a half-hour longer + before coming up for a break. In the dark, he turned and his cable + light cracked against a rock with a pop of glass. Up in the fresh + air, he had a flask of strong coffee waiting. Terry made his way + along the duct and reached the up-well. He took off his hard hat + and hung it on the hook, going by sense of touch. He climbed the + fifteen horse-shoe steps set into the brick shaft. Somebody had put + the manhole cover down and Terry assumed that one of his colleagues + had been playing a practical joke, shutting off the light and then + shutting him in. He pushed it up, crawled into the daylight and let + it slam down again. He turned to the little canvas shelter where + he'd left his flag when the ground shuddered. The manhole cover + exploded upwards on a pillar of blue flame, tumbling like a tossed + coin. It soared right across the railway line and crashed through + the upper deck, the galley and the hull of a neat little ketch down + in the harbour basin, taking it straight to the mud at the + bottom.

+ +

Terry Hughes was knocked off his feet and he suffered a graze to + his finger.

+ +

Investigators later found it had been caused by a huge build up + of gas in a sump, gas which had leaked from a cracked mains pipe. + When the power winked back on, the cracked lamp had ignited the gas + and let rip an explosion so violent that it ruptured the entire + wall of the sewer duct and caved in a section of road fifty yards + long. Terry Hughes' protective hat was found, or what was left of + it a hundred yards away in the fork of a tree. It was split into + four ragged shell-pieces that made it look like a blossoming dog + rose. As he told his workmates in the Horseshoe Bar where he got + monumentally drunk that afternoon, if the lights hadn't gone off, + he'd have been down there when it happened and he'd never have come + back up again.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/012.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/012.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7137319 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/012.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,645 @@ + + + + + + 12 + + + + +
+
+

12

+ +

June:

+ +

Kids were screaming and yelling. A rough voice cursed loudly and + comprehensively and a high pitched one cried out in sudden + pain.

+ +

"Let me go you big swine," the boy squawked, clenching his teeth + so that he wouldn't cry. Up on the hill behind the school, close to + the angle-iron fence that bordered the old sandstone diggings, it + was a bad idea to let people see you cry. It would let them know + you were soft. In Quarryhill School, rough and ready as any, you + had to keep your footing.

+ +

Further down the hill a crowd of boys broke into a raucous + cheer, the kind you hear in a school-yard when kids are up to + mischief. A bell rang in the distance and the smaller boy squirmed + away from the older one who was twisting his arm up his back.

+ +

"I'm telling the teacher," he yelled. "You're in trouble."

+ +

Quarryhill School. It stood just off the Arden Road leading out + of town on its west edge, and the paved schoolyard backed onto the + slope known to generations of pupils as The Hump. Here the tall + green-painted spiked fence formed the boundary of the school land. + Beyond it the chasm of the old quarry which had supplied stone for + most of the old tenement buildings in the town was a barren + landscape of sheer drops, massive tumbled blocks of stone, and + tangled weeds and scrub. The fence was supposed to keep the pupils + away from danger but naturally, this being a school, nobody ever + came up the Hump to check how effective the barrier was. In one + section, three of the spars had been torn away, leaving a space a + man could walk through without turning sideways There were other + places, closer to the low hill on the far side where the pigeon + huts huddled, where the earth underneath the bottom spar had simply + been scraped away by years of boys escaping the boredom of the + classes on sunny afternoons. That part of the fence was not visible + from any part of the school building, so any for any truant, the + space under the fence was the ideal escape route. It was used so + often that no grass grew there. It was Quarryhill's back door.

+ +

At lunch time, especially on a dry day, the back yard of + Quarryhill was just like tribal lands. Down close to the wall, the + first year girls played skipping ropes and a hopscotch game called + peever. Smaller boys played tag, though they called it + tig. High tig, low tig, ball tig if they had a ball. Over + at the sheds, the second and third year boys gathered to play + five-a-side, or heading the football onto the roof, taking it in + turn, scoring points if they could keep it up without letting it + drop. When they tired of that, they might goggle at the senior + girls of sixth year who hung around with the older boys who had + lost interest in heading the ball and cared no longer about games + of tig or kick-the-can.

+ +

On the Hump, lower downslope where the ground was almost flat, + teams of boys would mill around with a football, yelling and + bawling the way that they do, sometimes twenty to a side, everybody + chasing the ball at once to kick it between piles of schoolbags and + jackets. Nobody outside the game ever knew how the score was kept, + but again, that's the way it is in schools. Further up-slope there + was a hollow close to the fence where any of the fights took place + and that was generally a couple of times a week and an occasion for + half the male population and a substantial fraction of the girls + too, to come swarming up to spectate. Some of the fights were + particularly violent, though most of them were simply pushing and + shoving affairs involving a lot of swearing and name-calling as two + reluctant boys squared up to each other, each determined not to be + the first to land a blow. In real fights it was different. There + were bruises, contusions, broken noses, mud, blood and snot flying. + At any time outside class periods, the noise was horrendous. Kids + were yelling and screaming, roaring and bawling. The senior boys, + all of them smooth and cocky, or so it seemed to the + thirteen-year-olds, had their radios turned up to a roar, listening + to the Who or Manfred Mann, most of them with Beatles fringes and + hair down over their collars and most of them with bad florescent + acne. The back schoolyard and the Hump was like a cluster of + galaxies, every group milling around with its own kind, and two + groups hardly in contact, kept apart by the reverse gravity of age. + Whenever two groups collided, as happened now and again, somebody + could get hurt.

+ +

The smaller boy with the now-sore arm ran away threatening to + tell the teacher and the older boy, who was strolling up the hill + tapping a ball lightly ahead of him with the toe of his scuffed + Chelsea boot gave him the sign and turned away grinning. He kicked + the ball to his friend who passed it to the third and then it came + back. They were going up the hill towards the fence.

+ +

"Got any smokes?" Crawford Rankine asked. His voice was just on + the cusp of breaking, going from deep to high and then cracking to + a thin gravelly rasp. His skin was just beginning to erupt in a + line or risen weals on the edge of his jaw.

+ +

"A couple," Don Whalen replied. "But we can club together and + get more." He was a thin boy with fine, crinkled hair through which + his scalp showed pink. He'd pulled his tie off and was trying to + whip it against the third boy's backside.

+ +

"Chuck it," Derek Milne told him. Don ignored the warning and + whipped the tie, making it crack like a lash. Derek tried to catch + it but failed.

+ +

"If at first you don't succeed, fuck it, chuck it, never heed," + Don chanted, mocking his pal.

+ +

"Use the boot and then the heid," Derek snarled back in + mock threat. There was no malice in it. They were pals. They moved + up the hill, skirting the low wall where the huddled groups of + gamblers sheltered from the breeze, deftly dealing cards for + high-speed three-card brag (deuces floating wild) brag, or rapid + fire blackjack pontoon with double odds for twenty one and better + than that for a five card trick. Some expert hustlers would be + thumbing coins against the brickwork in sudden death challenges of + pitch and toss.

+ +

"Deuce is wild," a high voice complained vehemently "That's + three aces. A prile, and that beats you."

+ +

"Piss off, you lunatic," a deeper voice countered "Jokers don't + count,".

+ +

"You're the flippin' joker Caldwell. That's my game. I win."

+ +

Somebody shouted and somebody else yelled back and there was the + unmistakable thud of a fist landing on a cheek.

+ +

"Fight, fight."

+ +

The words bounced from one group to another. The game of + football on the flat grass stopped.

+ +

"Fight, fight!"

+ +

The girls stopped skipping. The senior boys with the acne pushed + themselves away from the side wall, craning their heads to see what + was going on. Small galaxies spun off groups of wheeling + individuals and whirled them towards the gamblers. By now, two boys + were rolling on the ground, locked together, each of them grunting + and snorting with effort.

+ +

"It's a fight," Derek, said.

+ +

"No, it's a kissing and hugging match," Crawford said. "Look at + them. Just a pair of jessies."

+ +

He strolled on and the others followed as far as the fence. Up + against the green metal railings, another group of younger boys had + been playing dead man's fall, pretending to attack a machine gun + nest and then being shot and dying in the most spectacular and + dramatic fashion. When the fight cry had sparked from group to + group they had forgotten their little private war and gone trotting + down the slope like pups coming down to a kill, heads up, feet + fast. The three pals reached the fence. Crawford Rankine threw his + bag over the spikes at the top, eased himself down to the ground + and limbo-crawled under the deep space there the earth had been + worn away by the passage of generations of previous escapees.

+ +

"Listen," Derek said. "I can't go. We got Matt Bryson for second + period."

+ +

"So what?"

+ +

"He said if I don't bring in that essay today, he'll have my + guts. He will an' all."

+ +

"Oh, he's nothing but a big Nancy," Crawford sneered. "Come on + man. My uncle Mickey said there's a run of sea-trout coming up. + It's a great day for fishing."

+ +

Derek hesitated. Don urged him to come along and for a moment it + looked like their friend could be persuaded, but he shook his head + regretfully.

+ +

"Okay, don't say you weren't asked," Crawford told him. He + picked up his bag and started walking on the path on the other side + of the fence, heading away from the quarry and down toward the + pigeon huts and shacks where the Quarryhill men kept their lurchers + and greyhounds and occasionally, some fighting dogs. Don gave Derek + an apologetic shrug and then scrambled under the fence. On the + down-slope, the low rush of sound rolled up the hill, the tense and + somehow hungry sound a crowd of teenagers make as they mill around + two fighting bodies. Derek turned and walked towards the melee.

+ +

Don and Crawford skirted the top shacks, and followed the + natural alleyway between the old wooden huts. Pigeons coo-ed and + mumbled from behind slatted openings. Overhead a flock of them + clapped through the air, wheeling together with such perfect timing + they might have been joined together by threads. Here the track, no + more than a yard wide, fell away heading for the old back road that + was once the service access for the stone-haulers at the quarry. On + this party the yards and small paddocks were bounded by thick chain + link or heavy duty chicken wire. Crawford stopped at the corner and + Don opened the pack of cigarettes.

+ +

"Got a match?"

+ +

"Not since Samson died," Crawford threw back..

+ +

"You mean his crippled baby sister, don't you?"

+ +

They lit up and drew in deep then sauntered casually down the + hill to where some steps had been constructed with old planks of + wood in a rickety descent. Just as they reached the top stair a big + black shape came lunging out from behind one of the corrugated-iron + shacks and hit the chain-link with such force that the wire + shrieked through the stay-holes. Don drew back with a cry of alarm + and dropped his cigarette into the mud at the side of the track. + The pit-bull terrier lunged again, a squat and powerful beast with + a head twice as wide as any normal canine head should be. Its + pin-prick eyes were flat black in a grey face wrinkled into a snarl + and showing an impossible array of teeth. It growled deep and + rumbling in the back of its throat.

+ +

"Jee-fuh..." Crawford gasped. He was further from the + fence than Don but the powerful dog's attack had pushed the wire + right out to the middle of the path. The beast snarled and + slavered.

+ +

"Look at the teeth on that," Crawford said. "If that got you it + would take your bloody arm off."

+ +

The fighting dog launched itself at the fence, massive and + muscular, leaping right up from the ground to hit with ugly snout + and paws. Specks of saliva splashed on the two boys who had cringed + back to the far side of the track.

+ +

"It's like a Tasmanian devil," Don said, and they both laughed, + now realising they were safe and that the powerful beast couldn't + get through the fence. He picked up a slender twig from a privet + that overhung the track and poked it through the wire. The dog + leapt up at it, jaws snapping together with the sound of boulders + clashing and Don pulled his hand away. Crawford reached for Don's + smouldering cigarette. He drew hard on it, making the end glow + brightly.

+ +

"Here poochie-poo, here boy," he wheedled. The black dog twisted + its head to the side curiously, though the low rumble continued. + Crawford pushed a finger through the mesh. Without hesitation the + dog lunged. Crawford whipped his finger away, twisting as he did to + bring his other hand up. The dog hit the fence and Crawford jammed + the lit end of the cigarette against its shiny nose.

+ +

The pit-bull terrier seemed to explode. It leapt back in a + perfect somersault, howling madly with pain and rage. It landed + square on its feet, smooth hair now all spiked and hackled. Its + thick neck seemed to have ballooned to twice its previous bull + thickness. The howl turned into a slavering snarl and it leapt for + the fence again, hitting it with such powerful force that one of + the staples on the high upright popped out and pinged on the + barrier on the other side of the track.

+ +

"Flamin' hell Craw," Don yelped. The dog leapt at them, pushing + its nose far enough through the mesh that the skin beside its snout + pulled back so violently that it began to bleed. Its black eyes + were rolling wildly, showing a ring of yellow-white all around. It + snapped and slavered like a crazed beast, which in fact it was. Don + and Crawford took to their heels hooting with laughter.

+ +

Down to the left a trio of greyhounds started growling. Don and + Crawford scampered down the swaying steps past the dog pen while + the pit-bull terrier snarled and slavered behind them, attacking + the fence with such ferocity it seemed certain to break through and + come after them. The pair darted to the right past the greyhounds, + tall emaciated dogs with arched backs and goitred eyes and long + grinning mouths. They began to bark in chorus as the boys ran past, + thrusting their thin noses through the holes in the wire.

+ +

Crawford got to the flat just ahead of Don and they ran along + the gravel path, past a series of old shacks and reached the dead + end. Here a piece of sheet iron had been set up as a makeshift + gate, but it had been peeled back by others in the past and the + narrow gap allowed them to squeeze through. This was the final + paddock and beyond it, there was a secondary worn track that led + down to the back quarry road. They stopped and got their breath + back.

+ +

"Nearly shit myself," Don wheezed. "And look. My smoke's all wet + now. It's like a duck's arse."

+ +

Crawford flicked it out of his hand and ground it into the + earth. He passed his own smoke over and Don took a big draw.

+ +

"Cured my constipation as well," Crawford said. "If that thing + got out it would eat you alive." The danger over, they began to + laugh nervously.

+ +

"It would eat you. I'd be a hundred yards clear ahead + of you."

+ +

They finished the cigarette, smoking it down until it almost + burned Don's lip and then they moved through the mass of tall weeds + that filled the paddock. The brambles and willowherb grew higher + than their heads and they had to push the trailing runners aside to + reach the far side. Here an old railway box-car was angled against + the barbed wire fence that marked the east edge of the quarry. Don + made to go past it when he stopped and bent down.

+ +

"What is it?"

+ +

"A padlock." Don straightened up and turned to his pal. + "Somebody left it."

+ +

They turned simultaneously towards the boxcar which was grey + with age. A faded number 188 was just visible against the pocked + grain of the wood. Any time they had passed this way the truck had + been firmly closed. Somebody had jemmied the lock off. Don leaned + forward and touched the pale gouges where the wood had been chipped + off. Crawford moved past him and gave the door a tug to the left. + It refused to budge but he got two hands to it and heaved. It gave + a squeal of protest and slid back a few inches on its solid runner + wheels. He peered through the gap.

+ +

"Can't see anythinmg," he answered the unasked question. He + pulled back and his pal got a grip on the door and between them + they rolled it open enough to let them inside. A pale pillar of + light crossed the dusty floor and climbed up the wall, illuminating + the centrefolds tacked to the wall.

+ +

Crawford pushed his way inside with Don clambering just behind + him.

+ +

"Look at the tits..." he started to say craning forward to ogle + a blond boasting a stupendous and quite improbable chest. Behind + him Don grunted.

+ +

A loud thud shook the goods truck.

+ +

He turned round, only curious at that moment. Don came swinging + up in front of him., moving fast, his pale frizzled hair catching + the light.

+ +

"What the heck are you doing?" Crawford blurted in surprise.

+ +

Crawford grunted again. A tall figure loomed out from the + shadow. He had Don by the neck. Crawford got a glimpse, no more, of + thick fingers clamped against the back of the boy's head. His + friend hit the side of the wagon. Don's bag flew off to the + side.

+ +

"Donny...?"

+ +

The tall figure came lunging forward, his other hand reaching + out. It seemed to happen in slow motion. Don went slamming against + the side, flicking out of the light and disappearing into the + gloom. The pale hand, massive and wide came expanding toward + Crawford's face. It reached the pillar of light. The fingers + brightened. Crawford jerked back reflexively, instinctively. His + feet slipped and he fell to the floor. The hooked hand clawed the + empty air.

+ +

"Ungh," Don said. His feet hit the side again. His head + was almost at the curved roof of the wagon. Dreadful panic twisted + in Crawford's belly. The hand lunged for him again, crossing the + shaft of light once more. Crawford rolled. His bag slipped from his + shoulder as his feet scrabbled on the wooden boards. He twisted + again and, by a sheer miracle, he tumbled out of the wagon and into + the daylight.

+ +

The man growled, almost as loud, almost as ferocious the pit + bull. Crawford's shin scraped down the edge of the door runner, + burning a sliver of fire up on the bone, but at that moment he + hardly felt a thing. The awful sound that had come out of Don's + mouth was ringing in his ears, even louder than the growl of the + big man who had lifted his friend up by the neck and slammed him, + one handed, against the side of the rail truck so violently that + the whole thing had shook.

+ +

Crawford's foot shoved at the muddy ground, failed to grip. The + panic burst inside him and he whimpered in fear. His foot got a + purchase, pushed him forward. Something heavy - and he knew it was + that reaching hand - hit him on the backside. He felt fingers + hooking at the flannel of his pants, pulled away from it with a + desperate heave. The material dragged away. He shot forward, got to + his feet and crashed through the weeds. Behind him the man grunted + again and snarled ferociously. Crawford reached the makeshift gate + where he and Don had bent back the thin metal. They hadn't pushed + it back into position and it was still open. He dived through, not + trusting himself to squeeze between the uprights quickly enough. + His hip hit the ground on the other side, abraded a red scrape into + his skin, and then he was up and away.

+ +

Behind him there was a thud of something heavy hitting the side + of the wagon. Almost immediately the weeds and bramble runners + snapped as an even heavier mass pushed through them. Crawford's + whimper became a wail of pure terror. He ran along the track, past + the snarling greyhounds, pushed himself off a slatted wall to get + round the corner and then went skittering down the final track + towards the Lochend Road which curved in a long bend past the base + of the path. He stopped, head swinging right and left. If he used + the road, he had five hundred yards to get to the junction that + would lead him back up to the front of the school.

+ +

Five hundred yards. Would he make it? Could he make it? His mind + was jittering and jerking, not gauging consciously, but working it + out none the less.

+ +

To the left, the entrance to the quarry gaped, an overgrown and + rutted space between two perpendicular faces of stone where the + rock had been blasted and chiselled. Between them, a thick bow of + steel chain acted as a barrier against people who dumped rubbish on + any vacant spot, or who dumped cars there too.

+ +

The quarry was forbidden to every pupil at the school, which + meant that everyone, at least almost every boy had explored it at + some stage and some of the older girls had made their own teenage + explorations there too. There were paths up on the ledges, worn by + the feet of countless boys taking a short cut or playing + truant.

+ +

Behind him he heard the growling of the man coming after him. + Feet thudded on the track, heavy and deadly. Crawford froze for a + second, paralysed with fear and indecision, then he spun on his + heel and ran hell for leather for the opening of the quarry. He + reached the chain and leapt over it like a hurdler, his shirt-tail + pulled out of his waistband and flying free.

+ +

The man came thundering down the track, moving so fast that when + he reached the edge of the road his momentum carried him clear + across to the far side of the road and almost into the line of + trees. He looked left and right, much as Crawford had done, then + the boy's flapping shirt caught his eye. It flashed in the shadow + of the quarry like the tail of a startled fawn. He turned and went + thundering after it.

+ +

Even in the height of summer, the south faces of the quarry + never saw the sun. They were covered in ivy and moss and constantly + dripped the dampness down into the trenches where the masons had + carved the blocks way back at the turn of the century. Jumbled and + tumbled piles of stones were covered in willowherb and wild + rhubarb, while close to the sheer face, square blocks of stone, + some of them ten feet tall, lay like dice thrown by a giant hand. + Crawford ran for the nearest block, jinked round the side and + squeezed between it and its neighbour. The narrow defile led to a + series of steps which had been cut in the sandstone and he clawed + his way up them, breathing hard and fast. He risked a look behind + him and saw the big man come rushing in through the man-made chasm. + All he saw was a shock of black hair and a flapping coat. He could + hear the thud of boots on the hard ground and the angry, almost + inhuman growl.

+ +

"Help," he bawled. The cry bounced off the sheer faces of the + cut rock and faded to merge with the steady drip of the seeping + water.

+ +

From higher up, beyond the flat edge, the schoolyard shrieks and + shouts came louder as he scrambled up the narrow defile.

+ +

Behind him the man was growling words which were all mashed and + jumbled together and made no sense at all. Crawford pushed himself + up and through the cleft and onto the top of the first massive + stone block. From there he could take a run and a short jump over + the yard-wide cleft that would take him to the next block. The + sound of the running man's boots came thudding up to him.

+ +

"Help," his voice was getting higher and the word seemed to + squeak out from a dry throat. His heart was thudding and kicking + against his ribs and his knees threatened to buckle under him.

+ +

Up on the top, where the grass was short and the paths leading + away from the fence radiated in all directions, worn smooth by the + feet of those years of truancy, there was a hollow depression that + had once been the original quarry works when the stone was first + cut out for an ancient farmhouse which stood on the land now + occupied by the school. The hollow was bounded on three sides by a + tangle birch trees and over-run by a thick matt of creeping ivy. + From the school fence anyone inside the dip could not be seen.

+ +

Brenda Fortucci, a plump and dark-haired sixteen-year old whose + attractions included a large and pallid pair of soft breasts and + the fact that her uncle ran the cafe and snooker hall along Kirk + Street, pushed herself away from Brian Grittan. In a couple of + months a group of boys would use a scrag street-pigeon as a decoy + while they robbed the store where Brenda's mother worked.

+ +

"Did you hear something?" she asked. Brian ignored the question + and sneaked his hand back inside her school blouse to the smooth, + yielding warmth.

+ +

"Sounds like a fight," he said quickly, in a voice that said he + couldn't care about anything outside the hollow, or outside her + blouse for that matter. He gently pushed her back down onto the + grass and hunched over her to press his mouth against hers. She had + a soft tongue and clumps of black hair under her armpits and Brian + tantalised himself with the notion that between her thighs it was + the same luscious dark shade. He hadn't risked putting his hand + down there, not yet...

+ +

"Help, oh, please help me," Crawford Rankine bleated. The words + came out all crimped and squashed together.

+ +

Behind him he could hear the ragged breath of the man who had + lifted Don up by the neck and hit him against the wall. It was much + closer now. He leapt over the space onto the next block and angled + right up the steep track, hands scrabbling for purchase on the ivy + roots.

+ +

Up in the hollow, Brenda pulled away again. "I did hear + something," she said. Brian tried to fasten on to her again but she + squirmed away. "Sounds like some kid."

+ +

"There's always kids around here." Brain was seventeen and was + about to spectacularly fail in maths, French and physics because + his mind had recently become so distracted from schoolwork. "Come + on, Brenda, the bell's going to ring in a minute."

+ +

Over beyond the fence, a strangely hushed roar went up as the + crowd around the fighting pair of boys reacted to the contest.

+ +

"Kick his head in," a loud voice rasped.

+ +

Closer, on the other side of the dell, a higher voice called + out. Brenda sat up.

+ +

"There. That's it again. Don't you hear it?" She began to fasten + her blouse, flicking off the dried grass that stuck to the + material.

+ +

"It's only kids playing games."

+ +

Down below them, Crawford Rankine was climbing for his life. + Here the quarry ascended in a series of man-high steps, most of + them covered in ivy runners and bindweed. The boy pushed himself up + and through another narrow gap. The man was closer now, climbing + fast. The boy felt his sphincter clench and unclench as if he was + going to mess his pants. His throat clicked dryly. In his mind's + eye he saw Don's crinkly fine hair up close to the roof of the + railwagon, while the white hand floated into the beam of + sunlight.

+ +

"Ah...Ah....AAAAAH!" No words now, just a wavering, + inarticulate cry. He reached the flat of the wide ledge where the + birches leaned out of the face. There was a corner here with + handholds, maybe twelve feet high. He had climbed it many a time + without difficulty, taking a short-cut back into school. But he had + never climbed it with a maniac chasing him up the side of the + quarry. Behind him the man growled. Crawford launched himself at + the corner and began to climb up, moving so fast and so desperately + that his foot slipped on the smooth rock. He slid down two feet to + the flat of the ledge again and started upwards once more.

+ +

Up in the hollow, Brenda got to her feet. She pushed her way + through the tall stands of willowherb close to the edge.

+ +

"Watch that, or you'll go over," Brian warned. He was angry now, + frustrated and disappointed all at once, but he didn't want to see + her fall.

+ +

A hand clamped on Crawford's ankle.

+ +

It happened so suddenly that for a fraction of a second the boy + thought his foot had snagged on a loop of ivy.

+ +

The fingers squeezed so hard on his tendon that a dreadful pain + seared up the back of his leg. He thought he cried out but in fact + no sound came out of his throat. He struggled away from the grip, + managed to raise his foot six inches to the next little ledge.

+ +

Then he was down. The grip on his ankle simply jerked him off + the corner of the rock. His head hit against a knuckle of stone and + a white light flashed in front of his eyes. He came crashing to the + flat and hit with such a thud that all of his breath came out in a + whoosh of air. Another hand clamped on his neck and lifted him up + just as abruptly as he had been slammed down.

+ +

"Got you," the man's voice growled, deep as rocks grinding + together.

+ +

He was lifted up and turned, as if he weighed nothing at + all.

+ +

"And he took him up to a high place," the man said slowly, in a + strange, distant tone, as if he was talking to someone else. His + dark hair was falling over his brow and his eyes blinked so rapidly + it looked like a quick-fire series of tics.

+ +

A sudden and deadly knowledge sparked. + "Twi....twi...twi..." The boy stammered.

+ +

"Call thy angels." The face loomed close. "And they will bear + thee up."

+ +

Crawford dimly realised that the face had not moved. It was + himself who had been drawn down wards towards it. The face moved + away. Crawford felt himself rise up. The hands let go. He was still + rising. The sun flashed over the rim of the quarry. He went up into + the air.

+ +

And then he was falling.

+ +

Up at the edge where the brambles hung over the face, Brenda + Fortucci screamed. The boy soared out from the cleft. All she saw + were the arms windmilling for balance and the legs running in the + air. The figure went flying out from the rock and plummeted + straight down.

+ +

"Oh look...oh Brian....he's.."

+ +

"What is it?" Brian asked, bulling through the weeds. He reached + her side and she turned into him, arms grabbing for his support + breasts pressing into him.

+ +

"He fell," he bawled. "Oh, that boy. He fell."

+ +

A dull, somehow deadly thud rose up from below.

+ +

Brian peered over the edge. Down on a flat rock, fifty feet + below, the boy was spread-eagled on a flat block of stone. His legs + were shivering violently as if an electric current was running + through them. In the space of a few seconds, a stain spread out + underneath the boy's jacket, turning the rock dark.

+ +

"Oh Brian he's dead. I know he is."

+ +

He grabbed her by the hand and went running for the fence. Down + on the hillside, one of the teachers had pushed his way into the + centre of the crowd and was now hauling two bloodied boys out by + the scruffs of their necks.

+ +

"Help," Brian Grittan shouted. "Mr Doyle!"

+ +

Brenda made a soft sighing sound and fell in a dead faint at his + feet. Suddenly, without warning, Brian's gorge clenched, opened and + he retched so violently his recent lunch sprayed all over the fence + and his prostrate girlfriend.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/013.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/013.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8e96cd2 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/013.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,458 @@ + + + + + + 13 + + + + +
+
+

13

+ +

August 1. 3.30pm...

+ +

"Look at that," Doug called out, pointing straight ahead. The + others reached the low brow of the hill and stood beside him. Down + the slope, the four black pools, each of them almost perfectly + circular except for the last which was kidney shaped, descended in + steps. They were evenly spaced and nearly identical in size, as if + they had been dug for a purpose.

+ +

"Dead straight line," Billy said. "The bombers must have come + right over the hills." He stuck his arms out and made a noise like + a fighter plane in a dive and started to run down the hill + zigzagging left and right. He stopped half way and beckoned to them + with a wave of his arm.

+ +

The others started to follow him down towards the craters.

+ +

The first one was deep and ridged all around its rim where the + earth had been thrown up by the force of the explosion twenty years + before.

+ +

"Just like a crater on the moon," Corky said. A dragonfly came + soaring towards them, buzzing like a miniature helicopter. It + banked on clattering wings before it reached them and zoomed out + across the still water.

+ +

"We must be close," Danny said. "If they were dropping their + bombs up here."

+ +

Tom shrugged. "Could still be miles away." His face was still + smudged with dust and ash and streaked with his tears. He had come + along with them but he looked more reluctant to stay. Behind them, + far in the distance, a pall of smoke still hung in the sky, but it + was fading away now, just a smudge of grey against the blue. From + where they stood, the town, three miles away, was hidden from view + by the curve of the hill. The faint sounds of the foundry steam + hammer and the clanging from the shipyard down in the distance had + all but faded, leaving them only the piping of a curlew on the hill + and the liquid sound of a lark rising on the hot air.

+ +

They ambled down towards the lowest crater-hole, this one + completely round and deeper than all the others. The water was + slick and patched with duckweed. Pond skaters slid on the surface + while underneath them, water boatmen darted in search of prey. They + dropped their bags in a heap and slung the tent beside them. All + five of them lay on the sheep-shorn grass at the lip of the pond + and peered down into the depths.

+ +

Danny reached out slowly and dipped his hand under the surface + sending the slick of algae undulating in slow ripples. "It's warm. + You could swim in it."

+ +

He moved his hand slowly very slowly, only an inch or two above + the silt a foot below the surface close to the bank. Corky watched + and saw a long black shape resting on the mud close to Danny's + creeping fingers.

+ +

"What's that?" he started to ask, but just as he did, Danny + lunged and hauled his hand clear of the water. Without hesitation + he dropped the black shape on the grass. It was three inches long + and wriggled furiously out of its element twisting its segmented, + coal-black body this way and that.

+ +

"Dragonfly," Danny said and everybody crowded round.

+ +

"Can't be," Billy contradicted. "It hasn't got any wings. Creepy + looking beastie."

+ +

"It's a larva. It's got to change first. It climbs up a stalk + and breaks out."

+ +

"Metamorphosity." Corky said, knowingly.

+ +

"Ugly baskit," Doug said. "Bet it can't wait to grow + up." They all laughed.

+ +

Danny broke a stem of reed and jabbed it close to the insect's + bulbous eyes. Immediately the bottom jaw shot out with a tiny click + sound. It looked like a long, jointed arm, jagged with grabbing + spines. The underslung mandible clawed viciously.

+ +

"Jeez-o, it's a flamin' monster." Billy exclaimed.

+ +

The jaw snatched the reed and pulled at it, and they all crowded + round to watch the alien wriggling thing twist and turn, viciously + defending itself.

+ +

"There's a big water beetle that's got pincers," Corky said, + holding his hands up at the side of his mouth and using his first + fingers to imitate the motion of how those pincers worked. "Big + enough to go right through your skin right into the bone. If it + flies into you it can crack your skull."

+ +

"Well I'm not swimming in here," Tom said. "You could get bitten + to death. It must be full of creepy crawlies like that. Probably + piranhas as well.

+ +

Billy got to his feet and without warning he stamped down hard + on the black larva. It crunched against the grass. "Something that + ugly shouldn't be allowed to live," he said, grinning. Doug made a + disgusted sound in the back of his throat.

+ +

"How would you like somebody to do that to you?" Danny asked, + getting to his feet. The black larva twisted slowly now broken and + burst, its legs clawing weakly at the air. Yellow liquid oozed out + from the split in its abdomen.

+ +

"Nobody big enough," Billy said, wiping his foot on the grass. + He grinned. "And I'm not ugly, neither."

+ +

He sauntered round the pool while Danny watched angrily, wishing + he hadn't caught the insect, even if Billy was right. It was ugly + and alien, something from a nightmare, but it would have gone on + living if he'd left it, and some day it would have turned into one + of the long , flickering streaks of black and gold that cruised on + the summer air, hunting for insects.

+ +

Billy hunkered down. Something splashed in the water right in + front of him. He reached, made a grab, missed his footing and + stumbled forward into the pool. One foot sank into the soft + mud.

+ +

"Dammit," he grunted. He reached again and snatched a bobbing + shape up from the floating duckweed, then hauled himself out. His + baseball boot and the leg of his jeans was red with mud. He shook + his foot then turned and held up the fat green frog, waving it like + a trophy.

+ +

"Hello froggy," he sang, making his voice grate like a + juvenile Louis Armstrong. He brought it across and thrust it in + Tom's face. The smaller boy squirmed away from it.

+ +

"What, scared of frogs?" Billy demanded.

+ +

"No I'm not." Tom protested. "It's covered in slime,"

+ +

Billy giggled. "You can have great fun with frogs. Watch."

+ +

He searched around for a dried piece of reed and broke off a + narrow stem, holding it up to the light to see if it was + hollow.

+ +

"You have to watch for earwigs with these things. They crawl + into your mouth and down your throat." He held the frog tightly + while they watched. The creature jerked powerfully in an attempt to + escape but Billy had its head in a strong grip. The legs pinioned + helplessly.

+ +

"See its hole?" Doug agreed that he could see it. Billy jabbed + the reed at it. The legs kicked desperately. There was a little pop + sound and the end of the reed disappeared into the frog's vent.

+ +

"Aw, Billy," Corky protested. "That's bloody awful."

+ +

Billy grinned and raised his eyebrows up and down. "Now for the + piece of the resistance," he said, grinning like Gomez Addams. He + bent his head, put the free end of the reed in his mouth and blew + steadily, puffing his cheeks out with pressure. .

+ +

The frog inflated. Billy squeezed the free end of the tube to + close it and leaned back.

+ +

"You're lookin' swell, froggy," he sang. He breathed in + through his nose and blew again. The frog blew up to the size of a + tennis ball. The sun glinted on transparent skin. The round body + swelled so much the spots on its pale belly had expanded to the + size of shirt-buttons. The yellow eyes glared out from a distended + head.

+ +

"Look at its face," Doug said.

+ +

It was an odd moment of fascination tinged with disgust and + blackly cruel humour. Danny and Corky each screwed up their own + faces, but they did not stop watching. Billy blew again and the + frog expanded even more. "I can tell, froggy!"

+ +

"It's going burst," Doug said, shaking his head and taking a + step back and holding his hands up protectively just in case. "Give + it a break Billy."

+ +

"You're still growin', you're still growin' " Billy + rasped.

+ +

"Oh, that's really rotten," Tom said, and then, without warning, + he burst into horrified laughter. Danny looked at him, feeling the + disgust rise inside himself. He turned to the frog. Its eyes were + bulging now and it bore a look of complete and mute bewilderment. A + hiccup of laughter bubbled up from inside him and he tried to + swallow it down feeling a flush of shame at how hysterically funny + he found this.

+ +

"Looks like Fat Sonia Kowalski," Corky said. Doug giggled then + the two of them exploded with laughter. Billy turned and the frog + slipped from his hands. It fell off the reed impaling its vent and + landed on the water. Immediately bubbles came farting out in a + steady stream. Its legs kicked out but it was still swollen to five + times its size and they only paddled against air, hardly touching + the water at all. It floated like a balloon on the duckweed, + turning slowly in a little circle.

+ +

Billy let out a howl. Tom was holding his sides. Danny and Doug + were holding on to each other, convulsing with laughter and Corky + was lying on the ground doubled up. They were completely helpless + for several minutes until the hysteria passed.

+ +

"God, that was really mean," Doug said, the manic laughter still + in his eyes. He tried to keep his face straight and failed. "You + should be done by the animal inspector."

+ +

"Look at it," Billy said. "It's as big as a flamin' football, + and it's farting away like crazy."

+ +

"Fat Sonia," Doug said, remembering what Corky had said, and he + was off again, bending over and holding his belly with both hands. + "Oh, stop it," he pleaded. "Don't make me laugh."

+ +

"That's really rotten," Tom said, stifling his laughter. "It + never did any harm."

+ +

"It's only a frog," Billy said, dismissively. "What are you + worried about? They don't feel pain like us." He turned picked up + his pack and started walking towards the lip of the valley.

+ +

The rest of them looked at each other. Danny felt flush of shame + creep across his face, making it hot and red. It had been cruel, + dreadfully cruel, but it had been funny and the frog had + looked like Fat Sonia Kowalsky. The inflated frog was out in the + midle, vainly trying to cross a patch of weed. It would die in the + heat for sure. The flush of hot disgust, at the frog's torture and + at his own laughter stayed with him.

+ +

"He's right off his head," Tom said with feeling. "I'm telling + you. He's ten cents on the dollar."

+ +

Behind the next ridge of tussock grass, Billy turned. "Come on + you lot. At the double."

+ +

Doug shrugged, sniffed. They moved on past the ridge of the + crater, leaving the algae ripples to settle to silence, and the + dragonflies snatching clegs and horseflies out of the air.

+ +

It was another hour before they got to the floor of the valley + where the Blackwood Stream tumbled clear and fast over the smooth + rocks. They had followed the contours of the hill, travelling + parallel to the flow of the water, walking on the sheep-tracks + until they reached the end of the thick forest that covered both + sides. Beyond that, single trees and small clumps grew here and + there, perched precariously on the steep sides of the valley, + hazels and ash and some alders. The stream had cut the moorland + into grooves here, deep gorges that fell away down to the twisting + flow below. High on the sides, scrubby hawthorns and an occasional + rowan clung to almost sheer walls. Branching tributaries bringing + the winter melt water down from the Blackwood Hills to the west and + the Langmuir Crags on the east side, cut the land into chevrons of + gullies and fissures. The five boys trudged along the edge, tired + and slow now and ready for a rest from carrying their bags and the + increasingly heavy dead weight of the tent. The valley swooped + below them, the steep sides lined and striated with alternating + dark bands of thick shale sandwiched between hard mudstone which + slashed white parallel lines in layers from the stream bed to the + high ridge of the canyon lip.

+ +

"It's like something out of the movies," Doug said. They had + caught up with Billy and nobody mentioned the frog. "Like cowboys + and indians."

+ +

"Treasure of the Sierra Madre," Corky said. "That's what it's + like." He turned to the others. "We don' have to show you any + steengking badges," he said in a reasonable imitation of a + Mexican bandido. Danny grinned widely at the impersonation and + lopped the head off a nettle with his stick. Billy looked + puzzled.

+ +

"It's a film," Corky explained. "Really good and scary too. The + baddy gets it in the end. But the book's better. You should read + one sometime."

+ +

Billy drew him a look that told them all he wasn't interested in + books.

+ +

"It's like the grand canyon," Tom said. "I saw a picture of it + in geography. It goes down for miles and it's got these lines all + along the sides. I've never been up as far as this before."

+ +

"Right up in the wilds now, Tiny Tom," Billy said. "Miles from + home. Only us mountain men and the wild frontier."

+ +

"There's bears and wolves and sabre-tooth tigers up here," Doug + added, grinning his wide goofy smile.

+ +

"Tyrannosauruses and stegosaurs." Danny threw in.

+ +

"Giant spiders." Corky said, keeping it up. "Martians with three + eyes."

+ +

"And window-lickers from the special school bus." Tom said. He + rolled his eyes up and let his tongue hang out imbecilically. + "That's you lot, that is. A bunch of morons if you believe all that + stuff. And I bet you do, every one of you."

+ +

They started down the slope, reached the edge where the grass + stopped and the steep shale fell away for more than a hundred feet + at such a steep angle it seemed almost vertical from where they + stood. Doug stepped back from the edge. "It's high, isn't it?"

+ +

"Not really," Tom said mildly. "Only from up here. It looks + further than it is, I think."

+ +

"I don't like heights," Doug said. "I got stuck on the quarry + once. Scared the shite out of me. It took me ages to get the nerve + up to climb down and I missed most of the afternoon."

+ +

"What quarry, the one behind the school?" Danny asked. "Where + Crawford Rankine fell off?"

+ +

Doug nodded gravely. "Yeah."

+ +

"Thrown off," Tom corrected. "They thought he fell at first, but + he got thrown off. Same time as Don Whalen was caught. Brenda + Fortucci saw it all."

+ +

Doug shrugged, not caring for the moment, though this was + something they'd all discussed, and at length, in the long weeks + running up towards the end of the school holidays. He looked down + to where the Blackwood Stream meandered down there, a silver snake + crawling through the steep valley. "I hate falling. I'd rather get + shot."

+ +

"Like my old man," Billy said. "He got shot a couple of times. + You don't feel it if it gets you in the head. You don't even hear + it. He wiped out a whole Japanese patrol, so he did."

+ +

He stuck his hands in his pockets. "He could have taken Cammy + Galt and Plooks McGill and your Phil all at the one time. He could + have molocated old Twitchy, that's for certain. No + bother."

+ +

Doug ignored him and looked away. They'd all heard it before. + "Can we find somewhere that isn't so steep? You could fall and + break your neck here."

+ +

"It's all right," Corky told him. "It's not as steep as it + looks, and even if you fall, you won't go far. Watch."

+ +

Corky took a leap forward. Doug blurted a warning as his friend + leapt off the edge. Corky yelled at the top of his voice and went + plummeting down. He hit the slope feet first, sending up a bow-wave + of shale and then went sliding down the scree on his backside, + forcing a fountain of gravel into the air, leaving a deep groove of + his passing. Danny went skidding right behind him and Doug was + encouraged enough to follow. Billy took the rear, bouncing down + heavily, leaving wide footprints with every stride. In only a few + minutes, they reached the bottom and followed the stream until they + reached a flat part at the conjunction with another of the feeder + tributaries that had cut the chasms in the moor slope. The twin + gorges angled away from each other, each of them filled with the + echoing sound of running water. Danny stripped off his canvas shoes + and threw his socks onto the grass. He rolled up the legs of his + jeans and waded into the clear stream shallows just down from the + deeper pool where the crystal water tumbled through a low cleft. + Corky kicked off his old scuffed boots and followed him in.

+ +

"What's it like?" Doug asked, struggling out of his torn + denims.

+ +

"Magic," Corky told him. He came out of the water and rubbed the + droplets from his legs. Already he was getting some brown hairs on + his calves. Danny, who had stripped off his own denims, looked at + them enviously. His own legs were white and smooth.

+ +

"Let's get the tent fixed up," Corky said when he came back out, + dripping water. "then we can light a fire."

+ +

"Bags me to light it," Billy demanded. "I can get a blaze going + with one match."

+ +

"Yeah, we know that. Just so long as it stays in one place," Tom + said rancorously. "You nearly killed us the last time."

+ +

"Oh, give it a rest, Titch," Billy rounded on him. "It + was an accident, OK? He pulled his tee-shirt over his head, slung + it behind him and ran up to the rocky ledge at the side of the + pool. Without stopping he scrambled to the edge.

+ +

"Bombs away..."

+ +

His cry echoed down the valley. He leapt into the air, bunched + his legs together and hugged his knees so that he curled into a + tight ball and hit the water so hard the impact it sounded like a + drum in the confines of the pool. An immense splash of water arched + out on all sides, soaking the bags and the tent.

+ +

Billy came up to the surface, his black hair glistening in the + sun. Underneath him the red mud which had dried on the leg of his + jeans dissolved in the current and trailed downstream in banded + clouds of ochre silt like streams of blood.

+
+

August 1. 4pm.

+ +

He watched their progress from the cover of the thick trees on + the other side of the valley, standing very still so that he + betrayed no movement at all.

+ +

The fire had died away but there was still a musky smell of + grass smoke on the dry air, mingled with the aroma of burned gorse + and its perfumed pollen. The hills up beyond the farm rolled away + into the distance, barren of trees up this high, covered in heath + and heather and thick bracken fronds.

+ +

The five of them had followed the cattle track down to the pools + and then they had moved on. He followed for a while, feeling the + tide of heat swell inside him. He was in no hurry, none at all. The + time was not yet right. There were still things to do, important + things.

+ +

He hunkered down beside a fallen pine tree that had broken its + back as it tumbled, and pulled a piece of dried meat from his + pocket, smoked pork from the dry-store next to the farmhouse + kitchen. He chewed on it absently, waiting until the troop of boys + began to angle down the slope, like a patrol in the hills. If he + listened he might hear them call out.

+ +

Dung fly. There was no rush. Up here he had all the + time in the world to do what he had to do. . There was no hurry for + now. He would watch and he would wait. He would let them know, as + some stage, when the time was right, who he was and why he had + come.

+ +

He rose to his feet and went down into the trees, heading back + towards the farm where the others were waiting for him. He blinked + several three times in quick succession, and the world flickered in + a strobe of flashes, intermittent light and dark. The boys were + going along the ridge at the edge of the valley where the land fell + away sharply in the narrow cleft down to the stream, and in a line, + just like a troop of infiltrators. It was steep there. Maybe one of + them might fall...

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/014.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/014.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..27249c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/014.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,507 @@ + + + + + + 14 + + + + +
+
+

14

+ +

June:

+ +

In the dark he could hear his own breathing, a watery snuffle. + He could feel wet on his cheek and the dull throb that told him + he'd been cut, but as yet there was no pain there. Not for now. The + memory of pain hovered close in the darkness, but it was hard to + remember anything else.

+ +

He'd been with Crawford and Derek. No, not Derek; he'd + gone back on the other side of the fence, gone back to school. + Crawford had been there. Where was he now?

+ +

He tried to think, but it was difficult. The dark wavered and + broke up into small spangles of light when the numb dizziness came + swirling in on him again. Going fishing. Taking the day off to cast + a spinner in the river and test that big run of sea trout. Down the + path, teasing the dogs, then through the corrugated sheet fence and + past the tall weeds. The door had squealed open and he'd looked in + and something had - a man - grabbed him. Hit him. It had + happened so quickly that he hadn't even had time to react. Crawford + had said something. The noise had come from the shadows. An image + of balloon-like breasts hovered there on the wall and then the + looming shape coming out of the dark.

+ +

The pain had been unbelievable. The shadow had slashed out and + hit him right on the side of the head and the whole world had + exploded into a fountain of whirling sparks. The pain had punched + from one side of his skull to the other as his head smacked against + the wooden planks. Another explosion, more fiery, more volcanic + than the first, blossomed in a burst of heat and hurt.

+ +

"Look at the ti..." Crawford had said and then he'd stopped. To + Don he had sounded suddenly far away in the distance.

+ +

Something had him by the neck but there were sparks bursting in + front of his eyes and he couldn't see. All he could feel was the + pain in his head and the rolling nausea bubbling up inside him. + There was a pressure on his neck and he was flying into the air. He + could remember his eyes, blind with the whirling lights, bulging in + their sockets and he recalled the collapsing sensation of his + windpipe.

+ +

The pain in his throat was coming back now and his head was + throbbing. The metallic smell of blood was in his mouth and his + nose and when he tried to cry out he found he couldn't make a + sound.

+ +

Where was Crawford? Had something happened to him?

+ +

He tried to move but his shoulder screeched with pain so badly + that the little lights started orbiting in the dark again. Outside, + out there beyond the door, the angry sound of dogs barking started + up. Somebody yelled and another boy laughed.

+ +

Crawford? Was he and Derek coming back? He turned and + smeared a trail of blood on the floor.

+ +

Somebody rattled a stick along a taut wire, making it jangle. + The greyhounds started up their hysterical barking once more.

+ +

"Skinny big buggers," a boy's voice bawled. Another boy + sniggered again. Not Crawford, not Derek. A metal sound, like a tin + can banged against something hard, rang out tunelessly. The dogs + went into a frenzy. He could hear the thud of running feet and the + whoops of schoolboys, sounding just like himself and his pals, but + they were out there, running up the track he had come down. They + were heading back to school and he was, he was...

+ +

The bit bull terrier roared savagely and he could hear the + protesting squeal of wire as it slammed against the fence, followed + by the jeering laughter of the boys going up the hill. He tried to + call out again but all he managed was a gurgle in the back of his + throat.

+ +

He shivered involuntarily, smearing blood against the floor + again and a bubble swelled at his nostril before bursting silently. + Far off in the distance, he could hear the clamour of kids up on + the hill behind the school, like the squalling of wheeling gulls, + faint but clear. Here and there he could make out an individual + hoarse cry, a higher yell. Somebody screamed like a girl. All the + normal noises of school at lunch time.

+ +

The scream came again, high and wavering, distant, but closer + than the school sounds. A moment later the bell rang, to tell + everyone to line up and get ready for the afternoon classes. + Crawford had disappeared. Don tried to think but he couldn't + remember. Had he run away? He must have. He must have seen what had + happened. He would be up there at the school getting help, getting + a doctor, calling for an ambulance. Help would be here soon.

+ +

He tried to stop shivering, but he couldn't find a way and the + heel of his black school shoe drummed an uneven rap on the hard + floor. His throat spasmed and a sudden dread overtook him that it + would lock shut and he would choke on the blood. He coughed and a + saw-blade of hurt rasped into his shoulder. Of a sudden, Don + Whalen's mind cleared enough to let him realise that he was in + awful danger. Very slowly he got a hand to the floor. He could + smell the blood and the dismal reek of human shit and he couldn't + tell whether it was his own.

+ +

Crawford had gone to get help. That was for sure. Wasn't it? He + eased his hand down. It pressed into a wet puddle that could have + been anything, and then he gingerly levered himself up from the + floor, one millimetre at a time, breath rasping, head pounding, + shoulder screeching in protest. He got to a sitting position, still + in the dark. The school sounds had faded, though they would have + been hard to hear over the laboured rasp of his breath. Don pulled + himself to the corner, where he thought the door would be and he + raised his hand to press it against the planking.

+ +

His fingers left an almost perfect hand print. It was the full + stop at the end of his tortuous two-yard crawl. Another smudge of + dried blood showed where the sickness and pain and exhaustion had + caused him to slip to the floor. Some time later, he couldn't tell + how long, thudding footsteps roused him out of the dizzy + stupor.

+ +

Don Whalen came almost awake when the door opened and a slender + column of light widened to a thick pillar before being cut off + again. The floor and the walls of the rail-wagon shuddered as the + door rolled back on its casters and slammed shut with an awful + finality. He still had not seen anything except the brief flash of + light.

+ +

In the dark he could hear the rough sound of breathing, + overlaying his own rasping breath and he knew he was not alone.

+ +

"Crawford?" he tried to say, though he somehow knew it was not + his friend. He lay there, frozen in the sudden clench of fear. The + breathing continued for a while, ragged and effortful, dreadfully + close in the dark. Then a footstep shivered the floor and the + breathing got louder.

+
+

Derek Milne had turned back from the fence, got half-way to the + wall and then stopped and turned back again. He'd an essay to hand + in to Matt Bryson the English teacher, one which should have gone + in two days ago, but which he had pretended to have forgotten, + though in truth he hadn't even written it. His two friends had gone + down the track and in half an hour, he knew they'd be at the Pulpit + Pool on the river, casting for sea-trout.

+ +

Indecision stopped him in his tracks. It was a good June day, + late for a run of trout, but last week's rain had raised the river + level enough to give a decent head of water and bring fish in from + the estuary. The afternoon stretched dismally ahead of him. A dull + period of maths and another two, even duller, of English. He walked + ten yards, stopped, looked back at the fence. Beyond there, he + could hear the yapping of the greyhounds and the deeper growl of + another dog and he knew his friends would be at the bottom of the + track by now, heading past the quarry to get the fishing rods from + Crawford's garden hut.

+ +

He turned back to the fence, swithered some more, torn between + the desire to go fishing and the sense of self preservation which + demanded he get down to school and write the essay for Matt Bryson. + Derek even put his hands on the fence, ready to limbo under the + bottom bar, when he changed his mind again and ruefully turned + back, heading up the hill towards the Hump. He got over the rise + and saw the milling crowd that had swelled to three or four times + what it had been when he and the others had gone up the hill + together. As soon as he crested the shoulder of the hill the noise + had hit him like a physical force. Boys and girls too, were in the + crowd, crushed together in a swarm. In the nucleus, from his height + advantage, he could see a fist rise up and fall again. The crowd + growled, like a single entity, a strange and eerily fierce sound, a + mixture of alarm and primitive hunger.

+ +

"What's going on?" a man's voice bellowed. Mr Doyle, the junior + maths teacher came hurrying up the slope on short, sturdy legs.

+ +

"Stop that this minute," he shouted, quite ineffectually. Nobody + heard him. In the milling crowd, everybody was trying to get a + ringside view of the two combatants. Derek made his way down the + hill just as Mr Doyle was coming up. He got to the edge of the + crowd as it swelled and contracted with a life all of its own, + feeling the strange infection of excitement reach and invade + him.

+ +

"All of you, move back from there," the teacher snapped, peeved + at the lack of response. His face was red with effort as he came up + the hill at a trot. A few of the girls closest to him peeled away + from the crowd. One of them had lost a shoe and was hopping about + trying to keep her white ankle-sock off the ground.

+ +

Another fist flew and a sound like a mallet-strike cracked in + the air. The mob let out a collective groan of appreciation. A boy + yelled, high and vicious. Another cried out, angry but also + frightened.

+ +

Mr Doyle waded into the crowd, pulling bodies by the scruff of + their blazers and the hoods of their anoraks, shoving them aside as + he thrust his way to the nucleus. In a few seconds he was up to his + shoulders in the press of pupils, as much part of the crowd as they + were, jostled left and right by the wheeling mass. Finally he + reached the centre. Derek Milne saw him duck down. He was almost + knocked off his feet but he managed to steady himself and when he + came up again, he had a boy in each hand, fingers clenched on their + collars.

+ +

The crowd sighed its disappointment and immediately began to + fragment as if some physical attractant had been switched off. + Derek Milne strolled down the hill past the scattering clumps of + pupils. The two boys were still charged up with anger and + adrenaline and despite the dire warnings from the young teacher + they were still trying to aim kicks at each other. Both of them had + bloodied noses and their clothes were slick with mud. The taller of + the two had a black eye swollen and closed over. The stockier one + had a thin trail of blood leaking from his ear.

+ +

Derek moved past them, feeling the hot and somehow dangerous + elation drain away from him, and walked down, bag swinging on his + hip, towards the school.

+ +

Just as he reached the wall a girl screeched from the top of the + Hump, up beyond where the fight had been. He turned and saw that Mr + Doyle had stopped. The girl screamed again, but from the distance, + Derek couldn't make out what she said. Mr Doyle let the boys go and + went up the hill. They made good their escape before he had got ten + yards. Derek grinned and turned into the doorway just as the bell + rang shrill, heading for the maths class where, with some luck, he + could sit at the back and write his essay. It was not until the + middle of the afternoon that he heard the news.

+ +

"Rankine's fell off the quarry."

+ +

Derek stopped in his tracks. He was just coming out of the maths + class and about to go up the stairs to Matt Bryson's room to + present his delayed and hastily scrawled work when he heard a boy + tell another with obvious shuddery relish:

+ +

"Broke his neck, so he did. There's blood all over the place, I + heard."

+ +

"What's that?" Derek asked, more curious, not sure of what he + had heard.

+ +

"Didn't you hear? Your pal Rankine fell of the quarry. Took a + header."

+ +

"Nah," Derek said, "he couldn't have. He was nowhere near the + quarry..." he stopped again. Crawford and Don had gone down the + track to the back road. They would only have been yards away from + the old quarry entrance.

+ +

"It's true, honest. Brian Grittan and big Brenda Fortucci saw + him. They were up on the other side of the fence. She's down at the + nurse screaming her head off."

+ +

"When did..." Derek started. "I mean..?"

+ +

The other boys looked at him. Everybody was buzzing with the + news, the little horror that had happened to somebody else, all the + more shivery and exciting because it had happened to somebody they + knew. He got to the top of the stairs where the rest of the class + were lined up outside the English room. Everybody was looking at + him expectantly.

+ +

"Didn't you and Don go up to the fence with Craw?" somebody + asked. Matt Bryson popped his head out of the doorway. Derek just + turned round and ran down the steps.

+ +

"Milne, get yourself back here boy!" the teacher bellowed. "And + you'd better have that essay."

+ +

Derek threw himself down the stairs and along the corridor, + pushing smaller kids out of the way. He got to the east exit and + went out, running hard now and by the time he got to the top of the + Hump, he was gasping for breath. On the other side of the fence, + the janitor and two of the teachers were standing close to the drop + off. Beyond the tip, Derek could see nothing, but the blue winking + light of an ambulance reflected repetitively from the damp stone + face on the other side.

+ +

"Sir," he called out. One of the teachers turned round. "Sir, + who was it got hurt?"

+ +

"Shouldn't you be in class?" Mr Doyle asked.

+ +

"Yes sir, but you have to tell me. Who was it?"

+ +

The teacher looked at him, considering. The boy was clearly + agitated. He have a little shrug which conveyed kindly intent more + than anything else.

+ +

"Crawford Rankine. Is he a friend of..."

+ +

"Sir is he dead?"

+ +

"That I can't tell you, sonny," Mr Doyle replied. Derek backed + away from the fence, hot tears beginning to swim and blur his + vision.

+
+

Robert Doyle, known to the pupils as Wee Bob, had reacted very + quickly when he'd got to the top of the hill. The two combatants + escaped and ran away and he forgot all about them when he saw the + prostrate girl on the other side of the fence. He scaled it with + surprising agility and when he dropped to the far side where the + boy was kneeling over the girl, he smelt the sour stink of + vomit.

+ +

"What happened?" he asked. "Come on Brian, she's been sick. Has + she eaten something? Drunk something?" The boy mumbled and then he + threw up again. For a few seconds Bob Doyle thought they'd both + been sick. But the boy wiped his mouth.

+ +

"No sir, she's fainted." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. + "It's the boy. He's dead."

+ +

The teacher looked at him, brows knitted together in puzzlement. + On the grass the girl moaned. A couple of her buttons had loosened + and a large white breast, marbled with blue veins, was trying to + pop out under the pressure of its own weight. Bob Doyle drew his + eyes away.

+ +

"Over there sir. He fell off the quarry." The boy's face + contorted and his mouth spasmed in a wide retching gape, but he + managed to contain it this time. "Brenda fainted. There's blood all + over the place," he added.

+ +

Just as he said that, the girl's eyes fluttered open and she + pushed herself upright. She took one look at Brian and fell back + against the grass again. Mr Doyle got to the edge of the quarry and + looked down. There was nothing to be seen down there. The base of + the old diggings was far below, hidden in the shade and the clumps + of brambles and tangled dog roses. The massive blocks of stone + heaped on each other in a series of giant steps leading to the + bottom. There was nobody down at the quarry bed, no bloody and + broken body.

+ +

Brian Grittan came stumbling over to join him and the teacher + grabbed the boy by the elbow, wondering if perhaps he and the girl + had been drinking. He began to lean inwards to smell the boy's + breath when the lad pointed down and to the left where the thick + ivy rooted in a crevice. Bob Doyle followed the pointed finger. The + flat surface of a block of red sandstone lay close to the vertical + wall. He blinked and everything jumped into focus. It was no red + sandstone. It was a red splash on the stone. The body lay + spread-eagled close to the edge. Palms up, white face tilted to the + blue sky.

+ +

"Oh my god," the teacher whispered.

+ +

He stared at the blood and at the still body for a few moments + longer. Then he turned, grabbed the boy by the arm and walked him + back to the fence. He told him to stay with the girl and not to let + her near the edge, fearful that she might wake up and stumble over + the precipice. That done, he clambered over the fence and ran down + the hill and into the school. The ambulance got to the quarry in + thirteen minutes and by the time the crew reached the flat rock, + Father O'Connor, the school chaplain who had been giving a + religious talk on the need for chastity in these devilish times, + had clambered down with Bob Doyle and Jake Dennink the physical + education teacher The priest was anointing the boy's bloodied head, + hoping to speed his soul through the searing, unavoidable cleansing + fires of purgatory.

+ +

As it happened, Crawford Rankine was not dead. He was one of the + few people who had come in contact with the man with the twitchy + eyes and survived. He lost four pints of blood and had a dreadful + depressed fracture in his skull. His pelvis and both elbows were + shattered and needed twenty seven pins in an operation described at + the time as 'pioneering'. But he was not dead.

+ +

It was a surprise to the police that he woke up two days later + and was able, despite his injury, to tell them what had happened, + up to the point of climbing up the quarry with the man hot on his + heels. After that, he could not remember anything. Neither did he + know what had happened to his friend Don Whalen. He thought the man + had hit him.

+ +

Derek Milne ran all the way to Crawford's place, still unable to + believe what had happened, that his friend had been killed in the + quarry. He sneaked in through the old wooden gate, hunching down + out of sight behind the trimmed privet hedge, and round to the + garden hut, knowing that the teacher had got it wrong, and that the + rods would be gone, and somebody else, somebody he didn't really + know, would be lying dead at the bottom of the cliff.

+ +

But the old Greenheart spinning rod and the even older + split-cane wand were angled in the corner of the shed.

+ +

By now Derek was badly frightened. He hadn't waited around to + ask what had happened to Don, but if he had been with Crawford in + the quarry, then he was probably hurt as well. No matter what had + happened, he himself, was in big trouble, because he knew they were + dodging off school to go fishing. He had condoned it. If he had + stopped them, Crawford would still be alive. (And if he'd gone with + them, he too could be smashed on a rock in the quarry) He went + round to Don's place and hung about, scared and guilty. His + friend's young sister came home after four and got the key on the + string inside the letterbox. She let herself in. Don waited for an + hour. Mrs Whalen came come, carrying two bags of groceries. Later, + Don's father came in, hands still black from the foundry. Derek + went home and his mother, who had been on the verge of calling the + police, demanded to know where he'd been. It was at this point that + Derek burst into real tears and he told his mother that his friend + had been killed.

+ +

At eight o'clock that night, Sergeant McNicol knocked on the + door. The big uniformed policeman who was with him accepted a cup + of tea and dwarfed Derek's father as they sat round the kitchen + table, with Derek's pale face between them.

+ +

Angus McNicol's face visibly brightened when he heard Derek's + story. It was bad, but it could have been worse.

+ +

"So the boys were going fishing and you turned back?"

+ +

Derek nodded.

+ +

"But they must have come back as well, taking the short cut to + school," Angus prompted and the boy nodded again. "So with a bit of + luck, then the other boy could still be in the quarry?"

+ +

Angus slapped the boy on the shoulder. He was grinning from ear + to ear because as soon as he heard a boy had gone missing, he had + feared the worst. Now there was a perfectly logical and reasonable + explanation. Both boys had scaled the face of the quarry. If one + had fallen, it was a fair assumption that the other had been with + him. He could have tumbled, fallen into a crevice and if that was + true, the chances were that he'd be hurt too, but possibly still + alive. Even if he was dead, McNicol thought pragmatically, it would + be better for all, better for the town if he'd fallen off a cliff + and died, rather than been killed by the maniac who had taken the + lives of Neil Hopkirk and little Lucy Saunders. Most likely, Angus + thought to himself, as he admitted many years later, Don Whalen had + got such a scare, seeing his pal crash onto the rock, that he'd + simply run away and was hiding somewhere, probably still in a state + of shock. He'd turn up.

+ +

"I've got good news, sonny," he told the pale and snivelling + lad. "Young Crawford's hurt pretty sore, but he's still alive. You + did the right thing not dodging school, especially with this bad + fellow around the town, but I hope you've learned a lesson. You've + got to stay with your mates, stay close, and don't be bunking off + anywhere out of sight. This man's a nasty piece of work."

+ +

"Don't worry sergeant," Derek's father said. "He certainly has + learned a lesson."

+ +

The police set up floodlights on the top of the quarry and + angled them down, bathing the whole workings in silvery light and + sending harsh shadows behind every bush and clump of ivy. The + lights glistened from the damp sheen on the vertical faces. They + brought the dogs in to search all over and a team of divers from + the navy base came down in a big blue truck and searched all night + in the narrow shafts that were filled with water. They found the + carcass of a black Labrador dog that had fallen in and was now + bloated with gas. At the bottom of one shaft they found a human + foot, now bare bones, inside a remarkably well preserved boot and + at first the police thought they had another murder hunt on their + hands until it was proven to be fifty years old. It's former owner, + a seventy five-year-old retired quarrier who stayed with his + daughter in the far end of town, had lost it in a blasting accident + just after the first world war and the foot had never been + discovered until now.

+ +

There was no sign at all of Don Whalen.

+ +

Two days later, Crawford Rankine woke up and told the police + about the man who had chased him. A tall man with dark eyes and + thick black hair hanging below his collar and Hector Kelso, who was + in charge of the murder hunt knew the man with the twitchy eyes had + struck again.

+ +

"We're looking for a body," he told the team.

+ +

They did not find it for ten days.

+ +

Police Superintendent Kelso, using his genius for reconstructing + the scene, worked out what had happened. The door of the railway + truck was wide open, letting in the bright sunlight. He'd put down + folded newspapers where he wanted to put his feet, even after the + place had been sampled and dusted by the forensics team. He pointed + out where the boy had been knocked against the wood, and where his + shoe had hit the other side, leaving a scuff of mud.

+ +

"My guess is that the man came back pretty quickly," Kelso had + said. "Maybe if the boy had more time, even just a couple of + minutes, he'd have found the door, but I don't think he'd have + opened it. But he was moving on his own all right. These prints are + clean, not smeared, and you can see where he's been pushing himself + along. He was hurt, but not dead. You can rely on that." Kelso + looked around at the rest of them. "But I won't take any bets that + he's alive now."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/015.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/015.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..58d33fa --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/015.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,646 @@ + + + + + + 15 + + + + +
+
+

15

+ +

August 1. 5 pm...

+ +

The bird flapped laboriously into the air, a grey shadow rising + above the ferns bordering the stream. Without thinking, more an + instinctive reaction, Danny threw his stick at the motion and his + aim, quite uncharacteristically for him, was easily six foot wide + of the mark. The stick flew though the air, making a whirring sound + as it spun end over end.

+ +

The slow, whooshing wingbeats pushed the heron forward, the neck + curved in a white serpent-shape and its long dagger-beak pointed at + the sky. It flew straight into the path of the whirling piece of + wood. The thrown stick caught it at the base of the neck and the + bird simply stalled in its flight. The branch flipped onwards and + landed in a hazel bush. A small white breast feather tumbled + outwards. The heron dropped to the earth and hit with a thump. One + wing flapped madly, while the other was clenched tight in against + its body. The beating wing carried the big bird around in ungainly + circles, a graceful thing now graceless, clumsy and broken.

+ +

"Bloody great shot," Billy whooped.

+ +

Danny's heart sank. He hadn't even known what he was throwing + at. He had only seen a movement beside the ferns, a rabbit, maybe a + hare. He'd lobbed plenty of rocks at plenty of rabbits for many a + summer and he'd never succeeded in hitting any one of them.

+ +

Now the beautiful bird was down, its beak opening and closing + like a slender trap, making no bird noise, but emitting a harsh and + ragged hiss that made him think it was choking. Its head was + twisted at an odd angle.

+ +

"Didya see that shot?" Billy yelled again. Doug, following + behind, still stripped to his sting vest popped his head over the + fern tops.

+ +

"What's happening?"

+ +

Danny ran forward, the soles of his thin canvas shoes pattering + on the smooth stones as he crossed the stream at the shallows. + Billy was right behind him, ignoring the stepping stones, splashing + through the water.

+ +

The heron flapped madly with its one good wing.

+ +

"Kill it," Billy said. "Kill it before it gets away."

+ +

Danny froze. The bird was broken. The long and slender legs were + stuck out below it as if they were incapable of taking the weight. + A delicate crest of feathers flowed back from the smooth white + head. The long, yellow dagger of a beak opened and closed with a + faint snapping noise.

+ +

"I didn't mean it," Danny said.

+ +

"Did you hit it?" Doug called from the far side. "What is it? A + cormorant?"

+ +

"It's a flamin' stork."

+ +

"A heron," Danny said lamely. He edged forward and picked up his + stick. The bird hissed and its bright yellow eye fixed on him. It + made a lunge to protect itself, the beak knifing forward, but its + co-ordination went awry and the lunge took it a foot past Danny's + toe. The beak slapped on the short grass like a mis-thrown knife. + An unbidden tear sparked in Danny's eye and he blinked it + back..

+ +

"I didn't mean it, honest," he protested. If he could have + unthrown the stick, if he had simply waited for a second, + the bird would have soared into the air, surprised by their + approach, alarmed maybe, but it would have risen on those whooping + wings and taken to the sky. The eye fixed on him again, bright + yellow with a sparkling black pupil that widened then contracted to + a pinpoint as the head turned towards the sun.

+ +

An awful feeling of wrongdoing settled upon him.

+ +

"Bloody brilliant shot," Billy was saying. "Got it right in the + neck." He was dancing around excitedly, poking his own stick at the + stricken bird. He knocked it on the beak and the heron snapped + weakly at the piece of wood. "Look at the size of the thing. It's + like a flamin' turkey. That could keep us going for a week."

+ +

"Can you eat them?"

+ +

" 'course."

+ +

Danny wasn't listening. All he could see was the bright, glazed + eye that seemed to be hold him with an accusing glare, and the + hissing rasp as the bird hauled for air through its damaged neck. + An ominous sense of foreboding stole over him. He'd thrown the + stick and hit the bird. He could see where its neck was broken, + down at the base close to the shoulder. It was dying.

+ +

A small cloud passed over and dimmed the bright sunlight. It + happened all of a sudden and Danny shivered inside himself as a + sense of misfortune overtook him. It was as if the deed had been + witnessed, the simple casual destruction of a heron, by some force + of nature that had darkened the day because of the act. A tear of + guilt and regret brimmed over Danny's eyelid and rolled down his + cheek. None of the others noticed. Doug had come across the stream + and was now crouched down some feet away. Danny knuckled the tear + away.

+ +

"Bust its neck," Doug said. "Spot on. Never knew you were that + good." There was no sense of regret in his voice, merely a + curiosity and, of course, admiration.

+ +

"I didn't mean it," Danny insisted. The bird was still flopping + around, though less frenziedly now. It whirled in a circle and then + stopped. The beak opened and it sighed, or at least that's what it + sounded like. From that long dagger, it had an oddly unnerving + human quality.

+ +

"What'll we do?" Billy asked.

+ +

"It's dying," Danny replied. He could hear his own voice tight + and cracking. "It's hurt." He took three steps forward and swung + his stick in the air and brought it down in a fast arc. It caught + the heron on the back of the head. The beating wing went into a + spasm of frantic movement then it slowed to a shivering tremble. + The beak opened once and then closed again very slowly. The + lifelight faded from the yellow eye and the bird was dead.

+ +

It lay there on the short grass beside a clump of ferns. In + death it took on a certain dignity and the twist in its neck, where + the fine bones had been dislocated was not quite so apparent. It + could have been sleeping - if herons ever did lie down to sleep - + except for the fact that its sightless eye was wide open and fixed, + still fixed accusingly on Danny Gillan.

+ +

He turned quickly and went across the stream again, this time + ignoring the stepping stones. The small while cloud passed quickly, + taking its shadow with it and the sunlight flooded back into the + valley. But as Danny followed the path back down to where they'd + stopped to camp, the strange and uncomfortable sense of foreboding + followed him.

+ +

Corky had the fire lit and it crackled inside the ring of smooth + stones they'd brought up from the stream. He and Tom were peeling + potatoes and in an old dried milk can, blackened and with a bent + wire for a handle water was bubbling away. Tom stood up when the + others approached.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"A heron," Doug said. "Danny hit it in the air. Must have been + fifty yards away." Doug exaggerated. The bird had been much closer. + "Knocked it right out of the sky."

+ +

"Big, isn't it?"

+ +

"You should have left it," Danny said. Corky was looking at the + bird admiringly as Billy spread out the wide grey wings.

+ +

"Never seen one up close before," he said admiringly.

+ +

"I didn't mean it," Danny said again, and the others looked at + him. "I wish I hadn't hit it. It'll have yunks in the nest waiting + for it. They'll starve."

+ +

Billy held the slender neck up in one hand, letting both wings + trail. The bird was as tall as Tom when it was stretched out. The + blinkless yellow eye still found Danny.

+ +

"This one won't scare all the trout away," Billy observed. + "We'll get all the fish we want. And we can eat this too."

+ +

"No," Danny said. "Hide it."

+ +

"What's the matter with you?" Corky asked reasonably. "It's only + a bird."

+ +

Danny tried to tell him it was more than that. He'd seen the + heron taking off, its neck coiled to rest the head on the shoulders + while the great beak pointed at the sky. It had been a magnificent + thing full of wild life and slender beauty and he'd thrown the + stick and broken it. Killed it.

+ +

He couldn't explain. They wouldn't understand. Billy stood there + with the bird dangling from one hand, his dark hair gleaming in the + sun and his tanned shoulders making him look more like a young + Indian brave triumphantly showing a kill.

+ +

He turned and strode up to the gnarled hawthorn tree that spread + its twisted branches out in a high arch in the hollow beside a low + wall of rock. Before they'd gone off exploring the left side of the + stream they'd gathered sticks and branches for firewood and stacked + it in the rough natural shelf in case it rained. Billy put the bird + down on one log, letting the head dangle over the side. He slipped + his old knife from the leather sheath and started to hack away at + the neck. It took several hits before the head fell away attached + to six inches of white neck that ended in a bloody draggle of + feathers.

+ +

He held it up, wagging his hand up and down trying to make the + beak open and close.

+ +

"Look. I got it to talk," he called down. Doug laughed. Billy + did a little dance that made him look even more like a tribal + warrior, slapping his hand against his mouth to give a tribal yell. + The ragged end of the neck jangled in his hand and thick droplets + of blood splashed over his bare shoulders and chest. He looked down + at the congealing splotches and pulled a face.

+ +

"Oh Jeez," he bawled.

+ +

"Heap big warrior, scared of blood," Corky said.

+ +

"It's horrible," Billy protested. He turned and stuck the head + in the cleft between two branches of the hawthorn tree, leaving the + beak pointing down towards the campfire. He came down towards the + others. Out of the shade they could see the large drops of blood, + scarlet freckles on his smooth skin.

+ +

Doug reached out and speared one with his finger, drawing a line + of red down Billy's back. The other boy spun round angrily.

+ +

And they marked the lintels with the blood so that the angel + of death would pass over. The line from Exodus sprung unbidden + into Danny's head, but the feeling of wrong-doing stayed with him, + as if he'd broken more than the heron.

+ +

"Makes you more like an Apache," Doug said. He poked out again + and smeared the blood on Billy's chest, leaving three thin + trails.

+ +

"That's really horrible," Billy said. "And it stinks as well." + He passed Corky who reached and smudged the lines, making a + criss-cross pattern. Billy jerked away, crossing to the other end + of the fire. Through the wavering air over the flames they saw him + head down towards the stream. As he passed close to a small wild + hazel bush, a small swarm of flies came buzzing out, danced in the + air and went following the scent of blood.

+ +

Billy did a strange little dance as the flies whirled around + him, suddenly taking him by surprise. He flapped them away and then + slapped at his own skin. "Bloody flies. They're eating me + alive."

+ +

"Heap brave warrior shitting his pants," Corky said and he and + Doug and Tom cracked up with sudden laughter. Billy got to the + stream, waded in without hesitation and then ducked right under the + surface. When he came up, snorting for breath they saw him quickly + wipe away the smears of blood. The coil of flies danced around him + momentarily and then flew back into the bush again.

+ +

Billy came wading up to the campfire grinning widely.

+ +

"What, no war paint?" Corky asked sarcastically. "You'll get + drummed out of the cubs."

+ +

"Out of the brownies, more like," Tom said.

+ +

"Honest to God, those flies are like vampires. See the fangs + they've got?" Billy clenched his own teeth in a demonstration and + then started to laugh. He came up close to the fire and the water + splashing from his soaked jeans hissed on the hot stones.

+ +

"So what's for dinner?" he asked.

+ +

The heron's head still stared out from the fork in the tree, a + trophy to Danny's great skill as a hunter. The staring, filmy eyes + snagged him while Billy was wading in the stream, trying to escape + the cloud of flies. The feeling of guilt and the underlying + sensation of foreboding, having broken a taboo still hung around + him.

+ +

"Come on, Danny boy," Billy called over. "Doug nicked a tin of + corned beef. Want some?"

+ +

A few large black flies were hovering around the bloody stump of + the dead bird's neck where it flopped across the log. Another one + flew up to the head and alighted on the yellow eye, rubbing its + forelegs together. Danny turned away, knowing he would have to take + the thing down and hide it.

+ +

"Will we eat first or fix up the tent?" Corky asked.

+ +

"Eat first," Doug and Billy said simultaneously. Tom voted along + with them. Danny came down from the tree and tried to put the + feeling of guilt and odd apprehension away from him.

+ +

The potatoes were hard from not being boiled long enough and the + beans were speckled with ash from the fire, but the boys wolfed the + lot and then threw their tin plates in the stream to let the + current clean them off. Danny and Corky dragged the tent out onto + the flat a few yards away from the fire and untied the stays, to + roll the heavy green canvas out. The bag of tent-pegs rolled to the + side and thumped to the ground. Another tightly wound roll of + burlap dropped and hit the hard turf with a clatter.

+ +

"What's that?" Corky asked. He unravelled the dirty piece of + sacking and spilled the contents onto the grass.

+ +

"No wonder it was so heavy," he said. A heavy ballpeen hammer + lay on top of the short black curve of a crowbar. Beside it lay a + pair of electrician's heavy duty pliers with insulated handles and + a long screwdriver with a crooked blade. Corky flipped the canvas + so that all of the contents rolled out. Billy darted forward and + grabbed a tightly-rolled magazine held in a cylinder with a rubber + band. Doug picked up a shiny and expensive-looking Ronson varaflame + cigarette lighter that was the height of technology of the day. A + small box covered in black velvet revealed two gold cufflinks + inlaid with black onyx. A smaller canvas bundle showed what Danny + thought was a Luger pistol, but turned out to be an old pump-action + airgun. Beside it a rattling tin held the lead slugs.

+ +

"No wonder he didn't want us to have the tent," Corky said.

+ +

"What do you mean?" Tom asked the obvious question.

+ +

"This is where he's been hiding his stash. And his gear."

+ +

"I don't get it? Tom insisted.

+ +

"It's his B&E gear. For getting into places. Like garages + and bike sheds. Like people's houses?" He started meaningfully at + Tom who looked blank.

+ +

"Breaking and entering. Like what Mole Hopkirk used to get up + to. I never saw that lighter before, or the cufflinks. Or the + airgun. He must have swiped them and hid them there."

+ +

"And I never saw tits like that before," Billy said, spreading + out the magazine on the grass. "Look at the size of them." He + turned the picture around to show the others. "That's Marilyn + Monroe."

+ +

"No it isn't," Doug debated. "But it's like her." Unconsciously + he dropped his hand to his crotch and fumbled himself into a + comfortable position.

+ +

Corky gave the picture a glance. "Brenda Fortucci's got bigger + ones."

+ +

"She's got bigger everything," Doug said. "And a face like the + backside of a double-decker bus."

+ +

"We've seen better than that, eh Dan?" Corky asked, giving Danny + a wink. Danny still had that picture of Jane Hartfield branded on + his mind, every curve of her as she strode down the path with fire + in her eyes and a flush on her face. Doug was about to ask what + Corky was talking about when Billy whooped.

+ +

"A goddess," he said appreciatively, lowering his voice to what + he thought sounded like a lecherous growl. "A livin' doll." He + snatched the magazine up and formed his lips into a pout.

+ +

"Mmmm," he kissed the printed breasts then pecked at the red + lips of the smiling woman then dropped his mouth to plant another + smacker on the curve of her buttock.

+ +

"Wish you could see the front," Billy said.

+ +

"Wish you could see where that's been. Phil's probably had that + under the blankets, and now you've kissed it."

+ +

"Argh," Billy said, drawing his face into a contorted twist of + disgust. He spat quickly as if he'd eaten something foul.

+ +

"Oh, that's fuckin' awful. You don't think he came on + it?"

+ +

Tom started laughing and even Danny started to giggle though the + two of them were still below the cusp of puberty and while they'd + heard plenty weren't exactly sure what the description entailed. + Something came out and it was white and sticky, but what made that + happen wasn't within their scope of experience yet.

+ +

"Yeah," Corky said. "Every night for a week. All over it, and + now you've got it in your mouth."

+ +

"No. Don't say that," Billy pleaded. He held the magazine up to + the light to inspect the pages. "No, he couldn't have. I can't see + anything."

+ +

"That's 'cause it goes invisible," Doug said, keeping it up. + "Just like germs, but it's worse than germs. If you get somebody's + come in your mouth you get VD."

+ +

"What's that?" Tom asked.

+ +

"Venial disease," Doug said. "And it's fatal every time."

+ +

"No, don't say that," Billy begged. He stuck his tongue out and + began to wipe it with his fingers.

+ +

"It rots your skin and it gets into your dick and makes it fall + off," Doug pressed it home, winking at Corky, grinning broadly.

+ +

"And the only cure is to get a sharp spike with barbs on it. + They put it right down and then rip it back out and it brings all + the scabs with it, and all the poison and it feels like you piss + broken bottles for about a year. Mybe more."

+ +

Billy winced, screwing up his face at the very thought. He + crossed his legs in an involuntary protective motion against such + an event.

+ +

"They call it the Wassermatter reaction. Phil told me about it. + He knew a guy who had it done and it left his dick shredded to + pieces and he had to sit down to pee after that."

+ +

"Oh Jeez," Billy said, his imagination running riot.

+ +

"And if you get it," Doug said, head turned away from Billy so + that his grin couldn't be seen. "You can never get in the Commandos + once you've had VD. They do an inspection right down your willy to + see if you've had the scabs. And they can tell if you caught it + from somebody else's spunk. I read that somewhere. You'd get done + for being a queer-boy. Nobody likes them. They can even throw you + in jail for that."

+ +

Doug was about to go on when he realised what he'd said. Jail + was a taboo subject. He turned quickly to Corky.

+ +

"Sorry man. I didn't mean anything..."

+ +

Corky slapped him on the shoulder. "No problem Doug." He turned + and indicated the pile of tools and goods on the grass. "If Phil + gets caught with this lot, he'll be up in Drumbain himself." He + gave a rueful grin and Danny thought he was being really big about + it. "See, Billy? Once they catch you, you can have company in the + cell. You and Crazy Phil banged up in the Drum.

+ +

"I wouldn't share a cell with that bastard if he was the last + man on earth," Billy said with feeling. He spat again. "Not after + what he's done."

+ +

"Oh, don't worry about it. It might not be VD at all. It might + be Siff."

+ +

Billy raised his eyebrows hopefully. He might have been the + biggest among them and the oldest, but he was the least well + informed.

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"Don't you ever read anything except Commando comics?" Doug came + back in. "It's even worse than VD. It rots your nose and then your + skin it turns your brain to mush. You end up like a walking + skeleton. Like a zombie."

+ +

"That's all right then," Tom said. "Nobody will ever + notice."

+ +

Everybody looked at Tom. He looked back, face straight. Then all + four of them burst out laughing, all doubled up and howling + helplessly while Billy stood there, scraping his tongue against the + edge of his teeth, wondering what they were laughing at, convinced + he could already feel the contamination working inside him.

+ +

"What's this?" Doug asked. He'd lifted the box with the + cuff-links and the little velvet holder had flipped out, revealing + two oblong foil shapes. He held one up.

+ +

"Chewing gum?"

+ +

Corky reached for one. "It's a johnny," he said.

+ +

"What's that?" Tom asked, completely innocent.

+ +

"You put it over your dick so you don't get the siff," Corky + said. "It's got germolene or something inside it. Penicillin + maybe."

+ +

"Let's see," Doug said, snatching it back. He ripped the foil + and pulled out the pink shape. The little nipple flopped outwards. + "Couldn't even get Tom's little willy into that," he said and they + all hooted, even Tom, who took no offence at all.

+ +

"Naw. I've seen used ones down at the sewer pipe," Billy said. + "They're bigger than that."

+ +

Doug worked at it until the end began to unravel. He held it up, + pale and translucent, stretching it between his hands. "It's a + balloon," he said. "Who's stick their dick in a balloon?"

+ +

"Daft Phil would," Billy said and they all had a laugh at that. + Doug brought the rubber up to his lips and blew into the thing. It + inflated immediately, even quicker than the bewildered frog had + done. He drew breath and blew in again until the rubber was the + size of a football.

+ +

"That would fit me now," Tom said and this time Doug almost + choked. The rubber slipped from his hands and flipped away on a + bubbling fart of expelled air. It landed in the bush, just out of + reach, dangling from the thorns like a thin skin. By this time they + were all convulsed with laughter and Billy was actually rolling on + the ground, holding his belly. Corky was rubbing tears from his + eyes.

+ +

Eventually the laughter faded. Doug stuck the other condom into + the pocket of his jeans and they cleared a space to erect the tent, + spreading the guy lines out on either side under Corky's directions + and getting the stout centre pole straight. The original cords had + long since frayed and now the boys used a roll of rough and hairy + baling twine that was coiled round a baton of wood. Another length + of fine wire that they'd found last summer on a fence post at + Cargill Farm stretched from the back pole to one of the trees + behind, to keep everything steady. The ballpeen hammer came in + handy for getting the tent-pegs hammered into the hard ground. In + half an hour, much longer than it would have taken the boys in the + scout troop, the old green tent was fixed up, a little swaybacked + and with side closest to the stream flapping loosely, but it would + take them all at a squeeze come nightfall.

+ +

Doug brewed some tea in the blackened milk-can and slung in a + small sliver of wood which he said would help draw the fire-ash to + the surface. They drank it in their old chipped mugs and while they + had no milk, they were in the great outdoors, miles away from the + town, miles away from the pressures of home and it tasted just + fine.

+ +

"Does Phil really break in to places?" Tom asked.

+ +

Corky shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past him, but I wouldn't ask + him neither, if I was you." He winked and then spiralled a finger + around his own temple. "He's not so hot in the brains department, + not like his handsome, intelligent kid brother."

+ +

"Ugly and thick brother," Billy responded automatically.

+ +

"Oh, the big chief hunter of flies has spoken," Corky said and + gave Billy two fingers. "Up yours Harrison. Up to the elbow." It + was all said without rancour, almost like an automatic litany of + responses. He turned back to Tom.

+ +

"But he'll be mad as a wet hen when he finds out what + we've found out. I'll have to think of something. Like + tell him we didn't use the tent."

+ +

"Maybe we should go back and he'll never know we found it," + Danny ventured. It was the first time the thought had entered his + mind. It just came up from nowhere and he'd simply uttered it. He + didn't feel right about that heron. It had disturbed him, taken the + shine off the day, put a shadow on the adventure. This morning Phil + Corcoran had thrown a knife at him and his luck had saved him, let + him off with a small bruise on the side of his head. Now he felt as + if that luck wouldn't hold. He couldn't, if asked, have coherently + explained why. Tom looked up at him, blew the steam off the surface + of his tea. He nodded. "Maybe we should go back."

+ +

Corky shook his head. "Nah, not since we've come this far. That + tent weighs a ton, and I'm not carrying it back. Phil can wait + until we get home."

+ +

"Can't stop now," Doug agreed. "We must be at least half way + there."

+ +

"Yeah we want to find the Dummy Village," Billy backed him up, + the threat of disease forgotten and his face now animated. "We'll + be the first. There might be guns left behind. Maybe even machine + guns." He had dragged the flopped body of the heron away to the + side and was pulling the broad flight feathers from the ends of the + wings, each of them coming out reluctantly.

+ +

Danny looked at Tom. The feeling of apprehension was still + there, but they had come this far. Tom was still unnerved from the + gorse-fire. He'd had a real scare, and Danny could tell he really + did want to go home, but that he didn't want to be the first to + back out.

+ +

"Come on Danny boy," Billy said. "We can play commandos. It'll + be just like in the war." He held up a bunch of the wide grey + feathers. "Or even cowboys and injuns." He took a length of the + baling twine and tied it around his head, then jammed some of the + feathers through it, making them stand upright. The head-dress made + him look even more like a young brave. He grinned proudly, waving + the rest of them in his hands and doing a little shuffling + dance.

+ +

Danny shrugged, and that committed Tom. Corky winked at him and + slung an arm around Tom's neck, giving him a quick and friendly + headlock. "The famous five ride again, amigos," he said.

+ +

When they finished their tea Corky loaded the air pistol and + they spent a half an hour firing at the empty tin of corned beef + which they set up on a stone on the far side. The steep sides of + the deep gully spat the pistol-cracks back at them, but only Billy + managed to hit the tin and even then, the spring on the old gun was + so weak that it hardly made a dent. Finally Doug put a stone in his + catapult and winged it at the can, hitting it dead centre and + sending it tumbling into the air. The sun was high, edging over the + east side of the valley to shine directly into the stream. The + light spangled up from the ripples below the low falls.

+ +

"I vote we go and look for it now," Billy said. He'd taken off + his feathers which were now looped over the tent-pole and he was + now lying on his belly on the short grass, soaking up the sun, + while Doug gently touched his skin with a stalk of grass. Every now + and again Billy would bat away what he thought was a horse-fly. + Doug grinned mischievously and kept up the nuisance.

+ +

"Too late now," Danny said. "If we start early tomorrow we'll + have all day."

+ +

"How about exploring the stream?" Corky said. He pointed to the + fork ahead where the two canyons met, joining from separate + tributaries at a narrow angle. "I've never been up there."

+ +

"I was up once, catching trout last winter," Danny said. "Me and + Al Crombie. There's a good bit like a wall right across the gully + and the water comes out in big arch. You can get right behind the + waterfall."

+ +

"I read that in a book," Corky said. "Hawkeye. Him and his pal + Chingachgook were hiding under the falls. It was like a cave." He + hauled himself to his feet. "Let's go see."

+ +

He bent quickly and slapped Billy hard on the reddening skin of + his back just where Doug was mischievously trailing the ear of + grass. Billy yelped.

+ +

"Big horsefly," Corky said. "Biggest I ever saw. Had to smack it + off before it got you."

+ +

Billy glared at him, unsure of whether Corky was taking the + mickey or not.

+ +

"Would I lie to you Billy-O?" Corky asked, knuckling the bigger + lad on the shoulder. "I just saved your life, didn't I?"

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/016.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/016.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..55dcce8 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/016.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,301 @@ + + + + + + 16 + + + + +
+
+

16

+ +

Interlude:

+ +

"The trail had gone cold by the time we really started looking," + Angus McNicol explained. "By God, it was difficult then and the + whole town was in a panic. People were sending their kids away, + rather than have them around here, and nobody could blame them.

+ +

"What threw us was the fact that the Rankine boy had fallen off + the quarry and at first it looked just like an accident. There were + always boys coming off the Castle ramparts or the Langmuir Crags, + risking life and limb for the sake of birds eggs. You'll have done + the same eh?"

+ +

His face broke into a knowing smile before he cocked an eye at + the spinning reel in the Dictaphone and started talking again.

+ +

"We didn't start the search for young Whalen until night and we + got the floodlights set up. It was well after midnight by the time + the frogmen came. The dogs had scoured the whole of the quarry and + there was no sign of the boy, but that didn't mean he wasn't there. + Then there was the business with that boot and the severed foot + which gave that frogman a right old scare.

+ +

"Anyhow, it was back down to the station in the early hours of + the morning. We were coming round to the notion that the other boy + hadn't fallen and maybe he'd had such a scare when his friend + tumbled that he'd taken off in a panic. So, at that moment, we had + a missing boy who had probably made himself missing. He'd be out at + some friend's place, or hiding in a gang hut and he'd come home + when he got hungry and even more scared..

+ +

"Then Hector Kelso came in now that the boy had been gone for + well over twelve hours.

+ +

"Hector got a brief from the inspector. I remember he listened + with a straight face. He asked where the boy's bag was, and said + that if young Rankine had been dodging off school, then he'd likely + have his bag with him unless he'd stashed it someplace. We did + another search of the place and that took us the rest of the day. I + could see Hector Kelso was getting worried, for Whalen never turned + up on the second night and I spent a bit of time with the boy's + mother. That's not a pleasant job, I can tell you. As every minute + ticked away, you could see her nerves getting wound up tighter and + tighter. There was something in her eyes that I'll never forget, + and I swear to you that it was beginning to dawn on her, long + before it dawned on anybody else with the exception maybe of Kelso, + that she would never see the boy again. Not alive, that is.

+ +

"Then Crawford Rankine came round in the hospital. "The boy had + a fractured skull and for a while they thought his brains would be + like porridge in there, but he was pretty clear about what had + happened. He told us about the railway wagon and how he'd been + chased and had gone running. He remembered the man all right.

+ +

"I recall thinking the boy had a stammer. He was saying + twi-twi-twi like a sparrow with a stutter. Took me a + second to work out he was trying to say Twitchy Eyes.. + He'd known who was chasing him.

+ +

"We got back to the hill behind the school and down that track + between the pigeon shacks, Kelso, myself, big John Fallon and a + couple of others. I remember a big beast of a terrier trying to get + at us through the fence and later Fallon had it put down, for there + was a big septic ulcer on its nose where it had been pushing + through the wire. We went down to the hut and inside we saw the + blood handprint and all of us knew then that the killer had taken + young Whalen away. The boy was gone and the next week was murder I + can tell you, in more ways than one. By the next morning there was + a team of pressmen camped outside the station and you couldn't move + for flashguns popping in front of your eyes.

+ +

"That was in June, fairly close to the beginning of the month. + Three dead, including young Whalen, all of them in the space of a + couple of months or so. We had a pretty good so we had a fair idea + of what the bastard looked like. The fingerprints matched the other + sites and again there were pages of the bible crumpled about and + not to clean either. Hector Kelso never liked the notion of anybody + wiping his arse on the good book."

+ +

Angus raised his eyebrows. "Some folk seemed to think that made + it even worse, but as far as I was concerned it was only paper, and + it was a clue. Anything was a clue, but despite that, the trail + went cold very soon and Bryce, the criminal psychologist started + talking about burn-out, saying that the killer could be so + filled with remorse that he'd killed himself. Hector Kelso didn't + put much stock in that, and neither did I, as I've said before. He + said Bryce was talking through a hole in his backside. But the + killings did stop. For the next month or so there was + nothing, at least as far as we knew, and even Kelso could have been + forgiven for relaxing a little at the end of July.

+ +

"Then, sometime in August, just before the schools went back, + Johnson McKay went up Blackwood Farm to find out why Ian McColl + hadn't been picking up his mail from the box and the solids really + hit the punkah, as the Commander used to say. What a + mess."

+ +

Angus stopped talking and rubbed his chin. He dunked a biscuit + in his coffee, took a bite, washed it down with a mouthful and + started talking again.

+ +

"By this time, of course, we knew what happened to Whalen and we + knew about the girl, and that took us by surprise. It must have + been ten days later, less than a fortnight after the boy went + missing. Once I've looked out my old papers from up in the loft + I'll be able to tell you exactly.

+ +

"We knew nothing about the girl until we found her, for she'd + never been posted missing. "Sandra Walters, her name was. She was + nineteen and came from Lochend, as you'll probably remember. By the + time we found her, she'd been dead about two weeks, which means she + was killed sometime in May, near the end of the month, and that + figured with the story we got from the family. Some big argument + with her father and she walked out. Now I was in on it when we + questioned them, in a tenement flat about a hundred yards down from + the railway station, I recall. Donald Walters, I remember thinking + there was something funny about him. It was only after the body was + found that the mother came to us to say she was missing and it was + the dental records that finally confirmed who it was, for the face + was pretty much eaten away by the flies and the rats.

+ +

"Walters said she'd stormed out, but there was more to it than + that. I got to know the look the more I worked on the force. There + were three girls, two of them still in the house, about fifteen and + thirteen, and the wife, she had the look of a mouse caught in a + corner. The girls never looked at anybody, just sat there, heads + down, scared to move, it seemed. Waters was cocky enough, a fast + talking, skinny little runt of a fellow, and he was adamant the + girl was a whore who'd been putting it about and he for one wasn't + having any of that.

+ +

"Now when the post mortem was done, there was plenty of evidence + to show that the girl was no virgin. Dr Bell found old scarring on + the walls of the uterus which he said was classic evidence of + unlubricated sex, or forced entry as he described it unofficially. + We couldn't put anything down to Donald Walters at the time and it + was pretty clear he hadn't killed his daughter, but Hector Kelso + was pretty suspicious. The other girls said nothing and the wife, + well she would have backed up everything he said. He hung himself + from the rafters nine months afterwards, and I had a notion Kelso + had been leaning on the little bastard and I can't blame him for + that. There was something queer about Walters. After that the + family moved away.

+ +

"Young Sandra, she'd been hirt bad. Awful. It didn't affect me + as much as little Lucy Sunders broken and torn under the bridge, + but this was bad. You'll get the details in the archives, and the + pictures too, if you've the stomach for them. She's been terribly + damage, and she had lasted a long time. Dr Bell showed us the marks + around her ankles and wrists and the scarring on her throat where + she'd pulled against a ligature. She broke the fuckin' rope. Pardon + me for that, but after all this time I still don't like rememebring + that."

+ +

Angus paused again, his eyes inflamed with the recollection of + the dreadful damage. He absently took another swallow of coffee and + swirled it around in his mouth as if it would take away the + taste.

+ +

"Now there was another thing we knew about Twitchy + Eyes. He was crazy and he was evil and he liked to cause pain. + But he also waited around with the bodies, sitting vigil with them, + for at least three days, probably more. By then, they'd be pretty + well blown and that didn't seem to bother him.

+ +

"He waited until the maggots had hatched. He stayed until they + were covered in flies."

+
+

June:

+ +

A match flared in the dark, blinding bright, cut a flaming arc + in the blackness and stopped. Don Whalen watched it waver through a + film of tears as his eyes watered. They trickled hot down his + cheeks and ran cold onto his neck. The light floated and a + candle-flame swelled slowly to life, hardly flickering at all. He + blinked away the tears, trying to stay still, wishing his heart + would stop thudding against his chest. His shoulder shrieked with + every movement he made and his throat was on fire.

+ +

He had listened to the sirens, huddled against the wall of the + boxcar. The man had been there, a silent presence in the gloom, his + breathing low and slow and unhurried. The sound of it carried + infinite menace. Don tried to call out, tried to say something, but + the pain in his throat burned in a caustic rasp and all he could + manage was a hoarse whisper. It felt as if something was broken in + there where the hand had squeezed him. The longer the silence went + on, the more frightened Don Whalen became. He couldn't understand + any of this. But the deadly silence was somehow even more + frightening than the pain.

+ +

The sirens had wailed in the distance, howling urgency and + emergency. They'd stopped for a while and then they'd started up + again, rising to a crescendo as they passed along Lochend Road, + before fading as they got to the old bridge. The silence had + descended then, broken only by the fluttering of pigeon flocks as + they took off from the nearby huts, and by the savage rumbling + growl of the pit bull terrier, like a leopard in a bush. Much + later, the bell had rung and there had been shouts and calls and + the sounds of school spilling out. A crowd of boys came down the + track, made the terrier snarl and pound the fence, and then they + went on their way. The man had gone out, opening the door quickly + and rolling it closed. When he came back, some time later, the said + nothing at all. He roughly grabbed Don about the waist, dumped him + on the flat of the wagon and quickly wrapped him up tight in a roll + of something that might have been an old carpet. He felt himself + being picked up and slung over a broad back and carried away. The + material covered his eyes and he couldn't tell whether it was day + or night. Don could hear the twigs crackle underfoot and he knew he + was in trees. There was some traffic noise close by and he figured + he was being taken along Lochend Road, but through the belt of + trees that bordered the winding route to the west side of the town. + Out of the trees, he sensed the clamber over rough ground and then + the descent down a flight of stairs. A door squealed open and Don + Whalen was lowered to the flat surface.

+ +

He was still wrapped tight in a rough bundle of thick material, + slanted across a flat surface against a wall. Strong hands unrolled + it. He felt his clothes ripped away from him until the cool air + told him he was naked. The hands pushed him down onto a chair and + then very quickly bound his hands behind him and tied his feet to + upright posts that felt like chair legs. The smell in the air was + dreadful, sickening and thick. The pain in his throat stopped him + from retching.

+ +

The match flared and a dark shape moved out of the light, and a + faint humming sound rose stronger. Black stars floated in front of + his eyes and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out + before he realised they were not stars, but flies hundreds of them + wheeling in the air, disturbed by the light. He turned his head, + just a little, trying to see the man, scared to let his eyes light + upon him, deadly afraid of him taking him unawares again. His eyes + swept round.

+ +

The thing on the table screamed silently at him.

+ +

For a second his mind refused to accept what it had seen. His + eyes continued their sweep and then jerked back at the shape on the + table. A catastrophic fright exploded inside him and his heart + kicked violently behind his ribs, one solid thump that was + so powerful his body spasmed sideways.

+ +

The head was twisted at the end of a scrawny neck and the mouth + was open so wide it looked inhuman. An arm, grey in the dim light + and bruise-mottled was stuck out straight, the fingers clawed.

+ +

Absolute terror rocketed through him. He was trembling + violently, shuddering as uncontrollable fear rampaged through him, + making his head tap against the wall in a rapid staccato. The eyes + were crawling with flies. The skin shimmered and rippled with a + life of its own.

+ +

The dead body's silent scream went on and on and on and the + flies crawled over the skin. Don bucked against the string binding + his wrists as the realisation hit him. He had been brought here by + the man who had done that. His muscles convulsed in a violent + contortion powerful enough to drive the thick twine into the skin + of his wrists and open up two abraded lacerations.

+ +

He heard himself gibbering uncontrollably, incomprehensibly, + though hardly a sound escaped his throat. In his mind he called out + for his mother and his father and he prayed to God to get him out + of this and all of the time he knew there was no way out.

+ +

The horror on the table screamed on and on and on and Don Whalen + echoed that scream in his own mind. After a while the overload of + terror and dread was too much and he passed out in a dead faint, + banging his head against the wall, to leave yet another clue for + Superintendent Hector Kelso.

+ +

When he came round he was lying on the table and the man was + leaning down towards him. The eyes were blinking rapidly and Don + Whalen dimly realised this was something he should remember.

+ +

He felt rough hands on him and tried fruitlessly to squirm away, + His legs were spread-eagled and he knew his ankles were tied to the + legs of the table and he felt a huge scream building up inside him. + He twisted his head and saw the other scream, frozen and fly-blown, + only a yard away, slanted against the back of the chair. The flies + hummed busily and Don Whalen's pain began.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/017.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/017.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2fb7474 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/017.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,1007 @@ + + + + + + 17 + + + + +
+
+

17

+ +

August 1. Night:

+ +

"What was that?"

+ +

The pine branches crackled in the fire. The flickering red + flames tinged their faces rosy and sent long shadows dancing on the + steep side of the gully. The striations of white rock, alternating + in thin bands with the dark shale, reflected a pink glow.

+ +

"I heard something," Doug said, turning towards the trees. They + had dragged heavy stones up from the stream to use as benches and + Billy had hauled a thick log, its weight ploughing a furrow in the + grass, as his own chair. He sat astride it, digging the rusty blade + of his knife into the wood.

+ +

"Stop that," he snorted at Doug. "You've been doing that all + day." He turned to Danny. "He's just trying to scare us."

+ +

"I saw somebody," Doug protested. "Honest."

+ +

"I saw something too," Tom chipped in. "When we were collecting + firewood. Swear to god. It was a man, at least I think it + was a man. I saw his face, but when I looked again, it wasn't + there."

+ +

"It was a sheep, dopey-features. No kidding, you're a real bunch + of scaredy-cats. If there were other guys up here, they'd have lit + a fire. They wouldn't be sitting around in the dark, would they? + They'd be barging into everything."

+ +

"It's probably the farmer from Blackwood," Corky said. "He'll be + checking up on us, to make sure we're not killing the sheep."

+ +

"Not yet," Billy said. He grinned and his strong teeth glinted + in the light. "But the night's still young. We could have lamb + chops for dinner tomorrow if the snares don't work." Billy and + Corky had used some of the thin fencing wire to set a couple of + rabbit snares out close to the bracken and so far nothng had + ventured into them despite the plentiful evidence of rabbits + here.

+ +

"You can go hunting sheep for all I care," Doug said. "I'm + staying here." He looked over his shoulder at the gloom downstream + close to the bend where the forest began again, thick and blackly + shadowed. A light breeze stirred the topmost branches and made the + leaves whisper. Overhead the moon was just a few of days away from + being full, lending its own silvered light to the wet stones of the + stream, but despite its brightness, beyond the range of the fire's + glow, it was still very dark.

+ +

Something whirred in from the stream side, swooped towards the + flames and then out again. Billy jerked back from the motion, + throwing his hand up to ward the creature away. Doug laughed + scornfully, pointing at Billy.

+ +

"Who's the scaredy cat now?"

+ +

"What the hell was that?"

+ +

"A bat," Corky said, though he and Danny had seen it was only a + large moth attracted to the light. "Probably a vampire. They get + tangled up in your hair and get you in the neck with big pointy + teeth. Kill you stone dead, no kidding. They find you in the + morning and all the blood's sucked out of you. You're just an empty + bag of bones."

+ +

Billy looked over the fire at him, disbelief etched on his + face.

+ +

"Instead of just a big bag of wind," Doug snorted and Tom + giggled.

+ +

"Like the Racine rats," Corky Corky went on, ignoring + the interruption. He turned his head to the side so Billy couldn't + see him and he winked conspiratorially at Doug.

+ +

"The what?"

+ +

"The Racine rats," Corky said. "They're much bigger than the + titchy ones you get in farms and old houses. I mean, they're pretty + huge. My Uncle Mick told me this, and he would know. He's a great + poacher. They live beside canals and rivers and and they burrow + under the banks. They come out at night for food, and they'll eat + anything or..." he lowered his voice to a whisper: "Any + body."

+ +

The others leaned forward. Tom looked over his shoulder at the + darkness beyond the firelight.

+ +

"Next time you walk beside the canal, stamp your feet. Or along + by the river at the levee path beside the Oxbow Road. You stamp + your feet hard. That's the way to find out if the Racine + rats have burrowed under. You get a hollow sound that's really + creepy. It goes doom-doom-DOOM."

+ +

Corky paused for effect, his eyes theatrically wide and catching + the light of the fire. Billy sat forward, hooked by the imge.

+ +

"And you know that the rats are there, bigger than anything in + the Pied Piper. Big as cocker spaniels, waiting in the dark. + Omniverous. That means they eat meat and blood and bones + as well. They swim out under the water and wait on the bank for + people passing by at night or early in the morning. They don't just + have rats teeth for gnawing things. They've got sharp pointed ones + like vampire bats for ripping your skin and flesh and big ones for + crunching bones. You hear stories of people who disappeared near + canals and the police always say they must have drowned."

+ +

"Like Paulie Degman," Doug said in a hushed voice, now drawn + into Corky's tale despite the wink he'd been thrown. Danny shivered + and drew in closer to the warmth of the fire. He didn';t want to + think abot Paulie, not so far up and away from the street lights. + The water brubled hollowly as it tumbled between the big white + quartz rocks into the dark of the pool which caught shards of + silver reflections on the ripples. Under the surface, it looked + black. It could have gone down a million miles. In the dark of + night, anything could be down there. Or any body.

+ +

"Yeah," Corky agreed. "Like poor Paulie." He was now whispering + so softly they all had to lean close to hear above the flutter of + the low flames. The firelight glinted on his face, wreathing it in + shadows. "They say they've drowned, but that's because they don't + want to scare people and make them panic. But they know those folk + were caught by the Racine Rats and dragged under the water to the + burrows and eaten, every scrap of them, even the bones. Even their + shoes. That's why they're never found again. Not ever." He paused, + and looked around, the light catching the lop-sided grin.

+ +

"So any time you walk by the canal and you hear that hollow + noise, you better run as fast as you can, because that's what + they're waiting for. Footsteps up above. Just waiting for a lone + walker, waiting to drag him down. That's why you never get me along + by the river on my own, not for love nor money. No way + ho-zay."

+ +

Doug hunched earnestly over the fire, hanging on every word. He + had caught Corky's wink, but the story snared him with a ring of + truth. He'd walked by the canal a thousand times, and they went + fishing down on the river when the bailiff wasn't around (at least + in other summers, not this one) and it really was true. When you + walked on the track, you heard that hollow pounding echo where the + bank was undercut, as if there were secret caves just below your + feet. Doug could imagine big sharp toothed furred things huddled + under there, just listening and slavering

+ +

"Is that true?" Billy asked. Corky looked round at him, keeping + his face straight. The fire flickered in his eyes.

+ +

"Would I lie to you Billy-O?"

+
+

"Would I lie to you Billy-O?" Corky had asked again in + the light of the day, after giving Billy a hard knuckle right on + the edge of his shoulderblade. "Saved your life, didn't I? That was + the biggest horsefly I ever saw. It would have eaten you alive, + swear to God."

+ +

They'd taken a turn at the small waterfall where the stream + narrowed for the drop into the pool. Billy had taken a handfull of + heron's flight feathers and stuck them in crevices between the big + pale quartz rocks and stood back admiringly.

+ +

"Four feather falls," he announced. "Remember that show? The + magic guns that fired by themselves? Pure brilliant."

+ +

They all agreed. It was too warm to argue, and Billy could keep + going all day if he was in the mood. They left the feathers there, + sticking up like markers, grey and edged with a dark smoky + blue.

+ +

They crosssed the water on the stones and up the far bank where + a narrow sheep track angled up the slope. Far behind them, well off + down the valley, a cock crowed, shrill and challenging, only + slightly muffled by the summer's heat haze.

+ +

"That's the little red rooster," Doug said.

+ +

"Well it's slept in," Billy said.

+ +

Doug stuck his skinny elbows out and flapped them a couple of + times, pecking his head forward on his thin neck. His red ears + stuck out like wattles.

+ +

"I am the little red rooster," he drawled, bobbing forward, + long, bony legs strutting. Tom laughed out loud. Danny stuck his + elbows out, following the lead. Corky imitated him.

+ +

"Too laaaate to crow the day," Doug rasped and they all + went filing up the track, laughing all the while, strutting like + cockerels.

+ +

They were still laughing when they turned there to follow the + smaller brook which fed into the Blackwood stream. This water came + tumbling over ledges of hard limestone and through crevices of old + smooth-worn basalt. Doug had stripped an ash sapling and was poking + under rocks to try to scare trout into the open. Tom and Danny took + the lead along the sheep trail and only fifty yards up the narrow + gully they came to the natural barrier set at right angles to the + flow. They all stopped.

+ +

"Where's the waterfall?" Billy wanted to know.

+ +

The expected cataract, and the anticipated cave behind it, was + nowhere to be seen. Instead, the barrier was much higher than Danny + remembered it, and water seeped and sprayed around the edges in a + fine mist, catching the sun and forming tight little rainbows of + haze.

+ +

Doug poked his stick at it. "It's plugged up. A tree's come down + and blocked it off like a log jam." The water gurgled down the mass + of twigs and branches that had stemmed the main flow. There was no + cavern in the rock. They started to turn back when Corky stopped + them.

+ +

"Wait a minute." He pointed at the top of the blockage, a dozen + feet or more above their heads. The top twigs and branches were + white and dry in the sun, but the flow started only a few inches + below the topmost edge, trickling through the packed weave.

+ +

"How deep is it on the other side?" he asked. Danny pointed at + the original lip of the rock cleft which only head height to + himself, chin-height to Billy.

+ +

"Just a couple of feet I think. Maybe a yard at the most."

+ +

"A lot deeper now," Corky said, grinning. "Come on."

+ +

The cleft was blocked, which meant they had to climb the steep + side, digging their hands into the shale to get a purchase and + finding smooth and unreliable toe-holds in the mudstone layers. It + took them five minutes of slipping and sliding on the loose gravel + to reach the lip of the natural wall. Corky got there first with + Tom, who was wiry but agile, close behind. They stood on the hard + stone wall and looked down. The backed up stream water reflected + the blue of the summer sky in a long, zigzagged lake with a surface + so calm it threw back a perfect reflection.

+ +

"It's a dam," Corky said, his voice filled with wonder and + satisfaction. Billy and Doug scrambled up behind him, almost + knocking Danny off the stone. A small rock rolled and splashed + below them with the echoing plop of deep water. Ripples + spread out to lap at the edges and quickly disappeared.

+ +

"It's a damn dam," Billy said, delighted with his own wit. + "Damnation." Below them, an old spruce trunk, spiked with broken + branches and probably dislodged from further upstream by the + snow-melt of previous winters, had jammed itself in the narrow + V-shaped crevice which had allowed the water to spill away in a + narrow cataract. The spines had trapped heather clumps and divots + brought down by erosion, and a weave of reeds and rushes from + marshes somewhere up on the moor, compacting them into a thick + plug. Behind it the water backed up beyond the first bend of the + stream. Billy stood on his tip-toes, despite the twenty-foot drop + behind him.

+ +

"It goes back for miles."

+ +

"This wasn't here before," Danny said. "Is it deep?"

+ +

"About ten feet," Corky said. He turned to Doug who still had + the slender ash sapling. "Poke around and see how far it goes."

+ +

Doug got to his knees and reached down. The end of the stick + only trailed on the surface. He got up again, reversed the slender + branch, hefted it like a javelin and threw it at the water, + thick-end first. It broke the surface almost silently and went + straight down, its seven foot length disappearing in an instant. + They watched, wondering if it had stuck on bottom mud. But a few + seconds later, the sapling came back up again, reversing its + direction, the thin end rising to three feet out of the water + before it toppled slowly to float on the surface.

+ +

"At least ten feet," Doug said. "Could be fifteen." He was + standing there, string vest tattered and muddied with shale, one + knee out of his jeans and a toothy grin wide on his face.

+ +

"We must be the first to find it," Corky said. "That means it's + ours."

+ +

Billy laughed gleefully. "I hereby name this damn dam..." he + stopped and looked at them. "Any ideas?"

+ +

"Heron lake," Tom suggested, but Danny shook his head and shot + him a look. He didn't want to be reminded of what he had done to + the bird, even though he hadn't meant to kill it. The feeling of + foreboding tried to push its way back and he shoved it away.

+ +

"The Blue Lagoon," Doug suggested.

+ +

"Lonesome Lake," Corky said. "That's just what it's like."

+ +

Billy looked at him askance. "Was that in the Dambusters?" Corky + shook his head almost sadly. Danny thought the name fit somehow. + Lonesome Lake, up here beyond the barwoods, miles from the town, in + a cleft in the moors. Up here where there was only the occasional + moan of wind across the tussock grass and the mournful piping of + the curlew. The water dead still, its surface glass flat.

+ +

Billy turned and clambered off the narrow wall onto the couch + grass clinging to the slope grass of the slope. He heeled off his + baseball boots, undid his belt and pushed his still damp jeans down + to his ankles, then stripped them off.

+ +

"Last one in's a big Jessie," he called across. Doug hauled his + dirty vest off. Billy stripped completely, standing naked and pale. + He had a thick clump of black hair on his crotch in stark contrast + to his smooth skin. Tom and Danny stared.

+ +

"When did that happen?" Tom asked innocently. Billy looked down. + His penis swung from side to side, thick and heavy, more than twice + the size of Tom's and Danny's. Billy grinned proudly.

+ +

"Huge, init?"

+ +

"Seen bigger," Doug said.

+ +

"On a cart-horse," Billy shot back. "I could fill that rubber + johnny no bother at all."

+ +

"Too late," Corky said. "You've probably got the siff + anyway. From kissing Phil's spunk."

+ +

Billy pulled a face, stuck out his tongue and made exaggerated + wiping movements with his fingers, flicking his spittle to the + side. He spat violently, just for effect, turned quickly and went + down to the stone barrier again, braced himself and then dived + straight out. Danny called out, too late. The water might have been + deep, but there could be other spiky logs down there just under the + still surface. He envisaged Billy plunging straight down and + impaling himself on a skewer and immediately the recollection of + Paulie Degman came rolling back, stuck under the black water of the + river, fighting for breath and clawing for air. Danny shook his + head to dismiss the memory.

+ +

Billy hit the water cleanly, with hardly a splash despite his + weight. He disappeared. Ripples spread out and hit the sides of the + narrow lake, washing some of the shale from the valley walls down + into the depth. They all watched, waiting, until Billy came up to + the surface, spluttering.

+ +

"Bloody freezing, but it's terrific. Come on in."

+ +

Doug kicked off his torn and greying underpants. Without his + clothes he was even stringier than he normally looked, slat-ribbed + and all knuckles and joints. He gave a toothy grin, scampered on + the barrier then jumped, turning over in the air, holding his nose + between finger and thumb. He landed backside foremost, missing + Billy by inches and hitting the water with a loud booming splash + which sent a wave crashing to the steep side beyond.

+ +

The others got undressed quickly, though with furtive glances at + each other to check the comparisons. Corky was showing wispy hairs + but little more. Danny and Tom were still boys. Tom scampered out + onto the rock, did a little bob and without hesitation launched + himself upwards. He turned, slender and small and graceful, his + curly hair pushed back from his forehead. He arched slowly, twisted + in a corkscrew and arrowed down. He hit the water so silently that + there was barely a ripple. Danny and Corky followed him, more + clumsily but just as enthusiastic. The water was cold, colder than + any of them would have imagined on a hot late summer's day, but + wonderful to swim in. They splashed and swam for an hour before + climbing out to dry in the late sun and after that, Tom and Corky + went exploring up towards the far end of the natural lake. Billy + and Doug climbed over the ridge and down to the other tributary, + the Blackwood Stream proper. Danny went with them, brushing his wet + hair back with his fingers to keep it from flopping in his + eyes.

+ +

"We could bust it," Billy was saying. "Just like the Dambusters. + That would be really brilliant."

+ +

"You can do it," Doug said. He was about to continue when he + stopped abruptly. Billy turned to him. Doug was frozen in mid + step.

+ +

"Did you hear something?"

+ +

Billy shook his head. Danny turned. Doug's head was cocked to + the side in a listening attitude, His eyes were fixed on the + gnarled clumps of hawthorn and hazel that dotted the far side of + the slope which rose up to the moors beyond Blackwood farm.

+ +

"I saw something," he said. "Over there." He pointed to a hollow + where the ferns crowded around some jagged lumps of moraine rock + left by ancient glaciers. The other two followed his direction. + There was nothing to be seen. Beyond the rock, just a patch of + white some distance away, a sheep moved in the ferns.

+ +

"Just a sheep," Billy said.

+ +

Doug shook his head. "No. I saw something. I think it was a + man."

+ +

Danny scanned the hollow. He could see nothing. A small shiver + of apprehension trickled up his back. They turned back to the + brook, heading upstream. Danny couldn't shake the feeling. Since + he'd hit the heron and watched it writhe, the weird sense of + ill-luck had settled uneasily on him.

+ +

They got round a tight meandering bend and began to cross again + when Doug let out a sudden, and quite startling howl of disgust. + Billy stopped and Danny bumped into his back, shoving the bigger + boy forward off balance. Billy windmilled his arms and then slipped + off the stone.

+ +

The deer carcass lay half-in the stream. Its head was arched + back and its mouth was open. The eyes were long gone and the skin + and muscle of the cheek had rotted away showing the great grinding + teeth set in a strangely fierce grimace. The thick pelt was worn in + places and they could see the white vertebrae of the neck where the + flesh had been stripped. A magnificent spread of antlers reared + behind the dead head.

+ +

"Christ on a bike," Billy said. He had stumbled against the + foreleg which was being twisted slowly in the current. The belly + and the hind legs, on the dry bank, looked surprisingly untouched, + but as Billy moved back, a cloud of flies came droning upwards, + thick and whirling. "What a stench," Billy said. He turned and + Danny caught a smell of it, sweet and thick, clogging at the back + of the throat. He felt his palate click glutinously, ready to + trigger a heave.

+ +

The ribs were high and curved, poking up against the skin in + taut slats. Below them, a gaping hole showed where something had + gnawed right into the belly. Billy pivoted on the stone, got + upstream of the dead animal and reached a hand out to grab the tine + of an antler. He pushed himself back, heaving strongly and the + whole carcass slowly turned over on to its back. He gripped both + hands now on each horn and twisted hard. There was a dull thudding + sound and then a rip and the head came free, sending Billy + stumbling backwards with the ruined skull dangling between the wide + spread of jagged antlers. It thumped to the ground. The heavy body + rolled back again and the skin of the belly ripped. Danny thought + he saw something moving in the black gnawed hole but then his + attention was diverted to the mass of wriggling maggots which + poured out, white and pulsating, from the gash at the joint of the + ribs where the skin had ripped. They gushed out in a fleshy + dribble, tumbling onto the shingle beside the stream.

+ +

The smell hit him like a blow and he twisted away, unable to + stop himself retching dryly. He heard Doug make the same choking + sounds.

+ +

"A trophy," Billy said excitedly, his wide face alive and + animated. "Look at those horns. I could tell people I shot it." He + held them up, his arms wide, once again like a young indian brave. + The wide antlers waved in the air, curved and sharp. The dead, + cratered sockets stared at the sky.

+ +

By the time Corky and Tom came back, Billy had fixed the deer's + head up on the gnarled hawthorn tree in at the hollow where the + rocks made a natural corner, wedging the antlers in so that the + wasted skull with its perpetually gnashing teeth hung downwards. A + dribble of foul-smelling liquid oozed out of one hollow nostril + onto the moss below. A tornado of small flies whirled in the air + when the boys approached and then settled back on the rotting head. + The black insects were already clustered all over the sightless + eyes of the heron.

+
+

August 1. 6pm:

+ +

He had spent most of the day on the Blackwood slope, in the full + glare of the sun. He had been watching from the other side of the + valley, staying in the cover of the trees lower down where the + gully widened out. From the height on the slope, he could see the + narrow crevices where the streams had cut their way through the + peat and the stone, forming the branching gorges that fed the + Blackwood Stream. From here he could see everything. The sun was + high and the drone of insects up in the leaves was a sleepy hum on + the still air. Down the slope, the stream burbled.

+ +

He had watched and listened to their shouts, their calls echoing + back from the steep sides beyond where they'd put the tent.

+ +

A boy had slapped another on the back and there had been a + hoarse cry, this one deeper than the rest and it reminded him of + the other one who'd come blundering through the window into the + place where he sat in the shadows.

+ +

The laughter had come floating up, the laughter of children, + ragged on his nerves. There was a faint whiff of woodsmoke on the + clear air, not so harsh as it had been on the hillside when the + flames had jumped from bracken to gorse and made the air shimmer + with the heat. Here the scent was of pine, resinous and sweet. The + boys were marching up the defile where the tributary fed down to + the main stream. The sun was on their skin, reflecting pale, not + dark as one might expect on boys at the end of the summer holiday. + These boys had not been out in the sun much this summer.

+ +

They disappeared round the first bend the voices faded away. He + sat there, motionless, not in any hurry, not yet. The small one had + seen him, turning quickly like a startled animal and had stared + right at him, curly hair flopping with sweat. He had swung his + head, about to call to the other boy who was laden down with dry + pine logs but he'd swivelled back to take another look and by this + time there was nothing to be seen. He had pulled back into the + bracken. The small boy had blinked, scratched his head, slapped at + a cleg which landed on his shoulder, and looked again, eyes + puzzled.

+ +

Up the gully the shouts came wavering down again and saw them + traverse the lip of the valley, all walking in single file. In the + distance, they seemed to be dancing and their excited, boyishly + jubilant calls came floating down, competing with the flies and the + murmur of the stream. When they'd got up the cleft and then onto + the high level, the taller one, black haired and ruddy had stripped + off and he'd run over the ridge and out of sight. The thin one, + with the ragged trousers, he had followed suit, and then the small + one had gone. He could hear their cries, high and clear, low and + hoarse, a mixture of boy and man, the cracking age of youth. The + water below the little falls shimmered as the ripples threw back + the glare of the sun and he began to blink. The heat had built up + on the top of his head, the deep sun-heat that brought the + memories. The light was in his eyes, sharp and stabbing.

+ +

She hadn't been able to cry out. There had been no time + for the other girl.

+ +

He had hit her hard. Two right-handed punches that had thudded + like hammer-blows, rapid fire on the side of her face and she had + fallen like a dropped sack. He had caught her before she hit the + ground and her weight had been nothing at all in his arms as he + moved through the jumble of derelict buildings and sheet-metal + shacks.

+ +

The old bomb shelter was still here as he remembered from long + ago, on the gap site where an even older building had once stood, + but was now an overgrown mess of thorny brambles and jagged + rose-creepers. The thorns had snagged at his legs as he waded + through them, careful not to push a path that could be followed, + but stepping over the clumps so that no-one would know anyone had + been here. Beyond a tumble of masonry there was a narrow stairway, + hardly more than the width of a man, which fell steeply and turned + to the left down a shaft made up of concrete that had been piled in + canvas sacks and still retained the imprint of the long-rotted + weave. There had been an ancient hasp on the door but it had broken + away easily when he had been here before. Beyond the doorway the + stairs continued down and turned again before another wooden door + that led in to the shelter proper where a heavy, woodwormed table + was pushed against the concrete wall. The corrugated iron ceiling + curved to a low arch from a dust-strewn floor. The place smelled of + old papers and cobwebs but it was dry and it was hidden. He put the + girl down on the table, letting her flop in a series of muffled + thuds as elbows and shoulders hit the surface. He lit the candle, + letting the light swell and push the darkness back a little.

+ +

The girl was silent but he had seen the tiny flicker in her eye, + the reflection of the candle's light, that told her she was awake + now, trying to deceive him, hoping vainly for a chance, for an + opening.

+ +

There were no chances. He spun and clamped a hand over her mouth + before she even had time to open it. Her eyes widened and he could + see the fear flare in them, dark eyes, slanted in this light. He + had squeezed until the jaw bones began to creak. He squeezed some + more until she shuddered violently, and her eyes had widened so far + they were huge in the candlelight..

+ +

Dung fly. A voice spoke to him, one of the voices from + inside his head. He cocked his head, still keeping his hand clamped + to the fine features while her body shook and writhed....

+ +

He was out of this memory and into another.

+ +

Conboy was talking to him again, his eyes filled with flies and + his mouth grinning widely all the time, showing all of his teeth + from stretched back, ragged lips while the maggots squirmed under + the skin, making it come alive.

+ +

"Kill them all, slitty eyed bastards. " Conboy said, giggling + now. "Shoot them down."

+ +

Conboy had a hole through the side of his forehead, a dark + little eye. On the other side there was a crater the size of an + orange and everything had leaked out. Conboy's thoughts had + trickled out with his brains and they could still be heard on the + still, stifling air.

+ +

Dung Fly. Over and over and over again. It never + changed. The children had run away, yammering again and then the + men had come down, creeping with their parangs and machete + blades held high, edging across the log to where the truck nosed + down into the swamp. The sunlight had rippled in the spaces where + the water steamed and the gun had bucked in his hand and he had + seen one tumble backwards in a splash of red.

+ +

The black eyes had stared at him and Conboy, half in and half + out, had glared accusingly at him through the mass of flies.

+ +

The man who crouched in the valley blinked against the sparkle + of light from the water and the memory winked out. Up on the hill + the boys were shouting and yelling. Slowly he rose to his feet, + cradling the black barrel of the shotgun in his arms and went + silently up the slope and back towards the farm. He would come back + later, when it was dark, just to see what was what. There was no + rush now. He had all the time in the world.

+
+

August 1, 6.30pm

+ +

"Just like Lord of the Flies," Corky said when he saw it.

+ +

"Who's that?" Billy asked, predictably. "Is he in the American + comics? Like Lex Luthor, King of Crime?" The way he said it gave + all the words capitals for emphasis.

+ +

"It's a book, dumbo," Corky said, irritated at last. "These kids + on an island find a dead body covered in flies and they think it's + alive, like a monster. Some kind of voodoo."

+ +

"Has it got super powers?" Billy asked. Corky snorted and turned + away, shaking his head.

+ +

"Don't you ever read anything that doesn't have pictures?"

+ +

"Not if I can help it," Billy said. "That's a waste of time." He + poked a stick into the eye socket of the dead stag and left it + there, jutting like an arrow. But later, at night, round the fire, + with the frames crackling on the resinous pinewood, Billy talked + about the flies.

+ +

"Must have been what Mole Hopkirk was like, eh? All covered in + maggots and flies. Jeff McGuire went loopy after he saw it, right + off his head. They had to take him away and lock him up. Old Mole + must have stank to high heaven."

+ +

"Would drive anybody loopy," Doug said. "His hair growing all + over the place, right down his arm and along the floor. That's + really creepy. His nails had grown right out like claws. It's true. + That's what I heard. If it was me, I'd have died right there on the + spot, swear to God."

+ +

They had all heard the stories. Danny and Corky looked at each + other across the flames. They had come close to clambering in that + back window.

+ +

"That wee girl was terrible. The one under the bridge." Corky + had poked a thin twig into the fire and brought it out, jerking his + hand to make the glowing tip write on the air. "He'd left her to + die in her own pee. That's how they found her."

+ +

"Don't talk about that," Tom said sharply. He leaned away from + the fire and put his hands up to his ears as if to shut out what he + was hearing.

+ +

"What's up with him?" Billy wanted to know. "Making skidmarks on + his pants again?"

+ +

"Just leave it alone, will you?" Tom said tightly. "It's not + funny."

+ +

"But Don Whalen was worse," Doug said, steering it away. "Stuck + down there in the dark with that body. That must have drove him out + of his mind. Sitting there waiting for old Twitchy to come back and + do him in. Jeez. That must have been pure murder.

+ +

"He should have fought back." Billy declared. "Fought like a + man." He stabbed his knife in at the log and left it sticking up on + its own. Doug laughed scornfully.

+ +

"I suppose you'd take him on."

+ +

"Don't have to," Billy said. "They think he's hung himself, just + like Judas, that's what my mum said. But if we had met him, the + five of us could beat him no bother. I mean, all of us + together."

+ +

A twig cracked sharply in the dark of the forest and they all + jumped, whirling to stare at the shadows. The sound did not come + again.

+ +

"Just a sheep" Billy said, slowly turning back towards the fire, + but his eyes were wide. Doug yawned and said he was going to get + some shut-eye. A few minutes later Billy stood up, looked into the + shadows of the trees then followed him in through the tent flap. A + minute later they could hear the muted, pseudo-American accent of + the deejay on Radio Christina. There was a pause and then the Beach + Boys were singing, in pretty damn-fine harmony about how they get + around.

+ +

A while later, they could hear Doug snoring. The Animals were + tinnily singing about the rising sun and warning mothers to tell + their children. The stolen lighter clicked inside the tent and a + flare of light threw a sharp shadow against the canvas. Corky crept + to the flap, peered in and then came back, suppressing a + giggle.

+ +

"He's into the blonde with the big bazookas again. Playing + pocket billiards."

+ +

Danny and Tom laughed along with it, almost sure of what Corky + was talking about but not wanting to ask. They were still below + that cusp and while some things were hinted at, until they were + actually experienced, they had no real meaning.

+ +

The fire was waning and they heaped some thicker logs on it + until the flames crackled high and bright. Inside the tent they + heard the rustle of the magazine pages and they sniggered again. + After a while, Billy started to snore even louder than Doug. The + three of them sat in silence for a while until Corky spoke up, + turning his fire-reddened face towards Tom.

+ +

"When do you go?"

+ +

"End of next month," Tom replied. "My Mum says it'll take a week + at least on the boat."

+ +

"But it'll be summer when you get there," Danny said. "And it's + really hot at Christmas."

+ +

"I won't know anybody," Tom said but Corky snorted almost + cynically.

+ +

"That's a bonus, believe me Tom. Sooner you get out of this + crazy place the better." He looked up and they could see a sudden, + unaccustomed anger tighten on his face. "Swear to God, if I could + leave, the happier I'd be. Really I would."

+ +

"My mum wants away," Tom said. His voice was thick and sounded + as if it might crack. "She says she can't live here any more, not + since Maureen...." his words trailed away. The other two nodded, + letting it go. Danny remembered back to the day in church just + after little Lucy Saunders torn body had been found under the + bridge. Over on the other side of the aisle he had seen Tom sitting + beside his parents, head bowed, face tight.

+ +

His father's bald head had been was raised to the massive + crucifix which was suspended over the central aisle, bearing a gory + and bloodied Christ hung, nailed to the tree, each streak of blood + lovingly painted on its plaster surface.

+ +

Frank Tannahill looked as if he was making an appeal to the + bleeding man on the cross. Tom's mother, a thin little woman in a + blue coat that had seen plenty of better summers, hadn't sat up to + listen while the priest gave her sermon, but stayed kneeling, eyes + tight closed and hands clasped in front of her. If ever there was a + picture of desperate misery, that had been it. Jessie Tannahill was + surely praying for the repose of the soul of her own daughter whom + Christ in his infinite mercy and wisdom had taken away from her + when she herself had gone out to the shop for only a half an + hour.

+ +

The boys noddded, letting it go, but Tom wouldn't.

+ +

"I hate it when Billy goes on about that wee Saunders girl. He + doesn't know. Nobody does." Across the fire, tears glinted in his + eyes. The other two sat silent, Tom started again, opened his + mouth, then shut it quickly as if trapping words unsaid. He slid + down off the rock onto the grass and laid his head down on the warm + stone. He closed his eyes tight and he looked as if he was holding + back more than words. He seemed to be pressing against a tide of + anguish that could break through any moment in a torrent.

+ +

"Ach, Billy's just a mouth," Corky said. "If he had any brains + he'd be dangerous. But he doesn't mean anything by it. He just + never thinks."

+ +

"Doug'll be in Toronto before Christmas if his old man finds a + job," Danny said. "Wish I could get away to somewhere + different."

+ +

"No chance Danny boy. You and me, we're stuck here with the rest + of the low-lifers. But your dad's studying, isn't he? He'll get a + good job somewhere. Like a teacher. Something in an office. He can + wear a collar and tie and carry a brief case, all posh. Maybe he'll + even get a car."

+ +

"Sooner the better," Danny said. "We've been flat stony broke as + long as I can remember. All I want is to get some pocket money once + in a while. My old man says it'll be fine when he finishes but I'll + be about twenty by then. Really old."

+ +

"Better than my Da," Corky said. He rarely, if ever mentioned + his father even though everybody knew it would be another few + months before Pat Corcoran was let out and came home again. "I + mean, he's okay when he's sober, but when he's got a drink in him, + Jeez, it gets pretty rough, I can tell you. And Phil, he's a few + slices short of a plain loaf. He'll end up in the Drum as well, + that's for sure. I don't want to be like them."

+ +

"You got plans?"

+ +

"Yeah. Plenty of them. Star in films, eh? Be a big star like + Sean Connery." Corky grinned, somewhat ruefully, somewhat sadly, as + if no matter what dreams he had, none of them would come true. + "Wouldn't mind making films. Like Lord of the Flies. Real + adventures. Like what we're having here now."

+ +

"This is just a picnic," Danny said. He turned to Tom. "Isn't + that right?"

+ +

But Tom had fallen asleep, his head on the warm, smooth stone. + "Just you and me Amigo," Corky said. "We don' have to show no + stinking badges. You ever read that?"

+ +

Danny nodded. "And saw the film. Really dead brilliant. + Especially when the bandits came at the end." He poked at the fire. + "You think you could really do that? Make movies?"

+ +

Corky shrugged. "Maybe. I think I should be an engineer though. + I can do maths with my eyes shut, but you can never tell what's + going to happen, do you? You got to get on an aprentice course, and + everybody knows my old man. Mud sticks, you know? And there's no + way he'll let me stay on at school. You have to go to college to + get anywhere. You have to learn to be like those folk on TV. + Wearing suits and talking with a gob-stopper in your mouth. + Carrying a briefcase. That's what it's all about. But if I get half + a chance, I'm telling you, I'll grab it with both hands."

+ +

"I want to paint," Danny said. "And be a naturalist. Maybe go + exploring and paint all the animals I see." Danny poked a twig into + the embers and sent sparks floating up to the sky. "But my Dad says + I can't take art, because it's not a real subject. He says I have + to stick with Latin so I can become a lawyer or a priest. Honest to + God, he'd turn cartwheels if I went away to be a priest."

+ +

Corky giggled softly. "I can just see you as a priest. Father + Danny-boy Gillan. I'd have to kiss your ring."

+ +

"The ring in my arse," Danny said and Corky giggled. "Anyway + that's bishops."

+ +

"You could be the pope. They carry you around in a big chair all + day."

+ +

"It's no joke. My old man says it's the biggest honour a man can + have, a son who's a priest. Honestly, the only way I'd do that + would be if I got to be a missionary down in Africa. I'd get to see + the elephants and lions and everything. Explore the jungle."

+ +

"And see all them big native women dancing about with their big + bazoombas swingin' as well," Corky said with a leer.

+ +

This time Danny sniggered. "I'd rather see Janey Hartfield with + no clothes on. We nearly did. I thought I was going to faint."

+ +

"Me too. I'd watch her any day of the week. What a + goddess." Corky looked across the fire. "That's the kind + of money I'd want. I mean, they don't even have to think about it, + do they? They get everything done for them, and they've got fancy + cars and they never have to do a day's work. Jeez. See if + my old man was rich?"

+ +

"He'd still knock the living shit out of you," Danny said. His + lips were pulled back into a grin, but there was little humour in + it. "Same as mine. Sometimes I reckon Billy's got it made. He's got + plenty of uncles and nobody to slap him around."

+ +

"Yeah, but you'd have to be half daft as well, just like he is." + Billy's snoring droned out from the tent. "He still believes his + old man was killed fighting Japs. Hell, I think he still believes + in Santa flippin' Claus." Corky raised his eyes to the dark sky. He + yawned widely, stretching his arms wide.

+ +

"Time for beddy-byes." He nudged Tom who mumbled in his sleep + and then woke with a start, his eyes wide and bewildered in his + thin face.

+ +

"You want to sleep out here?"

+ +

Tom mumbled again, getting his bearings. He shook his head and + Corky got a hand under his elbow to help him get to his feet. Tom's + neck had gone stiff from the hunched slumber against the stone. + They went into the tent, leaving the fire to burn itself down. + Billy was snoring loudly and they pushed him until he turned over. + Doug muttered unintelligibly then gave a little high laugh which + made the three of them snigger.

+ +

"Little red rooster," Danny said and they tittered in the dark, + suppressing real laughter.

+ +

In the dusty, musty silence of the tent they lay quiet, + listening to the snap and crackle of the pine twigs in the fire and + the murmuring voice of the stream as it tumbled over the smooth + boulders. Sometime during the night, Tom cried out. Danny woke up + and heard him call out his dead sister's name, a pitiful, plaintive + cry that trailed away into a wavering moan that twisted a bleak and + forlorn sadness inside Danny's soul.

+ +

Sometime during the night, footsteps crackled in the thick trees + downstream as something heavy clambered over dead logs and dry + branches. Corky awoke and listened to the noise, wondering if a cow + had come wandering down from Blackwood Farm's high pasture and got + stuck in the trees. The noise stopped and for half an hour there + was a silence and then, just as he dozed off, the + doom-doom-doom of heavy footfalls echoed on the hard track + beside the stream and startled him awake once more, with images of + red-eyed rats snarling in his dream. They faded away into the + night. Danny woke up and saw Corky pulling back from the flap.

+ +

"Whassamatter?"

+ +

"Thought I heard something," Corky whispered. They listened. + Down in the trees a branch snapped with a harsh crack and the noise + reverberated between the trunks. A night bird hooted, low and + haunting. Something small shrieked and died.

+ +

Upstream, way beyond the first few bends of the meandering gully + Danny heard the harsh and lonely kaark call of a heron and + the sense of foreboding swelled along with the dragging remorse. He + knew it was the female, calling to its dead mate.

+
+

August 1. Night:

+ +

The man came out of the shadows and into the moonlight, using + the sound of tumbling water to mask his progress. He walked slowly, + one footstep at a time, avoiding the dry clumps of bracken that + would have crackled and rustled and woken them up.

+ +

He had watched them from further up the slope, sitting quietly + in the cool hollow as the shadow deepened, watching the red flicker + of the fire and listening to their voices, unintelligible in the + distance, as they huddled round the fire. After a while he'd gone + down to the trees where the darkness was almost absolute. Once he'd + snapped a twig in his hands, just to see their reaction, to watch + their heads jerk round warily. They reacted like animals, + instinctively on guard in the night.

+ +

He'd gone back up the hill to sit in the hollow overlooking + their camp, waiting there until the first two had gone inside. He + watched the small one fall asleep, then listened to the low mumble + of conversation between the two boys. Overhead the moon was almost + full, silver blue in a misty sky. He could see Conboy's face in it, + eyes shadowed with dark flies.

+ +

The stream mumbled to him and he could hear a distant voice in + that, a low murmur, getting louder, coming closer. He had sat by + the dung heap, watching the clouds of insects eating at the head, + and observing the rippling of the maggots under the skin. He had + waited for it to speak but it had not said anything to him, not + yet. But the voice would come, the way Conboy's would come, getting + louder all the time until he could hear all of the words.

+ +

The two boys woke the small one and they all went into the tent + and after a while, the man came slowly down the slope to the side + of the stream where the grass was short and dry. The zephyr of + breeze carried the scent of resin and sap and something else. He + sniffed at the air, trying to pinpoint the source, following the + smell until he reached the hawthorn tree, thick and gnarled, with + low spreading branches. The deer's skull and hung on its own branch + of antlers, socketted eyes staring blindly. He had watched the boy + set up this totem in the heat of the day, dragging the trophy over + the ridge at the bend of the stream. The flies were silent in the + darkness.

+ +

Dung Fly

+ +

The whisper came from far away or deep inside him. He stopped, + cocked his head to listen. Up in the sky, the moon's mouth yawned + and he thought he could hear Conboy urging him on.

+ +

They were snoring inside the tent and he crept past to sit on + the rock beside the fire, feeling the waning heat of the dying + embers. One of the boys mumbled in his sleep and then cried out. + Another muttered, perhaps to himself, perhaps to the one who had + cried out and all the time the snoring, loud and regular and + utterly oblivious, continued.

+ +

He could go in. He could rip the flap back and rip the opening + wide and they'd wake in fright, not knowing where they were or what + was happening.

+ +

But not yet

+ +

The moon's reflection wavered in the stream and Conboy's + fly-eyes shimmered with life. He eased himself up and walked down + the bank to where the water ran shallow at the end of the pool, + leaving a thick deposit of fine sandy shale. The man walked along + this, leaving his footprints clear in the gravel and followed the + stream down towards the trees. He was almost at the first bend, + where the valley jinked to the left in a tight dog-leg. Here the + bank was cut away by the action of the water, overhanging a small, + but deep pool. He stopped there, standing with his face up to the + moon and then he stamped his feet hard on the firm-packed turf.

+ +

Doom-doom-DOOM.

+ +

The vibrations seemed to come up from the depth of the water. Up + at the tent, one of the boys cried out again. The man faded into + the shadows of the trees. In the light of the moon, in the faint + glow of the fire, he saw the tent flap open and a tousled head + poked out, twisting this way and that. A boy's voice whispered. + Down among the trees, the man put his foot on a dry twig and leaned + his weight, making it break with a hard snap. The noise echoed off + the tall trunks. Close by, an owl hooted. Up on the moor a bird + rasped a night call, hollow and lonely and thin up there in the + dark.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/018.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/018.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..023e0b3 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/018.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,367 @@ + + + + + + 18 + + + + +
+
+

18

+ +

July:

+ +

The stranger came knocking at the door in the early afternoon. + Jean McColl didn't hear him at first, engrossed as she was in the + delicate task of removing honeycombs from the hives at the back end + of the vegetable garden where the bewildered and angry bees buzzed + in clouds. The terriers heard him, as they heard everything and had + set up a racket, insistently barking their high-pitched temper and + eventually she had to lay down the smoke funnel and go round + through the gate to the front yard to check.

+ +

"Looking for work, " the man said. He was tall and angular, + though broad shouldered and his dark hair hung down over his eyes. + In the warmth of the summer afternoon, he was wearing a log coat + with a belt hanging loose, the kind they used to wear back in the + fifties and it had seen better days. Over his shoulder, an old army + tote bag showed the stains of many miles.

+ +

"Saw the sign, did you?" Jean was still wearing her broad straw + hat with the muslin tucked into the neck of a man's chambray shirt. + On her hands, a pair of her husband's protective gloves made her + look almost comic, like a child dressed in adult's clothes. She + unrolled the fine cloth and peered out from under the brim. "The + sign on the gate?"

+ +

"I did," he said, nodding to affirm. He was standing with both + feet planted apart. One boot's sole was peeling from the upper.

+ +

"Can you dig potatoes?"

+ +

"Sure I can. All day too." He hadn't shaved in a couple of days + and he looked as if he needed a bath. In the angle of the sun, she + couldn't see his eyes, but there was no particular need. Maybe the + country was changing after the austerity of the years after the + war, but there were still plenty wanderers who couldn't settle, men + with no fixed abode and an itch in their feet, looking for seasonal + work.

+ +

"Well, you look big enough," Jean said. She was fifty six years + old, ten years younger than her husband Ian, and where he was wide + and blocky, she was bird-like and quick. Her hair was pure white + and her skin was clear despite a lifetime of helping to run the + hill farm, out in all weathers. She squinted up at the big man.

+ +

"The labourer is always worthy of his hire," the man said. His + voice was deep and slightly rasped, like he'd beeen breathing in + the cornstalk dust. She couldn't place his accent.

+ +

"Amen to that," she said, picking up the context. He was a + religious man. Good. "Blackwood should be back in a half hour or so + and he'll tell you what's needed. But there's work to be done so + he'll no doubt take you on." She turned and pointed round by the + corner of the byre where a half dozen heavy red chickens were + scratching in the straw, jerking their heads in nervous tics. + "There's a space in the bothy where you can put your kit. Running + water's from the tap on the wall."

+ +

"What's he paying?"

+ +

"Same as anybody else. A pound a ton and then he'll see how fast + you go. You get bed and board, and if he takes a shine to you, well + maybe there's some walling needs done for the winter, but that'll + be up to him."

+ +

The big man said nothing for a moment, but remained standing + there, almost in silhouette. The sun limned the edge of his hair, + making it gleam blue black, like a red Indian's hair. He looked as + if he'd been sleeping rough for the past few days. Maybe he was + hungry.

+ +

"I suppose you could have a bite and a cup of tea while you're + waiting. Give me ten minutes to finish with the bees and I'll put + the kettle on."

+ +

"I'd appreciate that, ma'am," he said, nodding again. He hadn't + said much at all but that wasn't unusual either. Many of the men on + the roads just came out of nowhere and worked a few weeks, + sometimes a full harvest season and disappeared again with hardly a + word. It was possible, Jean knew, that one or two of them might + have been running from trouble, with the police or the army, but as + long as they could work, that was nobody's business but theirs. She + came from old farming stock and farmers in this neck of the woods + liked to preserve their own privacy. They respected the need in + others.

+ +

Round at the home garden, she unshipped the last dripping slab + of honeycomb while a few bees which had been out of the hive when + she used the smoker came buzzing angrily around her head. The rich, + thick honey dripped into the pan, sending up a luscious, exotically + sweet scent that reminded Jean of every summer she'd spent on the + farm. She smiled to herself, thinking of all those seasons that + made up most of her life.

+ +

She was in the kitchen when the man came back, now stripped of + his heavy coat. The sleeves of his shirt, a faded blue + working-man's cotton, were rolled up to his elbows, showing a pair + of long, muscular arms covered in a matt of black hair. He'd + obviously bent to get his head under the hosepipe tap for his hair + was now slicked back from heavy eyebrows and beads of water + trickled down his cheek like sweat.

+ +

"Here, I made you a sandwich," she said, indicating the table. + "Set yourself down while the tea's brewing."

+ +

Off in the distance, a low rumble told her the tractor was + heading back up the rutted track. The stranger sat up straight, + head cocked to one side. An odd, indecipherable look flicked across + his face. He blinked a couple of times.

+ +

"That'll be Blackwood coming back," she said. It was a tradition + in these parts, still is, for farmers to take the name of their + spreads. Ian McColl farmed the highest land on the north side of + the town, a mix of poor arable and high moorland where the bracken + made further creeping inroads every year. They'd some cows which + were pastured down on the edge of the barwoods and three hundred + sheep and a small herd of shaggy highland cattle up on the heath + and scrub of Blackwood hill and beyond. On the south facing fields + below the trees where he'd spent three backbreaking years stripping + out the thick gorse, there was a fair crop of early potatoes and a + handy field of swedes, most of which would feed the beasts in the + winter. It was a hard life up on the hill, both of them knew that, + but for Jean, it was the only life, often rewarded by the late, + dropping sun catching the rocks of Langcraig Hill in the distance, + or gleaming up from the river estuary in the height of summer. The + winters could be bad at this height, but then she'd see a spider's + web hoar-frosted and glittering, or a white stoat go scampering + across the rocks, and in the depth of January, she'd hear the first + bleating sounds of the new life as the sheep dropped their lambs. + It was no easy life, but there was a beauty and a symmetry and + sometimes a magic in it all, as she would write in her neat hand in + her diary.

+ +

She brought two big mugs to the table and filled them both. "The + ham's my own. Smoked only last week, and the bread's fresh from the + oven this morning."

+ +

Jean never tired of telling folk, even strangers looking for + casual labour, about her bacon or her bread. She'd a store out the + back with rough cheeses wrapped in muslin and maturing away in + wooden rounds and a half a dozen demi-jons sealed up with last + years vintage of elderberry wine. All of it, every fermentation, + every batch of cheese was carefully noted in her book. Every new + year she'd go down to the town, as long as the snows hadn't blocked + the track, and buy a new diary. They were her pride and her record + of thirty years up on Blackwood Farm. On winter nights, when the + wind howled around the red-leaded struts of the haybarn, she would + bring a book down from the loft and travel back in time to the days + when she was young and dark haired; to when Ian McColl would take + time off from the scything of the hay and chase her through the + long grass and sometimes catch her.

+ +

Outside in the yard the tractor shuddered to a halt. The engine + barked twice and Jean knew there would be a plume of blue exhaust + smoke trailing away from its rear end. The stranger started back at + the sound and his eyes blinked several times as if grit had got in + under his eyelids.

+ +

"Och, it's only a backfire," she told him "You'll get used to + that soon enough if you're here awhile."

+ +

The man looked at her, still blinking, as if he couldn't really + see her and Jean wondered if he was all right. Just then her + husband came in, wide shouldered and with a day's silver growth of + beard ragged on his cheeks. He took off his hat and wiped a + handkerchief over the red crown of his head.

+ +

"The heat would melt you out there," he avowed, and slung the + hat onto the hook. He turned and saw the other man. "Looking for + work I suppose?"

+ +

The big man nodded again. "Yes sir, I am that."

+ +

"Sound like an army man, eh?"

+ +

Another nod.

+ +

"So you'll not be scared of a bit of hard graft?" McColl said + cheerfully. "Usual start rate's a pound a ton, and maybe a bit more + on the up-slope when we reach it. There's a good two weeks work + there on the early crop if you want it."

+ +

Jean McColl brought the tea across and Ian sat down, his scalp + fiery and beaded with sweat. He still hadn't set eyes on his wife, + but when she laid the cup and a plate of sandwiches down in front + of him he took her fingers in his calloused hand and gave them a + gentle squeeze that conveyed a whole sonnet of feeling. "Good lass. + Saved a life."

+ +

The other fellow reached forward for his cup and as he did so + his sleeve rose up close to his shoulder, just enough to expose a + small tattoo on the outside of his arm below the shoulder.

+ +

"That your name? Lesley?" Ian asked, pointing at the blue + scrolled word on the skin. Jean was over at th stove and missed the + tattoo. The man had taken a drink of tea and he inclined his head + forward. The farmer took it as confirmation.

+ +

"Right Les, if you want the work, then it's yours. You look as + if you've got a strong back and I need the crop in by the end of + the month for getting it down to the co-operative. On and after + that, I've got some walling up on the moor that I'll need a hand + with, so if you work out all right with the tatties, then you'll be + welcome to stay."

+ +

"The labourer is worthy of his hire," the new hand repeated, + almost whispering.

+ +

Ian eyed him up. "I'll be the judge of that, you can bet."

+ +

Jean came to the table with her own cup, a delicate fluted piece + of china which looked like a part from a doll's tea set next to her + husband's chipped pint mug. The men finished their snack and Ian + McColl took the new man through the back to show him the potato + field. The stalks were already tall and drying to yellow, bent + eastwards by the gentle breeze of the past few days which had died + down now to a sultry summer's day.

+ +

"The bothy's fine and dry and the missus is a good cook so + you'll not want for a square meal or a place to sleep. You want + anything from the town though, it's a bit of a hike. More'n five + miles by the track. I don't manage down there myself much except + for a delivery or for the auctions. You from around these + parts?"

+ +

"Long time ago," the fellow said. "Long time. Before, you + know?"

+ +

Ian McColl nodded. Some folk didn't give much away and he wasn't + the one to push either, though it would have been good if the new + hand was more of a talker. It was good to chew the fat across the + table when the talk of farming was done and the work was finished + for the day. From back in the kitchen, the sound of dishes being + washed and stacked came back to them. Jean said something which + neither heard clearly enough to make out, but from the tone was + unmistakable. The terriers came scrambling out of the kitchen as if + devils were chasing them. The door slammed shut.

+ +

"Never did like her kitchen getting messed up," Ian said.

+ +

The other man blinked again as if the sun was in his eyes. + McColl moved off towards the tractor and got it started. He + beckoned the stranger across and waited until the man hitched + himself up behind the seat.

+ +

"Might as well get started," he said brightly, slinging his cap + back on his head and shoving the peak up the way farmers do. The + tractor coughed bronchially, spat smoke from its stack and lurched + round by the byre.

+ +

Jean McColl watched from the window, thinking. Help was hard to + come by this far up and almost anybody who came through the gate at + harvest time got a job for the asking. But there was something + about the stranger with the nervous blinking eyes that didn't + settle with her. She tried to think what it was but couldn't get a + finger on it. There was something about his face, gaunt and angled, + that should have been expressive but wasn't quite, as if everything + was being held down inside.

+ +

There was something about the man and his deep set, coal black + eyes and his slicked back gypsy hair and the smell of woodsmoke on + his clothes. Up around these parts, the tinkers, the travelling + folk, were MacFees and MacFettridges, descendants of the refugees + kicked off the land in the highland clearances. The new man had a + travelling look about him, but he didn't look like a tinker.

+ +

Later that night, after the men had come home and eaten a heroic + meal, she and Ian had sat at the table while he worked on the model + ship he was building out of matchsticks, a labour of love that + promised to keep him occupied right through the long dark nights + until the end of winter when the ground would be soft enough to + work. Jean was writing in her book.

+ +

New man started today. Big as a Clydesdale ploughhorse and + with the looks of an Italian or maybe a Polish soldier. Says his + name is Leslie, Leslie Joyce. Says he's from around these parts + from way back. Looks strong enough for carting the potatoes and + that should give Ian a fair hand and good for his back too. He + won't go down to the doctor about it no matter how much I go on + about it. Made five pounds of butter today and got six full jars of + honey. Best collection yet, and not one sting this time. As ever, I + couldn't help licking my fingers for the taste of heather.

+ +

She looked over at her husband, swinging her eyes from the one + black-bound book to the next one, opened beside it. "You're a week + early with the potatoes this year compared to last." she told her + husband who was gingerly gluing a spar to a curved rib of the + old-fashioned ketch. "And I'm a week ahead with the honey too."

+ +

"It's the heat since the start of summer. It's lasted a while. + After the good rains in the late spring. Always gets things of to a + fine start. A lucky year for us."

+ +

Ian says it's a lucky year, she wrote down. We've + had our share of them, in between the bad ones.

+ +

She smiled at him though he never saw it, his red dome bent to + the delicate task, thick gnarled farmer's fingers surprisingly + agile, delicately gentle and Jean knew just how gentle he could be. + It was safe enough to write some things down in her diaries. Now + and again, she'd read him a piece out loud, an entry from previous + years, making him grin with the accounts of young Ian's first + tottering steps, or bringing the hint of a lump to his throat when + she showed the dried wild rose she'd pressed between the pages, a + small gift brought back from a foray down the valley to the + Barwoods to round up the strays. But he would never read her diary, + never go looking in her private place. That was hers.

+ +

Outside in the yard, the terriers barked. The bothy door closed + with a dull thud and the dogs went silent again. Leslie Joyce (if + that was his name) must have got up and gone to the outhouse.

+ +

The noise interrupted her train of thought. Where had she + been?

+ +

Back ten years ago to the day she had pressed the rose in the + book, a delicate pink with a powerful wild fragrance, a token, + plucked in the passing, but a treasure for he'd brought it home for + her. Another lucky year, just like this one. She wrote that thought + down, savouring it and the memory it brought back, wondering what + she'd think in ten years time, God sparing.

+ +

Out in the bothy, the free-standing stone shelter that served as + a bunkhouse for the labourers, the man with the tattoos and the + black eyes lay stretched out on the bed. The dogs had surprised him + when he'd walked silently across the yard and leaned in at the + corner to peer in the kitchen window, but no-one had come to the + door. In the house the old woman was writing in a book and the + farmer was bending over something on the table. The tall man turned + away when the dogs started their yapping, high pitched chiding and + he'd stared down at them. Without a word he moved soundlessly + across the dry earth and cobbles of the yard and let the door + spring back. It took forty steps from the window to the bothy and + he counted them all, just in case he needed to know the paces. + Overhead, the moon showed a sliver of silver in a velvet sky. In + the dark of the bunkhouse he lay down on the straw mattress and put + his hands behind his head, staring into the dark.

+ +

The dogs stopped barking and settled down at the front door.

+ +

The man with the tattoos lay silent but inside his mind, the + thoughts were hot and dark and filled with memories.

+ +

After a while, in his thoughts, he heard the high-pitched voice + and the steady drone and he knew it would not be long + before....

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/019.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/019.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8149a6f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/019.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,546 @@ + + + + + + 19 + + + + +
+
+

19

+ +

July: Blackwood Farm.

+ +

Ian's gone and twisted his back again but he won't go to the + doctor while there's a field yet to be cleared.

+ +

Jean McColl's script was clean and rounded and she had an + artistic swoop on the tails of letters below the feint lines. + Thirty years and more had aged the ink from a dark to a faded blue, + but they had not diluted the fresh quality of the farmer's wife's + account:

+ +

"He'll come in for his tea with a hand behind his back and his + neck all red from bending away from it, just like last year and + he'll say it's just stiff from sitting up on the tractor. God love + him. He doesn't want me to worry and yet he'll never take a word of + advice. I know where young Ian gets his stubborn streak. The new + hand, Joyce, is working well enough though he hardly says a word + and doesn't come in for his dinner, but takes it to the shed. They + moved nearly ten tons of early Pentlands from of south field, + though Ian thinks there's a chance of wireworm in the late crop + since it's just been turned this year from old pasture.

+ +

Two tinkers have a tent down by the road and they're to get + staying for a day or so while they sharpen the scythes and do a bit + of fencing, but Ian says they look a bit shifty for his liking and + that's why they're not staying in the outhouse with the new man. + Must get the shutter fixed. I thought I saw something moving in the + yard and it could have been my imagination but the labourer's a bit + of an odd one, though he can dig potatoes. A letter from young Ian + today, saying his barley harvest will keep him busy for the next + few weeks, but he says he'll be coming to visit at the end of + August. I wish he'd bring me news of a different kind of crop, but + I'm supposed to be patient.

+ +

The cats have laid out four rats in a row behind the hayrick, as + if they expect applause for doing their job. The owl in the barn + took a weasel right on the path and that's one less to be in after + the chickens. Morag's been lying in the sun behind the byre. I + don't see her making another winter, poor old soul, so we'd better + start training another collie soon for next year's rounding.

+ +

Picked peas today and shelled them all afternoon. I'll be seeing + them in my sleep. There was a Flanders poppy growing in amongst + them, a big scarlet flower standing above the pods. Inside it was + the most delicate purple. Shame to pick it, but they only last a + day. I wore a dress that shade of purple to the harvest dance the + year I got engaged. Ian Blackwood looked me up and down as if I was + royalty. I could have cried when I picked it, but it was lovely + just remembering. Better look out the liniment for his back.

+ +

The Flanders poppy, each petal wide and veined like a + butterfly's wings, was pressed flat between the leaves of the book. + The red had turned to a deep brown. Beside it, just below the + script, done in pencil, was a small sketch of a barn own, wings + raised, legs outstretched beyond the heart-shaped head, talons + spread wide. The weasel was in the act of turning, a slender and + sinuous shape on a stony farm track. Both had been drawn by a deft + and confident hand, a thumbnail etching of a small death at + Blackwood Farm on a summer's day. All of the years since it was + drawn had not diminished the action or the finality of the + swoop.

+
+

He had watched the woman. She had looked at him with her + bird-quick eyes, and the pounding had started again in his + head.

+ +

It had been hard work, trailing behind the rake spines of the + tractor, hooking the potatoes out of the ground with the wide-blade + fork, bending and lifting, exposing the white, almost skinless crop + like lizard's eggs, to the light of day. It had been hot and + sweaty, just him and the farmer out in the field, bending and + lifting, then stacking the sacks on the trailer. They'd had a break + at mid-morning, just enough time for a cup of tea from the flask, + then back to work. Just after noon, they'd stopped again. Blackwood + had turned the tractor around and they'd come trundling back to the + farm to stack the sacks.

+ +

He had been here for three days, and he'd been watching them. + The light stayed in the sky until late, darkening it down to a + gloaming purple that hid movement. Through the narrow window, she'd + be writing in her book and he would be hunched over his model boat, + both of them, hardly saying a word, as if they knew that the shadow + of death was upon them.

+ +

He could stand still, motionless so that the dogs stayed quiet + and didn't start up their racketing as they had the first night. In + the dark, he'd be invisible. The light inside would reflect back + from the glass, making out opaque. He could stand here and he could + watch and wait.

+ +

The shadow was on them. The shadow of the valley...

+ +

When they came back from the field, the woman had left his meal + on the barrel out by the door of the outhouse, a tray covered by a + white linen cloth to keep the flies away. She had invited him + inside to eat with them, but he wanted to eat alone, so she just + left it for him. Strong cheese, light crusted bread and translucent + strips of cured ham. A side dish of lettuce and spring onions and + green tomato chutney. A ploughman's lunch.

+ +

He ate in silence, chewing carefully and washing every mouthful + down with a drink of thick, warm milk from the jug. The light + slanted through the old shutters of the shed where he sat on the + low bunk. It formed brilliant chevrons against the wall.

+ +

He blinked against the glare, chewing. The light was in his eyes + and he felt the pressure build.

+ +

She came out of the kitchen and into the yard lugging a steaming + kettle which she placed on the ground beside a tin basin. The + farmer followed her, patting his belly and then arching his back as + if he wanted to stretch the kinks and knots away. From the shadow + in the bunkhouse he saw them caught in the light. Their shadows + puddled on the cobbles where two cats snoozed. Around them, he + could see the dark aura that told him the shadow of death was on + them. It was close at hand. He could sense it pressing in. The time + was nearing.

+ +

The farmer went towards his tractor, heavy boots crunching on + the slabs. The woman moved to the chicken coop. He could hear the + rattle of the wire-mesh door and the cluck and flutter of the hens + as she went among them. The smells of the farm came thick on the + air. Beyond the coop, the manure heap, enclosed by walls of stone, + angled away from the small byre, empty for now, but crowded with + the half-dozen milking cows at four o'clock when they'd come + shambling in from the pasture. Swallows came flicking in and out, + red and blue streaks on the summer air. Overhead, squadrons of + swifts wheeled and squealed. A mouse, or maybe a rat, rustled and + scurried in the next-door tack room where the old bridles and + harnesses lay in a heap or hung from rusted nails.

+ +

She came back, walking quickly, almost bird-like, holding a + white chicken by the feet. It fluttered and flapped in a panic as + she crossed the yard to the block. Without any hesitation she laid + the chicken across it, pressing down so that it's head was over the + edge of the block. She jiggled the hand-axe until the blade popped + free of the wood, swung it up and then down. The chicken's wings + whirred in a sudden spasm as blood spurted from the neck. The head + spun away to land close to the door of the outhouse. Its yellow eye + stared up into the dark of the doorway.

+ +

The smell of hot blood came wafting up.

+ +

The sunlight glared from the whitewashed walls of the kitchen. + The light was in his eyes and he could see the shadow on the woman. + He could hear the approach of the wings. There was a buzzing as + flies circled the chicken's severed head. His eyes started to + blink.

+
+

It was as she expected. Ian had come in with a hand pressed to + the small of his back but it hadn't dented his appetite. He'd left + only one slice of the ham and two thick wads of bread, wolfing the + rest with relish. She'd had some soup and a cup of tea and little + else, not wanting to spoil her own appetite for dinner. Ian had + been pleased about the crop which would be in at the end of the + week and down to the co-op store. She said she'd kill a chicken for + dinner and he'd nodded cheerfully.

+ +

"Make it a big one," he'd said, giving her a squeeze as she + passed him on the way out with the freshly boiled kettle. "We'll be + starving when we get back."

+ +

The chicken's head flew away and after the flurry of spastic + wingbeats, the bird went still but for the slow clenching of the + scaly feet into right talon-fists. Ian was over at the tractor, + while she poured the boiling water over the carcass to loosen the + feathers and damp them down. As she stood up, she had the strange + sensation of being watched, but when she raised her eyes there was + no-one there. Against the whitewash glare, the outhouse door was a + black oval, like a bottomless hole.

+ +

Jeannie McColl plucked the chicken with deft, sure twists of her + nimble hands, working from tail to neck. The axe lopped off the + ends of the wings and within minutes the bird was bare and pimpled, + steaming slightly as it gave up its heat. She slung the sodden + feathers onto the dung-heap and took the chicken back to the + kitchen. At the sink, she ran the water and opened the bird, + watching the drain darken in a spiral as the blood flowed away.

+ +

She bent to the task. Already the leeks and carrots were lined + up waiting to be cleaned and chopped and if she got the bird into + the oven early, letting it cook in its own juices for a few hours, + she'd manage to get the washing out and dried. It was still soaking + in the stone tub in the washhouse where a trickle of smoke curled + out of the boiler chimney.

+ +

The man they'd accepted as Les Joyce came walking out through + the black hole of the doorway. The movement caught her eye and she + looked up. He took two steps out and stopped, with his head cocked + to one side. His eyebrows went up as if he was considering + something. She saw his lips move and then the eyes blinked, twice, + three times, very fast, screwed all the way closed as if he'd + bitten into a bitter gooseberry.

+ +

Outside the cockerel crowed again and its rival challenged from + the other side of the yard.

+ +

The man stopped and blinked some more, then he bent slowly and + picked up the chicken head. He held it up, turning it in his hands + as if he'd found something of great interest. A drop of blood fell + to the cobble, leaving a stain that looked black on the stone.

+ +

Ian called from across the way, but the man seemed not to have + heard. He had taken off his shirt and she could see the tattoo high + on his arm, dark against smooth, lightly tanned skin. His lower + arms were matted with hair. He stood up straight, tall and spare, + his hair glistening so black it was almost blue. Ian called out + again. The man turned and went back to the doorway. He raised the + chicken head up to head height, holding the door steady with one + hand while he scraped the severed neck across the paint-peeled + wood.

+ +

Jean leaned forward, perplexed, leaving her own bloody + hand-print on the window-sill.

+ +

The man repeated the motion twice and then he daubed the + bloodied neck on the doorposts and on the wooden lintel above it. + When he finished, he casually threw the chicken head over his + shoulder. It bounced and skittered against an old trough. + Immediately a twisting whirl of flies danced over it. The door of + the outhouse closed and she saw what he'd done.

+ +

A dark red cross was slashed on the wood. Some of the blood was + running in small dribbles, but the cross itself was plain enough. + On either side and above it, splashes stained the grey wood.

+ +

The man with the tattoos turned slowly and walked in front of + the byre. He reached the chopping block and stood there as if + listening for something, head twisted, straining to hear. His hand + reached out and worked the axe out of the wood again.

+ +

A cold sensation twisted in the pit of her stomach. She raised + her hand further and pulled back the net curtain, leaving another + stain. She leaned towards the window, craning to the left. Ian + walked into view. He was saying something and wiping at his head + with his handkerchief.

+ +

The man swayed backwards and his eyes twitched again. Ian leaned + towards him. The axe came free. Ian turned towards the motion and + the sucking sound of metal pulling from wood.

+ +

Jean called out, no words, just an inarticulate cry. Fear + suddenly pulsed within her.

+ +

The man spun quickly, bringing the axe up and then down in a + fast arc. Ian jerked away from it. The blade came down and caught + him hard on the left shoulder.

+ +

"Oh," he said. He sagged to the left, head following the motion. + His handkerchief fluttered to the ground.

+ +

The tall man stood blinking, face expressionless. Her husband + spun away and went down on one knee. For an instant she thought the + blade had missed him, that the man had only hit him with the wooden + haft of the kindling axe. Ian turned and she saw the look of + surprise on his face. His hat rolled from his bib pocket and down + onto the cobbles. His arm was twisted at a strange angle and the + fingers were twitching with a life of their own.

+ +

The big man took a step forward, flattening the white flutter of + cloth into the muck. Ian lifted his head up and his mouth formed a + perfect circle. The blood seemed to drain away from his red face. + Joyce looked at him, bending forward from the waist, like a + gardener inspecting a rose.

+ +

In the kitchen, Jean tried to call out again but the words + wouldn't come. Over on the far side, against the wall of the byre, + the cat sensed violence and slunk away. Ian let out a moan or a + groan, loud enough to carry over to the kitchen. It was a dreadful + sound of shock and gathering pain.

+ +

Joyce straightened up, twisted again and brought the hatchet + down on Ian's other shoulder. Her husband cried out, a horrible + animal bellow. Blood did not spurt. It simply washed down the front + of his shirt in an instant flood, turning the blue chambray to a + silky black.

+ +

A wave of sick dizziness engulfed her and she felt herself sag + back from the window. The net curtain ripped at the corner under + her weight. The dizziness passed over her. Her eyes opened and + without warning she was sick. It came blurting up, hot and acid, + only tea and the crumbs of a scone, some barley soup. It spat onto + the surface beside the sink.

+ +

Ian was down on the ground. He toppled forward and one hand went + out to stop himself falling, but there was no strength in the arm + and it gave way under him. He twisted and fell hard, rolling over + on to his back. He groaned, like an animal. His momentum carried + him round and he got slowly to one knee, moving as if through + treacle. The back of his shirt was soaked right down to where it + was tucked into his bib-overalls. His head was angled to the side + and she could see the sun glisten silver on the stubble of his + cheek. The left arm was still jittering as if it wanted to fly + away, but his shoulder was impossibly slumped and the stream of + blood was right down the length of his sleeve to where it was + rolled up at the elbow. Dark drops went splashing off to the + ground. Ian got one foot under him, managed to push himself up onto + one knee. Joyce took three steps back and watched him, blinking + fast. Ian looked up, his face twisted in agony and shock, eyes wide + and unbelieving.

+ +

Jean's sick paralysis broke. She turned away from the window, + hauling for breath. Outside the cockerel crowed again. She went + round in a complete circle, banged her hip against the heavy table. + For a second she did not know what she was doing, and then her eyes + lit on the blackened poker leaning against the oven. She bent and + grabbed it, got her other hand to the warm metal handle and ran for + the door.

+ +

Out in the sunlight the air was thick with the metallic scent of + blood, but it smelled different from the thin chicken's blood on + the worn stones. This was human blood, her husband's blood.

+ +

"No Jean," she heard him cry, though the words were + hardly intelligible. They came out in a slobber and she saw a + bubble of blood froth up. Joyce waded back in again and hit him on + the jaw. For some reason the blade twisted and the axe hit flat-on + with a hard clank.

+ +

This time Ian screamed. There was no other way to describe it. + There were no words, just a high bleat of sound, like the pigs in + the slaughter pen. His jaw fell to the side and another bubble of + blood burst between his wide open sagging lips.

+ +

The dizziness threatened to come and carry her away, a dreadful + rolling dark wave that made her knees want to buckle. She staggered + forward and raised the poker. Ian's eyes opened wide. She could see + the enormous chasms the axe had ploughed on either side of his + neck, making both shoulders slump downwards. The blood pulsed up + and out at the turned-down collar of his shirt. She went stumbling + forward, gathering all of her strength.

+ +

A black and white streak flicked in front of her. She had heard + it first, although in her horror and fear the sound had not managed + to get through to her consciousness.

+ +

Morag leapt up, growling in fury. Her jaws opened and snapped + shut on the man's upraised arm. Joyce was a big man and Morag, ten + years old that summer, was an old dog, but he was taken by surprise + and the weight of her charge throw him off balance. The collie + snarled and sank her teeth in. Joyce grunted, but it was a grunt of + effort, not of pain. He dropped the axe.

+ +

Jean did not stop, she ran straight in and swung the poker at + the man's head. It missed but it slammed against his shoulder with + enough force to send such a jarring vibration up her arm that the + metal rod flew out of her hands and landed with a clatter in the + yard. Joyce didn't so much as look at her. He turned again, grabbed + the collie by the neck and dragged it off his arm.

+ +

Morag snarled. He didn't seem to notice. He pivoted on his foot + and threw the dog down. Jean bent to pick up the axe, got her + fingers around it and spun round. She swung it, even harder than + she had swung the poker. Trying to crash the blade right into + Joyce's blinking eyes.

+ +

The man's hand reached up and stopped the axe in mid thrust. + With a simple twist of his wrist, he snatched it from her.

+ +

"The gun, Jeannie," Ian managed to blurt. "For pity's sake, get + the gun. Save yourself.

+ +

Morag came streaking in again, lips drawn back in a ferocious + snarl. Joyce whipped the axe down and split her skull. The old dog + dropped like a stone and flopped to the cobbles.

+ +

"Oh," Ian said again, in a sick expulsion of air.

+ +

Joyce walked towards him and Ian's eyes widened. Blood dripped + from the hatchet. Jean tried to cry out but no sound came.

+ +

"Gun," her husband muttered, still thinking of her, even in the + extremity.

+ +

She turned, apron flapping, skittered into the kitchen. She + bolted through, feet pattering on the hard slate floor and into the + hallway. The gun-rack stood against the door. She opened it and + grabbed the double-barrelled twelve-bore, pulled it away from the + wood panel at the back of the rack. She stopped dead.

+ +

The chain pulled taut on the trigger guard. The gun was + padlocked in the rack beside its neighbour, an ancient Spanish + birdgun that Ian had inherited from his father. He'd always kept it + locked, since their son had been small, just in case of accidents, + just in case young Ian wanted to play with the guns. It had become + a habit.

+ +

The nausea came looping again. A slimy spittle coughed form her + mouth and stained the wood. The chain rattled but it would not come + loose.

+ +

Find the key. Find the key. It was on Ian's chain. It + would be in his pocket!

+ +

Jacket or trousers? She scampered back to the kitchen. His + jacket was on the back of the chair. She grabbed it, shaking it for + the sound of jangling keys. A boiled mint sweet rolled out and onto + the floor. The keys were not there.

+ +

Must be in his overalls. The realisation came in a + shiver of cold.

+ +

She groped her way to the window again and brushed the curtain + back slowly, suddenly absolutely terrified for her own life. She + might yet get the keys. She could get them and get the gun and + shoot him and get Ian on to the tractor and down to the hospital at + Lochend. She stood on tiptoe and peered out.

+ +

Joyce was walking towards the byre, his whole body leaning + forward. If she could get the gun, she'd shoot him in the back. He + wouldn't even see her.

+ +

Joyce walked further, coming fully into view. He was dragging + Ian by the foot. Her husband's shoe had come off and his sock had + rolled down. The friction of the ground had pulled his overalls + back and several inches of white leg showed. The man was dragging + him along, leaving a slick trail of blood on the cobbles. Two of + the terriers who had been exploring at the rabbit warren down by + the coppice came snuffling into the yard. They reached the trail of + blood and bent to sniff it. They whined, confused. Joyce did not + stop. He dragged Ian McColl into the byre. Jean watched, listening + to the dreadful scrape of wet material against the ground. Her + husband's head bumped against the low step and he made a low + sound.

+ +

He was still alive.

+ +

His red head disappeared into the shadow and that was the last + she saw of him.

+ +

Jean stood frozen, unable to comprehend what had happened. The + dizziness rolled inside her again and her vision faded once more. + She held tight to the sink, gasping for breath and in a moment her + lungs were pistoning uncontrollably in a sudden spasm of + hyperventilation. She fell over the old sink, feeling the edge + press against her chest, and the spasm passed.

+ +

The gun. She could get it now. Joyce was in the byre. She forced + herself to move, got away from the sink and made it to the door. + The axe was lying in the middle of the yard. She darted out into + the bright day, bent and snatched it up. Her husband's blood + trickled down the handle. Her feet were in a puddle of it but she + couldn't think about that now. She knew he was alive. He'd be in + dreadful pain, and he had lost so much blood, but he could still + make it. She could still make him live if she could get the + gun.

+ +

The scraping, dragging sound echoed out from the byre. She + squirmed from it and backed into the kitchen, following her route + again. She got to the gun cabinet and saw the black barrels of the + twelve-bore leaning outwards. Without hesitation she chopped at the + chain, trying to hit it against the heavy oak shelf. Wood + splintered. Twice the axe bit into the base of the rack and she had + to jack it back and forth, making it squeal to release it again. + She swung hard, managing to bite down on the chain, but there was + no effect. The force of the blow merely pressed the steel links + into the wood.

+ +

Sobbing sore, she tried again and again, swinging the hatchet + down as hard as she could.

+ +

Out in the yard, the terriers set up a frenzied yapping. Jean + stopped swinging the axe and looked out through the front door. + Joyce was walking fast, coming diagonally from the barn to the + house, heading straight for her. In his hands he swung the old + chopping axe, the one Ian used for the winter logs. Even in the + height of her terror and desperation she realised she would have no + chance against it. Instinctively she slammed the door and hit the + deadlock snib. Both shotguns were now leaning out from the rack, + black and deadly and completely useless. She ran down the hall, + went through to the living room, changed her mind and came back + again. A shadow loomed at the door, wavering at the other side of + the frosted glass and then the whole pane crashed inwards. The + man's hand came through, reaching for the Yale handle and found it + snibbed shut. She didn't wait, but dashed back to the kitchen, + right through to the back room and straight up the wooden + stairs.

+ +

A ferocious crash followed her, followed by the hard slam of the + front door against the wall. Jean didn't stop. She got through the + bedroom and into her work room, where her ironing board and sewing + machine were laid out almost side by side, close to the old radio + beside the rocking chair where she used to sit and crochet while + listening to the evening plays. The door had a heavy iron latch + which she clicked home. In here, with the shutters closed, it was + dark and warm. A chink of bright sunlight knifed through a crack in + the old wood and slipped a blade of silver across the room. Dust + motes danced in the light.

+ +

The muffled thud of the axe came pounding up from the hallway + and she shivered. He would kill her. He had killed her husband + without a thought, chopped him down like an animal. Her jittering + mind screened a picture of Ian trying to get to his feet with both + shoulders horribly slumped away from his neck and the sheen of + blood silken on his shirt.

+ +

Down there, beyond the workroom door, beyond the bedroom and + down the stairs, the crashing noise came again. Once, twice, then + another two thuds. There was a silence that stretched for a long + time. She cold hear her heart beating fast against her ribs and + both her hands fluttered uncontrollably. She moved unsteadily to + the window, trying to slow her breathing, to make it be quiet. On + the dresser, sliced by the blade of light, her diary lay angled + towards her.

+ +

She moved towards it and right at that moment a thunderous roar + shook the walls. Joyce had the guns. He had got them out of the + cabinet.

+ +

In that moment, she knew she was dead. He was going to kill her. + She could not get away.

+ +

Jean McColl slowly reached for the book and slid it towards her. + Out in the byre, Ian let out a loud and shuddering cry and her + heart almost broke in two.

+ +

Down in the hallway, she could hear Joyce walking about, his + feet crunching on the glass where the window had caved in. He would + come looking for her, that she knew. There was no escape for her. + Ian groaned again and she tried not to listen to it. She prayed + with all her heart for it to be quick and then she sat in the + corner and made her hand be steady.

+ +

She began to write quickly in her book.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/020.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/020.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0d58bc --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/020.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,715 @@ + + + + + + 20 + + + + +
+
+

20

+ +

August 2. 11.30am.

+ +

"It's like the moon," Tom whispered. The breeze over the high + ridge of the moor snatched his awe-struck words and carried them + away. The others stood on the long edge of tussock grass looking + down at the wide and barren basin of the heathland that seemed to + stretch to the horizon. It was pock-marked and pitted with craters + that really did give it a blasted lunar aspect. The black water in + the depressions, each one ringed by a tumulus of heaved-up earth, + made the craters seem like bottomless pits.

+ +

"Christ on a bike," Billy said, his voice reduced to a + marvelling whisper. He stood up on a thick mound of peat and + scanned left and right. "It goes on forever."

+ +

It was the eeriest, most spectacular sight any of them had ever + seen. The basin of the moor swept down from where they stood on the + rim. Fifty yards away, a rusted chain-link fence suspended betwen + concrete posts that angled over, listing like wounded sentries, + caught the wind and made it moan, adding to the sense of desolation + and old destruction.

+ +

Far across the moor, maybe a mile off, but probably more, only + the roofs of a clutter of shacks and shanties were visible beyond a + lower ridge.

+ +

It had been further than they had thought, at least five miles + up into the hills from the camp. They'd walked since early morning + after a breakfast of cornflakes and slices of bread toasted black + over the flames. Doug had woken first and had disturbed them all in + his scramble to get out of the tent, twanging the guy ropes and + almost collapsing the canvas on top of the others.

+ +

The fire had still been smouldering and it only took a handful + of dry bracken and twigs to get the flames flickering and in no + time at all the pinewood was crackling hot. They huddled around the + campfire in the cool of the morning, drawing the heat into + themselves and watching the magic transformation as the rising sun + began to burn a fine valley mist away.

+ +

"We heard something last night," Corky said. "Sounded like + somebody walking."

+ +

"It was like the sound you get if you walk over a racine rat's + burrow," Danny confirmed although he hadn't actually heard that. + Billy grinned.

+ +

"Oh, I'm really scared. Terrified even. You should have woke me + up so I could have trembled all night."

+ +

"You were scared enough in the dark," Doug derided.

+ +

"It's true." Corky insisted. "Probably a cow, though. Just as + long as it doesn't barge intp the tent when we're sleeping. We'd be + flat as pancakes in the morning."

+ +

"Maybe it wasn't a cow," Tom said, still shivering in the cool + of the morning. "I told you I saw a man when we were collecting + firewood. I think there was somebody watching us."

+ +

"Bunch of pussies," Billy said. He went down to the stream with + his mug and threw the dregs of his tea out into the stream. He + turned and was about to come back up to the campfire when he + stopped so suddenly that Doug and Danny noticed immediately. They + asked him what was wrong. Billy crouched down and the others came + sauntering over to the stream, expecting some silly joke.

+ +

"Was this here last night?" Billy asked. He was hunkered on the + gravel, inspecting a wide footprint impressed deep into the + surface. They could see the clear zigzag of heavy duty cleats. Doug + bent down beside him.

+ +

"I don't think so. I think we would have noticed."

+ +

"Somebody's playing silly baskits," Billy said. He stood up and + then stamped his foot down beside the print. His own baseball boot + made only a slight indentation, hardly two thirds the size of the + original print.

+ +

"Can't be us," Corky said. "You've got the biggest feet. And + it's nowhere near that size."

+ +

"Did you draw this?" Billy asked Danny. "Did you fool around + here and make this look like a footprint?"

+ +

"Don't be daft. It's the real thing." Danny came down the bank + and got down on his knees. "But it looks old to me. Nobody's been + up here in a long time, and it hasn't rained in a while. It's + probably been there for weeks. Your boot hardly made a mark and + this one's pretty deep. It must have been here before we came."

+ +

Danny wasn't sure of that, but he preferred to believe it, and + the shale was hard-packed and fairly dry. The print could have been + there a long time, since the last time it rained, sometime back in + July. He didn't want to think of anybody passing through their camp + in the middle of the night. He remembered Corky poking his head out + of the flap. There had been a sound, a hollow thud.

+ +

And then a branch had snapped.

+ +

If it had been somebody, they wouldn't have made so much noise, + Danny told himself, rationalising it out. It must have been a cow + wandering among the trees.

+ +

"Yea, that's days old," he said, now near enough convinced. + "Weeks even. There's nobody around here. Nobody daft enough to come + all this way up the hill."

+ +

But Tom and Doug seemed less convinced. They were looking round + warily, scanning the trees. Nothing moved. Far off in the distance, + way down the valley where they knew Blackwood Farm was, a cockerel + welcomed the day. Danny flapped his elbows and did a little strut, + coaxing a grin from Doug and they all sat down again. They waited + by the fire, toasting more bread on the ends of their sticks while + they finished their tea, and then they started off on the trek. + They followed the Blackwood Stream ever upwards, over narrow falls + and through narrower gorges, up onto the high moor where the water + cut its way through deep peat deposits and sometimes disappeared + altogether under the thick cover of purple heather. Up at this + height, the air was colder and a wind blew in from the west so that + when they stopped walking, it dried their sweat on their backs and + despite the power of the sun in a clear blue sky, it made them + shiver.

+ +

The stream had become a rivulet, dwindled to a trickle and then + they were beyond it, right at the source, into the damp bog + draining the high moor where the clumps of sphagnum moss sank under + their feet in soft sponges of marsh. Clusters of papery reed-moths + flew up with every step and marshy gas bubbles gurgled and burst in + stenchy little explosions. It had been slow going here, crossing + the boggy land, sometimes sinking up to their knees and sometimes + further than that in the stagnant pools where the mud was oozing + and liquid. Corky told them he'd read in National Geographic, of a + man's body found in a bog, preserved by the peat for thousands of + years, still with the hair on his head and the leather tunic on his + back.

+ +

"That's what the smell is," Billy said. "It would make you + puke."

+ +

"You think there's bodies here?" Doug asked. Corky nodded.

+ +

"Sure. Dozens of them. They used to have battles up here. + William Wallace and Rob Roy McGregor. All the clans in their kilts + and claymores.

+ +

"Isn't that a land mine?" Billy wanted to know. "A + claymore?"

+ +

"No, it's a sword," Corky explained patiently. "Used to hack + each other to pieces. We're probably walking over the skeletons + right now. They'll be lying down there all rotted and grunged up + like something out of the Twilight Zone." He twisted his face into + an approximation of a skeleton and curled his fingers into hooks. + It looked not unlike Dougie's imitation of the creature from the + Black Lagoon on the day they'd first thought of the expedition to + find the Dummy Village.

+ +

Tom hauled himself out of a sinking hole and clambered onto a + grassy mound that could take his weight. He had taken off his + canvas shoes and had them hanging by the laces round his neck. + "That's horrible," he said. "What if we stand on one?"

+ +

"It'll probably bite your toe off." Corky said matter of factly. + Tom stayed up on the tussock, wobbling for balance, arms + outstretched.

+ +

"Then spit it out again when it finds out its your stinky ol' + foot," Doug chipped in, grinning his big-toothed smile, but careful + to avoid placing his own feet in the muddy holes. They seemed to go + down forever and up at this height, they probably sank for thirty + feet.

+ +

Tom leapt from the mound to another, nimbly landing and swaying + for balance as it shuddered under his feet. He jumped to the next, + lost his footing and fell to the third one, landing on his belly. + Billy dipped, quick as a cat, snatched a wet handful of moss and + mud in his hand, then grabbed Tom's ankle. The small boy felt the + cold, clammy grip and let out a howl of fright. He kicked + backwards, landing his foot in the pit of Billy's belly. Billy + gasped and stumbled backwards, stepped into a dip and his foot went + right through the mossy covering into a slick swampy hole. His foot + snagged on a buried root and for a moment he imagined bony fingers + clawing on to his ankle. Without any hesitation at all, he + heaved himself right out again before he fell on his face.

+ +

"I'll get you for that," he bawled hoarsely at Tom who had + rolled over the mound and reached a thin strip of firmer + ground.

+ +

"You and whose army?" Tom called back. Billy lumbered after him + but for once the small boy had the weight advantage. Billy's feet + kept sinking below the surface matting and all around him the + floating marsh wobbled and shivered in his wake. The legs of his + jeans were black with peaty mud.

+ +

"The creature from the black lagoon," Doug jeered. "Except + uglier. And fatter."

+ +

"Piss off Nicol," Billy rasped. He clambered awkwardly over a + mound of moss. "I'll get that little shit." He reached under his + tee-shirt and pulled the pistol from his waist band.

+ +

Tom had made it to the solid ground and was fifty yards away + while Billy was still floundering. The rest of them laughed at the + blundering pursuit, and that only made Billy angrier. He struggled + out of the marsh, breathing heavily and stopped to get his wind. + Tom was half-way up the slope towards the ridge jumping up and + down, taunting. His high voice carried down the hill. Billy raised + the airgun and cocked the spring. He took aim.

+ +

"Christ Billy, don't..." Doug started to protest. Billy fired + but Tom was too far away and the pellet travelled only forty yards + before hitting the ground. Tom jumped up and down, jeering, and the + others laughed raucously. By the time they reached the top of the + ridge, Billy's quick anger had evaporated and his jeans were almost + dry, though now caked with the black mud.

+ +

They stopped there, and below them the heathery lip of the wide + depression, the pocked moonscape stretched out towards the low + horizon in a swathe of broken landscape.

+ +

"We found it," Corky said. He pointed across the wide basin. + "The Dummy Village." The way he said it gave the words capitals. "I + never really believed it was there. I thought it was just a story + somebody made up."

+ +

"I always knew," Billy said.

+ +

"You always would," Doug observed drily.

+ +

The craters dotted the whole of the plain, some of them solitary + and isolated and others so closely packed that their embankments + merged and gave them different shapes. The larger ones were deep + and dark while those on the slope nearest them seemed shallower, as + if the earth itself hadn't been deep enough. These were fringed in + dark green reeds and choked with duckweed and algae. They stretched + northward as far as the eye could see.

+ +

"The plan must have worked," Billy said. "Look at all those bomb + holes. Must have dropped thousands of them up here. Millions. Bet + the old Jerries were sick as pigs when they heard they'd all missed + their targets." He put two fingers across his lip and made a mock + nazi salute. "Shweinhund dirty Brittischers" he screeched + in a commando comic German accent, making them all laugh.

+ +

He held his stick up like a rifle and aimed it at the sky, + making hawking sounds at the back of his throat as if he was firing + a machine gun. "They should have had anti-aircraft guns up here to + blast them when came. That would have been great fun. You couldn't + have missed from up here."

+ +

"I wouldn't like to have been here when they were dropping all + that," Doug said. "You'd have been blown to pieces."

+ +

"I didn't think it really existed," Corky said, wonderingly. + "Honestly I didn't. Not really. I thought it was just a + story." Danny nodded in agreement and wonderment. He hadn't truly + believed in the Dummy Village, but he'd wanted to believe. + It was part of the schoolyard legends, like old Miss Dorrian who'd + died of a stroke in Castlebank Primary school and now walked the + empty corridors at night. It was like the tales of Cairn House, the + oldest building in town, where a girl had once seen a white and + bloodless face floating outside the window twenty feet above the + ground, and where Mole Hopkirk had been found with the nails still + growing on his dead fingers. The Dummy Village had as much + substance as the three little girls who'd been playing skipping + ropes and were killed down on Crossburn Street before the war when + a cart horse had bolted and the overturned flatbed had crushed them + against the wall. People said that when the mist came off the + swampy lowland of the Rough Drain on Halloween night, you could + hear them chanting their schoolyard rhymes as they skipped on + through the night.

+ +

The Dummy Village, the decoy target for the wartime bombers had + not been truly real, though it should have been. Now it + was indeed real. They had trudged up the length of the Blackwood + Stream, right up to its marshy source and clambered through the + swamp of the bog and in the heat of the sun they'd slogged up the + hill to a ridge miles from the town where the air was clear and + there was no sound but the mewling of lapwings and the warbling + song of lark rising into the blue.

+ +

It was here. A dilapidated Shangri-la on the far side + of the low ridge in a wild moonscape.

+ +

"And we're the first," Danny said. " Nobody's ever been here + before. Maybe not since the war."

+ +

Far overhead, a buzzard wheeled on broad wings, circling on the + clear air. Its plaintive cry came down from the height.

+ +

And the boys started walking down the hill, towards the craters + and the clutter of buildings.

+ +

Before the first of the pot-holes, the chain-link fence, red + with rust at the places where the concrete stanchions stood upright + caught the wind and moaned muted protest. At other places, the + poles had sunk or listed into the peat and the wire was ripped and + jagged, some of it flat on the ground with thick grass stalks + growing through. On the periphery, tangles of stinging nettles + swayed in the breeze. A square metal signpost with its sign + obliterated by rust hung from a pillar, pock-marked with bullet + holes that Billy claimed was from a soldier's Lee Enfield but which + looked just like straight .22 shot to the others. Further along, + once they had clambered through the defunct barrier, Tom found + another sign, this one angled into the ground. Wind and rain had + peeled back the paint on the side which had braved the elements, + while a triangle of dirty red corrosion showed where it had been + angled under the turf. The red mark eliminated the first letter of + the warning.

+ +

ANGER!

+ +

the rest of the word warned. For some reason it seemed apt up + here in this forgotten monument to the fury. Danny felt that shiver + of foreboding again, although they could all fill in the missing + letter.

+ +

"What do you think the danger is?" Tom asked.

+ +

"It's been up here since the war," Billy said. "It was the bombs + coming down. It was to let everybody to know that if they stayed + here they'd get bombed to pieces. Simple."

+ +

"I think it's the craters, telling people to stay away from + them," Doug said. "Some of them must be pretty deep. If you fell in + there they'd never find you again."

+ +

Tom let the ragged sheet of metal drop. It stuck back in the + peaty turf again. They went on down, past the first of two shallow + craters where dragonflies helicoptered out from the choking reeds. + Beyond that, a large single hole, almost perfectly round, was bare + of weeds. The water inside was black and there was a shimmering + dirty iridescence of oil on the surface close to where the boys + passed, giving it a poisonous, somehow evil aspect. They couldn't + tell how deep it was.

+ +

At the next one, an oval pool caused by the close detonation of + two wartime bombs, Doug spotted a boot lying upside down in a patch + of reeds, its sole peeled away from the upper like an opening jaw. + Billy stretched with his stick to haul it out of the thick + growth.

+ +

"What if there's a foot in it?" Doug asked, with a snort of + laughter. "Like the one in the quarry?"

+ +

Billy ignored him and brought the old boot to the edge. He + up-ended it and they watched a sludge of water and algae gurgle + out. Something black and many-legged wriggled in the flow and made + it to the pool before Billy could hit it with his stave.

+ +

"If there was a foot in it, you'd have filled your pants," Doug + said. Billy didn't bother to deny it. If there had been a foot in + it, they'd all have run, yelling in fear, down the hill and back to + camp.

+ +

Corky and Danny had moved on together, in a hurry to get to the + huddle of buildings. They were half-way down the basin, though for + some reason, the shanty town seemed no nearer. The others caught up + with them and they trudged over the ridges and heaped earth where + the old explosions had thrown up peat and boulders. Billy kept up a + running commentary about the kind of planes that would have flown + overhead and the bombs that would have rained down and the noise + and the thunder and the excitement of it all.

+ +

They skirted another crater where Doug probed with his ash + sapling and got a foetid and oily bubble of marsh gas for his + pains. Here, another boot, identical to the first, was jammed + against a plank of wood.

+ +

"Maybe somebody fell in," Tom suggested.

+ +

"Maybe it was somebody got bombed," Corky said. "Like a poacher. + Or a shepherd up here all alone at night just minding his own + business. Stuck here on his own in bad weather and he sees the + Dummy Village and thinks 'there's a good place to shelter'. Maybe + he sneaked inside and thought he was safe out of the rain and the + snow. Probably a thunderstorm, with lightning all over the place + and thunder. He was probably glad of the shelter and he's sitting + there trying to stay warm and then WHUMP.... before he + knows it he's been blown right out of his boots."

+ +

"You really think that's what happened?" Billy asked, his face + alight. "You reckon it blew him right out of them."

+ +

"No," Corky said. "Look at it. The sole's got a big hole in it. + Somebody just threw them away."

+ +

Billy's excited expression collapsed into disappointment.

+ +

"But it was a good story," Corky said, and they all laughed. But + as they moved away, Tom looked nervously over his shoulder just in + case it hadn't been an old boot.

+ +

They got over the next small ridge and into the wide depression. + There was another perimeter fence here, most of it rusted to pieces + and there were sections where rolls of barbed wire, the kind Billy + insisted had been used to snag prisoners of war, had been laid in + long tangled cylinders. They followed it for fifty yards to find an + opening, testing the rolls for breaks. In one of the tangles, a + dead fox, its fur and most of the flesh rotted away, had been + snared by the coils. Its frozen snarl of clenched teeth was still + ferocious. Further on they came across the whitened skull of a ram + which had suffered the same fate. The rest of the carcass was long + gone, picked cleaned scattered by scavengers. The skull was pure + bone and it bore a massive ridged pair of curled horns. Billy + hooked it out of the wire and tried to set it up on his stick like + a trophy. When they found a way through the fence he led them like + a standard bearer with the skull held aloft as they finally strode + in to the Dummy Village.

+ +

A flock of rooks watched them, huddled together like black + vultures on a roof down the centre way. The five boys walked warily + between the first of the buildings and the birds sat silent, all + their heads turned to watch the approach. There was more than a + dozen of them, squat and shiny black and somehow dangerous. Doug + raised his stick and made ack-ack noises and the birds + flew off in a clatter of wings and a protest of cawing. They + swooped low, close to the tangled moor-grass and then rose over the + nearby roof, gaining height until they reached a thick wire that + bellied in a curve between two canted poles. They alighted on the + wire in a flutter and settled down to observe the intrusion like + wary guards in black uniforms.

+ +

"That's really creepy," Doug muttered, keeping his voice low. + They had wandered through the gap between two buildings and could + see down the centre way. For some reason the dereliction and + isolation of the place hushed them to near silence. "Just like + The Birds."

+ +

"You're too young to get in to see that," Billy argued.

+ +

"Me and Danny sneaked in at the intermission, didn't we Dan?

+ +

Danny nodded agreement. He was looking at the line of crows, + black in colour, but now even blacker, silhouetted against the sky. + He couldn't see their eyes and that made them seem as if they were + blind, but he could sense their gaze. They huddled like judges + deliberating on a sentence and he recalled the heron's fall and its + broken, graceless ending.

+ +

"Scared the bejeesus out of me, I don't mind tellin' you," Doug + said. "They were all sitting just like that, waiting to come down + and peck people's eyes out." Danny agreed with that. The film had + been disturbing, nature inverted and distorted and out of control. + That night, as he lay in the dark he had wished he hadn't sneaked + in to the old Regal picture house.

+ +

Corky found a rusted bolt in a pile of broken slabs. He lobbed + it at the crows and they took off again, winging to the far end of + the compound, settled on a roof and sat to wait once more.

+ +

The place was eerie. For a moment, when the crows had settled + there was a pause of silence where nothing seemed to move and the + wind dropped to a sudden stillness. They were in a ghost town. It + was the only way to describe it. They stood there, five small + gunslingers at the end of the derelict main street where the couch + grass and rough reeds poked their way up from a gravel-bed road. + The line of wooden shacks, grey with age and sagging under the + weight of neglect angled in a straight line, dwindling in dismal + perspective for several hundred yards. The corrugated iron roofs, + intact on only a handful of them, were red with rust and peppered + with holes where blasted stones had punched through. Others leaned + into deep depressions where the ground had subsided, still others + were tumbled and crumpled as if a giant hand had smashed them + flat.

+ +

The place was eerie, a dead and decaying village, broken and + picked clean like the ram's skull. It was creepy and shadowed. But + it was magnificent in its desolation. They stood there abreast, + Danny leaning on his stick, Doug in his string vest, his slingshot + loose in his hand, Billy hip-shot in his mud-caked jeans, Corky + with a thumb hooked on his belt, a casual arm around Tom's thin + shoulders.

+ +

"Magic," Billy said, and for once he was right.

+ +

Just at that moment, the wind picked up and moaned through the + wire. A metal tin clanked against a post like a tuneless bell and a + piece of twisted galvanised sheet creaked in protest. The Dummy + Village came alive again. Two swallows came darting in on + flickering wings and swooped under a mouldering lintel. The faint + twitter of squalling fledglings came from inside. A stream of gold + wasps flew busily between two spars to a massive globe of papery + nest suspended under a sagging grey eave.

+ +

"I never thought it would be so big," Doug said. "It's like a + Dummy flaming city." They started walking down the + overgrown street until they reached an intact building with a + gaping doorway. They went inside. The place smelled of oil and rust + and of age. The floorboards creaked threateningly under their + weight and the whole building seemed to shudder as the five of them + crept inside. An old cobwebbed box lay in a corner and immediately + Billy bent down to try the lid.

+ +

"It's an ammo box. Just like in the war," he said. The lid + hauled up surprisingly easily. Inside, among a tatter of shredded + wood, a vole squeaked and darted out through a gaping hole in the + bottom. Billy tried to catch it but it disappeared under the + sagging floorboards. Tom and Danny went outside and crossed the + road to go into another shack. From the front, it looked almost + intact, but once inside they could see that the whole of the back + had fallen away into a pile of grey, rotting wood. Even the + floorboards had disintegrated. Beyond the walls another row of + buildings stood gaunt and crumpled. There was a space where a bomb + had blasted a hole in the ground and the neighbouring shacks were + smothered under the debris of turf and rocks.

+ +

The others joined them.

+ +

"Must have been really great," Billy said. He pulled the airgun + out and aimed it at the sky the way he had done with his stick. + "They must have come in low, over the top of the hills. You could + have picked them off one by one. My old man was a gunner during the + war." He cocked the gun, fired it and they watched the pellet climb + into the air, hardly faster than a thrown rock. He re-loaded.

+ +

"Your old man must have been John flippin' Wayne," Doug snorted. + "He was in everything except the town's brass band."

+ +

"What't that supposed to mean?" Billy demanded, rounding on + Doug. "And what did your Dad do? Eh? Tell me that + Bugs!"

+ +

"Jeez, would you grow up?" Doug said. "All we ever get is your + old man and how he won the flippin' war." He turned away.

+ +

"Just what does that mean? " Billy bawled at Doug's back. "Come + on! Buck-toothed baskit."

+ +

Doug spun round. He jabbed his hand up to his temple and tapped + hard. "Think about it."

+ +

"Come on Doug. Leave it." Corky tried to defuse them.

+ +

"Leave what?" Billy wanted to know. Danny looked at Tom who + looked back, trying to keep his face non committal. "What's Bugs + bloody Bunny talking about?"

+ +

"Nothing," Doug said. He turned away again, feigning disinterest + though the others could see the stiffness in his bony + shoulders.

+ +

"No. It's not nothing. You're having a go at me, taking + the mick." Billy's face was reddening. Corky tried again.

+ +

"Give it a break you guys," he said, cajoling. "We never came up + here to fight. Come on." He looked from one to the other. "How + about it?"

+ +

Doug shrugged. "Well tell him not to call me Bugs."

+ +

"Don't call him Bugs," Corky said to Billy, putting a laugh into + his voice. Danny caught it and giggled.

+ +

"Or Lugs," Dougie insisted.

+ +

"Or Lugs then," Billy said. The tension drained away.

+ +

"Or Bugsylugs."

+ +

"That as well," Billy conceded. He grinned and the tension + evaporated. Billy stuck his hand out and Doug shook it, both of + them looking sheepish, simple as that, and it was over. Tom and + Danny ambled away. They went down the street. Tom went through one + of the decrepit shacks and out to the far side where the peat was + ridges and grooved in gaping black slashes where the land had + subsided. Danny found another swallow's nest, just a little cup of + hard mud set against a beam. He got up onto an old oil drum to peer + in and saw the gaping yellow beaks of the baby birds as they + demanded food. Corky was in the hut opposite. He came out with an + old beer-bottle. He set it up on a piece of angled iron and + searched about for stones to pitch at it. Doug leaned in through + the window of the next shack down, his skinny backside poking out. + Corky couldn't resist it. He drew back the elastic and let fly. The + small pebble spanged off Doug's buttock. He jerked, let out a yell, + and toppled inside with a crash of splintering wood.

+ +

They heard him yell some more, while Corky and Billy rolled + about, unable to control their laughter, and when he came out he + was grey with dust.

+ +

"Who did that?" he demanded truculently. "Put me through the + flamin' floor."

+ +

Corky tried to stand up, failed and sank to his knees in + uncontrollable laughter.

+ +

"Was that you, Harrison?" Doug wanted to know.

+ +

Billy shook his head. "Honest, I never did a thing. Swear + to...." his eyes opened wide. Danny and Tom were coming round the + side of the building with something big and heavy weighed in their + hands. "Jeeesus kee-flamin'-rist where did you get + that?"

+ +

The two boys grunted as they lifted up the long brown, rusted + thing, straining to get it to waist height. The four metal flight + flanges stuck up like black fins where the end narrowed. A hex nut + protruded from the blunt front end.

+ +

"It's a bomb," Tom said proudly. "We found it. And there's more + of them."

+ +

Doug forgot the sting in his backside. Danny and Tom laid the + bomb down gently on the turf. There was no mistake. It really + was a bomb. It was more than two feet long and heavy + enough to indent the ground. The flight blades at the tail were + pitted with rust but there was a dark, wet patch close to the nose + that still had a skin of paint on it. Some light-coloured letters + in stencil form were barely visible.

+ +

"Is it a Jerry bomb? Or a Jap?" Billy asked, a-jitter with + sudden excitement. War and the tools of war were a constant + fascination to him. Proximity to a bomb from the war was just about + the biggest thing that had happened to him so far. "Will it still + work?"

+ +

They all stood around the thing. It was old and rusted at the + back but it still looked somehow deadly, like a drowsy adder in the + grass that should best be left undisturbed.

+ +

"It's probably worth a fortune," Doug said. "Maybe we could sell + it."

+ +

"There's more of them," Tom said again. "They're stuck into the + ground out there." He gestured with his arm. "The peat must have + fallen away." Corky nudged the thing with his foot, trying to turn + it over. It rolled slowly.

+ +

"Imagine that. Must have been a dud," Billy said.

+ +

"Might not be," Doug countered. "Remember that one up in the + reservoir? Broke all the windows at the top end of Corrieside? That + just hadn't gone off. It was still alive. Blew a rock + right through McFarlane's barn roof, so it did."

+ +

"Maybe this one could go off," Billy said. He kicked the side of + the thing and gave a loud yell like an explosion. Everybody jumped + as if they'd been stung.

+ +

"Hells bells Billy," Corky said. "You scared the life out of + me."

+ +

"Smell it? He's standing in it," Billy said knuckling Corky on + the shoulder. "You're losing your nerve pal." Corky just grinned, + not taking offence.

+ +

They followed Tom and Danny round the side of the building to + where the land sloped away in a profusion of trenches and craters. + All of the ground here seemed to be fissured and turned over. A + jagged crack a hundred yards long in the peat showed where the + summer's lack of rainfall had made it shrink and split, ten feet + deep in places and just as wide. It was here that the bombs showed, + sticking out from the soft earth of the sides of the small chasm. + There were three of them, each maybe forty feet apart, all at the + same angle. They had obviously gone into the ground, punching + through the soft deposit when the surface had been wet and boggy. + Further along, all that remained of another two bombs were their + tail-flights. Doug hooked them out of the pit with his stick and + tied them to the wood like a trophy. The others hauled the + remaining bombs out.

+ +

"Can we take them back?" Billy asked. "A couple of them?"

+ +

"Sure. It's a long way," Danny said, "but we can strap them to a + plank and take shots each at carrying them."

+ +

"Let's do it," Billy said. "We can make them work. We could blow + half the valley to smithereens."

+ +

They spent the whole afternoon exploring the ruins. Tom found + another sign with some lettering that was indecipherable but might + have said that the land was a target area and that led to another + discussion which led to another argument over whether it was a + decoy site or merely a bombing range. They all preferred the decoy + version and Tom slung the sign away, ending the argument with + stunning logic. They searched every shack for more bombs or + bullets. Billy was convinced there might be a gun left behind under + floorboards, but all he managed to find was a brass buckle from an + old Sam Browne web belt and an ancient zippo lighter that was + clogged with muck and rust.

+ +

The sun was beginning to sink towards the west when they decided + to head back to the camp. Danny got some wire and managed to secure + three of the bombs to a long piece of wooden planking which he and + Corky slung on their shoulders. Billy got his stick with the + sheep's skull pinioned on its end and led the way out of the dummy + village and up to the ridge. Behind them, the crows watched and + waited and when the boys were far enough away, they flew down one + by one to whatever dead thing they had been pecking at in the + shallow depression dug out by a wartime bomb.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/021.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/021.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e68aa71 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/021.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,525 @@ + + + + + + 21 + + + + +
+
+

21

+ +

Interlude....

+ +

"We thought he'd gone away." Angus McNicol's voice, gruff with + the years conveyed the regret that had hung about him since + then.

+ +

"We all did, even the Commander and Dr Bryce who was a + psychologist from the university. He was a new-fankled kind of + expert, trying to get inside the man's head. My boss, Hector Kelso + who was head of CID, he never put too much faith in Bryce and to + tell you the truth, neither did I.

+ +

"You see, nothing had happened since the middle of June, a few + weeks before the school broke up for the holidays and Bryce said + that gave us two choices. He had either moved on, in which case we + would have had more murders somewhere else, or he would have burned + out and killed himself.

+ +

"Nobody really considered the truth. The killer just took a + break between June and the end of July or he had killed somebody + else who hadn't been reported missing. We never found a body, so + probably he just took time off. Hell, everybody needs a holiday, + don't they? Where he had been, nobody knows and I reckon John + Fallon must have been the closest to guessing the truth when he + said the man was probably ex-army, and used to living rough."

+ +

The former detective, now silver haired and only slightly + stooped, looked up and his eyes were filled with remembering.

+ +

"Then Johnson McKay the postman got a bit concerned when the + mail hadn't been collected from the box at the bottom of McColl's + farm road and he took a stroll up there just to check. If it hadn't + been for him being curious, then it could have taken another few + weeks, maybe a month before anybody would have found out.

+ +

"I'll never forget his face and I'll never forget what we found + there and down at the side of the trees alongside Blackwood Stream, + not as long as I live. It was a slaughterhouse, a + shambles.

+ +

"I followed Hector Kelso around the whole day, and that man was + damned good. Taught me everything I know. The only detective I ever + saw who was any better was John Fallon's boy Jack, and it's a damn + shame he's left the force after that trouble a year or so back, but + that's another story. Anyway, Hector went round the place and gave + me a running commentary, like a professor teaching a student. That + was exactly how it was." Angus looked at the little machine on the + table. The cassette spindle turned slowly. "I wrote everything down + because we never had tape recorders then, and they'd have been a + godsend to us, believe me. The boss was a hell of a lot better than + the psychologist because he could follow a sequence right to its + end and that's how he was able to tell me what had happened. He was + a genius."

+ +

Angus closed his eyes, frowning with concentration.

+ +

"It was the blood on the curtain. Threw him for a bit, and for a + while he thought the wife might have done it, despite the fact that + she was a tiny wee thing. But then he figured it out quickly + enough.

+ +

" 'Gus,' he says to me. 'Go stand out there on the other side of + that patch on the ground.' I knew it was blood, we all did, and it + had dried there to a crust on the cobbles. I stood there and the + boss bent down, getting himself to about the same hight as Jean + McColl. He leaned forward and took a hold of the curtain, pulling + it to the side, then brought his other hand up and laid it on the + sill.

+ +

"From then on, he just walked his way through it, as if it was + some kind of a slow dance. He had that kind of mind. He could + choreograph it all in his head.

+ +

"The chicken was still in the sink, crawling with flies and + maggots and Hector realised she had been cleaning the bird when it + happened. She must have had a ringside view from that window. She'd + seen it happening, seen her man die right there in the middle of + the yard."

+ +

The policeman had almost totakl recall of how the CID boss had + worked it out, from Jean McColl seeing her husband cut down with + the axe. He knew the killer had used the chicken head to mark the + bothy doorposts and he could tell by the slant of the crossses how + tall the killer was. "Hector talked it right through and he walked + it right through, never stopping for a moment. He told us where + McColl had fallen like a sack and how his wife had fought and how + the collie had attacked the stranger. It was all written there in + the clues, in the sequence, if you had the experience to look. + Hector Kelso had the experience, and the way he told it, never + showing any emotion until later, made it unravel like a + nightmare.

+ +

"I can still remember Hector going through the motions, over six + foot tall and built like a wrestler, trying to keep low, the same + height as the wee woman. He runs into the farmhouse, through to the + kitchen and then to the hall and he showed how the killer had + broken the hasp the get at the shotguns

+ +

"I can tell you straight, we were all pretty damn concerned when + we realised he had the guns. He'd shot a couple of holes in the + ceiling, maybe just to make sure the gun worked and then gone + looking for Mrs McColl. He'd about two weeks of a start on us, give + or take a day or so.

+ +

"Dr Bryce, he said he was very close to the edge and it was + likely he'd turned the gun around and blown his head off, but while + we lived in hope, there was no evidence of that whatsoever. Kelso + dismised it as so much hog wash.

+ +

"He asked the psychologist about the chicken's blood smeared on + the door. Bryce said the scent of blood had probably enraged him, + or maybe it had dredged up some childhood trauma, but he hadn't + seen the other places where the man had done his killing. I reckon + John Fallon got it right.

+ +

" 'Read the bible,' John suggested to me when we were standing + there in the sun with all the flies buzzing around that crust of + blood in the yard. He was never a smartarse was John, but despite + his build, he was pretty clever. ' He wants the angel of death to + pass over.'

+ +

"I reckon that was fair comment, from the pages of the bible he + left lying around and all the other signs he left, most of them + covered in shit. The press, they got the story about the Twitchy + Eyes, and that's how the name stuck, but in the squad, over that + summer when we were hunting for him, waiting for him to make his + next move, we started calling him The Angel.

+
+

July:

+ +

She wrote fast, almost tearing the page in her hurry, crabbing + the letters together in a slant across the page. Her clear and + rounded handwriting changed to a spidery scrawl, almost illegible. + The wavering strokes showed how badly her hand was shaking.

+ +

He's killed Ian. God save me. Cut him down in the yard. + Lesley Joyce. He hit him and took him into the byre. Got the guns. + He's mad. Killed my man with axe. Cut down. Lesley Joyce.

+ +

The words began to repeat on the page, just as they were + repeating inside her head, ricocheting around almost out of + control.

+ +

Out beyond the workroom, beyond the bedroom and down the stairs, + she could hear the heavy tread of the man's boots. The shotgun had + blasted like a thunderclap and she had felt the whole house shake + with the concussion. Her heart had almost stopped dead in her + chest. She tried to write more, to put down in words what she had + seen, but the fingers of her hand seized up in a tight clenched + fist and the words wouldn't come. All she could see was the picture + of Ian going down in the yard, making that awful deadly sound.

+ +

Nausea rolled and surged inside her and a trickle drooled from + her open mouth as she tried to gulp it back, tried to clear that + image from her head so she could think.

+ +

Downstairs she could hear the man muttering, at least that's + what it sounded like in the distance, through the closed doors, but + she knew he had to be talking aloud. It sounded like chanting.

+ +

Ian's bewildered face swam in front of hers refusing to vanish. + His hat had rolled away on the stones and he had tried to crawl + away, his eyes wide and blank, like a bewildered animal in pain. He + had tried to crawl away, dripping blood onto the cobbles. He'd + crawled away from where she was, even then attempting to draw him + away, despite the pain and the shock and the sudden awful fear.

+ +

And even then he'd tried to warn her. She jerked, found she + could still write:

+ +

Couldn't get the gun. Ian said to get the gun and shoot but + it was locked. He has the guns and he's shooting.

+ +

Somehow her mind unhitched itself from the crazy ricochet of + images and she managed to scribble more. She had slammed the book + open, not pausing to flip the pages to the correct day and date. + She'd found a blank page and started writing fast, knowing there + was little time. No time at all.

+ +

The little window on the thick wall was slightly ajar. In the + high summer, it let in the perfumed scent of sweet peas from the + garden and the lazy humming of the busy bees, and in the mornings + she got a slant of golden sunlight across the old dresser she used + as a desk and a work station. She put the book down and laid the + pen on the surface. It rattled from her shaking fingers. Outside + she could hear the whine of the terriers and the lowing of the cows + in the far side of the byre. They could smell the blood and the + instinctive fear of the predator had spread among them. The + terriers had sniffed at the pool of blood and they were confused + and panicky, their tempers now stilled. Downstairs the man's + hobnailed boots crumped on the slate floor.

+ +

Aaah.

+ +

Ian's groan came drifting on the pollen scented air. A bee flew + in the window, turning lazily by the latch.

+ +

Jean snatched up the pen again.

+ +

Still alive. He's alive now. Please save him God.

+ +

Footsteps came thudding up the narrow stair.

+ +

Coming now. Gun.

+ +

The bedroom door kicked open. She could hear the latch spring + and the wood splinter and the slam of the heavy panel against the + wall. It sounded loud as gunfire. Almost.

+ +

She dropped the book on the bed. The workroom, on the east gable + of the house, was a low, square space with slanted walls that + followed the pitch of the roof. Just above the dresser, a small + trapdoor, barely two foot square, led to a crawlspace under the + joists.

+ +

She could hear the man's breathing. He had kicked the bedroom + door open and he was standing there. She could visualise his dark + and blinking mad eyes.

+ +

Jean McColl clambered silently onto the dresser, pushed the + hatch upwards, and despite her age and her freezing terror, she + managed to haul herself up into the dusty space. She lowered the + door closed again as silently as she could and began to crawl over + the beams, careful not to slip and fall through the plaster of the + ceiling until she got out of the narrow roof space above the + work-room and into the loft proper. She crabbed her way though the + narrow gap in the stone, onto the bare planks. Ahead of her + something squeaked in the dark and she couldn't tell whether it was + a rat or a mouse. Underneath her the workroom door blasted open and + crashed against the wall, just as the bedroom door had done.

+ +

Footsteps, even louder now, thudded on the boards where the rug + didn't cover. The tinkling of glass. A vase? The window? She + couldn't wait. In her mind she kept seeing Ian trying to crawl + away, mortally hurt, with the shadow of death reflected in his + wide, stunned eyes. She heard again the dreadful animal groan.

+ +

Below her, the man called out, and whether there were any words + or whether it was simply a bellowing cry of rage or anger or + madness, she couldn't tell. She crawled further into the roof-space + until there was enough room to let her gingerly get to her + feet.

+ +

Thunder roared.

+ +

In the confines of the loft, that's what it seemed like. It was + as if the world had exploded under her feet in one enormous + blast.

+ +

Splinters of lath-wood and pellets of dry plaster erupted + upwards from the floor just behind her. She tripped, rolled on the + boards and the thunder crashed again, even closer. Instantly a hole + maybe six inches wide appeared in the floor just beyond the limit + of the planking. Dust and splinters blew out in a fountain and + rapped against the slanted sarking-planks under the slates. Jean + reeled back and hit her head on a jagged nail showing through the + wood. It caught her behind the ear and an instant trickle of blood + flowed. She spun round and saw the column of light, like a blazing + pillar, reaching from the hole in the floor to the slant of the + roof.

+ +

He could hear her moving. He could hear her moving and he was + trying to follow the sound and blast her to death with the + shotgun.

+ +

His footsteps clumped almost directly underneath her and sudden + terror unfroze her legs. She whirled, using the light coming + through the gaping blast-hole and ran for the corner, pushed + through the second hatch to the space over the main part of the + farmhouse and clambered over the trunks and boxes that had been + stored there since before she was married. Beyond the clutter a + dusty skylight showed a dull rectangle of light. Behind her the + shotgun roared again, a vast and deafening sound in the close + confines of the loft, but for the moment there was no danger of the + blast coming through the old boxes of crockery and pre-war + clothing. Dust billowed chokingly, making her fast breath rasp in + her throat. At the far end of the attic there was a narrow wooden + stairway that would lead down to the store-room where Ian stacked + the potatoes and turnips and the clamps of carrots. She thought + about reaching the stairs and following them down, but that would + put her out into the closed yard where he could shoot her from + almost any position.

+ +

She had to get away, get help. Against a man with a gun, against + the crazy blinking man who had smashed Ian to the ground, there + would be little chance, hardly a chance at all, but she had to try. + If she could make it to the far wall without being seen she could + use the hedge as cover and get down the track, escape to the + Lochside Road only three miles down, heading west. If she could get + to the road then she could make it and call the police and an + ambulance.

+ +

Through the blast-hole, she heard the man's voice, rough and + ragged and dreadfully angry. The shotgun's metallic clash came up + to her over the growling rumble, a deadly and cold sound in itself. + He was re-loading.

+ +

It snapped closed again and she knew there were two more shells + in the chambers

+ +

Jean got past the collection of boxes and reached the skylight. + The glass was festooned with cobwebs that had gathered so much dust + they made the window almost opaque. She twisted the catch, got it + free in a couple of seconds, and swung the heavy frame upwards. It + squeaked alarmingly and then stopped when it was almost upright. + Thankful that it hadn't crashed down onto the slates, she crawled + out onto the slope of the slates. The shotgun boomed again, + dreadfully loud, but not so deafening now that she was out. A puff + of dust rolled out of the skylight like flour in the kitchen when + she baked her bread. It smelled of lime and burning.

+ +

She managed to get a grip on the iron lip and swung herself up, + moving gingerly lest she slip on the moss-covered shingles, reached + the ridge of the roof and got to the downslope. From here she was + hidden from the yard. The roof fell away to the pasture side, a + long slide of black slate warmed by the sun. She negotiated it, + trying to keep her feet flat on the surface to give her as much + friction grip as possible, reached the far end where the farmhouse + proper merged with the old barn. Here there was an old door at the + corner, set high in the wall where Ian used to mount a block and + tackle for hauling sacks of feed and bales of straw up to the high + store. She got there and pushed at the door but it was locked.

+ +

Inside the house, the man was talking to himself. From where she + perched it was just a low rumble. Ian had fallen silent and in a + way that was better than the awful groaning. She wondered if he was + dead and a part of her prayed, despite the devastation of that + loss, that he was not suffering any more. Footsteps sounded below + her and she turned away from the door, climbed back over the ridge + to the end of the barn and let herself slide down to the level of + the gutter. She managed to grab a hold of it and lower herself down + to the window ledge and let herself in through the old shutters. + Here, in the old swaybacked store-room, old tack lay in heaps, + mouldering bridles from the days they'd kept Clydesdale horses for + pulling the plough, giant horseshoes dusted with rust, a set of + twisted and cracked traces hanging from nails. Rats scuttled and + scurried in the shadows, alarmed at her passing, while down in the + yard, the terriers had set up a strange, frightened howling. The + tack balcony led to the space above the byre. She had to push aside + a pile of old sacks, sending a family of mice squealing and running + for cover and then she was through to the ledge overlooking the + tiled butchering shed that was tacked on to the byre.

+ +

A shape moved close to the far door. Her heart lurched, thinking + the man had discovered her and then it kicked hard in her chest and + seemed to stop beating altogether.

+ +

It was Ian. He was hanging down from the hooks, head close to + the ground. A spreading scarlet puddle caught the light beneath + him. A sluggardly ripple showed that fresh blood was still + dripping.

+ +

There was no sign of life. Jean leaned on the metal railing, + breath locked in her throat. One of Ian's shoes was down there in + the trough along with his blood and she could see where the + butcher's hook had spiked through his heel. He'd been hung up like + a carcass, spiked by the Achilles tendon, the way farmers hung pigs + to let them bleed.

+ +

She started for the steps, knowing they would take her down to + the yard when outside, right then, the shotgun thundered again. She + flinched, expecting the blast to knock her off her feet, but + immediately a screaming sound, like a stone saw cutting into + granite, cut through the air. The dogs started up a frenzied + yapping and the gun fired again and they went silent. A moment + later, a shadow appeared at the butchery door and the man came + backing through, dragging a heavy weight just as he'd pulled her + bleeding husband over the step at the door. The cause of the sound + was clear enough. He'd shot one of the yearling pigs. It was still + alive, still screeching but there was a gaping hole in its side. He + pulled it past Ian, put the gun down, hoisted the pink, shivering + animal up to a hook and let it twist there. He picked up the gun + and reached behind him for the knife he'd stuck down his belt. She + watched as he leaned forward and slit the pig's throat. It kicked + into a spasm, sending blood spurting all over the floor and all + over her husband. She groaned aloud, an involuntary blurt of shock + and fear.

+ +

The man whirled round. His eyes had stopped blinking. He looked + up and those eyes were like pits, black and mad. She pulled away, + went back the way she had come, heart bucking inside her. His feet + clattered on the stone stairs. She got back through the window, + tried to climb on the gutter, slipped back and her blouse snagged a + rusted bracket which caught right through the material. Her feet + scrabbled for purchase, slid off the stone wall and she slipped + forward before being brought up sharp by the hook of metal. She was + left hanging there.

+ +

The man reached out massive hand and gripped her arm. Without + ceremony and with no hesitation at all, he pulled her back in over + the window sill, ripping her blouse from collar to waist and + leaving a white rag flapping on the bracket. He dragged her across + the tack-room and down the steps to the byre. She tried to pull + away but he clamped his hand on her neck, fingers and thumb almost + toughting, and walked her past her dangling husband. Her feet + splashed in Ian's blood. She tried to look to see if he was still + breathing, but the hand held her tight, made her face straight in + front. She felt as light as a feather as he propelled her across + the yard, past the bodies of the three dogs and the dark patch + where her husband had fallen, through the front door and into the + farmhouse.

+ +

She awoke when it was dark and when she tried to walk she could + not move. Dull and heavy pain throbbed inside her and stayed with + her until the sun came up in the early morning. The light flickered + in the sky, just visible through the open shutter and the bantam + cocks were the first to greet the dawn. It seemed to take forever + for the early light to creep round the corner of the byre and + brighten the wall of the little slaughtering pen where Ian was + dead.

+ +

She knew now that he was gone. There had been no sound, except + for the grunts made by the insane man when he had finally left her + alone and had gone out to the byre, swinging the big blade of the + knife. He muttered to himself constantly and it seemed as if he was + talking to someone standing beside him. She couldn't make out the + words, but the tone of it sounded like conversation. The man would + ask a question, cock his head as if awaiting a reply, and then he'd + nod, or he'd shake his head in answer. He had gone out to the byre, + swinging the knife and she'd heard him grunt with effort. There had + been a dull crack, like the sound of a stone dropping on another, + and then the man had gone walking away, muttering to himself.

+ +

Now she was huddled on the floor, something angled and hard + pressed against her ribs but unable to do anything about that. A + dark tide of despair welled up in her heart. Way off in the + distance, the blast of the quarry rumbled like an approaching + storm. It reminded her of the sound of the shotgun.

+ +

She closed her eyes, squeezing away a tear that was mingled with + blood from a burst vessel at the edge of her eye.

+ +

And she prayed that he would come with the gun and stop the + pain.

+
+

In the night he had taken the head and put it on the top of the + manure heap, waiting for the sun to come up. Every now and again he + would hear the voice whisper to him, faint for the moment, and he + would try to catch the words.

+ +

The smell of blood was still hot and thick and he remembered how + the woman had stared at him, paralysed with fear, her whole body + trembling uncontrollably. The owl hooted back in the barn and he + waited under the moon, not cold and not hungry. The sun began to + rise and when there was enough light in the sky he could see the + flies crawling over the pale round face.

+ +

Dung fly...

+ +

Like Conboy. The eyes crawled with flies. Like the boy in the + back room of the old house. Like the girl under the bridge. Like + the boy who had come in through the door of the old wagon he'd + taken over as his bivouac.

+ +

The flies buzzed and danced and as the day lightened and the + morning mist trailed away, there were more of them, flying in from + the trees, round the coppice at the far end of the pasture. Already + the pool of blood in the yard was a crawling mass of them, coming + to feed and coming to breed. He cocked his head to the side, + listening to the small voice, one of the many that tugged for his + attention whispering softly by the light of day. At night they'd + maybe talk louder. After a while, he slowly got to his feet and + went back into the house, leaving the farmer's crawling eyes + staring at the sunrise.

+ +

The woman did not move. Her eyes followed him, devoid of all + expression. He considered lifting her back up onto the table, but + after another while, eyes blinking hard, he turned and went back + outside. He picked up the gun and crossed the yard, climbed the + fence and into the pasture.

+ +

Three of the cows were moaning, and two of the others were down + on the grass twitching. Their udders were swollen like the bellies + of dead children. He considered putting them out of their misery + but then he blinked some more and went striding sunwards along by + the wall and down towards the trees. A half a mile down he could + still hear the crowing cock. The land sloped towards the stream, a + densely wooded valley here, downsteam from the high moorland + pasture, thick with oak and beech trees. He'd been here before, in + the lush valley that reminded him of that other gorge, long + before....

+ +

Up at the farm, the old man had glared at him, just as Conboy + had done, through the crawl of flies that festered in his mouth and + under his brows. The tongue protruded between grey lips, blackened + and torn where the blow with the flat of the axe had sent the teeth + snapping together, biting right through the flesh. There were + thousands of them now, all laying their eggs, breeding fast on the + glut. The head stared at him and he waited for it to speak but it + stayed silent for the moment. He could wait. He sat there, in the + sun, contemplating the thing on the dung heap, listening to the + drone of flies, and then he went back to the house, to the kitchen. + Here the smell was thick and heavy and the buzzing was loud in the + confines. The woman was crumpled on the floor, her arms twisted + awry, and her thighs stained black in streaks and dribbles. There + were biscuits in the barrel and a joint of smoked ham up in the + cold store. He cut a slice, not at all put off by the cloy, + familiar scent of rotting flesh. He ate slowly, sitting on the + table, then drank some tepid water from the tap.

+ +

He finished eating and laid the chewed ham bone down on the + table then went back out to sit by the side of the dung heap to + wait for a while. He could sit as still as stone.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/022.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/022.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b681fc2 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/022.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,746 @@ + + + + + + 22 + + + + +
+
+

22

+ +

August 2. 4pm:

+ +

Billy raised the air pistol from seven yards away, sighted down + the barrel. He squeezed the trigger and the gun coughed a sound + like a thin branch breaking. The slug smacked Doug in the left + buttock and he let out a howl, more of surprise than pain.

+ +

"Great shot from dead-eye Harrison" Billy bragged. "Runs in the + family." They'd been firing at the can again, trying to knock it + off the rock, taking shots each while the potatoes and carrots + boiled in the blackened pot. Billy and Doug had been niggling each + other as usual and when the can tumbled from the stone, moved by a + chance eddy of wind and not by any sharp shooting, Doug bent to + re-set it. Billy aimed and fired at his skinny buttocks then + laughed like a donkey while Doug did a skittery little dance.

+ +

"Christ sake," Doug said angrily. "Would you get a grip of + yourself, you crazy fucker." He was rubbing the patched seat of his + old jeans. "Swear to god, you should be in special school for + retardos, you loony."

+ +

"First kill to the Commandos," Billy crowed. Corky looked at him + sideways. Billy was jumping up and down, the airgun heavy, black + and sharp-edged like a German Luger clenched in his hand. Even with + the spring slack and useless, he should never have fired the gun at + anybody, they all knew that. It was one of the rules.

+ +

"That's enough," Corky said. "Give me that before you put + somebody's eye out." He held out his hand towards Billy.

+ +

"It's not yours."

+ +

"No, it's my brother's, and that makes it mine for now."

+ +

"And he stole it from somebody, didn't he?" Billy's voice was + rising. "So it's not his."

+ +

Doug picked up a stone and lobbed it at Billy with a quick + overarm flick. It hit him on the knee with a resounding crack. + Billy dropped the gun and started hopping around on one foot, + holding his knee with both hands and howling loudly. Corky snatched + the pistol up from the ground and jammed the barrel into his + pocket.

+ +

"Serves you right, fatso" Doug jeered. "That's the brave + commando wounded. Hopping wounded, and crying like a + baby."

+ +

"I'll get you for that," Billy bellowed, trying gingerly to put + his foot down.

+ +

"You and your old man, eh? The big war hero?"

+ +

"You leave him out of it Bugsylugs." Billy said through + clenched teeth and the pair of them were off again. "He did more + than your old man, that's for sure. Fought the Japs and + Jerries."

+ +

"So how come mine's got medals?" Doug demanded, grinning + toothily. "Real medals." His ears had gone bright red again which + was a sure indicator of his excitement and anger.

+ +

"My Dad won dozens of them," Billy retorted, still rubbing his + knee, his face now as red as Doug's ears. "That's what my Mam says + and you better not be calling her a liar if you know what's good + for you. My Dad was a hero in the war."

+ +

"That's where you're wrong," Doug countered, his lip curling now + into a sneer. "A hundred percent dead wrong on that."

+ +

Danny came wandering up from the stream, only half listening to + the bickering voices. Doug and Billy were always at it, rubbing + each other's fur up the wrong way. Next minute they'd usually have + their arms round each other's shoulders, just like last time, + digging each other in the ribs. They both had short fuses, but + generally, as compensation they had even shorter spans of + concentration.

+ +

"What are they on about now?" he asked innocently.

+ +

"Just telling this fat bastard his old man couldn't have died in + the war," Doug snorted.

+ +

Everybody froze.

+ +

"Come on, Doug...." Corky broke in. His voice trailed away.

+ +

"What do you mean?" Billy finally asked. His voice had gone + cold.

+ +

"Think about it, stupid-features. Can't you count?"

+ +

" 'course I can count. And multiply and subtract. Better than + you any day of the week, Bugs."

+ +

"That should make it easy for you, then." Doug's face was red + and his lips drawn back from his big rabbit teeth in an angry + snarl. Danny had never seen him look so much out of control and + suddenly he knew with absolute certainty that Doug was going to let + it slip; say what everybody except Billy himself knew as a + fact.

+ +

"Okay. Try this one," Doug's voice was all tight and grating. + "See if you can do it in that thick skull of yours. Mental + arithmetic, if you can that is." Doug stopped. Corky took + a step forward, trying to get in between them. Both Billy and Doug + each held up a forestalling hand, telling him to keep out of it, + that this was between the two of them, something they could sort + out without interference. Corky looked at Danny, eyebrows raised in + question, but there was nothing Danny could say. Everybody teetered + on the sharp edge of the moment.

+ +

"When were you born," Doug demanded. "What year?"

+ +

"Nineteen fifty two. Same as you, why? You forget?"

+ +

"And when did the war end?" Doug kept it going.

+ +

"Nineteen forty five. Everybody knows that."

+ +

"And your old man died in the war! Seven years before you were + born? Has nobody told you the facts of life?"

+ +

"Stone the crows," Corky whispered, shaking his head.

+ +

Billy stood there, fists clenched, lips just forming around his + reply. His mouth tried to work, but no sound came out. Danny and + Corky held their breath. Doug stood stock still, eyes wide, hands + trembling. They could see Billy's mind, not especially fast at the + best of times, but he wasn't stupid either, seizing the problem and + working it over.

+ +

The silence stretched a few seconds longer. Finally Billy + spoke.

+ +

"That doesn't mean..." he floundered to a stop, tried again. + "Just because he...." The three of them on the sidelines could see + that Billy had never really considered this glaring anomaly, or if + he had, he had slung it to the back of his mind. Everybody in + Corrieside knew that Maggie Harrison had got pregnant to a big + American sailor from the NATO Base at Dunoon, from whom Billy had + inherited his thick blue-black hair and his height. The Yank had + finished his tour of duty and gone back to Arkansas and never + written once.

+ +

Billy backed away from them and almost knocked Tom over.

+ +

"That's pure shite. It's all a load of crap." Real + distress twisted his face. "I mean he was in the Commandos..." His + voice sounded as if it was cracking. "And he fought the Japs and + all."

+ +

Doug stood facing him, anger still suffusing his face. "Did he + hell."

+ +

"That's enough Doug," Corky said quietly. "Quit it + now."

+ +

"Well he shouldn't have called me that. He's always going on and + on and he shouldn't have shot me either. It's about time he wizened + up. Somebody should wring his bloody neck. He's always bumming and + bragging as if he's better than the rest of us. He thinks he's a + big shot."

+ +

"Bigger than you are, you ragged bag of bones. And better." + Billy was obviously still trying to digest the enormous truth of + it, but his temper was still up and fighting. "At least my mother + feeds me. Not like yours."

+ +

"Stop them Corky," Danny said, almost pleading. "This isn't any + good." He could see it coming, rushing towards them like the great + truth express, nobody at the brake. There were no real secrets in + the street in Corrieside where they all lived.

+ +

"And at least my mother buys me decent clothes," Billy snarled. + "Not rags like you get to wear all the time. You're like a tinker. + She dresses me proper."

+ +

"From the money your uncles give her? Some uncles. + Uncles my arse!"

+ +

"Jeez Doug, quit it." Danny begged in a futile attempt to + prevent the head-on crash.

+ +

"Don't you start on my mother, Doug Nicol. Don't you bloody + dare." Billy took two steps forward and raised his fist. Doug + flinched back. The anger and fear was evident in his eyes and in + the tightness of his voice and the taught hunch of his + shoulders.

+ +

"Well it's true," he insisted. "You've got more uncles than I've + had hot dinners."

+ +

"And what about your mother? Eh? Tell me that?"

+ +

Danny put his head in his hands. Corky stood transfixed. He held + both of his hands up, like a referee in a boxing ring trying to + keep the protagonists apart. But they were like fighting cocks now, + angry roosters. They didn't even seem to notice his presence.

+ +

"Why is your old man in Toronto? And how come your wee brother's + got ginger hair and freckles? Everybody else knows why."

+ +

"What are you trying to say?"

+ +

"Because he isn't your brother at all. Everybody knows about + your Mam and that tallyman from the Housemarket Company, the one + that used to come round for the money on a Friday. That's why your + Da's gone to Canada. He's too ashamed to show his face in the + town."

+ +

Billy's words hit like blows, worse than blows. Doug reeled + back. The others could see his mind working the way Billy's had + done. His big teeth were clenched together hard enough to crack. A + spittle dribbled from his lip.

+ +

"That's not true," he finally gabbled, spitting the words out + like bullets. "You're a fuckin' liar. You're just a big fuckin' + bastard.

+ +

But they could all see the dawning realisation on his face. The + signs that he'd missed. His father's withdrawn silence, the raised + voices in the living room late at night. The sounds of crying in + the dark. And little Terry, red-haired and freckled, a dozen years + his junior.

+ +

His mouth opened and closed, much as Billy's had done.

+ +

Corky moved right between them.

+ +

"That's enough," he said flatly.

+ +

"Piss off, Corcoran," Billy snarled. He tried to shove past him. + "I'm not finished with that bugsy bastard."

+ +

"Yes you are " Corky told him in a soft voice that had suddenly + gone very cold. He was a head shorter than Billy, but he stood with + his feet planted apart and his back straight, body all set. Danny + could sense that Corky knew he should have stepped in before, but + hadn't known how. The moment had gone too quickly. Now Corky looked + Billy straight in the eye, his own green-brown eyes bright and + unblinking.

+ +

"It's finished." Danny could sense the quiet threat there. Billy + was too far gone to hear it. He pushed at Corky's shoulder and the + other boy simply held himself tight, not letting himself be moved. + Doug's skinny chest was heaving with anger.

+ +

"It's over," Corky said. "I mean it." He took a hold of Billy's + hand and dragged it down from his shoulder. He stared into the + bigger boy's eyes for a long moment, forcing him to back down. + Corky had that ability. He held the gaze until Billy dropped his + and for a while before Billy conceded Danny thought he might even + try to have a go at Corky. Finally he took a step backwards and + Corky then turned to Doug.

+ +

"What are we trying to do? Kill ourselves? Haven't we all got + enough problems?"

+
+

The man watched them coming back to the camp. The boys stopped + up on the narrow gully side where a rivulet had cut the ground into + a deep and narrow chasm. They were out of sight round a dog-leg + bend, but he could hear them yelling gleefully, the way they had + when they had swum in the backed-up pool. Every now and again, one + of them would yell bombs away and the rest of them would + whoop and cheer. He could hear the heavy thuds of something falling + on to the shale. After a while, they came on down the shoulder of + the hill where the two streams met, carefully negotiating the + narrow rocky point to descend into the valley. The biggest boy was + in the lead, holding his long stick over his head. The bones of the + ram's skull were stark white against the grey of the rock. He sat + quietly, stock still, in the shadow of the hollow where the setting + sun could not pick him out. One of the boys stopped dead and looked + across the valley, seeming to look right into his eyes. He held the + pose for ten seconds, maybe more, raised his hand over his brow to + cut out the light. The man leaned further back into the shadows. + The boy shook his head and continued down the ridge.

+ +

They arrived at the tent and the dark haired boy clambered into + the natural amphitheatre below the steep face and spent several + minutes fixing the sheep's skull into the hawthorn branches beside + the deer's head and the pointed heron's beak. This done, he did a + little Indian dance, and his whooping shouts echoed from the valley + sides. The man watched, interest quickened. The flies erupted from + the stag's face in a visible cloud, disturbed by the death + dance.

+ +

The others lit the fire and the thin one balanced the blackened + pot on the stones surrounding the flames. The sky was clear except + for some long, pink clouds way out to the west, far beyond + Blackwood Farm. The moon would be full tonight, pale and yawning. + He watched them for a while more until he was satisfied that they + would be here for the night and then, very slowly, he eased back + into the bracken and silently followed the sheep track back up the + hill.

+ +

At Blackwood Farm he ate some more of the dry meat and finished + the hard bread. There were some jars in the pantry with fruit in + syrup and there were eggs in the coop. He ate them in silence, + listening to the buzzing of the flies as they whirled around the + woman. The smell was thick and choking, but he was used to that. He + had got used to that. When he finished eating, he went out + to the manure heap and talked to the head. It buzzed back at him + incomprehensibly. After a while, the moon rose and Conboy whispered + to him from a velvet sky.

+
+

It had been a magical day right up until the fight and then the + magic had snuffed right out.

+ +

They had borne the bombs back to the camp on the plank litter, + carrying three of them, taking turns as pall-bearers and Billy + trying to avoid his share of the work by claiming to be standard + bearer. It took them two hours to get back, though the going, + downstream when they got past the smelly and stagnant bog, was much + easier than the trip up to the Dummy Village. They had been elated + and excited with their find, their own discovery of the fabled + place. The fact that it was dilapidated and derelict had done + nothing to diminish their sense of discovery and achievement, or + detract from its fabled status. On the way back to the camp, they + had agreed to start out as early as they could the next morning so + they could explore the whole of it, right to the far end of the + blasted moorland. Tom had said he'd rather go home, but again he + was outvoted and he went along with it. It was a long walk back + home and he didn't want to travel over the hill and down the other + valley on his own, and besides, if he arrived without them, his + mother would know he hadn't been with the scouts and he'd have hell + to pay. Tom's mother was living on the edge of her own grief. She + could not use any more. Apart from that consideration for his + mother, and it was a real one in Tom's mind, the trees were thick + and crowded and anybody could get lost on their own if they didn't + know the place so well.

+ +

They followed the lip of the valley where sheep had worn a + beaten track through the turf, staying up on the far side until + they came level with the camp on the ridge which separated the + stream from the tributary. Doug and Corky let down the plank with + the three bombs and rubbed the stiffness out of their hands. Billy + stuck his stave in the turf, letting the ram's skull gaze out over + the gully.

+ +

"Let's try them now," he said.

+ +

"They won't work," Doug said. "If they'd have worked, they'd + have gone off when they fell."

+ +

"You don't know that," Billy countered. "We could at least try + one, and if it works, we could sell the others for a fortune."

+ +

"Who'd buy bombs?" Danny asked.

+ +

"The army, for one," Billy avowed. "Their bomb disposal squad + take them away and defuses them. And gangsters. They could use them + to blow up bank safes."

+ +

Doug laughed derisively at the notion, but Billy ignored him. He + bent down and unwound the rusty wire which had strapped the nearest + bomb to the plank. He worked at it, twisting the thin metal back + and forth until it weakened and broke. The bomb slid free and began + to roll down into the chasm. Billy lunged and stopped it with his + foot. He grabbed the tail fin and hauled it back up, managed to + lift it from the ground and raised it above his head. For a moment + he looked as if he was making an offering to an unseen god on + high.

+ +

"What if it does go off?" Danny asked.

+ +

"It'll go bang," Doug said. Danny looked at him. There was a + moment's silence while Billy still stood with the bomb held over + his head and then everybody just fell about laughing.

+ +

"Of course it'll go bang," Danny said when he got his breath + back. Billy was trying to keep the heavy weight up, but the + laughter had taken all the strength from his arms. He was giggling + uncontrollably.

+ +

"But won't it be dangerous?"

+ +

They had all seen bombs explode in films. They went off like + enormous firecrackers. People threw their hands up and somersaulted + into the air. There was always a flash and a lot of dust thrown up + in a black cloud. In Billy's Commando comics, the bombed Nazis + cried Himmel and Donner Und Blitzen. They put + their hands up in the air and were marched off as prisoners of + war.

+ +

"No," Doug assured him. "It'll be great."

+ +

"I think we should move back a bit."

+ +

"What for?"

+ +

By now Billy's arms were sagging. He tried to hold the weight, + but failed. The bomb tumbled out. Doug tried to grab it but only + succeeded pushing it to the left. It thudded against Billy's thigh. + Billy howled like a banshee. The bomb tumbled, hit the ground right + at the edge of the ridge, landing tail first. For a second it + seemed to balance on its own, like a miniature space rocket, + teetering on the edge, and then it slipped over. Billy was still + bawling and cursing Doug who was trying to explain that it was an + accident. The others watched the bomb roll down the steep few feet + of shale where the edge had eroded away. Below that there was a + ledge of mudstone which stuck out two or three feet and overhung + the much steeper drop to the trickling rivulet meandering through + tumble of water-smoothed boulders below. It skidded down the shale, + rolled on the ledge and paused again as if considering the next + move.

+ +

"I'll get you for that," Billy was promising Doug.

+ +

"It's going," Corky said, voice rising.

+ +

"I think we better get back up," Tom advised, now apprehensive. + The bomb flipped over and then it dropped. Billy caught the motion + out of the corner of his eye and his cursing stopped. Everybody + turned to watch. The black shape fell. It rolled several feet and + then seemed to flip up and out. The tail fins wobbled and then the + thing plummeted straight down.

+ +

"I'm getting out of here," Tom yelled. He turned and headed up + the slope of the ridge, but his eyes were still glued to the bomb. + His heels treaded at the slope, digging the shale away in small + grooves, going nowhere.

+ +

Nobody else moved or said a word. They watched as the bomb went + plummeting. Its fall took only a few seconds and for an instant, + from up on the edge, it looked as if it would slam straight onto + the rocks below. It missed by a good twenty feet and thumped onto + the soft gravel with an almost silent thud. A cloud of dry dust and + sand spewed up, leaving a small, shallow crater from which the + bomb's tail stuck up straight in the centre.

+ +

"Damn and blast," Doug said.

+ +

"Damn and no blast," Billy corrected. "It didn't even go off. + Must be a dud."

+ +

Tom breathed out slowly, relief written all over his thin, + freckled face.

+
+

"There's somebody here," Danny said later when they were heating + the can of soup on the fire. "I'm sure of it. I thought I saw + somebody in the bushes from up on the side when we were coming back + from the village."

+ +

"Me too," Tom agreed. "Honest. When we were collecting + wood."

+ +

"That's just your imagination," Billy said dismissively. His + face was still tight with emotion.

+ +

"What if it's a guard?" Doug said. "Somebody from the Dummy + Village. Maybe he saw us taking the bombs. We could get into big + trouble."

+ +

"If there had been a guard he'd have kicked our arses and chased + us," Corky said. "But there was nobody up there, unless there was a + tinker sleeping rough. Can't see anybody staying up here, though, + can you?"

+ +

"I still think there's somebody here," Danny said. "It gives me + the creeps."

+ +

They had all calmed down to an uneasy truce after Billy and + Doug's dreadful confrontation. That had been hours ago and still + neither of them would look each other in the eye. The whole + campsite was tense with the undercurrent of conflict. It had not + gone away. It pulled and tugged at them with its own gravity. Billy + and Doug needed to get away from each other, to get away from + everybody. They had momentous things to consider. But it had been + too late. Corky had used the force of his personality to cap it + all, but it had been too late. The sizzling, almost palpable + tension sparked from one to another.

+ +

They were all round the fire and Tom had stoked it up with pine + logs so that it burned bright enough to force them all to sit on + one side. Corky had used a long stick to get the soup on to the + heat and then he'd poured it out onto the tin plates. The bread was + hard and stale, but dipped in the thick broth, it tasted just fine. + Even Billy ate hungrily. Doug stayed at the far side, looking down + into his plate and eating steadily.

+ +

"We can explode them tomorrow," Danny ventured, trying to do + something to remove the pressure. If they could get back to where + they'd been in the morning, that would do fine with him. Nothing + was perfect. Billy was changing and Danny did not know that this + was a normal thing. Billy had hair on his balls and the beginning + of bum-fluff turning dark on his top lip and he was becoming + increasingly aggressive. He'd grown a head or more taller than + everybody except Doug who had always been lanky and thin, and he + was pretty powerful now, even if much of it was spare baggage. + Danny did not know how long it would be before Billy put out a real + challenge to Corky. He hoped that would not happen, though if Corky + was aware of it, he didn't show it and seemed not to be concerned. + It wasn't as if he'd put up a case for being the natural leader. + That was just the way of it. He had nothing to prove.

+ +

"Yeah, we could maybe rig up a catapult up there on one of the + trees, just like the Vikings," Tom came in, speaking fast, as if he + too had the same notion.

+ +

"That was the Romans. The Vikings used a battering ram."

+ +

"Was that Kirk Douglas?"

+ +

"Who cares," Doug said from the edge. His head was still down. + Above them, the moon was just peering over the top of the hill, as + close to full as possible. It reflected on the burbling stream and + gave everything a magical limning that only Danny and Corky + noticed. The rest of them were wrapped up in their own thoughts. + "Who gives a damn? Eh? It was just a film. Just make up."

+ +

"It was a good movie," Tom said. "I liked it. Especially at the + end when him and Tony Curtis had the big fight."

+ +

"And remember them skipping along on the oars?" Danny came in. + "That was a hoot."

+ +

Doug sniffed and slung his plate down to the grass. "Want some + more?" Corky offered. Doug sniffed again and shook his head. Billy + sat on the other edge, half turned away. He was looking at the + ram's skull in the corner where the bush butted against the rock. + The moonlight and firelight combined to light it up, making it seem + to float ghostly in the dark, eye sockets staring out at them. The + flies were humming still.

+ +

"I wouldn't waste it on the likes of him," Billy said sneeringly + and Corky finally exploded.

+ +

"Bloody hell," he spat and even Danny jumped. "Look at the pair + of you, would you? Just a couple of bloody morons, a couple of + selfish, bloody bastards."

+ +

Tom and Danny looked at each other. Corky was tough as old + boots, but despite his background he hardly ever swore. When he + did, it was a real serious matter. Danny recalled him saying that + to get on, you had to speak with a gobstopper in your mouth. Corky + made an effort not to sound like his crazy brother Phil who would + end up in Drumbain Prison for sure, or like Paddy Corcoran who was + pretty guttural at the best of times. When Corky said + bastard he was up and running, firing on all four.

+ +

He suddenly jumped to his feet and slammed his plate down on the + stone at the edge of the fire. The thick soup gouted out and + sizzled on the hot rock with a vicious cat-hiss. Everybody jerked + back. Billy spun round, startled and Doug twisted in alarm.

+ +

"You keep your mouth shut, just for once," Corky said, his + finger right up against Billy's face. Billy's mouth snapped closed. + "And you," Corky rounded on Doug. His back was to the fire + and they could all see the red in his face, made ruddier by the + heat and the reflection of the flames.

+ +

"Don't you ever think?" he said, almost snarling, finger tapping + his temple for emphasis. Danny heard the catch in his voice.

+ +

"Don't any of you ever think? Jees." He reached out + both hands and held them up, palms open almost in supplication, and + exasperation too. Danny put his plate down on the grass. Right at + that moment, the air in the valley seemed suddenly even more + charged than before. Corky took two steps forward, away from the + fire, up onto the small grassy lip and walked out beyond them all + before he turned. The flames danced on his face.

+ +

When he started speaking, his voice could hardly be heard over + the cackle and hiss of the pinewood fire, but they never missed a + word.

+ +

"Look at us," he said and in that moment he sounded achingly + desolate. "Just look at us."

+ +

"You'd think it was tough enough, but no. Somebody's got to go + and rip it all up and tear it all, and spoil it."

+ +

"But I didn't..." Billy spluttered. Corky turned his eyes on + him, blazing in the red flamelight and Billy shut up. Doug thought + better of whatever he was about to interject.

+ +

"It's not just you. Or Doug neither." Corky said. + "Listen!. This is the first time we've been out for + months. Really out. The whole summer, we've been stuck in, while + they all shit themselves. Sometimes I think I'm going to get bored + crazy. The whole summer! So we come up here for some fun and find + the village and it should be great. But what happens? We start + ripping it apart.

+ +

He held his hands up again. "This is all we've got. It's the + only adventure some of us are going to get, ever."

+ +

He turned to Billy. "You think you've got it bad? Maybe. Tough. + Same as me and Danny and Doug and Tom. We're all screwed. All of + us. We've got damn all, we've got nothin'. If we all chipped + together we couldn't buy a packet of smokes and Billy's the only + one without a patch on the arse of his pants.

+ +

"We're jiggered."

+ +

They could hear the crack in his voice, ready to break. Corky's + chest hitched and the fire blazed in his eyes as if he was burning + up inside. He came walking slowly back towards the fire so they + were all turned to face him.

+ +

"We're all up the same creek, aren't we? So there's no need to + go picking each other off. That crazy shit's done enough of that + with Mole Hopkirk and Don Whalen and that wee kid. If we can't back + each other up, what the hell's the point?" He paused just enough + for a breath and ploughed on.

+ +

"So who's got it bad?" He turned quickly, swinging to face + Billy. "You Billy-O? Doug? Look at Tom. Shit, if I'd a wee sister + and she died, I'd be half crazy, that's for sure. I'd be pure + mental."

+ +

Tom flinched back as if stung. Corky had reached down into the + taboo, Tom's private thing, and touched it. It was as if he'd + scraped on raw flesh and Corky realised that immediately. He looked + over at Tom, and gave him a look of such compassion, such fierce + and honest sorrow, that Danny felt a dry lump swell hard his own + throat.

+ +

"Sorry Tommy, just trying to say, okay?"

+ +

Tom had no words, not then, Corky turned away. "I know he must + be all screwed up about it, really ripped open. So us, we got to + give him a hand, give him back-up, because he's our pal, isn't he? + Our mate. So we got to back him up. Us."

+ +

He stopped and then added for emphasis: "All of + us."

+ +

Billy nodded guiltily, remembering how he'd chased Tom across + the bog.

+ +

"And you Billy. So what? Your engine's all seized because your + old man wasn't a great hero, or whatever he was who the hell knows? + I'm sorry. We're all sorry, even Doug with his big mouth, he's + sorry too. Sure youb are Doug?"

+ +

Doug looked up, opened his big mouth then thought better of it. + He did look sorry. He looked wretched, blinking shiny eyes.

+ +

"You'll get over it. Believe me, fathers aren't all they're + cracked up to be. We know that, don't we Dan? Look at me. My old + man's up for swiping the pigeon club money. I've got to live with + that, and so's my Ma. You can have a Da like mine if you really + want. When he gets out he'll knock me arse for tit. You got + worries? Shite on a bike, we've all got worries! Every one + of us."

+ +

Corky was up now, going hell for leather, unable to pull back on + the reins.

+ +

"You want to be like Tom, or me? How about Danny-boy? Jesus, he + can't even open his mouth in his own house. Prayers all the + time."

+ +

Danny cringed, feeling the other faces on him. He was suddenly + exposed.

+ +

"You ever think about what that's like? Jesus bloody-H. + Every time Dan farts they've got the priest round to him, that + creep Father Fingers. Dan hardly ever gets out and when he's in, + his old man's got him doing schoolwork all the time non-stop."

+ +

Corky's voice was tight with the pressure now and there was no + stopping him. "We're all jiggered. Okay Doug, it's rough on you, + but wee Terry's still your brother you've got nothing to be ashamed + of. You'll be away in Toronto. At least you're getting to go + someplace new where nobody knows you or where you're from. And Tom + going to Australia. That's a chance. That's a real big chance."

+ +

He paused once more, and his voice went quiet, as if he was + suddenly scared it would catch and stumble and throw him; as if he + had come galloping along the edge to where it fell in a long sheer + drop and he had to pull back hard.

+ +

"We won't get that chance, me and Dan and Billy, so we got to + stay here and get on with it. But that's just it." His hands were + right out in front of him, balled into fists. He looked as if he + wanted to punch. "It's bad enough as it is without giving ourselves + a bad time. So why should we be fighting over what we can't + help?"

+ +

He paused and looked at them all, his eyes fixing each in + turn.

+ +

"But up here, we're away from it all, just for a couple of days. + It could be the last time. Probably is, and I don't want to + remember it because we all blew apart. That's going to happen + anyway, no matter what we do, so at least, just for now, we can + stick together. It's us against the flamin' world, know what I + mean? We're all in the shit."

+ +

He turned towards the fire, head down, shoulders shaking.

+ +

"After this summer, it's all going to break up. I want to + remember this time. We came up here for a last chance and we found + the Dummy Village and that's special. It's what I want to remember, + because we don't have enough good things to remember. None of + us."

+ +

He stopped talking and his shoulders slackened as if the tendons + had been cut. The four of them sat there in silence, looking at + Corky, stunned by the force of what he had said. He had touched + them all, right inside of them. He'd been aware of everything, + known all the dark secrets and until now he'd never said anything, + not a word.

+ +

Danny looked from Billy to Doug to Tom. They were all sitting + there on the short grass while the flames sent colour flickering on + their faces. All of them were looking at John Corcoran, if waiting + for him to say something else. None of them seemed capable of + speech.. He had stunned them all.

+ +

Corky's shoulders heaved and his head went down into his hands + and Danny felt a powerful ripple of shock. Corky was crying, + standing in front of them all and he was crying, and that was + something that had never happened before. He wanted to reach out + and touch him.

+ +

Yet it was Tom Tannahill who stood up and walked forward, closer + to the fire.

+ +

"Don't," he said. He reached up and put a hand on Corky's + shoulder. "Please Corky."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/023.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/023.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a92ef5b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/023.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,782 @@ + + + + + + **#** + + + + +
+
+

**#**

+ +

Interlude:

+ +

"Hector Kelso agreed with John Fallon." Angus McNicol said. "Our + man had put the blood on the doorposts to ward off the angel of + death, and that made him some kind of psycho. We knew that already, + but Kelso disagreed with the shrink who still thought he'd put the + gun barrel in his mouth. Hector said the killer thought he was + possessed, and none of us on the investigation disagreed with that. + He'd a devil in him.

+ +

"Old Jean McFall, she'd been a gutsy old lady. Kelso showed how + she clambered through the attic and where he'd tried to shoot her + through the lath and plaster of the ceiling. That must have been a + nightmare chase and it took guts to stop and write in her diary. It + wasn't until next day that we found what she'd written and that + gave us better description of him, and maybe a name.

+ +

Angus McNicol's eyes were focussed far back in the past and the + tape turned slowly, picking up his gruff voice and not missing the + crackling emotion behind the words as he recalled the savage + butchery at Blackwood Farm.

+ +

"Remember that song? A nice wee lass, a fine wee lass, is + bonny wee Jeannie McColl? I saw the photographs on the + mantelpiece and it could have been written for her. She'd been a + looker in her day, fine bones, a lovely smile. When we found her + against the wall she hardly even looked human.

+ +

"We found the back of her blouse on a piece of metal up there. + He dragged her inside and down the stairs again, put her on the + table and put it into her. He broke her arms, high up, close to the + shoulder, and he tore all the ligaments and cartilage on her + elbows. Doctor Bell and Hector Kelso agreed that he just + spread-eagled her and put his weight down. But that didn't kill + her. Looking at the bruising and the internal damage, Bell thought + she probably didn't die until at least the next day. Can you + imagine it? The team called him the Angel, but he was the devil + incarnate, believe you me."

+ +

"He raped her, and then he used the logging axe to cut off Ian + McColl's head and he stuck it on the dung heap. Whatever Bryce + thought, this wasn't a man with any remorse. He waited for the + flies to come."

+ +

We checked every lead, but the name we had never meant a thing. + We must have pulled out the files on everybody called Leslie Joyce. + Birth, army lists, even church congregations, hospital patients, + and there were quite a few Les Joyces who got a visit. We even + tried the Joyce Lesley's too, just to try to get a hook on this + nutcase, but after Blackwood Farm, the man just disappeared and + Bryce was crowing that he'd been right all along.

+ +

"But I never thought that bastard committed suicide. Not then + and not ever. Maybe whatever was frying inside his brains + finally burst and he fell down dead and if that's what happened, + then it was an end he never deserved. But it was better for me and + for all of us to think of him dead than to believe he would turn up + again and see it start all over.

+ +

"We waited a long time, right through until the following year, + past the next summer. The Angel, the one you lot called Twitchy + Eyes, he simply vanished. Really I hoped he'd gone up onto the + moor and got stuck in a bog and took days to die while the crows + picked out his eyes."

+ +

"No matter what, the killer disappeared and the killings + stopped. Nobody ever knew why."

+
+

Interruption:

+ +

I could tell that Angus McNicol had spent a lot of time thinking + about the killer. A lot of it had come back to me since I saw those + eyes on the street, those flat and empty eyes that showed no spark + and no recognition. There was a lot I'd buried down in the depths + along with plenty more unwanted baggage from way back then. They + say if you remember the sixties you weren't there, and that's the + biggest crock of crap anybody ever made up. We were there. We were + kids, but we knew, like Mick Jagger told us, this could be the last + time, and it was, of course, because the world was changing and + everything was blasting apart.

+ +

Up in a valley barely four miles from Blackwood Farm where a + twitchy-eyed killer mutilated the farmer and his wife and sat until + the flies ate their eyes out, a boy several months short of + fourteen told his friends a truth about themselves.

+ +

Everything was changing, some of it for the better and a lot for + the worse.

+ +

When The Who were the wild men of Rock n' Roll, Roger Daltry + sang that he hoped he died before he got old, and of course, he + didn't follow through. He just got rich. There were a few that + summer who had the life taken from them and they weren't singing + about it. It was a summer like none other. It would be another year + at least before Jimmy Hendrix made the hairs on the back of my neck + stand up when he played Purple Haze, and my mother had + looked at him as if he was old Twitchy himself, acting the way + mothers do when it comes to music, as if it could steal their + children away and bury them in a cellar and damn their souls + forever. Clapton and Bruce and Baker were about to put sounds + together the way we'd never heard them before, but the flower power + hadn't touched this little pocket of the world. We did not have a + love-in, it was not groovy.

+ +

There were five boys just on the wrong side of innocence up + there in the valley that day when.....

+
+

August 3. Morning:

+ +

The man stepped out from the bushes and cast a shadow across the + water of the stream.

+ +

It had been a fitful night in the aftermath of John Corcoran's + soliloquy. The long silence after he finished speaking and stood + with his head down and his shoulders jerking, stretched on and on + while the flames of the fire dopplered down in a slow diminish from + yellow to red and then to glowing embers that pulsed with a life of + their own in the merest breath of warm night air. Corky stood + there, staring into the flicker of light and Tom hovered beside + him, a hand still to the shoulder, just a couple of silhouettes + from Danny Gillan's viewpoint. Over to the side, Doug sniffed again + a couple of times and Danny couldn't tell whether he was crying or + not. Billy had his head in his hands, eyes fixed on the fire, like + a big Apache, for once silent.

+ +

After a while, after what seemed a long time, Corky turned round + and went to the tent. He came out with that old army blanket his + old man had swiped from the territorials hall when he and Deek + Galt, Pony's old man, had heisted a box of grenades for poaching + the salmon up at the Witches Pots on the Corrie River where a + generation later some folk would go hunting something else and burn + the whole forest down to charred stumps.

+ +

"I'm going to sleep out here," he said, wrapping the blanket + around his shoulders and lowering himself to the grass about six + feet away from the fire. Everybody stood there, shaken, with the + red of the fire on their faces, making them look wild and bleak and + somehow feral, like young warriors, like young braves.

+ +

"Me too," Billy finally said in a soft voice that was unlike + him. He and Tom crossed to the tent and got their own blankets. + After a while, Danny and Doug did the same. The tent stood dark and + empty while they all hunkered around the fire, huddled around their + thoughts while the flames faded and slowed and turned the logs to + mere glowing embers. Up on the moor a poor curlew bleated soulfully + and the dented moon rose over the high sides to shine down into the + open valley.

+ +

Some time in the night, Billy cried out and then subsided into a + snuffled sob. The noise woke them all, but none of them could tell + whether Billy was awake or asleep. Sometime in the night, Danny + Gillan thought he heard footsteps downstream and woke up with a + start, breathing quickly, nerves suddenly tight and alert. The fire + had sunk down now to barely a glimmer which gave off some heat but + not much. As he fetched some thick pine logs from the pile he and + Tom had collected, he scanned the darkness down in the valley where + the trees crowded blackly, holding their inky shadows. He could + sense eyes upon him and he shivered in the cold night air. A + trickle of apprehension rippled down his spine and he hurried back + to the circle of the campfire where the others were dark huddled + shapes on the ground. The logs quickly caught fire and sent the + heat blazing out, but the cold trickle inside Danny took a long + time to diminish.

+ +

In the morning, when he awoke, he was still tense and his hands + were clenched into fists. His fingernails had dug red crescents + into the skin of his palms.

+ +

Tom and Doug used the last of the sausages in the old pan, + frying them up in their own sparking fat while the tin of beans + with its saw-blade top angling up in a jagged halo sat at the edge + of the fire, bubbling away in the heat. Billy took a while to rouse + but as soon as the sausages, burned almost black, were on the + plate, the smell brought him round as if he'd been slapped. Tom + handed him his breakfast. Billy nodded his thanks, keeping his eyes + down. Normally he'd be full of talk and blether in the mornings + while everybody else was yawning and scratching and just trying to + find their bearings, but now he was silent and for the moment there + wasn't much to say.

+ +

They ate quickly and licked the plates clean. Danny said they'd + have to set some more snares for rabbits and catch some trout in + the stream if they planned to stay much longer. Doug had the notion + he could find a pheasant's nest down in the trees and get some + eggs, but at this late stage in the summer that idea was voted down + with some derision. Most of the eggs would be hatched and the + others would be addled with half formed chicks. Doug then + remembered Mole Hopkirk clambering down from the railway arches + with the pigeon's egg burst in his mouth, and the rousing derision + when he'd puked it all up. It got a laugh, feeble in the light of + what had happened to ol' Mole, and in the aftershock of the fight. + They were all talking now, all except Billy who seemed still + cocooned inside the happenings of the night before. When Dan went + down to the stream to use the fine sand to wash the plates clean, + Corky followed.

+ +

"You stick with Billy, right?" he said. "He'll be okay in a + while."

+ +

"You reckon? He was pretty cheezed off last night. We all + were."

+ +

"Yeah," Corky conceded, somehow sadly. "It had to be said though + Dan. They'd have been at each others throats in a minute and then + we'd all have been hooking and jabbing. That's the way it goes. + Billy's a bit crazy these days. You know that. Not bad, just + cracked."

+ +

Danny nodded down at the water where the rippling water broke + his reflection into wavering patches of shadow. Up by the fire, + Billy was trying to pick up some music on his radio, but all he got + now was static. Tom and Doug were already half-way up the side of + the valley heading for the heights where they'd left the bombs from + the Dummy Village.

+ +

"He's always been a bit flaky, but now he can be pretty mean + with it. I don't think he can help it, and what Doug said didn't + help, did it? Jeez. It's like it's been building up though and I + had to say it last night because if Billy explodes..."

+ +

"We'll all be covered in blood and guts and shite," Danny + finished for him, wanting to keep it light now after the dismay of + the night before. What Corky had said had got under his own skin, + making him realise even more strongly than before, the limits of + his own world and the constraints upon himself. The Bad + Fire, his own nightmare. Hell and damnation in the + fire. Corky had known without saying until last night, when it + all came out. Corky had Crazy Phil on his back all of the time and + would have his old man back out of Drumbain Jail soon and Corky + would have to handle the regular knock on the head or the belt + buckle. But was that really worse than the constant and inexorable + weight of pressure and the never-ending litany of prayer and piety? + Danny Gillan wanted out from under just as much as Corky needed to + escape.

+ +

"Too true. And guts and hot air." Corky said and he laughed + aloud, jerking Danny back to the moment. "Blood, guts and gallons + of lard. The size of him, he'd cover the whole campsite."

+ +

They used the thick fishing line to make more snares which Danny + set in the runs he'd found by the bushes further up the valley + where they'd already seen some rabbits when they arrived. The line, + Danny assured him, was better than the fencing wire because the + rabbits wouldn't see it. When they'd finished, Corky went up the + track to join Doug and Tom. The sun was rising fast and the heat + was gaining on the day, bringing out the bees and damsels and the + big dragonflies whirring in squadrons over the pools. Down in the + trees, pigeons murmured sleepily and the slow water muttered, like + conversations almost fathomed.

+ +

Billy and Danny went upstream to catch trout in the shallow + pools and under the rocks where the water tumbled. Up on the + plateau, close to where the natural dam had backed up the steam to + form the long twist of Lonesome Lake, the others were whooping + excitedly, the cares of the night forgotten, or at least banished + under the heat of the sun.

+ +

"Bombs awaaaay." Tom's high voice came wavering down. There was + silence, then more whoops and gales of laughter. Danny couldn't + help but smile.

+ +

"You think they'll explode?"

+ +

"Hope so," Billy said. He'd his head down, hair trailing the + burbling surface of the clear water, both hands jammed under a flat + stone, eyes fixed with concentration. "Big one in here." He + twisted, pushed further. Danny could see his shoulders working as + he tried to get a hold of the trout. Finally he slowly withdrew his + hand from under the rock, keeping his balance, brought out a thick + spotted fish that twisted and torqued powerfully in his big + hands.

+ +

"Beauty," he said through gritted teeth. "Bet that's nearly a + pound." He held it tight in his left and hooked a forefinger into + the trout's mouth while it bucked for freedom, pulled on the upper + jaw until he mouth gaped and the head drew right back. There was a + watery squelch and then a small crack. The fish shivered and then + flopped to limp stillness, its neck broken. Danny watched + dispassionately. They'd been catching trout since they were no size + at all. It was different with fish. It was normal.

+ +

Behind and above them, in the narrow chasm leading off the main + valley, Doug and Corky were balancing the bombs on the branches of + a twisted hawthorn tree that leaned out over the side of the drop. + They were using some of the hay-baling twine from the roll that + served as guy ropes for the old tent, and despite the straining + effort, they'd managed to pull one branch right back until it + touched the ground. Tom had snagged the twine around the tree's own + root and he plucked it, making it sing like a deep guitar + string.

+ +

"Try it now," Doug said. Tom got his old army knife with the + spike for taking things out of horses hooves, opened the sharp + blade. Gingerly he hacked at the hairy string, covering his eyes in + case it whipped back and blinded him. The blade bit through before + he expected it to and the branch uncoiled with a whiplash crack. + The bomb went straight up in the air, maybe ten feet or more. Tom + went sprawling back.

+ +

"Bombs away," he yelled, scrabbling for balance before he + tumbled over the edge.

+ +

"Watch out," Corky bawled. Doug shrieked with laughter. The bomb + went straight up and came straight back down again, tail first, but + already beginning its turn. It hit the very spot where Tom had been + only a second before, landing with an earth-shuddering thump on its + side and then it toppled over the edge as the one had done the + previous night to slide down the shale slope and come grinding to a + silent halt.

+ +

They all burst out laughing together.

+ +

Danny and Billy, stripped to the waist and with their sloppy-joe + sweat-shirts tied by the arms around their waists, had taken six + fish in the first hundred yards, none of the rest as big as the one + Billy had tickled from under the stone and now they were threading + twine through the gills to carry them back to the camp.

+ +

"Did you know?" Billy had asked and Danny hadn't + bothered, hadn't needed to ask what he was talking about. He'd been + waiting for the question, uncomfortable in its proximity and unsure + of what he would say when it came.

+ +

"Yeah," he finally said. "I knew. Stood to reason, didn't it? + Doesn't matter though. None of us is bothered about it. We don't + care."

+ +

"I never thought about it. Honest to God."

+ +

"We knew that, Billy."

+ +

"But my Ma's been lying to me all these years."

+ +

"Everybody's mother lies. She just wants you to feel good."

+ +

"But I don't feel good. She said he was a hero."

+ +

"And he could have been. Might have been. Who the hell knows? + Look at Corky's old man, he's no hero, that's for sure. Nor mine. + Corky was right. It's not worth fighting about. We've all got + troubles."

+ +

"Yeah, but Jeez, I never thought. How stupid can you + get? I could have belted Doug last night. I could have really + gubbed him. I still could, you know? Because of what he said."

+ +

Danny saw Billy's shoulders twitch again, this time with the + internal pressure of a held-back punch and he was immediately + reminded of Corky's analogy. He did look as if he could explode. + The twitch was like a small seismic shiver, but the body language + so eloquent. In his mind, Billy was lashing out to land a fist on + Doug's nose. Dany was glad it was still held in tight, glad it + hadn't come to it. What Corky had done, what he had said had + touched them all. He'd stopped it.

+ +

Billy bent to threading the string through the gills. Up on the + hill, another cheer went up into the still air followed by yet + another gaggle of laughter. Danny thought it would be a good idea + if they dumped the fish down at the camp and went up the hill to + join in. Once they got Billy laughing again, it would be okay + (until the next time). He was just about to turn and + suggest this to Billy when across the stream, where the hazel + bushes crowded together, a trickle of gravel went hissing down the + slope. Danny looked up.

+ +

And the man stepped out from the bushes.

+ +

Danny jerked back in surprise, his breath drawn in quickly in a + hiss. Billy hadn't noticed. He was still crouched down, + concentrating on the task of inserting the thick, fibrous twine + inside the gill and out through the gaping, bloodied mouth.

+ +

The man stood there silently on the far side of the stream. He + was tall, very tall and his hair was black as Billy's, though uncut + and greasy. His eyebrows shadowed his eyes and he stood stock still + in a long shabby coat that came down below his knees and looked too + warm for the summer's day. He was wearing a pair of scuffed black + boots laced up to the top with pieces of twine. One of the soles + was peeling away from the upper.

+ +

"Bill," Danny whispered.

+ +

"Shouldn't have said it anyway," Billy muttered tightly still + replaying the scene. "He was just having a go at me."

+ +

Danny nudged him and for a moment Billy just continued his + self-bound conversation. Finally Danny reached and clamped his hand + round the other boy's meaty wrist.

+ +

"What?" Billy said, turning his head. He saw Danny's eyes, fixed + and unblinking, staring across the tumbling water. He slowly + turned, caught a glimpse of the figure standing on the far bank. + His head jerked up and his own eyes widened. His whole body started + back in surprise.

+ +

The man stood there for a long moment, still as rock. Behind him + the little shiver of shale trickled down the steep slope, possibly + where his coat had brushed the dry surface. It sounded like a slow + breath. In Danny's hand, one of the fish bucked, even though he'd + been sure the blow on the head had killed it dead. It shuddered and + then went limp. The man stared at them, though they couldn't see + his eyes under the beetling brows. His face was craggy and angular, + and his hair, thick and dark, hung down lank and turned up at his + collar. It was spiked near the crown, as if he'd cut it himself and + on either side of his mouth, deep furrows formed black, angry + brackets.

+ +

The moment of contact stretched on. Neither of the boys knew + what to do. Up on the hill they could hear the excited yelling of + the others, but they couldn't call out to them while the man was + staring at them. Was he a farmer? A gamekeeper?

+ +

Both of them knew he was neither. He was ragged and dirty and + unwashed and unshaven. His work trousers were torn at the knee and + covered in dark stains. His mouth was curved downwards. Danny + touched Billy's arm again and moved backwards, still crouched on + the grass by the bank. The fish on his string slithered towards him + with the movement, its eye blinkless and dead, mouth agape. Billy + scrambled back with him.

+ +

"Who is he?" he whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

+ +

"Don't know."

+ +

The sunlight on the moving water sent spangled reflections onto + the steep slope behind the silent figure and dappled shimmering + light on his threadbare coat. It flashed into his eyes and he + blinked several times, very rapidly. He turned away from the light, + quite slowly, as if it hurt his eyes, until his face was in + profile, then he jerked once and seemed to galvanise into motion. + He took a heavy step forward, crunching on the gravel and small + stones by the side of the stream, took another step which put his + foot right into the water with a loud splash. There were enough + stones to allow him to step across and stay dry at this time of the + year when it hadn't rained for more than three weeks and the water + was low, but he ignored them. The dark brows had come down again to + shutter the eyes, but they knew he was staring right at them, so + intently he did not even seem to notice his boots were under + water.

+ +

Danny and Billy cringed backwards. They got to their feet, + hearts suddenly thumping. Behind and above, Tom and the others were + hooting with laughter again.

+ +

"Mister we..." Billy started. "we're just catching some fish for + our dinner. Honest."

+ +

Neither of them knew who the man was, or what power, civil or + official he might wield but Billy was already working on + mitigation.

+ +

"Fish."

+ +

The word came out in a soft hiss of breath, almost dreamily. + "Fishes."

+ +

The man crossed the stream and came up the bank, mounting to the + flat in two or three big strides. When he reached the turf where + they'd been threading the trout he stood up straight, towering over + them.

+ +

"I will make you fishers of men," he whispered, his voice + slightly hoarse, as if he'd been shouting. The boys drew back a + step, standing closer together now. The whispering voice made no + sense, though Danny had heard the words before. The man was still + staring at them, his face completely impassive, as if there was no + emotion in him, as if he was looking both at them and right through + them.

+ +

"What do you want?" Danny asked and both he and Billy heard the + apprehensive little tremble in his voice. The man was just standing + there and that was scary enough. They'd been chased by gamekeepers + and bawled at by irate farmers and that was the way of things with + boys. But this big scarecrow of a man had just whispered, not + raised his voice, and that was somehow very unnerving.

+ +

"They said, Lord, here is a boy with a few fishes." The + whispering became a grating rumble, coming up from deep inside the + stranger. "A few fishes."

+ +

He took several steps forward, alarmingly quickly. Danny and + Billy flinched yet again. The man reached and picked up the biggest + of the fish, the one Billy had been trying to loop on to the + string. He held it up to them. The still-wet scales threw back the + light in iridescent sparkles. Without hesitation the man brought + the limp trout up to his face, opened his mouth and bit down on its + head.

+ +

Danny's heart seemed to drop like a stone.

+ +

"Jeez," Billy gasped, backing into the smaller boy and almost + knocking him sideways. Danny had to grab his arm, to keep from + falling.

+ +

The teeth came down on the head and they both heard it crunch + wetly, almost with the sound of a boiled egg being cut open with a + blunt knife. The fish flapped twice, the way the other trout had + done, showing it was still, even if barely, alive. Danny could not + believe his eyes. His throat clenched and he felt as if he was + going to vomit. Close by, he heard the sound of Billy gulping for + air.

+ +

The teeth clenched tight and they stood fascinated, mesmerised, + unable to draw their eyes away. The head crunched and the man's + head pulled back. A piece of flesh flipped out from between the + teeth and then the rest of trout pulled away. They could see that + the wide, grey head had been bitten clean through to just behind + the eye. Black blood welled from the small braincase. Dark blood + trickled down on the man's clenched teeth. He swung his head, in an + animal motion, the way a dog does, and chewed hard. The sound of + the fish head crunching, an innocuous little sound in itself, was + suddenly appalling in the still air of the day. It was nothing and + yet it was immense, of great importance; of earth shuddering + consequence. Of a sudden, both of them, standing elbow to elbow, + with the sun hot on their shoulders, felt completely and + terrifyingly defenceless.

+ +

The man stared into them from the shadows under his brows and he + chewed slowly and deliberately, letting them hear every disgusting, + sickening sound. Then he swallowed and the lot went down his throat + with not a shiver or a tremor.

+ +

Danny tried to turn to run but for some reason he was frozen to + the spot, Billy was jammed up against him and he could smell his + sweat, feel the peculiar shiver in the face of this craziness.

+ +

The man stepped forward and held the torn trout out. "Take this + and eat it," he said to Billy, pinioning him with black eyes, now + visible this close. He cocked his head to the side, a strangely + dog-like gesture. "He took it and gave it to his disciples." Danny + had also heard those words before, heard them many a time, read out + in the nightly family prayers around the empty grate of the fire. + Words form the bible, from the new testament. This is the word + of the Lord.

+ +

For a moment he heard his own father's voice transposed on the + raggedy man's low rumble.

+ +

Billy was backing away. The man stepped forward, jabbing the + bloodied end of the fish at the taller boy. "Take this and eat it," + he repeated. The eyes were completely devoid of colour, like holes + under the shelves of the brows. Billy whimpered.

+ +

"I don't like..." he started to say.

+ +

"Eat. Eat." The voice rumbled. The torn end, showing the curve + where the eye had been ripped from the socket, rubbed against + Billy's lips. He gagged, shaking his head in disgust.

+ +

"Come on Billy," Danny said, voice rising. He grabbed his friend + by the arm and pulled him backwards. "Let's go."

+ +

Danny hauled hard enough to spin Billy round. The big boy + turned, eyes wide in fright. A slick of blood and fish slime coated + his mouth like a smeared, viscid lipstick and his normally sallow + skin had turned fish-belly pale. Danny felt his heart flip + helplessly like the jerking twitch of the dying fish. The sense of + danger simply inflated inside him. He pulled again. Billy blinked + once, twice.

+ +

"Come on!" Danny urged, pulling him. Billy seemed to + lurch out of a dream. His muscles seemed to unlock. He jerked and + then he was moving. Danny leapt down the slope to the next + downstream level with Billy in front of him. All the while he could + sense the man reaching for him, a big gnarled hand with fingers + outspread to grab him by the skin of the neck. He could imagine the + man's breath. He thought he could hear his big boots pounding after + them.

+ +

Billy was moving, only a couple of feet ahead, his blue and + white tee-shirt flapping like an apache breechcloth. His big, meaty + arms were swinging and Danny could hear the panicked tremble in his + breathing. His own breath was coming fast; short, gasped pants for + air and it felt as if his heart had raised itself up about six + inches to block his windpipe. The track beside the stream narrowed + between two large boulders at the turn where Billy had caught the + big one and they both went through the gap like startled rabbits. + Off in the bushes a blackbird went clattering away in a scold of + alarm. They smashed through, where before they had gingerly angled + avoiding scratches from thistles, now crunching and crushing the + hogweed and wild rhubarb. Billy was like a tank, heedless of any + obstruction.

+ +

They came out of the shadow at the bend and into the sunlight. + The other boys were high up on the edge, further up the gully of + the tributary, oblivious for the moment to the drama down below. + Billy ran as fast as he could, tasting the blood and raw slime from + the fish, suddenly more afraid than ever before. It had happened so + fast and it was so inexplicable it was truly terrifying. The fact + that the man had bitten into the living head of the fish had been + scary enough, wrong enough to be dreadfully shocking, but + then he had forced the thing at Billy's mouth and if a man would do + that, he had to be crazy for sure. He had just stared at them and + then spoken in a harsh, creepy whisper. His eyes had blinked under + the brows and Billy had thought.

+ +

Billy had thought there was something...

+ +

Billy thought

+ +

Twitchy Eyes.

+ +

He had never been quick on the uptake, but as soon as the fish + had jammed into his mouth and he had caught the reflection of the + light on the man's black eyes, seen the rapid fire blink, like some + flickering morse, the image had come smacking into his head and his + knees had almost given way.

+ +

Oh holy Jesus please-us a childish voice had yelled + inside his head and Billy had instantly felt very small and + dreadfully vulnerable. Danny had been pulling at him and he'd + frozen just for the moment, not able to make his feet work, while + the smell of fish was thick in his nose and the back of his throat. + And then he and Danny were running, him first, down the track and + he knew if they could get to the next corner and down to the camp + they'd get away because the man would see the others and he'd know + he couldn't get away with anything if there were witnesses and + everything would be...

+ +

They came scuttering round the corner, angling their bodies to + take the bend. They made it past the clump of stinging nettles, + past the cluster of dockens waving in no breeze the way dockens do + in the summer. A hunting swallow flew right in front of them, + jinking at the last moment in a flare of gunmetal blue-black.

+ +

Then Billy's foot stepped into a cowpat that wasn't old enough + to be caked and dry. The top surface slid across the wet and greasy + inside and his foot slipped with it.

+ +

It all went wrong just as quickly as that.

+ +

He put his foot down, still running at an angle, reaching with + his left hand towards the stand of hazel saplings to get enough + purchase to swing his weight around and next thing he was up in the + air. His foot skidded out from under him and the other foot + couldn't come back down quickly enough to regain his balance. He + hit the ground with such a thud that his teeth gnashed together + with a jar of sudden pain. Another pain jolted up from his backside + to the top of his head as all his weight compressed the bones in + his back. His breath came out on one loud whooping expulsion.

+ +

Danny was only three feet behind. He saw Billy go down, tumble + and bounce and then he was flying over Billy's head. Both knees hit + against the other boy's shoulder and his own momentum flipped him + up and over. He landed with a numbing crash right at the edge of + the track where the bank dropped about six feet to a shallow pool. + It was only the fact that his torn jeans snagged a protruding hazel + root that prevented him from plunging forward head first onto the + rocks below.

+ +

Up above, on the rim, startled voices came rolling down.

+ +

"Hey, what's up? You OK?" Danny vaguely heard the drumming of + feet as Corky and the rest came haring down the hardpack sheep + track. Billy groaned, grunted, turned himself over, got to his + knees. Danny eased himself to his feet, aware that he should be + doing something, but momentarily dazed by the shock of the + fall.

+ +

"Hey Dan!" Doug bawled.

+ +

The man came round the corner just as Danny got to his feet. + Billy was still on his knees, facing downstream. He saw Danny's + face go slack and his eyes raise themselves upwards, higher than + Billy's own. Behind him, something brushed against fabric and then + a cold, hard edge pressed against the curve of his jawline.

+ +

"Oh Billy," Danny said, but there was no need for explanation. + Billy knew it was a gun.

+ +

"And again a little while and you shall see me," the + man said and there was a hint of shivery laughter, a kind of cold + glee in his rumbling voice.

+ +

Doug and the others came hurtling round the bottom bend. From up + on the rim they had seen both boys tumble, but the track had curved + down behind one shoulder of the slope and they had not seen the + stranger pushing through the foliage.

+ +

They all skidded to a halt when they rounded the crumbling + corner of the dog-leg of the valley, Doug first, Corky hard on his + heels and Tom only a few feet behind.

+ +

Everything stopped dead still.

+ +

A lone cuckoo sang out downstream where the forest crowded down + to the water, a lazy, somnolent summer sound, almost smoky in the + warm air. Two black and gold dragonflies chased each other between + the two frozen groups, for a long, extruded moment the only + movement in that part of the valley. Three boys stood there in + attitudes of sudden stop, hands out, bodies twisted, as if they'd + been photographed at the beginning, or the end of a race. All of + them were open mouthed, wide eyed.

+ +

Danny Gillan was further up the track, half turned, eyes fixed + on Billy who was still down on his knees, his black hair in awful + contrast to the now pure white of his skin. His own dark eyes + looked like pits. The long, shining barrels of the shotgun had him + just behind his ear, their gaping mouths a dark and infinite figure + of eight laid on its side.

+ +

Billy's eyes were blinking fast, blinking almost in time to the + tic in the gaunt man's own eyes. Everything was frozen in a tableau + except for the eyes and the dragonflies whirring past about their + own business, oblivious to the drama.

+ +

For a long, stretched moment of time there was no sound at all + except the murmuring of the stream and the robber bird down in the + trees.

+ +

"And so he came amongst them," the ragged man finally said, "and + they got down upon their knees."

+ +

This time he laughed. It was the first time the other three had + seen him, the first time they had heard his voice. John Corcoran + felt a deadly cold chill trickle upwards on his spine and he knew + instantly they were in the most appalling danger. For that long + moment, he was frozen, yet on many levels he was aware of + everything, even the far-off cuckoo and the mindless chattering of + the stream. He gauged the distance back to the curve around the + little knoll of rock on the shoulder, out of the line of fire of + those long black barrels. Would the man shoot Billy? For a second + he considered running, turning on his heel, thinking the same + thought Danny had already considered, that the man would not dare + shoot if there were witnesses free to point the finger.

+ +

In the man's other hand, he saw the dead trout, saw a trickle + ooze down to the ground, wondered where it had come from. Billy's + eyes were wide and pleading, not fixed on anything, but jittering + left right, up and down, beseeching the very air. He looked as if + he expected his own brains to come blasting out onto the grass. + Danny was standing, hands shaking now, his whole body aquiver with + tension, his back to the rest of them. He looked slight and fragile + against the tall stranger whose shadow blocked the path.

+ +

"Oh shit, Corky," Doug said in a tremorous whisper. "He'll kill + him."

+ +

The man stood stock still, the way he had on the far side of the + stream when he'd come across Danny and Billy. Everything was + frozen, a tableau of exquisite tension. Corky took in the whole + scene, the gun close to Billy's neck, the look of absolute fear on + his face, the shadows under the craggy brows on that gaunt face. In + that split second he knew he could not run. They had come + scampering down the hill and into madness on a summer's day. All + the odds, all the distances, all the estimates of speed and flight + evaporated. The man with the gun stood there, blinking in the + bright light of the sun. There was no flight now, Corky knew with + complete and instinctive certainty. The gun would simply blow Billy + Harrison's head from his shoulders, and then it would talk to Danny + and then....

+ +

The man leaned forward and put the dead, ungutted fish against + Billy's mouth. The entrails were squeezing out of the hole where + the mouth should be, little slithery green strings. The stranger + leaned over and whispered something that none of them heard. + Billy's belly muscles seemed to shiver. His head moved from side to + side, but his mouth opened and his teeth came down on the trout and + he bit into the gill covers. Purple blood splashed onto his + cheeks.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/024.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/024.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ffeb468 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/024.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,584 @@ + + + + + + 24 + + + + +
+
+

24

+ +

Billy was sick.

+ +

He had taken two mouthfuls of the trout, skin, gills, bones and + slick, cold entrails. They all heard the slush-crackle as he + chewed, jaws working in a crazy stammer. He swallowed, eyes closing + tight, mouth twisted in utter revulsion. The gulping sound he made + turned Danny's stomach and for an instant he thought he would vomit + the sausages he'd eaten for breakfast.

+ +

Billy beat him to it. He swallowed a second time and then his + mouth opened and all of it came back up again in a projectile gush + which propelled the glutinous mass out onto the grass.

+ +

The man laughed again, this time a fast, almost girlish giggle + of sound as if he found the whole display completely hilarious and + that laugh was just as chilling to Danny as the very fact that he + had made Billy eat the slimy fish or jammed the gun against his + friend's head. The whole day had flipped, in the space of a few + seconds, into a surreal and terrifying kind of nightmare.

+ +

The man's next move surprised them all. He reached forward and + took Billy by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Billy yelled in + pain and fright. Danny took an instinctive step forward and the man + speared him with a fathomless look, froze him to the spot.

+ +

"Don't mister," Billy yelped. "Ah, that's sore. Please. Let me + g....."

+ +

He was up on his toes now, head back and eyes screwed up, both + hands raised above his head, wanting to take the fingers out of his + hair, afraid to touch them. He arched upwards trying to slacken the + grip and take the dragging pain out of his scalp.

+ +

"Leave him alone," Corky bawled, body bent forward, needing to + do something. "Get off him."

+ +

The man ignored him. Instead, he let Billy get both feet flat on + the turf and pushed him, still gripping his hair in his left hand, + making his head nod rapidly with the force of the sudden shove. + Billy almost fell forward, got his balance, and the man walked him + along the track. He raised the gun and pointed it at straight + Danny's belly. The hollow black figure of infinity, the horizontal + ebony eight at the gaping ends of the barrels loomed suddenly + vicious. Danny's sphincter puckered into a tight little nub and he + still felt everything might just let go. One squeeze on either + trigger and that black mouth would roar and it would blow a + plate-sized hole from front to back and kill him in a flash of + light and noise.

+ +

"Come on, boy," the man said, very gently, almost sadly. "Let's + all go down together."

+ +

Danny turned, his legs almost unable to bear his weight and led + the way, all the time aware of the gun. The skin on his back + puckered in dreadful expectation. His heart thudded with such + sudden pressure that twin pains pulsed in his temples and his + vision swam.

+ +

"You three," the man said, his voice louder, raising his face to + Corky and the others on the higher track. "At the double."

+ +

Danny thought of Billy. That's what he had said after he'd + crushed the dragonfly larva and thrown the bloated frog back into + the crater.

+ +

Come on you lot. At the double.

+ +

That nowseemed like a long time ago. Now Billy was on his + tip-toes, face contorted in pain. The tableau on the slope froze + for an instant of dreadful indecision, then began to move again. + Corky said nothing more.

+ +

They came down the hill, just ahead of Danny and they all went + down together.

+ +

There was no sound but the burbling water and the thud of their + footfalls on the short turf where the highland cattle and the + black-faced sheep had cropped the grass to a short matte. But for + that half-wild hill cow, and its half-baked cowpat, they could have + been down stream and gone.

+ +

Behind him, Danny heard Billy grunt in pain or exertion, but he + was too numbed to look round. He had seen the madness in the man's + eyes. The fervour had reached out and touched him. The eyes were as + black as the barrels of the twelve-bore shotgun, but their black + was deeper, like holes in the world, as if there was a space behind + them that went on forever and never stopped. It was only the + rapid-fire blinking, as if they were burning with their own black + intensity, that briefly cut off the pull of their awesome + gravity.

+ +

Twitchy...

+ +

It had come to Danny as it had come to Billy, that epiphany, the + sudden and apocalyptic recognition.

+ +

We know he's a tall man, big John Fallon had said as he + stood in front of the class with Sister Julia standing beside him, + each in different versions of black and white uniform. She had + looked up at him, half his size, a third his weight. They had all + looked at him. Maybe as tall as me, the big sergeant had + told them and they'd listened. He's got black hair and he + blinks as if he's got something wrong with his eyes.

+ +

John Fallon had been right. This man was big. God he was + huge.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes

+ +

Billy Harrison had looked up from where he was threading the + thong through the fish gills and the man had filled his entire + vision. Now he filled his whole consciousness, his entire world. + The hand gripping his hair held tighter, keeping his head pulled + back, and the pain screwed into his scalp, making his eyes + water.

+ +

Danny Gillan felt the skin on his back pucker and ripple all the + way down his spine,. His whole consciousness was filled with the + knowledge of the barrels upon him. One slip. One small tug of the + finger, a squeeze, a stroke, and the gun would cut him in half. He + could feel a whimper, a little animal sound that was born of pure + fear, try to ripple up from his throat and push its way out of his + mouth and he was afraid that if he made a sound the man

+ +

- twitchy eyes -

+ +

would react just the way a cat does, jerk at the least sound and + then...oh then...

+ +

Behind him Billy grunted.

+ +

No Billy! Danny silently pleaded.

+ +

Billy made a deeper animal sound. The man still had him by the + hair. Without turning, Danny knew Billy's head was still hauled + back in that merciless grip, his face white and open and slack. + Ahead of him he could see Corky's shoulders, all tensed up, the way + they got when he was angry. Danny could not remember Corky ever + being really scared. He wasn't big, but he was strong enough and he + had a profound depth of resources within him. He'd taken his licks, + taken his beatings. He'd been turned over right royally on occasion + by a couple of real experts and come bouncing back when the wounds + healed and the bruises faded or so he let everybody know. Now he + knew Corky was scared and angry all at the same time. He could read + that in his tight posture.

+ +

Don't do anything stupid...please. Danny heard the + small and whimpering voice inside his head and he was too stunned + and afraid to feel ashamed at the tremor in it.

+ +

Ahead of Corky, Doug was walking fast, head slowly swinging from + side to side although he was trying to hide the motion.

+ +

Don't do it.

+ +

They were just coming to the edge of the bend where the stream + took a dog-leg to the left beside the small cascade into the gravel + pool. Here, another small tributary fed in through a narrow defile. + Tom approached first, walking with his head down and his arms not + swinging as they normally would. His shoulders were moving up and + down and he might have been crying. Danny was more worried about + Doug. He was thin and rangy, with long, stick-like legs, but he was + also fast. Whenever they ran from trouble, from big John Fallon + whenever a lucky - or unlucky - slingshot might crack the bowl of a + street-light; from the big boys down on the Rough Drain when they + decided it was their territory, when Doug ran from trouble there + was never a chance of him getting caught. He could cover the ground + like a startled deer. He was all limbs and angles, knuckles and + knees when he walked, but when he ran, all of those angles smoothed + and merged into a fluid grace, an effortless glide that was as + sure-footed as it was fleet. Danny saw his head swing slowly as he + reached the corner. Up that runnel, he could be hidden from view + for four, maybe five seconds. That might be enough to get him most + of the way up, even on the slope, to get to the rocks at the far + end and the trees beyond. It was just a small and narrow gully and + there would be some cover.

+ +

"Don't."

+ +

Danny clearly heard Corky's urgent whisper, over the sound of + their footsteps and Billy's panicked grunts. Doug's head pulled + back, just a fraction. Behind Billy, the man with the gun made a + sound, maybe as if he was clearing his throat. Tom went past the + mouth of the gully.

+ +

Corky had read the signs in Doug, as clearly as Danny had done. + Doug's head swing again. His eyes glanced up the runnel, gauging + the distance, knowing his own speed.

+ +

No! Danny's mental plea came at exactly the same time + as Corky's urgent hiss.

+ +

Doug might have been fast, but it was uphill all the way, over + boulders and rocks, and a slick patch where the water flowed over a + flat, smooth ledge of rock strata that was covered in slick algae. + He might have been fast, but he only had seconds, and fast wasn't + fast enough. He could run, but he couldn't outrun a gunshot. Danny + knew that, with good reason. Down at the Whale's Back, the big spit + of tidal sand at low tide on the Firth out from the gunbarrel sewer + pipe beside Ardmhor Rock at Arden, Danny has seen what shotguns + could do. His Uncle Mick has taken him down there on cold winter + mornings to get the duck as they hit in, flying in rapid wedges, + wings pumping hard, flickering on the surface. Uncle Mick would + wait until they were level and then he'd haul up on his feet. The + chevrons of duck would see the motion and then veer away, croaking + alarm. They were fast, wings whistling as they scooped air, necks + outstretched. Mick always took them on the back, once they were + past, doing maybe fifty, maybe sixty. He said it was best to take + them under the feathers rather than head-on, which might just wound + the birds. The gun would roar like a thunderclap and the report + would go reverberating in a harsh and strangely hollow ripple of + noise across the flat of the tidal sand and up there in the sky the + feathers would fly and the birds would tumble through the air, over + and over and over until they hit the ground in hard thumps, ripped + through by the lead shot.

+ +

Doug was fast, but not as fast as a fleeting widgeon, or a big + sheldrake. He couldn't do fifty or sixty on the flat, never mind + uphill, over rocks, over slick stones, over the moss at the top. + The gully was a funnel. Anybody firing up there, with the spread + pattern a twelve-bore had, would hit anything. For forty yards + there was no cover at all.

+ +

No! Corky hissed. No! Danny's mind bleated, + already seeing Doug getting halfway to the trees before the twin + barrels and their black infinity swung up the runnel (and a + small and shameful part of him wanted Doug to suddenly swivel and + take off like a mountain hare because that would take the glare of + those barrels off his back) and the trigger pull back and the + barrels spit thunder.

+ +

Corky reached and touched Doug. Danny's heart nearly stopped + dead. Something like a giant hand gripped all the muscles in his + belly and squeezed hard. Corky reached and touched Doug and Doug + jerked as if he'd been stung. Any moment Danny expected to heard + the apocalyptic roar.

+ +

Nothing happened. Doug's high, tight shoulders sagged to + slackness and defeat. He continued walking, on past the mouth of + the gully, following Tom's short, fearful steps, splashing across + the inch-deep trickle of tributary water. In five strides he was + past the chance of escape, and away from the certainty of + retribution. Corky nodded, an involuntary motion that spoke + eloquently of his relief and in that motion Danny read that Corky + could not try anything either. His friend's back was still rigid + with anger and tension and fear, but Corky was not going to dive + into the bushes, or pick up a smooth rock and try to take this + stranger's eye out. He had gauged all the chances and come up with + a zero. At least for now.

+ +

In that glassy moment, the exquisite conjunction of reality and + unreality, each of them were wholly and completely alive as they + had never been before. A powerful survival instinct had kicked into + them all, raising them up to heights of perception where every + motion, every sound, was imbued with amazing clarity.

+ +

Corky had read Doug's posture too. Everything seemed to go in + slow motion. The somnolent murmur of the water deepened to a low + rumble. The lone cuckoo way down there in the trees hummed its + diphthong, stretched-out and hollow, the sound trailing on and on + as it faded to eventual silence. The dragonflies, twin pairs, + striking in black and gold, came gliding over the water. On the + side of the valley, a small stone, dislodged from the steep gravel + rolled down to a ledge and then fell off, tumbling in the air to + land with a bass thud of sound in the pile of soft shale close to + the bank.

+ +

Corky's thoughts were flicker-fast, sharp as glass, clear as + ice. Not now. He has thought. Not now. As if he + could beam the words at Doug.

+ +

"You three, at the double." He had sounded like a soldier, like + the sergeant down at the drill hall where his Da had hiked the + grenades. The gun was gun jammed against Billy's neck, just under + the jawline where his blue-black Indian hair curled thick and they + had seen the man's stance and the sunlight had frozen on a summer's + day.

+ +

Crazy, Corky thought. Anybody who would put a shotgun up against + a boy's neck had to be loony-tunes. Anybody who would force him to + eat a dead trout, straight out of the stream, with the blood and + guts hanging out, they had to be non-compost-mentis as + Billy would say. It stood to reason. A farmer might rant and rave a + little, convinced you were worrying the sheep or stealing eggs. He + might put the toe of his boot up your backside, the way big John + Fallon might do if he caught you swiping stuff out of Woolworth's + down on River Street. That was an accepted level of violence, the + quid pro quo. A boy could take that, come and go, roll + with it and blink back smarting tears before anybody noticed.

+ +

This was different. The whole texture of the day had cracked and + splintered and then frozen over. The man had laughed that odd sound + and his eyes had blinked in the sunlight and Corky had known. + Anybody who stuck the barrels under Billy's chin would be crazy + enough to shoot, because the very fact of it could get you thrown + in Drumbain for a stretch.

+ +

Not now.

+ +

Corky had done his own calculation, his brain suddenly up there + in the high levels of clarity where cold clear winds blew. He could + see the big picture, the lines of contact, interconnecting them all + in a lacy weave; Tom to Danny, Doug to Billy, to the crazy man with + the blinking eyes

+ +

TwitchyEyes

+ +

and to Corky himself. If there was a time to move, it was not + now. The wrong move would get that gun talking, sure as hell it + would. There might be another chance.

+ +

And then again there might not, a nasty little voice + whispered. He shied away from it, though it seemed to echo + persistently...then again...then again

+ +

There might be another chance, once they'd all gone down + together to the camp. Maybe they would go further, down into the + trees.

+ +

Make it the camp, Corky prayed. Stop there. Up + here in the valley, they were still in the open, with only scrubby + hawthorns and hazels clustered in the rocks and some thick ferns + that came up to shoulder height or even higher, further up the + slopes, but here it was mostly open to the sun. It was far up from + the town, but there was something about it being open that instead + of making him feel more vulnerable, seemed to convey a thin coating + of protective cover.

+ +

Out in the open, you could be seen.

+ +

Down beyond the camp, there the trees began, there was dark and + shadow under the spreading pines and the broad beech and oak trees. + Nobody could see what was done down there. If he

+ +

Twitchy Eyes

+ +

took them down there beyond the line of the trees where even the + water of the stream was deep and dark at the spate-carved pot-holes + then he would do whatever he wanted.

+ +

They would die.

+ +

A shiver ran up and down Corky's back, hard enough to make him + feel as if his Sloppy Joe shirt was visibly rippling and he tried + to force the feeling away. He could not let them, Billy and Danny + see he was scared. He could not let them know how scared, because + if they knew, they'd panic and that would make him panic and if he + did that he'd have no say at all, no choice and no chance

+ +

The big man with the gun was an all out shrieking screwball. + Corky had seen it in the stuttering blink and the odd, head-cocked + posture and the way he'd said, quite softly, that they'd all go + down together. Corky did not want that man to see the ripple that + he felt must be visibly writhing under the fabric for he'd know how + scared he was and that would be a bad thing. You never let a dog + see the fear. Not a Mad Dog.

+ +

Because then it would react. Then it would attack.

+ +

Say a prayer Danny Boy, an oddly cool third voice said, almost + languidly, over the cold sparkle of his thoughts. Now's the + time to collect on the Hail Mary's and Glory-Be's round the + fireplace.

+ +

A mental image came unbidden, of Danny going up with a slip to + the window in the confessional like a punter collecting on a line + from Harvey Bracknell's betting shop, trading it in for some saving + grace. A little shivery giggle tried to bubble up inside him, like + a pocket of poisonous gas in the bog. He swallowed it down hard, in + case it rolled up to the surface and burst out. He didn't want to + hear the sound he might make. It might sound a little high and + shaky. A little hysterical and maybe mad.

+ +

Billy could see Corky only when his head happened to chance in + that direction. The pain in his scalp, where the man had his hair + in a vicious grasp felt like fire, like a bad Chinese rope burn + that went from one ear to the other. Tears had already sparked then + spilled and were cold on his cheek and his thoughts too were high + and sparking. He was floating in a bubble of fright and pain and he + could hear the blood pound in his ears with the same double beat + rhythm of an old Zodiac engine with its big-ends gone.

+ +

The man was muttering something under his breath, but Billy + couldn't make out the words. The taste of fish slime and blood, the + texture of the fresh skin and hard gill-case, that had been awful, + but not as shuddering awful as the plummet of pure fear when the + gunbarrel had nudged cold under his chin. He had wanted to be a + hero, all his life, as far as he could remember, knowing he had the + stuff, had the guts to brave the worst. In the films, in all the + war movies, he'd seen men shot and killed. They died like they did + in the westerns, bravely, with honour, no fuss and with very little + blood.

+ +

Now he knew. In an instant of clarity when his mind had come + suddenly fully awake from the daydream that was his normal state of + mentation, and now when it was as clear as glass, he realised it + had all been a lie.

+ +

No hero no hero no hero.

+ +

His father had been nobody and in another ice-sparkle + of clarity Billy Harrison knew that he had known that all the time. + It had been an unwanted knowledge, lurking out there in the + shadows, to be kept at arm's length. He had wanted a father maybe, + needed one perhaps, and the one he wanted was not like Corky's Da, + rolling drunk on Friday nights, blagging the pigeon club money for + booze. Not like Danny's Dad either, ramrod straight behind the + family in their Sunday best and a look of disdain for the boys + smoking stolen cigarettes at the corner of the street. His father + would have been a hero, should have been, like his mother + said he was.

+ +

It was a lie. All of it. The films lied. Men didn't smile + bravely when they were shot, and fall into comfortable positions + and look tragically valiant. He had felt the barrels under his + jawline and suddenly the real truth fell upon him like an enormous + weight. The gun could blow his head clean off his shoulders in a + splatter of blood and slime. It would leave him like the fish, + shivering and headless and dead for ever.

+ +

Behind him the man spoke again, a muted, almost breathless + mutter that was incomprehensible. The voice was low and rumbling, + not the high and scary titter of a laugh.

+ +

Dumb fry it sounded like.

+ +

Up ahead, Tom Tannahill was walking, head down on the track, + keeping his body curved in as if by making himself even smaller, he + could become invisible. He felt suddenly exhausted as if the fright + had drained everything out of him. His legs were shaking so badly + there was a real danger that they'd give way or that he'd lose his + step and the man with the gun would think he was trying to run away + and....He did not want to think of that.

+ +

It was enough just to concentrate on putting one foot in front + of the other and keep walking. He felt light-headed and trickles of + sweat were beading just under his hairline to spill down his + temples. Every couple of seconds, a flush of heat swept through + him, as if he was blushing madly, but it was worse than that + because when that happened, there was a roaring noise in his head + and the sounds of their footsteps faded away while little white + sparkles appeared to dance in the corner of his vision.

+ +

Tom took a breath and heard it flutter as his chest hitched, the + way it did after he'd been crying for a long time and that + sensation made him think of Maureen and how he'd cried then, for + days at a time, trying to get to grips with that appalling, + incomprehensible loss.

+ +

Billy whimpered, just a shiver of inarticulate sound and Tom + felt his lungs hitch again. His bladder wanted to let go. The + pressure built up suddenly, fierce and urgent and he clamped his + hand down on his crotch, pressing hard until the feeling subsided + from a burning pain to a warm pulse. A deadly weight of + hopelessness dragged down on him and he wished Corky would do + something, anything, to get them out of this.

+ +

The man with the gun said something, a mutter of sound, barely + audible, and Tom almost stopped, fearing an order had been issued + and he'd missed it, but even more fearful right at that moment to + make any mistake at all. Some instinct made him keep moving and he + walked, legs boneless and trembling, sweat dripping down the sides + of his face and the nagging pressure to piss rising to a twisting + burn. He screwed up his eyes, the way Billy had done when the man + grabbed his hair and forced himself to concentrate. He did not want + to piss himself.

+ +

The thought of that, of the damp, hot stain spreading on his + jeans, was unendurable.

+ +

"Convoy."

+ +

The sudden sound startled Tom so badly he almost slipped off the + track and down the shallowing bank. Doug reached to help and the + motion twisted him over on his ankle with a twisting snap of pain + that flared like a match and made him gasp through gritted teeth. + The pain flashed high and then faded. Doug bit back tears and + limped after Tom. There was no sound at all from the others, not + even a whimper from Billy. Their senses were wound up to a pitch of + tension. All of them listening for what would come next.

+ +

The man did not repeat himself. Not then.

+ +

Convoy? It had sounded like that even to Danny who was nearest + to him except for Billy held captive at arm's length. Did he mean + we were all in line?

+ +

They all went down together in their convoy, past the slope of + the turn at the white quartz rocks framing the head of the pool + where Billy had first jumped into the water to clean the red silt + off his jeans and stained the water in streaks of blood red. The + water was cool and dark and clear now, the surface dimpled with the + small swirls of turbulence. A brilliant blue damselfly wove + silently over the moving surface, a silent line of coruscating + light. They filed past the turn to where the canyon of the valley + widened to the swathe of green where the tent stood, a little + lop-sided, close to the shade of the rowan trees. A thin, blue line + of smoke rose perpendicular from the embers of the morning's fire + where the thick pine log was still smouldering lazily. Further + down, a highland cow, russet and hairy but with a spread of horns + like cattle on any western ranch turned slowly and watched with + impassive black eyes while its calf nosed in at the udders. + Eventually the animals moved off into the high ferns at the edge of + a clearing, barging through the undergrowth with a crackling sound + that reminded Danny of the noise down in the dark of the trees when + they'd sat round the campfire talking about old Mole Hopkirk and + the flies. Had that been a cow? In the dark, he had sensed eyes + watching them, but that could have been imagination. Could have + been.

+ +

But the doom-doom-DOOM sound that had woken him out of + sleep, that had been no cow. He knew that for certain now. The man + with the gun had been watching them from the cover and the shade + while they had laughed and had fought. He'd probably heard Corky's + tale about the rats under the bank, the Racine rats that + came out and ate lonesome travellers beside the water. In the + hypernatural clarity of the moment, Danny understood now about the + footprint in the shingle and the booming sound coming up from the + hollow bank downstream. The man had been announcing his presence, + trying to scare them. He had been telling them he was here.

+ +

And now he was here.

+ +

They walked into the clearing and the man's footsteps boomed + suddenly loud behind them and Danny knew that was his imagination. + Everything about the moment was magnified, from the crackling + blunder of the cow and calf to the shimmering streak of the + damselfly and the smell of the pine smoke.

+ +

"Yeah tho' I walk through the valley of the shadow of + death."

+ +

The voice spoke out, clear and boomingly succinct, a deep + contrast to the snicker of the laugh up at the high pool.

+ +

"I will fear no evil."

+ +

Billy's foot slipped on a dried ball of sheep dung and he almost + fell forward. The stranger's had pulled him back with a strong + twist and another yelp escaped the boy. Pain flared in his scalp + and tears sparked again in his eyes. If the man had let him go just + at that moment he would have fallen forward right on to his + face.

+ +

"Nearly there Convoy." This time the voice was almost a growl. + Corky assumed he was talking to them. "Can you hear me?"

+ +

Corky nodded, risking a turn towards the man, letting him know + he had heard and understood, but the stranger was turned away, his + head cocked to the side, as if in conversation with someone + else.

+ +

"You listening Conboy?"

+ +

Not convoy. Corky heard it clearly. Conboy.

+ +

"He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside + quiet waters. He restores my soul."

+ +

Danny heard the words and recognised them too, from long + repetition. For some reason his heart sank even further, it felt as + if it shrivelled inside him.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/025.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/025.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fef3bc1 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/025.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,911 @@ + + + + + + 25 + + + + +
+
+

25

+ +

Billy fell headlong when the man released the tight grip on his + hair. He went sprawling past Danny, arms pinwheeling in a fruitless + attempt to regain his balance. He made a little croaking noise and + the fingers of his left hand caught at Doug's shirt, almost managed + to grab it, but only skimmed the fabric. He fell with a thump that + knocked his breath out in a whoosh, rolled and fetched up face down + on the turf next to the stones around the fire. Another foot and + he'd have caved his skull in on the smooth rock. Another two and + he'd be face down in the hot embers of the fire. Doug instinctively + moved to help him and then froze, half bent with his arms + outreached. Very slowly he drew them back to his sides again and + pulled himself back. He turned round even more slowly. Danny did + not move.

+ +

"Ahah," the man said and none of them knew whether he was just + clearing his throat, though it sounded like the confirmation of + preconceived suspicion.

+ +

Corky broke the stillness. He walked past Doug and bent to get a + hand under Billy's armpit. Tom took two steps back and helped him. + Billy gasped for breath as he got to his feet, both hands clamped + to his belly and his face slack with the effort and hurt. A streak + of ash had glued itself to the tears on his cheek and smudged + there, making him look as if he'd a black eye. On the other side, + two straight lines of soot had striped the skin, like Indian brave + war-paint. But at that moment looked less Indian and less brave + than ever.

+ +

"Well, well," the stranger said. Danny looked up a him and + quickly looked away. Corky completely ignored the sound.

+ +

"You okay Billy-O?" he asked quickly, voice hushed. He had one + hand on Billy's shoulder, an unconscious and eloquent gesture of + solidarity and support. His other was under Bill's elbow, steadying + him. Billy swayed a little.

+ +

"Yeah," he finally said in between gasps. "Jeez. That + hurts."

+ +

Tom, on the other side, equally unconsciously and quite + unceremoniously brushed some dried bracken off Billy's shirt.

+ +

"Thought you were diving into the fire there," Corky told him. + "You were nearly a goner."

+ +

Danny could only stand amazed at how calm Corky sounded. It was + as if they'd just been wrestling on the short grass and somebody + had got winded. Danny could sense the man's eyes taking in the + whole scene.

+ +

Yeah tho' I walk through the valley......

+ +

Psalm 23, verse two. Danny knew it off by heart. He'd heard it a + thousand times, one of his father's favourites, one of the many + engraved on Danny's brain through endless repetition, like the Hail + Mary's and Glory Be's of the tedious rosaries. And acts of + contrition.

+ +

I will fear no evil.

+ +

They had stopped in the valley. The sun was shining and the lark + was rising on a pillar of song in the warm air but there was a + shadow now here beside the stream.

+ +

Shadow of death....

+ +

Danny felt it clearly. He had looked up at the man and seen his + eyes, not twitching, not then, but taking in the scene, flat and + soul-less as the eyes of a dead trout, as if they stared into + infinity. All down the path, he had felt the bore of the gun aimed + on his spine, all the time expecting it to blast out and break him. + It hadn't happened, but Danny could sense the proximity of death + and the casual mindlessness of the violence inside the man.

+ +

I will fear no evil.

+ +

He feared evil. Oh sweet Jesus! He very much feared it. An evil + indifference radiated from the man who stood there, his shadow + between Danny and the sun, long and black, the gun now held in + folded arms, cradled as if it were a baby. He was indifferent for + now, but how long that last before he switched back his attention, + Danny could not guess. But it would change and then he'd focus on + them.

+ +

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

+ +

He had made Billy lie down on the green, thrown him flat with a + move of his hand. Billy stood there waiting for the next move. They + all did.

+ +

The man slowly swept his eyes round the clearing beside the + stream.

+ +

Dumb fry.

+ +

It came out as a murmur, half strangled. They all heard it. It + meant nothing, made no sense. He jerked his head to the side, + cocked it again as if listening for something. Corky watched, + keeping his expression flat, giving no cause for action or + retribution. He'd taken a risk going to help Billy, but that had + happened almost instinctively. A friend was down and hurt. He had + moved without thinking. It was only now, afterwards, that he + realised the man could have acted just as reflexively.

+ +

The intruder was talking to himself. A bad sign. Billy was + breathing heavily as if he couldn't control it and beside him, Tom + looked tiny and fragile, one hand pressed against his crotch.

+ +

"What do you want?" Corky finally said, hardly able to contain + his own surprise that he'd found the nerve to speak.

+ +

The man seemed not to have heard at all.

+ +

"Mister?" Corky risked another venture.

+ +

The man turned, not towards Corky, but towards the stream. The + sun was shining over the lip of the valley, up high where the + mudstone strata poked out under the line of the high moorland turf. + The light beamed from the water in coruscating flashes.

+ +

"Dumb fry. That right Conboy? Only words they + understand. No souls. No damned souls."

+ +

He stared at the water and they all stared at him, wondering + what would come next. Doug's narrow chest was rising up and down + and his ears were redly translucent in the sunlight. Danny watched + the man and the gun, fearful that he'd simply turn from the stream + and shoot. There was a tension in the air, a sense of unbalanced + and brittle craziness. The man blinked and muttered to himself as + if he'd completely forgotten them.

+ +

Tom could wait no longer. The pressure was spreading over the + top of his thighs and he thought again he's piss his pants and that + was enough for him. He unzipped with a quick rasp, turned half + around and let flow a stream. They all heard his instant sigh of + sudden relief and then, just as instantly, the hiss of steam as the + arc of bright water struck the hot rock. The stone steamed and a + bubbling spot of urine sizzled on the stone sending up a sour hot + billow. Tom stepped back, head jerking around to see if the noise + had attracted the man's attention. In doing so, his body + half-swivelled and he was still emptying his bladder. The motion + caused him to spray a line right across Billy's scuffed shoe and + under any other circumstances, such a lapse of judgement or aim + would have merited him a rough knuckle on the scalp, or a head-lock + or even a dead leg. Billy did not notice. His eyes were fixed on + the man who stood with the gun cradled in his arms and his gaze + looking down at the flashes on the surface of the water.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes.

+ +

Billy's mouth formed the words, though he made no sound, but + they all heard him as if he'd shouted them at the top of his voice; + all except Tom who was desperately trying to finish quickly to take + any possible attention away from himself, yet found he had huge + liquid reserves that kept coming and coming. The grass turned dark + green with damp and then a puddle formed. For such a small person, + he seemed to have a limitless supply. Everybody waited and finally + Tom finished. He sighed audibly once again, zipped himself up and + raised his eyes to look at the man.

+ +

The stranger blinked rapidly, and as he did so his whole face + contorted. Deep lines formed round his eyes and Danny could see it + wasn't so much a blink. It was more like a rapid tic. A twitch.

+ +

"What's he going to do?"

+ +

Doug's whisper could barely be heard above the burbling of the + steam but all of them caught it. Danny shrugged, hardly a movement + at all, just there merest hitch of his shoulders.

+ +

None of them knew what the man was going to do, but all of them + knew they were in trouble.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes, Billy mouthed once more, and this time + Tom read the message. Billy was not telling them, merely talking to + himself, snagged on his awful comprehension. He had one had on his + scalp, gingerly rubbing at the tender place which still felt as if + his hair was being pulled out. His face was slack and dreadfully + scared. His eyes were not fixed on the man at all, but focused + somewhere in the distance. Corky nodded and so did Danny. Tom's + eyebrows went up in question and then the recognition dawned in his + eyes too.

+ +

Beside the flashing water, the man's head was still twisted to + the side. His coat was long and heavy, despite the heat of the day, + and torn under the armpit and at the pocket as if too much weight + had been put there. The hem hung right down to his calf, caked with + dirt or mud and his boots were old and worn. One of them had a + shark-mouth split where the sole was peeling away from the uppers + and looked just like the boot they'd found up at the crater on the + day they'd walked over the ridge and seen the devastation on the + moor surrounding the ghost-shacks of the dummy village.

+ +

"What if there's a foot in it?" Doug had asked, giggling. He + wasn't giggling now. He remembered telling Billy if there was a + foot in it he'd have shit himself. Billy hadn't denied it then. He + looked now as if he couldn't force the air out hard enough to make + a sound. There was an association here that had sparked yet + another. The divers had found a boot in the pool down by the quarry + and there had been a foot inside it. That had been when Crawford + Rankine had been thrown off the quarry and cracked his skull on the + rock.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes...

+ +

This man had done it. Doug felt a sudden swoop of panic shudder + through him and his breath back up in his skinny chest until his + lungs couldn't hold any more.

+ +

He'd done it. Thrown Craw Rankine down from the ledge onto the + flat rock and then he'd gone back and got Don Whalen and taken him + away...Oh Jeez...suddenly Doug's lungs did want to work, + tried to draw in more air and there was no more room. Everybody had + heard what he did to Craw. He could feel his chest moving up and + down while a heat of cramping pain started swelling under his + armpits and he was making a sound like a distressed dog on a + sweltering day.

+ +

The man turned round, away from the water, but his eyes were + still blinking hard, still twitching, though they were + looking well over their heads and not directly at the five boys. + Doug tried to stop panting, but his muscles would not obey. His + chest heaved even faster, small, shallow and violent breaths that + shook his body, made his shoulders jerk up and down. His face was + deathly pale, the way Billy's had been and even his ears had lost + their red glow. Corky heard the noise get louder and stared at him, + shaking his head very slightly but firmly, keeping his eyes locked + on Doug's. He did not have to say it, the way he had spoken on the + way down the valley. If anything was going to happen, it could be + now. They all sensed it. But the more Doug tried, the faster the + panting got. The lines of rock striations on the valley sides began + to waver as a loop of dizziness brought on by the hyperventilation + swept through him. A dry heat built up in his arid throat. In the + corner of his eye, shadows flickered and he felt as if he was going + to faint.

+ +

To his great surprise, Tom Tannahill stepped up beside him and + grabbed him through his old vest, his small hand surprisingly + strong. Tom gripped the fabric and a handful of skin and clutched + so tight he felt something would rip. He just wanted Doug to stop + panting.

+ +

A stab of pain lanced across Doug's ribs, sore enough to + momentarily divert his attention, A cry built up way down inside + him and he clamped his gaping mouth shut to keep it in. He grunted + softly.

+ +

The man kept his eyes firmly on the distance, maybe on the sky + or on the high valley sides where the scrub-alder and hazel mixed + with the thick ferns. The gun gleamed, blue-black and shiny clean, + a complete contrast to the raggedy stranger with his greasy hair + and his gaping boot and the thick, sour smell from his coat. The + real difference was that the gun could be put down on its butt end + and it would hurt nobody by itself. This crazy man had a depth of + hurt inside him, bursting to get out.

+ +

Should have run, Doug thought, while I had the + chance. His lungs still hurt but the panic panting was over + and the dark shadows had faded away from his peripheral vision. His + ankle pulsed painfully yet and he new he could not run now if he + wanted to. Billy was still mouthing the same two words over and + over again as if the sudden comprehension had engraved themselves + on his consciousness. Corky looked like a cat, all tensed up, ready + to jump one way or another. Tom had his hand still gripped to + Doug's vest, but not clenched into his skin, when the man finally + lifted his hand and pointed at Billy.

+ +

"You boy," he said, not yet looking down. "come over here to + me."

+ +

Billy looked as if he would faint on the spot. His mouth opened, + closed, opened again. Everybody heard the dry click of his + throat.

+ +

"Mister..." Corky started in. The man turned his head towards + him, eyes still fixed on the far distance, as if watching something + happening elsewhere, maybe as if seeing visions. His hand was still + raised up, fist tight and showing white knuckles. One long, thick + finger was pointed straight at Billy's face.

+ +

"I said, come here." The voice was low and rumbling, with a + slight accent, maybe from the east coast, but it could have easily + been from the north. It was not a local accent, no glottal stop, no + truncation of the endings.

+ +

Billy's mouth kept opening and closing as if he had strength + enough to clench his teeth but not enough to hold his jaw tight. + Doug started panting again and Tom gripped his skin once more until + he subsided. Corky looked as if he might speak again, but the man's + face was still towards him and he dared not risk it. Billy's feet + moved him closer and Danny thought he looked like a rabbit faced + with a stoat. He and Corky had seen that happening up on the + moorland to Langcraig Hill, a stoat in autumn colours, dark and + long with a jet black tip to its tail and eyes like beads of coal, + weaving sinuous in front of a mesmerised rabbit which looked as if + it had stopped breathing. The deadly predator swayed, up on its + hind legs, body like a cobra, while the rabbit simply waited for + the bite on the back of its skull, unable to escape. Billy was + unable to escape. He took one slow step and the man's head turned + and the black eyes fixed on him and in that moment Danny saw the + stoat inside the man. His eyes had the same depths, and the same + animal intensity. They bored into Billy and there was nothing the + boy could do. He took another step, then another, walked across the + turf from the edge of the fire to the edge of the stream. He got to + within arm's reach and the man's arm simply dropped down and + clapped on his shoulder with a soft thud. Billy did not faint, + though Doug felt the strange nauseous wavering inside himself.

+ +

Billy stood rigid, face up.

+ +

They were fixed for maybe a minute in silence, joined by the + man's reach.

+ +

"You hear it boy?"

+ +

"Hear....hear?"

+ +

"You hear it, don't you?"

+ +

"I don't know mister. I don't hear..."

+ +

"Oh, you will then," the man said. He starred straight into + Billy's eyes for another long moment and then turned his head, + ignoring the others, until he faced the hollow by the gnarled + hawthorn.

+ +

"You'll see it too," he said, raising his hand off Billy's + shoulder and holding it above his head before dropping it slowly, + almost gently, to the dark hair. He patted first and then stroked + down.

+ +

"Hurt you boy?"

+ +

Billy couldn't help but nod.

+ +

"Part of the process. All part of it. No need to fret." His + voice dropped almost to a whisper, but they could all hear it.

+ +

"You see it boy. I know you do." He indicated to the hollow + where the dead deer skull gnashed its teeth in a fixed and silent + grind. The eye sockets were crawling with flies, masses of them, + like a moving mat. The wasted nostrils, pulled back in flaps, + showed a sliver of bone and a hollow dark space alongside the + flaccid skin which moved with the abundance of maggots under the + surface. The clogged eyes seemed to stare out of the shaded place. + Above it, the imperious white skull of the ram on the pole was a + stark ivory sculpture, white against the dark of the green, its + eyes gaping and haunted and bracketed by the heavy ridged double + curve of horns. Below them, the heron's severed head stared out, + the delicate spear of the beak now shut, a useless and blunted + weapon. Below it, the ragged neck had attracted its own swarm, but + the yellow eye gazed blinklessly.

+ +

The eye caught Danny's own and a feeling of guilt swamped him. + He hadn't meant to kill the thing but it had died anyway, neck + broken, graceless and flapping before the final shiver of severed + nerves.

+ +

It did bring bad luck, he thought, aghast. + Billy had cut off the head and the yellow eye had fixed itself + accusingly on Danny, bright and glittering while the droplets of + blood had sprinkled out onto the grass and onto Billy's skin. Danny + had killed it and a cloud had shadowed the valley right then and it + had felt completely wrong. Now the eye still stared, flat and + lifeless and it felt worse now. The shadow was back in the valley + in broad daylight, in the sultry burn of the noonday sun. They had + fought last night, Billy and Doug telling each other terrible + truths that should be better left unsaid and Corky telling truths + that they all had to hear. More bad luck.

+ +

And now the man had started to move and was walking Billy out + beyond the camp to the hollow where he'd set up his trophies. The + gun was casually slung over his free shoulder, barrels pointing at + the sky. He ignored the other four as if they did not exist. They + stood frozen while the man and boy moved out along the second trail + made by Billy's feet trampling down the short ferns there at the + edge of the clearing. The flies were faintly audible, a soft murmur + of sound, like someone moaning softly in the hollow. It was no more + than thirty yards away, far enough for the smell not to carry down + to the campsite.

+ +

The man led Billy ahead of him, the hand still laid on his head, + but not twisting the hair now. He looked like a priest with an + acolyte, with an altar boy. They got half way to the hollow when + Corky slowly turned to Danny and whispered.

+ +

"We've got to get out of here."

+ +

"How?" Doug asked. "I've hurt my foot. Twisted my ankle."

+ +

"What about Billy?" Tom wanted to know. "What's he going to do + to him?"

+ +

"It's that crazy guy, isn't it?" Danny said. He felt his own + breath back up, as if his body didn't want to respond, to say those + words. He compromised. "Him."

+ +

"Twitchy Eyes," Doug hissed. Corky nodded.

+ +

"Has to be him. That's why we've got to get out. Get help."

+ +

"But he's got a gun."

+ +

"Yeah, but he's not going to do anything right away, is he now?" + Corky said. He waited until they had all digested that. "Not to all + of us."

+ +

Danny was astonished at Corky's grasp of this situation. Like + he'd done the night before, he had cut to the heart of it, through + the gristle and connective tissue and laid it all bare. What was + worse? Reality brought its own added terrors. They had all heard + the stories that had run around the playground, brushfires of truth + and surmise, but mostly truth. A town like Levenford could hold no + secret for long. Every detail of what the man with the twitchy eyes + had done had been gone over and been picked at, by men in the bars; + by women over teacups; by boys braving it down on the edges of + Rough Drain warily listening for the passage of strangers; by + little kids scaring each other in school. The starkness of what + Corky said, spoken in just a whisper that would not have carried + for four yards, had the impact of a scream.

+ +

Mole Hopkirk had lain for a long time before he'd died, hurt and + bleeding and alone and unable to call for help. Don Whalen had been + carried away to the old bomb shelter in the scrub land where the + old glue works had once stood down near the Highcross Road. The + shelter had not been a place of refuge for him. The man had taken + him down there and hurt him until he died beside the open-mouthed + corpse of that girl from Lochend. And the killer had taken his time + with Sandra Walters.

+ +

Corky was right. He would not do anything to them right away, + not to all of them, not right now. But he would do + something terrible if they didn't get away from here. The knowledge + of who he was and what he had done was laid right on them by the + bleak simplicity of Corky's statement.

+ +

Tom thought of the little kid under the bridge and was reminded + of the story he'd read to his sister in the last days, Billy + Goats Gruff with the nightmare hiding in ambush under the dark + arch. He felt his bladder complain again and he concentrated until + the protest faded. This man had killed the little girl under the + bridge.

+ +

There was no doubt in any of their minds. They had seen the + twitch. The man was big and - oh jeesus please-us hug and + squeeze us - it was him all right and he was here. Tom felt a + ripple of intense fear shudder through him and he thought about + death again, not for the first time. He did not want to die like + that girl under the bridge. He didn't want to die in his own + piss.

+ +

My fault, Danny thought, with the image of the heron + crashing to the ground, broken and twisted, one wing carrying it + round in stupid circles. He'd brought the bad luck. Everything had + started to go wrong for them after that.

+ +

And Billy had hung the head up.

+ +

Now Billy was paying the price. He had stained himself with the + blood which had splashed from the ragged neck

+ +

And they marked the lintels with the blood so that the angel + of death would pass over. The line from the bible came back to + him, unbidden. He'd thought of that when Billy had cut the head off + the bird, a biblical quotation. And the angel had not + passed over. He'd come as if summoned and he was quoting the bible, + a grotesque parody of Danny's own father. Danny shied away from the + connection. His head was buzzing under the pressure of sudden + overload. Corky's voice pulled him away and back to the here and + now.

+ +

"What's he doing?"

+ +

"Talking to Billy," Doug said. He was up on tip toes, using Tom + as a leaning post. The stranger was half hidden behind the first + low clump of scrub. He leaned and put the gun against a flat face + of rock, butt down on the grass. For the first time, hope + swelled.

+ +

Over by the hollow, the man was talking, not very loud at first, + but the words amplified by the hollow curve of the stone face. They + could just make out what he was saying. Billy could feel himself + shaking all through, as if he'd become a tuning fork. For some + reason his stomach kept twisting all of its own and that made him + belch constantly, little pockets of air bursting at the back of his + dry throat.

+ +

"Hear them, eh?"

+ +

"What?" Billy managed to blurt.

+ +

"The flies boy. Children of Be-elzebub, purifiers of the dead. + In the midst of death, they are life. You hear them? They talk to + us all, those voices. You just need ears to hear."

+ +

The man brought his head down until his cheek was against + Billy's ear. He could smell his breath, flat and cloying and + rotten; he could smell his sour sweat. The man's beard bristles + rasped against the side of his face and Billy had no strength to + pull away.

+ +

"Got to go down into the valley and out the other side. Come + through trials and tribulations to reach the great truth. You want + to make that journey boy? You want to listen to the voice of the + dead?"

+ +

"Crazy," Doug whispered. "He's off his flamin' head." Tom nodded + slowly.

+ +

"We have to get out of here first chance," Corky said. "Soon as + we can."

+ +

"Can you get help?" Doug wanted to know. "I can't run. I twisted + my ankle." The bitter disappointment was etched on his face. If + anybody could have gone for help, gone quickly, it would always + have been him. That little stumble as he reached out to help Tom + had cost him his speed. Cost them all.

+ +

"I have to get help," Corky said. His eyes were fixed + on the enactment in the hollow by the old hawthorn. The man was + leaning over Billy now and for a moment, they could have been + father and son, both of them tall, though the stranger towered over + the boy, and both dark-haired and sallow of skin. Not the father + Billy would have wanted, not the hero.

+ +

"Watched you set this up, boy." The voice came, chilling in its + casual matter-of-fact flatness. Billy couldn't speak. The stranger + took the hand off his head and reached towards the deer's skull. + Immediately a cloud of black flies peeled off and into the air in + an angry little tornado. One of them landed on Billy's cheek, a big + fat blue thing. It edged down towards his mouth and he got a whiff + of the dead meat it had fed on.

+ +

"Dung Fly," the man said. This time they all heard it. + "Conboy knew. He knew what they meant, Godless heathens. Am I + right?"

+ +

Billy nodded in quick response, though he hadn't a clue. None of + them had. Corky looked straight at Danny, his mouth set in a grim + line. They had both climbed up on the roof behind the old surgery + at Cairn House and had seen the flies patter like rain against the + window. They hadn't known then. They knew now.

+ +

"When?" Danny asked. Corky was about to say something when a + high-pitched squeal pierced the air, startling them all. The + stranger's head snapped up and he seemed to some out of that + dreamy, far-off state.

+ +

"What's that?" he asked sharply. Billy looked up at him, face + blank and open a picture of miserable bewilderment.

+ +

"I dunno," he finally managed.

+ +

Down at the bottom end of the clearing, where the low hazels + crowded together with some tangled blackthorns, the cry came again, + a squeal of pain or panic. The man moved backwards from the hollow, + leaving Billy on his own. He turned and walked not towards the + waiting group, but cut round the edge of the flat ground, head + cocked, the way it had been before, but this time obviously + listening for the noise. He reached the tent and skirted behind it. + The sound came again and this time Corky recognised it.

+ +

"It's a rabbit," he said. "Maybe one of the snares worked."

+ +

The man seemed to have forgotten about them for the moment. He + moved into the clump of blackthorn then beyond a thick hazel and + disappeared from sight. They all stood stock still. The gun was up + there at the rock, only yards from where Billy stood.

+ +

"Get it," Corky said between his teeth. He wanted to shout but + couldn't risk it. The man had gone into the scrub about thirty + yards away, but he was still closer to the gun than they were, or + so it seemed. Billy was only a few feet from it. He had half turned + towards them, but his whole attention was fixed on where the + stranger had gone.

+ +

"Billy!" Corky hissed. Doug turned round and did the same, + waving his hands for emphasis. None of them had the nerve to run to + the hollow, just in case that's what the man was waiting for. Down + in the cover the rabbit squeaked again, weaker now. They knew the + noose would be caught on its cheeks and it would be trying to force + itself free, drawing the fishing line snare tighter with every + move. If it had been round its neck, the pressure would have + strangled the sound.

+ +

"Billy," Danny gesticulated too. "Get it. Get the gun!" His + uncle Mick had let him fire a few shots down on the whale's back + sandbank on the estuary. They didn't even have to fire it at all, + just threaten. Twitchy Eyes might be crazy, but he couldn't be so + crazy he would ignore a gun threat.

+ +

But too crazy for Billy to risk going for the + gun...

+ +

Danny's legs twitched, as if they wanted to get started, get + moving, as if he was already running for it. Something inside of + him wanted to see the barrel pressed up against the man's throat, + to get revenge for the dreadful sensation of fear that had swamped + himself when he had felt them aimed at his spine, ready to cut him + in half.

+ +

The noise cut off. For a moment there was silence.

+ +

"Billy!" Tom hissed. Billy's attention was still fixed on the + spot where the man had gone into the rough. Once again he looked + like the rabbit mesmerised by the stoat. Off in the cover the other + trapped rabbit had stopped crying.

+ +

Corky took two steps back. His head swung left and right, + gauging the distance to the gun, to the stream. His hands balled + into thick, tense fists and of a sudden his eyes glinted like + emeralds.

+ +

"Wha..." Doug started to ask. Corky forestalled him.

+ +

"I got a chance," was all he said. He swivelled round to + estimate the climb to the top of the rim, shook his head, crouched + like a runner waiting for the gun, hands spread for balance. It was + a high steep slope and the loose, shifting gravel would slow him. + Both Danny and Doug could see that. The agony of indecision + stretched out for what seemed like a long time, but must have been + only seconds. He shook his head again, making the decision.

+ +

"I'll come back," he sad. "Honest. Try to..." he did not finish. + Out in the scrub beyond the campsite, a low thudding sound punched + out. Because of the dense foliage of fern and alder, none of them + could say from what direction it came. It was enough, however, to + galvanise Corky. He gambled on a downstream run. Despite his + previous misgivings about being taken down into the trees - and + they had been real fears - he worked out the best option. It was a + downhill sprint, following the cow-track beside the stream, that + would give him the advantage of speed. It was on the other side of + the campsite from where the gun was, so even in if the man came + blundering back and reached for it, he could easily be two turns of + the stream ahead and out of the line of fire. If he reached the + trees, they would give extra cover. He could hide in the shadow, + use the shade and cover to get up to the edge of the valley and get + down to the town. It was a chance. There was a good chance + that the man would come after him and that would give the others + the opportunity to scatter and the more of them that got away, that + would give anybody else a better hope. Corky was only thirteen + years old, but he had a bright instinct for odds and chances, + honed, possibly by the years of sliding between his violent father + and his loony brother.

+ +

He spun, leapt over the smouldering fire and hit the ground on + the other side. He went down the slope like a hare, arms flashing, + feet thrumming, racing along the bank.

+ +

Doom-doom-doom. Corky passed the overhang where the + stream had dug under the edge and the noise of his passing echoed + back to them. Hope leapt in Danny's chest. His heart did the same, + beating so fast he could actually feel its pressure high up under + his throat.

+ +

"Run for it, Corky," Doug muttered to himself, to the three of + them. "Go on, man."

+ +

Corky made it down to the next pool. He skittered across the + stones where the stream narrowed at the tight bend and then ran + back across the shallows beyond, sending up a fine spray that + caught the sun and made a series of brilliant rainbows. He reached + the turn, grabbed on to the upright trunk of a slender sapling to + propel himself round the corner.

+ +

The man came right out of the bushes at the side of the + clearing.

+ +

For an instant Danny thought the big charging shape was a + highland cow that had been startled by the sudden motion until he + recognised the size and shape. The man came streaking out, almost + silent but for a couple of twigs that crackled underfoot.

+ +

"Oh fuck," Doug said emptily.

+ +

The man had been further downstream that they had realised. They + could have got to the gun if they'd known.

+ +

Corky caught the motion out of the corner of his eye. They all + saw that. The black shape came streaking out of the bushes. Corky's + face turned and one hand went up in a reflex protective action. He + swerved to the side, too late, for he was hemmed in now by the + steep valley side and had no room for manoeuvre. He tried to run + faster, reached the flat turf at the edge of the stream, got one + foot onto the shingle at the bottom end of the pool and the man + lashed out with his foot and caught him a savage blow right on the + hip.

+ +

They all heard the dreadful smacking sound as the toe of the + boot connected. It sounded exactly like the noise they'd made when + they swung the thick logs on the stones to break them into + firewood. Corky made a sound that did not sound exactly human. The + force of the blow knocked him right up into the air, legs twisting + from under him. He flew in a low arc and landed on the shingle with + another loud thud, scattering small stones as he ploughed into + them.

+ +

"Jesus," Doug said.

+ +

Down by the pool Corky tried to get to his feet. They could see + his left leg dig in at the shingle in a desperate attempt to raise + himself up again and propel himself further down the valley, but + his right leg was not moving at the same speed. A cry of pain or + desperation or bitter defeat escaped him and came echoing up to + where they stood. He got to the edge of the water, his left hand + scattering shingle into the pool. The man took a step forward and + kicked his backside. The blow wasn't as violent as the first one + had been, and obviously wasn't even intended to be.

+ +

Corky lurched forward, off balance. His hand skidded out from + under, making his body flop at the edge of the shallows. The + stranger took another step and put his boot on the small of Corky's + back.

+ +

"Jesus," Doug mouthed again. They had all moved forward, all + except Billy, unable to stop themselves, getting to the lip at the + edge of the slope, unable to draw their eyes away from what was + happening further down the valley. The man leaned forward and + Corky's arms thrashed in the water.

+ +

"He'll drown," Tom said in a shivery little bleat of panic.

+ +

Corky's head went under the water. It wasn't deep, maybe three + of four inches, but with the weight of the man himself pressing + down on him, driving him into the shale, it was deep enough. He + raised his head up from the water, but hands splashing furiously, + waving to get some purchase and once again sending up coruscating + prism colours. He tried to pull himself from under but there was + nothing to hold on to. His head flopped down and they all heard him + gasp and splutter under the water.

+ +

"He's killing him," Tom said, almost in a whimper.

+ +

Corky yelled frantically as he exhaled, managing to lift his + mouth and nose clear for an instant, just enough to haul in a + breath. It was an inarticulate sound of no words but the + desperation in it was clear and stabbed them all.

+ +

Danny was moving. He did not remember starting to move, or even + deciding to do it. The animal sound Corky had made simply released + something in him and before he knew it he was down the slope and + belting along the track. Somebody shouted behind him and the sound + seemed to draw itself out like warm toffee. It might have been Doug + or Tom for Billy was probably still paralysed up by the altar of + the skulls. Danny ran over the stones, travelling in a straight + line the way Corky had done, then across the shallows at the first + pool before he even realised what was happening and by that time + everything was moving too fast including himself. Corky's head was + down again and all of his limbs were thrashing about. The stranger + was laughing or saying something. Unbelievably, he had a rabbit in + his hand, about half grown, still alive and kicking, trying to + squirm away much as Corky was doing. Danny was too far committed + now, moving too quickly to turn round and tell Doug to get the gun. + He would have cursed to himself if there had been time, because he + should have got the gun and come down and shot the man but all he'd + heard was that animal sound, a deadly noise of a drowning boy and + inside Danny something had clicked like a thrown switch; like a + pulled trigger. He'd got a vision of Paulie Degman rolling over in + the water and the sick feeling of proximity to death came welling + up in him and all of a sudden, he had no choice at all.

+ +

He splashed across the shallows of the upper pool, down the + slope to the second, across the narrow part of the falls and landed + with a thump on the shingle, scattering an arc of stones much as + Corky had done when he fell. His momentum carried him forward, feet + pattering through the few inches of water. Behind him somebody was + screaming and he couldn't tell who it was. He skidded forward, + barked against the man's right leg and almost fell. Despite the + speed of the collision, the man hadn't even moved. Danny felt as if + he'd run smack into a tree. He bounced, body twisting, feet + skidding, but did not stop. He simply grabbed Corky's ankle, got + his other hand to it, felt the powerful and desperate kick as his + friend fought for air, fought for life, and dragged backwards. For + a fraction of a second, nothing happened and then Corky jerked + back, only a few inches, but enough to get his head clear of the + water. His face scraped across the shingles, still pressed down on + the ground. He hauled for breath, a great whoop of suction, coughed + violently, retched, then whooped again. The man took his foot off + his back and Danny's weight pulled Corky even further back from the + water.

+ +

Danny fell on his backside, suddenly numbed by the enormity of + what had happened. A loop of nausea bubbled up inside him, burning + the back of his throat, then subsided without any conscious + assistance. He started to get to his feet when the man's shadow + fell on him.

+ +

"The earth trembled and it quaked," he said, very slowly and + clearly, almost dreamily. "They trembled because he was angry."

+ +

A hand reached down and took Danny by the neck, lifting him to + his feet in one swift, smooth motion. He felt something creak in + under the grip and a twist of pain shot from one side to the other + at the back of his skull. His feet came almost clear of the ground, + the way Billy's had done when the man grabbed his hair. The fingers + squeezed, not monstrously but enough to get the impression of great + and irresistible strength. Danny remembered thinking he should + shout to Doug or Tom to get the gun, but he was too scared to even + open his mouth.

+ +

"Suffer little children to come unto me," the man said. He + twisted Danny around and forced his head back so that he could look + right into his eyes. He bent forward, blotting out the blue of the + sky and locked on to Danny. The black eyes in that dark and seamed + face seemed to expand by some alchemy. They fixed on Danny, black + as night and held him tight. They were so dark that no pupil could + be seen, only the depth of blackness, like holes. He leaned in + close and the sour, unwashed smell enveloped Danny. The man was + dirty and he was mad. The eyes held him, completely expressionless, + not angry, not even mad-looking and that was creepiest of all. + Danny was up on his tip-toes, while this man stared right into his + soul with those black searchlights, leaning forward like a hungry + animal.

+ +

"He's going to eat me..." a panicked and jittery thought bubbled + up. He bites people. Oh man he eats people...."

+ +

"Don't hurt him," Corky pleaded. He'd been coughing the water + out of his throat when the man had turned and grabbed Danny. He + lurched to his feet, biting down on the augur of pain that drilled + right high on his hip where the blow had almost dislocated the + joint. His leg was numb and stiff, like the worst dead-leg he'd + ever had and everything from mid-thigh down was jittering and + jiving of its own volition. He hauled himself upright and now he + could see his friend caught by the neck and the raggedy man was + bending over him. Corky pushed in, trying to get himself between + Danny and the intruder. He was scared, dreadfully scared but he + knew Danny had come for him and he had to go for Danny.

+ +

"Let him go, mister," he bawled, reaching up to grab the arm + that had Danny by the neck. Danny was making little croaking sounds + while the black, and for once blinkless eyes, seared into him. + Corky dragged downwards, trying at least to get Danny's feet flat + on the ground, just in case the man shook him and broke his neck. + For some reason, the motion broke the connection. The man blinked + once, as if coming awake, swivelled his head to look at Corky.

+ +

"What?"

+ +

"I said let him go," Corky said.

+ +

Without a word the man held up the rabbit by its hind legs. It + jiggled there, trapped in his grip, making little reflexive running + motions. Its brown eyes rolled in the sockets. A tiny pink tongue, + like that of a new-born baby lolled softly.

+ +

Without warning the man jerked his hand. The animal swung in a + brief arc and came down with whipping force. Its head connected + with Corky's cow's-lick hairline at the top of his brow. There was + a wet crunch. A metallic smell misted the air. A red stain pulped + across Corky's head. He fell to the ground, landing on his backside + with such a force that his teeth snapped together hard enough for + Danny to hear. The man had lowered Danny's feet to the grass and + the grip on his neck eased considerably. He twisted just enough to + see what was happening. Corky was slipping backwards, eyes open, + but with a wide bloodied mark right across his head. He grunted and + it was the most deadly sound Danny had ever heard. It was an animal + sound, mindless and helpless. It was the kind of sound the Aberdeen + Angus bullocks made down in the slaughterhouse pens when the + malletmen fired the bolt into their brains and they dropped, + stumbling to the tiles with a grunt of expelled air, dead before + they fell.

+ +

Corky made that awful animal noise.

+ +

Both his hands were on the ground. He rolled slowly and lay + flat.

+ +

He's killed him. Oh!

+ +

Horror and shock wheeled right through Danny.

+ +

It had happened with such brutal force, such unexpected speed. A + whip and a crack and Corky was down. The enormity of it was still + trying to impinge itself on Danny's mind when Corky suddenly moved. + He jerked, much as the man had done, as if coming awake. Both hands + flew up to his head and dabbed gingerly. He blinked several times + and then he moaned, not loud, but the way someone does when they've + bumped their head or barked their shin. He winced as he did so. His + hands came away bloodied and Danny expected him to find bits of + skull and bone there too, at that part where his skull had been + caved in.

+ +

Corky face twisted into an expression of disgust and he rubbed + gingerly again at his scalp. Danny turned back, completely + bewildered and saw the rabbit swinging in the man's hand. Its head + was a red ruin. The little animal's skull was flattened and pulped + and a trail of blood dribbled from the nose that had been twitching + only seconds before. It was stone dead.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/026.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/026.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3fd2ae8 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/026.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,878 @@ + + + + + + 26 + + + + +
+
+

26

+ +

August 3. Night.

+ +

The moon rose over the high edge on the east side of the valley, + a slow, bright dome, just a shave short of full. Doug had watched + it from where he sat, up against the pole of the tent close to the + open flap, seeing the coarse grass fringe limned in silver, then + silhouetted against the light. The others, Danny, Tom and Corky who + were at the back, could only see the effect on the valley and the + water of the stream over by the falls where Billy had stuck the + feathers.

+ +

The upstream curve of the valley gradually lightened as the moon + rose higher, sending ink-blot shadows contracting slowly on the + westward slides of the rocks and trees. The water at the falls was + a flow of rippling quicksilver and even the small cascade itself + seemed to be imbued by a kind of magic, softening its sound down to + barely a whisper. The four feathers of the dead heron were narrow + curved blades sticking up from the rocks. Danny turned his head + from the silver stream, drawing his eyes down the bend to the edge + of the campsite. The change in the light was perceptible over the + distance, graduating from an ethereal moondew out in the basin of + the valley, to a baleful red glow by the fire where the pine sticks + crackled and spat and sparks rose up into the blackness above. The + stranger sat hunched on the far side, close enough to the flames + for them to reflect on the smooth gun-barrel. If he had not been + there, the light would not have looked so hellish, merely warm. His + presence changed everything and took the magic out of the + moonlight.

+ +

Billy's face was a pale blur close to the man, flickering in the + dance of the flames. He was huddled on the log he'd hauled himself + as his camp bench. His old rusty Sheffield steel knife was still + embedded into the grain at the end furthest from the fire. It + wouldn't have done him any good even if he'd been able to reach + it.

+ +

The man was silent for now.

+ +

He was only a yard or so from Billy, but he looked as if he was + completely alone within himself. He sat still, solid as the rocks + at the falls. Four Feather Falls, Billy had called it and they'd + all recalled the little puppet show with the hero whose magic guns + would swivel in their holsters and fire at the bad guys, mainly the + Indians. The idea of a gun going off by itself was now a + nightmare.

+ +

Billy huddled motionless. They could all see the red glint on + the fire-side edge of the long barrel and the silver streak at the + top where the moonlight reflected. Those parallel lines of + flickering red and silver followed up from the stock to the far end + which was jammed under Billy's jawline.

+ +

"We will all sit vigil," the man had said. "Pray that you will + not fall into temptation."

+ +

Danny knew, from long experience what he was talking about. The + image of the agony in the Garden of Gethsemane came to him. + Pray! Corky hadn't had the same indoctrination, but he + instinctively picked up the sense of it. Billy's eyes were red in + the firelight, wide and scared. The man had sat him down and took + some of the baling twine which he wrapped quickly round the ends of + the barrels and then looped around Billy's neck to tie it back on + the gunmetal again. The noose was not tight enough to strangle, or + even cause serious physical discomfort, but the agony of + anticipation should have been enough to make Billy sweat blood.

+ +

The business ends were right under his chin and the butt dragged + on the ground. The trailing edge of the baling twine went under + Billy's knees and the man quickly bound his hands there, once + again, not savagely, just enough to make it difficult for Billy to + move much. With the gun jammed against his neck, pointing straight + up under his chin, Billy was too scared to move at all.

+ +

"Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the + hour," the man told them and the crazy emptiness was back in his + eyes once more. They all shrank back from it.

+ +

He had made them build up the fire until it was a hot roar of + heat. Doug and Corky had broken the logs which Danny and Tom had + dragged down from the fallen spruce tree close to where the Corky + had struggled for breath in the shallows of the pool. There was no + escaping now, not while Billy's head was wired to the gun. The man + knew it. He had them in his grip now an there was nothing they + could do.

+ +

Corky wondered when he would start hurting them. He did not even + consider that they had been hurt yet, despite what they'd been + through. The rabbit's dried blood was smudged on his forehead and + the bruise there throbbed warmly but not very painfully. The side + of his face was swollen and angry and his shoulder and thigh hurt + like all hell. It was possible that the shock had anaesthetised + him. He leaned back, drawing his eyes from the outside to the dark + of the tent. Danny's gaze was fixed on the man, half of his face + pinked by the reflection of the fire, the other half in moonshadow. + Tom was just a pale blur. Dougie's breathing was light, but + shallow. They were still alive.

+ +

For a bad moment after his escape attempt, Corky had thought the + man would kill them all. With the natural insight of one who had + lived cheeck to jowl with a natural level of violence, he knew it + had been close.

+ +

"What's he waiting for?" he wondered, not realising that he had + whispered the words aloud.

+ +

"I dunno," Danny said. His stomach was rumbling emptily, + although he did not feel hungry. He was thinking about Billy + sweating blood and he wondered about the gun, whether it would go + off if Billy slumped forward during the night. He wished the man + would untie it. Danny's Uncle Mick who was his mother's brother and + the black sheep of the family, his gun had a filed-down trigger + lever that made it fire, so he said, if anybody looked at it the + wrong way. If Billy fell, or even jerked to the side, would the gun + go off? No wonder he was sitting there like a carved Indian statue. + He looked as if he was scared even to breathe. The safety catch was + off. Now it was off. Too late.

+ +

The man had hit Corky with the rabbit and Corky had dropped like + a sack. The move had been so unexpected, so unnatural, that it had + taken them all by surprise and Danny had thought Corky was dead. + The enormity of that sudden loss was matched only by the fear that + he himself would be next. For a moment everything went completely + and utterly still. Then Corky had jerked as if coming awake and had + rubbed at the red splash and they had both realised at the same + time that it was only rabbit blood.

+ +

Corky had got to his feet, very slowly, as if he too was still + surprised to be alive. The man had stepped forward and grabbed him + by the neck the way he had seized Danny only seconds before. + Without hesitation he propelled Corky back up the slope and across + the stream, ignoring the stepping stones. His boots splashed in the + water and Corky's splashed beside him, more dragged than stepping. + He made no sound. Danny followed on, unable to do anything else. + The man ignored him, as if he had forgotten all about him, but + Danny knew that was not so. If he ran, the man would turn and catch + him and this time he might not use the pulped rabbit to fell him. + He might pick up one of the smooth stones by the river and smash + him down with it and keep on smashing.

+ +

They got to the edge of the camp. Dougie was standing to the + side of the fire, shoulders dropped in defeat, his ears red and + translucent, his vest torn and sagging. Billy was over by the + hollow, down on his hands and knees as if he had suddenly gone + blind. His face was upturned and his eyes open, but they looked as + if they were fixed, the way the stranger's had been, on the far + distance. Tom was moving forward from the low rock wall. Danny + hadn't noticed him at first. For a second he thought he might have + run up stream and got away, gone for help before it was too late, + but then he saw him moving forward and his heart lurched.

+ +

Tom had the big gun in his hands.

+ +

He had raised it up to his shoulder and the end of the barrel + was waving around as if he was conducting a slow piece of music. + The muzzle ends, the black infinity shape, swung round to Danny who + winced in fright until it moved back to point at the man who was + pushing Corky in front of him.

+ +

"Stop!" Tom's voice was high and thin, almost a bleat.

+ +

The weight of the gun looked too much for Tom's small frame. The + end dropped slowly, rose, sagged again. His hands were shaking. + Danny saw his finger on the front trigger. The muzzle wavered down + again.

+ +

"No Tom," Danny tried to say but the words wouldn't + come. His mental shout was just a clamour inside his head. If Tom + fired, he'd surely hit Corky who was now being shoved up the + incline to the campsite.

+ +

The man did not hesitate. He pushed Corky ahead, walking + quickly, his boots thudding the turf and then without warning flung + the boy ahead of him with a violent push. Tom's eyes followed his + friend's progress, pulling his attention away from the real threat. + The man strode forward and took the end of the gun in his hand with + almost casual swiftness. Danny saw Tom's finger tighten reflexively + on the trigger, but nothing happened. The end of the barrel was + pointing straight at the man's head, but nothing happened. + The gun did not roar, did not spit fire and lead shot. The big, + dirty hand clamped on the end and drew it away from Tom. The man's + other hand reached out and took the small boy by the face, thumb on + one side, fingers on the other. The fingers flexed, squeezed hard + until the ingrained knuckles showed white.

+ +

Tom made a small oomph sound as his face contorted, + lips forming a vertical, squashed violin-shaped slash. A flick of + spittle whirled out. The man squeezed harder and Tom's eyes bulged. + He moaned in pain, face drawn upwards by the grip. Both his hands + were shaking furiously and his feet did a jittery little dance. + Over by the hollow, Billy was turning his head as if he'd just + realised they were there.

+ +

Corky got to his feet, shook his head to clear it, saw what was + happening and said something. It was just one word.

+ +

"Don't..."

+ +

That was as far as he got, but it was enough to save Tom's face + from being crushed and broken.

+ +

The man let go, simple as that. Tom fell to the ground, both + shivering hands immediately flying to his face which bore the full + imprint of thumb on the left cheek and four fingers on the right. + There was a vivid red mark just under the curve of the jaw where + the man's smallest finger had dug into the skin, the dirty nail + slicing through the surface. Tom let out a long drawn cry of pain + and his eyes were closed tight, concentrating on the hurt the way + boys do, so he did not see what happened next. Corky said his one + word and the man dropped Tom, as if he'd just flicked something off + his hand. He spun and to Danny it seemed as if it happened quite + slowly, but hewas riding high on that ridge of fear and dread in + which everything seemed to happen at a different speed from normal. + Corky was suffering no such time distortion. Despite his wealth of + experience in such matters, he never even saw the blow coming. The + man spun and his hand swung with him, splayed open, palm first. It + was the hand that had gripped Tom's cheek to the point of crushing + his jaw, which was fortunate enough. The other hand was gripping + the barrel of the gun and if he'd swung that, it would have taken + Corky's head off at the neck.

+ +

Corky saw the blow coming, just like Pony's roundhouse punch, + and he instinctively went with it, so that it sounded loud enough, + but caused no damage. He did a little somersault and landed on his + hands and feet and scuttled off out of reach. The man did not + pursue him further. Danny heard Doug's breath catch. The man swept + his eyes across them.

+ +

"Again a little time and you shall see me."

+ +

Corky looked up warily. They all held their breaths now, + thinking now that this was it. The gun was up now in the crook of + the man's arm, pointing at the sky.

+ +

"Could you not wait one hour with me?"

+ +

Danny heard the reference to the garden. None of it made sense. + He waited for the barrels to dip once again, but again nothing + happened. The man stared down at Corky who gazed up, unblinking, as + if caught in the headlights. His eyes focused, locked on the man's + own almost in challenge. Danny and Doug watched the exchange and + later they thought it was the bravest thing they had ever seen, but + at that moment, both of them were silently begging Corky to look + away, to deflect the heat. The pair of them, man and boy stayed + like that or several seconds, Corky's chest heaving up and down in + rapid hitches, the man still as stone, looking as if he did not + need anything as banal as air to exist. Finally he turned his head + to the side, like a teacher who has decided to be lenient this + time.

+ +

"Don't run again, boy," he said. "We have things to do. Wonders + to perform." He turned away and Corky's eyes closed slowly as if he + was suddenly exhausted. The side of his head was red and angry and + swelling fast.

+ +

The man moved towards the fire and picked up the body of the + rabbit and it was only then that Danny noticed the safety catch of + the shotgun was pushed forward. Tom hadn't known about that. His + fingers had definitely tensed on the trigger and nothing had + happened because it had been locked. But Tom had pulled, whether by + accident or design. He had a chance to get them out of it and the + chance was gone. Yet deep inside Danny there was a sneaking + suspicion that even if the gun had roared, the big ragged stranger + -Twitchy Eyes- would still be standing there by the fire, + holding the rabbit up by the ankles. There was something so + depthlessly evil about him that he seemed to be indestructible. + Corky had been right.

+ +

"He's not going to do anything right away, is he now?" he'd + said. "Not to all of us."

+ +

But it was starting now and they were caught here, miles from + the town. Beyond the man, the four feathers on the falls fluttered + in a waft of breeze and Danny's stomach clenched.

+ +

Bad luck! He'd brought this on them, hadn't he? He'd + killed it and the shadow had come across the valley. The valley + of the shadow of death! The luck had blown and flown. Tom had + pulled the trigger and nothing had happened. Corky had run and the + man had anticipated it. He'd stepped on his back while he sprawled + in the water and Corky would have died.

+ +

Now it was night and the moon was over the edge and beaming down + into the valley and the sparks from the spruce and pine were flying + up on the updraught. Beyond the flames, they had heard the man gnaw + hungrily at the rabbit, making animal feeding sounds. He'd made + them gather the wood and break the logs on the stones, each smash + sounding just like the sound of the rabbit's skull on Corky's + forehead. Twitchy Eyes, there was now no doubt in any of + their minds that this was the man who had done the dreadful things + to the little girl under the bridge and to Donny Whalen and the + others.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes. He had gutted the rabbit and thrown the + entrails onto the fire, watching them sizzle and shrink, like some + crazed warlock casting an augury. The intestines and lungs + shrivelled to charred lumps while he very quickly stripped off the + skin, peeling it like a tight coat. He severed the head with one + quick, frightening twist of his hands and put it to the side, + looking over at the corner where the three other skulls hung in the + hawthorn. Doug saw the look and knew the rabbit's head would end up + there.

+ +

And whose else?

+ +

He shivered visibly. Oh Jesus please us, chill and + freeze-us. His lips moved in the gloom but no sound came out. + On the other side of the fire, limned by the flames, the man held + up the skinned rabbit. Its limbs dangled and it looked like a + new-born baby. The stranger looked like a red-eyed devil, hunched + on the edge of the pit. He took one of the branches and skewered + the little animal, stabbing it through the rectum and up to the + gaping hole at the throat. Very expertly and without fuss, he fixed + up two other branches on either side of the fire and put the meat + across the edge beside the flames and above a hot section of + glowing embers. In a matter of minutes the smell of cooking meat + billowed out. Doug's mouth watered, but he was not at all + hungry.

+ +

"What's he waiting for?" Corky had whispered a long time later + and Danny hadn't known the answer. The moon had risen, only a + couple of nights short of full, lighting the canvas of the tent + enough for their night vision to let them see each other, however + dimly. Corky's face was swollen on the right side as if he'd the + mumps.

+ +

"We'll have to get out of here," Doug said.

+ +

"I tried, really I did. If you hadn't hurt your leg, maybe you'd + have made it, but Jeez he was dead fast." Corky swivelled + and tried to get his hands to the edge of his hip where the man's + boot had caught him and knocked him flying. The baling twine + whipped around his hands made any motion difficult. The bonds, + roughly pulled tight, were connected to another loop around their + necks. If they tried to squirm free, it choked them. It was very + effective.

+ +

"I thought my leg was broken."

+ +

Despite what he'd been through, he sounded remarkably composed. + Danny could see the dim light reflect in his eyes, could make out + the concentration there. The sparking crackle of the fire was + enough to cover their whispering.

+ +

"I thought he'd killed you," Danny said flatly.

+ +

"You thought? I never expected him to banjo me with a + rabbit. Swear to God it was hard as a rock."

+ +

"Not as hard as your head though," Tom said, and for some + reason, Corky started to giggle, not out loud, but in a whispery, + suddenly uncontrollable heaving of his shoulders. The motion caused + him to fall slightly to the left, against Danny and that in turn + tightened the twine which was looped around his neck and fixed in + turn to the tent-pole. The laugh cut off in a strangled gulp which + they all heard. Corky raised himself back, tears running down his + cheeks and a shadowed smile still stretched across his face.

+ +

"What are you laughing at?" Doug wanted to know and Danny felt + the hysteria bubble up inside himself. He bit that down because he + did not know if he could keep it quiet and he did not know that if + it started, he'd be able to stop, or if it would be laughter for + long. It might change into blubbering, snivelling tears. He felt + close enough to them already.

+ +

"Not as hard as my head." Corky said, still grinning and in the + light coming through the flap, he looked just a little mad. "No + kidding. I heard that poor wee thing crack like a nut, and I + thought it was my head caving in. Next think all I could see were + sparkly stars right in front of my eyes."

+ +

"I saw the blood," Danny finally said. "I thought it was..."

+ +

"But it wasn't," Corky interjected, forestalling him. The look + on his face had changed, the crazy grin gone in a wink. "It was + just a slap. It was nothing. I've had worse from my old man. I'll + look like old Quasimodo in the morning."

+ +

"But he nearly drowned you," Tom hissed, his voice as tremulous + as Danny felt.

+ +

"But he didn't, did he?" Corky said sharply, and Doug's eyes + flicked to the figure beyond the flames to see if he'd heard. + Danny's memory brought him back a picture of his friend helpless, + wriggling and fighting for breath. The hysteria tried to bubble + upwards in a sudden release.

+ +

"He didn't. 'Cos Danny came and gave me a hand," Corky said and + now they could all see the faint glint in his eyes. Doug looked + down, all ears and teeth, not moving, but a picture of shame and + embarrassment. Corky inclined his head as far as it could go + without cutting off his breath again. Even in the dimness they + could read his posture.

+ +

"Doug," he said, "I never meant you should have done anything. + You'd have run if you could, but you couldn't, so don't worry about + it. Sure it was me that stopped you on the way down, wasn't it? You + were going to go up the side like a ferret up a drainpipe. Even + with him and his gun at your back. That took guts. Plenty of + them."

+ +

He nodded his head again. "Wee Tom here. Jeez-o! I + thought he was going to shoot me. Bad enough Old Twitch knocking + the feet from me, but Tom? Our pal?"

+ +

Corky grinned again, this time a quick flash and Danny + understood, with a flash of desolate sadness, what he was doing. He + was thirteen years old and he'd told them all great and terrible + truths about themselves to hold them together and now he was doing + the same thing. Holding them together with his own special + power.

+ +

Old Twitch.

+ +

The man out there beyond the flicker of the fire, hunched only a + hard away from where Billy sat motionless, the man who'd stalked + ther town and done his killing.

+ +

Old Twitch.

+ +

"I couldn't get it to fire," Tom said.

+ +

"Safety catch was on," Danny explained.

+ +

"Just as well for me," Corky said, almost speaking aloud but + checking himself quickly. "The way that gun was jiggling about, I'd + have been a goner for sure. Try explaining that when you get home. + Sorry Mrs Corcoran. I never knew the safety catch was on. That's as + bad as 'I never knew the gun was loaded.' "

+ +

Beyond the fire, perched on his log, Billy sat still as stone + while the man devoured the rabbit. He had thought he was going to + die when the gun had been tied tight to his neck, either from the + blast when it went off, or from the pounding of his heart which was + so powerful, and so stuttering, that it felt like an engine firing + on three cylinders. It felt as if it could burst inside of him and + for a long moment, he was so scared to breathe that his peripheral + vision took on the hue of the splash of dried blood still smeared + on Corky's forehead.

+ +

He hadn't been able to move. Not then, not before even when the + man had put his head down close to his cheek and spoken directly to + him.

+ +

They talk to us all, those voices. You just need ears to + hear.

+ +

The man brought his head down until his chin was against Billy's + ear. He could smell his breath, flat and cloying and rotten; he + could smell his sour sweat. The man's beard bristles rasped against + the side of his face and Billy had no strength to pull away, no + strength at all.

+ +

Got to go down into the valley and out the other side. You + want to make that journey boy? You want to listen to the voice of + the dead?

+ +

And he'd bent further and taken the soft skin at Billy's neck + between his teeth, gently enough, but Billy had been waiting for + dreadful pain of the bite.

+ +

Oh Jeez! Oh mammy! He'll eat me.

+ +

Like he'd eaten the fish, heedless of the head and eye and raw + guts. Like he'd bitten the kid from school, bitten pieces out of + him. Billy had felt his legs begin to buckle when the small screech + had startled the man back. After that, everything had been a blur. + One of them, had it been Danny? Corky? had run off, but Billy + couldn't get his eyes to focus. Somebody had called his name, as if + from a long distance, something about a gun, but by now his legs + had given way and the world was just a haze in the pounding of his + heart and the shudder of absolute fear. It had happened so fast and + he was moving so slow and it was all jumbled up.

+ +

Parts of it came back to him, jerky little pictures, little + flashes, blurred and fast, almost like half remembered dreams; Tom + raising the gun; Danny yelling something down by the stream; Corky + falling sideways and making a long low sound that seemed to go on + and on.

+ +

Now he was beside the fire, eyes fixed on the flames. He could + think now, but it was a slow process, as if his brain had become + fogged with the same numbness that had slowed him during the day + when the man had bent to his neck and promised him....

+ +

Over in the tent the others were together and he was alone, + singled out again, the way he had been singled out when the man had + stepped over the stream and forced the fish into his mouth, and + when he'd led him to the hollow to watch the flies crawling over + the dead skulls. Every now and again he imagined he could hear the + others talking, over the whispering hiss of resin bubbling from the + end of the spruce logs and the flutter of the flames. He imagined + he could hear them whisper but he hoped they were all asleep.

+ +

Talk was dangerous. He knew that, even in his dull state of + shock. If they were talking, they could be planning to escape, and + if they tried that, there was a gun at his neck and even Billy knew + that was a warning to them all. One wrong move, and the man + would

+ +

bite!

+ +

reach for the gun and squeeze the trigger. He would make Billy + come through trials and tribulations to reach that great truth.

+ +

You want to make that journey boy? You want to listen to the + voice of the dead? In his mind he could hear those words, + played over and over again, the way his mother used to play those + Western tunes on the old Dansette, like the song from High Noon. Do + not forsake me. Oh my.

+ +

He'd been singled out, kept apart from the others. + Forsaken. And that meant the raggedy man planned something + for him, something different. He had wanted to plead and cry and + beg for mercy and fall on his knees, but that hadn't happened, not + until the man had followed the rabbit's squeal and walked away and + then he'd been left on his own, forsaken again, with nothing to + cling to. He'd been singled out and the man had told him what would + happen. Not how, but what.

+ +

Want to hear the voice of the dead? They had all heard the + stories of Don Whalen in the bomb shelter, stories told in graphic + detail, because nothing stayed secret for long, even the secrets of + policemen. They'd found him dead and stiff and fly-blown with his + head twisted to the side, facing the screaming mouth of the + girl.

+ +

When the man had asked him the question, that was the image that + had flashed into his mind: Don Whalen listening to the dead scream + of the dead girl. The Voice of the dead. And Don had made + the journey, down in that squirming shelter, tied to an old table. + Hadn't he?

+ +

On the fire, one of the logs rolled over and crashed into the + ashes, startling him enough to make him jerk, but only for an inch. + The weight of the gun stopped him, along with the sudden freezing + that came with the knowledge of those barrels pressed against his + flesh. A shower of sparks shimmered upwards on the hot draught of + air.

+ +

Billy hauled for a difficult breath, wondering when it would + happen. Beside him, the man gnawed at the rabbit, making little + snuffling and gobbling noises as he did so, sounding like a pig in + a sty. Every now and again he'd flick a bone into the red embers + and listen to it crack and warp. The rabbit's head was off to the + side, but too close to the heat to have attracted any flies.

+ +

After a while, the fire died a little and Billy's numbness slid + into a kind of exhausted torpor. His eyes closed and his head + drooped just a little, finally coming to rest against the muzzle of + the shotgun.

+
+

"Slitty eyed vermin!".

+ +

The man's sudden utterance woke Billy with such a start that he + almost fell backwards off the log. Over in the tent, Danny and + Corky, sitting side by side and both connected to the upright pole + as well as to each other, banged heads.

+ +

"Wassamatter?" Tom asked dopily. Danny, just coming awake, + hazily remembered Corky winding Billy up about the disease he could + have caught from Phil's stash of pictures.

+ +

"Wassermatter reaction," he mumbled, beginning to smile, then he + came fully awake as the loop of twine rasped against his neck and + brought him right back to reality.

+ +

"Hush it," Corky hissed.

+ +

"Am I right, Conboy?" The voice was low, but jerky, + like a sleep-walker's disjointed diction. "You can see them. See + everything you do. Got a third eye now, eh? See all!"

+ +

"What's he saying?" Tom asked, a disembodied whisper in the dark + corner furthest from the flap. The fire was still glowing, but not + aflame now. The moon was almost directly overhead, sending its wan + light through the thin stretched canvas of the old tent, and + forming almost solid shafts of silver through the few puncture + holes in the slant roof where they caught the motes of old + dust.

+ +

"Dunno," Corky said. "Listen." He had not been quite asleep, but + he'd been dozing fitfully, as had the other three, tired and + drained from the events of the day but still in a state of fearful + apprehension that precluded the possibility of deep sleep. The very + fact that the man had started talking, after such a long silence + worried him badly. Was it the start? He couldn't guess, despite the + guessing he'd tried ever since the man had marched them all down + together. Good or bad? He did not know. Bad probably, though the + fact that Billy was still tied to the gun was good, depending on + the standpoint. Corky had figured that as long as Billy was tied, + he was a hostage for their good behaviour. The warning was clear. + It was in all the best and worst of western movies.

+ +

One wrong move and the boy gets it.

+ +

Good for them. Bad for Billy. But the man was talking now and he + was a crazy lunatic and the normal rules, if there could any normal + rules in this tortured craziness, would not apply. Would it start + now?

+ +

Danny was aware of Corky's tension. He could feel it through the + twine that coupled them and he hoped Corky was all right. If Corky + caved in then that was it. None of them would make it. Danny held + his breath tight and tried to figure out, the way Corky had done, + whether it was all going to start now.

+ +

"Not talking now, Conboy? Eh?" The voice rumbled over the murmur + of the stream. "What's the matter? Flies got your tongue?"

+ +

The man laughed, not high this time, but almost as low as the + voice itself, a kind of derisory, guttural sound.

+ +

"I know you can hear me. I know. Not long now Conboy. They'll + come back soon, slitty eyed yellow scum. Dung Fly! We'll + wait for them. Just you and me and we'll finish them all. Wipe them + all out! Dung Fly. Only word they know."

+ +

There was a moment's silence, then the voice was back, a little + louder, a little more jerky. "Only word. Hear what I'm telling you + Conboy? You have to stay awake. Keep an eye out. Ha. An eye."

+ +

In the tent, Corky and Danny, side by side, shared the same + posture, sitting with their heads back, cocked and listening. Over + on the other side, Doug sniffed.

+ +

"Who's he talking to?"

+ +

"Who knows?"

+ +

"Is Billy okay?" Tom wanted to know, typical of him. Danny + remembered him from the night before, even after Corky had reached + and touched a finger in the jagged wound of Tom's loss, how Tom had + reached to touch Corky and offer his support.

+ +

Doug leaned back, squinting through the flap. He moved slowly, + held his position for some time, then turned back. "Still there. + Can't see if he's asleep or not. The gun's still there."

+ +

"What about him?"

+ +

"Same place. He's finished the rabbit. Still sitting. Can't see + his face. Maybe he's turned round."

+ +

"What do you think he'll do?"

+ +

Corky shrugged. So did Danny. Neither of them wanted to say what + they thought.

+ +

Outside, the man's voice lowered a little and maybe he had + turned round, for the words were hard to make out, and they'd a + double-toned quality to them, as if they were echoing back from the + steep sides across the steam. The tone had changed too, not quite + so vehement. Danny strained to listen. It sounded as if a + conversation was going on, almost furtively. It continued for some + time, rising a little, falling some more and finally, after a long + time, it slowed and stopped. The fire continued to glow.

+ +

Down in the forest, an own screeched like a banshee moorland + ghost and its cry tapered away to a hollow moan. Later on, with the + moon now crossing to the far side of the valley, something small + squealed and died. The glow of the fire lessened.

+ +

It was much later, with the embers now a pink circle of light in + the boundary of hot stones, that Danny woke up with a start. Corky + had moved, perhaps, shifted enough to wake Danny.

+ +

He came swimming up, panicking, out of a fitful dream where he + was alone in the valley and the night was coming down dark and + heavy and all of the scrub alders and hazels had turned into + gnarled thorn bushes with black spikes, all twisted into circlets, + into crowns of thorns dripping blood. The sides of the valley + soared up into the sky, steep and gravelly and seeming to curve in + threateningly at the top, as if the edges would cave in and bury + him under their weight.

+ +

An unseen voice was asking if he could not wait up an hour to + pray and he did not know if it was his father talking to him or God + or someone else, some other awful presence who was now striding + like a giant down the valley of the shadow of death with a + doom-doom-doom tread and a terrible blank and crazy look + in his black eyes.

+ +

"Whatever you do to the least of these, you do also to me," the + voice rolled out, echoing from the walls and the heron flew past + him on ponderous wings and though he now tried to haul back, the + staff in his hand whirled through the air and hit it in the neck. + It floated to the ground, broken, its yellow eyes speared on him + accusingly. The beak opened and instead of the harsh kaark + call, it spoke to him in a voice he recognised.

+ +

"Done it now, Danny boy. You killed one of God's creatures and + it's the Bad Fire for you. You're going to burn, boy. Burn + forever."

+ +

He turned away form the searing eye and found himself clambering + through the boiling liquid on the old linoleum floor, scrabbling + for purchase and finding none while the heat ravened all the way + down his back and he could feel his skin blister and sizzle while + behind him Father Dower, smiling that wide toothy grin of his, was + reaching to touch him and instead of hauling him out of the + dreadful, scalding fire, he just rubbed his hands slowly over + Danny's bare skin and chuckled softly.

+ +

Danny came out of sleep hauling for air as if he was drowning. + Corky nudged him with an elbow, keeping it pressed in hard against + his ribs, enough of a contact to let Danny know where he was.

+ +

"You okay?" he asked. Danny was still shivering as if he was + cold, although despite the night, it was warm inside the tent. He + blinked rapidly, almost the way the man had done, shaking away the + remnants of the dream until he was just about free of it. The odd + and hungry grin hovered in the near distance before it + fragmented.

+ +

"Yeah. Suppose so," Danny whispered back. On the other side of + the tent, Doug and Tom were leaning against each other, both + asleep, their breathing shallow. Doug muttered something + unintelligible and Tom stirred but not enough to wake + completely.

+ +

"We have to get out of here."

+ +

Danny nodded in agreement. "You nearly made it. If that rabbit + had got caught in the top snare you'd have had a good start and + you'd have made it. It was just rotten bad luck."

+ +

"Yeah. Bad luck. It's always bad luck." Danny could hear the + bitterness underlying Corky's whisper.

+ +

"It was my fault."

+ +

"Don't be daft. It's nobody's fault. Just that crazy nutcase out + there. It's his fault."

+ +

"No," Danny insisted. "I knew when I killed the bird. The Heron? + Remember?"

+ +

"Course I do. Great shot."

+ +

"I knew right then I shouldn't have done it. I knew something + bad was going to happen, and it did. We all started fighting and + then he...him...he turned up."

+ +

"Aye, and if you believe that, you believe in Santa Claus," + Corky said. His head was only inches away from Danny's and the + sarcasm was thick in the sound of his voice. "No kidding Dan, you + should listen to yourself. Ol' loony-tunes didn't need you to magic + him up here. This must be where he's been hiding all this time. The + bird was nothing to do with it. Jeez. I've lost count of + the number of street-scrag pigeon chicks I've had to wring. And + trout. And remember that time we got a half dollar for wringing the + chickens at Boghead farm? It was just a bird."

+ +

"But it was..."Danny paused, tried to thing, remembering the + slow whoosh of wings. The image of the dream came back, that yellow + eye spearing him. "I dunno. It was special."

+ +

"Special my arse," Corky said. "No kidding Danny. It's got + nothing to do with you.

+ +

"What do you think he'll do?"

+ +

"Christ knows. We can't hang around for it anyway. He's waiting + for something."

+ +

"You think there might be two of them?"

+ +

Corky shrugged. "Up here there could be a whole army of them. + Maybe he's been up here since the war. Shell-shocked or something. + You know, with the bombs and stuff. Whatever it is, he's as mad as + a wet hen. Honest to god, I thought I was a goner today when he + stepped on me. I thought I was drowned for sure."

+ +

Danny recalled that Corky had veered off that subject when Tom + had said the same thing earlier, when the man was eating by the + fire. He recognised that this was for him only.

+ +

"One of us will have to get out. You reckon you can make + it?"

+ +

"I'm not as fast as Doug."

+ +

"Nobody's as fast as him. He's built like a starved greyhound. I + don't know what he'll be like in the morning. Maybe his ankle will + have stiffened up."

+ +

"Maybe it'll have loosened off" Danny said, more in hope that it + wouldn't have to be himself who took the risk.

+ +

"Aye. Maybe. But I don't know if this time he'll just freeze. He + would have run this morning and if he'd done that..." Corky left it + hanging for half a second, then changed tack. "Just in case. You + think you can take off if we get the chance? Tom hasn't a hope, and + my leg's going to be black and blue in the morning."

+ +

"Is it sore?"

+ +

"Only when I laugh, arseface." Corky said and turned to grin + again. Danny knew he'd ask again and forestalled him.

+ +

"If I get the chance, I'll run. Maybe I could get into the + bushes and up to the ferns. If I could get that far he'll have a + job finding me. So long as he doesn't keep firing, 'cos that gun + could fire through bushes no bother at all."

+ +

"He's not got enough cartridges I don't think. I had a look at + him. He's got no bag with him and his pockets don't seem that full. + I think he's just got a few. If you get to the edge of the woods, + you could be up and away. That's where I was heading for."

+ +

"It'd be quicker to go up the top and down the moor. Quicker to + get home."

+ +

"Sure, as long as you weren't out in the open for too long. If I + had the chance, that's the way I'd go, so long as he didn't have + the gun, and as long as he leaves us alone for a while. He'll have + to take a piss sometime, or go for a shit. I was hoping that fish + would give him food poisoning."

+ +

"I'm just glad he didn't make us eat the rabbit. Raw trout guts + would be bad enough." Danny felt Corky twitch with spontaneous + laughter and a bubble of hysteria swelled in his belly. He + swallowed down on it.

+ +

There was a silence for a moment then Corky whispered: "Dan, I + don't think we'll get a lot of chances. I don't know what's going + to happen tomorrow. I think we're all right for the night, or he + wouldn't have tied Billy up like that. He's got to sleep sometime + too. But whatever he's waiting for, he's not going to wait long. If + one of us gets home, he'll run because he'll know they're after + him."

+ +

"He'll kill us," Danny said flatly and he was amazed when the + words came out just like that. The enormity of it. The end of his + life, contemplated and made concrete in three small words.

+ +

"Don't think that way," Corky hissed urgently, digging hard + enough to hurt with his elbow. "Danny. Listen. He's crazy, for + sure. It's the guy they've been looking for." Danny noticed he + didn't spell it out, but he didn't have to. They all knew the list + of names. Corky's voice had gone very cold and earnest and of a + sudden he sounded all grown up. "We can't think about what might + happen. If I did that all my life I'd be a nervous wreck by now. + Billy's no use. You can see it in his face. He's thinking ahead and + that's why he can't move. You see that in the fights at the back of + the school when somebody doesn't want to. He's all seized up."

+ +

Corky dropped his voice even lower, so that there was no chance + anybody but Danny could hear it. "I think maybe Tom and Doug might + freeze as well. Honest, if my leg's okay I'll do it, but it might + not be. I think that nutter nearly broke it."

+ +

He twisted round as far as he could, so he could just get a look + at Danny.

+ +

"If we get a chance, Danny boy, we have to take it."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/027.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/027.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1c3db2f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/027.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,937 @@ + + + + + + 27 + + + + +
+
+

27

+ +

August 4. 7am.

+ +

Danny came awake again, swimming up to the surface, this time + pursued by no dreams that he could remember. It felt as if he + hadn't slept at all. The tent was cold and his mouth was gummy and + bitter. Corky was sitting upright, eyes closed and in the thin + light, Danny couldn't tell whether he was awake or not. On the + other side, Doug and Tom were huddled together.

+ +

The tent flap was still open on the left side. Danny squirmed, + pulling against the loose loop of baling twine as it rasped against + the skin of his throat, until he could see outside. For a moment he + thought he was looking through a white veil, all colour leached + from the early morning.

+ +

The world was dead still.

+ +

A ground mist, thick and pearlescent, had crept up from the + stream to the campsite, dense enough to make the striations on the + far side of the valley blurred and indistinct. Danny could see, + through the small triangular space, the edge of the bank and the + thick end of the log Billy had dragged up from the trees. The knife + was still stabbed into the grain and the tendrils of mist grasped + around it like ghostly fingers, creeping almost imperceptibly. The + fire had almost completely burned itself out. In the circle of + stones, the ash was grey and light, showing that the heat had + lasted all night. The smooth boulders themselves would still be + blistering hot, warm enough to cook on, but the embers had died + down and there was now no smoke.

+ +

The valley, what he could see of it, had taken on an eerie and + insubstantial quality, as if seen in a dream. Danny knew he was + awake. The tent smelled of sweat, old and new, and mildew from long + unaired days rolled up hiding Phil's stash of tools and stolen + gear. Tom twitched, Doug's nasal breathing snuffled near the + entrance. Corky was completely still.

+ +

There was no wind. The day was light, but it was early, in the + shallows of the morning and the sun had not yet risen. It would be + hours yet before it soared, the way the moon had done, over the + eastern lip of the valley. For the moment, viewed through that + triangle flap, the section of the valley looked like something from + a fairy scene. Danny could not see the man, and from where he sat, + Billy too was hidden from view. For all he knew, the man could have + gone, vanished into the shadows of the night. Even as he thought it + he knew that was not true. The crazy stranger would still be + there.

+ +

But for the moment, in the strange solitude of the early + morning, the mist smoothed the outlines and harsh edges, making it + a soft and peaceful morning. It brought to mind the story he'd read + in the book they'd swiped from the treasure chest at Overbuck + House. Corky had shown him it on the first day they'd arrived here + (and that seemed a million years ago) the passage about the + legendary battle of the hero Cuchullain at the ford in the + stream.

+ +

"Give me a song for a soft morning," he'd told his friends on + the night before he bravely went down to single combat, a real + hero, heedless of personal danger. Danny wished he could be the + same, but the fear that had settled on them all had stayed with + him, even during the fitful and uncomfortable sleep and it clung to + him now.

+ +

This stolen minute, however, gave a semblance of tranquillity. + The mist smothered the burbling tumble of the stream, fading it + down to a distant murmur. No birds sang, not even the far-off + cockerel, the little red rooster down at Blackwood farm whose early + morning call sometimes drifted up to this height on the westerly + breeze. Now there was no breeze, hardly a stirring of the air and + for the moment, Danny Gillan was alone. The day seemed to hold its + breath before wakening.

+ +

He wished the world would stay asleep. He did not want to think + of the whispered, urgent conversation in the dark

+ +

You reckon you can make it?

+ +

I don't know. I don't know.

+ +

I don't want to.....

+ +

He didn't want to think about it. The man had come streaking out + of the bushes and kicked Corky and nearly broke his leg. That had + been without the gun. Danny stretched to see if Billy was still + tethered to the barrels, but the string dug into his windpipe and + he had to lean back under the tension before he choked and woke + everybody.

+ +

If we get a chance, Danny boy...

+ +

He knew that. He tried not to think about his muscles freezing, + like some kid who didn't want to fight in the yard. In his mind's + eye, in the fitful pictures that had unreeled in his mind last + night, despite how he'd tried to shake them away, he saw himself in + the dreamscape sequences where his limbs locked in a strange and + terrified paralysis, or where no matter how he run and jinked, + every path, every sheep track through the ferns, somehow led him + back to the camp and that black infinity at the end of the + shotgun's muzzle. In the slow light of the morning, he shucked + those images away and tried to breathe easy.

+ +

All the could-have-beens and might-have-dones. If. If. + Billy Harrison was fond of the phrase: If is a very small + word with a very big meaning.

+ +

Big consequences.

+ +

If they hadn't been gathered on the fallen elm tree that day. If + Paulie Degman hadn't fallen into the river in the spring while the + silver sparkle of light flashed from the back of Cairn House into + Danny Gillan's eyes. If they hadn't been talking about the + explosion in the quarry bringing the body to the surface. If they + hadn't argued about the bomb the waterworks men found in the + reservoir up on the Overbuck estate, they wouldn't have talked + about the Dummy Village and if they hadn't conjured up that old + legend they wouldn't be here.

+ +

If. Might-have-beens and should-have-dones.

+ +

"I bet you wouldn't come down here at night," Billy had said and + Tom had agreed with that.

+ +

"Not when the mist comes off the river," he'd said vehemently, + because Tom was living with his own ghost. "You never know what's + in there. It creeps like it's alive."

+ +

"Gives you the creeps," Billy had said, laughing. Now + he was out there with the man with the gun and he was not laughing. + The mist was crawling like it did own at the river, the one Corky + said hid the ghost of lonesome Paulie Degman.

+ +

Danny closed his eyes, half hoping that when he opened them + again he'd wake up from a dream and find that he'd imagined it all. + When he opened them again, the triangle of grey pearly light was + still there at the front of the tent and thin tendrils of mist were + inching around the wooden pole. He was still here.

+ +

And he was still there.

+ +

The brooding presence of the man with the black and twitching + eyes, unseen, but somehow sensed, was still there on the other side + of the circle of stones. All was silent until Doug snorted softly. + Danny turned his head towards the sound, slowly swung back to look + through the entrance.

+ +

A red squirrel stood four square on the short grass. Its stubby + little legs were planted far apart on its four corners and its tail + curled right over its back like a rich feather plume. Its head was + up, nose sniffing the air in little twitches. At his movement in + the shadow of the tent, its coal eye fastened on Danny's. It moved + in rapid little jerks, halting to sniff then twisting in a flick of + russet to examine something on the grass. It picked up something + that looked like a baked bean, tested it quickly, then sat up on + its hunkers, tail still curled in a cloak against the cool of the + morning, and quickly ate it in a series of tiny, gnawing bites. + Danny watched the whole process, unable to move in case he scared + it. For a brief heartbeat, his fear was forgotten. The little + squirrel, half the size of the big greys which ruled in the beeches + and oaks further down the valley, searched around for more morsels, + constantly on edge, alert for danger. It froze, spun in a blur at + some motion beyond the camp and then disappeared in a silent, red + russet streak.

+ +

Danny's heart kicked. Had the man moved? Was he awake now and + coming for them?

+ +

He stretched against the loop, heedless of the pressure on his + throat, trying to see what was happening out there. The mist was + just beginning to lessen, thinning a little as the dawn slowly + changed into a still day.

+ +

Something moved and his heart lurched again and that was when he + saw it. He'd been staring right at it, unaware because it had been + still as a statue, but when it moved, just at the edge of vision, + stalking through the mist which was thicker down there at the + water, he recognised the heron. It took one step, slow and graceful + and silent, the head motionless at first and then slowly getting + into position, its eye a piercing bright yellow, the only colour + for the moment in the grey and white of the morning. It stepped + again on its long, elegant leg, dipping the toes into the water + with not a splash of sound. It stopped still, and for an instant, + Danny thought the eye was looking straight at him, the way the + squirrel had done, the way the dead eye up at Billy's altar of + skulls had done before the flies settled upon it. The eye was round + and almost fierce, full of life. The head came forward, very + slowly. The tall, grey bird froze. The beak pointed at the water, + then lanced down, quick as a blink, still with no sound, and came + rising back up with a small trout flapping uselessly. The bird + jerked, opening its beak so the fish was head-on, swallowed it with + a second twitch and the beak closed with a soft snick.

+ +

"Move on," Danny urged silently. The bird would be the female + whose lonely call had echoed down the valley from the dark in the + night. It was the mate of the one he'd brought down. Now it crept + upstream, hunting alone, only yards from the man with the shotgun. + "Go," he mouthed. "Get out of here."

+ +

He wanted to see it gone, to get some of the luck back. No + matter what Corky said, he could still feel the weight of + prescience. The motion, no matter how stealthy, could catch the + man's attention. He'd blast it out of the air in a puff of feathers + and there would be no more herons on the stream. They only hunted + in pairs in the summer and it would be a long time before a new + pair of the fishing birds would come hunting on the Blackwood + Burn.

+ +

"Go on," he whispered. "Skedaddle."

+ +

"What's that?" Doug said, not quite aloud, not quite awake. The + bird turned round, cocking its head to the side, the eye now fixed + on the tent. Danny nudged Doug with his foot. The bird watched for + a drawn-out moment, then satisfied itself there was no danger. It + took two more elegant and silent steps, a grey ghost in a white + mist, and then was gone from view. Doug had come fully awake and + watched it from where he sat, closer to the flap and with more of a + view.

+ +

"It's the other one," he mouthed. Danny nodded slowly. He jerked + his head, raising his eyebrows in question and Doug leaned as far + as he could, eyes wide. Danny saw the recognition and sudden defeat + in his posture. The man was still there. Doug's nod was + redundant.

+ +

"Billy?" Danny asked. The other boy nodded.

+ +

"Still tied," he whispered. Tom stirred, blearily opened his + eyes and looked around timidly then closed them again as if he + would rather not stay.

+ +

"Is he sleeping?" Corky asked softly, surprising Danny who'd + been completely unaware he had been awake all this time. + "Him."

+ +

Doug leaned again, pilling on the twine that connected him to + Tom. He inclined his head. "I think so. I can't see his eyes. Looks + like it. Wait a minute."

+ +

Very slowly, big teeth clenched on his bottom lip for + concentration, he reached with his foot and raised the flap up + further, letting more light into the tent, widening the opening. + The swirl of air that came in was damp and morning cold. Both Danny + and Corky stretched as far as they could. Tom huddled closer to + Doug, his head twisted to see.

+ +

The man was still hunched on the little ridge of turf close to + the fire. He was like a black scarecrow against the white of the + haar mist and the light grey of the tall gravel bank on + the far side. He'd draped a blanket around his shoulders, Tom's old + red tartan one which had been left out since the previous night + when they'd all slept around the fire after the big fight. For a + moment, despite what Doug had said, Tom thought Billy had gone, + escaped. He was no longer sitting on the pine log. His heart + flipped in hope, a flutter against his ribs, and then dropped like + a stone into the pit of his belly when he saw Billy huddled against + the man's bulk. The gun was still looped against his neck, but it + had loosened somehow, so that the barrels were pointing not under + the chin, but past it. Billy's dark hair was tousled and his face + pressed up against the man's chest. His eyes were closed. The + stranger's arm was clamped around his shoulder, holding him close. + In any other scene, they could have been taken for father and son. + The heavy blanket was draped around them both.

+ +

Danny remembered the biblical quotations of the day before and + shuddered. He'd made Billy sit vigil with him holding him close, + like an affectionate parent protecting a child, like a shepherd + with his sheep. Like Abraham with his son before the sacrifice of + the morning.

+ +

Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the + hour.

+ +

Dougie brought him back to the here and now with a tap of his + foot. His other long leg was still holding the flap up and he + motioned outside. They all leaned as far as they could again. + Nothing had changed. The heron was gone and Danny hadn't heard the + whoop of its wings in the air, so it must have stalked off upstream + and around the corner.

+ +

"What is it?" Corky wanted to know.

+ +

"The gun," Doug whispered. His eyes were wide and suddenly + bright. "Look at it."

+ +

They looked. Corky started to ask again, then Danny stopped him + with a dig of his elbow. He had seen it and his heart leapt in a + surge of sudden and fearful excitement. The gun was broken open. He + could see the dark curves at the stock-end of the barrels where it + hadn't been closed properly. He strained to see, wishing now there + was more light. He focused as hard as he could, trying to see if + the shells had been taken out of the chambers. Sometime during the + night the man, Twitchy Eyes, had moved Billy closer to + him, taken him under his arm. He must have moved the gun, opened it + to make sure it didn't go off accidentally and blow his hostage to + kingdom come. Even with the safety on, that could be knocked out by + a nudge.

+ +

Were the shells still in there? Could he simply snap the gun + closed and fire the thing? Danny's heart was pounding furiously, + somewhere up near his throat. He was now completely awake, and he + could feel himself, his consciousness, begin to drift higher into + those slow motion chilly heights of the adrenaline surge.

+ +

If we get a chance, Danny boy, we have to take it.

+ +

A chance. A possibility. He turned to Corky, eyebrows raised and + Corky misread the question. He shrugged leaving it up to him. What + Danny wanted to know, to his shame, in is fear, was whether Corky's + leg was good enough this morning. He was about to ask, bit it back + in a dry gulp.

+ +

"Look," Doug hissed again. He nodded once more and they all + looked, the motion of the four of them making the tent poles + quiver. The hunched figure was completely motionless. The gun was + laid across the man's knee, with a big, horny hand resting on the + stock. In at his side, Billy's face was pale and bloodless. "On the + rock," Doug said insistently. Danny's eyes trailed away from the + gun to the flat stone close to the ridge where the man sat. One + shotgun cartridge sat in a small dip in its surface. The other one + had rolled to the grass below and lay there, bright red against the + grey green of the dew-damp grass.

+ +

Danny recognised it immediately. It was twelve-bore birdshot, + going by the colour. Even from here he could read the lettering on + the side. Hy-max. He couldn't make out the number, but he + didn't have to. The colour was enough. His Uncle Mick, his mother's + brother whom his father disliked because he cursed now and again + and drank whisky, he used them all and the bright red ones were + ideal for pigeons or woodcock. It was packed with light shot with a + good spread for fast moving birds, not the heavy-grain for shelduck + on the firth tidal banks or the ball-shot which could knock a + Greylag goose out of the air, or put a hole through a mountain hare + or even a roebuck. Birdshot would scatter wide, useless for big + animals, great for fast birds. Up close though, you couldn't miss + with that kind of filling. Up close it could easily cut a grown man + in half.

+ +

Danny's heart was up there, bobbing and hopping, filling his + throat and making it hard to breathe.

+ +

Corky swivelled to look at him and Danny knew Corky's leg was + still hurting pretty bad. He gulped, made a little clicking noise + that sounded like the heron's beak closing, managed to nod and saw + the acceptance and maybe even a glint of admiration in Corky's + eye.

+ +

"Can you get loose?"

+ +

Danny shook his head. "Who's got a knife?"

+ +

"What are you going to..." Tom started to say but stopped when + Danny nudged him.

+ +

"Where's your knife?"

+ +

"In my pocket."

+ +

"Can you reach?" All of this in dry little shivery whispers. Tom + shook his head. Corky looked at Doug.

+ +

Doug nodded that he'd try. He dropped his foot and let the flap + fall, suddenly making the inside of the tent much darker despite + the lightening of the sky over the valley. Somewhere beyond them, + close to the place where Billy had hung the skulls, something + rustled and Danny hoped it was the squirrel and not one of the big + hill cattle lumbering down to drink from the stream. He wished it + to silence, wished it away from here in case the sound woke up the + gaunt man.

+ +

Doug was squirming to the left and Tom was stretching to the + right, both of their hands wound round with the hairy baling twine. + Tom lifted his skinny backside off the flattened grass and Doug's + fingers found the lip of his front pocket, groped inside. Tom + grunted with the effort of holding the position while the string + tightened on his neck. They could see his arms quivering with the + strain. Doug's eyes were closed and he was biting down on his lip + again, his head across Tom's thin shoulder. He fumbled in the tight + pocket, twisting his wrists hard enough to make the binding dig + into the skin, then tensed. He torqued back and the knife came + flipping right out, a black whirling shape. It landed with a dull + little thump close to the door flap.

+ +

Everybody froze.

+ +

Doug's mouth was open, lips curled back from his big teeth, a + picture of tension and dismay. Tom was still leaning back, holding + his balance. The knife lay there by the edge while the all + listened, wondering if the noise had woken the man. From out there, + no sound came except the muted burbling of the stream. After a + moment, Tom eased himself back up to a sitting position. Doug + stretched his foot outwards, his old black and scuffed baseball + boot missing one of its rubber ankle-guards. He tried to hook the + army knife back towards him, almost got purchase by pressing it + down into the ground to get his boot beyond it, but succeeded only + in pushing it further away.

+ +

Danny's heart flipped again, in hope and in dismay, each tugging + from a different direction.

+ +

"Careful," Corky snapped, more loudly than he meant. Doug shot + him a look, tried for the heavy knife again, sent it another inch + closer to the flap. Tom's breath let out in a long sigh. The knife + sat there, almost out of reach.

+ +

"Anybody got another knife?" Corky demanded, eyes blazing. + Billy's blade was still stuck in the grain of the log. Doug had + lost his sometime between the day at the river and now.

+ +

"Hold it," he said, managing a quick grin. He drew his foot + back, pulled his other up and shoved the heel with his toe. The + tattered baseball boot squeaked and the old laces groaned as he + stretched them. He pushed harder and they all watched the boot + loosen off, pulling down past his heel. Doug applied more pressure, + shoving really hard now and suddenly his boot came flipping off + with a hollow sucking sound. Triumphantly he held his foot up + again. His grey sock had a wide hole at the end, through which + poked three skinny white toes.

+ +

"Watch this," he told them, stretched forward to his fullest + extent, twisted to the side, and his two largest toes spread like + fingers. He dipped them down on to the knife, curled them tightly + and gripped it. Danny felt the bubble of hysteria ripple up again + and he swallowed it down. A part of him was hoping Doug might drop + it out of reach and that would mean he'd have no burden to bear. + Corky was unconsciously easing his leg up and down, as if trying to + loosen a cramp in his thigh. It was clear his injured leg had + stiffened badly in the night.

+ +

Doug's prehensile toes gripped the knife, like a miniature + grab-crane, swung it over and flipped it, with surprising + expertise, towards the other two. It landed at Danny's side only + inches from his fingers. He found it and worked it closer until he + could grip it tight with one hand while his fingers worked on the + awkwardly tight blade until he eased it open, almost splitting his + thumbnail in the process. The big blade next to the spike for + taking things out of horses hooves snapped back with a metallic + click that was muffled between them. He managed to twist it + upwards, felt the sharp edge against the skin of his wrist, + manoeuvred it back and sawed it against the binding twine.

+ +

"Got it?" Corky wanted to know. Danny concentrated. Everybody + waited.

+ +

The string snapped with the sound of a bowshot, not loud, but + definite. Doug heaved a long sigh and managed a grin. Tom just + looked worried. The blade cut quickly through the rest of the + twine, each one parting with the same little tug and in less than a + minute, Danny's hands were free. His wrists looked as if he wore + scarlet bangles and the little ridges where the bonds had bit + immediately started to itch. He rubbed them briskly, chafing the + blood back, trying to loosen the stiff numbness from his wrists

+ +

"Good man," Corky said under his breath. He motioned to Doug, + using head and eyebrows. Doug lifted the flap just a little, leaned + to peer out, came back and winked an affirmative.

+ +

Okay.

+ +

Danny's heart was now tripping fast. He brought his hands + forward and changed position, crawled forward just a bit, only to + be brought up by the loop at his neck. With an almost vicious + swipe, more in panic than in anger, he raised the knife and sliced + the noose. Without hesitation he turned and cut Corky free, quick + as he was able. Corky took the knife and started to move towards + Tom and Doug, wincing hard as he did so. Danny read it. Corky + looked at him and his expression did not change.

+ +

You reckon you can make it?

+ +

Danny felt a sweat trickle down his back, remembered the new + testament quotation from the Garden of Gethsemane. He could have + used an extract of his own, from the many that had been diligently + and religiously drummed in.

+ +

Let this chalice pass.

+ +

The knife cut the others free. Danny moved to the front, peering + out from the shadow. The man was motionless, his eyes closed. The + gun hadn't moved, but some of the mist had thinned. The cartridge + on the stone was still there, and the other one a few inches away + on the grass. The air was now clearer and he could see the empty + chambers of the barrels. The gun was not loaded. He breathed out + slowly.

+ +

"What's happening?" Tom asked. Corky put a finger up to his + lips. Danny moved to the back of the tent, into the shadows where + their old haversacks were stored in a pile. At the far side, + opposite to where they'd set the fire, opposite the man who held + Billy close, he gripped the bottom edge of the tent with both hands + and pulled hard. Nothing happened. He tried again, but the base + stayed pegged and he remembered how they'd used the ballpeen hammer + to set the old wooden pegs. They were driven down a foot into + hardpack. It would take more than a few tugs to pull them out.

+ +

"Cut it," Doug whispered, realising what the problem was. He + leaned out to make sure the man was still asleep, or at least, not + rousing. He held his hand up, thumb perpendicular. + Okay.

+ +

The canvas slit straight down, parting with a soft scraping + buzz, leaving a gash two feet long and dead straight. The tension + of the fabric pulled the edges apart, letting in more daylight. An + earwig fell through the hole and scuttled for shelter.

+ +

Doug's thumb was still up. Danny couldn't speak. His heart now + felt as if it was kicking somewhere up around his ears, drowning + out all other sound. He was convinced the whole valley must be able + to hear it. He imagined flocks of woodpigeons clattering from the + trees in alarm, crows rising in accusing squadrons, attracting + attention, disturbed by the sudden noise. He swallowed hard, was + distantly surprised that he was able to.

+ +

"Go," Corky whispered, feather soft. "Best of....."

+ +

Danny's head was outside, through the gap, and he did not hear + Corky's blessing. Immediately the green, clean smell of morning + suffused him. In the open, the sound of the stream was louder than + it had seemed from inside the tent. There was still some mist, + quite a lot of it pooled in the hollows and runnels further + downstream. For a moment he was almost frozen with fear and + apprehension. He turned back, eyes searching them all, and they + were all fixed on him, none of them seeming to breathe. The moment + stretched out, brittle as glass. A nerve in the back of his leg + started to twitch and the sinews on is arms felt as tense as + bowstrings. Corky's green eyes, now grey in this dim light, were on + him, sharp and hard and full of anger and full of life. Danny + locked with them and it did not make his fear go away, but it gave + him enough impetus to swivel round without a word.

+ +

He crawled out, carefully lifting one knee then the other over + the splintered tent-peg, making sure he didn't catch his feet on + the shredded canvas. He turned his head, just able to make out the + edge of the forest way downstream. There the mist was still thick + and opaque, an almost solid wall, rising half way up the tall + trunks. Down there would be shelter, but that was where the man was + facing. There was little or no cover down to the second bend where + Corky had been felled. Danny sat still, telling himself to calm + down, forcing his brain to function.

+ +

It'd be quicker to go up the top and down the moor. Quicker + to get home.

+ +

He felt that slow-motion treacle-time sensation begin to + overtake him again, the almost dreamy clarity of unbearably high + tension. Corky had put his finger on it. Over the top and down the + hill, if he could get to the canyon lip without being seen. Danny + knew he could walk quietly when he had to. Now he really had to. He + swallowed down again on the pounding of his heart, found it was + going slower than he thought, found he could make his legs move. He + went round the back of the tent, keeping low, crawling silently on + all fours, making sure he missed all the guy ropes which would have + thrummed like bass-strings if he tripped over any of them. Beyond + the farthest peg, still out of view from the ridge at the fire + there were some low ferns close to a small clump of cow-parsley. He + reached that, staying low now, until he got close to the wall where + Billy had hung his skulls. The flies were slow and lethargic, + waiting for the heat of the day, but they still clustered thickly, + and this close to the deer's head, the smell was pretty fierce. + Danny did not look up to see if the dead heron's eye was still + fixed on him, He had seen its mate, fishing alone, its eye gleaming + with bright life. He imagined he could feel the black twitching + eyes of the mad stranger on his back, told himself he was + imagining it before a tide of panic swamped him. Just beyond edge + of the hollow, where there was a narrow cleft between two boulders + that led up slope to the next level of the stream, he stood on a + dead twig which snapped underfoot, loud in his ears as a + cannon-shot. He froze, turned round slowly, every hair standing to + attention on the back of his neck.

+ +

The stranger did not move. Danny could just make him out, + hunched beside the ring of stones, like some Indian shaman, like a + scarecrow waiting for the day. Billy was hugged in tight, both of + his legs flopped lifelessly, jutting out in front of him. Danny got + a sudden chill suspicion that Billy might be dead, that the man + with the twitchy eyes had strangled him in the night. A sick + feeling of nausea welled up and he choked it down, for he couldn't + afford the noise of retching. After a moment, he unfroze, managed + to get his limbs moving, and made it through the crevice.

+ +

For the next three or four yards, he was hidden from view, but + to his left, another stone face, maybe a dozen feet high, stretched + on towards a clump of moraine boulders that had been rolled down + here by some distant spring flood. He couldn't scale it quietly, + even though there were a few scraggly rowan roots hanging downwards + to offer handholds. He kept low, still scuttering like a spider, + trying to avoid the dried twigs and hollow saxifrage stems closer + to the stream. He got to the end of the slope cover, came to the + edge of the water, held his breath and raised his head slowly as he + was able. Finally his eyes were above the low stone ridge. Down + there, back where he'd come from, he could see the slit in the side + of the tent. None of the others had followed, which was as well, + because that would only increase the risk of attracting attention. + He slowly swivelled his eyes until he could see the man sitting + there, still as a rock. He looked ghostly and ghastly and even his + motionless posture radiated awesome threat. Billy's arm hung down + to the short grass, as if he was caught in a killer head-lock. From + where he peered, Danny could not see the gun.

+ +

At this part of the stream, just up from the four feathers on + the low falls which dropped down into deep the pool at the camp, + there was a shallower pool which was maybe ten feet wide. It had + some large quartz rocks in its centre, white as the morning mist, + but no fish. Danny crawled down to the edge, to a margin of small + flat stones, and began to cross, taking one step at a time, + breathing shallowly as possible, mouth wide open so he couldn't + snuffle and cough. There was some summer algae on the smooth bottom + where a lip of mudstone protruded, and it was slick as spilled oil. + Danny stayed on all fours, even when the water came up to his chin, + to prevent himself from falling, and made it to the other side. He + got to the bank and made his way upstream for about twenty yards + before he realised that there was no cover for the next hundred. + From where he sat, the man could see down to the second bend, and + upstream along a relatively straight section of the valley to the + runnel where Doug had almost made the decision to run. There was no + cover and Danny was not sure he'd be able to get as far as that + along the shingle and shale without making some sort of sound.

+ +

Corky's words came back. It would be quicker to go up the + top.

+ +

Danny paused, feet squelching quietly. His jeans were wringing + wet. For a few breaths he waited, unable to take his eyes off the + figure sitting by the ring of stones. Up to his left, a shoulder of + the ridge that separated the two narrow tributaries, shaped like + the upside down prow of a ship, came down at a steep angle. The + upstream tributary was the larger of the two and led to the natural + dam which had plugged the basalt crevice at Lonesome Lake. The + right side was shallower, but got steep a hundred feet back. + Between them, on the ridge of the shoulder, there was a worn path + where sheep had come down to drink at the stream. They'd used this + before when they'd found the backed up lake, and again when they'd + gone to find the Dummy Village. There was no choice now. Danny's + legs locked for a panicked moment and then he started to climb. + When he reached the top, he'd be out of sight, and then he'd have a + run down the moor, just a few miles to the barwoods, down past the + pylons, through the blackened gorse and down to the town and help + from Sergeant Fallon.

+ +

And I'm never coming back here again, he swore to + himself.

+ +

He went up the path, hand over hand, moving as quickly as + possible, as silently as he could and the more he climbed, the more + muted came the sound of the stream below. The daylight was + brightening fast and the mist seemed to be sneaking away from the + light, oozing into the shadows of the edge of the trees which + crowded further down the valley. Danny moved upwards, trying not to + pant, but it was hard going, twenty feet, forty, fifty. The hill + seemed to go on forever, up a compacted shale incline, over a ledge + of mudstone, round to the bare face to miss out a steeper climb + where he could slip. A couple of times he did slide backwards, + losing two yards, but he gained them back fast as he could.

+ +

He got to the first level of the shoulder. From here it got + steeper, maybe seventy feet up from the floor, no more than that. + He risked a glance down and it looked further. The tent was a dark + green oblong against the lighter green. The circle of smooth stones + was as clear as a clock face, with the dark shadow of the man + sitting at eight o'clock. Danny's breath started to thump. He was + getting there, getting close to the high edge. Once over he had one + feeder valley to traverse, a slide down and a scramble up and then + he'd be away, well out of sight, running hell for leather down to + safety.

+ +

He was getting there, only forty feet or so from the top. He + edged round the corner away from a thin layer of white mudstone, + edging into the second tributary, when something moved, caught in + peripheral vision. Danny's head whipped round in a panicked jerk + just in time to see the grey heron take of, as the first one had + done, in a powerful sweep of wings. The sudden motion itself had + made him take a step back.

+ +

Kaark! The bird called out loudly, and its cry was + funnelled by the tight confines of the narrow chasm and amplified + in a hollow and accusing double echo.

+ +

"Oh, no," Danny said aloud, still moving, trying foolishly to + get the bird to hush. Its head was drawn back, beak pointed to the + sky, its left wing close enough to the gully side to sweep of some + fine grains of shale. Danny's foot slid on a piece of stone, + lifted, shuffled for balance, and found a ledge. He reached to grab + a firmer handhold when the flat ledge he'd stepped on crumbled + under his foot. There was a muffled click, like wet wood breaking, + and the piece of mudstone simply sprung away, a piece about a foot + square. Danny quickly grabbed for it, got half a grip, but the fine + dust on the smooth surface slipped through his fingers and the rock + rolled out, slid down the soft shale slope for five feet or so and + hit the other line of rock with a harsh clunk.

+ +

"Hell!" Danny huissed. His foot was still slipping from lack of + purchase and for a moment he had to ignore the fallen stone. The + heron was a blur to his right now, pinioning its way into the sky. + Danny got a grip, pushed himself upwards onto the steeper part of + the slope, moving round the spur to the steep gravelly slope they'd + slid down when they first came over the rise and down into the + valley. Below him the tumbling rock hit another, bounced out into + the air. He turned, saw that it had dislodged the other stone. The + two of them bounded, whirling together out from the slope, landed + one after the other on the soft shale like dull footsteps, digging + twin furrows, rebounded again over a ledge and fell twenty feet in + tandem. Danny watched them go, unable to move. His whole attention + was focused on the tumbling rocks as they hurtled down the side. + Way down at the bottom, in the curve of the stream there was a + mound of soft sediment which had trickled down the steep side of + the valley and piled up in a hollow. If the stones landed there, + they might stop with hardly a sound. Danny knew he should keep + going, but the stones held his attention and would not let him + go.

+ +

Some distance up from the valley floor, the mudstone boulders + flipped out over the shale, now spinning in the air. They seemed to + fall in slow motion. For a moment Danny thought they were dropping + straight for the soft gravel pile, but from where he clung to the + spur, the angle was deceptive. The rocks plunged down and smashed + on to a hard stone ledge with two harsh cracks. The sound was like + gunfire in the valley.

+ +

The hammer blows ricocheted from one side to the other, so loud + that Danny almost lost his grip. He twisted to look down at the + camp. For a brief moment there was complete stillness.

+ +

Then the man moved. His head turned towards where the rocks had + smashed on the ledge, while the echoes of the impact were still + reverberating along the curves of the canyon. The rocks had smashed + on the harder stone and scattered like shrapnel on the smooth + surface of the shallow pool he'd crawled across. For a second, no + more, he looked at the water, then his head angled up. Danny saw + the pale oval of the man's face as it turned towards him.

+ +

They stared at each other across the distance, one looking up, + the other staring down.

+ +

Then the man was moving. Danny turned, panicking, started + scrambling up the scree. He reached the next level, feet slipping + and sliding on the crumbly surface, whimpering in fear and + desperation, and clawed for the top up the almost vertical incline. + He got to the nearest level of strata, managed to get over it, + feeling as if his whole body was shivering violently enough to + throw him backwards, but miraculously keeping his grip.

+ +

Down below somebody screamed and somebody else shouted. The + man's hoarse voice bawled out and Danny could not prevent him head + from turning, even as his feet tried to find purchase on the + crumbling shale.

+ +

Down at the camp, the man was on his feet, standing dead still. + Beside him, on the short cropped grass beside the ring of stones, + Billy was on his knees, body arched back. somebody else was + sprawled and motionless on the grass. Close by two of the others + were waving their hands and yelling frantically. Danny turned back, + managed to get another two feet higher, stopped, swung back again + as his brain registered what his eyes had seen.

+ +

The man had the gun in his hands. It was swinging round towards + the slope.

+ +

Hot panic exploded inside him. Danny scrabbled at the slope, + nails digging into the surface. He had only a dozen feet to go + before he reached the top edge and safety. Only a dozen feet. It + could have been so many miles. He sobbed in sudden fury and fear + and bitter disappointment, eyes fixed on the skyline above.

+ +

Up and over. Up and over. His internal voice was + bleating it out, a jittery litany. Behind him, other voices were + screaming, high and urgent and fearful.

+ +

"Go Danny! Go!"

+ +

He sensed the gun swinging upwards, his back completely exposed. + A dreadful cold shudder rippled down his spine. And he forced + himself another step, another.

+ +

Up and over. Oh please.

+ +

Ahead of him, in the morning sky, the heron was just a distant + shadow.

+
+

Doug and Corky had been watching for him from the dark inside + the tent, knowing that he would not try a downstream run this time. + Danny had slipped out through the slit and although he'd moved as + silently as he could, they could hear the occasional rustle and + scuffle as he made his way towards the hollow and the cleft between + the stones that would take him up to the next level. Doug was + holding his breath, listening for more sound, but once Danny had + gone through the cleft, there was nothing more to be heard, except + for the muttering of the water. They slowly crawled to the front of + the tent again, while Tom held back in the shadows trying to calm + his breathing. The day was already lightening perceptibly, though + it was still early and the smell of the dew was thick and damp. The + mist was thinning quickly.

+ +

Doug caught the motion first, on the far side, just up from the + low falls. Danny was on the sheep track, heading up the spur. He + seemed very small against the grey mass of the jutting ridge. Doug + pointed and Corky peered out.

+ +

"I see him," he whispered. "Go man, go."

+ +

Tom came up alongside them but did not look out. He just hoped + Danny would make it out. That left only four of them and there was + no guarantee that when the stranger discovered one of them had + escaped, that he would not go into a frenzy and hurt them all.

+ +

Or worse.

+ +

But there was nothing else to do. If they all tried to make a + run for it now, they couldn't stay silent and that would wake the + man up and then all hell would erupt.

+ +

The other two followed Danny's progress, higher and higher. + Doug's eyes kept flicking to the dark hunched shape by the + fireside, watching for signs of stirring. If Danny moved fast, he + could be down in the town in an hour, and have help up here before + the sun had really risen. There was a chance that he'd be back + before the crazy man woke up. A chance.

+ +

Then the heron had sent out its shrill cry and Danny had + dislodged the rock. The pair of them had stared up, unable to + believe the bad luck of it. The stone had knocked the other out and + they'd both come bounding downwards and the double crack of thunder + when they hit was deafening in the morning silence.

+ +

"Oh fuck," Doug said, stupidly.

+ +

By the fire, the man jerked awake. Twisting left then right, + trying to get a bearing on the sound which echoed back now from all + the sides and curves of the slopes. He spun to the pool where the + shards of broken stone were falling like hailstones and then he + looked up.

+ +

Danny was pinioned to the steep slope, hands spread wide for + purchase, his head almost turned round completely. He seemed only a + short distance from the valley edge.

+ +

Go man go! Corky silently urged.

+ +

The man roared wordlessly. He jerked to his feet, snatching the + gun up as he did so. Billy squawked, only half awake. The noose + tightened around his neck as the stranger hauled at the gun, + forgetting how he'd tied it the night before. Billy was hauled to + his feet, flipped like a rat caught by an angry terrier, but hands + up at his neck. A strangled sound blurted out.

+ +

"He'll kill him," Corky bawled, aghast. Without thinking about + it, he pushed his way out of the tent, Doug was right behind him. + Over on the short grass, Billy had stumbled to the ground, his + hands still trying to force themselves between the twine and the + skin of his neck where the loop had tightened ferociously. He had + fallen over the log where he'd sat for some of the night, his + backside landing with an audible thump.

+ +

The stranger growled savagely, jerking at the gun. Billy + flopped, hauled this way and that, and the man seemed not to be + aware of his presence except as a weight hindering his use of the + gun. The boy gagged, making a strange and somehow deadly rattling + sound in the back of his throat, but the man ignored that. Without + any hesitation he brought his foot down onto Billy's shoulder, + pressed hard, while he dried to drag the gun away.

+ +

"Leave him alone," Corky bawled, trying to overcome the + stiffness in his thigh and get to his feet. He tripped over a guy + rope, rolled and crawled for two yards. Doug was jabbering + incoherently just behind him.

+ +

Billy's breath was cut off completely and his face suddenly went + purple. The man pulled again and for a moment, Corky was convinced + the twine would cut right through his neck like a cheese wire. In + his mind's eye he saw Billy's head come tumbling off his shoulders + to roll on the grass.

+ +

Then the man saw the old knife jammed into the grain of the log. + He dropped Billy to the ground, reached for the sheath knife and + pulled it from the wood with one quick wrench. He twisted it and + swung the blade in against Billy's neck. The string parted and + Billy went rolling away, still making those deathly sounds in his + throat. Corky was bawling at the stranger but Doug was crawling + past him, trying to get to his feet, stumbling towards the flat + stone. The man was just turning away from where Billy writhed. He + raised the gun up the slope. Doug reached the stone and grabbed the + red cartridge which sat in the little hollow on its surface. He + swung round and threw it, hard as he could, away from them. It + whirled in the air, like a miniature red stick of dynamite and + plopped into the pool below the feathers on the falls. He was + turning for the other one which had fallen onto the grass when the + man spun, realising the gun was unloaded, saw what the boy had done + and crossed the flat in a few strides, he lifted the shotgun and in + a smooth and brutal jabbing motion, smashed the butt end against + Doug's head. It made a sound like wood on stone.

+ +

Doug stumbled away. Corky was crossing the flat towards him. Tom + veered across to where Billy was rolling about, face purple, hands + scrabbling at the string still twisted around his throat. Doug took + two faltering steps to the left, as if he'd lost all sense of + direction. He fell down on his backside, got a hand to the ground, + raised himself up, head turning, and halfway to his feet again. The + man had hit and walked past him, now slotting the one cartridge + into the chamber. The barrels snapped closed with metallic + finality. He was raising the gun.

+ +

At the edge of the campsite Doug got halfway to his feet, tied + to say something, then pitched forward heavily onto his face. Tom + snatched up the knife and was straddling Billy, trying to get him + to stay still while Billy, almost twice his weight, bucked in blind + and desperate panic, almost throwing the small boy off. Tom got the + blade under the twine and worked it back and forth. The sharp tip + scored two small punctures in Billy's neck, not deep, but bleeding + freely. The string parted with a twang and Billy's breath instantly + howled inward. Corky was running towards the man, yelling + frantically. He hadn't even thought about it. All he saw was the + gun swinging up towards Danny who was pinioned on the steep slope, + completely exposed. He was moving past Doug who lay spread-eagled + on the grass, beyond Tom and Billy, running to try to snatch the + gun, to give Danny one chance.

+ +

The gun thundered.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/028.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/028.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..506162e --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/028.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,413 @@ + + + + + + 28 + + + + +
+
+

28

+ +

August 4. 9am

+ +

White hot fire seared across Danny Gillan's back.

+ +

The excruciating pain was like a splash of molten metal, an + incandescent surge of agony. He was slammed by a giant hand against + the steep shale slope only yards from the top and freedom. His face + drove in against the soft surface with stunning force before he + could even scream.

+ +

He had just been reaching for the next handhold when all the + world turned to flame.

+ +

Somewhere in the distance, a clap of dreadful thunder shook the + valley in a cannonade of shattering sound, following on the searing + pain that ripped across Danny's shoulders and on his spine. His + nose drove into the gravel, burst like a tomato with a wet sound, + but he was soaring so high on the surge of the other unbelievable + hurt that he felt nothing of that.

+ +

His whole body jerked even as his hands tried to dig into the + surface. The noise went on and on and on, rolling up and down the + valley, reverberating from the chasm walls and Danny was surrounded + by nose and pain, completely encased in it for what seemed like an + eternity.

+ +

He was burning. He was on fire.

+ +

Oh God don't let me...

+ +

It had all happened in the blink of an eye. The man had turned, + raising the gun. Corky had been screaming something unintelligible + but utterly clear in its meaning. He had been bawling at Danny to + move, to climb, to get up and over. And the gun was swinging up + wards and the hot, sour panic had erupted and the shudder of + anticipation had shaken him from the bottom of his spine to the top + of his head. He'd scrambled desperately for that top ridge, feet + sending out avalanches of shale, fingers clawing at the incline, + knowing the black barrels were swinging up on him.

+ +

The pain had hit before the sound had swallowed him and he had + been batted against the slope by an enormous force and he was on + fire.

+ +

That first instant seemed to stretch on and on, trapping him + inside a vast and implacable bubble of pain. His vision went black + and he knew he was dead. Dead and gone. There was just the pain and + the noise and he was burning. Dead and judged.

+ +

The fire consumed him. He was being burned away, cauterised, + scorched, scalded. All down his back a molten river was eating into + him, corroding the skin and muscle. Inside the bubble of time and + pain, he was catapulted back ten years, crawling on that slick + linoleum and the boiling liquid which hate into his hands and the + tender surface of his knees while on his back the skin was peeling + and bubbling like tar. Around him, through the thunder, he could + hear again his sister's scream mingling with his own and his limbs + jerked.

+ +

He was dead and this was the bad fire. This was the burning. He + was searing and shrivelling, skin warped and contorting. The noise + went on and on and on and somebody was screaming and it wasn't his + sister Agnes who was making the noise. It was John Corcoran, + somewhere far below screeching like a banshee while Danny was + burning up.

+ +

And he was falling.

+ +

The pain did not diminish, but the strange, timeless bubble that + had encapsulated him suddenly burst and he was not dead at all. + Fire raced across his back, huge gouts of it, but he was not dead. + He coughed and gravel and blood spat out. His hands were clawing + away, working on their own, trying to get a grip, but he was + falling. He felt himself peel away from the slope while his hands + clawed at the air and the thick taste of metal was clogged in the + back of his throat. He dropped, almost in slow motion, to the + gravelly surface, ploughed a boy-wide furrow, tumbling head over + heels. He landed on his feet, twisted, came down on his shoulder, + still somersaulting as he dropped from the high ridge.

+ +

All the time, despite the dizzy spinning of the world the + enormous burning consumed him and noise went on and on. His + shoulder hit a spur of mudstone and he flipped on and out into the + air, arms wheeling, legs kicking. There was sky and then green, + grey of the slope and then blue sky again. Everything whirled as he + spun out into the air. No sound escaped him. There was no time. His + hands were still trying to grab at the shale slant way above him. + He fell the way the stones had fallen, bouncing, tumbling and then + out into the air and he realised that the pain would end.

+ +

He was falling to the rocks below and it would all end here and + there would be no more fear.

+ +

Corky was screaming his name and he wanted to close the pain off + for a moment to tell him not to worry, but there was no time for + anything at all. The ground leapt up at him, the canyon walls + whipping by in flickering striations if grey and white, like candy + stripes. He fell.

+ +

The belly flop into the deep pool knocked all the breath from + him. The force of the flat impact was like hitting a wall. His nose + took another blow and both his knees drove right into the sediment + at the bottom of the pool..

+ +

Danny was so stunned he did not even know he'd landed in the + water. Everything went black and for a wonderful moment all pain + was snuffed out for the second time he believed he was dead but now + he simply welcomed the cessation of hurt.

+ +

And he fell for forty days and forty nights. His + father's voice came to him from a long distance. Forty days and + forty nights without stopping, cast out to the exterior + darkness.

+ +

He'd been falling, burning up in the fire and he'd hit and it + had been easy. He'd hit and the pain had gone and he floated in the + dark, slowly turning. Paulie Degman's face floated beside him.

+ +

"All right, Dan?"

+ +

He tried to answer but he couldn't say anything because he had + no mouth. Paulie opened his own mouth and a bubble, silvered and + wavering, rolled up to the far surface.

+ +

"Are you in a state of grace, Danny boy?" Paulie wanted + to know, all white and bloodless and twisting in the current. His + voice sounded like the noise water made when it tumbled down under + the heather runnels, cold and hollow. There was a buzzing behind + the words and Danny knew it was the flies, sent by Be-elzebub, the + Lord of the Flies, one of those who had fallen forty days and forty + nights with the searing incandescence of Lucifer falling with + them.

+ +

And there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth, Paulie + was saying, in Danny's father's voice and the buzzing got louder he + did not want the flies to come and lay their eggs in him when he + was dead and he did not want his hair and nails to grow, the way + Mole Hopkirk's nails and hair had grown in that room at the back of + Cairn house.

+ +

Danny!

+ +

Paulie was calling to him, calling him down into the mud. The + pain was starting up again in his back and there was a new pain in + his face and the taste of blood in his mouth and that was funny + because except for the fire, you weren't supposed to feel pain at + all when you were dead.

+ +

Danny! The voice called him and he tried to turn away + form it and the buzzing had changed into a hissing sound, like + millions of bubbles bursting on a shingle beach, then a muffled + roar that sounded just like water cascading and his hand was + snagged on something. He couldn't do anything about it. He tried to + breathe and an awful cold flooded his throat and he suddenly + choked. In that instant his consciousness surged back to him and + his slack muscles instantly galvanised. Somebody was pulling him by + the arm while the pain still rippled and burned across his back, + now heating back up again after a brief cool respite.

+ +

Danny! Not dead Paulie, but John Corcoran. Corky was + bawling his name at the top of his voice, dragging him up from + where Paulie's face was wavering into the dark.

+
+

The gun had roared. A sudden punch of sound that slammed into + Corky's head. He was only feet away, reaching for the barrels that + were raised up towards the far wall. Everything had suddenly gone + mad. The butt had taken Doug on the side of the head, a swift and + vicious jab and he had stumbled away, got up then drifted sideways + before falling down to the ground, and Tom was over with Billy who + was writhing and choking and the man was raising the gun. Corky had + watched amazed as the first cartridge had gone flickering through + the air to land with a quick plop in the pool, amazed at Doug's + sudden comprehension and his dash to get them away from the crazy + man. He had almost made it. Danny, high up on the side where the + slope got steeper before the fringe of couch grass at the edge of + the moor, he had almost made it. He only had yards to go.

+ +

But then Doug was down and out and Billy was rolling on the + ground and the barrels went up and Corky tried to get them down + again. He was diving, hands outstretched, bawling at Danny to get a + move on, to get up and over the top and out of the way and then the + gun had roared and a noise like thunder hit him so hard he heard + only the first explosion followed by a repeated clapping sound and + a high pitched ringing inside his head. Even in the brightening + morning he saw the flash of fire at the end of the muzzle and then + sudden belch of smoke just a shade darker than the fading mist. His + head had swung upwards and Danny's arms had suddenly shot out just + as a hundred small eruptions of gravel for two yards on either side + of him where the spread of lead peppered the steep slope. Danny + seemed to shove himself forward right onto the shale face with both + arms out on either side as if he'd been kicked hard right between + his shoulderblades. The hands were scrabbling at the face, trying + to catch a grip as he slid for thirty feet down the steep shale, + then he simply peeled away and began to tumble backwards. It all + happened in the space of a split second.

+ +

There was no sound but the strange internal crackling inside his + head and the reverberating thump that could have been his heartbeat + or his mind's echo of the devastating blast. He was trying to shout + Danny's name, over and over, but he could not hear his own voice. + He moved past the man, head up, oblivious to the danger.

+ +

Danny fell away from the high side of the spur, flipping right + over in a complete somersault. He landed twenty feet down, on his + feet but now facing outwards, much like a ski-jumper. His momentum + drove a wide furrow in the soft gritty marl, sending up a bow wave + of powdery rock and then he tumbled over again, arms pinwheeling, + face just a white blur. His shoulder glanced off the ledge twenty + feet up and then he was falling straight down. Corky froze. His + friend was coming down, twisting in the air, heading straight for + the quartz rocks at the head of the pool where the four feathers + still stood. Despite the silence, he knew there would be a + deafening, deadly thud then Danny hit and then nothing, no cry, no + moan. Nothing.

+ +

Danny missed the rocks by scant inches and hit the water with a + smack that sent up a wide, curving splash.

+ +

He disappeared under the foaming surface, right in at the deep + basin where Billy had jumped in on the first day to clean the mud + from his jeans. Corky's legs got him to the edge. The wave of + Danny's entry had splashed right up onto the stones on either side + and sent a little roller curving up over the shingle at the shallow + end. Danny's tee-shirt was a red blur down in the depths, his hands + pale fish. For a second Corky though the dye was coming out of the + shirt in a thin cloud, the way the red grime had come washing off + Billy. He reached the edge, jumped in across the shingle, up to his + knees, kept moving, up to his waist. The basin sloped away and he + was under the water, bawling Danny's name, now hearing the words, + but as if they were far off. He ducked down, got a hand to one of + Danny's and started hauling him up to the surface. The hand was + slack and lifeless. Under the water Danny's head turned round and + in the blur Corky could see the red smoke billowing out from the + front of his face and knew it was blood.

+ +

Had he been shot in the head?

+ +

Oh my god Danny oh my god

+ +

For an instant he panicked, thinking that Danny's head must have + hit the rocks, must have caved in on the sharp quartz edges, or + maybe the shot had blasted through from front to back. He felt his + heart buck wildly and very quickly, out of control. Everything + seemed to shrivel in the pit of his belly. He pulled, got a foot to + the shallows and a hand to one of the edging rocks, dragged his + lifeless friend upwards, away from the dark at the bottom of the + pool while the blood trailed out and faded in the moving current. + He made it to the near side, knowing it didn't matter which side, + got Danny's head out of the water. For a long count Danny was + completely still. Blood was pouring quite freely from mouth and + nostrils as he hung, slumped over the stones close to the shallows, + and then, by a miracle, his shoulders hitched violently. A gout of + water came sneezing out, coloured by blood and snot. He coughed, + tried to turn, raise himself up, much as Doug had tried to do, + managed to get to his knees.

+ +

He raised his hand towards Corky, his streaming eyes wide open + and blind, mouth gaping. He gasped, coughed, gasped again and then + he let out the most pitiful whimper of pain Corky had ever heard. + Danny started to fall forward and Corky waded back behind him to + get a hand round his shoulder and help him up. But as soon as he + touched his back, high up close to the neck, Danny squealed like an + animal and sank to his knees. The blood, what was left of it, + drained out of his face and he looked as if he would faint. Corky + ducked, managed to get his own shoulder under Danny's belly, + grabbed him behind the knees and with a monstrous effort, got to + his own feet, carrying his friend on his shoulder. He waded + backwards out of the pool, gasping now for a breath of his own, + oblivious of the man who stood there watching the whole thing, + motionless and silent.

+ +

The noise was still reverberating in Corky's ears. Water sloshed + in his boots. Over by the ring of stones Billy was sitting, legs + spread, hands at his throat, coughing uncontrollably. Tom was now + tending to Doug, gently raising his head up. Doug was grinning or + grimacing, his big front teeth pressed against his bottom lip. His + hands were shaking like fluttering birds trying to take + flight..

+ +

Corky put Danny down, gently as he could despite the weight, in + the lee of the slope at the cleft where he'd crawled through on his + failed escape attempt. Danny's eyes were dazed, focused far off, + not quite aware of what was happening. Corky was amazed that he was + still alive.

+ +

"The heron," Danny mumbled dreamily. "I saw the heron."

+ +

"Very good Dan," Corky said. He sat him down. Twin trickles of + blood were running down from each nostril and dropping onto the + tee-short, making hardly a stain against the deep red of the + fabric. Danny sat back but as soon as his shoulder touched the soft + moss he yelled aloud and twisted violently to the side.

+ +

"He shot me, Corky," he managed to squeeze out. "Bloody shot + me."

+ +

Over by the side of the stream the man still stood motionless, + watching them all curiously. After a while he turned and slowly + walked back to the ridge where he'd been sitting and eased himself + down again, in exactly the same spot, holding the gun the same way, + across his knees. It was somehow animal, somehow mindless, the way + he moved back to the same place, as if nothing much had happened. + He hunched there, seemingly oblivious to them all now, waiting.

+ +

The stillness of him was somehow even more scary.

+
+

August 4. 10am.

+ +

Danny was crying. Tears were steaming down his face and he + twitched violently while Tom held his hand tightly. Billy watched + with strange, glazed eyes, while Doug held his own head in his + hands and sat quite still as if any movement would bring pain. This + was true. The back of his head felt as if it was coming apart. + There was no blood, but the thumping pain was almost enough to + bring tears to his eyes and his neck ached abominably. The only + thing he could do for the moment was sit still and keep his eyes + closed until it faded. He'd felt sick for a while, but that had + passed. The pain was lessening beat by beat, but still each beat + was a pounder.

+ +

Danny had lain for a long time, trying not to move, lying more + on his front than on his side, head twisted to the right to keep + his aching nose off the soft moss. It was tender and bloody but + that was the least of his concerns. The pain was burning into his + back, a sheet of relentless heat like a blowtorch flame on his + skin. He imagined he could smell himself burning. Corky risked + crossing from to the stream fill the can with water and give first + him and then Doug a cool drink.

+ +

"Shot me," Danny bleated again. His tee shirt was already drying + in the sun. It was plastered to his back and Corky could see no + bullet wounds and he wondered where the damage was.

+ +

"I'll have to have a look," he said. "Where does it hurt." He + was speaking in a muffled murmur again, not wishing to attract the + attention of the gaunt man who sat like a crow beside the dead + fire.

+ +

"My back. Oh, shit Corky. It's really bloody sore."

+ +

"Hold still and I'll have a look," Corky whispered, hushing him + as best he could.

+ +

Tom held Danny's hand, clasping his fingers with surprising + strength. Corky started to raise the tee-shirt, peeling it away + until he had exposed the middle of Danny's back. That's where the + bruise started. There were a few puckered little dents in the + fabric up between Danny's shoulderblades and three smaller holes. + He eased the cloth upwards, and heard Tom's sharp intake of breath + at the dreadful discoloration of the puffy skin which had swollen + under the tight cloth. Further up he peeled it away, with Danny + wincing and sobbing all the while. Finally, up high on the back, he + had to pull gently but firmly where the weave formed the small + pitted dents. It was only then that he realised what had + happened.

+ +

The birdshot, tiny lead pellets had slammed into Danny's + sweat-laced shirt, hard enough to drive him against the face, but + from far enough away not to kill him. The spread-out pattern had + lost enough force and his damp shirt had acted as a buffer. Even + so, some of the shot had driven the fabric right into the skin, + causing those small dents in the swollen flesh. Corky had to ease + each of the slugs out one by one, pulling gently but firmly, and as + each of them came out of their embedding craters in the unbroken + skin, Danny howled in agony and the tears ran freely down his + face.

+ +

"Easy Dan," Corky tried to say, but by this time, he was crying + too and Tom's face was a picture of silent misery. Tears were + trickling in the dust down his cheeks and dripping slowly from his + chin. He held Danny's hand tight as he could, for both their sakes. + When it was finished, Corky managed to ease the whole shirt off and + he rolled it up to jam it under Danny's face as a pillow. They let + him lie there until the sobbing stopped. The bruises on his back + were violet and risen, like bursts of thunder on the white of his + skin. Between the shoulderblades were three small dark spots which + did not bleed. They looked like ink-marks. Corky realised that some + of the little pellets had driven through the skin. There was + nothing he could do about that.

+ +

Tom filled the canteen again and brought it over, again braving + the attention, but ignored by the man who sat still as stone, as if + waiting for something to happen. He gently poured it on to Danny's + back while Corky held his quivering wrists.

+ +

The cold was at first a terrible explosion of pain, and Danny + stiffened as if a bolt of high tension power had arced through him, + but then it settled into a gentle, soothing coolness which helped + take the burn out of his back. Tom kept it up, letting the cool + stream water trickle over the hurt to help the swelling go down and + after a while the heat began to fade a little.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/029.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/029.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d97bd0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/029.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,658 @@ + + + + + + 29 + + + + +
+
+

29

+ +

Interlude:

+ +

Angus McNicol eased himself back, put the bottle down on the + table and unscrewed the top.

+ +

"Put some of this in it," he said. "The sun's well past the + yardarm now. Coffee'll keep me up all night unless I take it with + my medicine." The big old policeman grinned, just a burst of white + before it was closed off again in his remembering. He poured two + hefty shots of whisky into the half-cups of coffee, put the bottle + down, raised a cup and clunked it against the other. He took a + manful swallow, savoured it, swallowed, then let out the gruff sigh + of someone who's appreciated a drop of scotch for half a + century.

+ +

"Takes the bad taste out of the mouth as well." Another quick + flash of teeth and then his eyes changed and it was obvious he was + looking a long way back into the past once more. Once he'd started, + he'd been able to talk for a long time.

+ +

"I thought it was all dead and buried and gone, you know. Should + be, too. Oh, I still recall it sometimes, even now, but I have to + tell you now son, it's not the kind of thing I like to dredge + up."

+ +

He looked over the table, over the rim of the cup and drew his + brows together.

+ +

"Why the interest now? There's better stories to tell about this + town. Not many worse, except that business with John Fallon's boy + few years back. He got himself hurt pretty sore when he went after + that fellow O'Day. That was the year I quit the force, on doctor's + orders. To tell you the truth, I was glad in a way. You don't know + you've had enough until it's over and then you realise you never + ever want to see another mother's face when you tell her a child's + dead and gone."

+ +

Dead and Gone. Angus McNicol had used that phrase + twice, each in a different context. It should have been all dead + and gone. Should have been, but the world's full of what should + have been and never was. It should have been gone, but it kept on + coming back, like the bad penny; certainly in the bad dreams. I had + managed to bury most of it, deliberately so, because it was + something I never wanted to remember and dwell on, not as long as I + lived, and then once I had kids of my own, it was something I + wanted to keep down there under lock and key. You just can't begin + to think that history might repeat itself and that one of your own + might ever be touched by a madman. Can you?

+ +

I'd managed pretty well until I saw those dulled eyes swivel in + my direction down on River Street and then pass on with hardly a + flicker or blink and some of it all came back in such a rush I felt + my belly drop a hundred feet, or so it seemed, and there was the + smell of raw fish in the air and the scent of pine smoke and dead + meat and a crazy man's sour sweat; in my ears I heard the old, lazy + buzzing of busy flies and the murmuring of slow water in a stream + and I was instantly back then.

+ +

It doesn't take much to trigger those switches. Some things + don't stay buried; some things don't stay dead.

+ +

Yet I had managed to bury it all for a while, shoved it + down there in the depths where it was kept bound and gagged to stop + it clawing its way up and eating at me. Then, on the sunny morning + on River Street, with the light reflecting from the skylights on + the roof of the old boatyard down at Keelyard Road where a bunch of + boys had talked of a drowned boy in the river and had first planned + to take a trip to the mythical Dummy Village, I looked into the + empty depths of a pair of eyes and it all broke free, like some + beast in a cellar.

+ +

No matter what I did, I could not put this old thing back in a + box. It was out and growling and it was pawing and clawing and the + only thing for it was to meet it face to face, to go right back to + the start and take it from there.

+ +

I had to know.

+ +

Crazy? Possibly, but I'd seen crazy. I'd looked into + its blinking, twitching eyes. I had to know.

+ +

I had no real answer for Angus McNicol. I said I was researching + a book, and there was a sliver of truth in that. He looked at me + over the top of the cup and he took another sip, swallowed, and + began to talk again. Who knows, maybe the old policeman had his own + ghosts to bury.

+ +

"Dead and gone. Too many people over the years, I can tell you," + he said. The tape was running again. "But not dead and gone in + here." He raised his free hand and tapped the side of his head.

+ +

"The one thing Hector Kelso drilled into me when I had + transferred over to plain clothes, was to remember everything. + Remember everything and keep your own records forever, he always + said. He used to stand there and never move a muscle except in his + eyes. He never wanted anybody to touch anything, not a thing, until + he'd been there and seen the lie of the land. If you did that, you + got a picture in your head that had everything in it, even the + sounds and the smells. I can still close my eyes and conjure up old + Ian McColl's head on that dung-heap and I can remember that it was + mostly cow dung, but there was a dead chicken there as well. It's + got a different smell. I can still taste the dust in the tack room + where old Jean McColl was dragged down the stairs.

+ +

"I remember thinking that the man, your Twitchy Eyes, + was probably ex-army. We found a place down at the east end of the + Rough Drain, the place that's still all overgrown with. It was a + bivouac. We knew it was him from the pages of the bible. He'd used + them to wipe his backside."

+ +

Hector drained his cup and put it down, eyes still focused + back.

+ +

"We worked round the clock, going through every army record, but + at that time, there were thousands of boys and men just out of + national service. There were more thousands who'd been in the war + and trained to kill and were still young enough to have been this + beast. It was a broad field we were ploughing up. We turned up + Scots soldiers who'd been to Aden and done some terrible things + themselves. There were a few people who'd survived the Jap death + railway and a few of them were as crazy as all get out, but there + was nothing we could pin on this devil.

+ +

"We really wanted to nail him. We went through parish records + but we still drew blanks. I was beginning to think he had just come + out of nowhere. Maybe he did. Maybe he just did. Maybe he was a + devil. Remember the Whalen boy? He was snatched on June sixth, + sixty six. All the sixes. Some of us thought that was some kind of + ritual thing. Who knows? Maybe it was.

+ +

"There was claim and counter-claim over what drove him on, but I + thought it was just sheer and utter badness. He was evil. I think + it was just depravity. The man had a taste for killing and hurting. + If Charlie Saunders had caught him, he'd have ripped him apart with + his two hands for what he did to that wee girl of his. Big John + Fallon, he was just as worried as anybody about his boy and girl + and if he came on this Twitchy Eyes first, there was a good chance + it would never get to the High Court.

+ +

"But we never did get him. We rounded up a few ex-soldiers and + anybody with any record at all for flashing or peeping through + bedroom windows or stealing underwear off the washing lines. We had + a couple of identity parades and all for nothing. The man came out + of nowhere. He always seemed to be one jump ahead. We sweated out + the whole summer wondering where it would happen next. It was a + while before Johnson McKay came careening down that farm track in + his old post van.

+ +

"All we had to go on then was a description from the girls he'd + tried to pick up the first time and a name from Jean McColl's + diary. She said his name was Leslie Joyce, though the spelling + changed to the female version, but that was when he was stalking + her. There was every chance he'd just made it up, but we had to + check that too. We turned up half a dozen of them, spelled + whichever way, and four of them had been in the army. One was a + woman who'd been a sergeant in the WRAC's. Two were old men and one + was in a wheelchair. The fifth was a Free Kirk minister from up by + Creggan and I can tell you he got the fright of his life when me + and a couple of the CID boys grabbed him in his greenhouse when he + was watering his tomatoes. He'd been an army chaplain in the war. + He was five foot tall and he'd a withered arm from childhood polio. + He couldn't have punched his way out of a wet paper bag. The sixth + one had been banged up in Drumbain for five years for a smash and + grab. That was the way of it.

+ +

"Our killer, he could have been anybody. Anybody at all. But he + wasn't any of the people we found called Leslie Joyce. We never got + close, though we even did a trawl in the local parish year books to + see if anyone of that name had been baptised, but still we got no + closer."

+
+

August 4....7pm.

+ +

"Unless a man be born again, and cleansed of sin." The man's + voice was clear and rumbling. He was standing at the edge of the + stream, both feet in the water. The gun was five yards away. Billy + was standing beside him, his skin pale in the dimming light. Danny + wondered if he could reach the gun. Corky wondered the same thing. + Tom and Doug watched the scene at the water, each of them wondering + what would happen.

+ +

It had been a long day since the gun had spoken, since their + talk in the shade of the line of low hawthorns that led to the + hollow.

+ +

"You okay, Dan?" Corky had asked.

+ +

He spoke low, but not in a whisper. Danny twisted and that cost + him a wrench of pain between his shoulderblades, but if he moved + slowly, it wasn't too bad. Occasionally the light breeze would + feather across his skin and trail a sensation like pins and + needles, but for the most part, the bruises, swollen and risen + though they were, stayed numb. The fire had damped well down, but + Danny could still remember the awesome burn of it.

+ +

"He shot me!" the enormity of that hovered over him and + weighed him down. Over and over he saw the world spin and saw the + white quartz of the rocks rushing up towards him. His nose ached + for the moment, where he had driven it into the shale. It pulsed + more fiercely than did the bruises on his back. Another throb of + pain beat out from his shoulder, where it had hit the outcropping + of mudstone that had probably saved his life by twisting him just a + little downstream so that he fell straight into the deepest part of + the pool and missed the rocks where the heron feathers stood.

+ +

"Thought you were a goner," Corky said again. Beside him, Tom + silently agreed. His face still bore the faint imprint of the man's + fingers and he had a dark bruise on his jawline. Every now and + again he opened his mouth and moved the jaw to the side, as if + testing for fractures. It helped take the stiffness out of it.

+ +

"Thought I was a goner," Doug said. He drew his fingers + down the side of his head, just behind his right ear, rubbing + slowly. "I think I still am."

+ +

"But you got the cartridge away. Honest to god, Doug, that was + brilliant. And it really took a lot of guts an'all."

+ +

"Thought I was going to puke my guts," Doug said, and + he gave a strangely fearful grin. His big protruding teeth made him + look gawky. His sting vest was torn now under his armpit and hung + on him like a tattered net.

+ +

"But if you hadn't pitched it in the pool, Danny would have got + the both barrels for sure. You should have seen him, Danny + boy."

+ +

Billy said nothing. He was sitting just to the side, closer to + the hollow where he'd hung the stag's head on the thorn branches. + He was absently massaging the skin of his throat. It was raw and + inflamed. He had that faraway, lost look in his eyes that Danny + found somehow scary. It reminded him again of the rabbit and the + stoat, as if Billy had somehow accepted all of this, as if he knew + what would happen and was just dumbly waiting for the inevitable. + Tom glanced over at him. He'd panicked for an instant, suddenly + more frightened than he'd even been in his life, even more so than + when the man had grabbed his face and squeezed.

+ +

Billy had been down on the ground, making gagging, hissing + sounds in his throat, the kind of sound the heron had made when its + neck had been broken and for that instant, Tom had thought he was + dead, even though his heels were drumming into the turf. Doug had + been down too.

+ +

Danny was falling in the air towards the rocks. Corky was + running towards the man and Tom was certain the stranger would turn + and swing the gun on him. At that range he'd cut him in half and + Tom would be left alone. It had all happened so unbelievably + fast.

+ +

In his mind's eye they were all dead, all except him, up here in + the valley with the man with the twitchy eyes. The knowledge froze + his insides to slush and for an instant his vision wavered.

+ +

Then reality, even colder than the fear, cut through the fear + like a shard of ice. Billy had both hands up at his neck and he was + breathing raggedly. Tom found his hand reaching for the knife and + in a few seconds of bewildering violence as Billy blindly fought + him, he had cut the noose and Billy was hauling for breath. All of + this unreeled again as they whispered together.

+ +

"And Tom," Corky said, recalling it at the same instant. "He cut + Billy free. He would have strangled otherwise. Did good there, + Tom-Tom."

+ +

Danny was amazed at how calm Corky sounded. Even Doug, with his + big stupid grin, sounded close to normal. Just a few hours ago, + they'd been crying, and dying. Danny knew that Corky was trying to + keep them all calm, waiting for the next chance, if they could + get a chance. If it came, Danny did not know if he'd be + able to move, and that scared him badly, as much as Billy's scary + far-distance stare. Doug might have made it downstream if he hadn't + twisted his ankle. Corky might have made it up the slope if he + hadn't been hurt making his first run. Danny could have got to the + top but for the heron flying out of the gully. Tom wasn't fast + enough and Billy just couldn't move.

+ +

If the chance came, what chance would they have?

+ +

Danny shook his head, sending a wave of dull pain across his + back, over his shoulder and another wet pulse into his tender nose. + He couldn't think like that, no matter how hopeless it seemed. He + didn't want to be like Billy, sunk so deep in the swamp of his own + fear that he couldn't move. If he worked at it, he could keep the + fear battened down, and try to keep at a distance the recollection + of the gun barrels raising up towards him.

+ +

"Where's the knife?" Corky was asking, this time in a whisper. + Tom used his eyes to indicate the curve of root just beside him. + The bone handle was barely visible. Very surreptitiously, Corky + eased his way towards it, reached even more slowly, and then drew + the knife towards him.

+ +

"I don't think that'll do any good," Tom said. Corky shrugged. + His eyes had that thoughtful look again. No matter what happened, + Corky wasn't going to wait for it. Standing straight, he barely + came up to the man's chest, but he was still thinking of how to get + them out of this.

+ +

The man had opened one of the corned beef tin cans, the last + they'd swiped from the self-service shop round on Braeside. Corky's + stomach was twisting savagely and he could smell the meat on the + air. They'd only drunk some water Tom had brought up from the + stream in the canteen. None of them wanted to risk attracting + attention yet by trying to get some food.

+ +

Over by the little ridge, the man sat still. He'd eaten the + block of beef, gnawing into it just the way he'd eaten the rabbit, + making little snuffling noises. Corky's mouth had watered and he'd + actually dribbled. The stranger had ignored them. Occasionally he'd + cock his head and then mutter something, always speaking over his + left shoulder, to whoever he saw there.

+ +

"Unless a man be born again, of water," the man said now that it + was late and the sky was beginning to darken. The moon was not yet + up and Corky had an idea that it might be full tonight and he + thought maybe that was what the man was waiting for.

+ +

He had surprised them all when he'd stood up and taken his coat + off, letting it slip, almost theatrically, to the grass. He'd + turned then, just as dramatically and they all looked in his + direction, suddenly scared again. He stood looking at them for some + time, as if pondering his next move. Danny felt his heart beat + faster. Billy stayed frozen. Finally the man came walking towards + them.

+ +

"You hear them?" he asked, quite softly. He was standing with + his back to the fading light and his eyes looked like holes in his + head. He inclined his head towards the hollow. The flies were + humming busily. He angled his head and stared down at Billy.

+ +

"Listen to them, boy. They're talking to you and me." He crossed + to the fire and picked up the rabbit's head by one flopped ear. A + trail of flies whirled upwards and headed for the hollow. "Another + trophy? You now what to do with it, don't you?" Billy took it + without a word, crossed to the hollow where the heron's eye was now + a seething mass of insects, and put the head in the nearest fork. + They could see him look around, left and right, as if seeking a way + of escaping, but he did not seem to have the wherewithal to risk + it. He came back to the tent and sat down again. The man reached + down and took him by the edge of his tee-shirt. Billy whimpered, a + little animal sound, but when the man pulled him upwards, he went + with the motion without a word and got to his feet.

+ +

"Those voices. You just need ears to hear." Billy gave a little + shiver.

+ +

The man bent down as he had done before, when he'd walked Billy + towards the gaunt skull suspended in the branches.

+ +

"Must go down into the valley and through to the other side. + There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth and then the great + truth. You know it boy. You want to walk down the valley with me? + Conboy knows the truth, he sees it with his magic eye. Wait 'til + you see all the things he can show you. Beelzebub's millions; the + Lord's minions."

+ +

Billy stood completely motionless but his whole body seemed to + be vibrating with tension. His mouth was open and for a moment his + breathing stopped completely. The man held him with his eyes. + Billy's breath caught and then he was hauling in fast, panting like + a panicked animal.

+ +

"In the midst of death, they are life. I saw you build the + altar. Watched you. I choose you now."

+ +

He bent down and put the gun butt first on the turf with the + barrels resting on the ridge by the stream bank. He clapped Billy's + shoulder. "So now prepare ye the way. Make straight the path. "

+ +

Very gently he reached and took the bottom edge of Billy's + tee-shirt and raised it up. It was like a parent with a child, + Billy dumbly raised his hands and the man slid the shirt up then + let it fall silently to the grass. He unbuckled Indian-bead belt, + pulled his jeans down. It all had the slow quality of a ritual. + Billy stepped out of his baggy underpants leaving them white on the + grass. The man put his hand on the boy's back, then slid it over + his shoulder, almost tenderly, drawing him close beside him.

+ +

Danny felt Tom shiver beside him. His own heart was clattering + away inside him, almost out of control. Corky's teeth were + grinding, quite audibly. Doug was totally silent.

+ +

Billy was led down to the water.

+ +

"Unless a man be born again, of water, he may not pass through." + The man's deep voice echoed from the far side. Danny recognised the + mix of quotations. It was a distortion of all that he had learned + from the countless Sundays. The man dropped his hand from Billy's + shoulder and took his shirt off and unlaced his own boots. They all + watched, fascinated, wondering what would happen next. Only Danny + had any idea.

+ +

Billy's skin was pale in the dimming light. Beside him the man + was almost completely naked. He had a line of dark hair running + down between his shoulderblades, and a pair of black tattoos up on + the tops of his arms, one on each arm. From where they sat, Corky + and Danny could read one name: Lesley. The evening was far from + dark, but the sun was down beyond the western rim of the valley and + the long shadows of the trees downstream had crept up to the edge + of their camp. The quartz rocks at the falls seemed to glow against + the grey shade of the far bank.

+ +

The man waded into the shallows. He held Billy by the arm and + forced him ahead of them. The ripples spread out to the far side + shingle. Up on the moor the poor curlew bleated again and some + slight breeze drifting between the hawthorn spikes sent a cloud of + flies buzzing upwards in a furious little whirlwind. The strange + pair in the stream were further out, into deeper water. It was up + to Billy's waist, then up to his navel, up to his chest, just in so + many steps. The man guided him further.

+ +

They heard Billy gasp for breath as the cold of the stream + curled around his ribs. They saw him shiver, not in the + high-tension way that Tom's body was vibrating, but a deep shudder + of cold and fear. His breath was coming in harsh spikes and the man + was mumbling something, speaking into his ear. None of the others + could hear what was said, not then. Billy stumbled and the water + lapped his chin. He got to his feet again, gasping harder, a + jittery, panicked sound.

+ +

"What's he doing?" Doug asked, out loud. They were all still + sitting, almost paralysed with apprehension over beside the wall of + rocks where the scrubby roots looped and twisted into the small + crevices. They hadn't moved.

+ +

In the stream the man waded forward and now the water really was + up to Billy's chin, rippling around the stranger's broad back at + chest level. He looked like some old water god, something out of + the adventures Danny and Corky had read from the book they'd found + at Overbuck stables.

+ +

"Prepare ye the way," the man said, now speaking aloud. He + raised his head and looked up at the darkening sky. Billy's head + was just a dark shape on the surface, at the centre of the ring of + ripples, the man had his hand on the crown. He leaned forward and + pushed Billy's head under the water. Billy panicked. His hands flew + upwards and thrashed wildly as he tried to lever himself up for + air.

+ +

"He's killing him," Tom cried. Corky scrambled to his feet. Both + his hands were balled into fists. Danny felt a great urge to jump + up and run down to the stream and grab the man's arm, but an even + greater urge to keep himself away from the crazy stranger + overwhelmed it completely. Doug was jabbering something + unintelligible. Down at the steam, Billy was struggling + frantically.

+ +

"Unless a man be born again, of water," Twitchy Eyes was + bellowing. "He shall not cross over."

+ +

Billy lunged upwards, spluttering and gasping, his mouth a wide, + dark circle. Water sprayed out from his nose. The man simply forced + him down again. The four of them were on their feet now, Corky + closest to the water. They could see Billy's pale shape under the + surface, arms flailing, body heaving, but the man was too strong. + He held him there. A big bubble of air rose up and burst on the + surface carrying with it the hollow bellow of Billy's terrified + cry.

+ +

"Leave him alone...you loony bastard!"

+ +

Corky's yell echoed back and forth from the sides, repeating his + last word over and over in a diminishing sequence.

+ +

"He's killing him," Doug wailed.

+ +

Corky turned to face them all, eyes blazing. "We have to do + something," he raged.

+ +

"What?" Doug asked. The gun was over by the downward edge of the + pool, beside the ride. They would have to circle the pool to reach + it. The man was only five steps away from it.

+ +

Danny's hands were trembling with the need to act. He turned + away from the stream, just at the same time as Corky did, both of + them heading in opposite directions. Danny picked up a smooth + stone, turned and threw it with all his strength, right at the + man's head. The motion sent a searing, white hot pain across his + back as his skin stretched under the torsion of his muscles. The + white stone, a piece of stream-rounded quartz flashed across the + distance and, like the stick that had killed the heron, would have + connected with the back of the man's head if the stranger had not + bent down to force Billy further under the water. The stone whirred + past, missing him by a mere inch. The man twitched, as if buzzed by + a wasp. The stone carried on, smacked against the boulders at the + head of the pool where the falls tumbled, smashed into half a dozen + fragments with a loud crack. A splinter knocked the nearest heron + feather out of its crevice and into the air. The man began to turn. + Both of Billy's hands came out of the water, waving + desperately.

+ +

"Let him go, you big dirty crazy bastard!"

+ +

Corky had crossed almost to the edge of the stream yelling at + the top of his voice, even louder than before. When the stranger + had stopped, Danny's heart felt as if it had stopped as well. He + had thrown the stone on impulse, on instinct, the way he had thrown + at the bird and with his usual accuracy. But when the man froze and + then began to turn, he realised that he had made himself the next + target for punishment. Then Corky had butted in, diverting + attention once again, and Danny felt a shameful surge of relief + once more.

+ +

"Come on then," Corky bawled, his voice cracking with the + effort. Danny swivelled and saw he had Billy's knife in his hand. + The old rusty blade was held out in front of him, knife-fighter + style. Corky's legs were spread, and despite the fact he was half + the man's size, he looked suddenly ferocious. He looked like a + young warrior.

+ +

The man finished turning and stopped dead. His eyes swept across + Danny, past Doug and Tom, lighted on Corky. The eyes started to + blink rapidly. Billy came spluttering up to the surface, coughing + and gagging, unaware of what was happening.

+ +

"Yeah, you big fuckin' creep," Corky was screaming now. "Come + on. Let's see what you've got." His left hand made a come-on + gesture, a man-to-man invitation.

+ +

The man smiled slowly. He took a step forward then another, + pushing a bow wave in front of him. Danny could see the name on the + other tattoo now. For some reason it held his eyes. He did not want + to see the feral grin on the man's face. Just below the blue + lettering, a series of rips had been chewed into the skin, like + saw-teeth cuts, the scars still dark and fresh. Tom and Doug shrank + back. Billy was stumbling to the other side of the pool, towards + the shallows, sending out great splashes of water to the shale + bank. The eyes were blinking like dark strobes now.

+ +

"What's this, Sergeant Conboy? See this?" he cocked his head, + still grinning, still twitching.

+ +

Corky held his ground and the man came up the bank. His shorts + had slipped, dragged by the weight of water. His penis, + unshrivelled by the cold water pushed out to the side, like a dark, + thick, club. Coarse hairs ran up to his belly and down his thighs. + He looked like a savage giant. He came out of the water, went + straight towards Corky who stood his ground until the man was a + yard away, then backed off, still holding the knife up. There was + no contest. The man reached. Corky swiped with the knife in a low + arc and the man's left hand came up and hit him on the side of the + head. Corky reeled to the side and the man simply reached again, + grabbed his wrist, bent his hand downwards with a violent jab and + the knife went tumbling out, spinning in the air, towards the clump + of roots where Corky had picked it up in the first place.

+ +

He did not hit Corky again. Instead, he turned, still dripping, + towards the ridge. Corky was breathing fast and the others on this + side of the stream swung their gaze from him to the stranger.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes picked up the gun.

+ +

Nobody moved. He picked it up, turned, quite purposefully and + with none of the dramatic, ritual slowness he'd displayed as he led + Billy down to the water. He walked back over the gravel from the + low turf ridge, swinging the butt upwards, one hand to the barrel. + His fingers locked on the stock. Danny stood there, breathing hard, + chin up defiantly. The rest of them were scared speechless.

+ +

"And again he defied him," Twitchy Eyes growled. "For a second + time."

+ +

Denied him. Danny mentally corrected. He was back up in + those realms of icy clarity brought on by yet another burst of + extreme fear. Not defied it's denied! He almost + expected the cockerel down at Blackwood farm to crow again, in some + parody of punctuation for the biblical quotation, and if it did, + Doug might burst into his red rooster strut just to complete the + picture of unearthly craziness.

+ +

"Don't," Doug breathed. He was not strutting now. Tom's spastic + dry swallow was just a series of throaty clicks. Even Billy was + silent now. The man turned his head towards Danny and speared him + with those black, jittering eyes.

+ +

"Let he who is without sin throw the first stone," he rumbled. + "Are you without sin, boy?"

+ +

Danny couldn't speak. It was as if his own throat were bunged + full of dry paper.

+ +

"Are you in a state to meet eternity?"

+ +

He stared on for a long, drawn out moment, the eyes screwed up, + hardly twitching at all now, then he turned away from them. Tom + groaned like someone in pain. The eyes swung back to Corky and + transfixed him.

+ +

"And again he defied him." The voice was rising now, getting + back up to that creepy, dreamy level. "For the second time."

+ +

He bent closer. "You afraid boy? You scared?"

+ +

Corky said nothing. His teeth were still clenched together and + his lips drawn back as if he was holding himself all together with + a tremendous effort. His chin was still up.

+ +

"You will cross over boy. You will know what waits on the other + side. Prepare ye the way."

+ +

The gun came up, barrel pointing at the sky then swung down. The + man was less than six feet from where Corky stood with his arms + held out to the side, like a miniature wrestler who didn't know yet + which way to swivel. The man slowly stepped forward and brought the + muzzle right up against Corky's cheek.

+ +

There was no movement. They all watched that barrel maw as if it + was a poisonous snake completely mesmerised. It rose up, a + centimetre, an inch. It was directly over Corky's eye. Danny could + see the other eye, looking up, unblinking, still somehow defiant. + He could not quite believe what was happening.

+ +

The man's finger tightened on the trigger. "If thine eye offends + me."

+ +

NO!

+ +

The scream rang inside his head, high and desperate and echoing + on and on, but his mouth could not form the word. His lungs + couldn't force the air out. He was caught in the ice of freezing + terror.

+ +

The fingers squeezed. The voice almost wheedled now. "Pluck it + out."

+ +

Silence fell. The trigger pulled back. The silence stretched + out.

+ +

A loud metallic snap cracked the silence. The shotgun's hammer + pin slammed down onto an empty chamber with a sound that was + suddenly deafening.

+ +

John Corcoran swayed backwards. Very slowly his legs buckled + under him. He slumped to the ground and his eyes rolled up so far + only the whites were visible.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/030.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/030.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..73cb0b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/030.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,629 @@ + + + + + + **#** + + + + +
+
+

**#**

+ +

August 4. Night.

+ +

The moon rose high in a cloudless sky, now almost completely + full.

+ +

The night was full of noises. Far down in the dark of the + valley, a pheasant hawked in alarm, sounding like a tin can scrape + on rough stone. Far up on the heathery moor a grouse croaked. Up on + the slope-side, some small thing, maybe a weasel, dislodged a small + stone and sent a trickle of gravel down in a whispery hiss. The + stream murmured. The fire, now hot and red, crackled and + sparked.

+ +

Billy Harrison sobbed. The pitiful sound of it, hardly muffled + at all by the canvas of the tent, tore at them. It was the sound of + utter despair and dejection and it was the sound of pain.

+ +

Corky sat silent, staring at the flames of the fire his eyes + glinting and reflecting the flickering red. He had not said a word + for hours. He had the same faraway look that Billy had in his own + eyes earlier that day, the mesmerised glazed stare of someone who + has recognised the closeness of his own end. They had all seen + Corky's end when their captor had squeezed on the trigger, but the + gun hadn't roared and bucked. The gun's firing pin had slammed down + on the empty chamber with a solid crack. Corky had fallen to the + ground as if all the nerves in his body had failed, as if all his + sinews had been cut.

+ +

Now it was night and the moon was up and the sounds of the + valley were overlaid with the sound of a boy's crying.

+ +

The knife was over in the gloom beside the boulders where it had + landed. It would do them no good now anyway.

+ +

Corky had lain there, still as death, arms spread-eagled for + nearly a minute and they had all stood there immobile, just looking + at him. None of them had been brave enough to move to help him.

+ +

"It's empty," Doug was thinking. Despite the fact that Corky was + down on the ground, he knew he wasn't dead. All he could think + about was the fact that the gun had been empty all this time. Since + the morning when Danny had gone clambering up the slope and he + himself had managed to get a hand to the second cartridge and send + it flipping into the pool, he could not remember the man reloading. + He'd assumed the lunatic had jammed another two shells into the + breech, but he must have forgotten. If he'd done that, then Corky + would still be lying there, but the rocks behind them would be + painted red with the insides of his head. Sudden relief made his + legs feel boneless.

+ +

The man had slowly lowered the gun and looked down at Corky, + almost curiously, as if surprised that the gun hadn't fired, as if + only mildly astonished that the boy's head hadn't been blown right + off his shoulders. The mad anger that had been in his eyes was now + replaced by a mad incredulity. He had stood there, possibly + contemplating his next move and the three of them had stood around + him, all of them wanting to run, none of them daring to, even + though they knew the gun wasn't loaded. Water dripped down the + man's legs. The word Joyce stood out clearly on the side + of his brawny biceps. Finally he turned his head and gave a little + shrug, as if that was this scene over and his interest in it was + done. He crossed to the stream, went down to the shallow part where + Billy was crouched on low, flat stone, pale and shivering, and took + him by the hand.

+ +

Corky's eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled down so that the + white crescents disappeared. He gave a little start, like somebody + just coming awake and raised his head dopily, as if unaware of his + surroundings. He shook himself, making his eyes focus, remembered + where he was and jerked up, spinning as he did, to get to his + knees.

+ +

"Take it easy," Danny hissed at him, getting a hand to his arm. + Tom stepped forward to help him to his feet. Corky's face was slack + and pale. He turned to Tom, as if he didn't recognise him either, + swung round to Danny, but he didn't look at him., he looked + through him, his gaze fixed on something in the faraway + distance.

+ +

"Corky?" Danny asked. Tom was slapping his friend's knuckles, + the way people were supposed to do with folk who'd fainted. Corky + didn't seem to notice.

+ +

"You okay? Hey?"

+ +

Very slowly, Corky nodded, but it was almost automatic. Billy + came up, led by the hand, his height and robust build still slight + by comparison to the man. He was shivering visibly and droplets of + water dripped from his elbows and from his chin. His hair was sleek + and plastered to his head and goosebumps had risen all over his + skin. He seemed entirely unaware that he was completely naked. The + man pointed at Doug and Danny, then flicked his hand to include the + other two.

+ +

"Fire," he said. "Get it going." He pulled Billy over to the + where his clothes were lying and told him to get dressed. Billy did + so without a word. He did not look at any of them, not then. It was + as if he had become isolated, by the depths of his fear, by the + fact that somehow the man had singled him out specially, no matter + what he'd done to the others. The man pulled on his shirt and + denims, jammed his feet in the old boots and then slung his coat + around Billy and made him sit down.

+ +

The others had backed off, Tom pulling Corky as they went, down + to the pile of logs they'd dragged up the previous day and began + hauling them up to the circle of stones. Corky moved slowly, as if + he'd not come entirely awake. The embers had cooled to grey ash, + but Phil Corcoran's stolen Ronson lighter was still in the burlap + bag and they used that to light the bundles of dry bracken to get + the fire started. The twigs caught quickly and soon the flames had + spread to the thicker branches, wavering bright, casting a glow + around the clearing and once again sending trails of sparks into + the sky. They dragged more logs up from the pile while the man + heated the last tin of oxtail soup.

+ +

By this time, Doug was faint with hunger and it may have been + that which made him go to his own rucksack and take out the bag of + potatoes they'd swiped from the field. There were still a few left. + He risked close proximity to the crazy man, edging close to the + fire, holding one arm across his face to shield it from the heat of + the blaze, while he stuffed the big early potatoes in to the ashes + by the side of the stones. The man finished his soup in silence, + dipping the now-stale bread into it and wolfing it down like an + animal. He offered some to Billy, but got no response at all. The + others sat down, closer to the tent, waiting for what would happen + next and the valley got darker as night begam to fall. After a + while, half an hour, maybe a bit more, the stranger stood up and + used one of the branches to scrape the potatoes from the fire. He + rolled the largest one clear of the others and trundled it closer + to where he sat. Doug didn't wait. He took that as tacit permission + and used a twig to get the rest free, leaving little trails of ash + as he manoeuvred them back from the heat. They had to wait a while + until they were cold enough to handle. They were black and + carbonised on the outside. They were still a bit solid and uncooked + in the centres, but to Dougie and Danny and Tom, those three baked + potatoes were the best food they could remember. Corky ate his + slowly and in complete silence. He was still distant, his mind far + away, or so it seemed. Danny wondered if maybe he'd cracked, and he + knew that if the crazy stranger had pointed the gun up to his eye + and pulled the trigger, he'd have shit himself, pissed his pants + and then cracked. The pain of the birdshot at more than a + hundred yards had been bad enough.

+ +

They ate and despite everything, they felt better for it. There + were three potatoes left in the trail of ashes and the man took the + other two. He thrust one at Billy, told him to eat, and finally + Billy took it. The others watched him slowly consume it, black skin + and all, until it was done.

+ +

An another half hour of silence stretched on while the shadows + lengthened up towards them and finally darkened everything except + for the circle around the fire. Eventually the man stood up and + stretched, yawned loudly and looked up at the sky. The moon was + still unrisen. Over by the corner of the tent was the roll of + fencing wire and the twine that had been used to loop them together + the previous night. Now the man took the thin wire and began to + unravel it.

+ +

"You're welcome to stay the night," he said to Doug, and his + voice sounded so normal, so ordinary, that it startled them.

+ +

Danny almost blurted out the instant reply that sprung to his + lips: "No, it's okay. We'd better be going now."

+ +

He said nothing because the man simply took a hold of Doug's + shoulder and pushed him backwards, herding them all across to the + wall where they'd sat in the heat of the day after Danny's failed + escape attempt. He made them sit down again then fastened a loop of + wire around a thick root that coiled from a crevice in the rock. + Very quickly and expertly he slipped another around Doug's neck, + quickly twisting it until it was tight, then braided it before he + repeated the motion with Tom, then Danny and finally a silent and + slow-moving Corky. The loose end he whipped around the trunk of + another gnarled hawthorn stump, leaving them hobbled together, + separated only by braided strands of wire. The nooses were tight + enough to prevent real movement, but not biting like the garrotte + that had almost taken Billy's head off earlier in the day. The + knife was well out of reach and even if they could have got to it, + the old blade couldn't have cut through the metal wire. They were + caught, like rabbits in a snare. If they moved, they'd choke and + strangle.

+ +

After more of a while, the moon finally rose over the high edge. + The man with the twitchy eyes was facing it this time, sitting on + the tent-side of the fire, on one of the flat stones. Billy was + close by, like a pet, but unleashed. There was no need of a tether + when the man had some sort of mental noose that had already roped + him and bound him.

+ +

"Almost there, Conboy," he said. "Down in the valley again."

+ +

They all listened, because there was nothing else to do.

+ +

"What's that? Oh yes. You can sit there smiling if you like, but + they'll be back again. Yellow godless vermin. Not long now, but + we'll be waiting. Nowhere else to go."

+ +

He laughed again and Doug shuddered because the laugh just + sounded mad. "Flies got you Conboy, but you still smile on through, + because you know, don't you? You can see through."

+ +

He giggled and Danny felt a cough tickle in his throat and he + tried to breathe with his mouth wide open to prevent it. The + stranger was gone again, gone to wherever Conboy was, and he did + out want to attract attention. The moonlight glinted off the gun + barrels again.

+ +

"Dung fly. Dung fly! Conboy. I hear them again." He + raised the gun up in an expectant, protective way, peering into the + far on the far side of the stream. The conversation went on like + that for a long time while the moon crossed the stretch of sky that + hung over the valley. Every now and again, they'd hear the strange + cry: Dung fly. None of them knew what it meant. Danny + expected the man to fire into the shadows, because he knew he + couldn't have many shells left and if they had any chance at all, + they'd have to take it. It was just the second day since the man + had stepped across the stream while he and Billy were fishing, but + he knew now, with a desperate certainly, that there would not be a + third night. He was not sure they'd even survive this one, though + despite everything, the wire holding nooses around their necks were + actually a good sign, but they'd be dead by the time the full moon + climbed into the sky.

+ +

The man's rumbling voice tailed off into a guttural, + incomprehensible jabber which became a muttering and then a silence + for a while. Doug had dozed off and Tom snuggled against Danny for + warmth. Corky's eyes were open. Danny could see them if he squirmed + round to look. They reflected the firelight and hardly blinked at + all and Danny quailed at the thought that Corky might have lost his + marbles and be unable to think, unable to act when they had to. + Corky was the one who could think on his feet and the one who could + lead them when they needed to be led.

+ +

"You okay?" he asked very quietly, nudging his friend. Corky + never blinked, but he did nod slowly. Finally, after what seemed + like a long time, he turned round, taking his eyes off the man.

+ +

"Don't you worry about me, Danny boy. Get some sleep if you + can." Relief surged. Corky hadn't gone crazy. He'd looked death + straight in the eye, the bravest thing any of them had ever seen + and by rights he should be dead. He'd maybe just taken a while to + come to grips with that idea.

+ +

A half an hour passed and the flames were beginning to die down + a little. Doug was snoring very softly, his big buck teeth catching + the light. Tom was still jammed against Danny's side when the man + got up and without ceremony, lifted Billy by the collar. Billy, who + was almost asleep, whimpered in sudden fright, but the man ignored + it. He hefted the gun in his other hand and crossed over to the + tent, dragging Billy behind him through the ashes beside the + stones. With not a word, he bent and went into the tent, pulled the + boy behind him. The flap slipped down and closed.

+ +

"What's he doing?" Tom asked. He had woken with a start, digging + an elbow into Danny's back and the sudden flare of pain had almost + brought a blurting yell that was only just swallowed back.

+ +

Billy whimpered again. The tent was just along dark oblong + against the deeper dark of the hollow. Only the front was visible. + There was a knock and a vibration as something jarred against the + upright pole. The man said something low, and Billy wailed. It was + just a soft sound, but it was a wail. None of them had heard him + make that sound before.

+ +

"What is it?" Tom wanted to know. He was pulling against the + wire and it gave his voice a strange, tight quality that would + otherwise have been funny and now just sounded strangled.

+ +

"Just take it off," the man said, now quite clear.

+ +

"Dirty bastard," Doug hissed. "He's touching him."

+ +

They couldn't know that for sure. Billy made that little + childlike noise again, the way a kid will when it's forced to do + something it doesn't want to do. It reminded Tom of his little + sister Maureen. She hadn't liked the taste of the medicine and + she'd shaken her head, moaning like that, trying to let it dribble + out of her mouth. He jerked against the wire, suddenly tense and + shaking.

+ +

"He's touching him," Doug repeated. He's a dirty + bastard!" In the light of the fire his face was twisted + into a snarl that managed to convey disgust, anger and horror. They + all knew that anyway, from what had happened to Mole Hopkirk, from + the awful damage whispered in the classrooms and street corners, + not quite fully understood by boys just on the cusp of + comprehension.

+ +

The man said something else, almost in a whisper, almost + wheedling and Billy began to cry. It was soft enough, but it was a + desolate sound. Doug made a little growling sound in the back of + his throat, probably unaware that he made any noise at all. There + was nothing any of them could do. The wire held them by their + necks, like tethered animals.

+ +

"What for?" Danny asked stupidly. He knew, albeit vaguely, about + queers, the kind of people who wanted to touch boys and stick their + dicks in their backsides although he didn't quite understand why + they would want to do so.

+ +

"Because he's a fuckin' dirty homeo bastard," Doug + grated.

+ +

Over in the tent the sounds stopped and Doug froze. Corky had + his head cocked to the side, just listening, sitting completely + motionless. Tom was trembling quite violently now, though the night + wasn't cold. Danny's back was throbbing again and the skin felt + tight and strained, as if it might suddenly split into cracks and + fissures.

+ +

"No," Billy said in a small, pleading voice, not at all like his + robust, bragging cockiness that aggravated all of them most of the + time.

+ +

"It's all right." Soothing, strangely more frightening than + ever.

+ +

"No but..." Billy's voice rising in panic.

+ +

"Shut up boy." There was a thud which could have been a fist on + a face, or a head hitting turf. Billy grunted, much the same way + Doug had done when he'd been knocked to the ground by the gun butt + He cried out and the man snarled something incomprehensible. Fabric + ripped. At first Danny thought it was the scrape of a zip + unfastened violently, then he saw the pale hand gripping the fabric + of the tent at the ragged edge where he'd cut the canvas to crawl + through. The canvas ripped further and the opening yawned blackly + before the hand was suddenly whipped away and the two edges sprung + back together again.

+ +

Billy screamed. Corky jerked forward and was pulled back, + gasping, hands up to protect his neck.

+ +

"Jesus," he gasped.

+ +

The man grunted, a sound like a beast in the dark and Billy + screamed again, high and girlish and sharp as glass, a dreadful + sound that cut into the still air. The man grunted again, deep and + hoarse, a guttural wordless groan of effort.

+ +

"He's killing him," Tom cried, voice on the verge of cracking + into tears.

+ +

"Bastard," Doug said. He was quivering like a bowstring, his + long arms out in front of him, hands curled into impotent, bony + fists.

+ +

Billy could cry all he wanted. He could scream for help and + screech and howl, but nobody would hear him. Up here, this far from + town, nothing could be heard. Here in the cleft of the valley so + far up beyond the Barwoods, the clatter of the trains, or the + clanking of the steam hammer down at Castlebank shipyard, or the + screech of hot metal in the old forge, none of the noises of town + penetrated this far. The screams of a hurt boy wouldn't carry much + into the dark of the trees before it was smothered by the shadows + and the leaves. From a few hundred yards down in the forest, it + would just sound like an injured fox.

+ +

The sounds he made were dreadful, harsh and frantic, cutting + right into the others, punctuated only by the mindless sounds of + the man in the shadow of the tent.

+ +

"Stop it!" Tom whinnied. "Stop it stop it stop it!" he + had his eyes tight closed and his hands up at his ears, knuckled + right into them to cut out the awful sounds. Gentle Tom who hadn't + wanted this adventure, who had wanted to stay at home and try to + get by, and find some accommodation with his aching loss. He'd + stood and put his hand on Corky's shoulder on the night everything + was blowing apart and had somehow managed to keep the bonds from + breaking, but he could not cope with any more of this. Tears were + squeezing out between screwed up lids and catching the red of the + fire and the white of the moon. For that moment, he had lost his + fear for himself. He just wanted Billy to stop crying and to stop + hurting.

+ +

The grunting sound was coming faster and Danny could visualise + the old boar at McFall's farm, a great heavy brute with mean eyes + and slanted teeth that could cut through an ash sapling in one + snap. Other farmers would put it to their sows and half the time it + would try to hook them with its tusks, gouging thin slashes up + their flanks. Then it would mount them quickly and it would grunt + and snort, dribbling snot from it's snout and saliva from its oddly + grinning jaws. Danny had seen it get ready, with its long spiral + dick punching in and out, twisting like a vicious corkscrew. In his + mind's eye, he imagined the crazy man on top of Billy, just like + the pig and despite having seen the crazy stranger's penis swing + like a club, he imagined the corkscrew boring in to flesh and + blood, ripping and rending. He shivered and his own sphincter + puckered and tightened of its own volition.

+ +

Billy screamed again and the grunts and porcine snorts were + coming faster. The noise was getting louder too. Danny wanted to + shut it out and began to raise his own hands up when he felt a tug + on the wire, hard enough to pull it firmly against the skin of his + neck. He twisted round, wincing against the sudden flare between + his shoulderblades and stopped dead.

+ +

Corky had arched his neck out of the loop, pushing so far + forward that the fencing wire was biting into the skin just inside + the collar of his shirt. Danny could see the white line where the + wire was dug right in. Corky's body was twisted and his hands were + pulling at the wire to let him get his jaw down to the braided + piece that connected him to Danny. His face was screwed up into a + grimace of concentration that looked like pain and was + pain as far as Danny could tell. His teeth were flashing in the + moonlight.

+ +

The tug came again, a metallic thrumming sound that sent a + vibration across the wire to Danny's own neck. Danny had to twist + almost as uncomfortably to see what was going on and even then it + took several seconds for it to dawn on him.

+ +

Corky was trying to gnaw through the wire.

+ +

Danny could hear the grind of teeth on metal, a dreadful + scraping sound that was like fingernails on a blackboard, chalk on + glass. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up in + unison. Corky's eyes were closed and his teeth were gritted on the + wire and he was working the metal back and forth, desperately + trying to chew his way through the tough steel. The sight of it + made Danny quail. It was as much animal as the grunting pig sounds + from inside the tent, and the awful mindless screech of pain from + Billy.

+ +

It was like a rabbit caught in a snare, or a fox caught in a gin + trap. They could gnaw their way through their own foot, biting + through fur and skin and gristle and bone to get free, no matter + what the cost. Danny could hear the thrumming of the wire every + time Corky's teeth slipped off the thin brain and the jarring clash + of his teeth as they ground together.

+ +

If Corky was desperate enough to try to gnaw his way through the + wire, then he must be really frantic, Danny realised. The thought + of such desperation brought a sudden surge of black fear that + swamped him to numbed stillness.

+ +

Tom was shuddering now, making little jerky movements while he + cried silently. Doug was snuffling and rocking back and forth to + the extent that the wire noose would let him. Danny sat still and + thought about what Corky was doing and what the man was doing and + he wished he could close his eyes and make it all go away. A + deadly, lethargic tiredness was dragging over him, brought on by + the brutal attack of freezing terror. For a moment the sounds faded + down to hardly anything and the light of the fire diminished. All + he could feel, for a while, was the thrumming of the wire as Corky + tried to bite his way free.

+ +

After a while all the sounds stopped. Corky slumped back, + exhausted with the effort. His neck audibly creaked and he moved + his shoulders up and down to get the cramp out of them.

+ +

Billy started to sob. The loud and frenzied pain-scream had + faded now to a shuddering, liquid moan inside the tent, a desolate, + lost sob of profound despair and hurt that was as bad as the shrill + cry of pain. The man spoke, now soothing again, that creepy, oily + sound they'd heard before the dreadful grunting. Doug was still + rocking, like an animal in a cage, needing to move.

+ +

The tent rustled. Some scuffling sounds followed and the man + came out again and went towards the fire. He was naked from the + waist up. His skin glowed red in the firelight and he looked up, + like some primitive savage, at the moon now half-way across the + black sky. Danny expected him to howl at it, but he said nothing at + all. He looked at the moon for a long while, then ambled across to + the lower rocks, opened his trousers and sent out a crescent of + piss that glittered in the moonlight. After a while he came back + towards the tent. He stopped close by and looked over at them.

+ +

"Peaceful night," he said, quite solemnly, with no hint of a + grin or a mad smile. He bent down and went back into the tent.

+ +

Billy was sobbing softly. The night noises, silenced by his + screams, had started up again in the trees and on the moor where + the curlew piped its lonely notes. The night wore on and the fire + began to fade as Billy's snuffling tapered to silence. The moon + crossed further and the fire-glare died to a warm glow, dopplering + down through the levels of red while the logs settled as they + turned to ash.

+ +

After a while Tom snuggled back into Danny's side again and Doug + crouched with his head rested in his hands, dozing lightly. Corky + arched his neck again, pulling at the wire, and started to gnaw + once more.

+ +

"You'll never get through it," Danny whispered.

+ +

"No such thing as never," Corky pulled back from the wire, + breathing heavily with the effort. His opened and closed his mouth + several times, easing the straining muscles.

+ +

"Not in one night," Danny said. "You'll need a week. Can't you + reach the knife."

+ +

Corky shook his head. "No. It's too far. And we don't have a + week. We've got to get out of here. He's hurt us all, but I think + he'll get worse. He's waiting for something."

+ +

"What?"

+ +

"Christ knows," Corky said. "Full moon or something. He's a + bloody vampire or a werewolf. He's off his head."

+ +

"But you'll never get through that tonight," Danny said, + unhelpfully.

+ +

"You got a better idea?" Corky's hiss sounded hard and + angry.

+ +

Danny shook his head. Corky's eyes gleamed, almost ferociously. + "Me neither. Wish I had. I should have stabbed him today. I could + have. I could maybe have hit him with it. Stuck it in his throat if + I'd thrown it."

+ +

"You can't throw for peanuts," Danny said and a strange, panicky + little laugh tried to bubble up inside him. "You're as bad as + Phil."

+ +

"Thought you were a goner today Dan, honest to God." Corky + changed the subject, giving Danny a quick and almost desperate + grin. "Scared me to death when you came off that slope. Thought you + were dead for sure. I couldn't believe it when you hit the water, + and then I couldn't believe it even more when you weren't plugged + full of lead."

+ +

"Me too," Danny agreed. In his mind the world still whirled as + he fell. On his back, the pain pulsed, not hot, but steady and + warm.

+ +

"And I thought I was dead today. Jesus, I really + did."

+ +

"Me too," Danny repeated. "Scared the shite out of me."

+ +

"I never knew it wasn't loaded. It was all happening. He was + drowning Billy and I just got angry and I couldn't stop myself and + then when he pointed the gun at me, I don't know what happened. I + just stayed angry and I wasn't going to let him know I was + scared."

+ +

"Weren't you? I was really shitting myself."

+ +

"Honest to god Danny, I don't remember. I was looking him in his + eye and right up the end of that gun with the other and I heard it + go off. Like boom. It hit eyebone and I thought it had + fired and that was it. I just fell down dead. I couldn't believe it + when I opened my eyes and saw Doug's over there. The sun was + shining through his ears and it was kind of funny looking. I must + have fainted I suppose. I never fainted before. It's not all that + bad."

+ +

He paused for a moment, looked up at the moon, then turned to + Danny.

+ +

"It was Doug that saved me. If it wasn't for him, I'd be a + goner, or you would be. If he hadn't got that other cartridge and + slung it in the water, you'd have had both barrels, or I'd have had + it in the head. That took guts, real guts."

+ +

Danny was picturing Corky snatching up the knife to challenge + the crazy man, sweeping it in front of him as he approached, not + flinching at all. He was thinking about the look in his eye as the + gun barrel trailed up to the other one, unblinking, not giving an + inch.

+ +

"Not as much as you," he said vehemently. "I hope I never see + anything like that as long as I live. I couldn't even speak, I was + so scared. Weren't you frightened?"

+ +

"Course I was, but it was really weird. I thought that was it + for me. I really did, and I went all sort of cold, like numb, you + know? Everything was really slow. His eyes were twitching away, and + I thought, 'This is it Corky' and you'll never believe it, but you + know Cuchullain. The hero? I thought about him and what he'd do, + and I thought I'm not going to let him see I'm feart."

+ +

"You really thought that?"

+ +

"I think so. But maybe I dreamed it when I fell down. I just + remember looking into his eye and everything was frozen cold. But I + know something now."

+ +

"What's that?"

+ +

"If I get out of here, I'm never going to be scared of anything + again in my life. Not Phil, not my old man. Nobody and nothing. If + I can beat him, I can beat anything."

+ +

"Hells flaming bells, Corky," Danny said, feeling the mad ripple + of laughter trying to erupt again, "I never thought you were scared + of anybody anyway."

+ +

"Shows you what a good actor I am, don't it?"

+ +

He smiled quickly, suddenly boyish for that one moment, then he + arched his neck to get his teeth to the wire. He started to gnaw + again, making that awful grinding sound. After a while he had to + lean back and take a break from the exertion.

+ +

"Dan," he said, easing his jaw once more, and panting heavily. + "I didn't mean just me. Getting out of here, that is. We'll make + it, honest we will. Bet you any money. You and me, we got a + miracle, so we did. We're still alive when the both of us should be + dead, so I know for sure we'll get another chance."

+ +

He looked over again, and any boyish grin was gone. "But it has + to be tonight, because he won't give us another chance after + this."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/031.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/031.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..951f00a --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/031.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,560 @@ + + + + + + 31 + + + + +
+
+

31

+ +

Interlude:

+ +

"We called him Gideon," the old soldier said.

+ +

The name gave me a shiver. It somehow fit. He was remembering + and so was I. It had taken me a while to track him down, an old + trooper from one of the old Highland regiments. I had an advantage + now over Angus McNicol, for by this time I'd listened over and over + to his gruff voice on the tapes, and I'd looked through a bunch of + papers I'd managed to turn up along with the ones he gave me. Old + Jean McColl's wild poppy petal was still pressed between the pages + of her diary, a distant memory captured. The pages of Doc Bell's + pathology reports on Jean and Little Lucy Saunders and the others, + those pages were yellow now with age. The words on them, however + were still stark and somehow still deadly. The catalogue of ruin + carried out at the hands of a true madman, was appalling. Forgive + me if I don't list them here. You don't want to know.

+ +

I spent some time taking notes and asking questions, because I + had to know. I was driven along. There were clues I knew, clues I + hadn't thought about in a long time, but now, in hindsight, they + stood out like beacons. Those tattoos, for instance. Lesley + Joyce. Old man McColl had read them wrong first time. Jean had + seen them on the day she died and that's why she'd underlined them + in her frantic message. Poor doomed woman had been trying to tell + them.

+ +

Lesley and Joyce. Probably old girlfriends from way before the + madness.

+ +

And Sergeant Conboy, the name the man kept muttering, twitching + his head every time he called it out. Another clue. McNicol had + thought the man was army and I put two and two together. A + newspaperman can talk to anybody. For the price of a few beers, + most folk will talk their heads off. I knew it had to be a soldier, + somebody who had served abroad. It took a while to find the old + army lists and some time longer to search them all. There were four + Sergeant Conboys way back in the fifties, and I travelled a bit to + find some of the men who had served with them.

+ +

Finally I found the man I wanted to talk to.

+ +

"Gideon. He always had his nose stuck in the bible and he was + always quoting tracts. The name just stuck. I'm telling you, he was + one scary nutter. He thought the locals were animals, less than + beasts. We were with the Gordons, but most of us were on national + service, just two-year men. It was two years I could have done + without."

+ +

Albert McAulay was a barrel of a man with a full head of + iron-grey hair cut in an old fashioned crew-cut, the kind you see + on German colonels in old war movies. He drank pints of Guinness + slowly and steadily, sitting in the corner of the Horseshoe Bar up + in the city. At first he was a bit hazy, saying he couldn't + remember that much, but it was clear he just hadn't thought about + it for a long time, or maybe didn't want to. When he did start + talking, once he got into gear, he couldn't stop.

+ +

"I real lunatic. I remember that Vietnam stuff, you know, that + My-Lai carry-on where the Yanks shot up a village? When that + happened I thought it must be more common than you'd think. A lot + of bad things happen in wars.

+ +

"Gideon, he went really crazy some time in the second year, when + we were jungle-bashing in Malaya. We were somewhere in south + Selangor, on patrol, hunting the CT's, what we called the communist + terrorists, and you never knew who was who. They all looked the + same and they all spoke the same. Some of our boys called them the + Dung Fly people, because that's what they said all the time. It + meant something like "we're friends" or "don't shoot". Nobody knew + what. Or cared. It was hot and sticky and we were scared shitless + most of the time. You couldn't see a yard in front of your face + until you got to a clearing and then you had to watch for grenades + or crossfire. It was murder."

+ +

Albert wiped his florid face and took a deep pull on his + beer.

+ +

"Non tare roger. That's what the signals man said on + the radio. Nothing to report. And sometimes there was + something to report. We were to deny food and comfort to the enemy. + We rounded up villagers and put them in trucks and took them fifty + miles down the road. That was to drive the bandits deep into the + jungle, but that was bad for us who had to go in and get them, us + and the Iban scouts who could scent a trail like dogs. They were + nothing much more than animals.

+ +

"So one time we came across this place, deep in at + Ipoh, a village at the bottom of a steep valley. Me and + Sergeant Conboy and crazy old Gideon, we took the right flank, and + all of a sudden, there was gunfire and the shit was hitting the fan + and everybody was yelling. Smoke from a couple of flares, and a lot + of confusion. The village was pretty big - pigs and kids an running + about, screaming like banshees. Gideon he came out from the side + and let rip. Me and Conboy saw him. He just raked a whole group of + kids and I remember the grin on is face. Conboy pulled him back, + trying to shout over all the noise and despite that, yon mental + bastard turns round and grins.

+ +

"Heathens," he says and I heard it clear as day. "Worse than + animals."

+ +

"He just turned back with his gun. Two women were running for + cover and he shot them both, laughing all the while. Just then, two + of the locals came out with parangs, big machetes, and came running + for us. There were shots behind them and we thought it had to be + bandits, so we opened fire and put the men down. By this time the + bible thumper had vanished and we were in the middle of it. It + wasn't until later that we found him round the back of a burning + hut with a girl. He'd been giving her one, just a little kid of ten + or eleven, and he had cut her. Swear on a stack of bibles, he had + cut her little tits off and slit her mouth from ear to ear. She was + still moving."

+ +

Albert drank deep, remembering now.

+ +

"I'm telling you, it gave me the shivers. I was still fired up, + still all going from the excitement, and it didn't shock me the way + it normally would, but I still had the shivers. Conboy pulled him + away. God, he nearly hit him with his rifle, and the big fellow, he + just turned round, grinning, as if he'd just told a good joke.

+ +

"After that, we had to keep an eye on him, until we got back to + the platoon base. Nobody said anything, but Conboy had been called + back to operations and Major Cantley told him to take Gideon with + him, just to get him out. In those days, out in the jungle, what + happened was left there. Things didn't leak out the way they would + now. Official secrets and all that. Anyway, Conboy's in the truck + and they head off an that's the last anybody hears of them for + three weeks. They sent search parties out, but it was needle in a + haystack stuff over there. We heard the RAF, lost a flight of five + transports just forty miles from HQ, and one of them were ever seen + again. That jungle was thick, man.

+ +

"The Suffolks in the south, they got word. Some tribesmen came + out and said two or three of their boys had been killed by a + soldier. They checked it out and sure enough, they found your man + and Conboy in the truck. It had gone off the road and rolled down + to the edge of a river and Conboy, he was as dead as a dodo. He'd + been shot in the head and his brains were all gone. The Suffolks + told us there was nothing left of him. The flies and the ants there + are pretty fierce and they keep themselves busy. Gideon, if he was + crazy before, he was really gone now. He'd kept himself alive by + catching the little fish and eels in the water that came right up + to his waist in the rains and he'd blown a couple of the natives to + kingdom come when they came to investigate. I remember the brass + were pretty suspicious, because Conboy's head injury looked like a + close-up shot, but by that time an investigation would have been a + waste of time. Gideon was round the twist. Completely barmy.

+ +

"After that he was shipped home, mad as a fuckin' hatter. Last I + heard, he was in Chessington, where they take all the army head + injuries. After that, I dunno. Maybe it was Broadmoor or some other + loony bin.

+
+

August 4. Midnight:

+ +

"None of your damned business, Conboy. You just sit there + watching, that's all you have to do. Flies in your eyes."

+ +

The voice boomed out from the hollow. The stranger was just a + black shadow, hunkered down now in front of the stag's head. The + flies were silent in the ark. A breeze of wind in the cooling night + air carried the scent of carrion past the man and over to the line + of boys looped together beside the low wall of rock. It was greasy + and foul, the stench of corruption.

+ +

"They crossed over too, dirty heathens. Dirty. Dung + Fly! You can see them. Shouldn't have tried to stop me + neither, should you? Non Tare Roger. Got another eye to + see with now."

+ +

He had been talking for a while now, over in the dark where his + shape was just a shadow in the rest of the shadows. His voice rose + and fell. One minute he would quote a passage from the bible, and + the next he'd be talking to his imaginary listener. None of it made + any sense.

+ +

None of the tethered boys risked talking. Over in the tent, + Billy's whimpering had slowed down and stopped. Corky's efforts on + the wire had ceased for the moment. He was leaning back as far as + the noose would let him, with the side of his head against a + tussock. Doug was still sitting with his head resting in his hands. + He was breathing shallowly.

+ +

After a while the man's hoarse babbling died away and there was + silence for a while, broken only by the night noises and the + tumbling water of the stream at the falls where now only three + heron feathers stood. After more of while, the man's shape appeared + quite suddenly, his face caught by the moonlight as he walked + silently from the hollow. He was quite naked, like a primitive + warrior, his broad frame glistening with sweat despite the cool of + the night. He stood looking at them for a moment, as if considering + what to do, or maybe just checking that they were still there and + that the wore would hold them until morning, then went back inside + the tent. The moon slipped down beyond the west side of the valley, + casting their glade into deep darkness that was alleviated only by + the silver light in the sky and the dying embers of the fire.

+ +

Danny dreamed.

+ +

He was falling. He was tumbling over and over with the fire + searing and burning across his back while his skin shrivelled and + melted.

+ +

"Defied me thrice. Thrice!" It was the voice of the + twitchy eyed stranger, yet at the same time, impossibly, it was his + father's voice, echoing down from on high, forbidding and + reproving. "Forty days and forty nights did they fall to the + exterior darkness where there was weeping and gnashing of + teeth."

+ +

Up where the moonlight rippled on the surface, he could hear the + boom of the cannons on the ramparts of the old castle, fired to + bring the bodies to the surface. Dead Paulie Degman's face swam in + front of him.

+ +

"Yeah, we are in the valley of death, Danny, and + yeah, we fear evil. Prepare ye the way. Make good the + path, for he comes when you do not expect him and he will + cut..."

+ +

No! Danny tried to scream. It was all wrong. In his ears, the + beat of his heart was like a drum and he struggled for breath, + panicked, flailed to get away from Paulie. The dead boy's eyes were + pale in the dark, pale and blind and the lips were flapping in the + flow of the river water.

+ +

"Defied me thrice, defied me thrice," another voice was rasping + out and Danny closed his ears to it, because if he defied thrice + something would happen and that would mean it was.....

+ +

He woke with a start and a scream half blurted on dried lips. + The wire was pulling right into his neck and he gasped aloud, + hauling for a painful breath. He had slipped down and his back was + scraping on the old twigs and thorns that had fallen from the + hawthorn tree, setting his swollen bruises aflame.

+ +

"You OK Danny?" Tom asked softly.

+ +

For a moment Danny was unfocussed, disoriented. The moon was + gone and the fire nearly dead. He realised he was still alive and + not drowning and not falling and that ghostly Paulie had only been + in his dream. He turned round quickly, rasping his neck and back in + the process, to check Corky, still able to see his wasted face + floating in front of him, grinning sadly.

+ +

"I think so," he whispered back, very shakily.

+ +

"He took Billy out. I saw him. Billy needed the bathroom and he + let him out. They went down to the stream and he washed him down + with water." Tom's voice was thin and shivery. The night had gone + cold. "What's he going to do to us?"

+ +

"I dunno," Danny said. Even at this stage, after all that had + happened, it was still hard to believe that the man would really + kill them. All the evidence to the contrary was there. He had shot + at Danny and would have killed Corky as he had done to Mole Degman + and the others, but even then the flare of hope and disbelief was + in them. They were just boys.

+ +

"What's Corky doing?"

+ +

"He's asleep I think."

+ +

"Can he get through the wire?"

+ +

Danny shook his head, sending a negative vibration to Tom. + "Nobody can."

+ +

Tom squirmed, a little shudder that Danny picked up by return. + "What's the matter?"

+ +

"I need....I have to have a pee."

+ +

"Well go."

+ +

"I can't," Tom said. "Not here."

+ +

"Sure you can, Danny whispered. "our hands aren't tied."

+ +

"But I can't here. There's nowhere for it to go. I'll be in it. + Sitting in it."

+ +

"That's the least of your worries," Danny whispered tightly. He + didn't understand what Tom's problem was.

+ +

"No. I can't," Tom insisted. His voice was rising above a + whisper.

+ +

"Why the hell not?"

+ +

There was a silence. Tom gulped hard. Both of his hands were + forced down on his crotch again, the way he'd been when they had + all come down the valley at gunpoint.

+ +

"It's Maureen," Tom said and this time his voice did crack again + into a half sob. "My wee sister." Danny nodded, remembering the + thin little girl with thin arms and skin like quartz underlain with + dull, cloudy bruises. Tom pushed his hand into his crotch, like a + toddler holding in the need. He let out a little moan.

+ +

"When she...." he started. "I mean. I was there."

+ +

Danny didn't have to say anything. Everybody knew Tom had been + there. His old man had been working up at Lochend on the new road, + digging drains with the team of navvies and Tom's mother, a small, + spare woman with the same pale freckles Tom had and the same washed + out curly hair, she'd had to go out to the shops. Tom had been left + in with Maureen and that was something he never minded at all, + because she was his kid sister and she was sick and she liked him + to read stories to her. Danny had been with him when he'd swiped + the book from the library in the winter, stolen it so he wouldn't + have to give it back, and he remembered it had been Billy Goats + Gruff, the one about the troll under the bridge. He recalled Tom + getting badly upset when somebody mentioned little Lucy Saunders + under the bridge at Ladyburn Stream near the outlet at the Rough + Drain.

+ +

"I was there, just me on my own," Tom said. "Mo, our Maureen, + she was pretty sick. She'd been up in the night, but my mum had to + go down town to get something. I think it was the cough mixture for + Mo because the thing she had, it made her cough all the time and + she had a sore throat."

+ +

Tom raised one hand to wipe away a tear. "I was in with her, + playing with my dinky toys on the floor and she asked me to read + the story again. Remember that book I nicked? She loved that one. + She always said it made her go all squirmy and every time I read + it, she squealed like she was scared but she wasn't really. She + loves the bit where the thing says: 'Who's trip tap tapping on + my bridge.' "

+ +

Danny picked up the slip of tenses. She loves. Little + Mo had died before Christmas. Danny had experience of death, the + whole town had by now, but it was all second hand and at a + distance, even counting Paulie down by the river. He had not lost + anybody he loved. Not like a sister or anything.

+ +

"And I said OK, I'll read a bit. I never minded, 'cos she really + liked it and it made her laugh. She was all right, and that's why + my Ma went out. She had to get things and it wasn't her fault she + wasn't there. But I didn't know what to do." Tom choked up a little + and Danny sat silent. Tom sniffed and started again.

+ +

"I was reading and she was all scrunched up in the pillows, and + I was just getting to the good bit when she said she had to go to + the bathroom. It was dead quiet the way she said it and I said hold + on a minute and I'll just finish this bit and she looked up at me. + She had these big dark bits under her eyes, like a panda, you know, + like somebody had skelped her a couple of good ones. She said it + was film-star's make up and she was going to be like Audrey Hepburn + when she grew up, except she said Audie Hebum 'cause she couldn't + speak right with her front teeth out and I said it would be Audie + Murphy and she never knew what I was talking about. Only she wasn't + going to grow up, was she?"

+ +

Danny heard the bitterness of loss and bleak hopelessness in + Tom's voice.

+ +

"So I said, wait until I've finished the page and she looked up + at me and said: 'I have to go to the bathroom, can you help me + Tommy?'"

+ +

"It was just like that. She was kind of smiling and kind of + frowning, like she was thinking hard and her eyes were open and I + got up to get the pot from the corner. She could only use the pot + because she was too sore to get to the bathroom, you know? I went + to get the pot and she was still staring like that. I never even + knew. Honest to god Danny, I never knew. I thought maybe if I + hadn't finished the end of the page, maybe I could have....."

+ +

The tears were catching the last of the dying fireglow.

+ +

"I lifted her up, and she had wet the bed. She was lying in her + own pee. I could smell it and I never even knew then. She was still + staring at me, that funny way, dead still and I was trying to lift + her up. There was a puddle underneath her and it made a noise and I + never even knew. Oh shit Danny. She said she needed to go, but + she'd already done it and she was lying in it. My wee sister. + Maureen."

+ +

Now Danny realised why Tom hadn't wanted to hear about little + Lucy Saunders. She had died under the bridge, in the muck in the + hollow of the concrete chamber, in a puddle of her own piss. The + story had gone round the school like a brush-fire, the first + killing, so far as was known at the time, at the hands of this + twitchy-eyed killer who was now in the dark of the tent with Billy + Harrison.

+ +

"I couldn't do anything," Tom was saying. "I never knew."

+ +

He began to sob softly. Hand still pressed in hard. "And I can't + do it here. I don't want to sit in it. Not here. I don't want to + die in my own piss."

+ +

"Jees, Tom, I never knew that's what happened." Doug's voice was + low, coming from his shadow on the far side. They hadn't realised + he was awake. "You should have said."

+ +

"I couldn't say. Nobody should die in their own pee, nobody, + especially a wee kid like Maureen. I told my Ma I would die to + bring her back. She was screaming blue murder and she hit me, but + there was nothing I could do. I would have died to bring + her back, you know. Honest I would. I can still hear her talking. + Every night when I go to bed, I can hear her asking for that story + and then I can hear her telling me she needs to go to the bathroom. + And now I can't do it. Not here."

+ +

"That's okay Tommy," Doug whispered. They heard him fumble in + his pocket and then, a few moments later, the snick of something + tearing. Danny smelled a peculiar odour on the air. Doug fumbled + some more, then reached out. Something thin and floppy dangled from + his hand.

+ +

"Piss into this," he said. Danny stretched to see. Doug's teeth + were glinting in the light. In his hand, Phil Corcoran's second + condom dangled. Tom looked at it for several seconds before he + realised what it was. He slowly reached his free hand and took it, + unzipped his jeans. They all watched, though in the dark there was + nothing to see. They heard a hiss of water spurting. The condom + expanded very quickly and they smelled its odd scent mixed with the + hot smell of urine. After about a minute, Tom let out a long sigh. + He lifted the ballooning rubber by the neck. It wobbled a little. + Very quickly he tied the neck to seal it, reached out beyond the + little hollow and put it on the ground. It rolled several feet + until it got half-way to the tent. There it hit something sharp and + burst without a sound except for the sudden gurgle of water which + drained into the dry grass.

+ +

"Thanks Doug."

+ +

"Don't mention it," Doug said. "I wasn't going to use it anyway. + It's too bloody big."

+ +

He was silent for a while and all three of them sat still while + they listened to the night noises, the rustlings and the occasional + distant cry of a wild bird far off in the gloom of the trees. + Finally Doug spoke up again.

+ +

"You think he's all right? Billy, I mean."

+ +

They knew who he meant. "I think so," Danny said, more in hope + than in any certainty. They had listened to Billy's heartbreaking + sobs for a long time after his squeals of pain had diminished. The + man, Twitchy Eyes, he didn't seem to notice the noise, or + if he did, it didn't bother him. Billy had been snuffling when the + man had come out to hunker by the skulls and speak to a man who + wasn't there.

+ +

"I never meant this to happen to him," Doug said. "I wished I + never said he should have his neck wrung. I was just pissed off, + know what I mean?"

+ +

They all knew what he meant. It had been a dreadful, brittle and + dangerous moment.

+ +

"Christ a'mighty, I should never have told him about his old + man. But he was always having a go at me. All the time. But honest + to God, I never wanted this to happen to him. I mean, it was just + because I was angry when he said that about Terry. That was a + really rotten thing to say."

+ +

"Yeah. And you were rotten to him," Tom said. "But it's + finished. It doesn't matter."

+ +

"I'd take it back if I could. No kidding. I don't want Billy to + get hurt again. Not from that dirty bastard. If I could take it + back I really would. It doesn't matter about Terry. He's my + brother, isn't he? What difference does it make? Nothing! I still + love the little creep, no matter what. And my Mum and Dad, they'll + be okay, won't they? In Toronto?"

+ +

Danny and Tom could hear Doug was laying it out like a grid, + wishing it to happen.

+ +

"Maybe they'll stop arguing all the time. It scares me + sometimes. It used to be okay, but now it's not. I always knew + there was something wrong, but it's not Terry's fault. He's a great + kid. He always gives me a kiss every night when he goes to bed. + Every night. I don't mind telling you that."

+ +

He went silent for a while, then spoke again. "Corky was right. + We have to stick together while we can. It doesn't matter, does it? + All the things that happen and we can't do anything about it? They + don't matter. Corky was right sure enough. See the way he looked in + that bastard's eyes? I never saw anything like that in my life. If + I get the chance, I want to be as brave as that.

+ +

"And when I get home, I'm going to hug my mum. Don't mind + telling you that. I'm going to give her a hug and tell her I love + her and my old man both."

+ +

Tom sniffed in sympathy. Danny sat very silently, aware of pangs + of loss inside him that he could not explain at all, even to + himself. Hugging and loving.

+ +

The earth turned and the night got darker and colder, though it + was still summer. Sometime in the night, Corky woke up from his + exhausted slumber and started working on the wire again, making + that awful grinding noise with his teeth on the metal. Tom cried + out in his sleep, just a wordless whimper that startled them all + awake. Billy was silent the whole time through the long night.

+ +

Danny fell in and out of sleep, trying to keep awake, hoping + against hope that Corky would make it through the wire. He was + deadly afraid of what the morning would bring and in his mind, + Corky's words kept getting mixed up with Mick Jagger's strutting + rasp.

+ +

This could be the last time....maybe...maybe...maybe...I + don't know.

+ +

Again, sometime later, Danny dreamed of his father and heard him + read from the prayer book and he imagined himself crawling through + pools of scalding custard while his father talked about the bad + fire that would go on forever. He saw John Corcoran's wasted face, + one eye glaring at him and the other a red ruin. The wire was tight + on Corky's neck and when he opened his mouth to speak, his teeth + were all chipped and broken.

+ +

"I tried, Danny-boy. I tried, honest to god. But there's no way + out, even if you can talk posh."

+ +

Somewhere in the shadows, a deep and echoing voice rumbled out: + "Defied me thrice. Defied me thrice."

+ +

And Danny knew he was waiting in the dark in the Garden of + Gethsemane in an agony of fearful expectation of a dreadful thing + about to happen.

+ +

"Denied." He insisted. "It's not defied, it's + denied."

+ +

As soon as he said it a cold sensation of doom flowed into him. + Before the cock crows twice...it was written in the testament. It + couldn't be thrice, because that would mean the cock would crow and + it would be.....

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/032.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/032.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5e9e446 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/032.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,665 @@ + + + + + + 32 + + + + +
+
+

32

+ +

.....morning.

+ +

Day was dawning and it was early morning. Danny Gillan jerked + awake to the distant sound of the cockerel crowing far off down the + slope of the moor in the direction of Blackwood farm.

+ +

"Whassamatter?" Tom snuffled, almost incoherent, cringing in + against Danny for warmth. Corky was slumped the other way, against + the damp mound where the hawthorn roots twisted their way into the + moss. The wire was across this throat, but not digging in the way + it had in the dream. His eyes were closed and he was breathing + shallowly.

+ +

The cock crowed, distant but still audible, a strange, fierce + and challenging cry coming out of the mist which had gathered in + the dark for the second time and now shrouded the world in a fuzzy + blanket which blunted all the sharp edges which would be later + homed by the rising sun..

+ +

"...And the cock crew..." The well-learned words were + ringing in Danny's head, in the shivery aftermath of the dream, + fading now, but still powerful and ominous. Day was dawning but it + was still dark and the mist was almost solid downstream where the + valley formed a scooped cup before the thick tangle of the forest. + The trees were just a dark and impenetrable wall. It was still dark + enough, but it was not night any more, and they had survived + another one. They were still alive. Four of them anyway. Across in + the tent, there was no sound yet. Danny shivered again. Feeling the + damp of morning cold steal through him. His legs were stiff and his + backside numb and wet from sitting hunkered in the moss and + grass.

+ +

They had survived a second night, but what Corky had said + sneaked in on him while he was trying to shake off the disabling + drag of the dream. It has to be tonight, because he won't give + us another chance after this.

+ +

And Corky had fallen asleep, tired and hurt and exhausted like + the rest of them and they'd missed their chance. Night had come and + gone and they were still here, braided together with the + fence-mending wire. Danny huddled still, trying to keep the instant + panic down. For a moment, despite the closeness of the other three, + his solitude was vast. Nothing moved in the valley except the near + tendrils of mist which rose, wraith-like from the pool in small, + translucent columns to condense into the thick billows against the + far wall, then flowed like some magical ectoplasm around the roots + of the alders and hawthorns, crept into the hollows behind the + boulders and the narrow ravines which fed the tributaries into the + main valley.

+ +

Far up on the moor, an early lark was singing into the morning + sky. High up on the east, there was a tinge of opalescent pink to + break up the grey, a promise of another hot summer day. Here in the + valley, it was still shadowed, but bright enough see the carpet of + dew on the grass, like a frost. The air was clean and earthy, + redolent of moss and heather roots and nearby uncurling ferns.

+ +

A soft morning.

+ +

Danny slowly raised his head to the far rim, on the west side + where the bracken grew almost to the rim, fringed by tussocks. For + a moment his eye was transfixed by the exotic fringe of glowing + silk which undulated in the merest breeze, trailing like a white + and lustrous flag across the edge of the canyon. He stared at it, + puzzled, for a while longer and the sight of it, ethereal and + magical on this cool and shrouded morning, helped damp down the + rising tide of black fear.

+ +

The gossamer of a million tiny spiders, their gliding threads of + silkweb, waved in the slow air, picking up the reflection of the + roseate flush of dawn in the early sky. Danny gazed, mesmerised in + a moment of rare beauty. The whole west rim of the valley, from the + trees right on up past the hollow of rock, was limned with the + slowly undulating silken tide. It was as if the world had been + bedded in the cotton wool of mist and then wrapped in a cocoon of + silk. The threads, rippling in glimmering sheets, seemed to bring a + hush to the morning, giving an illusion of peace and harmony. As he + watched, the top filaments caught the first sparkle of sun and up + on the east edge, the sky flared in a spectacular flash of green + and then pink, like an aurora, heralding the beginning of true + day.

+ +

Way off, down at Blackwood, the cock crowed faint and far off + again, to cut through the gossamer wrapping and the moment of magic + died as Corky's warning came suddenly back on the biblical echo of + the dream.

+ +

He won't give us another chance after this.

+ +

Danny swivelled, nudging Tom who gave a little shiver and tried + to squeeze further in under his armpit, reluctant to come awake. He + forced himself round towards Corky and sought the wire where he had + tried to break through. A line of indentations roughened the metal + about six inches from the loop around Corky's neck. In some places, + the dull patina had been scraped away far enough to show the bright + silver of metal underneath, showing how hard, how desperately Corky + had worked and struggled in the dark of the night. Only the gouges + and the shiny metal and the memory of the dreadful creaking sound + remained.

+ +

Danny sighed slowly. Over to the right, the condom that Tom had + filled was lying limp, like a shiny piece of intestine ripped from + the raw fish. Doug still sat frozen, head still cupped in his + hands, elbows braced on his knees.

+ +

"I tried, Danny," Corky's whispered voice jarred into the + silence. For an awful moment Danny thought he was still dreaming. + He jerked back, almost strangled himself on the wire, suddenly + terrified in case Corky's teeth would be cracked stumps in bleeding + gums.

+ +

"Couldn't get through," he said. His face was pale, with his + freckles standing out like sepia ink-spots. His eyes seemed grey in + the light, and they looked bitterly forlorn. "We're stuffed," he + added.

+ +

Danny shook his head. "Don't say that," he insisted.

+ +

"Say what?" Tom mumbled, coming awake. He shivered violently, + strangled down a cough. Doug was blinking dopily. He sniffed and a + thin trickle on his lip disappeared.

+ +

"Is Billy okay?" he asked. Danny shrugged.

+ +

"I think so. I haven't heard anything."

+ +

"Doug, can you reach the end of the wire," Corky asked. He + couldn't see past Tom and Danny.

+ +

"No. I tried last night." Doug's voice was just sift hiss, + barely above a whisper. In the silence of the valley, it sounded + loud, too loud. "It's out of reach."

+ +

"Give it another go," Corky said. He was stretching to see if + his fingers could reach the root where the end of the baling twine + was tied. His hand got to within six inches, but no amount of + straining would expand the wire the way they'd been able to stretch + the twine. It had been looped, right over left, then left over + right, so even if they had risked trying to spin to unravel it, the + turns around their necks would only have tightened with every turn. + Doug tried once more, but couldn't get close. He was pulled away to + the right, arm stretched out, face twisted into a toothy grimace. + His outreaching fingers flexed in the air as he pulled as far as + possible, reaching the very limit of give in the wire. He pulled + further and his leg slipped on the wet grass, shooting right out in + front of him. His toe hit the canvas back which slid away with a + tinny clank. Doug slipped back with a sudden, surprised gulp, + pulling them all downwards with the drag on the wire. Tom gasped + and tried to ease the stricture at his neck and Doug scrambled + backwards to get to a sitting position before his air was cut off + completely.

+ +

"Doug," Danny hissed. "Don't move." This came out in a harsh + rasp and despite the discomfort, Doug immediately froze.

+ +

"What is it?" he managed to get out.

+ +

"Look." Danny said urgently. "At your feet." Doug got to his + elbows and looked down at his outstretched foot. The old torn bag + was only a foot or so from his toe.

+ +

"Can't see," Corky said, straining to edge past Danny who leaned + back just an inch or two, as much as he could. His breathing was + now coming fast, excited.

+ +

"Bloody hell. It's been there all night," Corky almost snarled + in an anger that boiled up on a sudden swell of hope.

+ +

"Can you get it,?" Danny asked, hardly daring to speak, hardly + daring to hope at all. Doug looked up at him, brows puckered up in + a puzzled from of incomprehension. Danny nodded at the bag.

+ +

"The tools!"

+ +

Light dawned. Doug's brows shot right up to disappear under his + fringe of blond hair and his mouth dropped open. Tom started to + shake again and suddenly the air was charged with that enormous, + unbearable and brittle tension. Danny sensed time beginning to + stretch out again on the surge of adrenaline and he felt all of his + senses crystallise to glassy sharpness.

+ +

Doug lowered himself back down to the grass again and stretched + his foot outwards. His toe touched the bag and he grinned + hugely.

+ +

"Easy," Corky hissed. Doug stretched and the bag moved.

+ +

"Can you hook it?" Danny asked, now feeling the panic rise up + once more. Doug nodded, grunted, stretched until the wire was + pulling right under his chin, digging in so far it was just a black + line, as if his head had been cut off and stuck back again. A white + bubble appeared from his nose, burst silently, and a lick of + spittle flecked his lip where his teeth bit in tight. He + concentrated in pushing and on ignoring the sudden hot strangle on + his neck. They all watched in an agony of needing, each of them + focused on that outstretched scuffed canvas boot that had seen + plenty of better days. The toe got to the edge of the bag, barely + to the corner. Doug made a low grunting sound that was all effort + and concentration. The bag moved two inches, turning on the wet + grass as it did so. Doug's foot slipped on the corner, came + whipping across the side and the bag slid away. Doug fell back + heavily. They all heard the creak of the wire. Tom, still shaking + with the wound-up tension, reached quickly and eased him up before + he really did choke.

+ +

Danny's heart sank like a stone. The bag had pushed out of + reach, beyond Doug's ability to get his toe around it again and + ease it backwards towards them.

+ +

"Shit," Danny blurted. Corky said nothing. He was suddenly + desperate to get the bag, to get a last chance, because he knew + with complete conviction that this would be the last time, + and that the crazy man with the twitchy eyes would do something + terrible today. Today would be the end.

+ +

Just then, right at that moment, a movement downstream caught + Danny's eye. He his head and, and the others caught the sudden + motion.

+ +

The heron came flapping down into the valley. It skirted the + tall trees and swooped along the rim, stirring the silken gossamer + spiderwebs with its passing. They sparkled and gleamed in the + slanted rays of the rising sun, like filamented jewels. The big + grey bird swerved, banked, then swooped low, over the top of the + pooling mist close by the trees, then beat its wings slowly as it + came flying upstream towards them.

+ +

"No," Danny hushed. The heron followed the line of the stream, + curving round at an angle at the point where Corky had been felled + at the shallows of the lower pool. They all sat like stone and all + Danny could think about was that harsh alarm call. If it cried out + it would wake the man, wake Twitchy Eyes and they wouldn't have a + chance.

+ +

The bird came flapping onwards. They could see the yellow of its + eye, fixed and unblinking, and heard the low whoosh of its broad, + slow wings. Danny waited, more acutely aware of the danger than the + others. The heron had startled him and made him stumble up there on + the high slope. His back still flared with the burn of the swollen + skin.

+ +

"Shhhh." He hushed at it, as if speaking to a child, as if he + could will it to silence.

+ +

It came level with them, twisted in the air, as if suddenly + aware of their presence, though none of them had moved a muscle. It + veered sharply, pounding hard to gain height. Danny knew it would + call out: Kaark-kaaark, knew that his bad luck would be + back again, and final too.

+ +

But it did not call out. The sweep of its wings trembled the + three feathers of its dead mate in the mist at the waterfall, + making them flutter like flags and then it was gone, beyond their + line of vision, beyond the low ridge where they sat under the + roots. Corky breathed out.

+ +

"Try again," he almost snarled. "Go again Doug." All he could + think about was the big pair of insulated pliers that Phil had + jammed in with the rest of his stash. They could cut through mild + steel. They could cut through baling twine, no bother at all.

+ +

Doug tried again. He lowered himself back down again until he + was lying almost flat, hands out to the side to brace himself. His + foot went out to its full extent. He closed his eyes and gritted + those teeth again. Me made a little squeaking sound of effort and + his long, bony frame seemed to elongate even further. Tom's eyes + flicked from his foot to the wire around his neck, wondering how + much more pressure Doug could take. Doug's face went red, then + almost purple, shading down by degrees. He hooked his toe again, + got it to the bag. Jerked. It slipped again.

+ +

Tom sighed in dismay. Corky said something under his breath that + sounded like a curse. Doug did not give up. He stretched even + further, now making a gurgling sound in the back of his throat. His + foot snicked the side of the bag and the old canvas handle flopped + right down from the top side to land on top of his toe. Danny's + heart was fluttering like a bird's, all out of control. He could + feel the need to pant for breath, countered by the equally powerful + compulsion to hold it in. Doug concentrated so hard his face was + twisted as if it had been mashed. He eased his foot back and up. + The loop of the handle followed, drew upwards tight. Tom could see + the wet canvas slipping over the rubber toe of the old baseball + boot. Doug must have felt it and made a momentous decision. He + kicked upwards. Something in the bag clunked again, muffled under + the canvas and the bag itself came right up off the ground.

+ +

For a heartbeat, it looked as if it would go tumbling off and + land on top of the tent. Tom almost wailed in dismay. But at the + very last moment, Doug managed to get enough purchase to flick it + backwards. It took all of his strength and as soon as that + manoeuvre was finished, he flopped back, gasping for breath, Tom + got his hands to the wire and slid his fingers between the metal + and Doug's neck. Doug's face was suffused and swollen.

+ +

The bag came flipping backwards and hit Corky square on his + chest with a heavy thud, hard enough to jar him backwards. Despite + the sudden punch on his ribs, the joyful expression on Corky's face + was incandescent. He raised his knees, almost reflexively, to + prevent the bag from falling back, managing to cup it on his lap. + He got a hand to the catch, loosened it with two blurring + movements, dived his hand inside. For a scary split second, his + mouth dropped open blankly as he fumbled inside, then lit up again. + He drew his hand out, gripping the thick red pliers like a + weapon.

+ +

Danny breathed out, sucked air back in again. "You flippin' + beauty," he managed to mouth. He lifted the bag from Corky's lap + and opened it out. A few tent pegs remained, along with the + ballpeen hammer they'd used to stick them into the turf. Doug's + catapult lay in the bottom, along with Phil's old airgun. He took + them out and laid them on the grass, searching for something else + to cut the wire. There was nothing.

+ +

Corky raised the pliers up to the braid, gritting his teeth.

+ +

Before he even got a chance to squeezes, something shook the + tent. A dull knocking sound came from inside, muffled by the + fabric. The man snorted, as if just coming awake.

+ +

They all froze, nerves suddenly jangling, wound up tight as + banjo strings.

+ +

The man's deep voice rolled out, though they couldn't make out + the words. Corky's expression was suddenly stony and desolate, he + was still sitting with both hands cocked up, gripping the inside + jaws of the pliers against the twist of wire.

+ +

Bad luck, Danny thought, almost saying the words aloud. + The heron had woken the man, somehow warning him of their escape + attempt. Without thinking, he twisted his head round to look at the + other heron's skull hanging in Billy's collection, what the man + called his altar, half expecting the yellow eyes to be glaring at + him mockingly. A flicker of white caught his eye. For an instant he + couldn't make it out, then saw what it was. Pages of a book had + been stuck to the spread of stag horns. Each page had been pierced + with a sharp tine and left there like flags.

+ +

In that moment Danny realised it was the pages of the bible, + pinned by horn and in the same moment he realised that Corky would + indeed be proved right. The man had torn pages of the bible and + left them when he had killed people. He must have torn them last + night in the dark, over by the skulls where he spoke to the + shadows, talking to a man who wasn't there. If he'd torn the pages + out, then he must be going to really do it.

+ +

"Oh Jeez," he muttered. Corky looked at him. Tom was cringing in + again for heat or comfort or protection and Danny felt he had none + left to give. An emptiness yawned. Doug just stared at the tent, + like that rabbit with the stoat.

+ +

Another rumble came out, very low. Billy said something. It + sounded like a question. The man repeated whatever he said and + Billy whimpered. Doug's teeth ground together like glass beads. A + segment at the side of the tent bulged slowly and the whole thing + shivered. The slit opened, expanding like a cat's eye and something + white flashed in the interior darkness.

+ +

There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth...the words + came back to Danny and he tried to shuck them away.

+ +

Doug jerked so hard that the wire creaked. Inside Danny the huge + tidal wave of panic and utter dread was swelling to an enormous + pressure. Both temples were pounding to the twisting beat of his + heart. Tom was shaking once more, a human tuning fork.

+ +

Corky put the pliers down onto the grass and for a moment the + others wondered what he was doing. Very quickly he reached down, + gripped the bottom of his shirt and hauled it up and over his head. + A small green button flew off to the side and landed silently in + the grass. Corky, working blind, placed the shirt up and over the + braid of wire. He reached for the pliers, got them in under the + bundled garment, wrapped the whole fabric tight around it so that + both hands were hidden from view. The realisation struck Danny and + his surge of panic subsided under the fierce blast of admiration + for Corky's practical thinking.

+ +

Corky closed his eyes, as if in prayer. His stocky shoulders + flexed, tanned and muscular. Up under his shirt, a metallic click + jarred out, very loud in their ears, too loud. As soon as the jaws + of the pliers cut the wire and met, all Corky heard was the sound + of the shotgun's firing pin slamming down on the empty chamber. The + sounds were almost identical. A flare of anger suddenly seared + inside him. Without any hesitation, he unrolled the shirt, put the + pliers down and got his fingers to the braid of wire, working at + the twists to unravel them. They jangled musically, but in only a + few seconds, he had reached the braid at his neck, spun the wires + and was free. The thin strands dropped away with a slight + vibration.

+ +

There was no hesitation now. Danny was jittering, feet moving up + and down on the turf in a frantic little dance that was close to + hysteria. Corky got to his knees, twisted, brought his shirt up + again. Danny could see he had two bruises on his ribs, the size of + fists, where he had fallen when the man kicked him. His eyes were + alight and alive and suddenly glittering with determination and + anger. He insulated the pliers again in the roll of shirt, squeezed + hard. The metal snicked again, more quietly than before, right in + against Danny's neck. He felt all the braids part in a snap. One of + the edges stuck into the skin of his neck with a needle burn, but + there was no pain and no blood.

+ +

Over in the tent, the man snored or snorted again, like a pig in + a thicket.

+ +

Quickly yet very deliberately, Corky moved past Danny, did the + same for Tom, moved on and snapped the cutting jaws down to free + Doug who raised his hands up to his neck. The bite of the metal had + left a thin, fierce red mark, exactly as if his head had been stuck + back on again.

+ +

The tent vibrated. Maybe the man had rolled his weight against + the nearest pole.

+ +

"What about Billy?" Tom asked in a tight little whisper.

+ +

Leave him! Danny's first, dreadful thought bubbled up + before he had time to get a hold of it and stuff it back down. + We could get away! Corky looked at them all, his eyes now + more green than grey, his chest heaving. He put his cord shirt back + on, pulling it fast over his head. Sweat was dripping from his brow + and soaking his cows-lick hair into little spikes.

+ +

"We have to get him," Doug said, and it was probably the + bravest, the most selfless thing, that any of them had ever heard. + Billy and Doug had always been at loggerheads, were forever sniping + at each other. On the last night before the twitchy-eyed stranger + had appeared, they had savaged one another, stripping each of a + protective coat, using a dreadful and devastating knowledge as + weapons. Now, in one short phrase, Doug Nicol redeemed anything he + had said in a display of the most selfless and courageous + altruism.

+ +

Danny bit down on the shameless little voice of unreasoning + fear.

+ +

Corky raised a finger to his lips, quite superfluously + demonstrating the need for silence. He moved like an Indian, feet + making no sound, away from the little ridge where they'd sat all + night, first towards the corner where Billy's old sheath knife had + been thrown. He picked it up, jammed it into his belt, and then + came half-way back again. The mist by the stream was almost gone, + trailing its way downstream as the sun rose. Danny got a flash of + iridescence from up on the east ridge where the gossamer sparkled + in sunlight that was risen over on the moor. The morning grey was + already melting to blue.

+ +

Without any hesitation, Corky moved, deliberately but stealthily + towards the pile of logs they'd hauled up from the trees.

+ +

Over in the tent, the noise came louder. A bulky shape of a + shoulder pushed against the wall of the tent. The man was awake. Or + he was waking.

+ +

Tom was still shaking, looking around them in confusion and + fear, wondering what to do.

+ +

Corky lifted a thick spruce branch that had been pulled out from + the trunk and had a heavy knot at the thick end. Most of the + branches were that shape, because the limbs always split away like + that when a tall conifer falls. He hefted it like a club, which + indeed it was. Danny realised what he intended and hurried across, + denying and defying the creepy little voice that ordered him to + run, to get up that slope and over the top and away home. He + reached the firewood pile, selected a thick branch a yard long, + pulled it out. The rest of the branches tumbled to the side in a + scuffle of wood. Everybody froze yet again. Over in the tent, there + was a silence, only for a few seconds. The man snorted again. A + round shape, up from the shoulder, bulged the canvas, moving in + slow rhythm

+ +

Corky crept up again, holding the branch like a twisted baseball + bat. He got to the side where the slit opened and close to the + pushing of the shape inside. He bent down, suddenly tense, like a + squat hunter facing a leery, spooked and dangerous beast that could + charge out from a thicket. Inside, in the shadows, he saw movement. + There was the red of Billy's tee-shirt and beyond that the curve of + a thick elbow. The one tattooed word stood out clearly, even in the + shadow.

+ +

He stood up, turned to them. He nodded very solemnly across the + short distance, and they saw his eyes were set like polished + stones, glaring with a light of their own. His mouth drew back at + the edges until his gritted teeth could be clearly seen. He eased + the branch forward, head nodding a little to some beat only he + could hear. Danny realised he was timing it with the motion inside + the tent.

+ +

"Fucking bastard," he grated in a low, hoarse voice, swinging + the heavy branch up and then down in a fast arc, putting all of his + strength into it. The heavy knot of wood at the club-end slammed + against the rounded curve which pushed out against the fabric.

+ +

A noise like a pistol shot cracked out, a sharp shock in the + charged air. Corky's club splintered and the thick end broke off + and went spinning away towards the undergrowth, making a whirring + sound, like dragonflies wings, as it flew. On the other side of the + canvas, a deep, somehow mindless groan rumbled out. The rounded + hump in the fabric slid down towards the ground. Billy whimpered, + high and quivering. Danny stepped past Corky who was standing there + with only the shaft of his stick in his hands. He raised his own + club, slammed it down on the shape. It was not as loud as the first + whiplash crack, but duller, somehow deadly. Another groan, more a + whoosh of expelled air, followed. Danny felt his club strike + something hard which moved only a little with the blow. Again he + remembered the sound of the bullocks down in the slaughterhouse + chamber when the malletmen fired the bolt into their brains.

+ +

The tent quivered. A violent blow rocked it and then there was a + thud and the sound of splintering wood. Something snapped the far + upright and the whole thing tilted, caving in at one side, + billowing at the side where Danny had cut the escape slit. Billy's + hand reached out, palm down, then withdrew. He cried out. Two of + the ropes snapped with sudden high, almost musical notes and a + tent-peg came shooting out of the ground to spin right over the + tent and land by the circle of stones round the cold fire. The + canvas pulled away from the groundsheet. The butt of the shotgun + lay half exposed.

+ +

Tom grabbed the gun. He stood there for strange a moment, + baffled and undecided. The tent collapsed with a sudden snap of + more ropes. The man was groaning now, really groaning, + like an animal. The sound was deadly and awful, even more mindless + than before. A large hand appeared under the frame of the bottom + edge, fingers spread wide. A shape slumped against the billowing + side. Billy's legs, feet still in his baseball boots, were sticking + out on the front side, knees scrabbling for purchase. Tom spun the + gun around, so that it was butt first and ran in, now moving + quickly and smoothly. He raised it up, swung it hard. The edge + slammed the head-shape.

+ +

And the gun roared.

+ +

The noise was like sudden, catastrophic thunder, this close in + and in the confines between the tent and the hollow. Tom felt an + enormous punch jar though his arm. He felt the sear of fire from + the end of the barrel as the shot belched scant inches away from + his side. By a sheer miracle, when the butt connected, both barrels + in his hands had not been pointing directly at him. The shot would + have cut him in half. The gun jumped out of his hands.

+ +

Less than twenty yards away, the rotten deer's skull and its + decoration of bible pages, exploded into fragments as the spread of + shot knocked it straight out of the hawthorn branches. The white + sheep's head tumbled down and cracked against a hard rock, + splitting into two halves. The heron's pointed head disappeared, + along with half the foliage from the tree. The altar, in one + cataclysmic blast, was gone.

+ +

The roar of the gun echoed on and on, as it had the first time, + crackling in their ears. In the ruins of the tent, the twitchy eyed + stranger slumped down to the ground. Tom stood transfixed, face now + white as the quartz. Corky ran in, grabbed the gun, turned it + around and put the barrel down to the hidden head, jamming it right + against where the ear would be.

+ +

Billy came out of the fallen tent, crawling fast. Danny saw his + face. It was blank and awful. There was a streak of dark on his + leg.

+ +

"See how you like it, you crazy fucking bastard!" Corky + grated, not screaming, but low and straight and somehow deadly. + When he swore, he really meant it. He held steady, squeezed the + trigger. All of them, except Billy who was still stumbling to his + feet, now dumbly trying to get into his jeans, braced themselves + for the close blast.

+ +

Nothing happened. The hammer clicked again on the empty chamber. + The metallic sound was not as loud as it had seemed the first time. + The man was groaning loudly now, and rocking about under the + canvas, blundering his way around. Corky looked at the gun as if + he'd been betrayed, standing stock still for several seconds. Then + he moved, broke it open, looked into the empty chambers.

+ +

"Only had one shell," he said. Danny felt a sudden seethe of + resentment against Tom for wasting the last one, but it died + instantly. Corky dropped the gun. The man groaned again, this time + much louder and his head nodded up and down, jammed in against the + corner. A stain of blood spread on the canvas. Danny could smell + it. Billy was on his feet.

+ +

"Kill him," he said in a shivery voice. "Kill him, somebody. + Please."

+ +

The tent rolled to the side and the man's feet could be seen + now, pushing against the trampled grass and ferns, scraping to get + a purchase. He was struggling to get out, groaning and moaning + wordlessly the whole time, like a wounded bull, trying to get free + of the constraint. Doug ran to the fire, picked up a smooth rock in + both hands, came striding back, straight towards the commotion + inside the tent. He raised it up high, using his whole body, + brought it down, crouching as he did. The rock hit something which + snapped like a branch. This time the man roared, like a mad bull. + His legs kicked out. One foot caught Doug on the shin and almost + felled him. The stone rolled away.

+ +

"Kill him," Billy quavered, very softly, but as powerful as any + shriek. "Kill him."

+ +

Doug backed off to stand beside Tom who was holding on to Danny. + Corky ran forward, tugging at the knife at his belt, leapt upon the + humping shape. They could see his elbow jerk back. Once, twice, + three times, each movement followed by a forward punch and a + sudden, thudding sound. The canvas blossomed a flower of dark, wet + sheen.

+ +

The man's roar stopped dead. He led out a long wavering moan + that tailed away.

+ +

"Jesus, oh fuckin' Jesus God." This from Doug who stood there, + mouth agape. Corky backed of. Everything stopped for several + seconds. The man's feet went still. His shape, rolled up in the + bundle of canvas lay long and prone. The blood formed a patch a + handspan wide at the far end. Halfway down, an even wider patch + glistened and spread very quickly.

+ +

"Is he dead? Is he dead?" Billy was asking. He'd pulled his + jeans up, but Danny could still smell the blood on him, and the + cold, stale sweat of the stranger. His face was strangely slack, as + if all the nerves had gone to sleep, but his eyes were dark and + feral, almost the way the twitchy man's had been when he looked at + the brightness in the water.

+ +

He spun, crossed to the bag, grabbed up the ballpeen hammer that + lay on the grass and ran towards the prone man. He raised it up and + slammed it down, not aiming, just hitting. It made meaty thuds + where it landed. Billy's arm raised up and plunged down half a + dozen times, before he stumbled back, panting very hard. He stood + up, eyes fixed at first on the still shape.

+ +

Everybody turned to look at Billy. For a moment, he was fixed on + the prostrate form, as if he wanted to continue, to keep on hitting + with the hammer. A trickle of saliva drooled from his mouth and in + that moment, he looked completely mad. After a moment, he dropped + the hammer. He backed off, and then realised they were all looking + at him. An odd flicker crossed his face. Danny recognised it as + deep and devastating shame and his heart went out to him. Corky put + a hand out and touched him on the shoulder, the way Tom had done to + himself on the night of the big argument. It was just a touch, but + it said a huge amount. In his other hand, Corky held the knife. + Despite what he had done with it, the blade was surprisingly + clean.

+ +

There was a silence for a long moment.

+
+
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+
+

33

+ +

Corky stuck the knife back in the loop of his belt. His chest + was heaving up and down with the huge effort. They were all panting + like wolves after a long chase and a desperate fight. They were + stunned to immobility at the enormity of what they had done. The + stain spread on the canvas. Some blood pooled where the grass had + been flattened by the groundsheet. It was surprisingly dark.

+ +

"Jesus God," Doug finally murmured, awe-struck.

+ +

"Is he dead?" Billy whispered. His face was still white and + bloodless. His hands were now trembling, fluttering like birds. + Tom's mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound came out.

+ +

"Hope so," Corky said, with awful grim finality. "Come on. We'd + better get out of here."

+ +

"What about him?" Danny asked. "We can't just leave him, can + we?"

+ +

"Why not?" Doug said. "He's going nowhere." He went to the bag + and picked up his slingshot and the gun. He handed the pistol to + Tom who took it soundlessly and let it dangle from his hand.

+ +

"We should burn him," Billy said and they all stopped. "We + should make a fire and burn him. Nobody would ever know." Danny + looked at him and recognised the bleak and terrible shame at what + the man had done to him in the tent.

+ +

"What do you think, Corky?" Doug asked, deferring now. They had + all hit, all of them. But Corky had been the first, and then he'd + gone in with the knife to make sure, right up close, man to + man, where he could actually touch the twitchy eyed madman, + stabbing through the canvas sheet.

+ +

Corky turned and his face was still hard and set, bleaker even + than Billy's. He was considering the best option. His eyes stared + into the far distance, his mouth drawn down. After a while he + nodded.

+ +

"That might be the best idea," he said. "Get all the gear + together."

+ +

Without hesitation, no arguing now, they starred collecting + their haversacks, trying not to look at the collapsed tent and the + butterfly bloodstain on the fabric, but unable to keep their + glances from straying. It pulled them like a magnet. Doug put the + hammer back in the bag. "What about the tent?"

+ +

"It stays. Burn it all. Phil can swipe another," Corky said. His + voice was distant and somehow coldly implacable. They'd never use + the tent again.

+ +

Tom stuck the gun in his own belt-loop and gingerly approached + the rumple of canvas where the pole had broken and speared right + through the top. His own bag was lying half concealed by the old + groundsheet, tucked on the grass that had been blanched by the four + days without sunlight. He reached, got a hand to the strap, pulled, + but the bag stayed where it was. He lifted a torn flap, found the + strap was looped round the bottom of the broken spar and reached to + free it when the whole tent suddenly bucked. Tom's feet were pulled + from under him and he fell on top of the pile.

+ +

A hellish roar boomed out, the huge bellow of a wild beast. Tom + squawked in alarm and Billy got such a shock he stumbled backwards + and tripped over the rock Doug had used as a weapon.

+ +

The man screamed, in anger or in pain, none of them could tell. + A hand clawed out, clamped itself on the first thing it touched. It + was Tom's leg. The fingers gripped like a vice and Tom yelled out + in real pain and awful fright. His left leg kicked out at the + wrist, trying to break free.

+ +

Corky ran forward on the far side, grabbed the gun, raised it up + quickly and slammed it down on the bucking shape. He couldn't reach + the hand that was holding Tom, otherwise the blow would easily have + broken a wrist. The harsh and ragged roar cut off instantly and the + fingers snapped open. The shape under the canvas rolled and Tom had + to scramble out of the way. Both feet were now out from the + encumbrance, digging into the ground as the man tried to force + himself up to his knees. Despite the blood, he was twisting and + turning with incredible strength.

+ +

He bellowed, a howl of fury, clawed his way out of the far end + until his head pushed through the rent in the fabric. One eye was + horribly slumped as if the whole eyebrow and half the + cheekbone had caved in. It made him seem to look in two different + directions. Blood was streaming from both nostrils and his mouth + was dripping both blood and saliva. He was snarling now, jerking + from side to side to free himself from the restraint and he fixed + his good eye on Corky, who backed away fast.

+ +

Doug and Tom had backed further and faster, right to the edge of + the stream. Danny was helping Billy to his feet, scared almost + witless, but still able to feel the jittery vibration that was + making Billy's whole body quiver like a bowstring.

+ +

There were no words now, just the guttural, feral snarl of the + man they'd thought was dead. The fact that he had come alive again, + was even more frightening. It made him, despite the appalling dent + in his head and the pooling of the blood on the hard ground, + somehow invincible and indestructible. He was fighting his way out, + now halfway to his feet, one hand and arm completely free. He + pushed violently and the canvas ripped with a high whine. Doug + backed into Tom who almost fell into the stream. The man pointed at + Corky, still grunting and snarling, pointed straight at him. The + threat was shockingly eloquent.

+ +

The other hand came up now, and in it was a large knife they had + not seen before. Corky saw it flash in the morning light. It looked + like a butcher's knife. The blade came down and slashed at the + canvas, slitting it like paper.

+ +

Corky turned, pushed at Danny and Billy. "Run," he bawled. Tom + and Dog needed no urging. They went pattering across the stream, + sending up spray. Danny and Billy followed, moving fast, crossed + the water in four strides and got up the low bank on the far side. + Behind them, the man was screeching now, his mad fury echoing from + the high sides in a stuttering reverberation of noise.

+ +

Up the bank and along the low path on the far side, they + scrambled, now panicked into flight. The crazy man had the knife + now and no matter what had happened, they were still just boys. + Danny pushed at Billy who was whimpering now. A dark stain had + appeared on the seat of Billy's jeans and Danny realised it was + blood. He urged him on, and behind him, Corky was trying to get + them to go faster. He shoved him in the back, sending a howl of + pain down the length of Danny's spine.

+ +

They got to the track that led up the narrow gully. Doug reached + the broad part first, and despite his fear, he risked a look back. + The man was right out of the ruined tent now, half naked, with his + dirty jeans pooled around his feet. He hauled them up, still + snarling, and somehow managed to fasten them without dropping the + knife. As soon as he finished that motion, he was moving, running + across the turf, over the ridge where he'd sat with Billy roped to + the shotgun, down the shallow bank and started across the stream. + They all heard the splashing of his progress and Tom yelped in + panic.

+ +

"Move!" Corky bawled. "Come on. We can go faster than him."

+ +

Whether he believed that was another matter, but he urged them + all on, up the slope. He knew that if they couldn't kill the a man + with the hammer and the clubs and the stone while he was rolled up + and trapped in the tent, or if he wouldn't die with a knife blade + stabbed three times into him, they had no chance when he was on his + feet and crazier still with pain and anger. He sounded like a + wounded tiger and Corky had read all the stories about wounded + animals. He looked up at the top of the ridge, estimated the sounds + of splashing behind him, gauged the distance.

+ +

They might make it. They just might.

+ +

Doug, followed by Tom, were on the broad turn into the gully + where they'd discovered the backed up lake behind the narrow cleft. + Here the slope was very steep and the track narrowed to six inches, + the kind of groove sheep make when they climb to the high pasture, + or down to the stream for a drink. The grit was dry and powdery, + occasionally broken by a line of pale hard mudstone which gave + firmer footing, but the surface still kept slipping from under + their feet.

+ +

Billy made the flat and got to the track, Danny pushing him all + the way, with Corky right on their heels. The man was about forty + yards behind them, now snarling words which were all jammed + together until they were totally incomprehensible. None of the + fleeing boys mistook their content.

+ +

They scampered across the steepening slope, traversing it, + moving like startled roe-deer. Even Billy was going at a rate. He + was sobbing now, in fear and despair, and if Danny hadn't been at + his back, goading him like a mule-driver, he could have collapsed + in terror and waited for the end.

+ +

The gully took a turn here, allowing them a downhill run first + of all to scutter across the shallow rivulet and up the far side + which was steeper than this one. They all went down in a tight + line, panting for breath, using the momentum to get as far up the + other side as they could. Shale and grit slid out from under them. + Tom slid back two yards and Doug stopped in his flight, leaned + back, bracing his foot on a stone slab, to haul him back again.

+ +

The man came lumbering round the bend. Danny glanced back, saw + the red stain on his side, just under the curve of ribs. Blood was + soaking the waistband of the jeans. The caved-in face looked even + more insane, like a monstrous gargoyle, but the man was still + coming after them. Danny's heart tried to leap into his mouth and + an awful pounding started up in his temples again. His foot slipped + and he lost some height. Corky blocked him, preventing him sliding + further and pushed hard, getting him back up again.

+ +

They clambered up the slope, now so steep that one wrong step + would tumble them down. The whole face was slipping and sliding + with the vibration of their passage. Tiny avalanches of shale + hissed and whispered, dislodged to trickle down towards the + rivulet. By sheer luck and sheer determination, they got closer to + the top. Beyond the fringe of bracken at the edge, there was a + grassy corrie that went back for several yards to a hollow + rock-filled basin before another much steeper climb up onto the + moor.

+ +

Doug made it to the lip, clambered over, turned, hauled Tom up + with one brutal and surprisingly strong heave that flipped him + right up from the slope to land on his belly. Billy reached up. + Doug clasped the hand in his own in a desperate handshake. He + braced himself for Billy's weight, leaned back, grunted, and + dragged the heavy boy up to the flat. Corky pushed Danny up and + Danny then turned, offered his hand. Corky took both it and Doug's. + Together they heaved him over. Down the slope, just crossing the + rivulet, the man came blundering on, still ranting at the top of + his voice.

+ +

Corky quickly spun round, searched the flat turf. Over by the + next steep wall he found a hand-sized piece of mudstone which he + grabbed and hefted. Danny picked up a thick stick that had fallen + from one of the trees that had managed to find root on the almost + sheer face. He turned. Corky braced himself, pivoted on one foot on + a movement just like a baseball pitcher, and lobbed the stone. It + whirred audibly in the air, spinning at it flew.

+ +

It missed by a good yard and the man ignored it. Corky turned + away, pushed Doug. "Come on," he yelled. Tom had crossed the flat + and down into a little dip of a hollow at the base of the corrie + and was just beginning to go up the slope. Small stones rolled out + from under his feet. Danny crossed to the edge. The man was only + thirty yards behind them now, almost vertically below them. He + swung the curved branch in an easy loop and winged it downwards. It + spun like a boomerang, spun like the stick that had dropped the + heron out of the sky.

+ +

It took the man right on the side of the head, where his eyebrow + and cheekbones were caved in and knocked him backwards. The man's + hands shot out and the knife spun away. He peeled away from the + shale face the way Danny had done, but he only fell backwards onto + the soft scree of the lower slope, his shoulders digging into the + gravel. Particles of shale dropped on top of him and glued + themselves to the slick trail of blood on his side and on the top + of his jeans.

+ +

"Great shot," Corky gasped. He favoured Danny with a look of + rueful admiration, gave him a quick, desperate grin. "Come on now. + Let's go." Danny backed away from the edge, still hoping that the + man might had broken his back in the fall, but even before Corky + hauled him back, across the level area of the little corrie towards + the far face and the last climb, he saw the man shake himself and + roll over, stumbling to his knees, to his feet. He scraped away the + shale where the knife had landed, uncovered it, snarled even more + ferally and came on, pushing his way up the slope. Danny had gained + them maybe twenty yards.

+ +

The final climb was a killer, but it was the only way to the + top. Here the slope was powdery soft, up at the height where there + was no drain-water to bind it. Pieces of mudstone flipped out and + went rolling down under their feet, but there was no other way to + go. This part of the climb narrowed in at an angle to the place + where they'd played before. The rock on each side of the angle were + sheer and offered no handholds save the gnarled and dead roots of + old hawthorn trees that hadn't survived the impossibly precarious + hold, but they were too far apart, and would probably pull out of + the anchorages at the first tug. The only way up was on the steep + gravel slope where they could dig their feet in for purchase and + push and haul at each other.

+ +

It was hard going. The first climb had tired them all out, and + the fear and panic inside them was even more exhausting. Tom, + smallest, weakest of them all, was beginning to flag. His knees + were shaking so violently he was convinced he'd simply pitch off + the side and go tumbling down to the scattered scree rocks in the + corrie. He was breathing hard and fast, hauling for air. Behind him + Doug sounded like the old pair of bellows in the organ in the + church hall. Some thick saliva had stuck at the back of his throat + and was making a little musical monotone. He kept pushing at Tom, + forcing him on, getting him higher.

+ +

Billy was struggling now because his heavier weight crushed the + shale footholds to powder and made it easier for him to slip + backwards but Danny and Corky shoved at him, holding him up. Danny + could smell the blood on him. Billy was whimpering in between + breaths, loud and blubbery.

+ +

Up and over. Up and over. The litany was going through + Danny's head, the way it had done when he tried to climb the last + time, before the heron startled him and sent the rock crashing down + to wake the man and wake the gun. His back was burning now, rasping + with the scrape of his tee-shirt across the skin, but it was only + hot, not agony. He and Corky were almost level, clambering up as + best they could while goading Billy on.

+ +

Tom got to the top. This time he made it over the high edge with + a desperate shove from Doug. He turned to help Doug over, stopped + and pointed straight down.

+ +

"Come on, Danny. Move!" His high-pitched cry was urgent + and fearful. Danny couldn't risk looking back. He could hear the + man's growling, not speaking any more, but just making savage + snarling sounds in the back of his throat. If Tom could see him, + that meant he was over the corrie edge and heading for the slope. + Danny felt the unbearable urge to stop and look, just in case the + man was on the slope. His muscles wanted to freeze solid. + He felt like the rabbit hunted by the stoat.

+ +

"Move it, Danny boy," Corky said through gritted teeth. "We can + make it."

+ +

Up at the top, Tom and Doug were bawling, jumping up and down, + so close to the edge that one stumble would tumble them down to the + corrie again, to land them right at the man's feet. They were + yelling desperate encouragement. Billy was ten yards from the lip, + almost completely exhausted. It was getting harder for the others + to push him.

+ +

The sneaky little coward's voice tried to over-ride the litany + inside Danny's head.

+ +

Leave him! We can make it!

+ +

He tried to ignore it despite the huge surge of fear at the + knowledge that Twitchy Eyes was right behind him with that + big butcher's knife in his hand, ready to cut and slice the way + he'd cut and sliced Don Whalen and that girl in the dark of the + bomb shelter. And underneath it all was the paralysing dread that + the man was unstoppable; that he would not tire, that he'd keep on + coming. Danny recalled the almighty crack of the club on the man's + head, a devastating blow that should have felled anybody, and yet + despite the caved in bone and the slump of his head, he + was still after them, like a monster from some terrible myth.

+ +

Up and over. The top edge was ten yards away. Leave + him. We can make it. He pushed on, felt Corky's hand on his + back. Up and over. Jesus please us, oil and grease + us. Nine yards, eight. Corky slid back and Danny got him by + the waist band. The knife wobbled in its makeshift holder, but + stayed put. Danny pushed him hard and Corky gained a yard. The edge + loomed. Behind him, the growling was getting louder as the man saw, + with his one good eye, that they would reach it before he caught + them. Tom and Doug could see him about a hundred feet behind. He + had taken a run at the slope, slipped, fallen several feet and + started up from a standstill just above the little scoop of the + hollow.

+ +

Billy got to the top. Both boys dragged him over, with the other + two pushing from behind. He got over, flopped and lay still, his + feet sticking out over the drop. Danny made it, helped Corky up, + crawled forward through the couch grass, fingers snatching at the + tussocks to pull himself along. His chest ached with the shale dust + that had rasped his windpipe and lungs. He was panting like an + animal. Corky fell beside him, retched violently, but brought + nothing up.

+ +

"Come on," Doug begged. "Corky. Danny. Come on + now."

+ +

"Get up Billy," Tom was cajoling on the other side. Billy was + gabbling, unable to speak, arms flapped out on each side, as if all + of this strength had gone. He looked finished. Tom hauled his + exposed feet over the edge and onto the grass, Billy twisted, + turning his face up to the sky.

+ +

The morning sun was just rising into the blue over the slope of + the high moor and the whole sky was ablaze with light.

+ +

Corky got to his feet, pushing himself with his last reserves. + He went back to the ledge and peered down. The man was less than + seventy feet below them, coming on with dreadful doggedness. He + seemed to have huge reserves and they had drained theirs. Corky + looked back at the long slope of the moor ahead. It was not a huge + climb, but it was still a height and uphill all the way to the + shoulder before the long run down to the barwoods and the old bomb + craters and then down to the edge of town. If he kept on coming, he + could catch them, one or two of them, before the brow.

+ +

"Why doesn't he stop?" he gasped.

+ +

Doug whipped out his catapult and loaded a small stone, pulled, + fired, and hit Twitchy Eyes a glancing blow on the + shoulder. He completely ignored it. Danny dragged Billy to his feet + and pulled his arm round his own shoulder, doing his best to + silence the creepy little voice in his head which told him Billy + wasn't worth it. They staggered along the path towards the tree + whose roots overhung the steep ravine where they'd played + before.

+ +

Below them, the man was snarling again, forcing his way upwards. + Doug could see that his eyes, at least the one eye that looked up + at them, was flickering away with its madness. Fear and fury made + Doug hawk and spit, but nothing came out of his dry mouth. They + were going past the tree, moving as fast as they could, all in a + line, with Danny still helping Billy when Corky suddenly shouted at + them to hold up.

+ +

"We'll never get away, not up there," he said, pointing at the + remorseless rise of the moor. "He'll catch us for certain unless we + stop him."

+ +

"How can we stop him?" Doug wanted to know. "He's got the + knife."

+ +

"What about this?" Tom said, pulling the gun from his waistband. + It had stayed fixed there the whole time they'd climbed, despite + slips and falls.

+ +

Doug grabbed it, pulled the lever which opened it. There was one + slug in the slot, despite the fact that he couldn't remember + anybody loading it since the time Billy had fired one at his + backside and sparked off the big argument. He turned on his heel, + with Corky beside him and went back to the edge. The man had + gained, clambering sideways to traverse the flat, steep face of the + slope, getting right underneath them, the good eye still twitching + madly.

+ +

"Let me," Corky said.

+ +

"You couldn't hit a barn if you were inside it," Doug said, + biting down on his bottom lip. The low morning sun caught his big + cupped ears and made them redly translucent. He closed one eye, + took aim and fired.

+ +

A small crack, like a thin whip, and the gun bucked. The lead + slug, slowed by the weak spring, flicked in the sunlight, just a + blur but it hit the man in the grotesque, damaged eye and he + screeched, clawing up with his free hand. The noise of his bellow + echoed out from the cup of the corrie and right along the valley. + He slid back five yards, and despite whatever pain the pellet had + caused, he still dug in at the shale with the knife to brake his + fall. He bellowed again, turned, and began traversing once + more.

+ +

"Good shot, Doug," Corky said. The gun was empty and there were + no more slugs.

+ +

"We could make it up there," Doug said.

+ +

"You and me and Dan," Corky admitted. "But not Billy or wee Tom. + He'd cut them to bits."

+ +

"Maybe he'll stop."

+ +

"No," Corky said, dreadfully convinced. "This one won't ever + stop. He's a fuckin' devil."

+ +

He pulled back from the edge and went along the track, casting + about for rocks to roll down, but here, the thick turf of the + moorland grass covered everything. There were no rocks here. The + others were at the tree now, where they'd been playing, the three + of them, when the man had stepped across the stream and made Billy + eat the fish. They scurried past, urging the others on, when Danny + held up his hand and stopped them.

+ +

"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the tree.

+ +

The two black weights sat on the thick branches that had been + pulled back from the forked double trunk and tied to the curving + roots.

+ +

"It's the bombs," Tom said. "Come on. Come on."

+ +

"Hells bells," Doug said. Corky moved forward.

+ +

"We can use them," he said. "Brain the bastard." The baling + twine was looped round the branch that had been pulled back so far + that it almost formed a complete circle, and several thick strands + had been needed to lash it to the root. It was four inches thick + and it had taken all their muscle to pull it back to the root. + Corky drew the sheath knife from his belt and started hacking at + the string.

+ +

"You go on," he said, turning to Tom and Billy. The two of them + turned away, but as soon as Corky started sawing at the thick + twine, they stopped. Corky hacked and cut and all the while, over + the edge, they could hear the grunting breath of the man's + progress. Danny could visualise him, covered in blood and shale + dust, his caved eye looking down at his cheek, the knife glinting + in the early morning sun. He could visualise him trailing after + them up the moor, slashing and cutting, hacking away at them, + snarling like a beast all the while.

+ +

"Come on!" he begged Corky, itching to be away, to be off and + running.

+ +

Three strands parted with a machine-gun stutter and the branch + uncoiled by about six inches. Corky cut again, got a fourth string + to break, a fifth. The bomb rolled out of the fork where it had + lain and tumbled to the ground. It started to roll down the + gradient towards the edge.

+ +

"Get it, quick!" Corky yelled. Doug dived, got both hands to the + rolling shape. It slipped, rolled more and he caught it again, + managing to stop it before it flipped uselessly over the side. He + gasped with effort, heaved it back and Corky went to help him. + Together they lifted the heavy, deadly shape into their arms and + together they carried it to the edge. Corky peered down.

+ +

"Where is he?" Doug tried to shrug, but with the weight in his + arms, he failed in the attempt.

+ +

Just at that moment, the sixth and seventh strings broke with a + sudden, unexpected crack and the bent back branch lashed forward, + so violently it smacked against another, thicker bough and the + whole tree shuddered to its roots. Several stones dislodged by the + vibration shot out from under the overhand and went tumbling down + the face. Just then the stranger appeared in to view, round the + little jutting point that had hidden him from up above. He looked + up, saw the small avalanche, pulled back and waited until it was + gone. He was crossing this part of the face, right under the tree, + over the basin of the little corrie, maybe forty feet below + them.

+ +

"I'll tell you when," Corky said. This time Doug nodded. "One + two three and go?"

+ +

Another nod. Doug sniffed. Tom and Billy stood watching, unable + to move.

+ +

The man was crossing the curve now. Corky gauged the distance, + counted it out to himself, then looked at Doug. He counted it aloud + this time, each number accompanied by a swing forward, each swing + greater than the last.

+ +

"Go," Corky bawled. They both grunted with the effort and the + heavy bomb sailed out, fins back. It turned in the air, fins up, + dropped straight down.

+ +

The man looked up, saw the black shape plummet towards him. He + jerked backwards and the bomb missed him by less than a foot. Had + it connected, it would have slammed him right off the slope to + tumble to the rocks below. It might even have killed him.

+ +

But it missed. The man spun, and began to slide slowly + downwards, trying to grab for a hold, but gathering speed, losing + almost all of the height he had gained. He came to rest in a little + pile of accumulated shale, digging into its soft surface.

+ +

Corky said nothing. His disappointment was almost overwhelming. + He spun away from the edge, hands balled into tight fists.

+ +

"Nothing's going to stop him," he grated through teeth that were + clenched into a straight line.

+ +

"Going to get you," the man bellowed up. "Going to get you all. + The flies are going to get every one of you." He laughed, high and + manic, as insane as ever. Doug felt another shiver travel up and + down his spine. Corky ignored the noise. He stormed over to the + tree, raised a hand and slammed it against Billy's chest.

+ +

"I thought I told you to move?" he bawled. Billy took a step + back. "You want him to catch you? Get a bloody move on!"

+ +

Once again, Billy moved back. Corky looked at him, made a little + motion of his head to let Billy know it was just the anger and the + hurt and the madness of it all. He turned back to the tree. The + second bomb was on its own branch which was lashed the same way, to + the thick loop of roots.

+ +

"The next one might work," Corky said. "Want to try it?"

+ +

Danny and Doug both nodded. The beast had slipped down the + slope. They had gained yards. They had gained moments.

+ +

Corky took the knife and cut at the twine as before, sawing back + and forth, peering down between the roots. Below him he could see + the top of the man's head. He was moving on all fours, even more + animal now than before, gabbling non-stop.

+ +

Kill you. Kill all of you. Nothing left. Not a + thing.

+ +

He was right below the tree, gaining some height, close to the + bottom of the slope. The other bomb was about twenty yards to the + right, beyond the lip of the little corrie, lying on its side, two + fins dug into the shale. It looked like a small beched submarine. + Corky sawed and again, three strands stuttered apart. The jerk as + the branch jerked straighter by two inches shook the tree once + more. This time, little stones bulleted out from underneath the + overhang in a series of punchy little flicks. Corky cut again, + reaching out over the drop. As he did so, his foot slipped, just + enough to throw him off balance. Danny reached to grab him by the + collar and stop him falling over the edge.

+ +

The motion altered Corky's swipe with the knife. It swung round + in an arc and caught the pieces binding the branch to the root, + slashing through more than half of them. There was another fast + series of snaps, one after the other, as the thick twine parted in + staccato, ripping sequence. Corky reached out for the bomb which + sat on the branch, thinking he could pull it free.

+ +

Below them Twitchy Eyes was coming, grunting and + yammering. The tree creaked. They could see the branch, arm-thick + and torqued, try to unbend in a slow-motion flex.

+ +

"Corky," Danny bawled. "Watch out. The whole thing's going + ...it's going to....

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/034.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/034.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..db89578 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/034.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,252 @@ + + + + + + 34 + + + + +
+
+

34

+ +

....It's going to.....

+ +

The bindings parted with a savage crack. All of them gave at the + same time and the thick branch whipped up, swiping through the air + in a vicious whoop. It unleashed in a blur, uncoiling as all the + latent tension punched upwards, like the arm of a siege catapult. + The sudden violent motion threw Corky backwards.

+ +

"....Go!"

+ +

Danny blurted the word just as Corky slammed into him. Both of + them landed beside Doug on the short, tough grass only inches from + the drop-off. Danny instinctively grabbed a thick tuft to stop the + pair of them rolling over the edge and tumbling down the scree

+ +

The forked branch carried the bomb up, reached the end of its + travel, slammed against the cross-trunk and once again the whole + tree shook from the roots upwards in a seizmic shudder. A + scattering of leaves exploded outwards. The branch hit the trunk, + rebounded, slammed in again and stopped dead, but the bomb simply + kept on travelling, almost straight up into the air, thrown off its + cradle with the huge and sudden acceleration.

+ +

It went on up, a black and heavy shape, soaring into the sky, + wobbling just a little on its tail. The fins were clearly outlined + against the cloudless blue of the morning.

+ +

"Christ on a bike, I thought it got you," Doug gasped, but only + Danny heard him, and that very faintly. His attention was fixed on + the rising black bomb. Corky was lying athwart him, face up, mouth + agape. Over on the far side, beyond the tree, Billy and Doug stood, + eyes wide, stunned by the catapult crack that had sounded so much + like a pistol-shot, sounded too much like the sound of a club + against a skull.

+ +

The bomb was travelling upwards, thick and massive, a solid + black zeppelin, defying gravity. Its ascension transfixed them + all.

+ +

Danny's breathing stopped and the whole world seemed to freeze + into a sludgy, slow motion. The bomb rose up and up.

+ +

"It's going to...it's going to..." His own words were + still ringing in his ears, along with the air-shattering crack of + the branch slamming the cross-trunk, and Doug's blurt, all of them + jangled together, encapsulated in the focus of that single moment + of time.

+ +

Billy Harrison saw the thing soar, unable for the moment to + comprehend what had happened. Tom's body was in the act of turning, + as if flinching from the whiplash of the tree. A deep vibration + shivered in the ground, almost able to be heard in a thrumming + tremor. Hawthorn leaves floated in a wide slow halo of green around + the tree and pieces of old bark scattered like shrapnel from the + trunk. The bomb soared upwards and it snared Billy's eyes, a black + and powerful silhouette, shark fins jutting out from the tail.

+ +

"What's happening?" he heard his own voice ask, inside + his head. The moment was somehow charged with a inexplicable and + powerful energy. His heart was beating, still fast, squeezing + inside his chest, but he felt it like a slow pulse and the harsh + whiplash of the tree seemed to stretch out and develop a bass thrum + which matched the deep vibration under his feet.

+ +

"Want to cross over? Eh boy?"

+ +

The monster had dragged him into the tent and broken him.

+ +

Tried to kill him! He had lashed out with the ballpeen + hammer, feeling it hit in meaty thuds, wanting to break and shatter + and destroy.

+ +

The mad man had taken him down to the water he had gone down + into the valley, into the shadow, and death had been hovering + nearby. Pain throbbed up from the tender, torn skin and the bomb + was going up and up, expanding, rather than diminishing in his + consciousness, powerful and mesmerising. Billy stood slack-jawed, + watching it, as if his life depended on it; unable to look away, + despite the need to be up on the moor and gone.

+ +

Tom Tannahill was half turned and his face tilted to the sky. + The panic and exhaustion had squeezed at him so tightly that a + little dribble of urine had spurted out to stain the front of his + jeans. The bomb rose up.....

+ +

"Sorry Tommy, just trying to say, okay?"

+ +

Corky had looked over at him with eyes like fine glass, so + fragile they could break and shatter and they focused on him with + such powerful regret and sorrow that it had reached and soothed a + cooling balm into the raw open wound of his hurt.

+ +

Read me the story Tom, would you? Little Maureen's slow + voice and the bruises under her eyes and the paunchy, sick swelling + of her skin. I need to go to the bathroom Tom. I need to + go. And she had gone and everything in his life burst + asunder.

+ +

Now the bomb was going up and it held him, held everything that + he was, in that one brittle fragment of time. He held on to it, the + fear magically numbed away.

+ +

Doug Nicol was on the grass, braced for balance, behind Danny + and Corky. Hells bells! It was going up, heavy and + thunderous, rising like a black stone.

+ +

The rock had gone up, raised high in his two hands and then it + had come slamming down and something had snapped with the sound of + a branch cracking, like the sound of the string breaking, the noise + of the hawthorn limb smashing upwards against the trunk. The bomb + was up.

+ +

The first one had missed and they could have got him this time, + but the knife had sliced wrong and their last weapon was gone. They + could have used it like the campfire stone, just a weight to crush + and break.. Now the bomb was up, on its own course, not theirs, + dragging his eyes with it.

+ +

Bugsylugs, Bugsylugs, Billy's voice taunted in the + background of his mind and he ignored it. That had been then, + before this now. The taunt was meaningless, its power + gone.

+ +

There was a red pain across his neck, where the wire had bit + into him. It had been worth it.

+ +

Did my best, honest to God. He had done his best. + Together they had almost beaten him. Almost. Nearly. The bomb rose + up and up, for that strange and unreal moment filling the entire + sky.

+ +

John Corcoran watched it, sharp black against the light blue, + black as the gaping barrel of the shotgun up against his eye. The + crack of the branch had been like the crash of the pin against the + empty chamber; world shattering, devastating. Numbing.

+ +

Nothing happened. Nothing happened!

+ +

The air had whooped when the bough had uncoiled like the strike + of some knotted brown snake. He watched the bomb float up and away, + heavy and blunt and somehow mindlessly vicious.

+ +

See how you like it, you crazy fucking bastard!

+ +

The pin had come down on an empty space again. Nothing + happened.

+ +

"Kill him." Somebody had said from far away. Under his + back, the earth shuddered violentlyThe crack of the parting string + and the crack of the shotgun's firing pin resounded inside him, + with the jar of his teeth on wire, on and on and on, a mental + ricochet that seemed as if it might go on forever.

+ +

"Kill him!" Somebody had demanded and he had not + hesitated, because the voice had really been his own and this could + be the last time, this would be the last time and Corky + felt the quivering violence and he'd punched forward, felt the thud + and then the fruity slide as the blade went in and the blood came + out to make a butterfly pattern on the tent.

+ +

He'd done it again, twice, thrice.

+ +

And again he defied him. The voice had been mad and + dreamy, black and rising, like the bomb soaring into the air.

+ +

You afraid boy? You scared? Not of you, you creepy mad + cunt! But he was afraid. Really and truly. He could feel it in the + grind of his teeth.

+ +

If thine eye offends me. Pluck it....And the black + rising shape held him now.

+ +

The bomb went up and Danny Gillan watched it, black as the + valley of the shadow of death. Danny soared with it, numbed. Up + and over, up and over, the litany that had kept him going up + the slope while exhaustion and pain dragged at him and fear tried + to paralyse him.

+ +

Denied me thrice. The night had been filled with the + sounds of weeping and gnashing of teeth on a hard steel wire. + Bad luck, Danny Boy. He had knocked the heron out of the + air and brought bad luck down upon them all.

+ +

The bomb was floating there, huge in the sky above them. + Dung fly!

+ +

What did that mean? What....?

+ +

The bomb found the reach of its trajectory, slowing down at the + apex, the tail now beginning to rise up. It wobbled, seemed to stop + still in the air, then, just as slowly, tilted, turned, began to + drop.

+ +

The strange little bubble of time that had held them, it burst + silently, threw them clear.

+ +

"Watch out," Doug found his voice. A spittle of saliva spat out + with the words. "It's going to..."

+ +

He flinched back. The bomb fell straight down, all of two yards + out from the edge. It had seemed to go straight up, but the + uncoiling branch had thrown it forward too. It dropped like a + stone, still wobbling a little, blunt end down. They turned to + follow its progress. Down below, something pale fluttered, it was + the man's face twisting upwards towards the sky and the black + shape.

+ +

The bomb plummeted towards him. His mouth opened and he yelled + something, jumped backwards with both arms outstretched, his skin + white against the grey of the shale, streaked scarlet with blood. + He missed his footing, rolled and skittered halfway down.

+ +

The bomb hit the soft slope, dug in a little, but its momentum + ploughed it forward and it bounced out, somersaulting once, heading + for the ledge of mudstone rubble twenty yards from where the first + one had landed, but close to where the third bomb from the previous + attempts had rolled in the shale. It hit the mudstone, tail first. + A piece of tailfin flicked off and it too spun, whirling, straight + for the soft shale bank.

+ +

The man bellowed in lunatic triumph, despite the fact that he'd + slid down the incline almost as far as the basin of the corrie.

+ +

The bomb bounced fast straight towards where the other stubby + black shape lay. They watched it, all five of them, high on the + side of the gorge, unable to draw their eyes away.

+ +

It hit.

+ +

The whole world turned a brilliant, searing, blinding white.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/035.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/035.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1b74a78 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/035.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,386 @@ + + + + + + 35 + + + + +
+
+

35

+ +

The whole world exploded.

+ +

The detonation was so vast, so colossal, that there was no + sound, not at first. The narrow gorge erupted in a sea of blinding + light that turned everything white and burned dark and cracking + lines into the backs of their eyes. The very air slammed up at + them, turned solid by the enormity of the explosion, catching them + in a stunning body blow that threw them right off their feet and + into the air.

+ +

It was worse than they had imagined, more apocalyptic than + anything they could have imagined. The whole earth leapt + upwards under their feet at the same time as the searing, hardened + air came punching up from downslope.

+ +

In the first split second, there was no noise at all because the + quality of the very air had changed in the instant of the + explosion. The earth came up at them, shucked them off and the + blast carried them away. A monstrous hand reached up and snatched + at Doug who was lower down the slope, nearer the sharp edge toward + which the man had been climbing. The hot hand grabbed at him, + pressing against every inch of his skin and squeezed so hard he + felt his eyes popping outwards. The hand lifted and threw him and + he went sailing through the blinding sky, arms and legs + flailing.

+ +

Danny and Corky, lying in a tangle beside the tree were thrown + up, along with the ledge of turf on which they sprawled, in a + sudden reverse of gravity. They went rolling straight up the hill + one over the other in a tangle. Tom was slammed against Billy so + hard that his nose burst against Billy's ribs and the two of them + were punched over the low rise and dumped onto the thick + heather.

+ +

The noise came then.

+ +

It was louder than anything they'd heard, louder than the + explosions up in Drumbeck Quarry, or close thunder in a summer + storm beating its way up the firth. It made the shotgun blast pale + to a whisper. It was louder than anything in the world. It blasted + into their heads in a sudden, excruciating blare that drove out all + thought in a stunning, catastrophic concussion.

+ +

It was nothing like the movies at all. It was no fireworks. The + earth itself simply exploded.

+ +

The blast wave drove under the roots of the hawthorn tree which + had catapulted the bomb into the air and ripped it, roots and all, + from where it clung to the edge of the gorge, lifted it straight + into the air. Corky was tumbling upwards, landing on his shoulder, + crashing onto his backside. His teeth crunched together and up at + the back, one of them cracked in a soundless, painless crunch. The + sky was white and the noise was crackling inside his head now, for + he had gone deaf once more. All he could hear was the concussion + and the glassy crackle inside the bones of his skull. There was no + time to breathe, no time to yell and every nerve in his body was + slammed numb. He saw the hawthorn tree fly upwards like a jagged + rocket, tumbling as it flew, the one trunk ripping away from the + other, scattering leaves and twigs. He landed on the heather with a + thud which might have knocked his breath out, but he couldn't tell. + Danny landed half on top of him, on his backside. His eyes were + wide and unblinking and his pupils seemed to have disappeared so + that only blue showed.

+ +

The blast went on and on, rocking through them, while the earth + danced and jumped as if it was alive and it seemed as if the + explosion would never end. Corky managed to turn, found his breath, + sucked in air that was hot and burning. The world smelt as if it + was on fire.

+ +

Doug had landed over to the left, feet up, head down, flipped by + the explosion up to the same level, but out from the protection of + the heathery gradient. He was rolling back, trying to get a grip on + the shale surface, sliding downwards as he did so, slipping + straight towards the sheer drop.

+ +

"Doug!" Corky bellowed, but no sound at all came out, although + he knew he had shouted. Doug didn't hear him. Danny was rolling + over now, eyes trying to focus, a trickle of blood dripping from a + burst lip. He saw Doug start to slide, saw the shale crumble under + him. The lip was now closer than it had been before. Beyond it was + the drop to the corrie below and the cauldron of white where the + bomb had cracked the world.

+ +

Corky crawled over, forcing his numbed limbs to move. Danny + scrambled past, mouth working violently as if he too was + screeching. Danny got a hand to Doug's ankle. Corky grabbed his + other leg and Doug stopped slipping. He rolled quickly, grabbed + Danny's shoulder and spun onto the relative safety of the turf.

+ +

All of this happened in bare seconds. The noise was still + ripping inside their heads, and they were entirely unaware that + each of them was bawling. Up the slope, Tom and Billy, further away + from the blast and less concussed, had landed together on the low + rise at the highest vantage over the main valley and all the + runnels which fed it. They were both winded and numb.

+ +

The tree went sailing upwards, even higher than where they + sprawled. It was spinning and twirling and scattering its confetti + of leaves and pieces of thorn in a spectacular ballet into the + white.

+ +

Rocks and pieces of mudstone blasted upwards, some of them + trailing dust or smoke, up and out, in a spectacular eruption, + mixed in with red-hot pieces of metal which burned through the sky + like meteors in reverse. The rocks went up in a fountain and came + back down as black hail.

+ +

Below the edge of the gorge, the face they had crawled up in + panic, where Danny had slung the curved stick to knock the man off + his feet, the whole slope shivered, shuddered, then all of it + peeled away in an avalanche of rock and shale. The edge where Danny + and Corky had sprawled slowly slipped away with a huge roar and Tom + was surprised that he could hear it. It was not as loud as the + percussion of the bomb, but the earth shivered even more violently. + Corky and Danny held on to Doug as the ground began to slide from + under them. They could feel the rumble of it moving, the bucking + dance of ground in motion. Doug turned, crawled upwards, making his + feet move faster than the sliding surface. Corky hauled on his + collar.

+ +

From their vantage point, Tom and Billy could see the narrow + ridge shatter and crack on the far side, the thin shoulder that + separated this gorge from the next, where they had discovered the + backed-up lake. The whole top end, a hump of volcanic basalt rock + maybe some twelve feet high and six wide, was pushed outward by the + enormity of the blast.

+ +

The three others scrabbled desperately to avoid being dragged + down in the avalanche into the corrie below them. They got to solid + earth, pushed themselves up onto the bracken, kept coming. Tom + could hear them yelling frantically, but his eyes were fixed on the + far side. Beside him Billy stood like stone, legs braced, eyes + wide, mouth even wider.

+ +

Corky reached them, his face grey with shale dust. He had Doug + still by the collar as if he was unable to let it go. Blood was + trickling from Danny's mouth. Tom's burst nose gave him no pain + yet.

+ +

They all turned.

+ +

Down below, where the lip had started to slip and side, the + whole side of this gorge bulged outwards, undercut by the blast. + The ringing in Corky's ears stopped suddenly. He saw Danny push his + palms against his own ears as if trying to clear the pressure. For + an instant there was an absolute silence and then something popped + and Corky heard the bass rumbling thunder.

+ +

The slope bulged, swelled as if a gigantic bubble were inflating + underneath the ground. The lip where they'd been sliding just + dropped from sight. Jagged, horizontal cracks, more or less + parallel, appeared in steps above that and almost instantly, in a + jagged succession, they fell away in slices. The ground bucked + again , almost hard enough to throw them off their feet.

+ +

"Back!" Tom bleated and everybody heard him this time except + Doug, but Corky still had a hand to his collar and he simply + dragged him further up into the heather.

+ +

Over on the far side of the defile, another series of horizontal + cracks appeared, broken by vertical fissures that suddenly raced up + the opposite face towards the ridge. The great boulder at the top + shuddered and then rocked, not slowly, but surprisingly fast, + twisting as it did.

+ +

Streamers of debris and shrapnel were falling down around them + and there was no cover. The hawthorn tree was tumbling through the + air, both trunks in pirouette around each other. Rocks hit all + around them. Further up the slope, behind them so they did not see + it yet, a blazing piece of metal had set the dry summer couch grass + alight. It would eventually burn eastwards and blacken miles of the + moorland. The five of them stood there, transfixed once more. Tom + pulled a numb Billy down beside him. By a miracle, the outsplash + hit none of then, though all around them it was rapping and + thudding on the grass in a deadly hail, like shot from the gun.

+ +

On the far side, the rock shoulder slumped. A series of mudstone + boulders shot out like squeezed pips in a cannonade powerful enough + to spit them across the gorge to smack into the other side which + was now a full-blown avalanche. The noise of grinding, rolling rock + was unbelievable.

+ +

The ridge twisted under its own weight, then fell away, slowly + at first, then falling into the next gully. Sharp cracks of broken + stone came out like grenades and then the ridge just fell from + sight.

+ +

"Christ on a bike!," Doug bawled, and his words were + almost strangled by the death grip Corky had on his collar. Danny + was speechless.

+ +

Below them the rockface slumped down into the corrie with a huge + grinding. Over on the opposite side, the rock ridge toppled out of + sight and slammed against something with such force that they felt + the shock of it tremble under their feet from almost eighty yards + away.

+ +

The shiver caused more of the ground on this side to slip. Danny + pulled Corky who dragged Doug without any ceremony. Tom and Billy + followed on. They scurried, stiff, sore and numb, but miraculously + alive, along the edge of the heather, gaining height on the curve + of land which connected the twin, narrow gorges. From that distance + they could turn and see what was happening.

+ +

"Look at that," Danny yelled. Corky held a hand up to his + ear.

+ +

"What?"

+ +

Danny pointed and everybody looked. The side of the valley, the + one they had scrambled up in panic and fear, was sliding down in + one huge sheet of shale and mudstone. Small pieces of rock were + shooting out to tumble down to the little rivulet beyond the basin + of the corrie.

+ +

Over on the other side of the ravine, they could now see from + the vantage point of the high ground, the great rock on the ridge + shoulder had rolled down to crash against the basalt walls which + virtually bisected the valley. Behind them, Lonesome Lake stretched + blackly, pocked by falling pieces of stone and twigs. The immense + block of stone had rolled close to the top end of the wall where it + bedded into the side of the valley, and now it was rocking + massively back and forth.

+ +

"It's going to.....," Corky bawled.

+ +

The huge stone swung forward, back, teetered and then seemed to + reach a point of equilibrium. Underneath its weight, the layer of + mudstone began to crumble. Shards spat outwards on puffs of + pulverised dust. The rock jarred, swung and then rolled. It all + seemed to go in ponderous slow motion, but it took only a couple of + seconds for it to tumble down the steep slope.

+ +

It hit the wall where the trees and twigs and muddy peat had + formed the natural dam, hit it with such a colossal jarring blow + that the basalt dyke shivered under the impact. One side of it, a + foot back from the water-worn crevice that had been cut by + thousands of years of tumbling water, cracked and splintered, + sending fissures growing up it like instant black branches. A + squirt of fine water hosed out from the blockage, maybe ten feet up + from the base. Lower down, where the new cracks spiderwebbed the + rock wall a fine spray hissed, almost invisible. Another spurted + out, black and dirty, arcing out into the narrow gully. The edge of + the wall bulged the way the side of the face had done. It seemed to + breathe, stop, breath again. Behind it millions of gallons pushed + with irresistible pressure. The cracks on the weakened wall close + to the plug of twigs and branches, feathered out, flaked. There was + a heartbeat of a pause when nothing happened.

+ +

Then the dam burst.

+ +

It exploded outwards, taking the barrier of logs and everything + else with it. The thick trunk that had formed the main blockage + went tumbling out like a caber, end over end. It smacked into a + rock fifty feet down the gorge and snapped like a dead twig.

+ +

The water came out behind it in a roar that sounded somehow + alive and ferocious. The wall of water came pushing out in a + foaming cascade, taking rocks and sticks and everything with it. It + shot straight out, hit the right hand bend in the gully where it + turned to empty into the valley, and the bounding debris simply + carved its own way through. Pieces of quartz and old red sandstone + rolled along in blocks six feet high, carried by the enormous bore + of water. The noise was cataclysmic.

+ +

The five of them watched, stunned once more to silence as the + dam burst and the huge front of water went rushing down the defile. + The two halves of the jagged trunk which had blasted out were + picked up again and thrown into the air, tumbling again. One thick + section speared the shale on the far side, embedded into the ground + before the water caught it again, plucked it free, and dragged it + down onto the valley. The avalanche of water, stone and silty mud + came crashing out into the main valley of Blackwood Glen in a vast + torrent that unleashed all the pent-up weight and power that had + been the deeps of Lonesome Lake. Down there, they could see the + little ridge where the hawthorn trees grew in a line, the place + where the four of them had sat out the long night while Corky + gnawed grimly at the wire. The front hit the hawthorns and simply + swept them sway. They could see the branches and the roots wave + violently as they tumbled before it, then tumbled inside it. The + next second, the flood swept over the campsite, a wall of brown and + white that was ten feet deep, surging with foam, the colour of mud. + The tent flipped up. An enamel plate spun into their air like a + frisbee. In a split second the campsite was gone. The circle of + stones was scattered like billiard balls. The torrent smacked + against the alders and hawthorns on the far side, splintering + trunks and uprooting the ferns. A whole section of turf simply slid + down, undercut by the sharp stones which were dragged and scraped + along like a rasp-file.

+ +

The rampart of water reached the turn where Corky has been + ambushed by the raggedy man, flinging stones ahead of it to embed + themselves in the opposite slope, then the flood hit the trees, + snapping the first ones like matchwood, great spruce trees, tall + and straight, that had stood a hundred years and more, sending up a + fusillade of gunshot over the roar of the devastation. The gully + they had followed to reach the dam which held the backed up lake + was changed forever, two of the turns, left and right, had simply + been ground away to form a straight gash.

+ +

The camp site was gone, taking with it the ruined tent and their + old haversacks and the deer's rotted head, the gun, every shred of + evidence that they had ever been there.

+ +

Over on the gorge to the left, where they had climbed the face, + pursued by the madman, the geography had utterly changed.

+ +

The steep slope was no longer there. It had peeled and slid, + taking with it the lip where the hawthorn tree had clung, and where + Doug and Danny and Corky had fallen and tumbled before clambering + for their lives after the blast. There was no slope, only a new, + sheer face where the lines of mudstone sandwiched the thicker + layers of gravel from the last ice age. It dropped almost a hundred + feet into what once had been the little basin of the corrie that + they'd reached after the scrambling, desperate climb up the shale + slope.

+ +

The corrie was gone.

+ +

In its place, a huge mound of rubble and stone and gravel + remained, hundreds, maybe thousands of tons of rock, still steaming + and smoking and billowing dust. Trickles of rocks and stones ran + down the flanks in miniature avalanches as the slip shuddered and + settled under its own weight.

+ +

Above them, a vast cloud of smoke was roiling in the once blue, + once white sky, turning it black, shrouding them in its shadow.

+ +

Below them, where the corrie basin had been, was a vast spoil + heap of rock and shale, altered forever from what it had been in + the nightmare chase, the panicked, desperate dash for freedom.

+ +

The man with the twitchy eyes was underneath it. He was buried + under this new hill.

+ +

For a long time they stood there, listening to the crackling in + their ears, listening to the scouring roar of Lonesome Lake as it + drained away, scraping the valley clean of everything that had been + there, alive or dead, carrying it all down in a cataclysmic swathe + of destruction through the forest downstream. In the distance, they + could see the tops of the trees whipping back and forth as the + torrent shook them to their roots.

+ +

After a while, the noise began to subside and the flow began to + lessen. They still stood there, frozen, numb, rooted, hardly able + to breathe, while around them the dust billowed and the smell of + burning was hot on the air.

+ +

The grey, bare mound that now covered the corrie drew their eyes + towards it like a magnet. They had buried him.

+ +

Far off, way down the slope on the other side, in the direction + of Blackwood farm, a cock crew. Closer in, but still some distance + away, a big grey bird flapped into the sky above the trees, gaining + height, obviously startled by the rushing torrent of water. Danny + Gillan thought he could hear the hoarse cry of a heron.

+ +

Down in the depths, where the campsite had been, there was + nothing to show that anybody had been there, neither boys nor + madman.

+ +

After a long time, as one, the boys of them turned to head for + home. For an even longer time, nobody said a word.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/036.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/036.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c229b5 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/036.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,417 @@ + + + + + + 36 + + + + +
+
+

36

+ +

Reminiscence:

+ +

For a long time, as we trudged up the moor, beyond the burning + grass and heather which trailed white smoke into the now still air, + nobody said a word. Nobody could. We breasted the hill and headed + down the slope towards the distant Barwoods which formed the first + barrier between the moor and the high farmland. Over the east, the + sun had now risen well up beyond Langmuir Crags, soaring bright + into a clear blue sky. Behind us, as we could see, every time we + turned around (and none of us could resist doing that) the pall of + smoke had risen up in a huge column that flattened out at the top. + We had seen clouds like that before, in newsreels in the old Regal + Cinema.

+ +

We had gone down into the valley five days before, and we had + come out again, and life would never be the same again, not for any + of us. Every now and again, one would turn back to look at the + rising pillar of smoke, the black and transient marker of what had + happened, but mostly we looked over our shoulders just in case the + raggedy, bloodied and somehow unstoppable monster with was + clambering up the moor after us, waving that butcher's knife and + repeating his own mad mantra.

+ +

Dung fly...dung fly....

+ +

We were all hurt and we were all bruised, both inside and out. + Whatever Twitchy Eyes had done he had reached inside each + of us in one way and another and left his mark on our souls. + Jesus, we were only thirteen years old.

+ +

Nobody said a word for a long time and that's how it stayed. We + never, despite what happened after that, we never spoke about it to + anybody else. Not ever. During that hot, crazy summer and the + strangely bitter, unstable aftermath of the autumn which followed, + we lived in the shadow of the man with the twitchy eyes. A few + mothers in our town lived in this shadow too, and sisters and + brothers and devastated families, but we had seen him. + We had heard the sound of his voice, felt his touch.

+ +

We had looked into those eyes.

+ +

Back down the hill after those five days, carrying less in our + hands than we had taken there, and weighed by so much more in our + souls. We couldn't go home, not right away, so we stayed, huddled + together for comfort in the heat of the afternoon, down in the damp + shade of Rough Drain, waiting until the old bus came back with the + rest of the scouts, and mostly waiting until we could face another + human being who was not one of us. Nobody knew.

+ +

Strange, isn't it? Nobody knew. Nobody suspected. Boys get away + with murder, near enough. You come in with the knees torn out of + your jeans and your furious Ma wants to know where she'll get the + money for another pair, never mind torn skin. She asks what you've + been doing and you tell her you fell and that's fine. You could + have fallen off a cliff, but all she can see are holes in the + jeans.

+ +

You get a scrape or a cut and you say you fell. A bloody nose? + Fell. Mothers just don't look and most times they don't ask, and + fathers don't notice at all unless it concerns other business. You + get a scrape or bruise every other day. A torn shirt or ragged + denims can hide a multitude of sins and plenty of damage. They can + hide what Billy needed to hide. They can cover forever the flaring + then dying splashes of a shotgun blast. A kick from a madman's + boot.

+ +

Scrapes and cuts are a boys lot. Nobody really cares that much. + Nobody sees. Boys hide it all, because that's the way boys are, and + mostly that's the way men are too. We came back with the scouts and + we took our knocks for damaged clothes and we hid our damaged + souls.

+ +

The killings that had begun in the spring with the slaying of + daft Mole Hopkirk, who would never, despite his stated ambition, + have become The Greatest Cat Burglar in the History of Crime, those + killings stopped. Some people, it seems, had their own theories as + to why.

+ +

Little Lucy Saunders was long buried, laid to rest in a dry + coffin, cleaned of the mud and her own mess. Don Whalen's mother + spent two years in Barlane mental hospital, racked by the image of + her son's gaping face and its covering of flies. Jeff McGuire, who + found Mole's mutilated body, he was in and out of Barlane like a + yo-yo, a strange and affected youth with an odd, distant look in + his eyes.

+ +

Up at Blackwood Farm, where the cock had crowed, master of all + it surveyed for two weeks one far-off summer, they cleared up the + pieces that had been Ian McColl and his tiny, brave wife.

+ +

The killings stopped. After a while, the town tried to get back + to normal, still looking over its collective shoulder, the way we + had done on the strange, numbed trail down from the high moor that + we'd climbed to get out from under, to find the Dummy Village of + legend. Just in case. Just in case.

+ +

Nobody could really believe he was gone, but we knew. + We knew why, and we never told a soul because we couldn't. Simple + as that. There were five boys whose lives had been altered, + infected by the touch of the man with the twitchy eyes. We tried to + put it away, tuck it into a dark corner, but if you're reading + this, you'll know that things that lurk in dark corners come out, + and they always go for the throat. We could not tell anyone what + had happened to Billy Harrison. We could all remember the + deathliness in his voice when he stood there beside the crumpled + tent.

+ +

Kill him!

+ +

We couldn't tell, not then. It's hard enough even now, after all + this time.

+ +

Doug Nicol's father came home in the autumn, and a fortnight + later, they had emptied the house along Braeside Street and gone + off to Toronto. The last I saw of Doug, he was standing, blinking + tears from his eyes, holding on to little Terry's hand, sniffing + hard so that his big teeth showed. The sun was turning his ears + pink. My throat was dry. He reached out and touched me on the + shoulder and I put a hand on his and I still remember that touch. I + always will.

+ +

I remembered him, remember still, how he had turned to the rest + of us, when we could all have got away clean, while the man was + still grunting like an animal in the tent, and I can recall the + words he said in that deadly low whisper.

+ +

We have to help him.

+ +

Skin-and bone, thirteen years old, and he would have laid down + his life for his friend. Greater love has nobody, than that.

+ +

I remember Doug Nicol when he stretched out, choked by the wire, + to get his foot to the bag, nearly killing himself for us all. He + had run forward to snatch the shells away before the madman could + load the shotgun. Then he had strode forward, raising that smooth + stone up, to slam it down again. Doug Nicol. I never saw him again + after he left town, never heard from him again, but I'll never + forget him as long as I live. I hope he is happy. I really hope to + God he is.

+ +

Billy Harrison's mother, who'd doted on her boy and filled his + head with heroic tales of derring-do, myths of a hero father who + did not exist, she met another sailor, not an American one, and + moved to Portsmouth, met yet another, came back up north again and + stayed, dragging Billy with her. They settled in Kirkland, a few + miles along the Creggan Road and she took to drink and died + sometime in the late seventies. Billy was never the same after that + week in the valley. God, none of us were, for sure. Many years ago, + I saw him coming out of a bar, in another place, another city, with + another guy who was tall and black haired, taller than Billy + himself, and for a moment, my heart just stopped. Billy had a dog + chain around his neck and the other man held the free end. Years + after that, I hadn't heard but I found out later, he got a five + year stretch after a police raid on a child porn ring. There was + talk that some of the videos weren't just sex, but nothing of that + was ever proved in court. Billy went down to Drumbain Jail. He + hanged himself in his cell.

+ +

I only found this out after I'd come back myself, for my own + personal reasons, and by then I'd seen what sparked all this off + again, uncovering the memories I'd tried to bury down deep. I later + discovered, from the records of the inquiry, that he'd hung himself + with a tightening loop-noose made from baling twine from the prison + farm's harvester.

+ +

I remember Billy Harrison on the ground, while the man hauled at + him, trying to get the gun, a prostrate shape, flopped and + flapping. I remember his heartrending cries of desperate terror in + the dark of the night. I recall his triumphant return from the + Dummy Village far up on that bleak moor with the ram's skull + paraded on top of his stave, like a Roman standard. I remember the + wet patch spreading on his jeans as he climbed up the hill. I can + still see the dreadful lost and barren look in his eyes down in the + valley when he realised he had been singled out as the first + special victim.

+ +

Whatever drove him on after all that, the man with the twitchy + eyes was behind it, and for that alone, I hope he is burning in the + everlasting fire. Billy Harrison was maybe a crazy kid, big in the + mouth, tough in the talk, but he was never a bad one, just a bit + troubled. Whatever else the man with the Twitchy Eyes had + done, he'd touched Billy Harrison and passed on some of the + infection of his own appalling sickness.

+ +

A year after Billy Harrison died, I met Tom Tannahill, by sheer + coincidence. He was still small, still thin, and his curly hair was + getting thinner still, but he was wiry and there was a toughness + about him that was quiet and strong and it was good. He had been + working in a hospital in Rwanda, right in the middle of the + madness, all that killing. He had led a party of kids out, through + the bush, through the wilds, past the marauding bands of bandits + with machine guns and Kalashikovs and machetes, got them out to + Zaire and to safety. He'd adopted one of them, a little girl, + barely three years old, a girl he called Maureen. When he told me + that, he looked me in the eye and something passed between us and + that was enough. The next month he went back to Rwanda, where + thousands were dying every day, and he was never heard of + again.

+ +

Tom. Tiny Tom with his high voice and his shaking hands.

+ +

I remember him in the night, trying not to piss his pants + because he did not want to die in his own mess. Jesus. He + was thirteen, same age as me. I remember him swiping that book from + the library so he could read a story to the little sister who was + dying. Billy Goats Gruff. I recall, like it was yesterday, how he + swung the gun by the barrel and I can still hear the thunder as the + shot missed him by barely an inch. I remember him turning, despite + his terror, at the top of the ledge, to reach down and help Billy + up. Fixed in my memory is the picture of him facing up to the + Twitchy Eyed madman, raising the gun in his hands, trying to + protect the rest of us.

+ +

Greater love hath no man than this.

+ +

And John Corcoran. Corky to his friends.

+ +

His old man, Paddy Corcoran, came out of jail even more crooked + and a whole lot meaner and within a year he was back in for a + two-year stretch for an assault on Corky's mother. One prophesy + came true. Corky's shoulder was dislocated again and the court + heard that had happened when he squared up to Paddy Corcoran, a + big, blundering man with fists like hams who had thrown him around + the room the way a terrier throws a rat. Corky told me about it + later, grinning that slow, hard way of his, telling me it was worth + it, because he'd got out from under. His mother was in hospital for + a little while and when she got out, she left Paddy and abandoned + Phil who was just as much out of control. She and Corky and his + aunt moved to a house up on Cargill Farm Road, only a couple along + from the bungalow where big John Fallon lived with his son and + daughter.

+ +

Corky stayed on at school for an extra year to get the maths + qualification he needed to become an engineer. He'd given up on the + idea of making movies, though he was the natural, the one with all + the imagination. When I walk by the canal at Barloan Harbour, I can + still hear the doom-doom-doom echo up from the tunnels dug + by those Racine rats. Corky never got make movies, but he hauled + himself out from under. And he was never going to be scared of + anybody ever again.

+ +

The words up and over somehow repeat themselves and + maybe they're more appropriate. Corky got up and over. Big John, + the police sergeant, gave him a solid recommendation to the + shipyard at Barloan Harbour and he started his apprenticeship. He + hauled himself up by the bootstraps, slogging away at night + classes, determined to make something of himself. He got a good + engineering degree, and he never bothered to learn to talk proper, + the way the toffs did. Cargill Farm Road wasn't too far + away and Corky and I stayed close in our teens. After a while, + after the first few months, we never talked about what happened up + in the valley, but it was something that held us together, + something we had. Something private. We saved it for later.

+ +

A couple of years back, before my walk down on River Street, the + first I'd taken in this town for a long time, a wheen of + years, as we used to say, John Corcoran was the chief engineer + on a big gas rig out in the North Sea. You'll recall it went up + like a bomb, and remember, I know about bombs.

+ +

Corky stayed back, no surprise, getting men onto the lifeboats, + waiting until the last minute, until the rest were safe. All of + this is documented. It was in the middle of the night and a gale + was blowing. The fireball had swept through the turnhouse and the + sleeping quarters and Corky had been the one who got them out of + there so that only four men, the ones caught in the blast, were + killed.

+ +

A young Norwegian, one of the cooks, he was coming across the + gantry, while behind him, the metal of the walls was buckling and + twisting in the heat. The rungs had started to pop out and the boy + was slipping, hanging over a hundred foot drop. Corky turned away + from the boat and crawled over the framework, risking his own life, + grabbed the boy by the collar and dragged him back. Just then a + stanchion higher up gave way and the whole side of the rig + collapsed, taking John Corcoran and the boy with it, tangled in the + safety rope. It slid down the leg and crumpled like a child's toy, + dragging both men under the water. The young Norwegian says John + Corcoran somehow got his knife out and cut the rope, still under + the water, and pushed him to freedom. The lifeboat got to the scene + a few minutes later, but it took them too long to shift the twist + of metal and free John Corcoran, trapped just under the surface. + When they brought him up, he was still alive, but lack of oxygen + had caused dreadful and irreparable brain damage.

+ +

Those thirty long minutes under the freezing waters of the north + sea, they burned out the flash and the fire and the brave + determination that was our Corky.

+ +

Greater love hath no man than this. That he lay down his + life.

+ +

I remember those eyes flashing with fear and anger, damned + righteous anger, feet spread, knife out, challenging the crazy, + twisted killer who was baptising Billy in the pool in Blackwood + Stream, preparing him for sacrifice. I remember him looking into + that infinity of death and not flinching. I remember the awful + grind of his teeth on the wire as he tried to free us all. I can + still see his elbow jerking back twice, three times, to put the + knife into the twitchy-eyed beast. In my mind I hear his soothing + whisper as he pulled the damp tee-shirt away from the searing skin + of my back, taking the embedded pellets with it one by one.

+ +

John Corcoran. Corky to his friends. He had laid down his life + many a time in that one summer.

+ +

I saw him, picking up litter on River Street and his eyes looked + into mine, through mine, with not a flicker of recognition, and of + all the losses, that was the most painful of all. I could feel + tears stinging in the back of my eyes and suddenly I could not + swallow.

+ +

Hey arse-face. How's it hanging? The words stuck to the + back of my throat and they still do. I remember those eyes flashing + and I think of the dreadful waste of it all. The unfairness.

+ +

Some memories don't fade, no matter how you try to diminish them + and push them down into tight little boxes with heavy lids. The + memories have their own way of breaking free, beasts in the night, + struggling to come back, because memories have a life of their own. + I can still see the looks on their faces the day the man came + clawing is way up the hill after us, roaring like a mad beast, + madness in his eyes and murder in his mind.

+ +

For many years, I kept the memory right down and let it slumber + fitfully, shying away from it, maybe hoping it would fragment and + wither for lack of attention. For a while I succeeded, because + you're supposed to go on, to grow up, to overcome. But then + something would happen, a chance meeting, a record from those days, + Red Rooster or My Generation, played on good old + Radio Clyde, a cutting from an old newspaper, even an old movie + like Deliverance.

+ +

Or something like the eyes of John Corcoran who sweeps the + streets and doesn't now have the brains he was born with. Something + like that would happen and in a second, in the twitch of an eye, I + would be a thirteen-year-old boy again, with a faded sloppy-joe and + torn jeans and scuffed canvas shoes. Memories come back.

+ +

Angus McNicol, the old policeman, he poured me a couple of + whiskies and talked into the recorder, and probably exorcised a few + of his own ghosts in the process. He asked me why I was asking all + the questions, and while I spun him a yarn, by then I really + thought I knew why.

+ +

I needed to know who he was, the gaunt man who had come across + the stream while we were guddling for trout.

+ +

Twitchy Eyes.

+ +

On River Street, where the first killing had happened, the + murder of Mole Hopkirk in the back room of Old Cairn House, it had + all come back, all of it in a rush, a crazy torrent like the one + that had scoured the valley on the day the bombs exploded and burst + the dam at Lonesome Lake. It came back clear as day, so powerful + that I could smell the heather bloom and the sweat and the pine + smoke from the fire. I could hear the flies buzzing over in the + hollow where Billy had made his altar and the far-off crowing of + the cock was still shrill. I could feel the searing burn of the + pellets embedded in the swollen skin, the cold of the water, and I + could see the parliament of crows judging me from the old swaying + wire up in a deserted ghost village. It came back so powerfully I + could feel panic rise in my chest and a hand squeeze in my belly + and I had to know, to put a name to it. Now I have got a name, or + at least I'm sure I do.

+ +

It hasn't made a blind bit of difference, knowing that. I know + who, but I don't know why. Who the hell knows + what madness is? Maybe we all have a little bit of it inside of + us.

+ +

I know that I saw madness, absolute insanity in a killer's eyes + and I lived to tell the tale. Who knows how life would have been if + we hadn't gone up there to find the Dummy Village. Or if the + twitchy-eyed monster had picked another town to work his evil.

+ +

Late at night, or maybe in the dark and cold shallows of the + morning when the light is murky, the colour of river water down at + the old quayside, I wake up, heart pounding, from a dream, from + the dream, the one where I see that grey and rotting hand + come crawling like a diseased spider out of a bank of shale. Little + trickles of gravel whisper down the steep slope and the fingers + flex with a life of their own. The sifting granules are calling out + to me.

+ +

Dung fly...dung fly...in the dream I understand what + that whispering hiss means.

+ +

In the dream, my legs won't move and my feet won't climb and I + can't move. I am nailed by my own dreadful fear.

+ +

On top of the ridge, a lone grey heron stands and fixes me with + its staring, yellow eye.

+ +

THE END

+
+
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+
+

About the author

+

Joe Donnelly was born in Glasgow, in Scotland, close to the +River Clyde, but at a very young age he came to live in Dumbarton, +which is some miles from the city and close to Loch Lomond, Ben +Lomond and the Scottish Highlands.

+

At the age of 18, he decided to become a journalist and found a +job in the Helensburgh Advertiser, a local paper in a neighbouring +town where he learned the first essential of writing: how to type. +Quickly.

+

A few years later, at the age of 22, he became editor of his +local newspaper, the Lennox Herald in Dumbarton, before moving to +the Evening Times and then the Sunday mail in Glasgow where he +became an investigative journalist.

+

During his career he won several awards for newspaper work +including Reporter of the Year, Campaigning Journalist and Consumer +Journalist.

+

It was while working in newspapers that he wrote his first +novel, Bane, an adult chiller, which was followed by eight +other novels, mostly set in and around the West of Scotland and +loosely based on Celtic Mythology.

+

This was followed by Stone, The Shee, +Shrike, Still Life, Havock Junction, +Incubus and Dark Valley.

+

Recently he decided to write for children, although he says his +books are aimed at "young people of all ages, those with some +adventure in their soul."

+

The Jack Flint Trilogy is his first venture at telling +stories for the young at heart.

+

Joe is now working on two novels: A chiller for adults, and +another rollicking adventure for young people, based on Nordic +mythology.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6dd3bac --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,31 @@ + + + + + +Dedication + + + + +
+
+

Dark Valley

+

A town locked down. Police are hunting a mad, bad stranger whose +shocking deeds have put fear into the hearts of every mother; fear +for their children.

+

In the hot summer, the oppressive atmosphere nears breaking +strain. And five young friends need to get out from under. They +plan a camping trip, to find an old wartime relic high on the +moors.

+

They don't know that their every move is being watched. Not +until the stranger stalks out of the trees and into the valley.

+

And for five trapped boys, the nightmare has just begun.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/content.opf b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/content.opf new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d07bb33 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/content.opf @@ -0,0 +1,120 @@ + + + + + + Dark Valley + en + http://www.impera-media.com/darkvalley.epub + Horror + + http://www.impera-media.com/ + Joe Donnelly + Impera Media Limited + 2011-05-17 + Copyright (c) 2011, Joe Donnelly. All rights reserved + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/contents.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/contents.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..625916e --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/contents.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,52 @@ + + + + Dark Valley : Contents + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95aaa7c --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css @@ -0,0 +1,70 @@ +/* Impera Media Style */ +body { color: #000; background-color: #FFF; font-family: serif; line-height: 1.4em; text-align: left; text-indent: 0; border: 0 none; margin: 0; padding: 0; } + +.edge { color: #FFF; background-color: #000; } + +#cover img { text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin: 0 auto; 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+
+

Other books by the author available on

+ Amazon Kindle + +

Full Proof

+ +

Shrike

+ +

Incubus

+ +

Dark Valley

+ +

All available now on the Amazon Kindle

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a0447b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/title.xhtml b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/title.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..175d79e --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/title.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,34 @@ + + + + Dark Valley + + + + + +
+
+

Dark Valley

+
+
+

Joe Donnelly

+
+ +
books@impera-media.com
+

2011-05-17

+ +

1.01 - 2012-10-29

+ + +
This work is copyright.
+
+ + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/toc.ncx b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/toc.ncx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dc2e9b6 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/OEBPS/toc.ncx @@ -0,0 +1,262 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Shrike + + + + + + Title Page + + + + + + About the Author + + + + + + About the Book + + + + + + + Chapter 1 + + + + + + Chapter 2 + + + + + + Chapter 3 + + + + + + Chapter 4 + + + + + + Chapter 5 + + + + + + Chapter 6 + + + + + + Chapter 7 + + + + + + Chapter 8 + + + + + + Chapter 9 + + + + + + Chapter 10 + + + + + + Chapter 11 + + + + + + Chapter 12 + + + + + + Chapter 13 + + + + + + Chapter 14 + + + + + + Chapter 15 + + + + + + Chapter 16 + + + + + + Chapter 17 + + + + + + Chapter 18 + + + + + + Chapter 19 + + + + + + Chapter 20 + + + + + + Chapter 21 + + + + + + Chapter 22 + + + + + + Chapter 23 + + + + + + Chapter 24 + + + + + + Chapter 25 + + + + + + Chapter 26 + + + + + + Chapter 27 + + + + + + Chapter 28 + + + + + + Chapter 29 + + + + + + Chapter 30 + + + + + + Chapter 31 + + + + + + Chapter 32 + + + + + + Chapter 33 + + + + + + Chapter 34 + + + + + + Chapter 35 + + + + + + + Chapter 36 + + + + + + + Other Books + + + + + diff --git a/build/darkvalley/mimetype b/build/darkvalley/mimetype new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57ef03f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/darkvalley/mimetype @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +application/epub+zip \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/build/incubus/META-INF/container.xml b/build/incubus/META-INF/container.xml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..236dd91 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/META-INF/container.xml @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ + + + + + + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/Incubus-contents.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/Incubus-contents.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5301159 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/Incubus-contents.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,54 @@ + + + + + +Incubus : Contents + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/Incubus-title.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/Incubus-title.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eaeef3d --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/Incubus-title.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,36 @@ + + + + Shrike + + + + + +
+
+

Incubus

+
+
+

Joe Donnelly

+
+ +
books@impera-media.com
+

2011-04-11

+ +

1.02 - 2015-07-15

+

1.01 - 2012-10-29

+ + + +
This work is copyright.
+
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+
+

About the author

+

Joe Donnelly was born in Glasgow, in Scotland, close to the +River Clyde, but at a very young age he came to live in Dumbarton, +which is some miles from the city and close to Loch Lomond, Ben +Lomond and the Scottish Highlands.

+

At the age of 18, he decided to become a journalist and found a +job in the Helensburgh Advertiser, a local paper in a neighbouring +town where he learned the first essential of writing: how to type. +Quickly.

+

A few years later, at the age of 22, he became editor of his +local newspaper, the Lennox Herald in Dumbarton, before moving to +the Evening Times and then the Sunday mail in Glasgow where he +became an investigative journalist.

+

During his career he won several awards for newspaper work +including Reporter of the Year, Campaigning Journalist and Consumer +Journalist.

+

It was while working in newspapers that he wrote his first +novel, Bane, an adult chiller, which was followed by eight +other novels, mostly set in and around the West of Scotland and +loosely based on Celtic Mythology.

+

This was followed by Stone, The Shee, +Shrike, Still Life, Havock Junction, +Incubus and Dark Valley.

+

Recently he decided to write for children, although he says his +books are aimed at "young people of all ages, those with some +adventure in their soul."

+

The Jack Flint Trilogy is his first venture at telling +stories for the young at heart.

+

Joe is now working on two novels: A chiller for adults, and +another rollicking adventure for young people, based on Nordic +mythology.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5565b22 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,32 @@ + + + + + +Dedication + + + + +
+
+

INCUBUS

+

It begins as two separate investigations. An elderly woman +collapses, dying in a shopping mall, screaming for her baby. A +young girl disappears on the same day. For detectives David Harper +and Helen Lamont the two cases seem to have no link.

+

Except for the baby.

+

The baby that the missing girl seemed to be carrying.

+

A very demanding baby.

+

And the question isn't: What sort of woman would steal a +baby.

+

It is: What sort of baby would steal a mother?

+

The kind of baby no woman ever wants to meet.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/content.opf b/build/incubus/OEBPS/content.opf new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e17324 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/content.opf @@ -0,0 +1,114 @@ + + + + + + Incubus + en + http://www.impera-media.com/incubus.epub + Horror + + http://www.impera-media.com/ + Joe Donnelly + Impera Media Limited + 2010-02-16 + Copyright (c) 2011, Joe Donnelly. All rights reserved + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css b/build/incubus/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6edc846 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css @@ -0,0 +1,300 @@ +/* Caxton Web stylesheet */ + + +body +{ + color: black; + background-color: white; + font-family: serif; + line-height: 1.4em; + text-align: left; + text-indent: 0em; + border: 0 none; + margin: 0em; + padding: 0em; +} + + +.edge +{ + color: white; + background-color: black; +} + +#cover img +{ + margin: 0 auto; padding: 0; text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; + + +} +#header img +{ + border: 0 none; + margin: 0em; +} + +#header div a, +#footer div a +{ + color: white; + background-color: black; + text-decoration: none; +} + +#heading +{ + margin-bottom: 6em; +} + +#author +{ + margin-bottom: 1.5em; +} + +#e +{ + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +#timestamp +{ + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +#licensenotice +{ + font-size: 0.9em; + line-height: 1.2em; +} + +#preface +{ + margin-bottom: 6em; +} + +#abstract +{ + text-align: justify; +} + +#contents +{ + margin-bottom: 6em; +} + +#contents ul, +#contents ol +{ + list-style-type: none; + margin-left: 0em; +} + +#contents ul ul, +#contents ol ol, +#contents ul ol, +#contents ol ul +{ + margin-left: 2em; +} + +#contents ul li, +#contents ol li +{ + margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +.section +{ + margin-bottom: 6em; + text-align: justify; +} + +h1 +{ + font-size: 3.5em; + line-height: 1em; + font-weight: normal; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 1em; +} + +h2 +{ + font-size: 2.5em; + line-height: 1em; + font-weight: normal; + margin-top: 0em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +h3 +{ + font-size: 1.5em; + line-height: 1.2em; + font-weight: normal; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +h4 +{ + font-size: 1.2em; + line-height: 1.2em; + font-weight: bold; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 0em; +} + +h5 +{ + font-size: 1em; + line-height: 1.2em; + font-weight: bold; + margin: 0.5em 0 0.5em 0; +} + +h6 +{ + font-size: 1em; + line-height: 1.2em; + font-weight: bold; + margin: 0 1.5em 0 0; + float: left; +} + +p +{ + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 0.5em; + margin-bottom: 0.5em; +} + +pre +{ + font-family: monospace; + font-size: 0.85em; + line-height: 1.2em; + text-align: left; + white-space: pre; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + padding: 1.5em; + border: 1px black solid; +} + +ol, ul +{ + margin: 0.5em 2em 0.5em 3em; + padding: 0em; +} + +.plainlist +{ + list-style-type: none; +} + +dl +{ + margin: 0.5em 2em 0.5em 2em; +} + +table +{ + font-size: 1em; + line-height: 1.4em; + margin-top: 1em; +} + +img +{ + border: none; + margin: 0 0 ; + padding: 0 0; + position:absolute; + top:0; + left:0; +} + +#references ul +{ + list-style-type: none; + /*list-style-position: outside;*/ + margin-left: 0em; +} + +#references ul li +{ + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; +} + +code, tt +{ + font-family: monospace; +} + +.codeblock +{ + font-family: monospace; + font-size: 0.85em; + line-height: 1.2em; + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + padding: 1.5em; + border: 1px black solid; +} + +.codeblock .codeblock +{ + font-size: 1em; + border: 0 none; + margin: 0em; + padding-top: 0em; + padding-bottom: 0em; +} + +li, dt, dd +{ + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; +} + +dt +{ + font-weight: bold; +} + +a +{ + color: black; + background-color: white; +} + +/*a:link, a:visited +{ + color: black; + background-color: white; + text-decoration: none; +} + +a:hover +{ + color: black; + background-color: white; + text-decoration: underline; +} + +a:active +{ + color: black; + background-color: rgb(208,208,208); + text-decoration: underline; +}*/ + +.highlight +{ + color: black; + background-color: rgb(224,224,224); +} diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus01.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus01.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..48fd028 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus01.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,263 @@ + + + + 1 + + + + +
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+

1

+ +

THE clatter of fast footsteps slapped on the walls and came echoing back, hollow as drumbeats, urgent and with a flight rhythm all of their own.

+ +

Somebody was running.

+ +

It was a girl. She was hurrying along the alley, held in tight, breath puffed out in plumes as she passed the cascade of waste-bins at the back of the Loo Fung Chinese restaurant. Andy Skinner, who used to be something big in double glazing but had hit the skids after he’d hit the bottle and had now come to rock bottom, was rummaging around in the trash for chicken wings and cold leftovers. He saw the girl come flitting by, though flit wasn’t how he’d have described it.

+ +

Only the face was ghostly, a pale oval shape in the shadows. A pale oval shape with dark ovals for eyes and a wide oval for a mouth. She was hunched over, carrying something in her arms. Andy looked up and the girl looked up at the same time and her eyes opened wide, so wide they looked as if they could have popped out. Her mouth opened even wider.

+ +

It was then that he saw she was carrying a bundle close to her body, but she was moving too fast and it was too dark to make it out. For a minute he thought she was carrying a baby, and that was a surprise. Down in the alley in the back of the Loo Fung, you saw plenty of winos and every now and again you’d get somebody sticking a needle in a vein in their arm by the light of the back kitchen window. You never got girls with babies in their arms.

+ +

It must have been something else, he thought, turning away, minding his own business. He paused and turned back, slowly, the kind of way you see drunks do that shows their springs and shock absorbers are well and truly shot, along with their reflexes.

+ +

For a moment he thought he heard a cry, high and keening, and it could have been the girl. If she was running down here, it was a fair bet somebody would be after her. She might be one of the girls from Ramage Street who hung around waiting for the bars to empty out so they could clock on for the nightshift. Maybe it was the police chasing her and maybe it was her stickman, or maybe it was an angry john she’d stiffed for his twenty. Whatever it was Andy didn’t need the worry. Something to eat, some + chow mein would be nice. Something to eat and a warm place over by the back vent where he could sleep. That was all he wanted. No trouble. He eased himself back into the shadows while the girl stumbled on, heels cracking hard on the old cobbles. She got past the black bags and the old galvanised containers that smelt sour and fatty, breath still feathering out in front off her face. She got to the light at the near end and he heard the cry again. +

+ +

This time she turned again to look at him and in the yellow light he saw her mouth open in a gape that told him she was about to scream. There was fear written all over her face and Andy knew a thing or two about fear.

+ +

Whatever was scaring her, whoever was scaring her, it wasn’t Andy’s problem. He started to turn away from that look and the scream stayed stuck where it was, silent and pinioned inside the girl’s throat.

+ +

Her mouth clamped shut and the dark hollows of her eyes held him and made him stop in mid turn. The tendons of her neck were stuck out in vertical ridges, making her head shake. He could see that quite clearly even in the pale and watery light reflecting from a storeroom window. She was only a few feet away and he could sense the tension and the tremble in her body, like she was wound tighter than a top C string on a guitar. For that small space of time she slowed. Her feet stopped their clatter on the hardcobble and they stood, the tramp and the girl. A slick of hair had curled down onto her brow and stuck there just above her eye. There was a glisten of sweat there, as if she maybe had the flu or a fever, and at this time of the year that wasn’t beyond the bounds of probability.

+ +

The eyes held him. Down in their depths there was a glint of light, a powerful glare of life. She opened her mouth again, as if fighting pain, but her jaws clamped together again and across the space between them, Andy heard her teeth grind together, like small stones underfoot. Any harder and they’re gonna break, he thought. There had been a time when all he’d have thought about was the orthodontist’s bill, but on this night, looking at the stricken look and listening to that strange creaking sound coming from inside her, he thought about the pain it must have been causing the poor cow.

+ +

The whimpering noise came again. It was high and somehow hoarse. For an instant it could have been the cry of a baby, but he discounted it. The sound was too abrasive, too jagged. It was too animal.

+ +

The girl’s eyes opened wider. The light flashed in them and he saw pain there in the rictus of the grimace stretched across her face. She was a good looking thing, tall enough and not wasted like some of the hookers and her teeth were straight and even and despite the dim light, they looked white, which you never saw on any of the junkies

+ +

except that the grinding went on and they’d crack and shatter and then she could work here anytime

+ +

who did tricks for enough to buy the next fix.

+ +

The sound bleated, this time more of a growl. Like a ferret maybe, even one of the city foxes that came prowling around to compete with Andy for the Loo Fung scraps.

+ +

The sound of it made the hairs on the back of his head stand right up on their ends and quiver. He could feel them rise and tense up as if a cold hand had grabbed the skin between his shoulder blades. Right away his belly clenched tight, another cold hand gripping hard and he could feel the muscles of his sphincter open and close. His breath stopped and backed up, clogging his windpipe.

+ +

The fear came almost hard enough to knock him down.

+ +

It shuddered through him, a shunt of absolute, inexplicable dread. Andy knew a thing or two about fear. He’d been mugged many a time and got scared, but that was the day to day fear of life on cobbles. Worse than that, no matter what anybody said, once he’d got down and got dirty and looked at the world through the bottom of a bottle of Buckfast fortified rocket fuel, was the mad fear of the heebie-jeebies when his dead wife and dead kids would come stalking him through the shadows dripping flesh and rippling with the fire that had blackened their bones.

+ +

The fear that riddled through him was like that, except it was worse, much worse. It hit him almost hard enough to make him stumble and fall. It was every primitive fear that had ever been spawned. It was the fear of the inhuman.

+ +

And it was all sparked off by that little whimpering growl. The sound of a baby crying, yet somehow, not that. It was a sound that had no place. It was simply + wrong.

+ +

Andy did stumble back. The girl began to turn. The fear and dread was swelling inside him like a live thing. Her eyes were held tight by the girl’s own gaze.

+ +

“Holy fu...”he started to mouth.

+ +

The girl turned and as she did, her coat opened, jut an inch or two. Andy got a glimpse of something small and crumpled in the shadow. A flash of something that could have been a reflection, could have been an eye.

+ +

The terror soared. The skin of his scrotum withered and wrinkled as his whole body squirmed to get away.

+ +

The girl turned, moved away. Her eyes swept past him, a terror as black and as poisonous as the fear inside Andy Skinner twisted her features into something hag-like and ugly. Then she was gone and the blanket of dread that smothered Andy was dragged away. He stood there, shaking with the force of it, his own eyes wide and staring and threatening to pop out and swing on his own gaunt cheekbones. The nerves at the back of his knees twitched and jittered and almost turned traitor toed to spill him to the pile of trash-bags. His scalp was still crawling and the slithery fingers were still gouged into the skin of his back but the fear was ebbing away.

+ +

He let out his breath. The girl moved on and the echoes of her footsteps rang out, fading as she moved out of sight.

+ +

The fear diminished with the distance. He stood there, listening for that sound again, but apart from her receding footsteps, there was no sound, except for the murmur of traffic along the main street. Andy stood still, pressed against the shadowed wall, waiting for the pursuit to clamour along, and he kept back in the shadows just in case somebody mistook him for something more than a tramp.

+ +

Nobody came.

+ +

He waited a while, among the slimy smells and scents of the Chinese garbage, feeling the sudden craving for a drink to stop the shakes. Nobody came along and the girl’s footsteps faded to whispers and then died.

+ +

Andy turned away from the garbage and headed for the light down on the street. Whatever had reached and touched his nerves, whatever it was had sobered him up. His hands might have been shaking and his heart pounding, but he was more sober, more lucid than at any time in the past five years.

+ +

He reached the wine shop on the corner where he could get a plastic bottle of high-octane brain rot, but he stopped before he went inside.

+ +

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t want a drink. He stood there, trying not to think about the awful fear that had taken him over, unable not to think about it. He was confused and bewildered as any man can be. For those few moments, he did not know what to do.

+ +

Down the street and over the backs of the houses, the bells of St Stephen’s punctuated the hour, a clear and smooth sound that cut through the cold air and reached Andy as he swithered on the wine shop doorstep. Father O’Toole would know what to do. It wasn’t too late, was it? Not too late in the day, and maybe not too late in the game.

+ +

Andy Skinner went down the main street and turned at the lights, weaving through the unseen traffic, heading for the dark spire of the church. A half an hour later, despite the bitter smell of new sweat on old, Father O’Toole heard him confess to the drunken and reckless killing of his wife and family in the car accident he’d escaped nearly seven years before.

+ +

Andy Skinner did not want a drink that night. He wanted more than anything to feel the nearness of God and the touch of his grace, though he hadn’t contemplated his creator in all of those years. He did now, because down in the shadow of the alley where the Loo Fung threw its garbage, he had felt the touch of something bad.

+
+

David Harper had his collar rucked up against the chill of the winter air. The breeze was only an eddy of air, swirling round the blackened and crumbling corner of the old warehouse down close to the harbour. It was hardly more than a breath, but it sucked the heat from his cheek and the cold of it seared the inside of his nose. He dug his hands in his pockets and waited, trying not to stamp his feet in the time honoured tradition of policemen in cold climates. From somewhere beyond the corner of the lane, the faint and high-pitched tunes of Christmas carols came filtering through the mist, a monotonous and somehow melancholy sound of winter city streets. The shops were only a hundred yards away, maybe even less, as the crow flies, but David Harper and Helen Lamont were not crows. A hundred yards, maybe less, that made the difference between the bustle of the city with its fast and frenetic hordes of gatherers doing their festive shopping after work. Here, behind the facade of the mall and the main streets, were the dark alleys and service ways heading down towards the river. Here, the old warehouses, by-way shabby because they were not built to please the eye, huddled against the mass of railway arches and old shipping offices. In a year or so, they would all come down and make way for new works of architecture. For the moment they were solid and shadowed, roll-up doors battened against the night, windows bricked or shuttered against the intruder.

+ +

Somewhere down the river, a foghorn bellowed, far and mournful, and the sound made David think of dinosaurs. The gaunt shipyard cranes looming out of the fog on the other side of the river, lit by the flashing beams of the steady traffic passing over the curve of the bridge, looked like swamp monsters of pre-history. The shadows on the girders them made them seem to move. David wanted to move. Standing in the cold, hidden in the dark of a doorway where hookers performed + al-fresco, and where drunks pissed and vomited every Saturday night in this no mean city, it was not his idea of a good time. It was work. It was job, but it was not fun. +

+ +

Further along the road, where it joined with Riverside Lane, behind the shopping mall, Helen Lamont was almost completely hidden from view. She had the vantage of the north side of the street. David could just make out the pale blur at face height. She must be keeping very still. She must even be keeping a hand in front of her mouth to prevent the tell-tale plume of breath from billowing out. There was back-up down at the corner where two uniforms were sitting in the relative comfort of a van. David’s doorway and the niche of an old entrance where Helen Lamont merged with the shadows were the only cover on this part of the street. A parked car would have been spotted from two hundred yards away, and anyone approaching on wheels would have neither slowed nor stopped.

+ +

A slight cough on the radio jerked him out of his thoughts of dinosaurs and river beasts in the night. He thumbed the receive on his radio, pressing it close to his ear with the volume turned down so low the voice on the other end was almost drowned in the hiss of static.

+ +

“Company.” Helen Lamont’s voice, even in the tinny overlay, was abrupt and clear.

+ +

“Check.” He keyed the radio off again, feeling his heart speed up just that little bit as he went on the alert. Five seconds later, the twin lights of a van, just the side lights, no main beam, cut through the swirl of mist, expanding as they approached. The rumble of the engine caught up, an old, tired diesel with a pineal in the manifold that made it sound even older. The van came closer, juddering on cobbles that had been laid a century before, maintaining its speed as it approached. For a moment, David thought it might pass on by. He tried not to look at the lights, to maintain his night vision, wondering if he’d been given clean information.

+ +

The van slowed beside the metal gate on the far side. A blur up on the driver’s side showed pale face behind glass that was dirty and hoared with frost on its edges. Brakes squealed tinnily and the van stopped, an old, decrepit and nondescript pantechnicon, the kind that are always seen blocking alleyways or unloading from dingy storehouses at odd times of day. It lurched on springs until it settled. The door opened immediately. Somebody got out this side. Two others stepped down quickly from the blind side. There was no rush, but David Harper’s heartbeat moved up a notch. He glanced at the niche where Helen Lamont was still all but invisible. That was good. She hadn’t moved, waiting for his signal. She was keen and but she was pretty good. They’d worked together for six months and he knew he could rely on her to keep her head.

+ +

Tonight was no big deal. The Christmas rush was big business for everybody, and there were shares on all levels of the economy. Tonight, according to the wire, it was a simple pick-up of compact discs and assorted electronic hardware from a warehouse that had been turned over a week before. David had got the word from a good source. It wasn’t a big job, and there were no heavy people, which was why it was a two-man hit plus back up.

+ +

The roll door on the far side screeched upwards with a sound of tearing metal, high enough to send a shiver down the back of his neck. He waited some more while they all went in. A light came on, not bright, but enough to see by in the storehouse. He made out figures moving with deliberate speed. It took them five minutes to get the van half-loaded. They’d been stupid enough for the three of them to pile into the store without leaving a lookout, which told them they were far from organised. He allowed them another two minutes, thumbed the button on the radio, giving Helen the two words and then waited. She came out of the shadow, a slight figure in a heavy flying jacket, more a waif in the dark than a policewoman. Without any delay, he crossed the road, walked straight to the doorway as two of the men were coming out, arms laden with boxes of interactive CD machines.

+ +

He held up his black flashlight, butt first.

+ +

“Put those hands up,” he barked, glad to be moving and suddenly unable to resist . The first man, maybe the same height as himself and several pounds heavier, squawked in alarm. He only saw the figure with a hand stretched out, took in the black barrel, and did exactly as he was told. Three boxes went spilling to the ground in a clatter and thump of cardboard.

+ +

“What in the name of...”

+ +

“You’re under arrest,” David said. “Put the boxes down and line up against the wall.”

+ +

A smaller man close by the door put his stack down. Over by the wall, a younger man, stick thin and angular had stopped in the act of bending. He straightened up, spun, leapt for the space between David and the doorway. Just as he did so, the smaller man dropped his load and scuttled straight out into the street. David grabbed at the thin one, got a hand to an anorak hood. He snatched it, jerked back and down with a hard twist, trying to spin the other man, and the whole hood came ripping of with a pluck of torn buttons. The thin man did spin, but more my luck than anything else, regained his balance and came out of it facing the right way for flight. He was off and running, hard on the heels of the smaller man who had gone out first.

+ +

David cursed and for a split second he couldn’t decide whether to stay and capture the third man, but the decision was made for him instantly when he heard Helen shout from outside.

+ +

“Stop right there.” She was trying to take two of them. David launched himself out of the storeroom, knowing he’d recognise the third man again no matter what, and ran after the feeling figures. Helen was running in the opposite direction, aiming to cut the fleeing men off. The small man went straight for her. She didn’t stop, but instead brought her own flashlight up. From only a few feet away she flicked it on, sending the beam right into the man’s eyes. He made a guttural sound, put his hands up to his face. Helen side-stepped, bent, and at the same time put her foot out, swinging forward to sweep the man’s legs from under him. He cried out again, went into a half somersault and came down with a sickening thud. Immediately Helen was on him, twisting his arm up his back, telling him in a yell that he was under arrest.

+ +

The thin man hit her hard enough to send her sprawling.

+ +

The toe of his boot caught her right under the ribs and knocked her straight back. From twenty yards away David head the crack of the connection and the small grunt of pain. Helen hit against the wall, slamming hard with her shoulder, letting out another incoherent yet eloquent sound.

+ +

“Fuckin’ bitch,” the thin man screeched. He had stopped, possibly unaware that David was right behind him, or perhaps because the fright of the sudden surprise had put him right over the edge. Despite the violence of the kick and the slam against the wall, Helen got to one knee, grabbed his leg. He tried to kick her again. But this time the small man had rolled, groaning, made it to his feet. The thin one aimed a punch directly at Helen’s head and she warded it off with her forearm. He managed to get another kick at her, catching her in the pit of her belly, while she still hung on to his leg.

+ +

David hit him so hard the blow almost dislocated Helen’s shoulder.

+ +

The skinny man went staggering off and David followed, slamming him again, right up against the wall which he hit with a surprisingly meaty thud. Without hesitation, David smacked him on the back of his head, driving his face forward into the crumbling sandstone. He heard the crack as the man’s nose broke. The thin man squealed. David grabbed him by the collar where the hood had come away, dragged him back. The small man was on his feet, getting ready to hare off down the road. Helen’s hand flicked out in a cat-swipe, snatched his hair and spun him round, bringing him close to where David was standing.

+ +

In the dim light of the back street she pivoted on one foot, still grasping the small man’s hair while he mewled in pain and fright, snapped her leg up and drove her knee hard and fast into the thin man’s groin. He jack-knifed instantly and David let him drop.

+ +

“Thanks,” she told him.

+ +

“Any time,” he said, grinning, though he would have felt happier if the collar had been easier. There should have been no trouble in making the arrest and he should not have let any of them out of the door. He bent down, took a hold of the collar again, hauling the thin man upright, and began reading him his rights. The prisoner was blubbering now, his face a mask of blood and snot, both hands sunk in against his crotch, while his body tried to stay bent double.

+ +

Right at that moment, the van’s engine coughed into life. It revved hard and without hesitation, it came rumbling along the narrow road towards them.

+ +

“What the hell?” Helen snapped. The thin man tried to pull away and she clamped his wrist, driving it up his back. The van came roaring down, just a black shape, with no lights on. For an instant it looked as if there was no driver. The nearside wheel hit the kerb, mounted the pavement and the van came swerving right for Helen.

+ +

“Jesus Christ,” the small man bleated in a high-pitched, panicked voice. Helen turned, saw the black shape bearing down on them. Her mouth opened in a perfect circle.

+ +

David ran forward, dragging the thin man with him. He twisted, swinging the other man out in front of him, placing him directly between the van and Helen. Lights or no, he knew the driver could see enough.

+ +

The engine growled. Up on the cabin the pale blur of the driver’s face pulled back. For a second it looked as if it would crump both David and the thin man against the wall. Then at the last possible moment, the wheels spun. Bight sparks fountained from the wall where the wheel arch scraped and then the van went hurtling away from them. It missed David and the thin man by inches. Unable to stop it careened across the road and slammed into the opposite wall with a deafening crash.

+ +

David dragged his captive with him as he strode towards the van. With one easy movement he brought out his cuffs, slapped them on the thin man’s wrist, jamming them as tightly as he could to cause the maximum pain. He snicked the free end onto the lug at the back of the van. A smell of spilled diesel spread out from under the chasis. David sniffed.

+ +

“If this blows, you’ll blow with it,” he told the thin man whose mouth dropped wide in fright, showing a snaggle of stained teeth.

+ +

David got to the door, jerked it open, reached in and hauled the third man from the cabin. The driver was moaning in pain and panic, both hands up against his head where he had driven forward and hit the windscreen. David got him outside, turned him round, and with surprising gentleness, he pulled the man’s hands down from is face.

+ +

“Kenny Lang,” he said. “I thought it was you. Are you all right?”

+ +

He leaned forward, in evident concern for the other man’s well being. Kenny Lang lifted his face, spread his arms just enough to show that he thought he might live. David looked him straight in the eye and in that moment the anger flared in sudden heat. This cretin had tried to kill his partner. He had deliberately run the van straight at her to smear her against the wall. Another second and Helen Lamont would have been lying there in a crumpled heap.

+ +

David Harper drew his head back, drove it forward with all his weight and smashed his forehead onto the other man’s nose. Kenny Lang dropped like a sack, making no sound but the noise of his weight hitting the ground. His face was opened like a ripe tomato.

+ +

David crossed the road. Helen had the other man cuffed and face down on the pavement. He got his hands to her elbows and raised her up, There was a dirty smudge on her cheek where he had made contact with the wall. In this light it looked like a bruise on her pale skin. The orange street lights at the far end caught her eyes and made them glitter. David got an arm around her, feeling the slight of her body against his, and the shiver of the adrenaline rush that just about matched his own.

+ +

“You okay?”

+ +

“I’ll live,” she said, breathing heavily. He could hear the anger in her own voice, along with the pain. She was bent slightly to the left, favouring her injured side. “And thanks again. You’re making a habit of this.”

+ +

“What’s a boy to do?” he said, managing to get a smile from her.

+ +

The patrol arrived from the end of the lane and David relinquished his hold on her, though not before the uniforms exchanged knowing looks.

+ +

“Call for the wagon,” David told them curtly. “Constable Lamont may need medical treatment. Book all three of these.”

+ +

“What’s the charge?”

+ +

David looked at the bulky man who still lay on the street, conscious but hardly aware. “Littering the road for a start. Then we’ll work it up from there when I get back from casualty.”

+ +

He walked Helen the two hundred yards to the car, past Carrick Street which led right down to the river’s edge. Just at the corner, somebody passed them, heading west on the old cobbles. Neither of them looked, but both of them got the impression of a young woman walking quickly. In the distance, the choirboys in the shopping mall were still singing their non-stop dirge and here, closer to the shopping centre, the bustle of the city was louder and more urgent.

+ +

The fast footsteps clacked on the cobbles and the figure hurried away. A breeze stirred and brought up a smell from the dirty waters of the river, an acrid, rancid scent that was sharp as the winter air. David wrinkled his nose, wondering what toxins had been flushed into the water. He blinked quickly, feeling the anger inexplicably swell inside him again. He took a deep breath to force it away. By the time he eased Helen into the car, the street was empty.

+
+

She was running.

+ +

She scurried down in the dark and shadow of the alleyway, staying clear of the lights and the bustle of the main street. Her heartbeat was a pounding in her ears and the pulse a thudding in her head, hard and persistent, like a migraine without the blindness.

+ +

There was a red tinge to everything, as though she was seeing the world, dark and shade, through coloured glass. It was like looking through a film of blood and she wondered, dimly, what was wrong with her eyes. Something had burst. She had felt it when she was running, a sharp shock of pain on the crescendo of the thudding pulse and then a draining sensation as it faded under the grinding throb.

+ +

Panic flared high and hysterical and was instantly swamped down to a low guttering flame.

+ +

Oh Jesus don’t let this be happening to me

+ +

She turned the corner, holding herself tight, clutching the bundle in clawed hands, clamped against herself under her coat. She could feel it press up against her breast and the panic soared again. The mewling sound came, soft and close, but it went through her like the screech of a stone-saw in the masonry yard where her uncle worked and she felt it like a physical sear.

+ +

He alley was long and narrow, jinking in a dog-leg at the far end where the shadows crouched and huddled away from the light. She clattered down on the cobbles, feet pattering and echoing back from the high walls. Round the corner she came, slipping on something slimy and slick, regaining her balance before she slammed against the roughcast on the corner of the back-alley storehouse and came along the straight serviceway behind the main street stores. Here and there, fruit-boxes and plastic bread-boards were stacked or heaped, there was a smell of old mould, and it would have been strong on the cold air but for the all pervading flat and sour scent that clogged her nose and somehow conjured up images of weasels and reptiles. The reek hung about her like a cloud and made her heart beat fast, too fast, in her chest, but she could do nothing about that now. All she could do was run down the alley, holding on, holding tight.

+ +

She went scuttering past the piled black bags beside the dumper skip at the back of the Chinese restaurant when something caught her eye, a grey motion in peripheral vision, and she turned her head.

+ +

The thing came lumbering out from the shadows, not close but not far away and she slowed, quite reflexively, the way she would have done on any street, in any alley - though there were few alleys she’d gone tripping down in recent years - but it was only instinct, not fear. There was no room inside her for any more fear. She turned and saw the man, gaunt and grizzled, his grey hair wild and awry, almost a caricature of someone who has stuck a finger in an electrical socket. His face was grey but his eyes were wide and his mouth even wider. She did not know that unconsciously the man was parodying her own expression.

+ +

Something, some cry, some word came blurting to her lips and almost made it out into the cold air but then her jaw snapped shut + was made to shut and the word was strangled to silence. She could hear her own teeth grinding there as her muscles clamped and clenched and creaking noises of hard surface against hard surface vibrated through her head. +

+ +

Go on go on go on don’t stop

+ +

Not quite words. Just an urgency. A motive force. It twisted within her and willed her feet onward, making the nerves jump and the muscles twitch. The man started at her, eyes owlish and suddenly fear-filled. She could see it there, mirroring her own terror, as if he was looking at a devil. She tried to speak again but nothing happened. Her teeth clenched and the tendons in her neck felt as if they would break with the strain of it.

+ +

Go go go go get gone. Go now.

+ +

She could feel herself turn and pull away, to stop still. Her mind tried to fight the dreadful imperative, but a sharp pain, keen as glass, razored in behind her eyes, crystal clear and so powerful it blinded her momentarily. She shook herself, more in reaction to the hurt, to shuck it away, and when her vision came back all the dark images were tinged I n a deeper red and they were doubled up, wavering apart in dizzying duplication before they jostled back into conjunction.

+ +

Oh please. Mother. Oh no. Her mind, the part of it that she could still use, was babbling in baby talk.

+ +

The man with the grizzled fright-hair and the terrified look on his face backed off. She turned and went running down the alley, leaving him in the shadows. She struck to her own, clinging close to the wall where it was dark. The alley forked here. The left track doubled back down to the main street where the library stood blocky and solid on the corner opposite the double hump of McDonalds. Down there, people were parking their cars and eating out of polyfoam platters. Families would be huddled round tables, groups of boys would be exchanging bashful insults with groups of girls, the way she had done only a few years past.

+ +

A million years, it felt like

+ +

Down there were people, ordinary folk, going about their business and their lives and she wanted to call out to them but she couldn’t made a sound. Her breath rasped at the pack of her throat and whistled out through clenched teeth and she grasped her arms tight around it and went staggering up the other fork in the alley to the end, at the back of the Pizza place where she used to work Friday nights when she was still at school. The smell of onion and mozzarella and pepperoni came thick in the steam from the vents, billowing out on ghostly hauntings of scent, but it smelled bad here, foul and sickening, alien.

+ +

She felt her throat clench against it and the pounding came harder in her ears. For a moment she thought she might vomit in a bitter spray against the wall, but while her belly heaved, it all stayed inside her. Beyond the corner, on the far side, a corrugated shack stood adjacent to a fenced compound filled with bent and broken cars. She stumbled past and two big dogs came loping out of the shadows, startled by her passage, and launched themselves at the chain-link wire. Ordinarily the frantic and vicious snarling would have sent her screaming in fright, but she was beyond that now, carried along on a wave of utter horror of her own that transcended any simple alarm. The dogs slavered and growled, eyes reflecting the orange of the street light, noses wrinkled, lips pulled back from gnashing teeth.

+ +

A small whining sound responded, high and rasping, not loud, but cutting across the snarls from inside the compound. A different, corrosive smell sprayed out.

+ +

The effect was electric. The dogs leapt back from the fence as if they’d been kicked. The larger of the two, a big German Shepherd with a shaggy coat hackled into spikes twisted round so quickly it slipped and rolled on the wet ground. The other one yelped a whinny of protest and surprise. It spun round in a complete circle, clashed against the chain link and then leapt for the far shadows. The second dog screamed an oddly cat-like sound and tumbled after it, tail tucked right under its belly. Far back in the compound, among the hulks of broken cars, they could be heard howling in fright, a strange and shivery, quite unearthly sound in the dark.

+ +

She continued up the alley, ignoring the canine terror, went round the corner to the accessway behind the terrace of houses on Dunlop Street. She scrambled past the tight hedges careless of the scrape of sharp twigs against her good winter coat. Her breath plumed in front of here, picking up the light of the moon. Five or six houses along she came to the white barred gate, pressed against it and swung it wide with a faint creak of the hinges. Inside she scurried up the flagstone path and went round the side, up the short flight of stairs. Her fingers, still clawed and numb, managed to get a hold of the handle. With a wrench she got it open and pushed her way inside.

+ +

Her hand automatically reached for the light switch.

+ +

No...!

+ +

The wordless command froze her rigid, hand stretched out in the dark. The awesome fear burgeoned in a black tide and she sagged against the wall, limbs suddenly weak and shivery, as if she’d run a marathon, as if she was felled by fever.

+ +

Hot tears sprung to her eyes, wavering pink as they brimmed over and spilled down her cheeks.

+ +

She slowly lowered herself to the floor, slipping down against the wall until she was hunkered against the skirting board, breathing shallow and fast. The door snicked shut on the latch leaving her in darkness lightened only by the paler rectangle of the curtained window.

+ +

The small sound came again, cold and shuddery, quiet as a creaking hinge, rasping like gravel on a far shore, but loud in her consciousness, a demanding sound.

+ +

“What am I doing here,” she thought to herself. “What on earth...”

+ +

The baby in her arms whimpered its dry little rasp. The scent came wafting up from the folds of her winter coat and a hot shard of pain twisted against her breast. She turned, squirming against the sensation, letting her coat open wide. Her eyes were more accustomed to the dim light and she could clearly see the white of her blouse, coned out where her other breast pressed against the smooth fabric.

+ +

A dark, damp stain was spreading across the surface, turning the white to grey. She stared at it, puzzled. Behind her nipple, an odd, pulsing ache, not quite pain now, but a pressing sensation, swelled and waned. The stain spread and the odd scent came strong again, now tinged with a sweeter smell. It was then she realised that her breast was leaking milk.

+ +

Oh please no. Don’t let this be happening to me.

+ +

The panic welled up again and the scent came thick and choking in her gullet, enveloping the dread. The fear was smothered and squashed down inside her.

+ +

The baby’s head, a small smooth shape in the dim light moved quickly. She felt the cotton of her blouse tug away from her and the edge of her brassiere scraped against her skin. The baby’s head moved again, nuzzling down. She felt its touch and a shudder of appalling revulsion rippled through her, yet that too was sugared with a powerful, undeniable need within her.

+ +

The scent came again, strong and powerful and thick in her throat and the revulsion faded.

+ +

The baby clamped on her nipple, sucking hard, pulling furiously at the erect little nubbin. She could feel the liquid, her own milk, squirt out of her and even as she lost herself in the darkness, she knew that she could not possibly be nursing a baby. She couldn’t be breast feeding. She had no milk to give.

+ +

Yet the baby sucked and pulled. It made small, feral, gobbling noises down there in the dark of the coat folds and Ginny’s panicked breathing began to subside. The sobs that made her lungs hitch in sudden jerks faded away and an irresistible sensation of fulfilment enveloped her. It layered itself on the spark of her own self that was still aware and writhed and twisted inside her, clamouring to be away and home and safe.

+ +

Very slowly, as if all the strength had drained away from her she leaned back against the wall where her coat made a damp smear on the flock paper.

+ +

The baby did not stop feeding.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus02.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus02.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba5bdaa --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus02.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,464 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

2

+

The woman spun around in the centre of the mall. Her arms were +spread wide and she looked like an elderly ballet dancer trying a +final slow pirouette. Two girls passing close by turned to look at +her, sniggered and moved on. Over by the Italian delicatessen, a +couple watched the sluggish graceless spin. The woman’s +handbag spun away to the left, hit the tiles and slid along the +floor to the wall. Up above it the lights caught the Christmas +tinsel and a choir of plastic angels swung their heads idiotically +from side to side as they sang doleful carols.

+

The woman, tall and angular with grey frizzy hair opened her +mouth in a silent yell. Her eyes rolled upwards until only the +whites were visible and then she fell with a resounding thump to +the floor. She jerked as if a savage current of electricity was +discharging through her body, back arching right up from the +surface. A gout of spittle coughed from the back of her throat. A +dry, desperate croak rasped from her yawning mouth. A pair of boys +almost fell over the skinny, splayed legs and swerved to avoid the +obstruction without stopping

+

Two assistants came rushing out of Body Shop and reached the +stricken woman. One of them, red-haired and freckled, hung back +nervously. The other, short, plump and dark haired crouched over +the fallen shape.

+

“Are you all right?” she asked, the question +everybody asks when it is clear that nothing is all right.

+

The old woman gagged again, mouth now twisted into a grimace of +pain. Her hands were clamped in against herself, one on her thin +chest, the other on her belly. Her legs were spread wide, bare and +bloodless, shivering and thrumming uncontrollably. The +woman’s head rattled hard against the floor.

+

“Get a doctor,” the girl said, turning over her +shoulder to her friend. “Phone an ambulance. +Quick.”

+

The red-head hesitated, wringing her hands together, somehow +dismayed and revolted at the same time.

+

“Come on Jeanette, run. She’s really +sick.”

+

From another shop doorway, another woman came hurrying across +from the Rolling Stock car accessory shop front.

+

“What’s the matter?”

+

“She just fell down.”

+

The sprawled woman’s eyes rolled downwards and for an +instant they locked on the kneeling girl. Her mouth opened and +closed several times. Three small moles, equally spaced in a line, +marked her face like ink blots.

+

“She’s had a heart attack,” the second woman +said. Her name was Jenny McGill. “That or a stroke. Try to +get her on to her side.”

+

“Baby,” the word came hissing out, almost a +snarl. A spray of spittle came out along with it, making the word +incomprehensible.

+

Jenny McGill from Rolling Stock pushed at the prostrate form. +“Christ, she’s stinking,” she said, not unkindly. +It was true, the woman smelled pretty awful. She looked as if she +hadn’t eaten in days, or washed in longer than that. Despite +the smell, old sweat and damp clothes and something else besides, +Jenny pushed and hauled until she got the victim on her side. She +tilted her chin back to clear the airway and recoiled again. The +breath came panting from between teeth that were grey and rotten. +It stank of decay.

+

Ignoring this reek, she pulled open the thin cardigan and +thinner blouse, careless of the few buttons. A surprisingly swollen +breast pushed out of a grey brassiere and she pushed it to the +side.

+

“Is she going to die?” the plump girl asked. A crowd +was gathering around them. People’s voices held the hushed +tones of the curious, ready to be shocked at the nearness of +tragedy, the proximity of death. Up on the higher level, beyond the +busy escalator, a gallery of folk, boys, girls and adults were +hanging over, spectating greedily.

+

“Don’t know dear, let me have a listen. I’ve +done first aid.”

+

Jenny bent right down, turning her head to the side, got an ear +to the heaving chest. The skin was clammy and hot, too hot. She +clamped the heel of her hand against her exposed ear, cutting off +the tumult of sound, though the plastic angels still managed to get +through with We Three Kings. She pressed harder until the +festive music faded out and closed her eyes to concentrate.

+

The woman’s heartbeat was faint but fast, tripping like a +woodpecker burr against the ribs.

+

“Fibrillation,” Jenny said. “She’s +going.”

+

“What?” the plump assistant asked.

+

“It’s her heart. Is your friend phoning for +help?”

+

The other girl twisted her head, found a space in the gathering +crowd. In the Body Shop, the red-head was putting the phone down. +“Yeah. I said to call an ambulance.”

+

Jenny McGill nodded. Down there against the flesh, the smell was +worse. It sent a shiver through her and for an instant her own +vision wavered. It was powerful and rancid, and Jenny almost turned +away. The sweat stood out in strings of beads on the pallid skin. +The breasts pressed upwards against the fabric, rounded and +bloated, laced with dark veins. They did not look natural on the +oddly wizened frame.

+

She leaned down again, listening to the dreadful rippling sound +of a heart beating out of control. There were other sounds in +there, an odd whoosh of turbulence, the sound of water +leaking from a pipe, and a louder gurgle from further down, in the +abdomen somewhere, as if the woman had been eating cucumbers or +beans and was getting ready to blow.

+

Jenny knew it was more than that. Fibrillation meant that the +heart, despite its frantic beat, couldn’t get the blood +pumped up hard enough. It was pooling down there in the arteries +and veins in the belly, a mass of liquid pressing against the +bowels and bladder. Unless the woman was stabilised, she would blow +all right. She’d blow herself right out of this world.

+

“Stand back,” Jenny said. “Give her some +room.”

+

“Flipping hell, what’s that smell?” a boy +asked. “Has she shit herself?”

+

The crowd pushed back a little. Jenny pushed herself up to her +knees. The woman’s eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. She +mouthed silent words, only managing a hoarse gurgle.

+

“What’s that?”

+

“Baby,” finally the word blurted out in a coughing +his. “Got to get my baby...”

+

Must be hallucinating, Jenny thought. The woman had to be in her +sixties. She put her hands together, one on top of the other, the +heel of the left one pressing just under the ridged sternum. She +pushed down hard. The woman’s head came off the ground an +inch, maybe two and slammed down again with a sickening crack. It +sounded like a coconut falling onto stone. Jenny pushed again.

+

“What’s she doing?” the boy asked.

+

“Giving her heart massage,” his pal told him. +“I saw it in casualty. It never works. You need that electric +thing. The jump leads.”

+

Another push. Hard and definite. The dying woman coughed once +and her eyes bulged. Her mouth was working all the time.

+

“Why doesn’t she give her the kiss of +life?”

+

“You try it. Have you smelt her? It’s worse than dog +farts.”

+

Jenny McGill didn’t stop her efforts. Her eyes were fixed +on the woman. She pressed down again hard, stopped, bent to listen, +heard the fluttering purr under the surface and went back to +heeling her hands down on the breastbone.

+

“Haven’t you boys got better things to do?” +she snapped. “Go out and tell the ambulance men where to +come.”

+

The expert on smells gave her a blank look.

+

“Get moving,” Jenny rasped at him. He saw something +in the look in her eye and pushed out of the crowd towards the +door.

+

“Can you help her?” the plump girl asked. Her name +was Carol Padden. She was normally rosy cheeked and cheerful, but +the woman’s plight had drained the blood from her face. Carol +was fifteen and worked only part time. She had never seen anyone +take a fit or a heart attack before. All she could hear was the +savage, stuttered breathing and the rolling madness in the sprawled +woman’s eyes and it scared her.

+

“Doing my best honey,” Jenny said. “Doing my +bloody best.”

+

Her breath was coming almost as fast as the old woman’s, a +panting sound of effort. It wasn’t working, she knew. The +woman still writhed and twitched under her hands. There was no +change in the fibrillation. Finally Jenny pushed herself up and +leaned back, a trickle of sweat running down her own forehead. The +woman’s breath was a dry rattle and the smell, sickly sweet +and powerful as rotten meat, came rising up with it. Jenny slicked +a hand across her bow and as she did so, the woman’s eyes +swung round and fixed upon her.

+

For an instant they were pale and unfocussed and then, in the +next they suddenly cleared. In that moment they were bright with +life.

+

“Baby,” she repeated and this time there was no +mistaking it. “Where’s my baby? I need to +get...”

+

“What baby?” Jenny asked.

+

The woman’s hand came up and snatched at Jenny’s +wrist. The fingers closed over her forearm and gripped with +desperate force. It was so tight that Jenny winced as her bones +ground together.

+

“Wha....?”

+

“Get it,” the woman grated. “Get the baby. +Bring him.”

+

“What baby?” Jenny asked, twisting her arm, trying +to free herself from the grip, but the woman’s fingers felt +as if they were made of iron. The knuckles stuck out white as bone. +Despite the pain in at the junction of the radius and ulna, Jenny +thought it was impossible for the woman to be so strong. She was +dying. Her heart was giving out right there on the floor. Nothing +but a massive electrical shock would stabilise that fluttering +uncontrollable beat.

+

“Find it,” the woman said again, though this time, +it was less clear. It was as if the very act of grabbing +Jenny’s wrist and speaking at all had drained the last of her +strength. She raised her head up, eyes still bulging, lips drawn +back over dirty, stained teeth. The smell came wafting up, thick +enough to choke on, an unnatural scent that smelled of death and +decay. She fixed Jenny with desperate eyes.

+

Jenny McGill nodded, prepared to agree to anything. She pulled +back and the woman’s grip slackened. Her head went slowly +back down to the floor. For another second, maybe two, the pale +eyes hooked on to hers, sharp as needles.

+

Then the life went out of them.

+

It was just as if somebody had pulled a switch. The life went +out and Jenny knew the woman was dead. Her whole body slumped, a +puppet with its strings cut. The mouth gaped and a trickle of thick +saliva slid out. It was pink.

+

Absently rubbing her wrist, where the bruise would later show +the four blue finger marks and a deeper smudge where the thumb had +pressed, the woman’s final imprint, her last mark on the +world, Jenny leaned away from the slack face and the eyes which had +unfocussed and were now fixed on something a million miles away, or +something beyond the white light that people spoke of. It +hadn’t, Jenny knew, been a slow death. At the end of the day, +sometimes that was all that mattered, that death was not slow.

+

Slowly she got to her feet, dimly aware of the ululating sirens +coming closer down Meadow Street towards the mall.

+

“Make way, come on, give us room,” a man’s +voice bawled. The clatter of trolley wheels thrummed over the metal +strip where the security door was closed at night. The crowd, +already thinning, moved back further. The drama was almost over. A +woman had fallen and died, unusual, but not the end of the +world.

+

“Ambulance,” the man’s voice barked. +“Coming through.”

+

Jenny saw the green medic’s overalls and was glad. They +would take over now, relieving her of any responsibility. She +raised a hand to flick away a stray slick of hair that had fallen +over her eyes and she got a scent of the woman’s smell. +Suddenly she felt unclean.

+

“Right, where’s the problem,” the paramedic +said. The crowd parted wide and they came striding forward, expert +eyes taking in the scene.

+

“Anybody know what’s happened?”

+

“She collapsed. I saw it,” Carol Padden told him. +The colour was coming back into her pretty face. “She just +put a hand to her chest and spun round and fell down. This lady +said she was filigreed.”

+

“Fibrillating,” Jenny corrected. “At least I +think so. Her heart was too fast. I tried heart massage, but it +made no difference.”

+

“Done the course, eh?”

+

Jenny nodded as the man did exactly what she had done, bending +down as if in penitent prayer, and put an ear against the +woman’s chest.

+

“Not any more,” he said, wrinkling his nose. +“What the hell has she been rolling in?” He turned to +his partner. “She’s stopped Phil. Let’s get her +to the paddles. We might make re-suss.” The first man turned +to Jenny. “How long has she stopped?”

+

“A minute or so. Not long.”

+

“You don’t get long,” the man said, but he +grinned, showing a friendly mouthful of good teeth. He was a +technician, unfazed and unshocked. He and Phil quickly lifted the +body onto the trolley. The crowd melted away. The first man winked +at Jenny.

+

“You did your best, love, That’s all anybody can +ask.” He smiled again and then they were off, heading for the +doors. Jenny turned away and began to walk back to Rolling Stock +where the cashier at the door had turned in her swivel seat to gawp +while two small boys took advantage of her inattention to stuff +their pockets with flashlight batteries. She had only walked ten +paces when a dreadful scream tore the air and instantly the +shopping mall hubbub was silenced. Jenny spun. A few yards away +Carol Padden turned almost as quickly.

+

The paramedics had almost reached the big glass doors at the +west end of the mall, where the smart leather shop showed +mannequins that could have auditioned for a bondage movie. The lead +man had his arm held out at shoulder height to straight-arm the +door wide open, though that wouldn’t have been necessary +because they were automatic anyway. A few yards away, tethered to a +litter bin, a small yappy Yorkshire terrier went into a frenzy of +high pitched barking.

+

The scream sliced warm air, loud and high enough to shiver the +glass on the leather shop window. Phil, pushing the trolley, head +bent, stopped. Beside him a child, held in its mothers arms, went +into hysterics.

+

The woman on the trolley sat upright and screamed so loud it was +hard to imagine a human being could make such a huge noise.

+

“What on earth....,” Jenny muttered. Her heart +suddenly jumped so high it was hard to swallow the sudden saliva at +the back of her mouth.

+

The dead woman sat upright. The lead man was in the act of +turning. The woman’s mouth was open in an impossible gape, +ferally wide, just like an animal.

+

“...she was dead.” Jenny finished her sentence.

+

The scream went on, high and glassy and completely +unnerving.

+

The paramedic stopped. Phil’s head was coming up. The door +had started its slide open and the woman rolled off the trolley. +She tumbled to the hard floor and hit it with a thump loud enough +to be heard thirty yards away. Her coat flew open and a bloated +breast spilled out, grotesque and rubbery, filigreed with veins. +The grizzled hair sprung out in all directions. There was a +cracking sound as if a bone had broken, but the woman turned, +almost in slow motion. Her hand reached out, fingers hooked into +claws. Her scream abruptly cut off.

+

“Christ on a bike,” Phil said. “What’s +going on James?” He turned towards the woman who was rolling +away from him, raising herself on to her knees. She crawled away +from the trolley.

+

“I thought you said she was stopped.”

+

“She was. Honest to God. There was nothing there. +Absolutely nothing.”

+

The woman ignored them. The second hallway of the mall angled +away from the front door. Up on a ledge, the plastic choirboys +still swung their heads in pathetic unison while the Christmas +dirges implacably continued, oblivious of the drama. From here, it +was clear that the sound and motion did not coincide.

+

The woman almost scurried across the neatly patterned tiling. A +well-dressed girl came walking out of a shop, arms laden with +parcels. She was oblivious to the commotion until she almost +stumbled over the woman. Whatever she thought it was, it was clear +that it was entirely unexpected. She screeched. All the parcels +went up in the air. They came down and hit the ground with a series +of thumps. The old woman scuttled past, a ragged, spidery shape +with that ballooning breast dangling like a growth.

+

She made it half way along the walkway. Phil and his partner +went chasing after her, but they needn’t have rushed. +Whatever burst of strength the woman had managed to summon left her +just then, when she was half way to the far wall where baby buggies +and walkers and prams were parked in a line.

+

One moment she was scuttling on hands and knees, a grotesque, +fluttering shape on the floor. The next her hands slid from in +front of her and she tumbled headlong, her forehead hit the floor +with a sickening crack. She rolled over, twitched twice, and was +still.

+

The medics reached her, one of them dragging the trolley behind +him. Without any hesitation they heaved the woman back on +again.

+

“Make sure she’s strapped in this time,” James +said.

+

“Make sure she’s dead next time,” Phil snapped +back. Over by the bookshop, an old and elegant woman’s mouth +fell open into a shocked oval.

+

“Sorry ma’am,” James said. He tried to smile +but couldn’t. He had never seen anything quite like this +before. The dead did not get up and walk, or crawl. Not in any of +the manuals. And she had been dead all right. He’d heard +nothing inside her except for the gurgle of settling fluids. +She’d been dead and gone.

+

But she had screamed loud enough to wake the dead and +she’d gone crawling like a ragged spider.

+

He shook his head. His partner strapped the form onto the flat +and they ran for the doors. They opened in time and the medics got +to the ambulance.

+

Inside the mall, Jenny McGill watched in stunned silence. Her +heart was beating fast and she felt suddenly faint. The sight of +the woman crawling, a hunched and grotesque shape scuttering across +the floor, had scared her so badly her hands were shaking.

+

She put them up to her face and again she smelt the +woman’s scent. It smelled of death.

+
+

“Step on it James,” Phil urged. “Get this +thing moving.” The siren was screaming as loud as the woman +had done and the ambulance rocked from side to side as the driver +hauled it round a tight bend.

+

Phil had slit the faded blouse down the centre and got the black +pads of the portable resuscitator onto the ribs under the rubbery +breasts. He thumbed the node and despite the insulation, he felt +the hairs on his arms stand up when the current discharged. The +woman’s muscles contracted violently, back arching off the +trolley despite the restraining straps. Her arm, which had rolled +off the surface and had hung limply, fingers pointing at the floor, +spasmed in a sudden snap. It came up, fingers now clenched into a +fist and punched Phil’s left testicle with enough force to +make him cry out in pain.

+

“You okay?” James called back.

+

“Bitch hit me,” Phil managed to reply.

+

“What?”

+

The fingers unclenched and the hand fell back down again. Phil +bent, trying to ignore the pulsing ache, secured the arm under a +strap and tried again. The body flailed once more, but the monitor +line stayed horizontal.

+

“Trying adrenaline now,” Phil said. “Fifty. +Straight in.”

+

He aimed the thick needle at an angle under the breastbone, +pointing it upwards and slightly to the right. Without hesitation +he started to depress the plunger and the hormone went straight +into the heart muscle.

+

“Nearly there,” James said. “Got +anything?”

+

“Nothing yet.”

+

The ambulance sped through the gateway, siren still yelling +urgently, and ran straight for the covered bay in front of the +accident unit. While Phil had been delivering the cardiac shock, +James had been on the radio calling in. A crash team were waiting +to take over. The brakes squealed and the Phil was thrown forward. +Just at that moment the woman’s body gave an enormous +shudder. Her eyes flicked open, pale and blue and faded. They +looked around. Phil turned. Her hand jerked against the +restraint.

+

“Baby,” she whispered. “Got to get my baby. He +needs me.”

+

Phil stared at her, stunned into silence. The adrenaline +hadn’t worked. The shocks hadn’t had any effect. Yet +now she was alive again.

+

“There’s something funny going on here,” Phil +said. The hairs on the back of his neck were crawling. The +woman’s eyes swivelled towards him.

+

“My baby,” she whispered again. “Bring +him.”

+

Phil opened his mouth to speak when another enormous convulsion +arched the woman off the trolley. It happened so quickly that he +had no time to react, and with such force that one of the +restraining straps broke and sent the fastener flying to smack +against the roof.

+

The door opened. Hands reached in. The woman flopped back down +and the life went out of her eyes again.

+

Somebody unsnapped the brake and the trolley was hauled outside. +Phil followed behind.

+

“I gave her fifty of adrenaline,” he told Brendan +Quayle, the young emergency resident who was already pressing his +stethoscope down against the woman’s ribs. “She came +round. But it didn’t look right.”

+

The team trundled their package inside. James came round and the +two medics followed them into the unit.

+

“Can’t feel a thing,” the doctor said. +“Did you shock her?”

+

“Twice. Up to four hundred. Not a thing. The line was +flat.”

+

“But she came round after adrenaline?”

+

“Not right away. It was maybe a minute, a bit +longer.”

+

“Can’t have been. Wouldn’t take that +long,” the doctor said, though not unkindly.

+

Phil shook his head. The sudden lurch inside the ambulance and +the croaking whisper from the woman had badly unnerved him. He had +seen many things on the road. Dying children, mutilated crash +victims, frozen bodies in the snow. They were all part of the job. +You bit down on the shock and went on and eventually you treated +them like numbers because it was easier that way.

+

But this had been different. She had been dead twice and she had +come alive and there had been a mad look in those rheumy eyes. +Whatever had happened to the woman, it had not been natural. Phil +didn’t quite articulate that thought, but something inside +him knew. He shivered again.

+

It took the crash team less than five minutes to pronounce the +woman well and truly dead. Phil looked through the portholes of the +doors, half expecting her to come lunging up from the table. A +nurse drew the sheet over her head. Nothing happened. The +woman’s nose and her oddly full breasts poked at the surface +of the fabric, but she remained still.

+

“You’ve gone all white,” James said.

+

“Nearly shit myself,” Phil said. “And she +nearly neutered me.”

+

“You can’t win them all. Come on, I’ll get you +a cup of tea and we’ll write the report up later.”

+

A tall nurse came and wheeled the gurney away down to the +mortuary. Phil followed its progress until it went through the +swing doors and disappeared from sight.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus03.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus03.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b203c1e --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus03.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,515 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

3

+

“She just fell down,” Carol Padden said. “I +was right at the front of the shop. It sounded dreadful, just a +terrible thud and all her breath came out.”

+

David Harper nodded. He was sipping a cup of tea in the back +shop, his fourth of the morning and he knew he should refuse any +other offers or he’d start to choke. Either that or +he’d be jangling by nightfall.

+

“And that’s when you and your friend, what’s +her name, Jeanette, went out to help?”

+

“Yes. But there was nothing we could do.”

+

“Did you see anybody with the woman?”

+

The girl shook her head. “No. She was on her own. +I’m sure of that.”

+

It was going to be a slog, David knew. The uniforms had already +been round asking the questions and had got nowhere. Normally the +beat teams who patrolled the Waterside Mall and the whole of the +shopping centre of the town would be enough, but he’d been +sent along to lend his weight and that was odd enough. It was just +a sudden death. No suspicious circumstances. A middle-aged woman +who had upped and died in public. A Jane Doe. Ordinarily , she was +of no great account in the scheme of things. People died when they +got to their time and the world still turned and it wasn’t a +job for a detective sergeant to be wasting his time on.

+

The nameless woman had spun round, fallen and died of natural +causes.

+

Except that the natural causes were a puzzle.

+

There had been something wrong with her that the experts at St +Enoch’s hospital couldn’t figure out and that’s +why he’d been sent out to root around. David didn’t +know what it was that they’d discovered. Nobody knew, or at +least nobody was saying, not yet. He’d find out in time, that +was for certain.

+

“We need a name and an address,” Donal Bulloch said. +He was the CID head for the city centre division and everybody said +he’d be the Chief before long. “Don’t ask me why, +for I don’t know yet. Professor Hartley tells me there are +some anomalies they’re having a problem with.”

+

“Is she infectious? Contagious?”

+

“Your guess is as good as mine, David. They don’t +know yet. No, only kidding. They don’t believe she’s +infectious but they think she might have picked something up from +somewhere, and they want to find out what. Hartley says +there’s something in her blood they haven’t come across +before. Anyway, if they’re puzzled, then I’m puzzled +and we’d better get a handle on this. The beat boys have come +up with nothing at all, so you can do me a favour and get a name +and address and a background I can give the sawbones. If you need +help, just shout and you’ll get it, okay?”

+

David shrugged. It was a beat job, door knocking and asking +questions and he had better things to do. The previous +night’s grab had in itself been an interruption to something +more important, but he’d worked it because it had come down +his own line from a good source. He’d been spending most of +the week with the team on the Tollcross post office raid, sifting +through all the statements, and the scene of crime evidence, +piecing together the clues, building them up bit by bit, and +he’d felt the pattern emerging. It was a talent he had and +his bosses knew it. Now they’d taken him off the team when he +was getting that little tickle of certainty and they’d asked +him to check out a sudden death in the mall.

+

Bulloch looked at him. “Good collar the other +night.” David nodded appreciation.

+

“Is that a bruise there?” the boss asked, pointing +to a mark just under David’s hairline. He smirked. Kenny Lang +had been charged with police assault and they could have jacked +that up to attempted murder, but there was no point. He was just a +small timer who panicked. He would not try to run a policeman down +again, not ever. Bulloch grinned. The bruise was familiar. Anybody +on the force recognised the imprint of a Glasgow kiss.

+

“How is Lamont?”

+

“She’s got bruised ribs. A bit sore. She’s +getting checked out later so she’ll be back tomorrow +probably.”

+

“Good. Take her out with you if she’s free. +She’s got promise.”

+

The dead woman had to be important. David he had figured that +out already. They wanted to find out who the woman was, where she +came from, and from the sound of it, what had killed her. Down in +the mall, David sipped his tea.

+

“Had you ever seen her before? Maybe she’s bought +something before?

+

Carol Padden shook her head. “I don’t think so. She +didn’t look like she used Body Shop. Didn’t smell like +it either.”

+

“Smell?”

+

“Horrible. Really disgusting. Like she hadn’t washed +for ages. It was really weird. Would make you sick. But it was +worse than that. It was, like, sick. No, wrong. It just +smelled all wrong. It made me think of nightmares. I don’t +know why. When I smelt her everything went dark for a minute and I +thought I was going to faint, but I was dead scared as well, like I +was in some kind of danger. For a minute everything looked really +different, all the people crowding in. But I think it was just +because I got such a fright seeing the woman fall like that. I +never saw anybody dying before. She was making a terrible noise in +her throat as if she couldn’t breathe and she was trying to +say something, but I couldn’t hear it.” Carol’s +eyes were focused on the distance, in her memory.

+

“The woman from Rolling Stock. I’ve seen her before. +She tried to give her restitution.”

+

“Resuscitation?”

+

“Yes. That. Pressing down on her chest. And she grabbed +her hand and said something about a baby. That’s what it +sounded like. But she never had a baby. I think it must have been +something else.”

+

Jenny McGill was more positive.

+

“Definitely she said baby. Clear as daylight. She grabbed +a hold of my arm, look, there’s the bruises to show you. I +thought the bones were going to crack and it gave me a right scare +I can tell you.”

+

Jenny rubbed at her wrist where the bruises were purpling up +well. “Get the baby was what she said. Get my baby. +But she was so far gone I think she was delirious, or hallucinating +or something. I tried by best to give her heart massage, but it was +no good. She was dying. I could hear her heart running riot in +there. The only thing that will stop that are the electrical +pads.”

+

“You seem well up on it.”

+

“I did two years night school in first aid. I’ve got +certificates.”

+

“Somebody mentioned she didn’t smell very +clean,” David said. Jenny’s eyes widened.

+

“You can say that again. Worse than unclean. When I got +home I soaked myself for hours. It was awful. If I hadn’t +been all worked up with her dying right there in front of +everybody, I’d have been sick. But it was more than just +somebody that’s not been washing herself. Some of these +buskers could do with a scrub with carbolic, but this was a lot +worse than that. It was a rotten smell. I don’t know, like +the way you’d imagine gangrene smelled. Or something gone +off. It just didn’t smell natural. When I got close to her it +was really bad. Made me feel all shivery inside and I could feel +myself get all hot and clammy. I nearly threw up. For a minute I +nearly passed out. She’s not diseased or anything, is she? I +haven’t caught anything off her, have I?”

+

“No, I think it’s all right. We just have to find +out who she is.” He took her address and phone number. He +still didn’t know what was puzzling the medical men at St +Enoch’s, but if there was some sort of disease, then +they’d want to find everybody who’d been in +contact.

+

“Had you ever seen her before?”

+

Jenny shrugged. “Maybe. There was something familiar about +her, but when you work in here, right on the main walk in the mall, +you see hundreds of faces, thousands of them every day. I probably +saw her passing, but I don’t think she was a customer. +Somebody in the other shops might know.”

+

She leaned forward. “Do you want a cup of tea?”

+

David’s bladder told him he didn’t.

+

It was late that afternoon before paramedic Phil Coulter and his +partner got off duty. David went through it again with them. Phil +was reluctant to talk at first, but James Bradley started +describing what happened and that got Phil going.

+

“Swear to God, she scared the living daylights out of me. +Twice I knew she was dead and then she came back to life. I told +Brendan Quayle, he’s the resident on casualty, and he looked +at me as if I was daft. But it’s true. She had no heartbeat +at all, but she fell off the trolley and started crawling away. +Ten, maybe twenty seconds before she dropped. Like a puppet with +its strings cut. When we got her back, on again, there was no sign +of life.”

+

“That’s true,” James agreed. “I checked +the pulse in her neck and there was nothing.”

+

“But it was in the ambulance that she really scared the +life out of me,” Phil continued. “Jim was driving and I +was in the back. I gave her two hits with the pads, juiced right up +to four hundred, and I got nothing but a flat line and a punch +right in the balls.”

+

David raised his eyebrows. “She attacked you?”

+

“Galvanic jerk, that was all, but I won’t be having +any fun for a day or two.”

+

“Only way he’ll get a woman to feel him up,” +James mocked. “I prefer to get them drunk, myself. Nothing +better than a Carlsberg leg-opener. Works every time.”

+

Phil ignored him, though his mouth twitched in a half smile and +David could tell that they were pretty close as partners. +They’d seen a lot together, and probably saved many a life in +the process.

+

“I gave her adrenaline, injected straight into the heart +muscle, and sometimes that kicks everything up again, but nothing +happened. Not for a minute, maybe two. Then she comes round, opens +her eyes and stares right at me. I can tell you now it gave me a +real fright. It wasn’t right. I’ve seen corpses come +back to life before, but this was different. It was as if she was +dead, but there was something making her keep going.”

+

“I’ve told him that’s a lot of crap,” +James butted in. “We probably missed the +heartbeat.”

+

Phil shook his head. “There was nothing. The ECG was dead. +But there was something trying to keep her alive. Like willpower, +or some sort of after-death thing, maybe even after-life. Whatever +it was, she opened her eyes and looked right at me and started +babbling on about a baby.”

+

“A baby?” David asked, for the third time that +day.

+

“That’s what she said, and her voice sounded awful. +Like it was coming from down a well. Honest, she was dead, but she +was still talking. She was dead, but she crawled off that trolley +and along the floor in the mall. I know what I’m talking +about, sergeant.”

+

“And what do the doctors say?”

+

“They say there must have been something we missed. +There’s no trouble or anything. Prof. Hartley, the +consultant, he’s given the okay to everything we did. +Can’t fault us on procedure, but I know there’s +something wrong. And now you’re round asking questions and +that makes me even more convinced.”

+

David shrugged. “Just trying to find out who she +was.”

+

“Something else though.” Phil stopped and looked at +James who seemed to think for a second, then gave a small nod.

+

“When we got back later, they’d taken her out of the +crash and down to the mortuary and after that they got her out of +there. One of the nurses says she was up in microbiology, and that +doesn’t normally happen. The crash cubicle was sealed off for +a while, though nobody knew why. So now I known there was something +funny going on.”

+

“If there was anything dangerous, they’d have let us +know,” James said. “We’d have been the first to +be called in for checks. If they haven’t done that, then it +can’t be infectious.”

+

“I don’t know what it was,” Phil replied. +“All I know is that she was trying to talk to me, and she was +bloody dead. I’ll never forget that, swear to God.”

+

David found a bathroom and got rid of the tea before deciding to +go back to the mall. The ambulance drivers were a long shot, and +there was an even longer shot back in the central concourse, but he +thought it might be worth a try. What Jenny McGill and Phil Coulter +had told him was odd enough to make him think.

+

It wasn’t just the scare the paramedic had got that +niggled at him. Maybe he had seen plenty of things, but there was +always one more surprise round the corner. David himself had been +in on the Toby Cannel capture after the Waterside bank raid that +had happened only a block away from the mall in October. Toby had +not come quietly. He’d fired three rounds and then he’d +taken six shots, two of them through the heart and he’d kept +on running, a hundred yards or more down the alley with exit holes +the size of fists in his back. A seventh shot had shattered the +thigh bone and Toby had crashed and rolled and yet he’d still +tried to get up. When David and big Jock Lewis had reached him he +was trying to get to his feet, spraying blood like a pig on a +shambles-hook and swearing to Christ that he’d kill them all. +It had taken three of them to get him down and take the gun from +him and Toby had fought like a madman. He had collapsed ten minutes +later and a post mortem showed that the shots had shattered his +spine and completely destroyed the left ventricle of his heart and +that he couldn’t have walked a yard, never mind run a +hundred, and he couldn’t have fought three big policemen. +That’s what the pathologist had said, but it had happened. +David was sure something similar had taken place here. Some people +just didn’t die so easily. Some had a hold on life that you +had to pry off with a crowbar.

+

David knew it wasn’t just the scare they’d had that +niggled and itched at him. It was not just the scare, nor the +unexplained resurrection. It was the baby.

+

Both Jenny and Phil had mentioned the baby. The dying woman had +been trying to tell them something. Even young Carol Padden had +thought she heard the word, though she couldn’t be sure.

+

A baby.

+

That didn’t seem to make much sense, but it could mean +anything. The unknown woman could have been remembering something +from her past, and that, David knew was not an uncommon event in +close proximity to death. She could have been minding a baby for +someone, and had possibly come out to the shops for a quick errand, +though that too seemed unlikely. The only houses in a quarter of a +mile were in the Merchant City where the old offices had been +converted into flats for young lawyers and media folk. The dead +woman was not among their ranks, that was certain.

+

Back at the mall, the choristers were still twisting their heads +mechanically as they sang Jingle bells and David wondered how the +shop assistants stood the constant barrage of fake merriment. The +incessant noise only reminded him of how close Christmas was and +that he’d better find a spare half hour to get his shopping +done. June would already have his gifts wrapped and ribboned, a +sweater, same as last year and the year before. Two shirts. After +shave and talc. He needed a new zoom lens for his camera to get up +on the hill lochs to take shots of the snow geese flighting in, but +he knew he’d have to buy that for himself. June faintly +disapproved of his weekend trips. Down in the mall, the shoppers +browsed and the choirboys urged them on. David wished he’d +done his festive buying in the summer and got it over with. +Christmas was not his favourite time of the year.

+

John Barclay, known to his former colleagues as Jab, thanks to +his middle name of Anthony, and the fact that he had been a fair +boxer in his day, had an office on the first floor, built on to a +corner and with windows on either side which gave him a vantage +down the entire main section of the mall. He welcomed David with a +brusque, but friendly handshake and offered him a seasonal whisky +which made a change from the tea. David sipped the malt slowly, +savouring the peaty backtaste.

+

“So there is life after the D-Division,” David said. +Jab grinned and raised his glass.

+

“Could be worse.” He said. “Full pension and +criminal injuries and I walked straight in to this. There is a God +and he smiles warmly down on me, for which I am eternally in his +debt.”

+

“How’s the hip?” Barclay had taken a crowbar +blow that had shattered the bone when he’d tried to arrest a +hit-and-run driver who turned out to be a thief on his way home +from a job on a jeweller’s safe. David and he had worked +together on a couple of cases.

+

“Still gives me gyp, but I’m not on my feet all day +long, like some folk.” He smiled over the lip of his glass +and gave David a wink.

+

“Surprised they sent CID out on this. Looks like a natural +causes job.”

+

“That’s most likely. They just want a +name.”

+

“Can’t help you here,” Jab said, “But +I’ve got the tape from yesterday. I’ve been over it a +couple of times and I’ve record-protected it so it +won’t wipe.”

+

“Can I see it now?”

+

“Sure. I thought you’d want to.” The office +had a bank of monitors, all of them flickering that blue-grey +colour that security screens emit. They covered every angle, +showing all the store fronts. Some of the larger departments had +their own security cameras which fed here too. Barclay used a +remote to fire up a set in the corner. It clicked twice and the +screen came alive. At the top end, the day, date and time showed in +white numerals and letters. The seconds scrolled up mesmerically. +The ex-policeman leaned forward and pointed.

+

“There she is. Coming out on the left.”

+

David watched. On screen the woman came angling across the +concourse, past the escalators and the bench seats where throngs of +teenagers gathered in a crowd. She moved slowly along, tired and +shabby looking, shoulders hunched. Past the glassy observation +elevator she stopped and leaned against one of columns that +supported the high roof. Off to the left, the little plastic +choirboys swung their heads from side to side.

+

“She’s carrying something,” David said. He +moved closer. The woman had a white carrier bag in one hand. When +she turned slightly, it was clear that she held a smaller handbag +which had been hidden by the other one.

+

“Mothercare,” Barclay said.

+

A baby...

+

On screen, the woman, tall and angular, spare and skinny-shanked +but strangely buxom, paused and bent down as if she was out of +breath. “Watch this now,” Jab told David.

+

The woman convulsed. There was no other way to describe it. Her +head and shoulders had lowered, as if she was crumpling to the +floor. Her face must have been only feet from the tiles and then +suddenly she snapped straight back up again. David had seen the +motion before, a couple of times, but only in brawls. It looked +exactly as if she’d been punched in the belly, making her +swing down, and then kicked in the face, throwing her back up +again.

+

“Heart attack,” Barclay said. “Seen it happen +before. I’d stake my ex-career on it.”

+

“Big gambler,” David murmured, but his attention was +on the motion on the screen. “Can we get sound?”

+

“What do you think this is? Universal Studios?”

+

The woman’s hands jerked up. The carrier bag flopped +against the pillar. The handbag went spinning away to the left and +out of sight. She stumbled forward, tottering from side to side +into the clear space between Rolling Stock and Body Shop. Her arms +raised right up to the side in a crucifixion pose and she spun +slowly. For an instant, she stopped, one hand came clamping in +against her chest and the other went down to grab at her belly. Her +head went back until she seemed to be staring right up at the roof +and she fell like a sack, hitting the floor with obvious force. The +picture fuzzed out right at that moment, as if a sudden discharge +of electricity had jammed the reception, then it came back on +again. The shape on the floor jerked violently, the back arching +right up from the tiles. Despite the poor resolution of the +distance, they could see her mouth wide open in a silent +scream.

+

People passing by just looked at her, in that curious but +uninvolved way. A pair of boys almost fell over the skinny, splayed +legs and swerved to avoid the obstruction.

+

“Heartless little bastards,” Jab muttered.

+

Jeanette and Carol came hurrying over from Body Shop. The taller +girl held back, but the other one went right down, obviously trying +to help. A small crowd began to form. The red-head - her hair +looked fair in monochrome - pushed her way back to the shop. Jenny +McGill came from the other direction. The two men watched as she +opened the blouse and bent to listen, then saw her shoulders heave +as she tried the heart massage procedure.

+

The movement at the edge of the screen caught David’s eye. +A small woman in a grey coat bent forward at the side of the +pillar, slowly and casually picked up the Mothercare bag and +stuffed it inside a shopping bag of her own. She turned and +disappeared. David asked Barclay to rewind the scene and when it +came back on, with Jenny McGill desperately thumping at the +woman’s chest, he pointed out the slick snatch.

+

“Bloody ghoul,” Barclay said.

+

“Do you know her?”

+

The ex-cop shook his head. “One of millions. Just an +opportunist.”

+

“But we know the woman was in Mothercare. I can check +there. Maybe find out what she bought.”

+

He turned, thinking. Something was nagging at him. The +Mothercare bag wouldn’t necessarily give any clue about the +woman’s identity. But there had been another bag. David +looked back at the screen. He reached forward and pointed to the +left of the screen where the walkway took a dog-leg turn towards +the west entrance.

+

“Her handbag went flying over there. Can we find out where +it went?”

+

“I never saw that,” Barclay conceded. “I only +thought the main action was important. The tape might have been +wiped already. I can have a look. It could take some +time.”

+

“If you don’t mind,” David said. He knew he +could instruct the other man to give him everything, but it was +better to play it nice and soft.

+

“Sure,” Jab said agreeably. He poured out two more +scotch whiskies in the heavy handed way that Scots men do, despite +the fact that David had hardly touched the first one. He crossed to +a tall cabinet, opened the door and showed David the stack of +tapes. There were dozens of them.

+

“Got them colour marked,” Barclay said, “so it +might be quicker.” He checked with a small chart taped to the +back of the cabinet door, and brought out about a dozen video +cassettes each bearing a red sticker. He put the first one in the +machine, let it run for a few moments, then ejected it. It took +five more tries before he sat back.

+

“I think we could be in luck.” He thumbed the fast +forward, let the tape whirr for several minutes, pressed play. It +took him several tries, running the cassette back and forth until +they got close.

+

“There,” David said. There were a number of people +in the picture, two coming out of a confectioners shop and the +others standing in front of the chemists. As one, they turned to +face the right of the picture. Over by the wall, there was a line +of supermarket trolleys. Two women started to move closer to the +camera, foreshortening as they approached, then walked out of +sight.

+

“They were in the crowd,” David said. “The one +with the hat was there.”

+

They watched the scene. Right at the far edge of the picture, +the small woman in the grey coat moved towards the pillar.

+

A sudden blur flashed across the screen.

+

“That’s it,” David said. Barclay stopped the +picture and the screen jittered to a blur. He rewound for several +seconds and replayed the scene. It wasn’t pin-sharp, but it +was the handbag. It came flying in from the right, hit the ground +and skidded on the smooth tiles. They watched it slide right to the +far wall and hit against the wheels of the trolley. It lay there, +black and shapeless but still clearly a bulky handbag. For more +than a minute nothing happened.

+

Then a girl walked into the picture. She was thin and dark +haired, wearing jeans and a long flapping coat. She looked over her +shoulder, turned to watch down the length of the concourse, then +very quickly she stooped and lifted the bag from the floor. +Cleverly she kept walking, not opening the bag to check of the +contents. She put the strap across her shoulder, held her head up +and walked casually towards the exit. She just looked like a girl +out shopping.

+

“Carrie McFall,” both men said almost exactly at the +same time.

+

“Theft by finding,” Barclay said. “She +won’t be handing it in to the station.”

+

“I’d better find her. If she’s still got the +bag, it’ll be a miracle, but I’ve worked longer odds +than that.”

+

He turned to the mall’s security chief. “If I +don’t get anything, I’ll have to come back and go +through all of these tapes.” His own sentence surprised him +because it just sprung to his mind and was spoken before he’d +even thought about it, but it was out and it was right. Sometimes +he was lucky enough to get a hunch and he’d worked them long +enough to go with the flow.

+

“Jeez David, that could take a while. And I need them, to +keep these cameras running.”

+

David shrugged. The sudden intuition was buzzing at the back of +his head. “You know how it is. I’ll make it as short as +possible, but don’t wipe any of them.”

+

“Come on man. The firm’ll go crazy if I lay out on +new ones. You know what the guards get paid an hour here? The +company doesn’t exactly throw money around.”

+

“Have to insist Jab, and I’m really sorry, but Donal +Bulloch put me on this one, and neither of us wants to give that +big highlandman a bad time or he’ll do our arms and our +legs.” The importance of saving all the tapes was somehow +sharp and clear. “So let’s not fiddle with big +Donal’s evidence. Eh?”

+

He didn’t like doing it to Barclay, especially when he was +ex-job, but it had to be done. It was just a little lean, nothing +heavy. Jab looked him in the eye, realised the score, and gave in +gracefully.

+

“I suppose you’re right. Donal’s done me a +good turn in the past. Couldn’t let him down.” He +grinned to let David know there were no hard feelings, turned and +locked the cabinet door. “Want another?” he asked, +indicating the bottle. David shook his head. He hadn’t +touched the second one. Barclay saw him to the door, limping hard +on his left side where the hip had smashed, as if he was still in +some pain.

+

“I’ll be back quick as I can. Thanks for the +hospitality, and the help. Once I find young Carrie I’ll give +you a call and we can all stand down.”

+

“Make it fast then,” Jab urged. “This is a +nice little number. I’d hate to lose it.”

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus04.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus04.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e60332c --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus04.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,359 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

4

+

It was on her.

+

It had her in an embrace so foul that the very contact was +enough to drain the life from her. It was eating her, sucking her +dry, filling her with its poison and she could feel herself rot +from within, bones and flesh melting and dissolving as her blood +mingled with whatever foul stuff was running through its veins. It +held her tight and she held it tight, both of them locked together +in a deadly, dreadful enfolding.

+

A dream, only a dream...she tried to tell herself, even +in sleep...wake up wake up wake up

+

It tightened against her, clammy and amphibious, cold as ice and +hideous to the touch. It was feeding on her, gobbling her up, +sucking and slurping and she could sense her own self diminish and +shrink as it gathered energy and waxed strong.

+

It was a dream. A part of her mind, the internal sentry that +kept watch in the dark, listening for danger, told her it was a +dream, a nightmare, but she could not free herself from it. She +could not waken.

+

It had changed, in the way that dreams do when they alter from +the acceptable and familiar into the surreal, when they crest on +the brow of night and go swooping down the black backslope into the +chaos of tormented vision.

+

She had been coming home. An early finish, stepping light +despite the drizzle and the early darkness of midwinter. A few days +before Christmas with most of her presents bought, and all of her +cards written up and posted for a change. She was heading past the +shopping centre, listening to the little choirboys singing her +favourite carols. There was a sparkle of tinsel and a twinkle of +lights on the Christmas tree and she was looking forward to the +holiday, her mother’s good cooking and dad snoring in his +chair by the fire, still wearing his paper hat and giving off the +faint aroma of his annual cigar. She walked briskly, planning to +pick up a couple of small gifts in the shops, just +stocking-fillers, before going round to Celia’s to feed the +cat.

+

They’d asked her to go with them, and she’d been +tempted. Two weeks in the sun of a Greek island, away from the cold +and clammy winter would have been wonderful. She’d been +tempted and had almost agreed, but at the last moment she’d +thought of her father’s angina and the way her mother would +look if she told her she wouldn’t be home for Christmas. And +there was Tony too. They hadn’t been going out so very long +but already they were close and she wanted to spend part of this +time of the year with him.

+

There would be other Christmastimes, other winters when the lure +of the sun might drag her away, but she’d plenty of time. The +weathermen said there was a possibility of snow as a high pressure +area brought cold down from Greenland and there was a chance the +pond would freeze over and they could go skating.

+

All of this, the recollection of thoughts and fragments of +emotions whirred past in her dream as she saw herself come into the +mall. The doors whisked open silently and a warm blast of air from +the overhead draughtbusters came billowing down in a welcome +breath. The choirboys sang out louder now she was inside, clear +recorded voices piercing through the hubbub of the crowd and the +clack and clatter of heels on the tiles. She stopped at the leather +shop and picked up a pair of chunky earrings, moved on to the Tie +Rack for a pair of neat leather gloves for her grandmother. She was +just putting them in her handbag as she was leaving the shop when +she became aware of the commotion on the central walkway.

+

Somebody had been screaming. She wasn’t sure whether she +had heard it or whether one of the shop alarms had gone off further +along the mall. She turned towards where the crowd was gathering. A +woman was hurrying from another shop, her overall flapping. The +woman was running, but of a sudden, she was moving in slow motion. +Everything started to lose speed. The world took on a viscid syrupy +texture.

+

The sound of the choir boys faltered, as if drained of power. +The low hum of the escalator became a deeper, growling sound, +hollow and mechanical and strangely animal.

+

Over at the middle, the crowd were bending down to the flapping +thing on the floor and she could hear their hushed, startled +sounds, like distant, muted echoes.

+

She was moving away. Someone was hurt and she didn’t want +to see it. Someone was on the ground and of a sudden she was +scared. She turned involuntarily, almost reflexively, and moved to +the right, feet silent now on the hard tiles, as if she was gliding +along, not quite making contact with the ground. She could have +been a feather drifting in the wind, so powerless was the control +she had over direction.

+

A woman was coming round the side of the pillar. A small black +shape was crumpled up against the wheels of a trolley.

+

She glided on past the line up of buggies and prams, suddenly +aware that something was wrong. Everything was wrong. The choirboys +were tolling out a slow, tuneless dirge. Their clean little plastic +faces seemed to run and melt. The escalator wheels were shifting +and grinding. The tinsel sparked and spangled with a strange, +electrical illumination. It writhed in the curved bows suspended +above her.

+

She stopped.

+

The smell engulfed her and she stopped dead in her tracks. In an +instant her stomach clenched in a reflex, gripped in a spasm so +tight it sent a bolt of pain through her, worse than cramp. She +grunted and the sound came out long and slow, thrumming in a way +her voice never did.

+

Take me!

+

The command bloomed inside her.

+

The smell billowed into her nostrils, rank and somehow musky, +thick and cloying in the back of her throat. It scraped against the +receptors of her membranes and for an instant she almost +fainted.

+

She was standing stock still, a hand clamped against her belly. +The pain faded just a little, but it spread upwards, forked left +and right, flowed into her breasts in twin warm and tingling +streams. Without warning, the pain flared there too.

+

Oh...oh!

+

Her voice seemed to have the cracked tones of an old bell.

+

Take me take me. LOVE ME!

+

A dreadful imperative shuddered into her mind, more painful than +the twist in her breasts or the augur in her belly. It was a mental +blast. A wave of heat ran through her veins, fast and jittery. +Beads of sweat sprung out on her forehead and made it clammy. Her +breath came short and shallow. All the twinkling colours reflected +from the window faded out for a moment.

+

Take me NOW!

+

She felt herself turning. An old grey pram, one of the +coach-built ones, maybe an old Silver Cross walker that had seen +better days, stood alone at the end of the rank, just beside her. +The courtesy chain that would have secured it to the bar on the +wall dangled free. The folding hood was up, shading the inside, and +the weather guard was firmly clipped in place. From where she +stood, she could see nothing.

+

But the smell billowed out, strong and volatile and making her +emotions spin. She tried to walk on but her feet refused to obey +her. She moved towards the old Silver Cross pram, shoes dragging on +the tiles. Something inside it moved, just enough to make it +shudder and rock on its old fashioned curved springs.

+

A small sound, something like a grunt, something like a cry came +out from the shadow. It riveted right into her.

+

The noise of the commotion faded away and the choir boys bass +atonal singing rumbled to silence. In that instant there was just +she and the battered pram, enveloped in a musky, invisible cloud. +Her heart was tripping erratically, thudding inside her and her +skin seemed to crawl with a life of its own. Her feet moved her +forward.

+

She reached out and unclipped the snapper on the weather shield. +She lowered it slowly. Down in the shadow, something moved.

+

Without any volition, she unsnapped the second catch and leaned +forward.

+

For a fraction of a second, for the briefest instant eyes fixed +on her, pinning her with a sharp and hot connection of will. She +saw a face that at first had no real shape, just a rippling blur of +flesh. A scream started to wind up down inside the hot clenching in +her belly. She stumbled back, but the mental imperative stopped +her. In that brief space of time she was held, shuddering with fear +and alarm while another, stranger, and much more powerful emotion +was building up inside her.

+

It drew her back again and she looked under the hood. Her eyes +blurred, focused again and impossible rippling sensation faded and +stopped. She saw the baby.

+

The big eyes looked up at her, glistening with baby tears. Its +round face and little smooth red cheeks were streaked with them. +It’s soft lips were trembling, as if it was about to burst +into a spasm of sobs.

+

Her heart swelled. The urgent thumping faded instantly. The pain +down in her core shrank away, though the pulsing pressure in her +breasts did not diminish, but swelled fiercer, but now it was no +longer real pain. It was the pressure of need.

+

She leaned towards the child.

+

“Poor little thing,” she heard herself say, voice +automatically talking on the sing-song cadence of an adult +comforting a baby. Inside her, a part of her consciousness screamed +at her to run away, to flee.

+

It smiled up at her suddenly. It’s eyes were huge with +appeal. The wide brow showed a twist of dark curls poking down from +under a knitted hat. The baby smell infused her.

+

Take me take me take me..

+

The demand was urgent now, irresistible, inescapable. The fear +was strangled back to whimper deep in her consciousness.

+

Mother me!

+

“Yes,” she said aloud, letting the word trail away +in a long sigh. She bent right into the pram, pushing the hood back +a little. The baby blinked its eyes tight against the light but she +wrapped it in the old shawl and gently lifted it out. She opened +the top buttons of her coat, overwhelmed by a sudden protective +instinct, and clutched the baby in against herself. She turned +around, looking up to the end of the concourse and down again to +the near door where she had entered. For a moment of indecision she +swithered, taking one step to the left, another to the right.

+

Over in the centre, the woman kneeling beside the dark, +prostrate body was slamming her weight down hard on the chest, +using the heels of her hands on the breastbone, trying to restart a +still and lifeless heart, trying to resurrect the dead.

+

The need to get away came sweeping through her. She turned, +keeping her head low, and pushed her way through the passing crowd +of shoppers towards the nearest exit. As she passed, some of them, +the women, turned suddenly, following her with their eyes. She +could feel them on her but she tried to ignore them. She hurried +forward. Down the centre, past the escalators she turned and her +coat flapped open. Immediately the baby squirmed hard, and she felt +a bolt of pain lance into the back of her head. Without thought she +clasped her collar up to cover the small bundle. Moving fast now, +as fast as she dared without breaking into a run, she got to the +far doors which opened with a slow gush of sound like a harsh +intake of breath.

+

Out in the air it was winter dark and a smirr of rain +was misting the air, though it was cold enough to be sure to turn +to ice in the night. She swerved to the left again, keeping her +head low and hurried up the pedestrian walkway, swerving to avoid +passers by.

+

The urgency was inside her. She had to keep moving, just get +away. She had no direction yet, only the imperative to move, to +flee. She walked up and over Hanover Street, down Wellington +Street, past Victoria Square, all of them hung with fairy lights +and each shop competing in the choral cacophony, but she heard none +of it.

+

Her entire being was focused on the internal voice which urged +her on and on into the night, and the powerful, urgent need that +surged within her in a powerful tide of emotion.

+

In at her breast, the baby moved, shifted position, nuzzled +further in against her warmth and the mother-love burgeoned like a +flower. The scent of the baby was all through her now, a warm +narcotic that nurtured her as she would nurture the baby.

+

But first the had to find shelter. She hurried out of the +shopping precinct, heading parallel to the river. She reached the +junction that was the unofficial boundary of the city centre and +turned right on Levenford Road beyond the Chinese restaurant.

+

The alley yawned and she was scurrying up in the darkness. She +was almost running now, heels slapping on the cobbles. A shape +moved out of the shadows and she saw the grizzled old tramp. She +looked at him and he stared back and the fear in her welled up in +the depth where her own sense of self lived. It made her want to +scream out loud and beg for help because over and above the +powerful urge there was something wrong that she couldn’t +fathom but deep inside of herself he was dreadfully afraid. She +tried to stop and ask the man for help, not knowing why, only +realising that something was happening to her, but the enormous +gravity of the force inside her dragged her away and on and on and +on. The dogs came and snarled but she hardly noticed them as she +scurried along the path, pushed the gate open, found the door +handle and let herself inside a house she had never seen +before.

+

The fear was rising faster now, a black tide of it, threatening +to swamp the other emotion, the awful need. She went into the +lounge, still the dark and leaned against the wall, feeling the +strength drain from her as her knees gave way. She slid down +against the wall leaving a damp stain on the wallpaper.

+

Another damp stain was spreading across the surface of her +blouse. In the dim light she watched it expand, grey against the +white. A different scent came now, one that made her think of +weasels and scaly things. It came strong now, tinged with that +other, musky smell that seeped into her pores and into her blood +and into her mind.

+

Her breast was leaking milk,

+

What’s happening to me?

+

The panic welled up again and the scent came thick and choking +to mask it, smother it, clamp it down. In against her the baby +moved and she felt it nuzzle down.

+

She woke with a start, hauling for breath, shaking with the +force of the dream. The room was dark and the curtains drawn and +right then she did not know where she was. She was cold and stiff +and the images of the dream hovered at the front of her mind, +dreadful pictures spangling and expanding in the dark, changing +with the flicker-flick speed of film sequences.

+

A huge sigh escaped her. She was stiff and sore, as if +she’d got cramp and as if she’d taken flu and that was +surely why she’d had the appalling dream.

+

She closed her eyes and her head thumped against the wall as the +tide of the nightmare washed over and through her.

+

“What a dream,” she thought, hearing the words +coherent in the tumult of the aftermath. “I stole a +baby.”

+

It was an appalling notion, and that showed she must be coming +down with something. She was lacquered with sweat, but cold and +stiff. Her hair smelled damp.

+

She had dreamed she’d looked in a pram and seen a +beautiful baby and she had taken it and gone on a nightmare run +through the rain and the dark and gone to a strange house in an +unfamiliar part of the city. It had been awful, but now she was +awake, shivering in the aftermath. Any moment her mother would come +in with a cup of tea. Any minute now...

+

“Must be getting broody,” she told herself, mind +still vague and numb.

+

A griping pain twisted down in the basin of her pelvis, sharp +and cramp-like. The pain looped up like heartburn and spread across +her ribs to pool in her breasts and she thought the flue was worse +than she’d supposed and maybe it was something worse than +that. She closed her eyes, twisting them shut against the +sensation.

+

And something moved on her skin.

+

She woke completely then, every pore of her body tensed and +galvanised, every downy hair on her neck and arms standing to +attention.

+

“Oh...aah!” Whatever she tried to say, it +only came out in a little double gasp. She twisted away from the +motion. It was small and slender. She could feel roughness scrape +against her smoothness.

+

“Oh please...” she bleated.

+

The dream came back, swooping into her mind with powerful mental +force, overlaying the conscious sensations.

+

She pulled back, turning as she did so. She was slumped on the +floor, not on the bed. Her arms were clamped around the thing +inside her coat. She tried to unlock them but they were stiff from +the force of her grip and they refused to move. In their embrace, +the motion came stronger. She tried to look away, sudden appalling +terror welling up inside her in a gusher of abhorrence. The thick +smell came billowing up, rank and foetid and overlaid with that +sickly sweetness. It suffused her again, this time not in a dream, +this time all too real as the dream had been a recollection of +something all too terrible.

+

She felt her head turn of its own volition and she looked down +into the shade in the folds of her coat. The small smooth head +moved against her. It turned slowly. An eye opened, gazed into +hers, held her for an instant, connecting with her, before it +slowly closed again.

+

“Oh mother oh Jesus oh.” The words tumbled and +tripped over each other in a gush of incoherent fear. Tears sparked +and filled her eyes,.

+

The small shape turned again, eyes closed against whatever light +was coming through the curtain but the pervasive scent came +stronger. Ginny’s tears blinked away and the baby was in her +arms. Away from the light, its eyes opened and its innocent gaze +fixed upon her as if she encompassed its whole world.

+

The rank odour faded to a sweet baby scent and she felt the +sudden love and the fierce need swell inside her. The deep, +primitive part of her consciousness protested and fought, yelling +hysterically and incoherently, a blare of pure fear, but the need +within her grappled it and she was paralysed, unable to move.

+

There was blood on her blouse now, a faded patch where it had +mingled with the milk.

+

She knew she had no milk. She couldn’t have milk to feed a +baby. Her breasts could not be bleeding.

+

But there was a bloodstain on her blouse and her breasts were +swollen and aching, pressing painfully against the cotton. The fear +rose and the need clamped it down and her emotions wrestled and +rolled while the baby fixed her with its wide, mesmeric eyes before +it turned and nuzzled in where the buttons had come free. It +burrowed down on her and she felt the scrape of skin as it sought +her nipple. Her skin puckered, as if it was trying to crawl away +from the contact. A shudder ran through her yet her body responded +to the need and she twisted to assist. The mouth found her nipple +and clamped upon it. It started to suckle, tugging hard, hard +enough to cause the burning pain to return, but she was paralysed, +locked within the fear and the mother-love, thoughts turning and +tumbling and whirling within her, utterly terrified, completely +smothered in maternal instinct, clutching the small thing that +she’d stolen from the mall.

+

After a while, she began to sob softly in the dark.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus05.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus05.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6b68b9f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus05.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,525 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

5

+

Helen Lamont looked up from her desk in the squad room when +David Harper came in, running his fingers through his short hair to +shake off the mist droplets that had condensed and settled in a dew +as he walked back to the station.

+

"I heard you were looking for me."

+

"Nothing too important," he said. "I'll need help to go through +some videos."

+

"Picking up porn now, David?" She gave him a wide-eyed innocent +look and he went along with it, trading her an easy grin.

+

"Don't you wish, sleazy cow."

+

Her eyes opened wider and her mouth formed a small circle of +surprise, even shock. "That's sexist. I could have your legs done +for that, chauvinist pig."

+

"Whenever you can tell me who Chauvin was, I'll hold my hands up +and take the rap." He knew she was kidding, and so did she.

+

She returned his smile. A bruise swelled purple just under her +eye and two scrapes that went down the side of her cheek where the +skin was still risen slightly. Apart from that, she looked +undamaged, though he knew there was a handspan black and blue mark +across her ribs where the doctors at casualty had taped tight, and +another deep purple blossom on her belly where she'd taken the full +force of the boot. She still looked almost frail, but he also knew +she was as tough as anybody on the shift, as the knee in the thin +man's groin testified. Back in the station he had claimed she'd +assaulted him. His lawyer advised him against proceeding further. +He was an accessory to a potential charge worse than receiving +stolen goods. He had backed off, very gingerly, for his testicles +were still paining him the following day.

+

David gave her an exaggerated up and down once-over, still +kidding, though while he appreciated the fact that she was a good +cop, a really good cop, he was also male enough to think she was a +good-looking cop, and there was nothing wrong with having +good looking policewomen around. She barely came up to his +shoulders and she had a dark-eyed, almost soft appearance, but her +looks were deceiving. On the first day they'd worked together on a +case he'd seen her square up to Walter Gourlay down on Pollock Road +when he'd come at her with a baseball bat. She'd ducked and there +had been only two hits. She hit him on the throat and he hit the +ground. He'd hardly been able to talk when he made his first court +appearance and when faced with his oppressor in the Monday morning +court, the judge had taken a look at the differences in their size +and sex and he'd laughed big Walter down to a year in Drumbain +jail.

+

"Before I forget, " Helen turned round, making a face as David +shook the droplets from his coat. "May called."

+

"June," David corrected automatically. He was getting used to +Helen Lamont's quirky sense of humour.

+

"May, June, whatever," Helen said, trying to keep the smile off +her face. "Anyway, she called half an hour ago while you were out +doing your Christmas shopping She wants you to pick something +up."

+

He rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Does she ever want anything +else? What is it this time?"

+

"Something from a delicatessen. For a fondue or whatnot. You're +apparently having people around tonight. I put a note on your desk. +She wants you to call."

+

David slumped down on his seat and ran his fingers through his +hair again. It was short and dark, almost severe. It gave him a +clean-cut capable aspect, almost tough. He was tough enough.

+

"Tonight?" he asked, letting his breath draw out in a sigh. "She +actually said it was tonight?"

+

Helen nodded. "Sounds like you're in trouble boss, and now +you're heading into more. It's the same old story. She's got you on +a pretty short leash."

+

He lifted the phone and turned away while he dialled, putting +his feet up on top of the old radiator which clanked loudly as it +joggled on its loose wall bracket. She turned back to her notes and +tried to ignore the stage whispered conversation. It went on for +three or four minutes and then he put the telephone down. There had +been no goodbye. No tailing off in the conversation.

+

"Where were we," he said. She could see the glitter of annoyance +in his eyes. "Matter of fact, where were you today?"

+

"I hope I'm not going to suffer over the fondue, Sarge?"

+

He looked at her, eyes still fiery. Then he blinked and was +normal again. "No, 'course not Helen. Anyway, the fondue is off. +I'm too busy. She's known my rota schedule for weeks."

+

"Big trouble?"

+

"Jurassic."

+

"I'd rather hear about the porny videos. I'm up to here with +relationships." She indicated a distance somewhere above her head. +"My sister's engagement is off. My cousin's getting a divorce. And +my mother's met some car salesman down at the ballroom and she's +doing some pretty fancy footwork for a woman her age. Her hormones +have gone haywire. All that and Christmas just round the corner. +Let's not talk about relationships."

+

"Suits me," David said, shrugging off his annoyance. June was +becoming more demanding by the month, both of his time and his +attention and the more insecure she seemed, the more he found +himself resenting her. That just made him feel guilty, for they'd +had a good couple of years.

+

He backed away from thinking of her, realising as he did that he +had been doing that for some time. Turning to Helen he told her +about the video and how Carrie McFall had snatched the handbag. +"Red handed, as they say in the movies. It was pretty smooth, no +hesitation, right onto the shoulder and away. Cool as ever was our +Carrie."

+

"And a heartless little bitch," Helen said. "The shoplifting's +bad enough. She's been doing that since she was ten, but stealing +from somebody who's dying on the floor, that's really a bit +off."

+

"Don't worry. She'll have a great time at the preview premiere. +We've got to get the bag back, if we can. I have to find out who +the victim was."

+

"What's so important about her?"

+

"Who knows? She's caused a bit of a stir at St Enoch's. +Something wrong with her blood. I'll tell you the details later. +Donal Bulloch asked me to give it a look, and that's good enough +for me."

+

Carrie McFall was easy to find, despite the fact that she'd +changed address twice since David had booked her last. She still +lived on the north side, in Blackhale, where he planners had opted +for a supermarket housing policy. They stacked them high as they +could, then forgot about them. Up I this part of the town, business +was drink or drugs or moneylending. The local economy boomed and +everybody was in the same gutter along with the shell-suits and pit +bulls who ran the smack. Carrie McFall was just a product of a +succession of slumps. Her record was pretty much up to date, and a +little longer than the last time David had seen it.

+

Her boyfriend , a skinny runt with a bowl cut and a ring though +one nostril flange opened the door, stuck a foot under it when he +saw it was the police, but removed it pretty quickly when David +leaned inside and snagged the ring between thumb and forefinger, +all the while finding it hard to believe how stupid anyone would be +to leave themselves so vulnerable. David twisted just a little and +the boyfriend grunted, more in fright than in pain. The door opened +and the boy pressed himself against the wall of the narrow hallway +as David and Helen went past down the narrow hallway that bore the +stale smell of burgers and onions. The wallpaper was peeling at the +corner where a damp patch harboured its own fungus farm.

+

Carrie was watching television, sitting with her feet drawn up +under her on a low sofa that had seen better days, lazily smoking a +cigarette and chewing gum at the same time. She had dark hair +almost to her shoulders and a silk scarf tied casually round her +neck. Helen recognised the quality and she knew Carrie didn't have +that kind of money. The girl turned round slowly. Her eyes widened +just a fraction, hardly at all. She was cool. She was used to this. +She eye them up and down with hardly a flicker of emotion, then +stubbed her cigarette out. In the bedroom, a baby squalled.

+

"Got a warrant?" Carrie McFall demanded.

+

"Got a conscience?"

+

"You're not giving this place a spin without a piece of paper. I +got turned over only last week." Carrie blew a pink bubble for +emphasis. It burst in a small puff of smoke.

+

David leaned to the left, eased open the narrow cupboard. Black +plastic bags bulged down at floor level. "Well, you should be a +little bit more careful. What's in the bags?"

+

"Christmas presents. Open one of them and it'll be inadmissible, +you know that."

+

"You've been watching too much television," Helen said. She +pulled the cupboard door, giving it a quick jerk. One of the +bulging bags toppled as the pressure on it was released. At least a +dozen perfume bottles, still in their cartons, all of them +expensive, slid onto the floor.

+

"Oh dear. Your presents seem to have all fallen out. Lovely +stuff. Paris. Givenchy. Not cheap. Got receipts for them all?"

+

Carrie shot her a deadly look.

+

David sat himself down on the couch. It was cleaner than most in +Blackhale on the north side of the city. Some people called the +scheme The Sump and not without reason. It was where the dregs +finally settled when their jobs had vanished, when their self +respect had gone, and where they had fallen well clear of any +social safety net. In some of the high concrete towers, you'd be +lucky to find a seat and if you did, you'd never sit in it for fear +of getting a needlestick puncture in the backside.

+

"But today's your lucky day. A very merry Christmas, I shouldn't +wonder. Because I could forget all about the sweet smell of success +in the bin-bags."

+

Carrie moved away from him. Her eyes flicked from David to +Helen, suspicious as ever. She'd never had any reason to trust a +policeman. Both of her brothers were up in Drumbain jail and +neither of them were coming out again for some time.

+

"I could forget all about it," David repeated, "But I do want to +know all about your new handbag."

+

For an instant, Carrie looked genuinely puzzled. David kept his +eyes on hers.

+

"What new hand..." David caught the spark of understanding, +swiftly masked.

+

"Yes, that one," he struck. "Good performance. You should be in +the movies." He gave her a wide smile. "Oh, come to think of it. +You are in the movies. We've got a lovely shot of you in +the Waterside Mall. Very photogenic. What a mover."

+

Helen sat on the other arm of the settee, diverting the girl's +attention. "And we want the bag."

+

"I never took it. It was empty, so I just dropped it."

+

"Nice try," Helen said. Her voice went brittle and cold. "The +second camera picked you up going through the exit. Bang to rights, +I can tell you. But remember Carrie, this is not a smack on the +wrist job like lifting a few bottles of fake perfume. You see, you +took a handbag that belonged to somebody who collapsed in there. +That wasn't very nice."

+

David butted in, forcing Carrie to swing round to face him.

+

"Trouble is, her medicine's in the bag. She suffers from a very +rare condition. They've got her hooked on a life support and they +need her medicine. If they don't get it and she dies, then what are +we looking at? Culpable Homicide? For sure. Could maybe even crank +it up to murder, if you insist. If you persist."

+

"I never saw any pills," Carrie said, eyes shifting from one to +the other, sensing real danger now. "There was hardly anything in +it, honest. Just a purse with some money. I threw them away. But I +can show you where."

+

David smiled again. It had been far too easy. The story he had +spun had more holes than a garden riddle, but Carrie was in no +position to be objective.

+

Half an hour later, a shivering Carrie, who had been so +convinced she was facing a long stretch that she'd come with them +immediately and forgotten to take her coat, showed them where she'd +thrown the bag. She directed them down the narrow streets close to +the river, not far from where David and Helen had arrested the +three men with the stash of hardware. They passed under the +motorway bridge, a black arch that rumbled with the passage of +overhead traffic, making the ground shiver. The streets narrowed +further the closer to the river. Here, an early evening mist curled +up from the water, softening the outlines. It was cold and dank, +and there were few people here at this or at any other time. There +had been a day when these streets close to the old quayside had +teemed with life and bustled with commerce, but no more. Like +Blackhale, this too was a derelict part of town, depressed, +forgotten; run down. Close to the river, where the railway +paralleled the bank, there was a stretch of waste ground bounded by +a tall barricade made of old railway sleepers. At one time it had +been a shunting branch for the main line, serving the long gone +yards and wharves, but now it was overgrown with the scrub alder +and exhaust-blackened birch that colonises gap sites in all cities. +The place was less than five hundred yards from the glitter and +sparkle of the shopping mall, but it could have been a hundred +miles away and a century distant. Here the buildings bounding the +old sidings were tall and crumbling and the alleys between them +narrow and lightless. Here the junkie hookers did a little +business, hiking their skirts up in the dark behind the barricade. +An occasional drunk would turn up stiff as a board, red-eyes +frosted open on a winter's cold morning.

+

David made Carrie show her exactly what she'd done. She pointed +to a gap at the corner where sometime in the past some vandals had +set the old sleepers alight. He shone his small flashlight through. +She had only slipped the bag in between the stanchions and jammed +it down among the jagged twigs of the undergrowth. He reached +through, groped blindly, snagging his fingers on the sharp ends of +broken branches and getting a thin splinter jammed up under a nail. +He cursed, found the bag's shoulder strap and hauled it out. It was +old and tattered and inside, the lining was shredded and torn from +long use. The purse was cheap and plastic, gaping empty except for +a small black folder tucked into the outside pocket. Beside the +purse a tattered account book was losing one of its covers.

+

"Can I go now?" Carrie asked. She was hugging herself tight +against the cold that had come down hard, turning the thin mist +into a sparkle of frost.

+

David motioned to her to stay. Helen stood close. He shone the +beam over the front page of the book. It was a rent receipt +account.

+

Thelma Quigley, the name read, written in block capitals on a +light patch reserved for it. He flicked the cover open. Her name +and a scrawled signature were repeated inside. There was an +address. The small wallet showed a couple of photographs done in +black and white. They looked old and faded. There was some faint +writing on the back, not easily legible, but also old fashioned +script, maybe from the fifties.

+

"See," Carrie said vehemently, hopefully. "There was no +medicine. If she dies, it's not my fault."

+

"Oh, I should have told you," David said, giving her his best +smile. "She's already dead. They couldn't save her. And how do we +know there was nothing else in here?"

+

Carrie's mouth opened so wide her chin was almost on her +breastbone.

+

"So it's murder then?" Helen asked.

+

"Looks pretty much like it."

+

Carrie started to babble. Her shiver became a shudder that had +nothing to do with the cold. She was protesting her innocence, the +words guttural and frightened, almost incoherent. Finally David +held a hand up. He had what he wanted.

+

"Okay. Enough. We'll think about it. You can go for now. We'll +be in touch."

+

The girl looked at him, disbelief slack on her face. He nodded +to confirm what he'd said. She stood frozen for almost half a +minute and then turned on her heel and ran away from them, her +expensive running shoes thudding down on the hard surface, echoing +back from the gaunt walls.

+

"I reckon that gave her the message. Scared the daylights out of +her."

+

"But she shouldn't have taken the woman's bag in the first +place," Helen said, her voice colder than the sparkling frost. "Not +when she was lying there dying."

+

She went into her own bag, drew out her radio and thumbed the +switch. It crackled in the dark of the alley down by the river.

+

When control room came on line, she stood there, eyes fixed on +David Harper, and told them she had reason to believe there was +stolen property at an address in Blackhale. When she had finished, +she clicked the twitch with a hard jab of her thumb.

+

"I don't mind the shoplifting," she said. "But she shouldn't +steal from the sick.. Or the dying. She's a damned parasite, and +the world's too full of them."

+

David looked down at her. In the dark of the badly lit street, +her dark hair was tumbled over her eyes, framing the heart-shape of +her face. She looked soft and mild-mannered, almost innocent, +despite the shadow of anger in her eyes. He remembered how she'd +tackled the two men who had run out of the storeroom, how she had +hung on despite the brutal kick in the ribs.

+

"Remind me not to get on your bad side," he said.

+

"Oh, you'll never do that," she told him. "You stopped me +getting the rest of my ribs stove in, and that makes you one of the +good guys." She gave him a big smile and it lit up her whole face. +"Even if you are a chauvinist pig."

+

It was more than a mile from the riverbank sidings to the +address on the tattered rent book. David was driving his own car, a +mud-spattered four wheel drive which had seen better days and worse +roads. The frost was condensing out of the still air, forming +orange haloes around the lights on the far side of the water where +gaunt cranes loomed over the black turbulence of the river's +downflow dark and angular, stretching up to the dark sky, catching +the occasional sweep of lights from a car on the bridge. In the +mist they seemed almost to move.

+

"Like dinosaurs," David said, driving slowly. "Brontosaurs."

+

"Brachiosaurs," Helen told him. He looked round at her.

+

"I stand corrected. You're right."

+

"In this light, you can imagine them moving, all charging +through the fog. They'd make the ground shake."

+

"Make me shake," he admitted. "And fill my pants."

+

She laughed out loud. The anger had gone from her voice. They +moved on, past the tall bridge which spanned the river, its lights +like a strong of bright pearls on the suspension cables. Just as +they came out from under the first span, an immense flock of +starlings came whirring across the water, screeching all in unison, +and the sound of their wings loud enough to be heard over the sound +of the engine and the low fog horn from five miles downstream.

+

Helen looked up at the birds as they came wheeling in, turning +as one entity, to sweep under the shadow of the bridge to their +roosting place. "Why do they swarm like that?"

+

"Apparently they're just checking the talent," he said. "I read +somewhere they flock like that to get an estimate of their numbers. +If the swarm is too big, they lay less eggs the following spring, +so there's enough to go round. One of nature's control +mechanisms."

+

"I didn't know you were a bird man," she said. A hint of a laugh +made her voice warm in the shadows of the passenger seat.

+

"Ah, there's more to me than meets the eye. I take photographs +of birds."

+

"More porn?"

+

"No, real ones. Whenever I get the chance. Birds, animals, any +kind of wildlife. Been a hobby since I was small. I've had a couple +featured in magazines.

+

"So you've not been a hard-bitten detective all your life then. +I thought you were a born cop."

+

He laughed this time. "There's no such thing. I used to believe +there were. There's only some good ones and some bad ones. Nobody's +born for this."

+

"And you?"

+

"You already said. I'm one of the good guys."

+

The starlings flocked and wheeled and screeched like banshees in +the winter dusk while the cold frost came dusting down from the +darkness overhead. David drove along the river road, past the +warehouses and the grain stores that had stood empty since the +ships had abandoned the dying ports and the shipbuilding yards had +left the giant cranes as reminders of their own extinction.

+

They reached the house they sought. It was a ground floor +apartment in a small terrace off the main street in an old, run +down part of the city, but it was as nondescript as much as +anywhere could be. The garden had been covered in concrete which +was now cracked and eroded. Bare tendrils of some creeper, an ivy +that had withered and shrivelled, clung to the crumbling wall. The +paint on the door and the window frames was peeling and behind the +glass the curtains were shut. There was no name on the door, no +plate to carry a name. It was completely anonymous.

+

David turned to Helen, asked her to check round the back of the +house. She disappeared into the shadows and came back a minute or +so later.

+

"No sign of life."

+

He reached to the door handle, gave it a twist. It made a low, +creaking sound of protest, but it turned all the same. The latch +clicked hollowly and the door opened a crack.

+

He pushed it, listening to the whine of the hinge, until it was +wide open. The hallway was just a mass of shadows.

+

"Hello?" David called out. His voice boomed hollowly in the +darkness. There was no reply.

+
+

It nuzzled into the warmth, eyes tightly closed, reaching +out with its senses.

+

It, He, was safe for now. Safe in the hot dark and the +smoothness of the new one. He turned his head just a little and +found the nipple, lets his lips stretch and flow over it, pull +together and begin to suckle.

+

The milk came slow, not yet the full flow, but that would come +in time. he was hungry, as always, but instinctively did not suck +his fill. The milk was rank and weak, too sweet and dilute. It did +not have the essence of the nourishment he needed. He would get +hungrier still, and desperate until she changed, this new mother. +That would take time. He could sense her battle for control, could +feel the internal jitterings and writhings as she fought for her +own self. But he would win this one.

+

She was difficult, but it had happened all so suddenly and he'd +been forced to take her very quickly. The old one had been dying. +She had been drying out, shrinking into herself. He had sensed her +slow decay, but it had still been too sudden when it came. His need +had finally drained her, despite the flow of milk that had still +been thick and strong. He had stolen her strength at last, sucked +her essence dry.

+

But she had gone with dreadful suddenness, leaving him alone and +helpless.

+

He had sensed the change in the old mother as he sensed the pull +of the moon and the tides of the sea and the coming of the dark. He +reached out his awareness, stretched it out around him, pinpointing +the hot warmths that moved with sudden swiftness and uttered their +thoughts aloud in jarring cacophonies of sound. He had sensed that +alteration in the old mother, but he had been distracted by the new +growth in his own body. That was something new after all this time +of suckling and feeding and it had taken him unawares, diverted his +instincts and changed his perceptions. He would have prepared, as +he always had done, when the old mother began to falter. He would +have chosen a new one first if he could, letting the old mother +slowly fade out, dying from his hunger and discarded because of his +need, while he reached his thoughts inside another one to prepare +her to feed him. He had been distracted and the life in her had +blinked out.

+

The loss had been intense.

+

It was as if a physical umbilical cord linking them had been +severed. She hadn't faded away. She had broken. Inside of +her she had burst, so violently it had stopped her in her tracks. +The pain had come lancing across the distance, magnified by its +purity and had slammed into him as he lay in the dark. He had +called to her, demanding her attention, suddenly, for the first +time in memory, afraid of losing her and being left alone in this +place.

+

He had no recollection of fear, because he had never lost a +mother before.

+

But then she had broken, he had called to her and she had +responded because she carried the essence of him in her blood and +the blood sang out in terror. She had tried to get to him. Her mind +had sparked and crackled, fading then swelling strong as the lack +of oxygen competed with the urgent demands of the other thing in +her blood. She had tried to get to him but she had fallen and she +couldn't force her broken body across the distance.

+

All around her he could sense the heat of the others, milling +around, touching her. He could feel the stroke of the other one's +hands and the punch-pound weight on the mother's chest transmitted +from her mind directly to his and all the time her panic and fear +had soared. He was losing her and she was losing him and her +mother-love screamed out from her in desperation. The life had +started to fade. He could sense the sparks of it, little flares of +incoherent thought and sudden spasms of her need and his blood was +sizzling inside her veins as it still battled to return, to reach +him.

+

But then he screamed for help.

+

He had screamed the way a baby does, the way an infant will +snatch at a human's emotions.

+

But he had screamed with his mind and all of his instinct. The +glands had opened up and pulsed and the scent had gone hissing from +him.

+

Far off, he felt the responses. He sensed a shudder here. He +heard a groan there. Mental pictures danced within his own cold +consciousness, picked up by the reflexive scanning that had powered +up in this moment of intense danger and desperate urgency. Bright +columns of warmth hovered close, passed on by. Way in the distance, +hundreds of them milled together, each one a potential source of +food and warmth. He screeched again, a powerful mental demand.

+

Close by, one response was stronger and he instinctively homed +in on it. He turned his attention, focused his demand and speared +it outwards. Way beyond him, he could sense the old mother's +disintegration as her mind faded, leaving only the essence of +himself in her blood which spasmed and kicked reflexively. He +called out again, a powerful cry, but fined down so that it was +aimed at the one target. The urgency was clamouring in him and the +fear rising and that was another new thing, the fear. To be left +motherless was something he had never experienced before and it +made him feel exposed and vulnerable and there were minds out there +that would not tolerate his, would not love him. There were minds +out there that were cold as stone, that he could not appeal to, +could never influence.

+

The moving warmth stopped. He felts its indecision, the sudden +melange of repugnance and fear coupled with the new stirring deep +within it.

+

He demanded.

+

She wavered.

+

He strained, focused tight and commanded. She turned +towards where he lay and as he felt her approach a surge of +satisfaction rolled through him. The old mother was fading away, +the broken and empty chrysalis, discarded and useless. The new +mother leaned down and pulled the covering away. Bright light +seared his eyes and he hissed like a snake and his glands had +opened under the intense pressure. She had looked down at him and +recoiled and then the scent, coming reflexively in that first +sight, had infused her.

+

Take me take me take me. His demand was unspoken, mere +twists of thought pulsing out from him, urgent now, irresistible, +inescapable. The sudden fear inside her fear was strangled back to +whimper deep in her consciousness.

+

Love me!

+

She had reached and taken him and pulled him into her warmth. He +had reached and felt the smoothness of her skin and the desperate +fear had instantly begun to recede. He had made her move, chivvied +her along his own familiar paths, brought her back to a place he +knew.

+

Now in the dark, he suckled slowly, tasting the thin, weak milk, +but he could also taste the trickle of blood oozing from where he +had abraded the skin. Already, his own essence would be mingling +with the blood, flowing inside her, making the changes he needed. +It would take some time, but he had time. She was young and she was +strong and she would last, this one would, for as long as he needed +her.

+

In the dark of the room, pressed in against the warm smoothness, +he could feel the ripples of her body as the slow sobs hiccuped +through her and her own bewildered fear transmitted itself to him. +He picked up her confusion and the desperate schizophrenic battle +between her panic and her need. It would take time, but he had her +now and she had him and he would bond her to him with an +unbreakable imprinting that would last until beyond the span of her +life. That was how it had always been.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus06.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus06.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..088ba31 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus06.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,547 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

6

+

David pushed the door further, listened to the grinding protest +of a dry hinge, until the door was pushed back against the wall. +The hallway stretched out ahead of them, a depth of shadows.

+

"Hello?" David called out. His voice boomed hollowly in the +darkness. There was no reply. Somewhere in the dark, a small thing +moved or rustled. There had been a noise. He'd been almost sure. +For an instant he thought he heard a kitten whimper. There was a +scrape, like a chair being moved, but just then a car turned at the +far end of Latta Street, its diesel engine rumbling loud through a +hole in its manifold and momentarily drowned out all sound. The car +moved on and when it had gone, there was a silence in the hallway. +David called out again, louder this time. Now there was no sound at +all. The words echoed back from the narrow walls and he was not +sure that he had heard anything.

+

He pulled the flashlight from his pocket and swung the beam +ahead of him. "Looks like there's no-one home."

+

"That's no surprise. Nobody's reported her missing. Even though +it's only been a day, if she had family here I reckon somebody +would have called us."

+

He motioned ahead of him, put a foot over the doorstep and +slowly walked inside, following the cone of light. There was no +window in the hallway, just the walls, papered in an old fashioned +print. There was a small telephone table bearing a bunch of dried +flowers that looked as if they'd been there since the sixties. +There was no telephone.

+

"Why don't I just put on the light?" Helen asked. He turned to +face her, seeing only her silhouette against the faint glow of a +street lamp somewhere out there in the frosted night. "After all, +it's not an armed robber we're looking for."

+

"Go on then," he conceded. She fumbled for the switch, found the +brass plate at shoulder level close to the door, flicked it down. +Nothing happened.

+

"Maybe she never paid her bill," David said. He moved forward. +The hallway was dry and dusty and even in the dark it gave the +impression of being festooned with cobwebs layered with dust. Off +in the shadows, the darkness seemed to twist with motion. David +pulled back.

+

"What is it?"

+

"I thought something moved," he whispered. The dark had seemed +to roll forward, billowing towards him. He knew it was just +imagination, but it was a strange thing to have imagined. He +blinked and as he did so, sparks of colour flashed in front of his +eyes, like the kind of after images he got when the sunlight +reflected off the water on the estuary while he was taking pictures +of the wading birds. But here, he had not been looking into the +light.

+

He moved further down. Something rustled. Helen gave a +start.

+

"Police," David called out. "Don't be alarmed."

+

Nothing moved. He swung the beam up. There was a narrow door +slightly ajar, just a crack. The noise hadn't come from there.

+

"Maybe not," David answered his silent question. "There's nobody +here." For some reason he was tense and strained, suddenly, wound +up. It was an odd sensation of hyper-alertness. His heart gave a +thud and raised its beat to a higher speed. "Daft bugger," he told +himself. "Settle down."

+

Yet strangely, in the narrow confines of the hallway, right at +that moment, he sensed danger. It was a completely inexplicable +sensation, and a peculiar one, because it was not a physical +danger. For that brief instant, it was a shudder at the unknown, at +the oddly moving dark in the tiny, dilapidated house.

+

He got halfway down the hallway, taking each step slow, trying +to avoid making the floorboards creak. Then he walked into the +smell. It came thick in the air, musty and musky, powerful enough +to taste.

+

"Bloody hell," he coughed.

+

"God, that's awful," Helen said, gulping as if about to retch, +"What on earth is it? Smells like something's died in here."

+

For a moment, David considered calling in, to get a team round +to turn over the shabby little apartment. The smell of rot and +decay really was like the reek of a shallow grave, and both of them +had experienced that stench before. This, though, was somehow +different. David pulled a roll of tissues from his pocket, handed +half to Helen. She clamped it over her face and they moved on, +reached the door. He fully expected to find a mouldering corpse +lying in a greasy heap. David pushed the door open, his nerves +twisting with that strange anticipation, and they moved in.

+

This time the smell took them hard. David took a breath and his +vision blurred as if chemical had been squirted into his eyes. +Helen gave a little cough and then a soft groan that told him she +really was holding back on vomit.

+

He turned. "Keep quiet, for God's sake."

+

As soon as the words were out, he wondered why he had spoken +them. They had just blurted out, an angry slash at Helen. He turned +to face her, swinging the beam of the torch low. The shunt of anger +flared and the muscles of his belly clenched. His shoulders and +forearms tensed to trembling tautness as a surge of adrenaline hit +into his veins. In that instant he could have lashed out at +anything.

+

"What the fu..." he started. He didn't even know what he +intended to say, whether it was a question directed at Helen Lamont +or at himself. The muscles spasmed hard, as if a hand had clenched +his intestines and twisted. The flashlight beam swung and caught +Helen in its periphery. Her eyes were wide, not to compensate for +the dark, but with the same bewilderment that mirrored his own.

+

"Oh Jesus," she muttered, and sagged back out of the light. "Oh +my...." she started again and faltered once more.

+

Her own belly was suddenly roiling, but not in anger. She was +reeling within the scent that filled the dark of the room. Her eyes +blurred and swam with blurting tears. A wave of bleak longing +rippled through and within her. Right on its heels came an +appalling sense of empty loss and an utter, un-nameable need. A +flush of heat like a fever's bloom crawled under her skin, infusing +her temples, burning her ears. Her stomach spasmed and her breasts +instantly throbbed, nipples suddenly taut and tender against the +cup of her brassiere. Deep in the basin between her hips the +muscles cramped again and she felt the unmistakable draining +sensation down there.

+

The thick, sickly sweet smell, underscored by a rotting, rancid +scent, was clogging and cloy in the musty airlessness of the +room.

+

"Gas," David coughed. His throat was trying to clench in +involuntary twitches. The hairs on the back of his neck felt as if +they were marching in unison. The strange, unbidden rage flared to +a bubbling heat and he felt as if his head was beginning to +inflate. In the dark of the room, pictures flashed and flickered in +the front of his consciousness, and his body was pumped up ready +for fight or flight, every nerve sizzling in readiness. Powerful +anger, the need to hit out, lurched through him and he knew this +was not his own emotion, not a genuine feeling. He had to be +reacting to some chemical agent. His heart thumped a quick drumroll +and he could hear the pulse in his veins.

+

"Gas." He spat the word out again and without hesitation, he +reached for Helen. In that split second, he could easily have +grabbed her and slammed her against the dark wall. The violence +swelled huge within him. But as soon as his fingers snagged the +corduroy of her jerkin he dragged her towards him. He forced the +fury away from him, mentally punching it out of his head while his +thoughts were still reeling in the dark. It had to be +contamination, some sort of pollution. Rational thought was almost +impossible but he made it to the window, swept the thick curtain +back and got a hand to the catch. Helen came dragging along with +him gagging all the while. Pictures flickered in front of his eyes, +wavering images in splashes of flat and somehow poisonous colours. +Helen's knees were giving way and threatened to spill her to the +floor but he gripped her collar tight, lifting her almost off the +ground. She was blinded by the tears and the bleak sense of +abandonment that emptied her heart.

+

"I can't," she started to say in a voice that was hardly more +than a whimper.

+

He opened the window, flinging it wide with one push of his arm +and he pushed her in front of him, right into the cold air. The +breeze from the open door at the other end of the room swept +through in a cold draught that made the ragged curtain billow +outwards. Immediately the smell began to dissipate rapidly. He +scooped in a lungful of air. Little sparks orbited and wheeled in +his vision and the breath was cold and frosted, sharp in his +throat. Helen gagged and sagged again. He could feel her reflex +vomit choking, felt her sides heaving. A back tide of rage surged +up inside him, faded just as quickly and was then swamped by a +secondary wave of dreadful guilt coupled with the explosive +decompression of relief. He could have hit her. He could have +slammed her up against a wall. He could have done something +much worse than that. For a moment, for a dreadful dizzying +few seconds, he had been pure and savage animal. He could have +ripped her coat off, ripped her clothes off and thrown her down on +the ground and spread her wide to slam himself into her again and +again.

+

"What the fuck's going on?" he rasped.

+

"Oh David," Helen blurted. "I'm really sick." She heaved in a +huge breath. The wind whistling round the chimneys and rustling in +the dead ivy that crept over the little brick porch came blasting +in the door and blew the stench away. A cat swaggering tail-high by +the scrubby hedge caught the scent and suddenly screeched. Its fur +stood on end, like a caricature of a startled tomcat. Its back +arched and then it snapped into motion. One instant it was a +shuddering ball of fur and the next it was a streak of black. It +crossed the concrete patch in a second and hit the crumbling wall +with such force that it bounced back in a complete somersault. +Without a pause, and with no cessation of its caterwauling, it ran +at the barrier again, went straight up like a rocket, its momentum +taking it two feet higher than the top of the wall, then down the +other side. It went screaming away out of sight.

+

The pinwheeling lights faded out and the adrenaline surge +emptied out of his blood, leaving him trembling and weak. Helen +started to raise herself up, breathing hard, but not sick now. He +swung the beam round. A small table light with a dark shade was +close by on an old fashioned chest of drawers. He reached and tried +it, surprised when it came on, letting a feeble light swell in the +small room.

+

"God, I thought I was going to be sick," Helen said. The bleak +and empty sense of loss had vanished, drained away. It was as if it +had never been. With the window open, the smell had faded to barely +a background scent. "What the hell was it?"

+

"I thought it was gas, but it's not. Maybe come chemical. +Cleaning fluid or something?"

+

"Did it make you sick?"

+

"I nearly puked all over you," he lied. He couldn't tell her +how, in that split second he could have clubbed her to the ground. +He could hardly believe it himself. The image of her lying naked, +legs splayed, hovered on the edge of conscious thought and he tried +to close his mind to that, for once planted, the thought had +triggered an excitement he did not want to feel at all. The anger, +however, had burst like a balloon, leaving him deflated and even +the recollection of it was difficult to conjure up again. He +flicked the flashlight off and they stood there, embarrassed by his +reaction and shaken by the strange, surreal experience.

+

The room was small and narrow. There was an old bed at one end +and a door halfway along the wall that led into a small kitchen. +There were two seats, both unmatched, overstuffed armchairs. In the +corner a mound of children's soft toys were piled in a pyramid, +teddy bears and furry animals. There were teething rings and +rattles. Beside the bed a white plastic baby bath sat in a frame +and a selection of oils and lotions were lined up surprisingly +neatly.

+

A Moses basket that might have been made before the war, stood +over in the corner, but it was piled with folded sheets in laundry +bags. The bed, low and narrow was covered by a pile of blankets +that were tumbled and twisted into a circular shape, as if whoever +had slept there had eased out so as not to disturb them. To David, +it reminded him of a vole's nest down by the riverbank.

+

"She said she had a baby," David said.

+

"Who would let a somebody bring a baby back here?" Helen +sniffed, got an aftertaste of the strange rancid scent on the still +air and the strange sense of longing throbbed subliminally, just a +tickle at the back of her consciousness. She squashed it flat for +she recognised the sudden and completely unbidden sensation of need +within herself. It had taken her by surprise, a sensation she had +never experienced before. She did not welcome it now. Nor did she +welcome the other need she'd felt when he'd grabbed her and hauled +her, flopping and helpless towards the window. As soon as she'd +breathed the fresh air and the nausea had subsided, she had been +suddenly aware of the grip of his hand on her neck. His touch had +tingled through her skin in a sudden sizzle of sensation that had +flared in a burst of heat and another kind of longing that had +flowed over and through the other.

+

"A baby," David repeated, and she shook her head emphatically, +telling herself not to be such a bloody idiot. His hand was +reaching towards the mantelpiece. For a sizzling instant, she +wanted to feel it on her again. She drew her eyes away, looked up +at him."

+

"That was what the paramedics said," David continued, "and the +assistant from Rolling Stock. She told me the dead woman had a baby +with her and nobody believed it." He was trying to recall exactly +what he'd been told. "Phil Coulter said she had tried to get away +from them because she had to get to her baby. He thought she was +delirious."

+

"I thought she was alone," Helen said. "And nobody came to +report her missing, did they?"

+

He shook his head, eyes narrowed, thinking. "She told them to +find it. But it wasn't on the video."

+

He scratched his head, taking in the rest of the room. "But we +didn't look at them all." He tried to think back to what he had +seen, Jenny McGill pounding the chest. The expert lift onto the +paramedic's trolley. The woman reaching to snatch the Mothercare +bag. Then he recalled Carrie McFall bending quickly to pick up the +handbag beside the line of trolleys. Something was itching in his +memory, but not yet hard enough.

+

"There's been a baby here," he said, letting his eyes wander +around the cramped little room. It was not damp, but musty and +unclean. The odd smell that he'd taken for contamination had blown +away now, leaving only the flat and stale odour of dirt and sweat +and lack of hygiene.

+

The nest of blankets looked as if they'd be crawling with lice. +A strip of wallpaper had peeled away from the wall at the ceiling +and in other places there were signs of dusty mould. "She's been +looking after a baby here," David said. "So she's got relatives, or +she's a child minder."

+

"If he was a child minder, then whoever gave her a licence +should be shot," Helen said. "It would be a crime to let a child in +here."

+
+

"We were concerned at first," Simpson Hardingwell said. "But +then, when you get a case as unusual as this, it's always best to +take a step back and be systematic."

+

Hardingwell was the consultant microbiologist at St Enoch's. He +was tall and gaunt and had an enormous axehead of a nose which made +him look pompous and aristocratic, but he was pretty +straightforward as far as David could make out, and not at all +patronising.

+

"There are still one or two things that puzzle us greatly. +Professor Hartley, he's the pathologist as you'll know, called me +in almost immediately and we both made a further examination of the +woman."

+

"This was after the post mortem?"

+

"No, this was the post mortem. Young Quayle at casualty +got Gordon Hartley in right away. The paramedics had told him she'd +revived en route and then, on arrival, she had shown some +signs of life in the crash unit though there was no heartbeat and +no sign of brain activity whatsoever. Occasionally you observe +reflexes for some time after death, but Quayle said she had spasmed +quite violently and had been foaming at the mouth, gushing saliva. +His first thought was rabies, because these symptoms are quite +characteristic of the virus, though we haven't had a case here in +years."

+

He leaned back and run his fingers through thick white hair. +"When Hartley looked at her down in the mortuary, there were still +slight tremors in the muscles, though the spasming had stopped. He +was concerned about her physical condition. In many respects she +was emaciated. An elderly woman who seemed to be half-starved. Her +body fat was almost non-existent and her skin colour indicated she +was anaemic. She appeared to be in her sixties, early sixties I +would have said. Now that gave Hartley a problem and he'd already +asked me in for an assessment of bacteriological or viral risk. To +tell you the truth, I've never actually seen a case of rabies, in +the flesh, so to speak and I was quite interested, though I was +sure this would be something else.

+

"Anyway, to get back to the initial picture, she was in her +sixties, but there were anomalies."

+

"That's what my boss said."

+

"Quite. The first difference was in the condition of her +breasts. Quite a contrast with the rest of her appearance really. +They were neither flaccid or lumped with cellulite or fatty +deposits as you might expect in someone of her age. They were +swollen, very full indeed. That could have indicated a number of +pathological causes. Beriberi for instance, but that's hardly +common here. Hartley thought there was an inflammation, perhaps +caused by a blood disorder. There were marks around the nipples, +and the aureole area, abrasions and bruising, some of them quite +severe. Much of the tissue was swollen and it was clear that blood +had seeped from the abrasions. My first reaction was Kaposi's +sarcoma, which is one symptom of the final stages of HIV."

+

"You mean she had aids?"

+

"No. The haematoma were different in shape and colour for a +start, and later tests showed she was not HIV positive."

+

He leaned forward again and put both hands on a pristine blotter +pad. "That was just the initial observation you understand. Once +Gordon went in, we found things were very odd indeed. I took swabs +of all the mucous tissue, blood samples and both muscle and +integument. I waited until Hartley was further in before I got the +fluids from stomach and bowel and nothing at all from the brain +until close to the end.

+

"What we have is a puzzle. From the pathology point of view, +Gordon's as baffled as I am. Contrary to expectation, the breasts +were fully functional and still lactating. In fact there was still +a slight leakage of milk and that's extremely rare in a woman that +age, almost unheard of. There have been two cases recorded and +third in a woman in her sixties on hormone replacement therapy. Not +full lactation, you understand, but merely a slight resurgence of +glandular activity.

+

"Our woman, what's her name? Quigley? Her mammary glands were +fully functional. Comparable to a woman in her twenties within two +weeks of birth. The bruises, it transpired, were not the haematoma +common to bruising from a blow, but suck-punctures. The Americans +would call them hickeys. You would say love bites. They had been +worked with some force, enough to rupture minor capillaries and +draw blood through the pores. There were odd abrasions too, shallow +scrape marks with lined striations which were deep enough to break +into deeper capillary vessels."

+

"And what would that mean?" David asked. So far he was just +curious, and he was aware that Hardingwell was indulging him. The +consultant seemed to be enjoying it too.

+

"Something had sucked on her. Adult or child, it's hard to say. +I'm not in forensics."

+

"And there was more?"

+

"Oh yes. Her ovaries were still fully functioning, though +greatly enlarged, which might explain the superfluity of +progesterone in her blood. She had unusual abrasions on the vaginal +wall and, another surprise, she was still menstruating, which might +account for the anaemia. Hartley ascertained that she'd suffered a +massive rupture of the left ventricle."

+

David had watched enough hospital scenes on television to get +the picture. "A heart attack?"

+

"Catastrophic. The wall had ruptured almost completely. It was +paper thin and must have been giving her pain for some time. It was +a wonder she was able to walk. Further examination showed embolisms +in a number of blood vessels in the brain, bubbles in the walls +which could have burst at any time. It was a race between a cardiac +arrest or a stroke. It was clear that she had high blood pressure, +despite the anaemia, but the damage to the heart wall was quite +significant. It was as if the muscle had been leeched away, causing +severe reduction in tissue mass and strength. It was a third of its +normal weight.

+

"My tissue samples were equally perplexing. That's why I called +Mr Bulloch. Blood showed severe depletion of red cells and a +corresponding increase in white. Pre-leukaemic I would normally +say, but that's academic of course. She had raised levels of +progesterone, well above normal levels one would expect even in a +woman of pre-menopausal age. And then there were the +antibodies."

+

"She had an infectious disease?"

+

"Not quite. Antibodies are the body's defence against disease. +They are triggered by contact with viruses or bacteria, any +invasion at all. Current theory is that we have dormant antibodies +for every disease that has ever existed, a sort of biological +overkill. The scanning electron microscope also showed a rather +large compound of proteins and amino acids, long polypeptide +chains, like new genetic material. It is unlike anything I've ever +seen, and my colleagues are equally baffled. All I can surmise that +the antibodies are a reaction to some infection, possibly to those +complex molecules though it will take some time to isolate what the +vector is. If it's viral, it could take months. I don't believe +it's serious, but I would prefer to take no chances. I have to +consider the possibility of a mutation, which happens from time to +time, in the formation of an antibody, or even a new strain of +virus, neither of which might be serious. But we would prefer to be +sure. That's our job."

+

"So you do think she's had some sort of disease?"

+

"Oh she had disease all right. Heart disease, embolisms, +distension of the ovaries, over-production of hormones. She was a +sick woman. I'm trying to find out if she had a disease she could +pass on to anyone else and I also want to find out whether the bug +she may be carrying is what caused the other conditions. As I say, +it could be a new strain. I'd like to find out if our Thelma +Quigley had been abroad recently, or if she's been in close contact +with someone who has come from the tropics."

+

Hardingwell looked across at David and gave a twist of a smile. +"At least we know it's not rabies, and that's a blessing. But we +want to find the source of this new cellular material if we can. It +could be a mutation, which is unlikely, but it could be something +as simple as a parasitic infection, one that is new to us. Apart +from the other questions, it's fairly miraculous that the woman was +walking and talking instead of being hospitalised weeks ago."

+

"What about the paramedics? They said she was dead, but she came +back to life. Could that be something to do with it?"

+

"More to do with the heat of the moment. Despite what they tell +you, medicine isn't an exact science. It's most likely that her +pulse had dropped to an extremely low level because of the rupture, +but there was still some brain activity. The heart might still have +been operating on the other side, which wouldn't have made a great +deal of difference, but there is a remote possibility she could +still have been alive then and in crash. The signs would be very +easy to miss."

+

David drew out his notebook and flipped over the pages. He found +the notes he had made and read them quickly. "The witnesses said +that she spoke about a baby. In her home, we also found evidence +that there might have been a baby at some time. Is it possible she +did have one?"

+

"She could have looked after one," Hardingwell conceded.

+

"But the milk thing, and the ovaries. Is it possible that she +had actually given birth?"

+

Hardingwell laughed, not unkindly, but in real mirth. "If she +had, somebody would be rushing to get a paper out on it even as we +speak. I'd even be tempted to write to the Lancet myself. +But no. She could not have given birth."

+

"She was too old?"

+

"Oh, there was that, although those damned Italians are pushing +back the age frontiers faster than you would imagine. It won't be +too long before a woman of that age will actually give birth. She'd +have to be healthier though."

+

"Maybe looking after a grandchild?"

+

"Not that either, I'm afraid. She could never have given birth +at all."

+

"Why?"

+

"Because she was a virgin. Hartley found her still intact." The +consultant smiled. "She really was an old maid."

+
+

The search of the flat had not taken long. The drawers of the +dresser had been filled with baby clothes, all of them laid out and +folded neatly and most of them showing no signs of wear at all. +There were tiny cardigans, larger pullovers, as if someone had been +buying for a baby's growth. In the kitchen, there were sterilisers +and plastic bottles, unopened tins of baby food and rusk teething +biscuits on which the cellophane wrapping was still shiny and +tight.

+

"None of this has been used," Helen said. "Not the bottles and +the clothes. They're all brand new, but some of them are +old."

+

"Don't baffle me with logic," David told her. "I didn't +understand a word of that."

+

"They're new in the sense that they have never been used, but +they are old in the sense that some of them came out of the ark. +Look at that romper suit. That went out with button boots. I used +to wear something like that."

+

"Not yesterday then?"

+

"Very funny. No, not yesterday. It looks as if she's just been +collecting baby gear and storing it away."

+

"A weirdo?"

+

Helen looked over at him. She was crouched down, careful not to +kneel on the threadbare carpet. In her hands she held a jumper in +knitted pink, with two tiny ribbons as ties.

+

"Depends on your point of view. Maybe she just wanted a +baby. Like an obsessive. Some women can't have them and it drives +them over the edge, according to the psychology course. They can +even fantasise that they actually have a child. Sometimes it gets +worse than that and they steal one."

+

She got up from the floor and held up the small garment. "I +think she was a very disturbed old lady. None of this stuff +matches, either in fashion or sex." She half smiled, thinking of +how disturbed she herself had been only half an hour before. David +was rubbing his jaw with his free hand, making the hairs on his +chin rasp. The sound, completely masculine, tingled on her nerves. +She ignored it.

+

"I wouldn't know," David told her, and she laughed out loud, +hoping it wouldn't sound forced.

+

"Of course you wouldn't. No offence, but you're a man and I've +never yet met a man who knew that only baby girls wear pink. Some +of these are blue and the rest are pink. It's as if she didn't have +a clue what she was buying. Some is for a child more than a year +old and others are for new-borns."

+

"You know a lot about it," David observed.

+

"I'm the youngest of a big family. You know my sisters breed +like rabbits."

+

"And you?"

+

The image came back to him, the mental picture of her lying +spread. Breeding like rabbits.

+

"Give me a break. I buy the kids sweets and Christmas presents +and that's where my maternal instincts end. I think there's +something wrong with my hormones." She gave him a lop-sided grin +and tried to shuck away the strange reverberation of the twin aches +that had rippled deep within her. The first powerful compulsion had +drained away almost as quickly as it had swamped her but the memory +still hovered scarily close. The second remained with her, +strangely strong.

+

David returned the smile, but he too was trying to focus his +mind on the maternal drive. June had been pushing him and he knew +wanted to get engaged. She needed to settle down, start a family. +He wasn't ready for that, he knew. He'd resisted moving in with her +and he was coming to realise that his reluctance was nothing to do +with settling down and having kids. It was to do with him and it +was to do with her. He'd have to do something about that. He looked +at Helen Lamont and wished he'd never brought her here. He could do +without any complications.

+

The wardrobe at the far end of the small room had more bags of +baby clothes and an old fashioned hatbox that was filled with +newspaper clippings and some tattered exercise books. At the +bottom, there were two old diaries filled with neatly looped +handwriting that at first sight looked similar to the woman's name +on the rent book. He took them with him when they left the house +and went back to the station. David dropped Helen off on South +Street, only half a mile from his own place and then drove +home.

+

Of the three messages on his answering machine, two were from +June, the second more irate than the first, demanding to know where +he was and telling him he had spoiled her evening. She asked him to +call immediately . The second was from John Barclay at the +Waterside Mall.

+

"I've had a look at some of the early tapes," John said. +"There's something you maybe want to have a look at."

+

David called back, but there was no reply and he made a mental +note to call the ex-policeman the following day. He made himself a +cup of strong, sweet coffee which went a long way to taking the +winter chill from his bones. While he sipped he opened up the box +and began to sift through the old cuttings and pieces of paper. He +hefted one of the diaries, opened it and began to read.

+

He never returned June's call that night.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus07.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus07.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f04c78f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus07.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,431 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

7

+

It was bitterly cold. Hoar frost made filigree jewels of the +spiders webs stretched on the hedge along the back of the lane, but +she did not see them. The air was chill in her throat and she +huddled down against it, her movements fast and jerky. It was still +dark, midwinter dark, in the dregs of the morning and she was stiff +and sore from her huddled slump against the wall in the corner of +the room.

+

She had tried to call out, tried to cry when she heard the +movement at the strange house where she'd huddled in the dark, but +it had touched something inside and stifled her. It had made her +move, fast, urgent, digging at her with mental spurs and she had +run, quickly, out of the back, as soon as she had heard the knock +on the door. She had run and it had told her to find sanctuary. It +had reached into her mind and found a place she could take them. +Ginny had scuttled out and along the track, past the fence where +the dogs immediately went frantic and launched themselves, not at +the fence close to her, but on the far side, as if they were trying +to escape in the other direction. Their howling tore at the air. +She had floundered past the ragged bags of refuse behind the +Chinese restaurant, down the far alley and took a side street that +followed the line of the waterway parkland where the canal +meandered through the green belt of trees and narrow, fallow +fields.

+

Movemovemove move! The urgent commands pushed and +jolted. Her lungs ached after a while because she could not pause. +Every turn she took, with the baby huddled in against her, was down +a darkened street, past a shady wall, in the lee of a hedge. She +was instinctively avoiding light. It took three quarters of an hour +and she was almost fainting from exhaustion when she got to Celia's +house. She scrambled up the narrow path, got the keys free and +after several futile attempts, she stabbed it into the lock, turned +hard to the left, pushed the door and was inside.

+

It was cold, but not freezing. She sagged down on the carpet, +panting like a beaten animal, listening to the rasp of breath in +her own throat. The only illumination was the pallid touch of the +moon out in the evening sky and the green pulsing light on the +coffee table in the corner. It held her eyes while she sat there +clenched and huddled feeling the weight against her breasts.

+

Some time later, the phone trilled and she started back, hard +enough to bang her shoulder against the wall. She turned, heart +hammering yet again and almost reached for the receiver, but once +more the mental injunction froze her to stillness.

+

The telephone rang, four, five times, insistent and urgent in +the darkness, but she could do nothing. It clicked. There was a +hollow purring sound then a double crackle of electronic +interference.

+

..... "Hi, this is Celia Barker." The voice was bright and +lively. A voice free of cares. "I can't come to the phone at the +moment, so leave a message and I'll call you back...." The purr +returned, then a rapid series of blips and a long whine of +noise.

+

"Hi again Ginny, I called earlier." The lively voice was +different, fresher then before. "Just to say I've arrived and this +place looks marvellous. Blue skies and a warm breeze coming in from +the sea. And the boys. Mmmm. They're all Greek gods. Wide +shoulders, tiny backsides, rippling torsos. We're going to have the +time of our lives. Don't worry, we'll be careful, because we can't +possibly be good. Just a pity you couldn't come along. You'd have a +ball. Several probably. Anyway, thanks for looking after Mork and +Mindy for me. There's plenty of tins in the cupboard. Just make +sure Mork stays out of Mindy's bowl. Don't have any wild parties +and if you do, make sure you tidy up after you. Love and +hugs...."

+

The voice was gone, a brief bubbling stream of words and +laugher. The machine clicked, whined again, then shut itself off. +The green eye winked steadily and the silence stretched out.

+

She stayed still, hunkered down against the wall, eyes fixed on +the green light, through her mind was a whirl. She was trying to +hold on to the familiarity of the voice on the phone, her friend's +abundant normality. But it was difficult to think clearly. +It was almost impossible to think at all.

+

The night had been crazy. It had been filled with strange dreams +and awful visions and when she awoke she recalled what had happened +and the baby was down on her, sucking hard, draining her.

+

She had tried to resist, tried to haul it off her breast. The +instant wash of repugnance had made her want to grab it and rip its +mouth from her skin and throw it to the ground. She had suddenly +wanted to hurl it to the floor and stamp on it until its sucking +pout stopped.

+

She had tried and the pain had come.

+

The pain had come in a corkscrew of hurt right at the back of +her head. It felt as if the inside of her skull was being split +down the bone sutures and the pain had been so immense that for a +moment she had blacked out. The room had swum in wavering double +vision and she had been swimming in a sea of suffering so fine she +could hear it resonating on the inside of her teeth. It was such an +agony, so devastating and overwhelming that she could not even cry +out.

+

No! A wordless command sliced inside the pain.

+

The motion of her hand froze in mid strike, hovering paralysed +inches from the back of the baby's neck. Everything seemed to +happen in slow motion, the way it had been in the dream, but this +was no dream, she knew now. This was a nightmare maybe, but no +dream. The pain subsided fast and left her gasping with sudden +relief.

+

Her hand was stayed. She blinked twice and great tears rolled +down from eyes that were raw from the dreamlike sobbing of before. +The baby's head was still pressed against her skin. It's silky hair +was black and shining and there was a line of matte down trailing +on the slender neck and between the pink shoulders. The cold +puckered the skin into shivering goose-flesh. Her hand was freed +from its stasis and she looped the edges of her coat around the +tiny frame.

+

The baby turned, mouth still fixed on her nipple but no longer +sucking. It opened an eye which again seemed to be red and +protuberant at first and then changed, wavering to blue. It fixed +on hers and the scent came rolling up like a mist to infuse her +senses.

+

Get off me. Her panicked thought came in blaring +capitals and the pain flared instantly. The revulsion and loathing +was squashed underneath the sudden weight and the scent filled her +head and the repugnance fragmented, then coalesced as some other +emotion.

+

Mother me...the command shunted into her senses. +Love me.

+

The pain faded again and was replaced by a sudden warm infusion +of unexpected pleasure. She tried to fight it, tried to keep her +mind clear but it was impossible. She felt as if she was being torn +apart while her emotions wrestled and heaved and her thoughts +jittered and sparked and the fear and the alien sense of need +looped and writhed around each other in a confusing maelstrom.

+

She drew her hand down and cradled the baby's head against her, +dizzy with the conflicting sensations. Its skin was warm and +dry

+

Yet underneath that perception she sensed something +cold

+

to the touch as it nuzzled gently, tugging the way Tony had done +only the night before behind the steamed windows of his car.

+

After a while she was able to move. She rose from her slump in +the corner, still hugging the little thing in against her. She knew +she needed to wash, but there were other needs clamouring at her. +All of a sudden she understood she had to move, to get out of the +flat. The urgency swelled in her mind and without hesitation, she +went into Celia's bedroom. The bed was neatly made up, very +feminine, with embroidered pillowcases to match the eiderdown. She +drew it back one handed while the other hand clamped the baby to +her breast. All the time, her mind was reeling and spinning, though +underneath the mental storm, everything was icy cold and clear,

+

She drew the cover down and then the sheet, folding it corner to +corner then doubling that until it formed a square. Finally she was +able to take the baby away from her. It twisted, letting the nipple +slide out of its mouth with a rubbery little pop. It turned and its +eyes swung up to her. They were wide and clear, big baby eyes that +stared into hers with mute appeal.

+

My baby.

+

The thought came strong. The infant hand moved away, small and +pink, minute fingers clenched into a fist. For a brief instant, a +mere fraction of a second, the she imagined skin began to ripple +and tendons writhe under the surface. A shimmering iridescence, as +if the dim glow of the street lamp were being reflected back from +minute facets, broke the light into fragments. A tickle of pressure +nudged in her brain and the iridescence vanished. The tiny fingers +opened, closed and then slackened again, clean and rosy, each +little nail perfectly formed.

+

The baby gazed liquidly, needfully at her and she felt her heart +flip over. She was borne high on the surge-tide of mother need. It +was impossible to resist for now.

+

Ginny bent quickly, her hair sweeping down on either side of her +face with the sudden motion. She laid the child on the blanket and +wrapped it up, tucking the hands in tight. She swaddled the baby +into a bundle then turned round. Beside the telephone, the twin +green eyes of the machine's answering lights blinked mutely.

+

She found her own bag on the carpet where she had spent the +night, rifled it quickly, taking her credit card out along with the +rest of money she'd taken to buy Christmas presents. It wasn't much +and she needed more. She went back into the bedroom and checked in +the drawers on either side of the bed, but found nothing except +bottles of pills and a substantial package of condoms. Under any +other circumstances she'd have made a comment, probably one of +surprise, but they hardly registered on her mind. The dresser on +the far side yielded two twenties, tucked inside a make-up case. +Back in the living room there was a sideboard where Celia had +stashed her work-a-day handbag. She dragged it out, experiencing a +warm, almost savage glow of triumph. She had known it would be here +somewhere, and inside, she knew she'd find Celia's bank card.

+

"I'd better leave them here just in case," her friend had said, +practical as ever. "If I lost it abroad with the rest of them, I'd +have no money when I came back." The card was in a small blue +plastic case. She knew the number was simply the day and month of +Celia's birthday.

+

The door closed with a dull thud, muffled by the swirling mist +that was more frost than fog in the early silence of the morning. +The orange lamps were haloed and somehow eerie. Some distance away, +a truck engine coughed into life, sounding like a large animal. +Further away, miles down the river, a ship's foghorn came wavering +on the still air, a distressed bellow in the far distance.

+

The cold was intense and she wrapped her coat around the bundle, +cinching the belt tight. The little face was snug against the +warmth of her blouse and the huge eyes were closed. It made no +sound, but she could sense its warm thoughts inside her own. It was +snug and protected, safe in her arms. Her heart flipped over in the +powerful wash of mother love.

+

And underneath that, struggling desperately, her own sense of +self was thrashing frantically like a drowning creature in a pit of +black tar.

+

The path behind the houses took her back down towards the alley. +The dogs were either sleeping or they recognised her. They made no +sound from behind the chain link fence. There was no sign of the +tramp She made it out from behind the Chinese restaurant and onto +the road.

+

There was no-one about at this time in the morning. Her heels +clacked on the concrete and the sound came reverberating back at +her, muffled in the ground mist. She passed the church and made it +to the high street before she saw anyone else. It was an early +morning police patrol car nosing along, two bored officers close to +the end of their shift, looking forward more than anything else to +a cup of hot tea and a warm bed. Both of them, turned to follow her +progress as she hurried along past the shop windows, head down and +shoulders up against the chill of the morning. She was no threat, +no burglar. The car moved on. It turned the corner and she stopped, +turned back and walked forty steps to the bank she'd just passed. +Without any hesitation she slid the card in the slot, punched in +the number and hit the key for a balance inquiry.

+

There was less than a thousand in the account. Celia, normally a +good saver, must have taken plenty out for her holiday. It would +have to do. She keyed for the maximum, waited until it coughed out +two hundred in clean twenties, folded and wadded the money into her +purse and hurried on.

+

She experienced no guilt, not on the surface. The baby needed +the money.

+

And still, underneath the numbness and the strange overwhelming +mother-love, she was screaming in terror and revulsion.

+

In the dark of the early morning, she made her way back to +Celia's place, taking great care to avoid being seen on the main +streets.

+

_____

+

It was after two by the time David Harper looked at the clock, +realised how long he'd been sitting and dragged himself away from +the small pile of papers. He had a long, hot shower and toyed with +the idea of another malt whisky before deciding against it. He went +to bed. It had been a long day and a longer night, but despite the +physical tiredness, his mind was still wide awake, trying to make +sense of what he'd been reading.

+

Thelma Quigley.

+

That had been the name on the rent book, but he was convinced +that it was not the name of the woman who had fallen and died +screaming in the Waterside shopping mall. He had spent most of the +night reading the diaries and going over the papers and notes and +the cuttings from old newspapers, yellowing pages, brittle and +fragile with age, worn at the folds.

+

There had been two diaries, both from the mid sixties, tattered +and loose in their covers. With them there had been a number of +school exercise books, all of them different colours and a pair of +spiral bound notebooks the kind reporters use.

+

She had been a note-taker, Thelma Quigley, or the woman who +carried her rent book and used her name, had been. A compulsive +recorder of events, though apart from the diaries, there was no way +he would know, unless he passed them along to forensics for paper +typing and dating, to which period the others belonged. Oh, there +were clues, and he supposed if he sat with them a while longer, he +might spot a chronological give-away, but for the moment, all he +had to go on were the battered diaries.

+

March 17, 1967. Thelma wants to go to France this summer. +She's so adventurous. I asked what's wrong with Brighton and she +laughed. She says the French men are much more romantic than the +English, and they don't have all those Mods and Rockers causing +fights and trouble. She'd got a part in the Sound of Music at the +Citizens Theatre and she wants me to audition for the chorus, but I +can't sing as well as she can.

+

More along these lines, a woman in her thirties, a little shy, a +few years older than her best friend who has theatrical ambitions +and who had further horizons than a holiday in Brighton. The diary +of a woman who had been cloistered by nature and by circumstance +and who experienced the world vicariously through Thelma Quigley's +eyes. The name, repeated often enough, began to nudge a distant +memory.

+

May 22, 1967. I haven't been able to write for all this +time (this after more than a week of empty pages and the ink +is smudged where tears have softened the page long ago.) I went +up to her grave, but there isn't a headstone there yet. I can't +believe she is gone. Dead. Just like that. All the life and all the +smiling. She would have been wonderful. The police came round to +ask me more questions, but there was nothing I could tell them. +Thelma had lots of boyfriends, but nobody serious. I wanted to see +her before the funeral but they said best not to. It was a closed +coffin because they said she was marked and I can't believe that +somebody would do it to her. Oh what a terrible thing. If I could +catch him I would stab him myself until he was dead. I miss her and +I wish I'd told her I would go to France.

+

July 26, 1967. The headstone is in a polished stone with her +name on it. My flower holder with the white heart in marble is +still there and I put some carnations in it. Her name looks so +lonely there on the stone and I can't still believe that she is +down there and not up and dancing around the way she always did, +laughing and joking with the boys. They haven't caught him yet, the +b*****d (God forgive me but I can't forgive him). Tomorrow, I'll go +up to the bridge where we went with Tom and Geoffrey last year when +Thelma fixed up that double date without telling me and then we +laughed all the way home because she said Geoffrey looked like Adam +Faith except smaller and everybody knew Adam's only five foot +nothing. That was the last real laugh I remember and since then +it's all been grey. Nothing matters any more. I have nobody to talk +to. My mother says just to snap out of it and dad doesn't know what +to say. Nothing matters and I don't have any other friends and I'm +so very lonely. I'm going to go up to the bridge tomorrow, because +wherever Thelma is, she'll be laughing and she'll make me laugh +again.

+

There was a space in the diary for the next fifty pages. Nothing +had been written from July until some time in September. David +could have been forgiven for assuming that whoever had written the +lines in July, a woman clearly grieving and suffering a deep sense +of loss, had done as she said she would do and gone up to the +bridge, wherever that was, and joined her dead friend.

+

But no.

+

September 22, 1967. He wants fed, poor little thing. He +needs to be fed all the time and when he turns those big eyes on me +I almost melt. I go all squishy inside and I know Thelma +would have just adored him. She always said I'd be a great mother, +and she was right. I take care of Baby Grumpling better than anyone +could and I love him to death. Really I do. I just can't wait for +him to learn to speak and I know just what his first words will +be.

+

The writing was clear and rounded, exactly the same as in the +earlier pages before the blank stretch. They had been written by +the same woman.

+

I'll have to get another pram for him because the wheel on +the other one is buckled and he doesn't like to be jiggled about. I +always know when he's not happy. He soon lets me know. That's just +the way babies are. He sucked me really hard today, and I got a big +bruise, but he can't help it. He must be really hungry all the time +and I don't mind because he needs his food and he won't take +anything else.

+

December 20, 1967. I got him a big teddy and a furry +hedgehog that looks really cuddly. He'll start playing with toys +soon but he's too young yet, just a tiny little thing and so +helpless. He needs me so much and I know he loves me. All I want to +do is hold him in my arms. I have to go out to the shops for more +liver. I never liked it before, but I need more all the time. Funny +isn't it. They say you get notions and cravings before you have a +baby. I'm getting them all the time. Liver and eggs and eggshells. +Funny that. I'm so looking forward to Christmas. Just me and the +baby. It'll be like the first ever Christmas and he's so sweet, +just like the baby Jesus. Maybe I'll sing him a carol.

+

The next diary had been more of the same. Not every day had been +filled in, sometimes there were gaps of weeks, but every entry +consisted of nothing else but the rituals of feeding and clothing +Baby Grumpling. As he read on, David sensed the strange +alteration, the obsession the woman had with the baby, but it was +not that realisation that made the hairs on his arms begin to +crawl.

+

There was something odd, something unnatural about the whole +thing. Sometime during the reading, he'd got up and poured himself +a decent measure of Islay Malt and he'd sipped at it, savouring the +smoky ancient taste of peat damping down the fire of the liquor. +Still, the whisky couldn't take away the strange taste that the +diaries imparted.

+

There had been something wrong here. He couldn't put his finger +on it although there were glaring omissions. They weren't what gave +him the creepy fingers up and down his spine. It was beyond those +omissions (that he would have to check out in any case) way beyond +them. He sensed something that was just wrong. Not criminal, though +there was a distinct possibility, not criminal, but simply +wrong.

+

The diaries gave him a puzzle that he would have to solve and +some of that would be easy, just a matter of record. Thelma Quigley +had been murdered. It was clear from the pages of the diary that +she'd been stabbed to death and her body buried in a shallow grave +and that it hadn't been found for some time. This knowledge was +already making the faint memory stronger. Thelma Quigley. He +had heard the name before. Once he ascertained who Thelma +Quigley had been, he would find out the dead woman's identity.

+

He closed his eyes and tried to get to sleep. Outside the wind +picked up, driving shards of hoar-frost against the pane in a +winter whisper. Out in the dark, a cat screeched and David recalled +the blurred motion when he and Helen Lamont had leaned out of the +window in the dead woman's house.

+

There had been something wrong with that place, more than just a +foul and musty smell and the collection of children's clothes and +toys that had never been used. His thoughts jumped from the dingy +flat to the black and white video unreeling on the screen in John +Barclay's office. He recalled the woman's shivering body, then the +jerk as she tried to raise herself up. He hadn't heard the words, +but Jenny McGill from Rolling Stock had said she had said something +about a baby and that was also confirmed by the paramedics. The +dead woman had been carrying a Mothercare bag, long gone now, but +the shop specialised in infant care .

+

It snagged at his mind. Hardingwell's laugh when he'd said she'd +been a virgin, but then his puzzled observation about the woman's +condition. She'd been well into her sixties and leaking milk like a +newly delivered mother.

+

Finally David drifted off to sleep and in a jumbled series of +dreams he saw the black and white video of the woman's collapse +unreel, though this time it had sound and the camera zoomed in on +her stricken face and she was screaming for her baby, mouth wide to +show stained, discoloured teeth and amazing breasts ballooning out +on grotesque swellings, each of them dribbling a viscid mess that +could have been anything at all. In the blink of an eye he was back +in the unkempt little apartment, surrounded by a dead silence. He +was alone this time, turning from the window, his vision sweeping +past the narrow little door and towards the rumple of bedclothes +that were knotted and twisted into the shape of a nest. He turned +again, listening for a sound he thought he'd heard, aware that he +was no longer alone. A slight, scraping sound came from under the +bed and he tensed, expecting something to come leaping out at him. +In the dream he crouched, still jittery with tension and the sound +changed. It came the way things do in dreams, without reason, +without warning. It changed from the scraping sound of a mouse to +the shivery cry of a newborn baby. David got to his knees and +scanned the darkness under the bed and the sound changed again into +a gurgle of laughter. He turned away from it, suddenly drenched in +fear and as he did so the pile of cuddly toys, now a pyramid in the +corner where two walls met, collapsed down on top of him and he +found himself under an avalanche of soft toys which rained down +until he was completely smothered in him and his breath was backed +up in his throat.

+

He woke up gasping for breath and slick with sweat. The shivery +aftermath of the dream stayed with him until he got up and made +himself a coffee, drinking it down hot and sweet. Outside it was +still dark and a light snow was blowing in against the window. No +creature stirred out there.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus08.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus08.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12a4834 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus08.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,315 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

8

+

David drove through the winter fog to the office, thinking about +the woman and trying to shake off the strange feeling of +apprehension that had hung around him since he'd awoken from the +dream. Donal Bulloch was down in London for a conference so he +reported to Scott Cruden, the inspector who worked directly to the +boss.

+

"I'll have to check with the landlord this morning and maybe +have a word with the neighbours," he said. "We still don't know who +she is, but we should get a positive line on it today."

+

Cruden thought it was time wasted on a natural causes death, but +if it had been sanctioned from higher up than his altitude, then he +declined to argue, at least for today.

+

"Quick as you can, but you can't have Lamont, not for this +morning and probably the next day or so," the inspector said, +without rancour. "She's checking out a missing person up in +Whitevale. Girl's done a runner, so it seems."

+

David shrugged nonchalantly, but he knew he was disappointed. He +told himself it was because Helen Lamont was a good partner, +someone he could rely on. An image flitted across his mind, though +not the brutal one he'd imagined in the dead woman's house. He just +got a picture of him smiling up at him she he stood with his hand +on the mantelpiece. Had he read something in her look? He shook his +head, shaking the thought away. He needed no further complications +in his life.

+

A word with the Rachman who rented out the crumbling property +and a knock on a few doors wouldn't take much time. He went to his +desk and wrote out an information request which he passed through +to records office. It was a simple file check on Thelma Quigley, +the dead woman who, it seemed had died twice. The run down of the +neighbouring tenants might make that request redundant, he knew, +but it would save time if he drew a blank.

+

Helen passed him in the corridor along with two uniformed +policemen. "Going back out?"

+

He nodded and she shrugged apologetically. "I should be back in +an hour or so. I got a missing girl in her twenties, but it's very +early days yet and it's ten to one she'll turn up, so give me a +call if you need a hand."

+

He gave her a silent okay sign with his middle finger and thumb +and went out into the cold. He did not see her watch him from +behind the glass as he walked down the steps towards the car +park.

+

The landlord was an estate agent in Miller Street beside the +canal which skirted the north side of the city and wended its way +towards the river much further down towards the firth, near Barloan +Harbour or Levenford. He was out, but his son was in the office, a +young man in a fairly well-cut suit, but with an accent rough +enough to grind glass.

+

"Old Thelma? Been there for years," he said, after David flashed +his warrant card. "Rent paid by benefit. Never bothers a soul."

+

"Have you had a look inside the place?"

+

"My old man maybe looked in once in a while, I believe. She's +quiet enough. No loud parties, no pets. No trouble. That's all you +want in this line of business."

+

The young man, somewhere in his mid twenties and with the cocky +kind of arrogance of those raised to money-grub, couldn't say +anything much more. He checked the records and confirmed that +Thelma Quigley had been a tenant for five years. That was it. She +was a name on a register and social security money in the bank and +as long as she didn't party down until the small hours, then the +landlord couldn't give a damn. David felt the swell of anger again +then forced it down. There was no point. There were a million +Thelma Quigleys in a million houses in a thousand towns. Nobody +gave a damn about anybody these days. Money talked louder than +ever.

+

Old Mrs Whalen who lived three doors down was stout and motherly +and had a face that was laced by a filigree of wrinkles. Her +husband Bob was huddled by a coal fire, still wearing a flat cap +and with an ancient army overcoat draped across his shoulders. He +coughed gratingly from deep down inside himself and hawked a gob of +something putrid into the fire where it hissed and sizzled for a +few moments. Mrs Whalen gave him a nonchalant slap on the shoulder +and told him to mind his manners while the police were in the +house.

+

"Asbestosis," she said. "Been bringing that stuff up for years, +poor old soul. I tell him he should get out in the fresh air, but +he can't walk the length of the room now."

+

Despite the gloom in the little flat where a damp patch was +curling the wallpaper down from close to the ceiling and the flat +smell of plaster that was never going to dry out, the place was +clean. The furniture was old and scarred from long use, but +polished and there was a line of photographs on the mantel that +showed the up and coming generation of Whalen grandchildren. The +old couple had lived a full life.

+

"Twenty one wee'uns and four great grandchildren. I need to rob +a bank every Christmas," she said, bending over arthritically to +pour a cup of tea. David felt a roll of weary sadness for them, old +Bob with his asbestosis filing up his lungs to drown him in his own +mucus and the little lady with the job of looking after him and the +line up of grandchildren on the mantel. He forced himself to stop +once more. It was not his fight and she was not complaining.

+

"Thelma? Oh, she kept herself to herself, you know. I only ever +saw her down at the shops and she'd say hello. Sometimes she'd hang +out the sheets. She was forever hanging them out on the line when +it was warm. That was the only time you ever saw her without the +babies?"

+

"Babies?" he asked.

+

"Oh, she always had babies. "Don't know whose they were, but she +looked after them the whole time she lived here. Real shame about +what happened to her. I heard it from Mrs Corrigan who got it down +at the post office. Amazing how word always gets around, eh?"

+

David conceded that it was. He was interested in the babies. A +bad feeling was trying to insinuate itself into his mind and he +clamped it away. He'd read all the papers on the Dennis Nilson +case, the bodies buried under floorboards and cut up and dumped +down the drain-pipes. He'd studied the Frederick West case with the +corpses in the garden and mummified in concrete.

+

There had been a smell in the flat. He tried to recall it, but +couldn't quite. If it had been the smell of a decomposing corpse, a +rotting human, he'd have known it from experience. He shook his +head absently, shaking the thought away. He wouldn't have missed +it, surely. The thought nagged at the edge of his mind.

+

"Were they her grandchildren?"

+

"Don't think so. She never had a wedding ring, though that +stands for nothing these days. Maybe she was child-minding or +something. One thing was for certain, she was always talking +baby-stuff, leaning over the pram and goo-ing and gaa-ing, the way +people talk if they want the kids to grow up doo-lally, but if you +ever went near to have a look, she'd put the cover up quick as a +flash. I always thought that was funny. Funny peculiar that is. +Most people can't wait to show a baby off, even if it isn't theirs. +And everybody puts a coin in for the baby's luck. You would never +have thought Thelma was rich enough to turn her nose up at some +extra money. She never looked as if she had two pennies to rub +together."

+

Old Mrs Whalen insisted David had a biscuit and said it was all +right if he dunked them in his tea. She acted as if he was one of +her grandchildren and when he thought about it, he probably was +young enough. Old Bob hawked again and stared at the flames, his +seemed face bracketed by long lines in leathery skin. He'd worked a +hard life, that was for sure. His hands were big and gnarled and +looked as if they'd one been strong enough to swing a pickaxe or +build ships, but his eyes were old and tired and burned out.

+

"How many babies?" David finally asked.

+

"Oh, couldn't say. I never really got a look at one, but there +must have been different ones. Maybe four, perhaps five over the +years. Sometimes you wouldn't see her for a month or so, mostly in +the summertime when it was hot. I think she must have gone away on +holiday. But then she'd be back with another one in a different +pram. That's how we could tell. Maybe that's how she paid the rent, +but she didn't act like a child minder. They've always got five or +six to look after and that's too many in my book. That's just being +greedy."

+

"Nonsense, woman," Bob finally spoke up. His voice sounded like +boots on gravel. "You had eight yourself."

+

"That's because he was a dirty-minded old besom," Mrs +Whalen told David with a crinkly smile of genuine mirth. "And +anyway, they were my babies. All steps and stairs, one +after the other with hardly a break to get my breath back, and +every one of them loved to death."

+

David snapped back, almost spilling his tea.

+

I take care of Baby Grumpling better than anyone could and I +love him to death. Really I do.

+

"It was a happy home," Mrs Whalen said, unaware that David was +recollecting the words in the diary. "That's the pleasure babies +bring and once you have one, you want another, like chocolates. +Mind you, there was no room at all swing a cat in here and never a +spare penny either, but we got by, we did and that's because they +were all loved. There was always the sound of kids in this house +until they grew up, and whenever they come to visit, it's like +being young again."

+

"Och, don't talk rubbish woman," the old man growled in a dry +wheeze. "You'll put the young fella off his tea."

+

"Never pay no heed to him," the old lady said. "He was never +home, always out earning and he loved them just the same. You +should have seen his face the first time he held one of them in his +big rough hands to know he'd have fought the world for them.

+

David got the picture. The old man turned to the fire and went +back into his memories, chest heaving like bellows, breath hissing +like a punctured tyre.

+

"But you don't know where Thelma got the babies?"

+

"No. Nobody knew where she came from herself. Around here +everybody knows something about everybody else's business, but +Thelma was different. A real mystery. Oh, she was polite enough. +Always said hello, but she'd never stop and pass the time of day. +Only ever spoke to the babies, really. I suppose she always had +somebody to listen to her."

+

She turned and gave her husband a hearty slap on the +shoulder.

+

"Not like around here, you ould bugger," she cajoled, but the +laugh was in her voice and the old man ritually ignored her.

+

The other neighbours told the same story. The woman who had +lived in the shabby little apartment had bothered no one and had +wanted to be left alone. Nobody had intruded. They all mentioned +the babies in the prams, how the woman was hardly ever seen without +a child. Apart from that, they knew nothing more.

+

Thelma Quigley was a mystery.

+

David did not tell them that she was not Thelma Quigley. Of that +he was almost certain, from what she had written in her diaries, +unless she was schizophrenic and had twin personalities. He didn't +think so.

+

But she was indeed a mystery. Almost everything about her was a +puzzle. Where she had come from, the babies she looked after, +Something else was nagging at the edge of David's thoughts and he +couldn't quite put his finger on it.

+

It was only on the way back to the station, that it struck him +quite forcibly. She hadn't been with a baby when she died. Yet +she'd spoken of a baby with her last dying breaths while the blood +drained away from her burst heart and pooled in the pit of her +belly.

+

Records had left a sheaf of papers on his desk. Among them was a +photocopy of a woman's face. Thelma Quigley smiled out from the +page and despite the grainy quality David could see the life +sparkle in the woman's eyes. She had dark hair caught up casually +on top of her head, some if it tumbling down to the left, finely +arched eyebrows and a dazzling smile that showed perfect teeth. Her +skin was clear and unblemished.

+

She looked nothing at all like the elderly woman who had +collapsed in the Waterside mall.

+

And it came as no surprise to David to read that Thelma Quigley +had been stabbed to death in a frenzied attack way back in the free +love days of the sixties. The knife had gone through jugular vain +and her windpipe, severed her carotid artery. The attacker had +plunged it so many times into her chest and belly that there was +hardly piece of skin left uncut. The file showed a set of picture +copies from the shallow grave, done in the harsh light of the +camera flashgun. The puncture wounds were twisted and shredded at +the edges, the flesh macerated and grey. She had not been found for +almost two weeks.

+

The diaries had not lied. The woman who had been living as +Thelma Quigley, who had brought babies home to he dingy little +apartment, had been somebody else entirely. David's mind was +whizzing and whirling with possibilities. Finally he shook the +jumbled thoughts away and sat down to read the report.

+

Thelma Margot Quigley. B. June 22 1940. Parents: John and +Louise Quigley.

+

The first few lines were statistics, the when's and the where's +of a girl's life printed out on the lines of an official form. +School, national insurance number. Date of birth, date of death, +estimated to the nearest two days. A bright girl who worked as a +secretary in a whisky brokerage in Edinburgh and dreamed of +becoming an actress. The words conveyed little except the cold +flesh round bare bones. The report went into detail, as police +reports do, still stark on the odd tinted sheets rolling from the +fax machine, sheets first printed from the old microfiche files in +the dead store. The killer had never been caught, David noticed, +again mentally tallying this with the hand-written words in the old +diary. The detectives had interviewed more than a thousand people, +many of them friends or boyfriends of the outgoing girl who had +been brutally and inexplicably murdered.

+

"Anything good on the go?"

+

David turned in his seat. Helen Lamont was passing by, dressed +for the cold weather in a padded coat and a beret which made her +look less than ever like a policewoman.

+

"Still on our flake-out in the mall," he conceded.

+

"Don't tell me you've got to go through old records. Maybe you +should knock on a few doors, lazy bugger." She winked and gave him +a wide smile.

+

"Done that all morning," David said, trying not to read anything +into the smile. "This whole thing just got a whole lot wierder." +One of the other detectives looked up from his desk and David +changed the subject. "How about you. Scott said you were chasing a +runner."

+

"If she really is a runner," Helen said. "I'm hoping she might +just be an overnighter with a bad case of embarrassment. She's been +missing thirty six hours, so it's a bit early to say. The Inspector +wants a bulletin printed out for all the cars."

+

Helen held up a picture of a fair-haired, intelligent looking +girl in her early twenties, not quite smiling, but close enough to +it to give the impression that she might be about to burst into +laughter. There was intelligence in the blue eyes, and the +photograph conveyed the impression of someone who was capable and +fit.

+

"Ginny Marsden. She never came home from work night before last. +Hasn't been seen since. Usual story." The curious detective got up +and strolled out of the room with a bundle of files under his arm. +Helen turned the subject back. "So what's happening with the creepy +lady?"

+

"As our brothers across the water would say, there's some weird +shit happening. Firstly, Thelma Quigley's not her real name. The +real Thelma died thirty years ago, near enough. That's what's in +here." He indicated the sprawl of papers spread across the +desk.

+

"So who the hell is she?"

+

"That's what I'm trying to find out. Fancy a trip to +Edinburgh?"

+

"Love to, but I'm tied up." Helen said, pulling her lips down in +an expression of disappointment. "I have to start moving on our +runner before the trail gets cold, just in case she hasn't done a +flit. Ask me in a couple of days and make sure you've got tickets +for anything not written by Lloyd-Webber. Then you've got a date +for definite." She gave him another wide smile and was gone before +he realised what she'd said.

+

David turned back to the old files on Thelma Quigley. He had +just bent his head and focused on the first page when the phone +rang. He thought it might be Helen, but it was June and she was far +from happy. He pulled the receiver away from his ear and listened +to the tinny squeak, unable to comprehend a syllable of the +unbroken stream. After a while she stopped and he could make out +the staccato Hello? Hello? He thought about simply cutting +her off and he realised that he really had to do something about +this.

+

Finally the sound began to falter and he brought the receiver +back to his ear. "Hi June," he said. "I'm fine. How was your +day?"

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus09.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus09.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7b03528 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus09.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,644 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

9

+

"She just never came home. Her dinner was in the oven because +she'd phoned to say she'd be an hour late getting home. She had a +couple of things to do. Buying Christmas presents and wrapping +paper. Just to make sure she had something for everybody." All the +short sentences came out in brief bursts.

+

The woman's hands were shaking and her eyes were wide with the +glazed and certain look of a mother who has lost a child.

+

"She's dead, I know she is. Something awful's happened to her. I +can feel it." The voice started to break up into a gabble of +choking sobs. Helen Lamont waited until they had subsided. Winifred +Marsden's husband put his arms tentatively around his wife's +shoulder and patted her gently before drawing her close. She turned +his head into his shoulder, like a child seeking comfort. He did +what he could, but there was no comfort for Winnie Marsden and +there was no warmth in her husband's eyes. He was looking into the +far distance, seeing his daughter run through the flower beds as a +tiny child and overlaid on that picture, in awful stark colours of +red and black, he saw her sprawled in some alley or under a hedge, +ravaged and ravished and stone cold.

+

"She always came home, or if she was staying out she'd always +call," Winnie said. She was a tall woman with silvering hair that +had once been blonde. She wore no make up, or it had been washed +away by tears and dabbed off by wet handkerchiefs. Her nose was red +and her eyes puffy, but Helen could see the underlying elegance of +the woman. Her hands, though shaking, were slender and smooth and +her nails long and varnished. Two days ago she'd have turned heads +in the mall. Now she was a weeping middle-aged woman with a +dreadful knowledge in her eyes and despair eating her from within. +She was forty six years old and looked sixty.

+

"And she did call to say she'd be late?"

+

"Yes, she did." John Marsden replied. "It was me who answered +the phone and Virginia was surprised that I was home. I was early +that day." He was a handsome man with wavy brown hair and strong, +capable hands, one of which enveloped both his wife's hands when +she finished dabbing her eyes. "She said she was going down to the +shopping centre for some last minute bits and pieces. She always +had a thing about Christmas. Made sure everybody got something, you +know."

+

Helen nodded. "And she never came home."

+

"That's what we told the police yesterday. Night before +yesterday in fact. They should have done something about it then." +Helen could see the pressure of anger build up in the man's eyes. +He was keeping himself under tight control for his wife's sake, and +for his own sake too. "I mean, we knew she was missing. We checked +with all her friends, and with Tony."

+

"Tony?"

+

"Her boyfriend. They're thinking about getting engaged. We +checked with them all, but nobody saw her after she left the +office. That's when we called the police, but they said there was +nothing they could do."

+

"Yes, that's right. We have to give it twenty four hours at +least unless it's a small child."

+

"But we knew she was missing, didn't we. We told the police +that. She always comes home."

+

"Yes, I understand."

+

"Do you?" John Marsden demanded.

+

"I hope so. But I know I do want to help," Helen said. She did +not even feel anger under the focus of the man's brimming emotion. +His voice was tight and hissed through clenched teeth and a vein +had risen on his temple. It was better for him to vent the pressure +now, before something burst.

+

"It's not her fault, John," Winnie Marsden said placatingly. She +turned her eyes on Helen, trying to apologise over the distance +between them. "She wasn't there."

+

"Most young people do turn up, if it's any help," Helen said. +"Ninety nine percent of the time they've spent the night at friends +or boyfriends or at a party. Honestly, it's true." Helen tried her +best but it did not help these people. It was odd, but their +certainty that their daughter would have come home no matter what +unless she had been physically prevented, was strong enough to +convince her that something really had happened to Ginny Marsden. +She had sat with many parents before, listened to them telling her +how their boy would never run away from home, how their daughter +could not possibly consider leaving, and seen them proved wrong. +But for some inexplicable reason, this was different.

+

Virginia Marsden was twenty two years old and worked in a +lawyer's office near the Riverside precinct of the city which had +been made into a walk-way some years back. She liked to play +badminton and had joined an aerobics class. She sang in the choir +on high days and holy days and she never forgot a birthday or an +anniversary. She was studying business administration at night +school and was determined to carve out a real career for herself. +She had everything to live for. She loved her parents. She always +came home.

+

Helen knew that when she turned up, if she turned up, +then the parents would be stunned and happy and would accept any +explanation, no matter what. On the other hand, if she didn't, then +the real questions would start and John Marsden would be put +through the wringer. Every statement would be calibrated and +measured, every photograph would be assessed and evaluated. They +would turn him inside out to see if his love for his daughter was +just what he said it was, or if it was something more than that, +something darker and deeper. He would jump from one hell to another +and his wife would see him peeled like an onion, layer by +layer.

+

And the boyfriend would be opened up just the same way, so that +he would not know himself and for the rest of his life would always +question his motives and he would always wonder if he had +done something terrible.

+

That was if she did not turn up. Police investigations are +dreadful diggings into dirt and motive, a necessary function of the +protection of life and property.

+

Helen Lamont hoped the girl would walk through the door. If not, +the hell for the Marsdens and those close to them was just +beginning to get stoked up.

+

"So she called just before she left to say she had errands to +run?"

+

"Yes," John Marsden told her. "Christmas shopping. I'm sure that +was it. I was watching the news at the time and Winnie was in the +kitchen. She said she was going with Celia, I think. The television +was on and I missed some of it, but Ginny was in a bit of a hurry, +so I just told her we'd put the dinner in the over. It was +lasagne."

+

"Couldn't have been Celia," Winnie said. Her eyes seemed to +focus down from their gaze on the far horizon and her slack brow +tightened into a frown of concentration. It took some effort. +"Really it couldn't."

+

"Why's that Mrs Marsden?"

+

"Because Celia's gone on holiday. They wanted Ginny to come +along, but she didn't want to go. Said she'd never been away from +home for Christmas. I told her, John and I told her that it was +fine and she should just go and enjoy herself, because he'd worked +so hard this year, but she said she always looked forward to +Christmas dinner. That's just how she was. She would never leave +without telling us."

+

Helen filed this for future reference. She'd have to check every +friend and acquaintance.

+

She stayed with the Marsdens for two hours and when she left, +she'd a clear picture of their daughter, plus a good colour print +taken only a month or so before. It showed a slim girl, quite tall +and with blonde, wavy hair tumbling down to her shoulders. She had +a long dark coat that came almost to her ankles, the very coat she +had been wearing two days ago when she left for work. She had her +mother's elegant looks, the same high-cheeked bone structure. The +difference was in the eyes. Ginny's expression was bright and +alert, right on the cusp of a smile as she focused back at the +camera. Helen was sure that three days ago, Winifred Marsden would +have looked something similar, just a bit older. Now she sagged +emptily, her mother-love twisted and shredded under the appalling +pain of fear and loss.

+
+

David stayed up with his copy of the file on Thelma Quigley. +Scott Cruden would be pressing him for something on the case, +anything at all just to get a tab on the dead woman and clear her +away neatly. It wasn't as if she'd committed a crime or was wanted +by Serious Crime or Special Branch or SO 13. She was just somebody +who died, someone they would call a Jane Doe on the other side of +the Atlantic. Already David had heard the expression a couple of +times in relation to this case and thought it was better than +simply dead person. It gave a corpse a name, even if only +a temporary one, but it turned a corpse into a human, somebody +who'd had life. The two simple syllables were also easier to type +onto the report form.

+

If he'd been asked he'd have said he wanted to clear up this +case and get back to real police work, but that wouldn't have been +the whole truth. The mystery snagged him and he wouldn't let it go +until he knew all the answers. He'd brought the files home to go +over them on more time before driving through to Edinburgh to find +a connection. Inspector Cruden hadn't been overjoyed at the news, +but since his own boss had sanctioned the effort, he went along +with it.

+

When David left the office, still thinking about Helen Lamont +and her offer of a date - and that had taken him by surprise too, +and he didn't know if she was kidding or not - he'd dumped the file +in the back seat and gone up to June's place on the Westland Hill +near the university. She lived in a narrow avenue close to the old +canal which meandered round the parkland where the trees stood bare +and gaunt. The welcome he got on her doorstep was just as bleak as +the winter view.

+

"So what happened to you?" The interrogation began as soon as +she opened the door to his knock. She'd obviously watched for his +car was ready for him. He had hardly touched the knocker when the +door swung wide. June was a pretty girl, small and neat, with short +fair hair and even teeth. She'd have been prettier if she'd been +smiling. She wasn't. She stood there, legs braced apart, eyes +flashing. She had one hand on the door and the other on the wall, +unconsciously barring entry. On her feet she was wearing outsized +slippers that looked exactly like pink bunny rabbits with huge +eyes. For a strange, unreal moment the he saw the scene from two +different perspectives. Part of his mind took in the incongruous +stance and the anger in her eyes, coupled with the contradictory +ridiculous appearance of the novelty carpet slippers.

+

And another, deeper part of his mind took in only the fact that +they were furry animals, just like the ones in the boxes in the +Jane Doe's apartment, the ones he had seen in his dream come +tumbling down from their pyramid heap, somehow alive and +threatening, to smother him under their warm weight.

+

He took a step backwards, momentarily wrong-footed.

+

"I...." he started.

+

"Yes?"

+

"I could stand out here if you like and let all the neighbours +hear." He refound his balance and said the right thing. She lived +in one of the old tenements that had been renovated and sandblasted +and gentrified. The empty stairway outside her door would carry +every whisper up to the top landing.

+

"You'd better come in then," she conceded, dropping her arm. He +could see the tension in her and right at that moment, his +annoyance drained away. It was not her fault and it was not his +fault. He passed her by, stooping to give her a kiss on the cheek. +She let him, though he sensed her stiffness and wished it could all +be easier. In the kitchen the coffee smelled good and there was +something tasty cooking in the oven. He slung his coat over the +back of a chair. She picked it up and hung it in a hall cupboard, +the way she always did. He sat down, inadvertently scuffing the +chair on the floor tiles, wincing reflectively and uncomfortably at +her own irritated wince.

+

"You could at least have made an effort," she started, carrying +on the phone conversation as if she'd never stopped.

+

"I could and I did," he said, not entirely truthfully. "I was +busy, you know that. Donal Bulloch put me onto something and when +he does that, you don't hang around. Anyway, you know what the +job's like."

+

"But we had Peter and Jean round. I told you about it on +Tuesday, remember?"

+

David went through the motions, feeling dreadfully +uncomfortable. They had been seeing each other for two years and in +the past year he'd begun to run out of excuses for not getting a +flat together. She'd been prepared to give this place up, albeit +reluctantly, but she would have done so and moved in with him. He'd +countered that because of his irregular hours, the late night +call-outs, that wouldn't be a good idea, but the pressure was on +and he recognised it.

+

Most of June's friends were married and those that weren't were +engaged. Her biological imperative was beginning to crank up to a +crescendo. She wanted to get married. She wanted to settle down and +be able to go out on foursomes and six-somes. All she wanted to do +was get married and have children and live happily ever after.

+

He was fond of her. For a while, he'd been sure he was in love +with her and now he wondered about that. He'd kept his own place +where he had his books and his darkroom and his rock music and +blues tapes from way back. One of these days he'd make a good +father. One of these days, one of these years he'd make a damned +fine father. Very possible. Sometime.

+

But not yet.

+

There were things to do and hills to climb and rivers to cross, +physically and figuratively. He wanted to take his camera equipment +to the wilds of Burma and Borneo, following in the trails of David +Attenborough and Peter Scott and Flora Spiers while he still have +the chance. He wanted to climb in the Alps and the Himalayas while +his muscles were good and firm.

+

After that, he'd maybe get the urge to settle down. Maybe.

+

For now, he was running out of reasons. She was a good girl and +he realised, despite the fact that he couldn't quite understand the +drive within her body and her mind, the great hormonal shunt of +reproductive need, that he was not being entirely fair. He didn't +understand it, but he recognised it and he realised he could not, +or would not, be able to give her what she needed.

+

She'd made a casserole and dished it out, talking all the while +about the couple who'd been over the previous night, how +disappointed they were that he'd not been there and how Jean had +given her meaningful looks which she'd taken to be condescending. +David tried to tell her that if her friend was like that she wasn't +much of a friend. She had just got engaged to Peter who was +something in hospital management and David, who'd grown up in +Kirkland with three brothers sharing a room, was working class +enough to take a dislike to him just for that reason. Peter was a +suit who smelt of expensive aftershave and spent a lot of time +talking about how the personnel didn't understand the problems of +the unit and it had taken David half an hour to realise that he was +talking about nurses and hospitals. Units and personnel. After +three years on the beat before his transfer to CID, David had seen +enough hard working nurses push themselves to the far edge to widen +that dividing line between life and death on a rough Friday night +in this no-mean-city on Clydeside.

+

As he ate the casserole, which was, as usual, another of June's +triumphs, he mentally noted that he'd been right in the first place +and he was glad he'd had other things to do. Shaking down Carrie +McFall and dumping her on the sidings down by the river might not +have been anybody's idea of fun, and wading through the reek in the +dead woman's apartment had been no Sunday picnic, but, in +retrospect, it had been better than a night with Peter the suit and +Jean with the sparkly engagement ring flashing in front of June's +mesmerised eyes.

+

He did his best to placate her, not willing to get involved in +an argument, but half-way through the meal he realised his thoughts +kept drifting back to the mystery that had landed in his lap. When +he thought of the trail of the dead woman, he thought of Helen +Lamont and saw her dark eyes flashing up at him. Later, in his own +living room, he felt another pang of guilt at how he'd declined +June's invitation to stay over. He could have made the effort, he +told himself. He just wasn't sure that he wanted to.

+

He switched on the television, made himself a coffee which he +knew he would regret in the dark hours as he tried to get to sleep, +and watched the news which was full of doom and despondency and +nothing of particular interest to anyone. There was a game show or +sport on every other channel, so he automatically reached for the +remote for the video and began to play something he'd taped. It was +one of the natural history series he'd missed the previous year and +was now collecting as it re-ran, adding to his library of nature +films. The familiar presenter's voice came out in a whisper as the +screen showed a naked and shivering hatchling in a nest of grass +and moss. As David opened up the file on the real Thelma Quigley, +the motion caught his eye.

+

The tiny bird, shivering with cold and effort, its huge eyes +still shut blind and its skin bare and pink and vulnerable was +squirming in the nest, bracing its skinny legs on the edges, +twisting and turning against the nearest egg. It took several +tortuous minutes and at every stage the hatchling stopped, +exhausted, panting with exertion. Finally it got the egg onto its +back and carefully raised itself up until it was in danger of +toppling out of the safety of the nest. It was the egg which +dropped.

+

And the baby cuckoo will continue until the other pipit eggs +are disposed of, the famous voice intoned, thus ensuring +it has a monopoly on all the food its foster parents will bring, +and ultimately, it's own survival.

+

David watched the whole operation, fascinated at the effort and +the evolutionary imperative that made the cuckoo a successful brood +parasite, even to the extent of mimicking the colour of the eggs in +the victim's nest. As a ten-year-old, using his uncle's camera, +he'd managed, more by luck than design, to get a picture of a +cuckoo sitting on a Robin's nest in his own back garden, and had +been overwhelmed with pride when the photograph had been used in a +nature magazine.

+

For a while he sat at the table, the papers momentarily +forgotten, as he watched the cuckoo's progress as it grew and grew, +demanding more and more food from its exhausted foster parents who +could do nothing but respond to its yellow gape and shrill +cries.

+

Finally he switched the television off and turned to the file +and the pile of papers he'd found in the woman's apartment. He went +through the Quigley file again, skimming the words for anything he +may have missed and then reached for the 1967 diary. As he did so, +his hand nudged his half-empty coffee cup and in trying to prevent +it from spilling its contents onto the papers, he dropped the +diary. It tumbled, fluttering to the floor and landed with the +pages fanning the air. A piece of paper tumbled out and landed on +the carpet nearby. David bent and picked it up.

+

It was another newspaper cutting.

+

HOPE FADES IN HUNT FOR MISSING WOMAN.

+

The headline was grey against the yellow of the paper which was +so thin and dry it looked as if it would crumble to dust. The title +was not evident but a part of the date, just the six and the seven +told David it had to be from the same hear. The paper had been +stuck in against the back cover. He unfolded it carefully, moving +slowly in case it shredded, and managed to get it spread out on the +table.

+

Police hunting for missing secretary Heather McDougall fear +she may have been abducted and killed. The story read.

+

And they believe she could be the victim of the brutal +killer of Thelma Quigley whose mutilated body was found in a +shallow grave near Duncryne Bridge in March.

+

Miss McDougall, who vanished two weeks ago, worked in the +same whisky brokerage as the murdered girl and they were the close +friends. The disappearance, months after the murderous attack on +Thelma Quigley, who was set for a glittering stage career and had +just landed a major part in a musical show, has led to speculation +that Heather McDougall is the latest victim.

+

And if this is the case, although no body has been +discovered, then it is almost certain that the two women knew the +killer.

+

While police have claimed that such speculation is not +relevant to the case, local people have been quick to spot the link +between the killing and Miss McDougall's disappearance. Both of +them worked together for several years. They often went out +together and even travelled abroad. They were in the local +Treadboards Theatre Group where Thelma Quigley starred in Calamity +Jane only months before the murder.

+

It is also clear that the police have made the connection, +because a massive search has been in operation for the past week in +the heavily wooded area around the bridge and the stream. Teams of +tracker dogs have spread the hunt up over the north side where the +public paths lead to a well-known lovers lane.

+

Miss McDougall's mother Catriona was unable to comment, but +her aunt, Mrs Janet Ferguson said: "There doesn't seem much hope +now, after what happened to Thelma. Heather is a very quiet girl +and she would never have gone off without saying anything. My +sister fears the worst."

+

Superintendent Philip Cutcheon, leading the investigation +said: "At the moment this is a missing person operation. Anything +more is pure speculation."

+

Mr Cutcheon's men have already spent several days in the +Duncryne Bridge vicinity after the recent horrific accident in +which woman was injured and a baby killed when it was thrown from +its pram into the river below. The tragedy happened two weeks ago +when spinster Greta Simon was struck by a lorry. The baby in her +care is believed to have fallen into the gorge. Its body has not +been recovered. Police are also trying to trace the parents. The +search continues....

+

The story ran on, regurgitating all the malevolent facts of the +body-in-the-woods murder, as it was described back then, and more +details of the horrific accident back in the sixties. It carried a +photograph of Thelma Quigley which was instantly recognisable, but +of much better quality than the one on file and another of a shy +looking chubby woman with thick, dark hair. Heather McDougall was +not looking at the camera. She was not pretty, but she was +attractive in a moon-faced way. Three small moles lined her +cheek.

+

David put his hands on the paper, flattening it down to the +surface of the table, and sat thinking for a while. He'd just been +handed another mystery.

+
+

He was changing. The change was deep inside, a growing +thing, a sense of alteration. The panic had flared again when his +outreach senses told him of their approach in the old nesting +place. He would have felt the vibration, but his questing sentry, +his mental radar had touched them as they came nearer and the fear +of exposure had shocked him awake.

+

He had reached out, eyes wide in the dark, while the mother +slept fitfully, dreaming her jumbled visions. He had stretched and +made contact, just a light stroke at first, on the warmth of +another female. He pulled back instinctively, stretched out again +with his mind, and touched once more. There had been two of them, a +female, a potential mother - he tasted her automatically, like a +dog sniffing the air - and then scraped on the surface of the male, +sensing danger there as always. Males were different, unpliable, +deadly, he knew from the depths of his instinct. He felt the danger +and he had woken her then, roused her with a jittery mind-squeal +and she had slammed awake. There had been no time. He simply +stabbed her with his need and she picked him up and moved to the +back of the house. He always ensured he had a nest with an escape +route. That was as natural as breathing, as instinctive as the +suckling reflex. He made her move and she pushed out into the cold +air. He huddled from it, burying himself close to her heat. He made +her move, trying to pick a direction to travel, taking pictures +from her mind, urging her on. The approach, the warm one - +could she be a mother? There was something in that brief +slither of contact that had jolted him - and the deadly male, +receded, but still he had to hurry fast, to find another nest +place.

+

After all this time of suckling and feeding, he was changing at +last. The new sense of transition was burgeoning all through him, +quickening all the while. He could feel it spurt and stretch and he +was he carried helpless on its bow-wave.

+

It was a huge thing after all this time and instinctively he +knew it was right. Tiny tremors rippled through flesh that was +beginning to toughen, bones that were starting to lengthen. Sinews +pulled and hauled, testing themselves. Where there had been gristle +and cartilage, new bone was forming and as it happened his hunger +grew. He needed more now, more than just the milk and the leechings +of blood.

+

He would need a place to shelter and stay quiet until the change +was complete. Down below, in the room where he had made the mother +carry him, he could sense the movement and noise while inside the +new mother he could hear the steady pound of her heart as the hot +blood raced inside her, carrying his essence along with it. It +would change her as he was changing, but for the now it was not +easy. Too much of him, too much of his mind and his energy was +invested in the new thing, the metamorphosis, that she was not +completely subdued, not completely transformed to be his mother. +That would take time. He could feel her mental bayings and her +rational terror as she kicked and heaved against his goad. It would +take time and he did not know if he had the time to take.

+

Down inside the mother, the blood was hot and fine but she was +resisting, constantly resisting and he had to use energy and +strength to direct her. This one was different, he realised now. He +had blundered, caught unawares and vulnerable. When the old one had +fallen he had sensed only his own need and the new one's potential, +smelled her scent as she had smelled his and he had reached and +grabbed in panic and fear.

+

That had been the mistake, because this one was different. She +had fought him, squirming and twisting to wrench out of his +control. Whatever thing he touched inside the other mothers, it was +somehow different in this one. He had snatched her because she had +been close at his moment of greatest need, instead of choosing her +because he could reach inside and alter her to suit his needs.

+

It was too late now do anything but wait. He had invested too +much in her to reject her and find another. He needed her to last +through his new phase, whatever this was. Instinctively once again, +he knew it was momentous and powerful and that he would be +strong.

+

Maybe he would not need a mother.

+

That was a new thought.

+

Maybe he would be able to feed for himself.

+

The concept was so colossal that it sent a shiver of excitement +through him, causing him to rasp against the skin. Immediately, +without any conscious thought, he clamped his mouth on the feeder +and sucked. Automatically, he shot out his tongue onto the smooth +swelling of the skin to let the tiny denticles on the surface to +abrade a layer so he suck the blood up through the straining +capillaries, but his tongue was changing. It was smoother now than +before, unable to scrape at the skin.

+

A small tumult of panic lurched within him but he forced it +away. In his gums, there was a gnawing pain, throbbing under flesh +hardened from a lifetime of suckling. Already the skin was swollen +tender and beginning to break. He could feel the tiny slivers +pushing through, sharp and close set. Reflexively he turned his +head and pressed down with strengthening neck muscles.

+

She groaned in her sleep and tried to turn.

+

He had woken hungry in the night.

+

The craving came on him fierce now, more savage than before. It +was all different and he could feel the change inside and out. His +skin was tight and dry and pained him when he moved. The new joints +had grown quickly and they tensed and flexed, needing to try their +strength, needing to move. His leg kicked involuntarily, striking +the mother on the thigh. She grunted in half-sleep. The room was +dark, but there was light outside, not the harsh light of day that +seared his eyes, or the lights in the street that caused him to +flinch, but the white moonlight catching the frost on the widow and +limning the room with an eerie blue. He could feel the pull of the +moon on the tides within and knew his time was near.

+

He had struggled to get his mouth to the teat and snagged it +with his dry lips. The skin was peeling on the top edge and he +could feel the swell of new flesh underneath. The milk and his own +essence came welling up into him, filling his mouth and he suckled +noisily, grunting his new, deeper sound of satisfaction. He sucked +harder and the mother shivered in the sudden pain, turning against +the pressure. The fabric surrounding them pulled on his skin and +rustled like dry leaves. He turned away from his own discomfort and +opened his eyes wider to savour the blue light of the moon. His +legs twitched again, flexed and bent. His toes spread wide and +there was a pulse under his armpits where new pressure squeezed at +him.

+

The excitement of it made him twist his head as he nuzzled, +drawing back his dry lips. He sensed the tracery of heat under the +mother's skin, and followed it, letting the nipple slide out of his +mouth. It made a faint popping sound which he ignored and followed +the deep stream of heat, clambering over the mound of swollen +breast to the vein which throbbed temptingly. He got his mouth over +the spot and nuzzled in again, driving his head down. It took a +while. There was some resistance as the surface pressed away from +him and then a faint tick of release.

+

An instant gush of taste flooded his mouth.

+

The mother whimpered in her torpor, twisted as if trying to +wriggle away from pain but he held on, held her with his +concentration while the flavour of her gushed into his mouth and +down his throat in spurts of intense ecstasy. The heat and energy +suffused him, sending trails of fire deep down inside him and then +radiating it outwards to tingle on his skin. His eyes widened as he +let the sensations surge inside him, the taste and essence, the +pull of the moon, its wan and perfect luminance, the surge of new +blood and the inescapable change in his own body.

+

It would be soon.

+

He nuzzled closer and another strange sensation impinged itself +on his mind.

+

Down below, between his new limbs, the caudal appendage had +begun to shrink and shrivel while the buds formed themselves into +jointed legs way a tadpole's tail shrinks as it develops its limbs. +Between them, the boneless flesh was narrowing down, resorbed and +altered, but still a part of him. He felt it twitch and turn, +almost as if it had a mind of its own. A new centre of heat +developed within him, a new sensation of awareness.

+

The appendage uncoiled like a soft, prehensile tail, like the +tongue of a butterfly. It unravelled from its tight twist of flesh, +probed slowly and found the warmth. Without hesitation, but so +softly it seemed to simply flow, it moved inside.

+

Taste exploded all through him, the taste of his own essence and +the taste of the changes he had wrought. Here was another source, +but an infinitely richer one now. The other part of him pulsed and +flexed in a strange peristalsis that brought the new sustenance +into him. For a second he was completely suffused with the flavour +and the heat of it, his cold mind suddenly hot with new +excitement.

+

Instantly his body responded. All of his muscles quivered +uncontrollably in a spasm of ecstasy and in that surge he could +feel the change speeding up.

+

This was what he needed. He had been feeding on honey, but now +he had royal jelly to advance the transformation. His entire being +seemed to surge with new-found energy.

+
+

Ginny Marsden felt the sudden pain and woke from one nightmare +to another.

+

In that moment, she knew who she was and her mind reeled in the +enormity of her fear. It was feeding on her, draining her away. It +had turned its mind away from her, removed the tight focus of its +attention and she knew who she was.

+

Yet she was paralysed. It was all over her, its mouth was on her +shoulder, close to her neck and she could feel the rasping burn +where her skin had broken. It was like a series of pin-pricks, not +much more than a scrape, but she could feel the drain of her own +blood.

+

She moved, just a shiver, a sudden quake as her body reacted to +the dreadful knowledge and the thing tensed. In the dark she could +see nothing but a faint outline in the dimness of the room, but she +could feel everything.

+

Oh Jesus it's in me.

+

Her mind shrieked. It was on and over and inside of her. The +dryness of its skin rustled and dragged over her own smoothness. +Its mouth moved on her surface and she felt the rasp of its lips +and the lap of a cold tongue.

+

And down between her legs she felt the awful peristaltic pulse +of that other part which probed deep inside and drained her from +within.

+

Holy mother please save me

+

She knew she was in hell. She was in hell and a devil was +feeding on her.

+

Ginny Marsden was locked in the horror. Her body tried to react +but couldn't and her mind was split and split again in the enormous +terror of it. A part of her, an icy bubble of her own self tried to +think, tried to remember what had happened. Had there been an +accident? Had she been hit by a bus on the way to the Mall?

+

Yet another part of her recalled the dreadful dream where she +saw the woman collapse to the tiles and she remembered the +beckoning pull inside her head, the slow approach towards the old +black coach-pram. She saw herself bend and look inside at those big +baby eyes drowning her with their irresistible appeal.

+

No...no

+

She tried to shake off the memory of the huddled scurry along +the precinct. She remembered it as if it was a distant dream, as if +it had happened to someone else, yet she recalled the sensation of +the frosted air rasping in her throat an the sudden and all +encompassing nee, and deeper still, the twisting alteration inside +her even as she scurried, not knowing where she was going, where +she was being led, to the shelter they needed.

+

And now it was on her and in her and she was powerless. She +shuddered again and it tensed once more. Its fingers were splayed +on her skin and they closed slowly, nipping at her flesh. For an +instant the nuzzling stopped. The pulsing inside her slowed. There +was no sensation in the pin-prick punctures, none at all, but she +could still feel the leakage, and on her breasts the milk oozed +under her own strange internal pressure. It smelt sweet and warm, +but in it there was another smell and she knew it was the smell of +the thing that suckled at her. She felt infected.

+

It moved slowly and she could not turn her head as it turned its +own towards her . The eyes were huge and glassy, wide open and +bulging. The head swivelled and the eye reflected the pale light of +the frosted moon, just enough to cover the red-black with a silver +ice. It blinked once, making an audible snick of sound then fixed +her with its stare. It squeezed down on her, using arms and legs +and she felt the probe of its mind, like the touch of a dead but +still crawling hand, impinge on her own brain. She tried to writhe +and twist away from it, but it flexed again and the cold air was +suddenly saturated with the musky scent. Ginny Marsden reared back +from it, trying to hold on to her own thoughts, knowing she had to +get away, free herself from this nightmare, and realising under it +all that it was no dream. The scent filled her and she felt her own +self fading away. It made a grating sound, like pebbles crunched +underfoot, like the rending of metal, but she only heard the +bleating, the defenceless baby whimper of need and she responded to +it. It vibrated within her, mirroring her own resonance and she was +lost to it.

+

But in the deepest corner of her mind she was still screaming in +utter terror.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus10.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus10.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4c122e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus10.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,582 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

10

+

"She always came home, or if she was staying out she'd always +call. But she never came home again and her dinner got burned in +the oven."

+

Neither of them knew it, but the old woman was repeating almost +word for word what Virginia Marsden's mother had told Helen Lamont. +Her name was Catriona McDougall. She had just been told that her +daughter had died in a shopping mall in a city the old woman had +never visited. The voice was tremulous and quavery and every now +and again, it would break off into a sudden silence as if the air +had been cut off. The pain was thirty years old but it had not +diminished in any way. Any comparison between the old woman's grief +and what Winnie Marsden was suffering would show not a whit of +difference.

+

David had driven across rolling country to get to this village, +an old place where the buildings had crow-stepped gables and the +streets were narrow and rutted from past decades of trundling +cartwheels and iron-shod hooves. The village was a huddle of houses +in the lee of a hill that might have been the spoil heap of an old +mine. The people were squat, broad shouldered, like mining people, +and their accents flat and dour. A small church had a graveyard in +the lee, sheltered from the wind, where old headstones canted and +slumped, and David knew that if he scraped the moss from them he +would read names that would be the same as the ones on the doors of +the low houses.The town was clean, scoured by cold blasts from the +sea a few miles distant, but country-clean, as if it had some pride +left, unlike the rest of the mining villages that had been left +forlorn and dying in the past years.

+

The old couple lived in a small cottage tacked on to a row of +houses off what could have been the main street. The house backed +on to sloping fields where the grass was weighed down by hard +frost. There was no sign of life in the fields, and few passers by +in the streets. David got the impression that this was a self +contained place, where people huddled together, like the houses +they lived in, and kept their own council. An outsider would stick +out in a village like this.

+

Despite that, the old woman, old Catriona McDougall had invited +him in, pressing herself against the wall to let his bulk pass her +tiny frame in the narrow hallway and had made him a cup of tea and +offered thick scones. Her mantelpiece bore a picture of a +shy-looking girl with three tiny moles in a line on her cheek. +David knew he would have to tell an old woman that her daughter was +dead.

+

"Never came home," the old man, said, parroting his wife. He was +sitting hunched in his seat, a rickle of big bones in a hollow +skin, pale blue rheumy eyes fixed on his massive, faltering hands +lying like dead roots on his knees. "Not never." His face was +quivering very slightly, as if there was an awesome tension within, +but David knew it was the palsied tremble of senility.

+

"It was in all the papers," the old woman said, "and we had the +police here day in, day out, always coming to ask another question, +or show us a picture of this man or that one to see if we could +spot somebody that might have done it, but it never made a bit of +difference. She never came home again. She just vanished. It was +about the same time as the baby was killed up there at Duncryne +Bridge.

+

"Not never," the gaunt man repeated, though his expression +didn't change.

+

"It broke him in half," Catriona McDougall went on, nodding in +her husband's direction. Her shaky voice still held the trace of +the highland accent she'd grown up with, the soft lilt of the west +coast. "Broke us all in two and that's the truth. She was our only +one, you see. It was a great shame that we could never have another +one, but Callum said it was fine, as long as she was healthy and +whole. He said no matter what we'd love her just like a whole tribe +of them. She was our only one and she never came home."

+

The old woman was about ninety. She was tiny in comparison with +the huge scarecrow of a man who sat motionless but quivering on the +seat by the small coal fire. Outside, a smatter of hailstones +rapped against the window, driven in the east wind that came +straight over from Siberia and down across the North Sea to chill +the whole of the shoreline on the Firth of Forth. The wind moaned +down the chimney and the old woman reached over to pull the heavy +blanket around her helpless husband's shoulders, gently smoothing +down the old woollen fabric with a stroke of her hand which +conveyed, in that one soft movement, the enormous love and loyalty +they'd shared during the good times and the barren days and still +burned strong in her heart. The capacity for human love, David +thought right then, must be unfathomable.

+

He was reminded of old Mrs Whalen, a few doors down from where +the dead woman, this woman's daughter, had lived. There was the +same compassion and concern, the same old, warm love that bound two +people together. David Harper could only marvel at the strange and +powerful drives that kept two people linked so unbreakably long +after the flush and the heat were gone. He wondered it such a thing +could happen to him. There was a difference though, between the two +old women who looked after their ruined old men. Mrs Whalen had +brought eight children into the world and raised them through the +good and bad times and seen them off into their own lives, reaping +the harvest of grandchildren.

+

Old Catriona McDougall had given birth to the one, a difficult +and harrowing birth that had almost killed her and the baby both +and she'd never been able to have any more.

+

And then that one, whom she'd cared for beyond the normal span +of years of motherly care, had been taken from her and her +mother-love still burned within her, a torch of sadness and hope +and prayer and need that would never be extinguished.

+

"After Thelma went, Heather was never the same again. They'd got +so close, and it was Thelma who got her out of herself. You know +what I mean. Heather was always the shy one." Catriona McDougall +pointed to the picture of her daughter on the mantelpiece, right in +the centre, in contrast to Mrs Whalen's array of descendants. The +three little birthmarks, set in a slant like the stars in Orion's +belt, and equally spaced apart, were exactly like the ones in the +other photograph which he'd seen of the dead woman, eyes half-open +and blind in death, on the slab. The moles provided the only visual +similarity, though there had been other identifying marks. Like the +picture in the old newspaper cutting, the young woman in the +picture looked nothing like the raddled, oddly proportioned corpse +in the mortuary.

+

"Oh, don't get us wrong. Thelma was wild in her way and +sometimes we'd worry that she'd lead our girl astray, but Heather +told us she was old enough to make up her own mind, and it was +true. We just never wanted to see her getting hurt, or into +trouble, you know?"

+

David agreed that he understood.

+

"Never came back," the old man chimed in a voice that was as +hollow as his skin.

+

"But after what happened, she just seemed to crumble. It was +like the light went out of her life, and that's what happened to +Callum here. The light went out of his, so I lost the both of them +really, more or less. They never ever found her, so they could +never say for certain what happened. Oh, sure, everybody said it +was the same beast that killed Thelma must have done away with +her."

+

The old woman's eyes filled suddenly with tears and she broke +off, turning to dab a small embroidered handkerchief there.

+

"I couldn't bear to think about it. We knew what had happened to +the poor girl. Stabbed and mutilated that was, it was dreadful, +just animal, and if they'd caught the man who did it, he'd have +been torn limb from limb by the folk around here. But they never +found him and they never found Heather. The police asked if maybe +she would have run off with the man and I remember I got angry and +nearly threw them out of the house for ever suggesting such a +terrible thing. Thelma was younger than our Heather, but she was +good for her, we realised later, because we'd brought her up close, +you know. Sheltered. Because she was the only one we had and we +were always scared of her getting hurt. But Thelma really was good +for her and she'd never have had anything to do with anybody who +hurt her friend.

+

"It was after that the police, yon big man that Callum knew from +the bowling club, Superintendent Cutcheon, told us that it was +likely she'd been killed and we shouldn't expect to see her +again."

+

The old woman looked over at David who sat patiently, holding a +saucer in one hand and a half-empty cup in the other. "But I never +gave up hope, for there was something inside of me that could still +feel her. Oh, I could never explain it to anybody and I can't +explain it to you neither. You don't know what a mother has inside +of her. I knew from the moment..." She stopped and looked over at +the ruin of her husband, slack mouthed and empty eyed, and a look +of wonderful tenderness came over her face. The love conveyed in +that one look was so powerful that in that instant David could see +the young woman behind the wrinkles of the ancient face.

+

"....I knew from the moment she was conceived. That's hard to +believe, but I knew then that I was carrying her. She was a part of +me from that night, a living part of me. I felt her grow. What does +the bible say? I felt her quicken in me and I said a +prayer of thanks. Callum, he just laughed the next day, the big +lump and he was off to the war two days later before the sickness +started and he'd have laughed on the other side of his face if I'd +have got a hold of him then. But I'm telling you, Mr Harper, you +know when a part off you has died and I never felt that until, +now."

+

David raised his head as if startled. "Pardon?"

+

"I was making the dinner, just a piece of boiled fish, for +that's about all he can manage these days, and I was bending down +to take it off the stove when I fell down. I was there on the floor +and I thought this was it, that my maker was calling on me while I +was making the dinner and I thought it was not a good time and then +I got scared thinking of what Callum would do because he'd just be +sitting there and never know what happened."

+

Mrs McDougall dabbed her eyes again and sniffed. "But then, +right at that moment, I saw Heather standing in front of me, just +the way she was. She was waving to me like she did in the mornings +when she went off to work and then she was gone and she really was +gone. I couldn't feel her inside of me and I cried and cried, just +like I'm doing now, silly old woman. I don't know what happened, +but since that moment, not even a week ago, I've known she was +gone. Maybe I just couldn't admit it to myself all those years, but +I don't think so. The light just went out and the torch inside of +me that would have lit her steps back home went out along with +it."

+

She stopped sniffing and turned her eyes on David. They still +glistened, but they were still bright with intelligence.

+

"And then you turn up on my door asking questions," she +said.

+

"The bridge," he said. "That's what I wanted to ask about. It's +in the old files."

+

"Not so old, Mister Harper. It's as clear as yesterday to me. +And probably to him an' all," she said, nodding in her husband's +direction. "For he isn't in the here and the now."

+

She looked up, remembering. "That's where they found Thelma. +Hardly buried at all, just covered with leaves and all cut up by +that madman. He could still be living, but I'd sooner he was +burning in hell, may God forgive me. It was up by the bridge at +Duncryne. It's not far away, just a half a mile along the road and +then a sharp turn to the right that takes you up the valley. It was +Lord Duncryne built it in the old days, before my time even, and +that's a wheen of years ago, I can tell you."

+

I'm going to go up to the bridge tomorrow, because wherever +Thelma is, she'll be laughing and she'll make me laugh +again.

+

The lonely, rending words in the diary came back to him. Heather +McDougall had decided to go up the bridge and it was clear from the +diary that she'd intended to throw herself off and drown herself. +He hadn't been up there yet, though his curiosity would drag him in +that direction, nothing surer, but he knew beyond a shadow of a +doubt that there was deep water under that bridge and if she had +jumped off she would have drowned.

+

His thoughts flicked back to the rest of the story in the +newspaper, the tag-on filling around the tale of the missing girl. +There had been another death at the bridge, and something more +besides. Somebody had gone over the parapet and had almost drowned +in the pool there way back in the sixties, at the same time as +Heather McDougall had disappeared.

+

Now he knew that she had not been abducted. Not murdered. +Neither had she thrown herself from the bridge in a despairing +reaction to the brutal death of her friend.

+

She had simply disappeared and she had been gone for thirty +years, using her dead friend's name, living, for some of the time +in a damp and cramped little apartment in a city on the other side +of the country.

+

And this mystery planted its daughter mysteries, more conundrums +and riddles. Old Catriona McDougall, a highland woman who had the +lilt of Gaelic in her voice had obviously inherited a touch of the +second sight. She had never truly believed her daughter was dead. +Not until only a few nights past, the very night when the woman +travelling under Thelma Quigley's name had fallen to the floor of +the mall.

+

The thoughts were tumbling and whirling now, too many questions +and no answers at all. A part of him considered it would be better +if he dropped the whole thing, went back to Donal Bulloch and +Professor Hardingwell with the information he had gathered and at +least allow the police in this side of the country to close an old +case that was still technically open.

+

Old Catriona might have had some of the second sight, but he too +had an extra sense. He called it a hunch, an intuition. Whatever it +was, it was sounding of an alarm bell inside his head and prickling +the hairs of his forearms. He had always had faith in his hunches +and he decided he had to trust the feeling now.

+

______

+

Helen Lamont knocked on the door and waited in the cold for a +reply. She could have sent a uniform patrol round to check up on +the address, but it was on her way back to the station and after +seeing the despair in Winnie Marsden's eyes, she had decided to +make a special effort. David had gone through to Edinburgh that +morning while she was getting the photograph copied for inclusion +in the bulletin for the beat men and the patrol squads to show +around the doors.

+

There would be a lot of footslogging on this one, she realised, +because Ginny Marsden had been popular and she'd been busy. +Everybody she knew, from colleagues to friends, to the girls at the +aerobics class and the night school would have to be interviewed. +The girls at Kellacher and Frick, the solicitor's office down on +the Riverside, had been little help, until the very end, but that +hadn't been their fault. They were just teenagers with their minds +on Christmas and boys and nail varnish and little else. None of +them were at night school for a business diploma.

+

"Oh, what about Celia?" one of them asked.

+

"Celia Barker?" Helen had taken a note of the name at the +Marsden house. "Isn't she on holiday?"

+

"Yes, she is. Greece I think. I'm sure it's Greece. Or maybe +Ibiza. Oh, it doesn't matter. But Ginny was thinking about going +with them and then she changed her mind."

+

"And?" Helen asked encouragingly, hurrying the girl along.

+

"And I think she asked Ginny to feed her pets. I'm sure she did. +They were good pals, and Celia always got somebody to look after +the animals. She's got a cat and a goldfish with funny names. Minky +and Dinky. No, Mork and Mindy, but I don't know which is +which."

+

Helen took a note of the address. She'd planned to ask about the +Barker girl, simply because she was Ginny Marsden's closest friend +and there had been a possibility, a long shot maybe, that she had +changed her mind at the last moment and was now too scared to phone +her parents to tell them she was on an island in the Mediterranean. +It was a long shot that had bottomed out anyway. The girls +confirmed that Celia had flown off the day before the Marsden's had +put their daughter's dinner in the oven to keep it warm. Ginny had +been at work all day and the other girls in the office reckoned she +had gone down to the mall for some last minute shopping. The one +who remembered the pets' names recalled walking down to the corner +with her. The description she gave of the missing girl matched the +one Ginny's mother had given.

+

Helen jotted the date and time down in her book. She looked at +the figures, drew her eyes away, looked again. Something tried to +snag her mind. She reached for the vague connection, failed to +grasp it. It would come back later, she told herself.

+

The line of low houses on Dunlop Street were shaded by pollarded +lime trees which protected them just a little from the swirling +frost. It was getting late by the time Helen got there and while +she would have killed for a hot cup of tea she was conscientious +enough to get out of the car and push open the wooden gate on the +garden of the house at the end of the row. There were no lights on +in this house, or the one next to it, and Helen knew it was +unlikely there would be anything here worth bothering about, but +she had already called in her intended movements and it was best to +do this step by step. Ginny had apparently intended to go to her +friend's house some time to feed the cat, so it was logical to +check it out. The possibility that she had a secret boyfriend her +parents and Tony didn't know about had occurred to her. This place +might have been the ideal place for a clandestine meeting.

+

"Rather catch you getting a leg-under than find you lying in the +bushes," Helen said almost aloud, speaking to the image of the +missing girl she had got from the photograph. She chuckled to +herself. Better that, better all round than put Tony through he +hours of questions he'd face if Ginny didn't turn up very soon. He +was next on her agenda, right at the top of the list. The poor sod +didn't know what was about to hit him.

+

She knocked on the door and waited in the cold for a reply, +feeling the rasp of the winter chill in her throat.

+

Something scuffled inside the house. It was just a small scrape +of noise, but it was unexpected and made Helen jump. She knocked +again.

+

"Hello?" She bent down to peer through the letterbox. Inside +there was darkness and shadows.

+

A floorboard creaked.

+

Helen's heart rate edged up.

+

There had been a noise, a movement. She had heard it twice. She +stood up, wondering what to do. She started to bend to look through +the letterbox then changed her mind. The noise had been small, just +a scrape of sound, so it was probably the cat. But there was a +chance that there was someone behind the door. She straightened up, +thinking, then turned and went back to the car for a +flashlight.

+

"Call in," she told herself, but another voice said that would +be stupid and could make her look foolish. The torch was big and +heavy in her hand. The gate creaked when it opened again, the +hinges contracted with the cold. Instead of going to the door, she +walked along the flagstones towards the window. The curtains were +mostly drawn, but there was a space she could peer through. The +beam reflected from the glass, but she shaded her eyes with a hand +bridged from her brow to the pane. Inside a long couch and a small +coffee-table were visible, more. Back at the door she knocked again +and, standing back she pushed the letter-flap open with her +fingers, keeping at arms length just in case something sharp and +blinding came lunging through the gap. It had happened before, +everybody knew that, a stab through a letterbox that had punctured +eye and brain. Only nobody knew who it had happened +to.

+

"Ginny Marsden?" she asked. The words were swallowed up in the +darkness inside. She waited a moment or two, then repeated the +girl's name. There was no reply.

+

Helen was about to raise herself up from her crouch in front of +the slot in the door where the flashlight beam angled through and +found only a shadowed hallway with a tall coat stand on which a +coat and hat made an eerie representation of a hanged man.

+

Then the sound came again. A little creak as if a slow foot had +gone down on a board, putting just enough weight for the old wood +to protest.

+

A shiver went up Helen's back.

+

Call in!

+

She thought about it again. It could be a burglar, somebody +who'd seen the curtains drawn for a day or two, somebody local who +knew the girl was off on holiday. Possibly it could be Ginny +Marsden herself, caught with another boy perhaps?

+

Call in. It was always safer. If necessary she could +have a squad around here. She could even get a warrant to have the +place searched. But she could see the look on the patrolmen's faces +when they turned up, the big boys, the macho cavalry, who weren't +afraid of noises in the dark. She cramped down on the mental +insistence. She could do this. It was only a house.

+

Slowly she let her fingers draw back from the hinged flap. The +force of the spring made it snap against the frame and she stood +up. Diamonds of frost were dancing in the torchlight and her breath +plumed out into the cold night air. She swung the beam to the left, +following the path around the side of the house and then she +followed the beam, keeping it low and covering most of it with her +hand to make it less obtrusive. A wicker gate at the side opened +without any problem and hardly a rustle from the scraggly +honeysuckle festooned around it. She reached the back of the small +house. Overhead, an overflow pipe grew a long and deadly spike of +ice suspended over her like a sword. She moved out from under just +in case, past a small window which was shuttered by venetian +blinds. Here at the back of the house, the ice crystallising in the +air became a thicker mist curling in around the eaves and the +downpipe. It softened all the outlines but it crowded in along with +the shadows, moving in thick translucent tendrils and slowly +billowing rolls of fog.

+

Get a hold of yourself Lamont, she ordered herself. It +was only a small terrace house on the end of a row. There were no +suspicious circumstances other than the fact that a girl had gone +missing. A cat-flap was a pale white against the dark of the door +and she remembered now. Mork or Mindy. The other was a +goldfish, according to the girl in the lawyer's office. Helen tried +the handle, turning it very slowly, pleased and somehow relieved +that it made no sound at all. She knew she should knock, identify +herself, but she tried the handle anyway, assuming the faint scrape +of noise had probably been made by the cat.

+

The door opened with brushing rasp. She froze, taken by +surprise. Her breath plumed out again and she realised it had +backed up unconsciously. Helen thumbed the torch, keeping the beam +down on the ground and swung it slowly forwards, through the two +inch gasp. The floor was tiled. She waited for another five +breaths, ignoring the nagging mental command to call in and get a +uniformed patrol round to the door.

+

She swung the door open until she stood in the frame. The +kitchen was cold and empty. Beside the sink there was a bowl with a +name printed on the side. A collection of pots hung from hooks on +the wall. A dishtowel had slipped to the floor beside the sink, +black and white on the red tiles, just out of the direct beam of +the light. Helen took a step forward, two. She was inside.

+

The mist followed her in, twisting creepily in the light, like +an uninvited, insinuating ghost.

+

A small noise came from beyond the door, which was not quite +closed. Just a slither of sound, fabric on fabric and it was +followed by the faintest mewling sound, hardly more than a +squeak.

+

Damned cat, she breathed. It was the cat. Of course it +was the cat. A strange relief oozed inside of her, draining away +the tension. She turned, moving towards the door.

+

"Here puss," she called softly, in the tone that every human +being uses. "Puss puss puss." She pursed her lips and made little +kissing sounds. She reached a hand forward to push the door open, +expecting the cat to come squeezing through the gap. Just at that +moment, something registered in her brain. She froze again.

+

It was the dish towel on the floor beside the sink, a black and +white shape crumpled on the floor. She was in the act of turning +towards it when a sudden rap of noise came from down in the +darkness of the hallway beyond the door. In that instant the skin +puckered down the length of her back as if a cold finger had +trailed between her shoulderblades. The flashlight beam jerked. She +was still in the act of turning when the light caught the scrap of +cloth on the floor.

+

It was no dishcloth. The cat was lying sprawled against the +little hatch under the sink. A puddle of blood had pooled out +around its head, black against the light colour of the tiles, +glistening in the beam. It was lying on its side, half turned so +that one paw jutted up, tensed in the final spasm of death, every +sharp claw unretracted, forced out in vicious little curves. Its +lips were drawn back in a death-snarl, pulled so tightly that the +sharp teeth were clearly visible top and bottom as if the animal +was frozen in a screech of hate. It made the little cat fierce and +feral in death.

+

But there was more to it than that and despite the little rap of +sound that had impinged upon her senses, a somehow menacing knock +in the still darkness beyond the door, part of her mind was clearly +and completely focused on the dead animal. It was not the yawning +scream fixed in rigor mortis or the hooked claw that made it look +as if it was caught in the act of a final vicious swipe.

+

It was the dark and ragged pits where the pet's eyes had been. +The head was twisted right round on the neck so that it stared up +towards the ceiling, but its stare was blind and cavernous. There +were no eyes, nothing but deep holes on either side of what once +had been a cute button nose. The eyes were gone, and in the gaping +recesses there was nothing but the glint of congealed blood or some +other glutinous fluid that caught the light of the torch and threw +it back. A flap of skin had been peeled away from the cheek, skin, +fur and muscle, leaving a hole where the bone showed through.

+

"Oh my..." she muttered, trying to draw her eyes away from the +mutilated little animal.

+

Down in the hallway another board creaked and the sense of +danger simply exploded inside her. She turned away from the door, +heart suddenly pounding, one part of her mind fixed on the cat with +its eyes torn out of its black sockets and another focused on the +noises down the hallway and yet another, deeper part of her mind +was suddenly awash with the fear of the unknown and the uncanny and +the supernatural. The child-fear of creatures in the dark swelled +within her, threatening to blot out everything but the need to turn +and run.

+

"Get a grip," she hissed to herself, trying to make her suddenly +pounding heart go quiet. The rush of blood soughed in her ears and +her throat clicked dryly.

+

It couldn't be the cat. It could be a burglar, someone caught in +the wrong place at the wrong time, surprised in the act of +ransacking the empty house.

+

And if it's only a burglar why are you so damned +scared, she demanded to know. A burglar she could handle. She +snicked the torch off, though it still shook in her hand, and +gripped the handle tight raising it protectively to shoulder +height.

+

Not a burglar. Housebreakers didn't pluck the eyes from +pet cats. Then what? For some reason she could not have +explained, she did not think of who.

+

Her heart wouldn't slow down despite her best efforts. The +powerful occult sense inflated and she tried to flatten it down, +but it was uncanny and unexpected and so primitive that her +conscious mind could not squash it. Her legs were quivering with +the tension of it, trembling with awful apprehension. It was +completely incomprehensible, inexplicable, but it was real.

+

"This is the police," she called out, forcing the words through +her teeth and they sounded very quaky there in the dark of the +kitchen.

+

"Do not move, do not try to run." Helen went into +professional mode and that made her voice a bit stronger. She held +the flashlight tight and put one finger on the button ready to make +it shine. She took a step forward, through the doors and into the +hall.

+

Something mewled. It was a faint sound from down in the dark. +There was a rough edge to it, like the cry of a small animal. It +repeated, a little louder. Helen's heart thudded again, making +itself flop inside her chest. She took a second step forward, +another.

+

The smell came then, a powerful wave of scent billowing in the +dark, thick as the mist that had followed her inside. She +recognised it instantly. It was the smell of the house where the +dead woman had lived in the clutter of ripped and torn blankets and +the mounds of toy animals with their beady little eyes all +reflecting the light.

+

Her eyes stung and her nose smarted and her throat tried to +close itself against the stench. She blinked hard, trying to clear +the sudden spark of tears that made the dark shadows waver. +Something scraped roughly down there and the sound registered in a +series off dwindling vibrations, as if every element of the noise +had been slowed down and separated into a rasping chain of +sound.

+

Helen pulled back and the smell was everywhere, so thick it +could almost be felt, much stronger than it had been in Thelma +Quigley's house. She turned, trying not to breath it in, but +sensing the musky particles settling on her skin and entering her +pores. She was in the act of turning when colours erupted in her +wavering vision. They simply exploded in a series of shimmering +pulses, as if all of the rods and cones in the receptors at the +back of her eyes had fired up simultaneously. The colours danced in +her vision, sparkling and luminous.

+

Poison! The recognition hit her the way it had come to +David Harper in the other house when he had dragged her to the +window. It had to be some sort of nerve gas.

+

The colours expanded in putrid shades of orange and yellow, +lava-reds and pulsing purples. Shapes swelled and fragmented. A +green face went whirling past her eyes, dripping sparks of watery +silver.

+

A child screamed far off in the distance, a high and piercing +sound that went on and on and on, ululating madly before tailing of +in a series of heartrending sobs. Off to the right, the sound of a +blocked sink, the sound she had hated as a child, came gurgling up +through the floor, rekindling an old fear of swamps and wet +darkness. Her foot kicked against the door and the thud chimed in +her ears in a loop of sound that echoed from wall to wall. She +turned away, heart kicking madly against her ribs and her fingers +paralysed on the flashlight, unable to make it switch on. The sink +by the window twisted and warped out of shape and the taps turned +to powder and crumpled into the maw of the drain. The cat on the +floor rolled over and stood up on its hind legs and reached out +that one paw, each of the nails hooked to rend and slash, while in +the blank sockets of its eyes she could see a phosphorescent light +glaring balefully.

+

Helen tried to call out again but there were no words. Her +throat managed a dry croak before it closed over in a strangled +clench. In the dark she saw her grandmother turn towards her, face +cobwebbed and crawling with spiders from some long forgotten but +somehow living nightmare. she heard her name called over and over +again in the far distance by a boy she had seen killed by a truck +on South Street next to the river. The cat was dancing to fiddle +music and insects were crawling all over her skin. Maggots came +humping from the spikes swelling to ripeness on the shimmering door +while down in the dark of the hallway, where the colours faded to +deep black., something dreadful was coming.

+

Her stretched senses reached and touched something alien and +scabrous.

+

She was still turning, trying to flee from the dark when her +reeling mind brushed against another and even although her thoughts +were whirling in a dreadful turbulence as the axons and dendrites +in her brain were sparked off in uncontrolled and uncontrollable +shivery pulses in the middle of her nightmare hallucination, she +still felt the cold and repellent touch of another mind.

+

She tried to scream and nothing happened. Inside her chest her +lungs felt filled with fire and her teeth ground together causing +sparks to leap from one surface to another. Her hair whipped like +tentacles and she began to fall in the dark.

+

Then a dreadful jittering thing came rushing at +her.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus11.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus11.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8af8644 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus11.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,619 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

11

+

He reached out with his senses and touched her. She was coming +closer.

+

Here in the dark he became very still. The mother moved and he +pushed at her until she stopped. She made a low noise and then was +silent. He reached out again, pushing harder. There were glass +sounds of ice forming in the air. A small thing rustled in the dead +flowerbeds out there and that caused a reflexive pang of hunger +which he pushed away. The footsteps were loud, picked up by his new +and heightened ability, crunching harsh on the frost on the +flagstones.

+

They paused and there was another silence broken only by the +whirr of starlings wings in the far sky under the blue of the moon +and the chittering cheep as the flock wheeled towards the church +tower to roost. The gate shrieked, a scream of protest that sent +his own hackles rising. It sounded like a challenge and he +responded to the high rasp with an involuntary twitch. Inside of +him excitement surged for an incandescent moment and then slowly +deflated.

+

The footsteps came closer and he forced his sense out further, +until he trailed them over her warmth. The new hunger swelled +again. She was hot and pulsing, tense with readiness. Something +familiar came to him. He concentrated, focusing tight.

+

And he recognised her.

+

He had no words, not yet, but the sense picked out the +differences in texture and shape and heat and a thousand other +subtle differences that enabled him to tell one from the other. +This one had come before, to the other place where the old mother +had nested. She had come with the other one and he had been afraid, +vulnerable and threatened in the disorientation that followed hard +on the loss and the change to a new mother and the imminence of the +change.

+

Was she hunting him? Was she a danger?

+

He snuffled with his mind, questing and probing, but he was not +strong enough yet for anything more than a brush of contact. It was +difficult, impossible to tell, but still he felt the uneasy sense +of approaching threat. His instinct was to avoid it, to stay still +until it had gone. He could wait in the darkness, safe in the +mother's warmth until it passed.

+

The gate shut with a clatter of the hasp, cold metal on metal. +The vibration racketed against the glass of the window and sent it +shivering in sympathetic resonance. Footsteps came closer, now +echoing loud and he had to muffle them out while he concentrated +his thoughts. They stopped by the window where the curtains almost +met, allowing in a sliver of moonlight to send a bright line +running down the side of the wall. A shadow moved, cutting off the +light, turned away to let it spear back inside again, then blocked +it off once more.

+

Tension rippled inside of him and his excited perception +narrowed to target the approach.

+

A different light came swinging up and speared through the slit +between the edges of the drapes and he recoiled as a searing pain +drilled into his eyes. If the light had caught him directly, they +would have smoked and sizzled with the unexpected heat of it. A +small sound blurted out from him and the mother went into a sudden +spasm of shivering in response.

+

Outside the new one shivered too, suddenly tensed, responding +unconsciously to the subaudial sound.

+

The shadow moved away out of sight and the cold moonlight was +back again, wavering in his stinging vision. Something thumped at +the door and the mother twisted at the sound. He sensed her +protesting, felt her sudden lurch of hope and he clamped down on it +hard. She grunted softly as the conflict within her mind and body +pulled on her like warring tides.

+

The door rattled and a metallic click came. He had heard letter +flaps open before and dismissed the noise as insignificant. A human +sound came echoing down the gall, garbled words that made no real +sense. Just then the mother moved, her weight shifting off balance. +She put a hand out to stop herself falling from the crouch beside +the door. A floorboard creaked.

+

The stranger shivered hard, not physically, but mentally. The +vibration came singing through the dark, a pure and clear note and +he sensed the primitive beginnings of fear. A swell of satisfaction +and another hunger followed instantly. He swivelled his head, eyes +wide in the dark of the room, waiting for the next move. Almost +absently, he urged the mother to move, to pull back to the corner +close to the door beyond the scope of the light should it come +again. She responded sluggishly, a deep and untouchable part of her +fighting him all the way, but he pressed, plucked on the inside of +the nerves and she moved slowly. Her knee came down on the sprung +board and made it creak again.

+

The reaction from outside was instantaneous. He could feel the +cold shiver in the new arrival transmit to him. Through the wall, +through brick and mortar he saw the warm colour change and doppler +down to a cool nameless shade as the tension altered the very +vibrations of the other life. The alteration in sensation faded off +quickly and the woman moved away from the door. He sat there in the +dark, beside the lounge door, clasped tight in the mother's arms +while she trembled almost imperceptibly. The new one moved, almost +out of range, beyond the side of the wall and then came back again +at the back. He strained to pick her up, almost ready to move, when +there was a soft, slow scrape of noise from in the kitchen,

+

She was inside.

+

It was completely unexpected. Over by the far wall, the green +eyes blinked at him, Celia Barker's answering machine. The colour +represented a small and blinking animal in the night but he had +learned to ignore the reactions the eyes sparked off within him. It +had no sense of life. He ignored them now because of the +noise in the kitchen. She was in now.

+

The sensation of approaching danger inflated wildly.

+

In the kitchen the woman called out in a low, unintelligible +series of clicks and booms that sounded raw in his ears. She came +closer, bright in his night sense and he reacted to the +nearness.

+

The mother moved. She tried to call out and he wrapped around +her. His glands were primed, pumped up as never before as he +prepared for flight or fight, though his instinct told him it was +not yet the fight time. The mother moved and tried to pull back. He +wrapped his tail around her, looping it round her neck, hauling it +tight to strangle the sounds that were about to blurt out and +reveal them both. It held her taut and she gurgled mutely.

+

His glands were pumped up and he was ready.

+

The presence came towards the door. The mother drew back and he +forced her forward, one step, two steps. Beyond the door, the noise +came again, a different sound of drawn out vowels and beating +consonants, stretched by his altered timescale of sudden alertness. +The mother's foot rapped against the skirting board.

+

On the other side of the door the heartbeat thudded in sudden +fast pulses of colour. Feral anger and hollow need rippled through +him as the apprehension came to him in ripples. His glands swelled, +lumping up below the skin, pressing tight under the surface.

+

She came out of the kitchen and into the hall. He mewled. The +sound came from low down in his chest, a smothered whimper of fury +and his own kind of fear. A footstep came closer and he made the +mother press herself in against the wall. Out there the woman +called out, a stuttering rumble of noise that bounced and echoed +from the walls of the narrow hallway. Muscles inside him clenched +tight, pressing like a pain, suddenly urgent. Spiracles down the +length of his abdomen, little parallel rows of holes that trailed +from under each limb opened. There was no volition, no choosing of +the mix he would need, the way he did with the mother or the others +who came close to be manipulated. This time it all came out, every +gland sphincter opening like a mouth, every muscle squeezing in an +instant of relief. He could hear the pheremones spray from him in a +hiss of mist.

+

The mother went rigid. It was instantaneous. She jerked as if +she'd been hit with a hammer right on the forehead and he gripped +her tight. Her head rapped against the wall, her whole body +vibrating so fast and so hard that the back of her skull jittered +on the surface in a rapid series of dull thuds. Her mouth opened +and a drool of saliva spilled out in a sticky rope. Inside her +head, frantic fear screamed in a mental blast and he absorbed it +with his own mind, soaking it instantly to damp its force.

+

Out there beyond the door the spray caught the other one and she +stopped dead, halfway out of the kitchen, one foot still raised +from the ground.

+

He felt it slam into her like a physical blow. His concentration +was wound up so tight that all his receptors were wide open. She +reeled back with the enormous force of the physical reaction as the +pheromones triggered the responses. Adrenaline spurted into her +veins. Complex dopamines and melatonins flooded receptors in her +brain. Even more complex sugars urged in a powerful hit of energy +that could not be expended. Her ovaries squeezed progesterone and +oestrogen into her system and she fell back, almost doubled up with +the overwhelming chemical overload.

+

He felt it sizzle through her, perceived her galvanic reaction. +Inside her head the neural connections sparked and forked +uncontrollably. She staggered back, mind emitting sharp and crazy +pulses of thought-static that he picked up in the dark. It was like +watching an explosion of light and colour, like tasting the +concentrated essence of his own self in a mother's blood. It was +like draining the pure distillation from deep in a mother's +depths.

+

For a moment he too was in sensory overload, experiencing +everything that erupted within the new one. He was almost paralysed +on the crest of the momentous reaction.

+

In his grasp the mother quivered and vibrated, her own receptors +shuddering under the impact but already, even in so short a time, +inured to its full blast. He loosened his hold just a fraction and +she gagged, choking for breath. The fear was swirling inside her in +a hot stir while the mother-need clashed with it, sending +counter-pulses through her. Her mind was ripping apart. He +swivelled his head to peer through the crack between the door and +the wall. In the hallway the new shape stumbled back.

+

He moved then. He turned back and focused on the mother. She +moved too. There was no hesitation. He pressed hard, swamped the +fear with the need and the urgency and the urge to protect.

+

Even in the dark, Ginny Marsden saw her baby's wide eyes and she +sensed the danger.

+

She came out the chemical assault, eyes staring and the panic +already thrumming through her. The dreadful, supernatural fear was +crushed down to a hot coal, while the mother-love simply ballooned. +She felt her legs move, muscles still trembling hard enough to +spill her to the ground. Something was coming for the baby. +Something wanted to hurt it. She did not think, but reacted. She +lurched out through the doorway, banged against the wall, now +holding the baby tight in her arms. It whimpered. She groaned an +unintelligible sound of panic and anger and threw herself +forward.

+

A shape was moving just inside the kitchen door, its outlines +blurred in the dark.

+

This thing was threatening the baby. She ran forward, clutching +the mite in against her, feeling its soft skin, mind flaring and +flickering with the irresistible need to protect.

+

She hit the floundering shadow, reaching out with her hand to +push it away. The back door was wide open. The silhouette whirled +away from her, careered against the sink and bounced back. She saw +a hand reach up and knew it was reaching for the baby. She tried to +turn and then something happened.

+

Ginny did not see it, but suddenly the shape was reeling back +once more. There was a clatter of noise and a sharp unmusical crack +as something made of glass broke and then shattered. A metal +utensil fell into the sink with a ringing sound that seemed to go +on and on. Something screamed loud and deafening in the enclosed +space.

+

_______

+

Helen saw a lurching shape come through the doorway.

+

Her stretched senses reached and touched something alien. She +was still turning, trying to flee from the dark and the dreadful +images that flickered and wavered and exploded in her mind. +Enormous jolts of distilled terror sent shocks through her.

+

Then her mind brushed against something scabrous and completely +alien. In that moment, despite the other sensations careering +through her and the fragmented horrors rolling and tumbling inside +her head, a part of her knew this was different. The cold and +loathsome touch slithered across the surface of her brain and she +reeled from it. A scream tried to blurt.

+

But no sound came out from her strangled throat. Her hair +whipped like thick tentacles, slapping against her cheeks as she +shoved herself away from that appalling touch.

+

A dreadful jittering thing came rushing towards her. +She had no time to react. The sensory overload was so overwhelming, +so devastating that she could not stop herself in the act of +turning, could not raise a hand up. The shape came slamming out +through the other doorway. A hand reached out, pale against the +dark, expanding in her vision. It looked like a white and writhing +spider. Her own hand, stretched out as it was, almost touched the +fingers. They pulled back unaccountably. The shape lunged towards +her.

+

Oh my god it's got two heads

+

A sudden clear thought blazed. The thing had two heads. It was a +monster coming at her from the dark of the hall. Some rational part +of her mind told her it was another hallucination, an appalling +vision caused by a gas or a drug that she'd breathed in. Another +part of her, completely primitive, completely fundamental told her +it was a monster, a gorgon. It was a nightmare come alive and +coming for her. Her mouth opened and this time a gurgle of fear +escaped her. Her head twisted to the side. A pale face turned away +from her, moving, it seemed in slow motion. She saw fair hair whip +around, bouncing almost elegantly in the air. The first hand +whirled away, flying of its own volition.

+

And another face loomed up.

+

Her heart punched into her throat and kicked so hard she was +sure it would choke her to death.

+

The face leaned forward, its features twisted and gnarled, eyes +huge in the dark, large as golf balls, protruding from a face that +she could never have dreamed. The eyes were staring, emitting a +light of their own. The mouth was small and puckered, forming an +almost perfect black circle inside which needle teeth looked like +splinters of glass. The lids pulled back so far that the appalling +amphibious eyes looked as if they would pop out and burst on the +sunken cheeks. A papery, shiny substance fluttered on the skin.

+

It screeched at her, so loud and so high she felt the bones +inside her ears, the very shell of her skull vibrate so rapidly it +caused a drill-bit of pain to cross her brow from one temple to +another.

+

Something came out towards her. It was only a blur. Her eyes +were locked onto the protuberant eyes of the two-headed thing. It +opened its mouth and its scream turned into a hiss. The smell came +again, more diffuse than before. The shape blurred and changed. The +colour, even in the dark, wavered from shades of grey to pale pink. +The eyes shrank, swelled, shrank again. For an instant she thought +she saw a baby. Some other strange sensation kicked in her belly. +Need grappled with absolute and unspeakable supernatural fear.

+

Then something came whipping out and caught her just above the +eyes. Needle sharp points poked at her skin. She felt a rip. The +face blurred and ran like wax, leaning in close to her. She sensed +a dreadful hunger and recoiled aghast. On her forehead a pain +erupted in a slender point of fire and she fell back. The last +thing she saw was the two-headed thing dance back, along the line +of the sink. Helen's head hit against something hard and colours +sparked and spangled in front of her eyes, but they were real +colours, not sick and alien. She realised that she was going to +pass out and her survival instinct tried to prevent that from +happening.

+

The darkness closed in on her and she realised with fading +horror that she would be left alone in the dark with the monster. +The shadows of the kitchen spun away from her as a deeper dark came +in and she felt as if she was falling down a long well.

+

______

+

"The door's unlocked," David Harper told the two uniforms. +Another patrol were just coming up the alley. There was hardly any +daylight left, but he hadn't wanted to waste time, not since the +talk with Heather McDougall's old mother. John Barclay had left two +messages for him at the station, both asking him to call urgently. +David knew the ex-cop would be wanting his video tapes back, or at +least to get the go-ahead to re-use the ones he already had. David +promised himself he'd call in the morning, once the search of the +dead woman's house was finished. Inspector Cruden had not been easy +to convince, but the neighbours statements that the woman they knew +as Thelma Quigley had always been seen pushing a pram and had +always had a baby, were definite enough to make it worth the check. +If there had been a baby, they had to find it.

+

"It could be another West case," somebody had said in the +squadroom and Cruden had lifted his eyebrows just enough to think +about it some more. "She's always been seen with a baby in pram, +but it's definitely not a neighbour's kid and she had no relatives +to speak of. The house was full of toys and baby clothes. She could +have been a weirdo, or just some sad old lady with a complex, but +if she wasn't...."

+

"You're sure she's Heather McDougall?"

+

"Certain of it. We're getting dental records checks right now, +but it's a formality. The three birthmarks on her cheek match +exactly. No point of trying for prints. She was pure as the driven +snow. Prof. Hardingwell confirms that too."

+

"But you've already been to the house?"

+

"We didn't know about the babies then."

+

"Sounds a bit of a long shot to me," Cruden said, but he was +policeman enough to consider the possibility however remote. David +Harper was a good cop, and not given to flights of fancy. Finally +the Inspector gave the go-ahead for the search and they got the +warrant signed within the hour. There were one or two things David +hadn't mentioned, not to anyone, because the information he'd got +from Edinburgh was old and purely coincidental. It kept nudging in +on his conscious thoughts quite insistently and he had to shove it +away.

+

"Is Lamont back?" he asked as he was pulling on his coat. He +wanted her back on the case with him, told himself it was only +because of her professionalism. Another internal voice told him he +was a damned liar, but he ignored it.

+

"No, she's still out," Cruden told him. "She's still working on +the runner. Gone over to Gilmourhill to knock a door or two."

+

David shrugged, buttoning the coat up to the neck for the short +walk across the car park. "If she gets in, tell her to call +me."

+

It was bitterly cold now in the still air with darkness falling +swiftly and a pale moon rising over the rooftops. The two patrolmen +stamped their feet hard on the flagstones, making the ground quake. +Their batons and cuffs clunked and jangled. David pushed the door +open and flashed his light into the hall.

+

"Bulb's gone here," he said. "Take one from inside and set it +up."

+

"What are we looking for?" one of the officers asked. He took +several steps up the hallway, then stopped. "God, what a stench. +Has something died in here?" he turned, still holding his torch up. +The beam caught David in the eye and he flinched back from the +glare.

+

"Turn that off," he snapped. The smell was different now to what +he remembered. It was cold and stale and smelt slightly of rot. He +recalled how he'd thought it was a nerve gas, remembering the surge +of anger and the undertow of violence that last time he'd been in +the dingy room. He remembered the other sensation, the different +drive, and the image of Helen Lamont pale and spreadeagled. He +shied away from that and forced it away yet again. Now the smell +was thinned, but it still had the musky reek that conjured up +images of stoats and ferrets and movement in the dark. David +realised he should have pulled a search team together the first +time. If there had been a baby, and if the baby was in the room, +he'd not only be turned over for missing something quite literally +under his nose, but he'd find it hard to forgive himself.

+

If there had been a baby and it had still been +alive....

+

He turned away from that kind of thought. It would get him +nowhere.

+

"Left is the living room. Beyond there's a bathroom and on the +other side a kitchen." He gave them directions and the five of them +began a systematic search. The nest of blankets and sheets was +still a swirl where he'd last seen them. The team carefully +unravelled the tangle, screwing up their noses at the smell that +still lingered on the fabrics.

+

"What did she keep then? This is worse than cat's piss."

+

"Dog farts. Worse than that." His partner went one better. "This +would make you puke your guts."

+

David was on the far side of the room checking among the piles +of toys. Opposite him, a young policeman was going through the +small cupboards on the dresser, neatly placing everything on the +floor beside him. He drew out a cardboard shoebox, opened it +slowly. The top slid to the side, David turned just in time to see +the recruit stumble back so quickly he fell on his backside with a +thump. The box flew out of his hand, twisted in the air and a white +ghostly shape came floating out.

+

"Holy fuck..." the patrolman at the bed barked. The youngster on +the floor scrabbled back as if he was being attacked. The ghostly +shape spun slowly in the air, a translucent face staring blindly +and hollowly and then sank to the floor. It landed with a papery +rustle and crumpled where it fell. The cop on the floor was still +scrambling backwards and his movements were enough to cause an eddy +in the cloy air of the room. The papery thing rolled over, scraped +against the edge of the dresser and immediately began to +disintegrate.

+

David crossed the room in three strides and tried to get a hold +of it. He reached a hand out and stopped.

+

The face moved. Small shoulders shrugged as it rolled, thin and +narrow, oddly slender. The face was in profile, flat and somehow +wizened. The eyes were huge and blind and the ears, set high on the +sides, were hardly more than pointed flaps. There was no real nose. +As David reached lift it, the whole thing crumbled.

+

"What the hell is it?" one of the men asked.

+

David did not reply. He was hunkered down, watching the papery +shape fragment into flakes. It was like a skin and it reminded him +of something he'd seen before. Even as he watched the thing +disintegrate, it came back to him. It was like the papery covering +of a dragonfly larva after it had split to free the jewelled +adult.

+

It made a tiny sighing rustle sound as the breath of air stirred +by his very reach shifted it again. The small face collapsed in on +itself. The translucent arms folded and bent. There were no legs, +just a slender, tapering body that ended in what looked like an +umbilical chord. There was nothing he could do right then but watch +as the littler shape fell apart into tissue scraps. The face broke +into a hundred pieces, more delicate than an old wasp's paper nest, +more fragile than butterfly wings.

+

"Jesus Sarge, I thought it was a friggin ghost," the young +policeman said. "Scared the shite out of me."

+

"It's a caul," David said, almost, but not completely sure. +"There must have been a baby here at some time." The thing was +unrecognisable as anything now.

+

"I'm sorry sarge. I just opened the box and it came out. I +didn't mean to let it drop."

+

David let it go. He stooped and collected some of the flakes and +put them back in the box. His mind was working fast and he could +have kicked himself for not searching the place more thoroughly the +first time.

+

"What's a caul?" the young man's partner asked.

+

"Something babies can be born with," David explained. "You must +have heard of it. It's like a fine skin, mostly covering the face +like a membrane. It peels away after birth."

+

The officer made a face. "Why would somebody keep it?"

+

"For good luck," David said, but he didn't feel there was any +luck in this. A caul would have to come from a new-born baby, which +meant there must have been an infant here at one time, maybe even +born in this room. If that was the case, what had happened to the +mother? None of the neighbours had ever seen her. They had only +seen the old woman with a baby.

+

The image of the fluttering, decaying shape crumbling onto the +old floorboards stayed in his mind. It had been a queer, +wraith-fine shape, with bulging eyes and a flattened face. No legs, +but long arms. It hadn't looked like any baby David had ever seen, +but then again, he'd only read about the caul that covers some +babies at birth. He'd never seen one before. But this caul, if it +really was a birth-mask, could be another clue to add the rest that +surrounded the woman who had taken the identity of a girl murdered +thirty hears before.

+

"Never came home," old Mrs McDougall had said. "She just +vanished. It was the same time as the baby was killed up there at +Duncryne Bridge."

+

The words kept coming back to him, intruding and insisting, +demanding attention. What old Mrs McDougall had said had been +repeated in the tag-on to the murder story and the tale of the +missing girl. There had been another death at the bridge on the day +Heather McDougall had disappeared.

+

She had gone up to Duncryne Bridge to throw herself off, to join +her murdered friend, but she had not killed herself. She had simply +vanished for thirty years. There had been a baby on that day and +there had been a baby now.

+

That nagged at David's mind and would not let him go. Was it a +coincidence? Or was there something deeper, something more +sinister.

+

Down on the floor the flaky remains of the membrane formed an +oddly sprawled light patch on the old wood. David had already taken +some samples for tests, to make sure it was what he thought it was. +He scraped some more into the shoebox and again he thought of the +bulging eyes and the dragonfly as it peeled off its skin to emerge +a fast and dazzling predator from a black and scaly thing that +lived in the dark. The eyes on the caul had bulged.

+

The search turned up nothing new. There were stains on the +sheets at the centre of the jumble, which could have been +bloodstains. David had the men fold them for forensics. Apart from +that there was little to be found. There were no trapdoors to get +under the floor and no evidence that any of the boards had been +lifted in recent times. A hatch led up to a small loft above the +kitchen, a tight and dusty space where the rank scent lingered. It +had a narrow skylight that gave on to a low, sloping roof at the +back of the property. In the beam of the flashlight, David could +see scrape-marks on the moss where something had slid towards the +guttering that abutted the adjacent flat, and he wondered, trying +to recall the sounds he'd heard the first time he and Helen Lamont +had come to this house.

+

There had been a noise. He'd been almost sure. A whimpering +sound that he'd taken for a kitten, a slight scrape of a piece of +furniture being moved. He had not been sure then, and he was not +sure now, but now he wondered.

+

Had there been someone in the house all along?

+

_______

+

Helen Lamont staggered to her feet, gasping for breath, gagging +with a sudden roll of nausea that swelled up in a sickening +rush.

+

Her head thumped front and back giving her a wave of pain with +every beat of her heart, and she felt a trickle of blood slide down +her forehead and between her eyebrows. Her flashlight had spun away +and landed somewhere and she was in total darkness. Even the light +of the moon had gone. For an instant she was completely +disoriented, struggling to comprehend what had happened.

+

Monster...!

+

No, not a monster. The sudden jolt of apprehension had brought +back an image of something that had lurched out of the shadows. +She'd thought it was a creature with two heads, but that had been a +hallucination. Either that or she was going completely crazy. Hot +on that thought came the realisation that she had to get out of +here. There was a smell in the air, still rank and sickening, +though diminished now from what it had been. That's what had caused +the hallucination, she told herself, some chemical, some poison in +the close atmosphere of the room. She stumbled to the door and +yanked it open, vaguely aware that she had not closed it when she +came in.

+

Out in the dark of the winter the air was cold and clean and she +haled it in her heaving lungs, feeling the rasp of its icy touch at +the back of her throat, yet welcoming it. Out in the back of the +house she leaned against the wall and retched violently, bent +double with the force of it, though nothing came out except a +trickle of saliva. Heartburn flared under her breastbone and acid +burned her gullet, but she kept everything inside.

+

"Stupid bloody bitch," she told herself. "Should have called +in." Now she had to get on the radio and that would mean a red face +at best. She was still trying to work out what had happened, now +completely unsure of the train of events. Something had come +lunging at her.

+

Hadn't it?

+

She could not even be sure of that now. There had been the +smell, like the foul reek in Thelma Quigley's house. It had come +billowing up, thick and greasy and then suddenly she'd gone +completely crazy. There was no other way to describe it.

+

She'd fallen and banged her head. That was true enough, for +there was a lump rising on the back of her skull, still pulsing +urgently, and another pain on her forehead where the trickle of +blood welled from a cut. Something had come lunging out of the +dark, a dreadful shape that wavered and twisted and looked as if it +had two heads.

+

Hadn't it?

+

Or had she slipped and knocked her head? Out in the clear air of +the night, all she could be sure of was that she had thought she'd +seen something and she'd hurt her head.

+

"Damned silly bitch," she scolded herself again. Helen got to +the car and got on the radio. The control-room girl patched her +through. A squad car arrived in four minutes. David Harper was the +first to get out. He saw her in her own car and came walking +quickly across. The two uniforms followed behind.

+

"We were just passing," he said. "What happened?" He leaned +right over her, almost protectively, put a hand on her shoulder. +She felt herself lean against him, felt the warmth of his solid +weight. For a moment she wanted to hold on to him, hold on tight, +and let loose the tears that were close to the surface. He steadied +her, eyes full of concern.

+

"Got a bang on the head, that's all," Helen said. She was still +unsure, still confused. She didn't want to say the wrong thing. +Could have been a burglar, but it was dark and hard to tell. I +think I was dazed for a minute."

+

"Did you get a look at him?"

+

She shook her head. "No. Couldn't say if it was a man or a +woman. Just a shape in the dark. Slammed into me."

+

"So why were you checking a place out on your own?" he asked. +"You should have called in."

+

Helen shot a look at the two policemen who had just reached the +pavement. She quickly drew her eyes back to David, giving him a +sign to leave it alone. He picked up the message, but his eyes had +that confusing mix of concern and anger.

+

"I thought I saw something and slipped when I turned round. It +was nothing. I was just on a routine check, a long shot. I'm still +looking for the girl and there was a possibility she might have +come here to feed the cat." She kept her eyes on him, knowing he +was right, but unwilling to take it in front of uniforms. "I'll put +it in my report."

+

One of the patrolmen walked up to the gate. "Want us to take a +look around?"

+

Helen swivelled round. "No. I've done that. The place is empty." +David saw the tension in her look. For some reason she didn't want +them going into the house. He went along with that for now.

+

"That's okay with us," the man said. "We're off shift ten +minutes ago Sarge."

+

"Fine. You might as well knock off. I'll check the place out and +then I can take DC Lamont back."

+

Once they were gone he turned back to Helen. "I should get you +back to St Enoch's." He reached towards her and felt the back of +her head. She stayed still while he palpated the lump, wincing +slightly under the pressure of his fingers. "You got a right crack +there." He brought his hand round, cupped it under her chin and +tilted her face so that she was looking directly at him. "And a cut +there too. How many of me can you see?"

+

"Just the one, and that's enough," Helen said. "I didn't need a +rip in front of the boys. It was just a routine check. I never +expected anything."

+

"Okay. I wasn't giving you a rip. I was worried, that's all. But +then you didn't want them to go inside. So what's up?"

+

"I don't know," Helen said, glad of his concern. She cold still +feel the pressure of his fingers on the back of her head where the +lump throbbed in time to her heartbeat. "It's really weird. I +didn't want to make a fool of myself, but there's something funny +going on. You remember Thelma Quigley's place? The smell?"

+

He hadn't got round to telling her he had identified the Jane +Doe.

+

"Well it smells like that in there, but worse I couldn't be sure +what happened. It made me dizzy and I might have fainted. I'm not +even a hundred percent certain that I was knocked down, but I think +I was." She explained what had happened, or what she thought had +happened and then he made her stay in the car until he checked out +Celia Barker's small house himself. There was nothing much to find +except for a swirl of blankets on the floor and the dead and +stiffened cat. If there had been any smell inside the house it had +not lingered long. A faint, acrid scent was barely discernible and +could have been anything, but he knew Helen Lamont. If she said it +was the same as the dead woman's house, then he'd believe her. +There was no sign of anything that could have caused it, no +canisters of chemicals, nothing. The dead cat was a puzzle, but it +was close enough to the door to have crawled in through the cat +flap. It looked as if it had been mauled, maybe caught by a dog, +and the missing eyes told him it had been dead a while. Even in +winter, they were always the first to go. He dumped it without +ceremony in the waste bin outside the back door rather than leave +it to rot any more. A dead cat was not important.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus12.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus12.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ecdfb9b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus12.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,502 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

12

+

"Curiouser and mysteriouser," David said. "I'll get a team out +to the Jane Doe's place to lift the floorboards if I have to. She +definitely had a baby there at some time, and maybe more than one. +Almost definitely more than one. Christ alone knows what she was up +to."

+

Helen sat curled up in an old armchair close to the imitation +coals of the fire which sent a flickering glow dancing on the +walls. She was wearing an outsize sweater which swamped her and +cradled a brandy in a fine cut glass. She had a small pink dressing +on her forehead. The nurse in casualty had looked at the small, +deep cut, swabbed it with stinging alcohol and sent her home again. +She wasn't even bruised.

+

"It was the same smell, or very similar. I really thought I'd +been poisoned. It was like having a trip, and a real bad one too. +"

+

"I suppose you're talking from experience?"

+

"Give me credit, David," Helen shot back until she saw the look +on his face. She tendered a smile that faded quickly as she thought +back. "It was like walking into a nightmare. Everything in the room +changed shape and the colours went through the spectrum, except +they were all sick colours. It felt as if I was on a roller +coaster, but a mental one, as though all my senses had been wired +up the wrong way. I was scared and angry and depressed all at the +one time and completely confused the whole of the time. It's hard +to explain exactly what was happening. I remember thinking I was +having some sort of breakdown, a psychotic episode or +something."

+

"I get that kind of feeling just watching Rangers in extra +time," David said. She hit him with another look and he gave her an +apologetic shrug that told her he was trying to keep it light. +"Maybe there's something new on the market. Ecstasy? Jellies? +Something like that? A new brand of PCP?"

+

She leaned back and sipped her drink. "Whatever it is, it's not +pleasant, I can guarantee that. I can't imagine anybody paying +money to feel like that"

+

David had to agree with her. He remembered the odd, unnerving +twist of emotions that had rocked him when he'd stepped inside the +dingy room in the dead woman's house. The sudden violence had been +the most disturbing part of it all, the instant, vicious anger that +had swept through him; that and the sudden hot surge of raw +need.

+

"I got something like that in Quigley's place," he said, slowly, +battening down the image in his mind that tried to transpose itself +on the real Helen Lamont. "I mean McDougall's house. I thought it +was gas at first, or some fumes, like lead paint or ammonia, but it +was none of those. Remember I got you to the window?"

+

She nodded, recalling the sense of loss and the other, weird +need inside her. She recalled the grab of his hand on her neck and +the shunt of sudden want.

+

"It was then I thought of nerve gas. I saw a programme on Porton +Down. Sarin gas, the kind they used on the Tokyo underground, that +was what they were testing, that and a few others. They can give +people real hallucinations. As soon as I breathed it in, I wanted +to hit somebody. If I hadn't got to the window, it could have been +you."

+

Helen gave him another smile. "I saw what you did to Kenny Lang. +You dropped him like a sack, so I'm very glad you decided against +it. You should have told me this before."

+

"Well, it passed pretty quickly, and of course it couldn't have +been anything lethal I suppose, " David said. "I'm allergic to a +couple of antibiotics. They give me anxiety attacks. I just assumed +there was some sort of cleaning fluid that had evaporated and left +some traces that affected me the same way."

+

"Was there anything inside the other place?" Helen asked. David +shook his head.

+

"Nothing out of the ordinary. The bed was still unmade and might +have been slept in. A couple of blankets and sheets were on the +floor by the wall. It reminded me of the bedding in the other +house. I've taken some of that for sampling, plus the caul."

+

He'd already told her about the macabre find in the shoe box. +Helen herself had heard of the phenomenon, so he didn't have to +explain in great detail. It was just a mystery that sparked more +questions. "I'm more interested in who hit you. Cruden's sure to +give you a bad time for going in on your own."

+

"I told you, it's just a missing girl who's got no history at +all. The address is a workmate's house , and she's clean too. +They're normal folk, from quiet, law abiding families. Both girls +have good jobs, good careers. There was no reason to expect +anything, none at all. I was surprised to find the door open, and +there was always a possibility that the girl could have been lying +there hurt. It was a judgement thing. Anyway, that's in the past. +I'm not sure what happened. Remember, I was seeing things, and I +didn't want to let the uniforms know that. I don't want that kind +of thing on my record." She turned to David again and gave him a +half smile that conveyed a number of different messages. "I can +tell you, though. There could have been something, but I couldn't +swear to it, or I might just have fallen. My head was spinning and +there could have been spiders coming out of the walls next. I +thought I saw something, but what I saw was some kind of monster, +like some creepy thing out of a Hammer movie. It had two heads and +one had a face like a gargoyle, but then again, there were spikes +growing out of the door and blood running down the walls. There was +definitely a chemical in the air, but it cleared when I opened the +door."

+

"So what made the mark on your head?"

+

"Your guess is as good as mine. I wish I knew. If it had been a +burglar, I could have taken him down, or at least made him fight +his way past me. Under any normal circumstances I could have done +that, but believe me, the situation wasn't normal by any means. I'd +like to find out what it was I breathed in, because it's powerful +stuff."

+

Helen said she'd prefer to accept she'd slipped and fallen on +the frosted tiles, at least on the official record, than to have +let an intruder escape, assuming there had been one, after going in +without back-up. David didn't think it was such a good idea, but he +went along with it. By the time he'd checked over the small house +where Celia Barker lived, the smell was faded and stale, +discernible and unpleasant, but dissipating rapidly.

+

"And how was your day?" she asked, draining her glass, drawing +him back to the present. She reached for the bottle, caught his +look which silently asked if it was wise to take another drink on +top of the painkillers, but she poured anyway and took a sip.

+

"As weird as yours. Christ knows what I'll be able to tell the +boss. Thelma Quigley turns out to be Heather McDougall, her best +friend who's been living under an assumed name for at least five +years, possibly more, maybe even as many as thirty. I'll have to do +some real backtracking to find out. Quigley was murdered back in +the sixties and Heather disappeared a couple of months later, on +July 27. I spoke to her old mother who's still pretty sparky, +though her dad's lost it a little. Things got a little complex from +then on. I can't make head nor tail of it."

+

"Tell me then."

+

He leaned back and reached for the small folder into which he'd +slotted some of the documents. He took out a folded sheet of paper +and handed it to her.

+

"See for yourself," he said.

+

_______

+

July 28, 1967.

+

BABY DIES IN BRIDGE PLUNGE.

+

A baby is believed to have drowned in a river plunge after +its pram was hit by a lorry. The tragedy happened at Duncryne +Bridge in the village of Blane just north of the city when a woman +believed to be the baby's grandmother was crossing a road. The +child's pram was thrown against the parapet of the bridge which +crosses the Balcryne Stream. Police believe the infant was hurled +out and down to the deep pool below.

+

The woman is critically ill in Blane Hospital where surgeons +last night operated on horrific head-wounds suffered in the +accident. A hospital spokesman said the woman, who has yet to be +identified, was still in intensive care suffering from multiple +fractures and internal injuries.

+

The tragedy happened yesterday afternoon on the north side +of the Duncryne Bridge opposite the public walkway well known in +the area as a lover's lane. The crushed pram was found only yards +from the spot where in March this year, the mutilated body of +amateur actress Thelma Quigley was discovered. Police are still +hunting for the killer who buried his victim in a shallow grave +after stabbing her to death in a frenzied attack.

+

Teams of police, using tracker dogs which are already +familiar with the steep-sided valley were out in force combing the +area around the banks and a team of divers were being flown in from +the Navy Base on Finloch to search the deep pools in the river +known locally as the Witches Pots. So far no trace of the infant +has been found.

+

Last night lorry driver Brian Devanney, who is employed by +J.C. Carnwath Hauliers was charged with reckless driving. He is +expected to appear in court this morning. It is the third fatal +incident this year involving the transport firm and already +pressure is mounting for a full department of transport +inquiry.

+

Devanney was initially taken to hospital for shock and head +injuries suffered when his cab veered off the road, narrowly +avoiding a plunge into the chasm, and demolished a row of ash +saplings planted by Councillor Agnes White early this +year.

+

Hospital sources say that the driver claimed the woman had +run in front of his vehicle. This allegation was not completely +discounted by Mr and Mrs George Crombie who arrived soon after the +tragedy and helped Mr Devanney from his cab

+

"He was in a dreadful state," Mrs Crombie said. "He said +he'd just killed a woman who had ran out in front of his +lorry."

+

The story went on, brown ink on grey paper, still smelling of +chemicals from the microfiche printer. It was just one of a handful +of sheets of old newspaper David had got printed out from the +library's storage system when he came back from his visit to the +old couple. The report carried a picture of the bridge which had +not changed in thirty years, David knew from his walk up the track, +spurred by curiosity. The spot where Thelma Quigley, the real one, +has been butchered, where the baby had been catapulted over the +parapet and drowned in the river, was quite spectacular, even in +winter. In summer it must be beautiful.

+

"I took a walk up there, just for a look see. Heather McDougall +said she was going up to the bridge and that's where she was +headed, apparently, on the day she went missing. Her idea, as far +as I can see, was to top herself. I'm convinced she planned to jump +from the bridge and join her dead friend in the hereafter. +Something stopped her, and that's the real puzzle."

+

He took the piece of paper from her fingers and folded it once +more. "She never went home again. Her parents expected her back +that day and she didn't turn up, and thirty years on, she turns up +dead on the floor of Waterside Mall. That's really weird. Her notes +really point to a suicide attempt, and It was the same day as this +other baby was sent flying." David put the print-out into the +folder.

+

"That's an awful story."

+

"True. When I heard it, it rang a bell in my mind. It was one of +the biggest cases at the time. Devanney the driver was sent to jail +for manslaughter."

+

"The woman died?"

+

"No. It wasn't her. It was the baby, and oddly enough, they +never did find the body. That's what made it stick out in my mind. +Devanney was initially done for dangerous driving and they boosted +the charge up to manslaughter. He took the corner too fast and was +on the wrong side of the road at the time, so the court was told +anyway, though he denied it. His defence couldn't have been trying +too hard, for the case would never stand up nowadays. Anyway, he +was charged with the culpable homicide of the baby, even though +they never found it."

+

"I'm not with you."

+

"You must have heard of the Bridge Baby case?"

+

Helen shook her head. "Before my time."

+

"And mine, but I do read, you know." He indicated the sheaf of +papers jutting from the folder he still held in his hand. "It's all +here in the print-out. What happened was that this woman, Greta +Simon her name was, had a baby with her. It was knocked out of the +pram and over the parapet into the water. There was a spate at the +time, a heavy rainfall or something, and the baby was washed away. +Nobody knew even who the kid was, because Greta Simon couldn't tell +them. She was brain damaged and hardly able to speak, but her +neighbours knew she'd been looking after a baby. Just like Heather +McDougall in fact. They thought it was her grand-daughter. She was +too ill to appear in court, but there were enough witnesses to say +she'd been walking in the path to the bridge with the baby in the +pram."

+

"And they convicted a man for that?"

+

"He did nine months. The baby never did turn up and according to +the experts, it was probably washed down into the River Forth and +out to sea. It could have been anywhere. The search took the whole +length of the stream and they dragged every pool and culvert. The +dogs found nothing either, though some people said maybe a fox or a +badger, or even a domestic dog might have found it and eaten +it."

+

Helen shuddered. "That doesn't bear thinking about."

+

"No. But it's a coincidence. Really odd. I wish I'd never +started on this."

+

"Why?"

+

"Because I'm getting nowhere and it's got to me. I've a million +other things to be getting on with and Scott Cruden's expecting me +to get this one tied up as soon as possible. It was supposed to be +a simple job of back-tracking on a dead woman with something odd in +her blood. The more I look into it the further away any answer +seems to be.

+

"But you won't be able to let it go?"

+

He shook his head. "My old mum always said my curiosity would +get me into trouble. She's probably right. But you have to admit, +there is something weird in all of this. We get a Jane Doe in the +mall..."

+

"You're beginning to sound like an American dick," Helen said. +She looked up at him and narrowed her eyes mischievously. "Or maybe +just a dick."

+

"Very funny. We find Thelma Quigley who turns out to be Heather +McDougall who did a runner thirty years ago on the same day that a +baby is killed. She turns up in another town half way across the +country with a baby that's now gone missing and we know it can't be +hers, but the medical reports say she was lactating and possibly +able to feed a baby."

+

"You never told me that. I thought she was about sixty. Was she +on some kind of hormone treatment?"

+

"That's why I was put on this in the first place. To find out if +she'd been away and picked up a weird tropical disease. Anyway, in +her flat, we find baby toys, clothes, and then there's a caul. I've +taken some pieces for analysis and the rest of it crumpled to dust. +It should tell us something."

+

David paused, trying to recollect where he had digressed. "Yes. +So McDougall went missing, just like your girl, what's her +name?"

+

"Ginny Marsden."

+

"Her. She McDougall just never turned up. They thought she'd +been murdered, but she hadn't. All this time she's been living very +quietly as Thelma Quigley, her friend who was murdered and +buried in a shallow grave up near the bridge. Lovely spot, by the +way. Really spectacular. You'll have to come and see it. I saw a +little bird there, a dipper, poor little thing, trying to find a +hole in the ice."

+

Helen sat back. "You've side-tracked yourself again. I thought +it was me who had the bump on the head."

+

David came back on line. "So then you turn up at the +Marsden girl's place, or at least her friend's place, and it's got +the same smell, the same kind of chemical as we found down at Latta +Street. That's too many coincidences for me."

+

"Maybe it really is some kind of cleaning fluid," Helen +suggested. "I get reactions to some of them. Maybe that's it."

+

"It's an easier explanation than nerve gas," David allowed, +though his expression said he was far from convinced. "Maybe I'm +allergic to it as well, and possibly we should call in the health +department just in case there's been a spillage. Aside from that, +there's something in this whole story that doesn't add up. It's +going to niggle at me all night."

+

He flicked through the papers, letting the other chemical smell +of the microfiche printer drift up. "Look at this," he said, +leaning towards her. The picture was grainy and smeared, but +unmistakable. An old fashioned black pram lay crushed against the +stone wall just at the side of the bridge. A patterned baby blanket +lay on the road.

+

"Nobody knew who the baby belonged to. Nobody knew it's +name."

+

"I thought you said it was that woman. Greta."

+

"She had the baby all right. But it wasn't hers. She +was too old. There was plenty of evidence that she was caring for +one, but nobody knows whose it was. There isn't even a name, +although the neighbours said she called it Tim. Tiny Tim. There +were no records of adoption, and no relatives came forward at the +time. Greta Simon herself was a bit of a mystery. Nobody was sure +of where she came from, although most folk thought she was English. +That was it. She was crossing the bridge and a truck smacked her +into a plantation of shrubs and knocked her baby over the wall and +into the river below. End of story."

+

"But you don't think so?"

+

"No. There's something weird here. I can see a connection, or at +least a similarity here. It's too much like the Heather McDougall +case."

+

"But separated by thirty years."

+

"Separated yes, but connected. She went up to the bridge on the +same day. That's in her diary, and her old mother confirms it. +Thirty years on she turns up dead and allegedly, possibly, +a baby has gone missing."

+

"Sounds like history repeating itself. What do you think? This +Heather McDougall, do you think she was a baby snatcher? Some kind +of crazy?

+

This time David shrugged. "Could be. I don't know. I did a check +this morning on recent snatch cases. There's damn few of them, and +as far as I can see, there's never been a case where a baby's been +stolen and gone unreported. Not unless..." he paused.

+

"What?"

+

"Not unless she's been bumping the mothers off first. Maybe +poisoning them? Perhaps that's what the smell was. Some sort of +poison that she gassed them with."

+

"You don't really believe that," Helen said.

+

"No. I don't believe it at all. The McDougall woman was sick and +she was old. She couldn't have overpowered a mouse. She was +probably looking after someone's kid. We just haven't turned that +person up. As I said, if I have to, I'll dig up the floor. It could +be a Fred West case all over again, but I doubt it. I just think +there's something weird in all of it I look through all these +clippings and I think for a second I'm getting to the bottom of it, +and then it's gone."

+

He stood up and put his glass down. "And now I'm gone. I'd +better shoot."

+

She made a disappointed face. "Just when I was beginning to +enjoy this." She eased herself off the chair and snaked her arm +around his. "Thanks for coming to get me today. And thanks for +keeping it between us too. I won't forget it."

+

He gave her a wink that told her it was no big deal. She leaned +her weight against him again and he could feel the warmth through +his shirt. It was a friendly gesture, the kind a partner would +make, but in that instant he sensed something more. He almost +wrapped an arm round her to draw her close and stopped himself just +in time.

+

"I'll give you a hand with your runner," he said quickly. +"Because I want you to stick with me on this Jane Doe. Come and +pick me up in the morning."

+

"You don't have to do a runner too," she said. She smiled up at +him, let the smile fade. Her dark eyes looked straight into his and +her skin felt hot on his. Helen saw his hesitation, mistook it for +incomprehension. She shrugged quickly to disguise what could have +been an awkward moment.

+

"Not so soon anyway."

+

_______

+

It was cold and dark. Outside the mist oozed and crept, almost +alive, seeking the dark corners to fill with thick and clammy +damp.

+

Ginny Marsden shivered, half asleep, slumped against the potato +sack matting in the corner of the garden shed. How she had got +here, she could barely remember. The flight was a series of jumbled +images, shapes and shadows flicking past in peripheral vision. She +recollected the shape that had loomed in the kitchen and she had +struck out and then she'd been running, protecting the baby. The +threat had gone. It had reeled back and fallen and Ginny had got +the impression, no more than that, that it had been a woman.

+

She had been dreadfully afraid that the shape would hurt the +baby. The fear had swelled in a hot gush that had blanked out every +other thought save the need to protect the tiny thing in her arms. +She had gone blundering out into the cold, breath pluming out in +the frigid air, running as if devils were panting at her heels. She +hadn't stopped when she reached the end of the lane at the back of +the houses. She'd taken the right turn up the next road and then +carried on for almost half a mile, unsure of where she was gong, +but guided somehow by instinct. She reached the pathway that led up +the side of the allotments where rickety shacks and huts and old +greenhouses that had seen better days huddled together in the +little patches of cultivated ground.

+

She knew this place. Her grandfather still worked here in the +summer, tending his chrysanthemums and dahlias and weeding his +little plots of prize onions and leeks. She had played here as a +child, tasting the mint and the thyme that grew beside the +greenhouse. She had played with the big fat toad that lived under a +terracotta pot and ate the slugs that ate the cabbages. It seemed +like a million miles away in time.

+

The gate was locked, barricaded against vandals and crowned with +a piece of barbed wire. She ignored it, ignored the pain as she +clambered over the wooden slats, ripping her palm twice in the +attempt while still holding the baby close to her. It urged her on, +its fear driving her along. It needed warmth and shelter. She got +to the other side, letting herself down heavily, then scampered up +the aisle between the frosted leeks and Brussels sprouts to the hut +at the far end. The padlock was closed but she knew where the key +would be. The pot shard sheltered another toad, this one stiff in +its winter hibernation, looking more like a rock than an animal. +Beside it, the silver key glinted. She opened the hasp. The door +creaked as she let herself inside and she closed it firmly before +allowing herself to stop. In the dark, guided by the powerful +motive, emotive force, she crept to the corner where the potato +sacks were piled in a heap. She arranged them around herself, +pulling them over and tucking them, until she and the baby were +almost completely covered. The baby nuzzled in at her, forcing its +head in against her warmth, searching for a nipple. It found it, +plugged in, and she felt the intense merging sensation as it drank +of her.

+

Sometime in the night, she awoke, briefly, shuddering at a +dreaming image, her breast's sore and throbbing and her blouse +smelling of sour milk. Her back ached and her palms throbbed where +the barbs had punctured the skin. Her eyes were heavy and gritty +under the lids, as if dust had got under there to rasp at the +tender skin. An enormous lethargy enveloped her, and try as she +could, it was impossible for her to move.

+

She was alone here in the cold and the dark. For a moment she +tried to recollect what had happened but her mind was sluggish and +turbid. For an instant the image of the hibernating toad came back +to her and that was an accurate reflection of how she felt. Her +muscles were drained of power, as if she'd been sucked hollow, and +the cold had stolen into her bones, making her weak and +strengthless. The sacks smelt musty, of loam and old potatoes, and +overlaid with that other smell that was becoming familiar now, the +bitter sweetness that it secreted.

+

It.

+

Ginny Marsden gave a little start in the dark.

+

IT. The baby. It had snuggled into her and nuzzled and +fed and she had given of herself, feeling the urgent pressure in +her swollen breast lessen in a pleasurable seepage.

+

It wasn't there. She turned, just a little, feeling her numbed +muscles respond so slowly it was like being cocooned in treacle. A +deep exhaustion sagged in her. The baby was gone. Her mind began to +come alive again, suddenly thrown out of the torpor by that +knowledge of release.

+

The baby was gone. The thing that held her had left her. Her +heart gave a little double beat. She moved, heard the joints creak +painfully. The darkness inside grandfather's garden shed was almost +complete, save for a pale rectangle high on the wall where a piece +of perspex had been screwed to the wall as a windowpane. It was +still night then, for the moonlight came glimmering through the +scratched plastic, barely strong enough to outline the shapes of +the garden tools hanging from the nails on the beam nearby.

+

It was gone. She could escape. The images of her dreams came +back then, the scaly sensation of something inhuman crawling all +over her, its cold, puckered skin making her own surface cringe and +buckle into gooseflesh. She felt again its probe down between her +legs, slender and cold, hugely repulsive, appalling in its +invasion, draining the goodness from her blood, from her +marrow.

+

Just at that moment, she heard the slithering motion close to +the door. A movement happened, a rustle in the dark, a scuffle that +ended in a tiny, almost inaudible squeak. Something small died in +that instant. Her heightened senses picked up its sudden snuffing +out, just as they perceived the other presence.

+

It had not gone at all. It was still there, in the dark. It had +crawled away from her and caught something. It was there by the +door, a scuttling shadow

+

Oh my god oh my god, I have to get...

+

that would come back and snare her again.

+

Ginny attempted to gauge distance in the dark. She flexed her +arm, trying to warm it quickly, knowing any delay would give it a +chance. Of a sudden a desperate need to be free almost paralysed +her, coming as it did on the waves of fear and dismay and +horror.

+

There by the door, something crunched gently, the sound of a +bird's eggshell crushed, the noise of an insect squashed. A faint +warm smell of blood came on the cold air, mingling with the other +smells and the similar metal scent that she knew would later come +from the oozing drag deep inside her. The shadowy thing made a +scuttling noise again, two, maybe three yards away, hardly more +than that. Beside her the garden fork dangled beside the old spade +that grandfather used to make the even rows for potatoes. The four +tines were close to her head height. An instant solution came to +her and with hardly a pause she got to one knee, reaching a hand to +unsnag the fork.

+

Her muscles groaned in sluggish, dry protest. The bones in her +knees and the joints at her thighs ground together like rough +stones. The thing in the shadows by the door moved quickly. She +sensed it turning. Desperately she reached and got a hand round the +shaft of the fork.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus13.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus13.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7e1659 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus13.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,567 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

13

+

"What a lovely bunch of flowers." The voice on the phone bubbled +with laughter. "And completely unexpected."

+

"Come on, Ma," David protested. "You always get flowers. I even +used to pick them for you up in the glen. Remember the +bluebells?"

+

"And they wilted in ten minutes," his mother's voice came +chuckling down the line. "I remember. I also remember you were +covered from head to toe in mud where you fell into the marsh. +Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks for remembering. I called you +earlier, but there was no reply."

+

"I must have been in the shower. You can't hear the phone from +there," David said. Helen Lamont raised her coffee cup to him. She +was wearing her sheepskin-lined flying jacket against the cold of +the day. It looked too warm for indoors.

+

"Anyway, I always remember and it's always flowers. The only +thing I forget is your age." He held his hand up as if his mother +was standing right in front of him. "No, don't tell me. That's +your secret. You just look the same anyway. Always do. Not +like me, I've a face that's worn out two bodies. A face only a +mother could love, eh?" He laughed, bantering and bullshitting +fondly. "So how is he? Tell him I'll go fishing when the weather's +better. And tell him to stay out of the cold, you know how it gets +to him."

+

Helen sat at the table listening to him on the telephone. His +shirt was unbuttoned and only partially tucked into his trousers. +His hair was still wet from the shower and it gave him a fresh, +boyish look. He absently rubbed it with the towel, unaware of her +inspection. The muscles of his forearms bunched, released, and she +remembered the sudden protective strength when he'd hit the thin +man down Waterside Street and slammed him against the wall.

+

One of the good guys, she had called him that, and she meant it, +now more than ever. In the past week, in the past few days, her +perspective had strangely altered. She remembered the strength of +his body outside celia barker's nightmare house, solid as a rock +when she leaned against him. She could still feel the touch of his +fingers on the back of her head. Helen could have told herself she +was imagining a reaction, but she did not. For a reason she did not +quite comprehend, she was able to perceive at a deeper level. She +could sense something in him that he himself was probably unaware +of. She considered calling over to him to tell him his coffee was +getting cold, wondering what his reaction would be to the +inevitable question on the telephone, but she changed her mind. The +son's affection for his mother was evident in his tone and posture +and she let him banter with her for a while before she brought the +coffee over. He gave her a wink, just like the one he'd thrown her +the night before, just before she'd told him he could stay a while +longer. He smiled and took a slurp.

+

"Yes Ma. I'll make sure I get something to eat. No. I'm fine. +Yes. A sweater would be great. But not a Pringle. You know I never +wear anything with a name on it." He laughed out loud at something +she said. "Yes. I know you've seen my birthmark. No. Nobody else. +Honest. Think I'm a pervert?"

+

Finally, with more laughter he hung up.

+

"I must remember to look for the birthmark," Helen said, and he +laughed again, his face glowing from the heat of the shower and +from the warm enjoyment of the teasing with his mother.

+

"Her birthday?"

+

"Yeah. She'd kill me stone dead if I didn't send flowers. I +didn't manage two years ago when I was undercover on the Toby +Cannel job. I was out of touch for a week, down on Riverside close +to where we were the other day and I completely forgot about it. +We'd been undercover so long I didn't even know what day of the +week it was. That was when big Toby got shot. Took six shots and +had holes the size of dinner plates out the other side. That scared +the hell out of me, watching him keep on running, like he was a +machine. Like the Terminator."

+

"You've done it again, side-tracked yourself," Helen stalled +him. "Can't you stick to a subject?"

+

"Right. Anyway, she'd left a million messages for me and when I +didn't come back she called Donal Bulloch. She had to go though +five offices until she got him, for he was the only one who knew +where I was, except for big Jock Lewis who was with me the whole +time and did nothing but eat beans, which I swear was pure murder +after the first day." He caught Helen's look again. "The boss told +her I was out on a very important job and that I was fine and what +was more, he even sent her a bunch of flowers himself. But when the +papers carried the pictures of Toby Cannel lying on the cobbles, my +mother knew what the big important job was. She's not stupid. She +wanted me to quit then and there."

+

"You ever hear that old Dean Martin song? A man who loves his +mother?"

+

"In the film? Robin and the Seven Hoods?"

+

"That's the one," Helen confirmed. "A man who loves his mother +is man enough for me. It's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's +natural."

+

There were two other messages on the answering machine. David +hit the play-back button. June was first. The sound was muted and +from the distance Helen couldn't hear any more than a murmur, but +she could tell from the way he turned away and she stayed where she +was. He didn't say very much and a pang of pity stole through her. +It passed very quickly. June was going to lose him. She knew that +for certain. And she knew why.

+

Without looking round, David changed his posture and she knew he +had passed to a different message. He listened, head cocked to the +side and clicked the button again before beginning to re-dial. As +he was hitting the keys, he turned round again, and asked Helen to +bring the folder with the photocopies. She slid it across the +coffee table and he stretched to get it. He selected the picture of +the crushed pram.

+

"It's John Barclay down at the mall. He's been trying to get me +for a couple of days." He held up a hand, indicating someone else +was on the line. He spoke for a moment, said he'd be down within +the hour and hung up.

+

He picked up the print which showed the tangle of buckled wheels +and crumpled metal. "John's found a pram down at the Waterside +Mall. One of his boys stuck it out for garbage collection after +locking up on the night Heather McDougall died. That's just an +aside. I thought he was desperate to get his video tapes back into +the machines, but he say's he's had a look at them and he's found +something else."

+

"What is it?"

+

"We'd best both have a look. Something strange." He seemed glad +to have a practical matter to think about. She felt a smile start +inside.

+
+

He had woken hungry.

+

It was a different hunger now. The mother had moved in her +sleep, automatically and instinctively protecting him from her +weight, huddling him close. She trembled deep within herself and he +withdrew slowly, unwilling to break the contact, fully awake now. +He would have to wait until she was ready before he drank again. +Already his limbs were strong enough, the bones quickly grown and +articulated. He could move now. He had woken in the twist of hunger +pangs.

+

He had felt the surge of fear when the nest had been invaded in +the night, for he had recognised the human, a female one. A +potential mother. He had read her scent and her movement +and had recognised her from the other time. He had sensed danger +and invasion and the need to flee because he was not strong enough, +not yet. There was something about the other one too. She had +reeled back and he had reached to touch her, putting his mark on +her. He had felt her vibration and felt her deep strength. +Something inside of him had stirred there and then, even in the +height of the emergency, in the need to flee and be gone. Now her +scent and her vibration was imprinted inside him.

+

Out there in the dark something crept quietly and the heat of +appetite flared reflexively. He remembered the other one that had +come close in the warm place, how he had reached and struck, moving +faster than he had ever done in his long and placid life. He had +not planned it, not thought about it. The thing had come close, +mewling in some alarm, entrapped by the scent, and unable to free +itself. There had been no thought, just action. He had reached, +quicker than a blink, reacting in an explosion of speed and it had +died. The blaze of its mind had flicked out almost in an instant +after he had reached and hit. The blow had shuddered up from the +end of his arm to the strangely articulated socket, but there had +been no pain. The pain of touch was foreign to him. Until now there +had been only two pains that he could comprehend, the hurt of +bright light and the bite of hunger.

+

The new pangs twisted inside him at him. They had had jolted him +from sleep. Out in the dark he had felt the movement, heard the +almost soundless twitch. His eyes blinked open and his other sense +reached.

+

Over there, a point of warmth moved, blazing fiercely against +the rolling grey of the background sparked by the tiny, unfocussed +lights that showed the ants and other insects in their thousands +under the protective lining of the wood.

+

He moved then, again instinctively, ferret smooth, cat slow, yet +with the steadiness of a spider. All of his senses were focused +forward. For that moment he forgot the mother. She was lying curled +up in the nest. He turned his mind away from her and concentrated +on the warmth ahead. The hunger gnawed within him. Unused muscles +in new limbs flexed and tensed, He shivered in tension, as if all +of his energy was singing along the length of his slender spine. +The glands pumped up, subsided, the pores closed.

+

He struck in a blur and the warm thing squeaked as it felt his +rush. It ran for the door, doubled back, almost as fast as he was. +It turned, faced him defiantly, its weasel mouth opening to show +deadly little spikes of canine teeth. Without hesitation he +snatched it. It twisted in his grasp, tried to bite him, a hunting +weasel now caught. He leaned forward, impaled it with his eyes and +it died with a feeble screech.

+

He bent his head, licked at the morsel, savouring the heat and +the mustelid scent it had sprayed in defiance and defence, so like +his own spray. His mouth stretched over the head and his juice ran +into its eyes, making them steam and run. He sucked then and +swallowed quickly pressing his own tiny teeth to pierce the thin +skull and let his own poison drain inside, dissolving the brain and +the nervous tissue. He squeezed and emptied the thing into himself. +Instantly his whole body glowed with the heat of new nourishment. +He made a little gulping sound in the dark, savouring the taste as +it slipped down inside him. He bent again to the tiny, shrivelling +husk. He froze.

+

Sudden alarm shivered through him. The mother was awake and he +had let her go. He turned, eyes wide in the darkness. He could feel +her fear and pain, feel her urgent need, the way he could sense the +other things in the night. Underneath it, even more, her bubbling +desperate anger came to him. He saw her pale hand reach slowly for +the fork. His own senses were wound up to a jittery speed, that +made everything seem sluggish. She reached for the thing on the +wall. He saw the four curved points. It came swinging down. He +moved to the left, new limbs thrusting against the ragged +floorboards in a powerful shove. A clanging noise rolled out, +deepened now in his hot-speed, sounding like an old gong. The +vibration shivered the air.

+

He flicked forward, eyes wide. She never had a chance to move +again. He launched himself at her, scuttling up her dark shape, +glands swelling again.

+

She made a sound, a whimpering noise that sounded like a low +grunt to him. He fastened to her. His tail went around her neck, +coiling and tightening. She grunted this time and the fork dropped +away to land with a quivering thud on an old grow-bag of compost, +impaling it to the floor. He sprayed instinctively and the fight +went out of her. She fell back as if her ligaments and nerves had +been severed. He waited in the dark until he knew she was subdued, +under his control. He loosened the coil from her neck very lowly, +listening to the pulse of her heartbeat slow, feeling it through +his own skin.

+

His new hunger was sated, but there were other needs and other +hungers. He sat in the dark, his wide, night-vision eyes fixed on +hr, slowly loosening his grip and nuzzling down in against her +heat. There was no fight in her now, but he would have to be wary. +This was the first, the only one who had ever fought, the first who +tried to break away, who even could break away. There was +a danger in that.

+

He waited for a while until he sensed the impending arrival of +grey dawn, and he woke her, urging her to move. He heard the creak +in her bones as she made the effort, but he did not know what +caused that. He had no words and no real knowledge outside his own +self and the mothers.

+

But he was learning quickly.

+
+

Down in the security ofice in Waterside Mall John Barclay +offered them coffee but David and Helen were more interested in +what he had to show them. All of the screens in his office were on, +a bank of flickering grey and white squares showing all the views. +It was still early, before nine, but already the place was filling +up with early morning shoppers, hurried people, not casual +browsers, picking up what they wanted on the way to work. As David +and Helen watched the screen, Carrie McFall came walking quickly +past on the main floor close to the escalators.

+

"This is is," John said. "I've been through them all and I +thought you'd want to see this." He thumbed the cassette into the +slot, hit replay and they watched the blurred figures race +backwards, their steps odd and jerky and vaguely silly. Finally he +slowed it and the whine ground to a whisper. "Here. This is from +camera four on the side foyer. Watch."

+

"What are we looking for?"

+

"Your woman. The collapser? We've got her coming in." John +raised a hand and pointed. "There she is. The one behind the fat +man? That's her."

+

"Are you sure?"

+

"Couldn't be surer. I spent a whole afternoon going through the +tapes after you left, mostly because I wanted them back, but after +I saw this, I thought you should have a look too. Didn't you get my +messages?"

+

David shook his head. John gave him a disbelieving look. They +turned back to the screen where a portly man in a heavy coat and a +hat too small for his round head came bulling through the door. +Behind him, a tall, spare woman, came walking forward, head +bowed.

+

She was pushing a dark coloured pram.

+

"That's the same one our boys found round the back. One of the +men stuck it there after the place was closed. He thought somebody +had just dumped it, for it's pretty old and one wheel's got a +squeak that sends shivers down your backbone." John stopped the +video. Heather McDougall, if it really was the woman, flickered +unsteadily on screen, her head half-turned into the shadow. "It was +only after I saw this that I asked and somebody remembered finding +the thing. What we've got here's a real puzzle."

+

He thumbed the switch again. The spare woman came in through the +automatic doors, into the light. She raised her head, moving +slowly, almost painfully, to the left. Even in the wavering image +on the television screen, she looked gaunt and dishevelled. The +pram looked black and its hood was raised. They watched in silence +as she moved further to the left and then began to head out of the +picture.

+

"That's it?" David said, though his brain was already trying to +work things out. There had indeed been a baby, assuming there had +been one in the pram. Either that, or she'd been a bag-lady, just +using the old pram as a trolley. He was about to say something else +when the woman, right at the far edge of the screen, leaned +forward, bending right over the push-handle and stooped over the +pram. The definition was not clear enough to see her lips move, but +her head did sway from left to right. It was clear she was talking +to something inside the pram. She was talking to a baby the way +mothers do. It was clear in the sway, in the timing. Seconds later, +she moved beyond the scope of the camera. John Barclay stopped the +machine.

+

"You can have that one. Now look at the tape from Number Three, +next to the escalator." It slid in, switched on, the picture came +to life. "I should have made a compilation to save time," the +security man told them, "But I don't have editing facilities +here."

+

Heather McDougall came towards the camera, still pushing the +pram. Two girls crossed her path, passed her by, then both stopped. +They looked at each other and one of them shook her head violently. +Her friend put a hand up to cover her nose and mouth. They hurried +away. The woman walked to the wall where two other buggies were +parked. She stooped forward again, reached into the pram and made +some small movements, as if she was tucking a baby in tight. When +she leaned back she raised the cover and snapped it firmly in +place. Slowly, painfully, she turned and walked off towards the +Mothercare shop, slowing momentarily as if catching her breath. The +motion of the camera, timed to swing left to right and back again +in the space of a minute, followed her progress as if directed by +human hand. Helen recognised the handbag as the one they had found +in the bushes where Carrie McFall had thrown it. David recognised +the creaking falter of a woman with only minutes left to live.

+

"You've seen the next bit," John Barclay said. "You've still got +the tape. I thought you should see what happened."

+

"I appreciate it, Jab," David told him. "The medics were right. +And the woman from Rolling Stock. she told them she'd a baby."

+

"But whose?" Helen asked. "And what happened to it?

+

John's face creased into a wide smile. "I wondered when you'd +ask that. That's exactly what I asked when I saw her walk off +towards Mothercare. We saw her coming back again and throw a wobbly +in the middle of the mezzanine, so after I found her coming in, +pushing the pram, I had to look through the rest of them. Lucky +they're all timed. It's a fiddly job, but you can work out a +sequence."

+

On screen, Heather McDougall, spare and gaunt, a scarecrow of a +woman with an oddly protruding chest, limping a little, walking as +if she was struggling uphill at the end of a long day, merged with +the early evening crowd at the door of the shop and then +disappeared from view.

+

John lifted the next tape from the pile and exchanged it. David +and Helen stood facing the screen expectantly.

+

"I hope I can get to use the rest of the tapes after this," John +said. "And I reckon the force could stand me a few drinks."

+

"May the force always be with you John. We appreciate this."

+

The ex-policeman hit the button again. Once more, the figures +danced and jiggled backwards. The camera panned from right to left, +taking in the crowd of people comically staggering up the escalator +in fast reverse. The lens swung beyond them. Right at the edge of +the picture, they could see a part of the crowd that had gathered +round the fallen shape slumped on the tiles.

+

The small woman in a grey coat bent forward at the side of the +pillar, just inside the frame, turned and disappeared back into the +crowd with the dropped shopping bag. Just within view, Carrie +McFall came walking quickly, heading for the spot where the handbag +had fallen. Both of them disappeared from the shot. For a second, +the only people visible were the two girls who had passed by +Heather McDougall and reacted strangely. They were turned towards +each other, obviously comparing purchases.

+

A figure walked past them, moving quickly, with an almost jaunty +step. She was slim and fair-haired, almost athletic in her +movements. Her hair was pleated and pinned up, as far as they could +tell, under a neat beret. Her long coat was open and flapped in +time to her step. The picture was not pin sharp, and the screen was +grey and grainy, but even then, the girl looked as if she might be +smiling.

+

"Good heavens," Helen whispered. John Barclay held up a +forestalling hand.

+

"Watch this," he said. It was only then that the camera reached +the end of its travel and began to swing to the right again. The +girl was coming more into the field of view. The camera swung just +enough to pick up where the second one had left off. The small row +of prams and two baby buggies stood against the wall.

+

The girl came sauntering past. Her head turned slightly to the +right, and although they couldn't see anything else in the frame, +they knew she must have been glancing at the commotion in the +centre of the walkway. She slowed, peered, obviously curious, then +started walking again. From her gait, it seemed she couldn't make +out what the disturbance was and quickly lost interest. A hand went +into her pocket, and a small movement brought that side of the coat +flapping round in a wrapping curl. David could see the health and +confidence in that simple movement. The camera tracked her as it +had followed Heather McDougall. The girl came abreast of the small +queue of baby carriages. Very briskly, obviously intent on getting +where she was going, she strode past them.

+

"Here," John Barclay said, quite unnecessarily.

+

The girl walked three steps, slowed at a fourth, almost stopped +on the fifth. Her head went up, showing her face for the first +time. She was pretty and regular featured.

+

"Bloody hell," Helen said. "That's her."

+

"Hold on," Barclay forestalled again. "This is the bit."

+

The old black pram was right in view. The new arrival was +standing just beyond it, maybe three paces past the upraised hood. +Her head came up and turned just a fraction to the right. On the +grainy screen, it looked as if she was sniffing the air.

+

Something cold trickled down David Harper's back. A strange and +curdling sense of prescience rippled along with it. He knew what +was going to happen.

+

The girl stopped dead. She sniffed again, though they could see +nothing but little twitches of her head, blurred on screen. She +half turned away from the pram, as if determined to walk away. One +foot took a step, The other seemed to be stuck to the floor. The +handbag swung with the momentum and came back to strike against her +hip, dangling from the strap. The hand came out of the pocket and +reached forward, away from the direction of the pram, as if the +girl was trying to push through an invisible barrier, maybe even +trying to haul herself away.

+

She stopped again. Her mouth opened. The three of them could see +the black circle. No teeth showed. The girl could have been punched +in the belly from the suddenness of the expression, like all the +air was whooshing out of her. The mouth opened further, in a +strange and tortured gape.

+

"She's going to be sick," Helen said.

+

"No." John Barclay didn't elaborate. He didn't have to. They +were strangely fascinated, unable to draw their eyes away. David +could feel the prescience building. For some reason he could not +explain, completely unnatural, or preternatural, he wanted the girl +to keep walking. The sense of chilling menace reached from the +black maw of the pram where the hood showed a square of inky +darkness. It travelled through time, through the four days since +Heather McDougall had died. Travelled through the air, fast as +light into the camera, through the wires, onto the tape and back +into the screen and he could still feel it. Helen was sitting close +enough to feel him shiver and wondered what the hell was happening +to him.

+

"Move," he heard his inner voice urge. "Walk on, love."

+

The girl turned, moving very slowly, for all the world as if the +camera had slowed down. John Barclay's hand was nowhere near the +controls. There was no sound of course, but David had the +impression that if there was, it would be dopplered down to deep +clunks and groans like a tape that had slowed almost to a stop. He +did not know why that thought came to him, but it came with an +inexplicable sense of foreboding.

+

She swivelled towards the pram and even then, they could see the +pull of her body trying to move away. Her feet were almost hen-toed +in the obvious internal struggle. She leaned forwards, pulled back. +Her foot moved again, took a step in the direction. She turned +again, her face twisting back towards the light. Her shoulders +twitched and the long, elegant coat twitched with it. Off to the +left of the screen Carrie McFall the shoplifter came briefly into +view and disappeared, unaware of the drama happening not twenty +yards away, interested only in her new find.

+

The girl in the coat walked forward, legs moving awkwardly, like +a zombie in a B-movie. It would have been comical under any other +circumstances, but none of them felt the humour. Her steps were +ungainly, forced, somehow obscene.

+

"Oh Jesus," Helen said, feelingly. It was a strange, +cliff-hanger of a moment for them. Even John Barclay, who had seen +the sequence before, seemed to be holding his breath.

+

On screen the girl reached the pram and leaned forward, body +still twisting, all the elegance gone. She seemed to have no +control at all now, no volition. It was all in the posture and the +motion. A mime artist couldn't have conveyed it better.

+

She stood stock still, trembling, both hands visibly fluttering. +Then she leaned further, stooping low. The black square under the +hood darkened further with her shadow. She reached inside. They +could see her shoulders working as she manipulated something with +her hands. She stood up clutching a baby tight against her, huddled +inside her coat.

+

"Good God," Helen breathed. "It is her."

+

"I could hardly believe it myself," John Barclay said. He +stopped the video, leaving the girl standing there, half turned +towards the camera, with the little bundle wrapped in a shawl +clutched in against her chest. Her eyes were wide and her face +completely devoid of expression as if all the muscles had sagged. +The smile was long gone.

+

"That's Ginny Marsden," Helen told David. "I'm sure of it. Her +parents said she was coming here anyway. I should have thought of +going through these tapes, but it never stuck me. Honestly, David, +it really is her."

+

He was standing, eyes glued to the screen, seemingly unaware +that she had spoken. He turned to Barclay. "Turn it back on John. +Let's see what happens next."

+

The camera was moving, once again, tracking the motion. David +could have believed there was some conscious power guiding the +lenses. The girl turned away from them, heading for the far door +beyond the melee where the paramedics were just in the picture now, +racing for the door.

+

"You'll have to watch this closely. I can rewind it if you want, +but look at the top end of the screen."

+

David found it hard to take his eyes from the girl. There was +something awful, something un-natural and dreadfully fearful about +her posture. She had changed utterly, in the space of a few +seconds, from the confident striding young woman who had come +swinging down the main walkway of the mall for last minute +Christmas presents. She had crumpled and contorted, in those few +seconds, into a strange, flaccid , somehow pathetic figure. David +had seen the attitude before, on the shell-shocked victims of +Dresden as they stumbled through their smoking streets, shadowy and +indistinct in the old newsreels. He'd seen it in the posture and +expression of the people in the cattle-trucks on their way to +Auschwitz and Birkenau. It was the knowledge of certain +catastrophe. It was the presentiment of doom. A trickle of sweat +ran down the side of his ribs.

+

John pointed a finger. The trolley was moving towards the door. +A number of people were coming through and despite the silence, +they reacted to the obvious shout from Phil Coulter. One woman +stopped in her tracks. Her husband pulled her to the side by her +arm. The trolley stopped rolling. One of the medics had a hand out +towards the door.

+

"Here," Barclay said.

+

The dying woman on the gurney sat up, face contorted as badly, +as painfully, as the girl's had been. Her mouth opened and closed +as through she was gasping for air. Phil Coulter reached a hand out +towards her. She twisted, rolled off the trolley and hit the +ground. Without any hesitation she was crawling, like a flapping +black insect, towards the with the baby. On the silent screen, she +was a strange and grotesque apparition, moving jerkily on the +patterned floor. A small dog tethered nearby strained against its +leash, mouth scissoring angrily, possibly fearfully. The woman +scuttled past it, a round, pale breast dragging close to the floor +like a monstrous tumour. A girl came walking out of a shop, laden +with parcels, unaware of the scene right in front of her. She +almost fell over the crawling woman and the parcels went up into +the air. The old woman scrabbled past, made it half-way along the +walkway. Just on the very edge of the screen, the flapping coat of +the girl could be seen. She stopped, turned quickly and came back +towards the camera. The old woman stopped, flopped forward with the +momentum so that her forehead smacked the floor. Even in the +silence it looked like a heavy blow. She rolled over twitched and +then was still.

+

"What do you think?" John asked. "Is this weird or what?"

+

David stood open-mouthed, next to Helen whose expression +mirrored his exactly. The girl walked quickly, but still jerkily as +if her muscles were responding to mixed up commands. She clutched +the baby in against her coat. The closer she came, the more her +face expanded on the screen.

+

"It is her. That's Ginny Marsden," Helen said. "I'm sure of +it."

+

"Who's she?" John Barclay asked.

+

"She's a girl I've been tying to find. She went missing a couple +of days ago."

+

"Well now you know why. She's a bloody baby-snatcher."

+

"Look at her face," David said.

+

Ginny Marsden's mouth was contorted in a dreadful grimace. She +now looked is if she was struggling with all her strength, pushing +forward as if pushing through a crowd, or against an invisible +barrier. Her mouth was drawn back into a rictus that showed almost +all of her lower teeth. The tendons on her neck stuck out like +wires.

+

"She looks as if she's throwing a fit," John observed.

+

The girl walked quickly past, heading out of the camera's range. +She got to the corner, turned, and as she did so, the baby's face +was just visible, turned in against her coat, clamped to her +shoulder and half hidden by the wide lapel. It was just a blur, but +David felt something turn over in the pit of his belly.

+

"Is that a baby or a stuffed toy?" John wanted to know. "It's an +ugly little bugger."

+

It was just a glimpse, an indistinct, undefined shape on the +screen, fuzzed by the distance and motion. But even then, the small +and flickering television image was peculiar enough to make them +look twice. David asked John to replay it again. They watched it +three times, but the image was still blurred and out of focus, +though the details of Ginny Marsden's features were still clear, +etched with panic and shock. David knew he'd have to take it to the +lab for scanning to see if they could get some enhancement that +would sharpen the picture.

+

"I couldn't figure any of this out," John Barclay said. "The +paramedics were right when they said she'd gone crawling off. I +heard the same thing happened when they got her to the hospital. +But I can't figure out how come she turns up here with a baby and +then it gets picked up by somebody else. I was wondering if maybe +they were working as a team? Maybe even using the pram for +shoplifting?"

+

He looked at David and Helen. "That was the first thing I +thought of, but then I had another look. I don't think they even +knew each other. The way that girl came in through the door, she +looked as if she didn't have a care in the world. By the time she +went away with the baby, she'd put on ten years. I tell you, that's +the weirdest thing I ever saw."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus14.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus14.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b6bb326 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus14.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,339 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

14

+

"This should make it easier," Donal Bulloch said. The CID chief +leaned back in his seat, tall and grey-haired and with the kind of +suntan he could only have got from the solarium at his four day +conference. Beside him Scott Cruden looked cadaverishly pale.

+

"If she's toting a baby around, she'll be easier to find. At +last it looks as if foul play is ruled out." Cruden observed.

+

"Unless kidnapping's been decriminalised," Bulloch corrected. +Then he gave a smile. "No, you're right Scott, we don't know if +this is really a snatch. They could have known each other, very +likely did. But from what we know so far, this is a very odd case. +Two odd cases. I think we'll have to get to the bottom of +them."

+

He turned to David. "Mr Hardingwell tells me you went round to +see him." It was both question and a statement. David was perfectly +straight in his reply.

+

"I thought I'd best be informed rather than go into any +situation blind."

+

"Not like Lamont, then, forgetting to call in for assistance. +That could have been dangerous. I expect better of you. Next time, +shout for back-up."

+

Helen blushed to her roots. "Sorry Sir, won't happen again."

+

The chief superintendent nodded, closing the matter. David had +shown him all the tapes, in the same sequence as he'd seen then +that morning in John Barclay's office, though this time he included +the collapse of the woman they'd thought was Thelma Quigley.

+

"I don't think they were acting together," David told the senior +officers. "From what Helen got from colleagues and the girl's +parents, she had only gone for some Christmas presents. We'll get +back to them to try to find a connection, but it doesn't seem +likely. It does give us another mystery, and of course we must find +the baby, even if it hasn't been reported missing."

+

"We've got a start on the girl anyway," Helen put in. "When we +find the one, we'll turn up the other."

+

"What about this other thing?" the chief butted in. He leaned +forward and put both hands on his desk. "You said the McDougall +woman's diaries say she had a child before? Some years back?"

+

"I'm checking that out too. There was evidence of an infant in +the house and I've sent a sample to forensics. They should come +back later today or tomorrow morning. What I'm concerned about is +the history. We know McDougall disappeared. Soon after that, she +starts talking about a baby in her diary. Pretty sketchy stuff, and +leaving a lot of gaps, but it's pretty definite. Then she brings a +baby to the mall and dies. Now this one gets taken."

+

He thought before continuing, gauging whether the moment was +right, then ploughed ahead.

+

"But I'm also concerned about the first case. The entries in the +diary start just after a baby went missing in Edinburgh. I +discovered that when I spoke to McDougall's mother. Her daughter +disappeared on the same day as a child was killed, or at least +presumed dead after an accident."

+

"I remember that," Bulloch interrupted. "In the sixties, wasn't +it? Duncryne Bridge it was. I used to take a stroll up there myself +in my younger day. A friend of mine, old Phil Cutcheon was involved +in that. He's retired now. Strange case. The lorry driver did time +for it, even though they never found a body. He'd have gone down +for the accident anyway, but it was a celebrated case of the +day."

+

"I was wondering, "David said, "and I know it's a long shot, +whether McDougall developed a habit. I mean, there's a lot of +coincidences. She went missing on that day, at the same place, as +far as I can make out. Her diaries begin to mention the child. +She's been seen by the neighbours pushing a pram, carrying a baby, +going back five years or so. Maybe more. There's something not +right here."

+

"I agree," Bulloch said. "Find the girl, and find the child. The +pair of you work on this together, but try to hurry it up, all +right? Give a bulletin to the patrols for the moment and if you +need more manpower, we'll see what we can do."

+

In the squad room, David made coffee for each of them. Helen +opened her folder and brought out the picture of Ginny Marsden. It +was clearly the girl they'd seen come into the mall and lift the +baby from the pram. The photograph showed her the way she'd been +when she came striding along, coat flapping, past the shop windows. +She was fair haired and on the cusp of a smile and bright +intelligence sparkled in her eyes.

+

"So why would she lift a baby?" David asked. Helen raised her +eyebrows and cocked her head to the side in a facial shrug.

+

"There's something creepy about the whole thing," he added and +Helen could only agree.

+

"I could see that. She had no such intention when she came in. +Then she passed the pram and everything changed. She looked as if +she'd taken ill. I thought she was about to collapse."

+

"Maybe she heard the baby crying?"

+

"Possibly, but nobody lifts a baby from a pram just because it's +crying. You take your life in your hands doing that. I'm getting +some of the shots enhanced. Surveillance have some scanner +programme that can improve the definition."

+

They got the results of the dried skin back from forensics in +the early afternoon while David was reading through the rest of the +notes that were scrawled in the old exercise books he'd found in +the dead woman's house. Every now and again he'd pause and write +something down.

+

It was no caul. It was skin, but not human. Bill Caldwell in the +lab sent down a note to say that it was an integument of some kind, +like a sloughed skin, but it was neither human nor any mammal +they'd heard of and that meant any mammal at all. He suggested +there might be a reptilian connection but could not be sure, and +because of that he could give no clue as to the age.

+

David cast his mind back to the previous day when the thing had +tumbled from the shoebox, drifting the floor, feather light and +translucent. It had crumpled as it hit the floor, as delicate as +rice-paper. He had definitely seen a head and two arms. A skinny +chest. The rent was down the back, just as he had seen in his +dream. It had been no lizard.

+

But had it really been human? He did not know the answer to +that.

+

Helen called him up to the photographic lab within the hour. +Derek Horner, a small man with thick-lensed glasses sat at a +keyboard in front of a screen. His fingers moved a trackball and he +typed in commands every second or so. On the screen, Ginny Marsden +turned round in slow, regular jerks as the scanner reeled the tape +on. A square zeroed in on her face and shoulders, like the +targeting system on a computer game. Almost instantly the picture +expanded. It was fuzzed slightly, but Derek said he could clean +that up no problem. He did. The girl's face jumped into clarity, +almost face on to the camera. It was the same as the girl in the +photograph, without any shadow of doubt. They could see the curve +of the baby's head snuggled in to her chest. It was turned in +against the fabric, almost side on to the lens.

+

"Can you enhance the kid?" David asked.

+

"That is it enhanced. I doubt we could do much better. It's a +good system here, but it won't do miracles. Forget anything you've +seen on Blade Runner. That technology's fifty years from now at the +very least. I can tickle up some definition, but it's not going to +improve much."

+

"Why is it out of focus?" David was used to cameras. He'd been +using them since he was nine years old, taking pictures of the +birds which flew into the garden and nested there. At the distance, +even allowing for movement, both faces should have been clearly +defined.

+

"Beats me," Derek told him bluntly. "Maybe an aberration in the +lens. Maybe an odd shadow from somewhere. I can lighten it up a +little." He hit a few more keys and the area around the baby's face +visibly brightened in comparison to the rest of the picture. Even +then it was still grainy and indistinct. Just a blur, but oddly +shaped.

+

"You sure that's a baby?" Derek wanted to know. On screen the +small head looked slightly elongated and the front of the face +flattened. The eyes might have been closed but they seemed large, +dark shadows on the squashed face.

+

"It's got a face only a mother could love," Derek said. Helen +laughed. "Takes one to know one."

+

Derek printed out a copy of the enhanced image, skilfully adding +what approximated to skin tone. Ginny Marsden's face was +exceptionally clear, but the baby was still just a blur.

+

"Looks as if it's melted," Helen said jokingly. "We can't use +that on a poster." She held the picture up again when they got back +to the office. "There's something wrong with this," she finally +said. "It doesn't look right. I know we couldn't see it on screen, +but I got a weird feeling when I saw it. I'm getting the same +feeling from the picture. It's really creepy."

+

David said nothing. His thoughts were occupied with other +problems. He'd been back to the notes again, collating his own +markings. While the exercise books, mostly tattered and brittle +with age, were sketchy and undated, he could work out a sequence. +Since the first mention of the baby, the sickly-sweet coo-ings of a +new mother, there had been other entries, sometimes months apart, +sometimes a whole raft of them that would continue for a month +without missing a day.

+

They all mentioned the baby. Baby Grumpling was the +term most often used. Never a first name. She would write down the +details of the day, how he needed fed, how he needed changed. And +only once, in a book that looked newer than the rest, Heather +McDougall had spoken of the poor baby's skin rash, how it needed +swabbed constantly with baby oil and then how it had peeled off +like a sunburn, leaving him all pink and healthy again.

+

Could that have been the caul? David thought. Not according to +Caldwell in the lab. That hadn't been human.

+

Yet on the same page where she'd marked a note, the woman had +written.

+

"I kept it to show him when he grows up. How sick he was. +And now he's all better again and hungrier than ever. I think he'll +drain me like a prune, God love him."

+

Ginny Marsden's feet led her west, taking her towards the bus +station close to St Enoch's hospital where Heather McDougall had +twitched and writhed as she died. It was a long walk, past the +museum and the art galleries and across the park where the steam +tumbled through the ornamental gardens. Up on the bare branches, a +crowd of crows sat hunched and sleepy, silhouetted against the pale +overhead, winter vultures waiting for the sun. They fluttered +uneasily when she was directly underneath, but she never noticed. +On the overpass, where the bridge soared over the river, the +traffic was light at this time in the morning, most of them trucks +and double-trailed rigs hitting the road before the rush. +Underneath the span she could feel the ground vibrate with their +passing.

+

Her feet hurried her on, out towards the bus station and when +she reached it she found the waiting room empty but for a slumped +drunk in a far corner. She sat patiently, huddled inside her coat, +holding her bundle tight, watching the single deckers come roaring +in to collect their early morning passengers. She had no clear idea +in her head until a bus came in and sat shuddering close to the +door of the long waiting room. Almost reluctantly she got up, +forced the door open and stood beside the bus until the driver +noticed her. He gave her a cheery grin, hit the handle and the +doors wheezed open on hydraulic hinges. She stumbled on the steps, +righted herself, paid with a ten pound note which caused a delay +while the driver rifled his own pockets for change and then went up +to the back. The bus moved out ten minutes later, heading west out +of the city towards Kirkland which was miles out into the country. +There were four other passengers, two of them workmen in dirty +donkey jackets, hats pulled down over their eyes as they caught +some extra sleep. Nobody bothered to look at her. It was still too +early.

+

Half an hour later, the bus pulled into a town she had passed +through before but had never visited. She looked out of the window, +aware of the dim reflection of her own face in the dirty glass, and +saw the sign boasting Levenford Castle and the double-humped, +elephant's back logo of the rock on which the ancient monument +stood.

+

She had no real plan, but somehow, instinctively she knew she +should get off here. The sky was still dark, but there was a small +cafe close to the bus stop where early travellers were queuing for +plastic cups of coffee. She got in line, still clutching the baby +tight. She found a corner seat. A bulky man in a heavy leather +jacket sat opposite her and lit up a cigarette. She did not look at +him, even when he tried to strike up a conversation with her.

+

Ginny felt the baby stir against her and turned away. The coffee +was bitter, but warm and she sipped it slowly while the infant +twisted, trying to get closer to her body heat. She waited in the +cafe until the sky lightened and the day began to brighten. The two +women behind the counter who had worked non-stop since she'd +arrived kept looking over at her curiously. Finally one of them +came over with two cups.

+

"You look as if you could use another, love," she said kindly, +her wrinkled face in stark contrast to her jet-black hair. She +pulled a chair and sat down opposite Ginny.

+

"New baby, is it?"

+

She nodded. The infant stirred again. It turned, squirming hard, +moving fast. The older woman reached out, pulled the lapel of the +coat back, the way women do when taking a peek at a baby.

+

For a split second, her expression simply sagged as if all the +muscles had been cut.

+

The musky scent came rising up, invisible but thick on the +stale, smoky air. The woman blinked twice, as if her eyes were +burning and itching. She shook her head just a little, as if she'd +been startled, and then the motherly expression came right back +into her lived-in face.

+

"Oh, isn't he gorgeous," she said.

+

Her friend, behind the counter, called over. "Don't you go +giving that baby your cold now, Margaret."

+

Margaret coughed, covered her mouth quickly, and gave the girl a +big, even smile, showing a wide array of false teeth. "Had this +since October. It'll be the death of me," she said, reaching +reached into her own purse to bring out a packet of cigarettes and +a cheap plastic lighter. "So will these. Mind if I smoke?"

+

The girl shook her head absently. Margaret paused, dipped into +her purse again and took out a silver coin. She handed it over to +the girl, pressing it into her palm. "Just for the baby's luck, +love. Can't let a baby be without a bit of silver."

+

"I need somewhere to stay," the girl said. Her voice was hollow +and had a slight, but definite tremble. There was something about +her eyes that spoke of trouble, but she didn't look to Margaret as +if she was trouble.

+

"Got a bit of bother honey?" she asked, her seamed face +crinkling into a mask of concern. There were dozens of people +passing through the cafe on winter mornings, office workers heading +up to the city. Boys with shaven heads coming down for the early +sitting of the court, some of them in ill-fitting suits borrowed to +make an impression, others beyond caring. You got farmers down on +the highland train and road diggers getting a hot drink inside them +before going out in all weathers to earn their bread and early +arthritis. It was unusual to see a young girl with a baby at this +time of the day. She had sat for two hours, waiting for the light, +avoiding everybody. Of course she was in bother, Margaret could see +that, and so close to Christmas too.

+

The girl said nothing. She was slender and pretty with fair hair +that looked as if it could use a brush. Her coat, though, looked +well cut and expensive, good and heavy for the weather. Her face +was pretty, but her eyes had bags under them, as if she was short +on sleep, or maybe in the middle of a heavy period. Her pinched +expression spoke eloquently of some sort of distress.

+

"Is there a place to stay?"

+

"Sure there is. There's a hostel up the top end of College +Street. You just take the first on the left and keep going until +you get to Ship Institute. You can't miss it because there's a big +boat up on the wall. The hostel's just across the road from that, +and they'll let you stay there until you get fixed up, and they'll +help you find a place."

+

Margaret pushed the other cup towards the girl, indicating that +she should drink. The top of the baby's head was just visible under +the lapel and the woman thought it was a damned shame the wee thing +didn't have a hat for this weather. Once again she thought the girl +must be in some serious bother. She smoked her cigarette while the +girl sipped and was about to light up a second when the door swung +open, trailing in a billow of cold air, and half a dozen men came +in, bricklayers and plasterers from the Castlebank Church +renovation, ruddy faced and foot-stamping as they tried to shed the +cold. Margaret went back behind the formica counter to help with +the order and soon had the eggs and bacon sizzling on the hot +plate. When she'd finished serving the workmen, she looked over to +the corner. The girl was gone, leaving her coffee-cup sitting on +the table. She hadn't even seen her move. She hoped the hostel had +a coal fire going.

+

Nina Galt, the assistant manager at the hostel showed her the +small room with its own stove. It had a bed and a square of carpet +and a surprisingly pleasant view out of the window across a +well-laid little public park where the shrubs were iced with a thin +layer of snow. There was no television and no phone. The big +armchair sagged in the middle and the stuffing in the arms looked +lumpy and old. Nina gave the girl the booklet which listed the +social services, the benefits office and anything else a homeless +youngster might need. She asked few questions, except for a name +and a previous address. As she left the room to go back downstairs +to the common area where indeed there was a big coal fire roaring +in the grate, she stopped, about to turn back and tell the girl +there were spare bottles and teats for baby feeding., but something +stopped her. She continued on her way, wondering how many more +youngsters would turn up in the next few days. For some reason, +there were always more of them at this time of the year and it made +her think of Victorian fathers throwing their errant daughters on +to the street and telling them never to darken the doorstep again. +It was a damned shame, but there was nothing she could do about it. +All she could do was get them settled in and give them a roof for +as long as they needed.

+

The next day the girl was gone.

+

But at night, unknown to anybody, she had gone through the agony +again.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus15.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus15.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d908a52 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus15.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,550 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

15

+

"I found him," the ancient woman said. "And he was +mine."

+

Her name was Greta Simon and she sat in the wheelchair in the +corner of the room, out of the light. Her hair was grey and thin +she had a shallow indentation, as wide as a tennis ball and maybe +half an inch deep, on the side of her temple. It gave her face an +asymmetric, somehow slumped appearance. Her left eye, on the same +side of the dent, was turned inwards in a violent strabismic squint +which made her look both cunning and imbecilic all at the same +time.

+

She grinned widely, showing three teeth on the left side. The +gaps gave her an odd, slavering hiss of speech as if she wore ill +fitting dentures. Her hands hugged herself constantly as if making +sure she was truly there.

+

"I loved him and I looked after him all the time," she said. +David had to bend forward to hear. "Little Tim. Little Tiny +Tim. He was mine you know. I had him and I fed him. All the +time. He never stopped eating. Brought me out in bruises, he did, +but I never minded that."

+

She looked up at David Harper, though with her improbable +squint, he couldn't be sure exactly what she was looking at. He +kept a fix on her right eye to be certain. It looked the most +likely.

+

This was Greta Simon who had almost been killed by the lorry +that day on Duncryne Bridge, the day Heather McDougall had decided +to go up the valley to join her dead friend. She was old and frail +and wandered, yet there was a strange life in her good eye, a +peculiar, almost mischievous and somehow sly intelligence inside +that deformed head.

+

"You can go and see her," Phil Cutcheon had told him. "I spoke +to her once or twice after the case and she's wandered all right, +but there's more to her than you'd think."

+

The former detective had poured neat cups of strong coffee in +the heated conservatory that let in the weak winter sunshine which +together with the greenery and the winter flowering blooms, made it +feel like a warm day in spring.

+

"Still miss the job," he said. "Miss the cut and thrust. You get +used to it and when you stop, it's as if you've had the feet cut +from under you. Mark my words, you've a long way to go, but make +sure you've got things to do by the time you're ready to take the +pension. I've got my garden and the bowling club, but I miss the +thinking, the real concentration."

+

He sat back and looked straight at David, much as Greta Simon +would do later, though Cutcheon had the direct look that all +policemen seem to develop. The power look.

+

"You've got yourself a mystery, same as I had. And there was an +old beat man back in the forties who had the same thing. It's got +me beat and it'll have you beat too, but there's no harm in you +ploughing the same furrow. If you turned up something, I'd be glad +of it. I always thought that driver should never have gone to jail. +Not in a million years. But he had a cretin for a lawyer and there +was nothing I could do but report the facts. From the looks of +things, he was going too fast, from the skid marks anyway, but I +would have said it was a borderline case. As far as the baby was +concerned, we spent a lot of man hours looking for it and never +turned up anything at all. What got me was that he was wrapped in a +shawl when he went over the bridge and that never showed up +neither. You'd have thought it would have got snagged in the bushes +or the brambles down on the side of the valley. Take a walk up +there and have a look, it hasn't changed in all those years."

+

"I already did," David said. The coffee was strong and thick and +he could feel his pulse speed up almost instantly. "It's pretty +steep."

+

"Yes. Right down to the Witches Pots. I used to play there as a +boy, you know. Good place to swim, but damned cold, even in the +summer. If the baby had fallen in there, it would have drowned and +died of cold pretty quickly. But I always had my doubts, because +even as a boy I knew that anything that landed in the pool tended +to stay there, even when the river was in spate. Devanney, the +driver, he was no use. He said the woman came running out into the +middle of the road. There might have been somebody else there at +the time, but he couldn't be sure and anyway he was in such a state +of shock that we couldn't get a word out of him for hours. He +worked for Carnwath Hauliers and there was a lot of bad feeling at +the time. They were a cowboy outfit and they pushed their drivers +too hard. There had been a couple of accidents before this and that +was why it was easy to get a conviction, but as I said, it was a +borderline case and to tell you the truth, the road up there's +quiet enough for anybody to hear a truck coming a mile off. It was +as much her fault, in my opinion, as his."

+

"So what do you think happened?"

+

"Christ alone knows. I was never completely sure there was a +baby on the bridge, though Greta Simon did have a kid at some +stage, at least to look after. There were enough witnesses +testifying to that, but nobody knew whose baby it was. She +was in a coma for weeks and once she came out of it she was as mad +as a hatter. She'll still tell you she had a baby boy and half of +the time she still thinks she's got one. But it's a mystery all +right and it's not one of my clearest memories of my time on the +force. Devanney should never have gone to jail on the basis of the +evidence. That baby was never found, and there was no clear proof +that it was there, despite the wreck of the pram on the road at the +bridge. Greta was a bit crazy before the accident anyway. The court +decided there must have been a baby and it must have died and that +was that. We searched her place from top to bottom and found plenty +of new kiddies clothes and toys, and a cot that had never been +used. To me that wasn't conclusive, but I had to go ahead and make +my report

+

"That's what we found at Heather McDougall's place."

+

"And it stank to high heaven too, as if she'd been keeping cats +or some kind of animal. There was a smell that would have burned +your eyes out."

+

"Snap."

+

"We didn't hear about McDougall until the following day, if my +memory serves me. To tell you the truth, I never linked the two +cases, for there was never any pointers to show she'd gone up to +Duncryne. I think maybe it's a coincidence."

+

"There's plenty of them, that's for sure. That's why I came to +have a chat. Mr Bulloch sends his regards by the way. He says you +and he worked together."

+

"More years ago than I care to remember. He's done well for +himself, young Bulloch. Got some distance to go too, I believe." +The big ex-policeman sat back with his coffee, looking over the cup +at David, his grey and grizzled eyebrows drawn down. He was tall, +but broad enough to disguise his height. He must have been a +formidable policeman in his day, David thought. The blue eyes were +still clear and bright. They measured everything.

+

"Anyway, what you tell he has got me interested again, though I +promised Maisie, that's my wife, that I wouldn't open any more +cases. After I left, there were still one or two loose ends to tie +up, but after a while you just sit back and let other people get on +with it. That's what they're paid for, and the last thing they want +is an old has-been breathing down their necks."

+

He grinned widely. "But you do need something to keep the brain +cells alive, so any help you need, I'm your man."

+

"It's the coincidences that puzzle me," David said. "From what I +understand, we've got two missing babies, yet nobody knows where +they came from. If the McDougall women's diaries are accurate, +there's probably more than two. Maybe as many as four, because the +diaries span a long time. I can't tell you if these kids were +begged borrowed or stolen, but I do know that Heather McDougall +never gave birth.

+

"And neither did Greta Simon. When you go down to Blairdyke +Hospital they'll tell you that. She'd never had a child of her own, +so she was looking after one for somebody else or she'd done some +sort of fostering deal that nobody knew about. That used to happen +now and again. I went through all the records at the time to find +out if maybe a child had been reported missing but even then that +would have been big news. You have to remember, the pressure was on +me at the time to clear up the Quigley murder. Back then, a murder +took precedence over an accident, no matter how serious, and I was +pretty thinly stretched at the time and so were my team. The +Quigley case was a mess from start to finish. No matter though, we +did our best to find the baby, but nothing turned up."

+

"And you think there was no baby?"

+

"Oh, there was a baby at some stage. Nobody knew whether it was +a boy or a girl. Later on Greta said it was a boy, but by that time +she was howling at the moon. There was a baby, but I am not +convinced it went over the parapet and down the ravine. We would +have found something. People said they saw somebody else on the +bridge. We never got an identity, but there could have been +somebody with Greta Simon. Who knows?"

+

"Somebody said maybe a fox had taken it. That or a dog."

+

"We had tracker dogs all over there. They'd have picked up +something, but there was nothing. All we could do was make a report +and the prosecution decided to take it all the way. It was a +railroad job, but I'm a policeman, or I used to be. I don't make +the rules. There was nothing I could do."

+

He sat back and steepled his thick fingers together. "I spent a +lot of time thinking about this later, and I can see you'll be +doing the same. What I came up with was something I couldn't +fathom. It's always been at the back of my mind, but I never really +took it further. I think maybe I made a mistake, from what you've +told me. I might owe somebody a posthumous apology. Later on, if +you want, I can get you more information, but I have to tell you, +it's a case of history repeating itself, and that's something I +don't like to see."

+

"I'm not with you," David admitted.

+

"From what you've told me, you've an almost identical case and +it's come too close to this old one. Heather McDougall came from +here and she disappeared at the same time as the baby. Now there +may be a gap of thirty years or so, but it's too weird. You didn't +know that Greta Simon herself disappeared as well, way back in the +forties, did you?"

+

David shook his head.

+

"Well, it's true. She came from somewhere across the other side +of the country. Kirkland, Levenford, around that neck of the woods. +Back then, during the war, there was a lot of movement, and there +was plenty of bombing down there on Clydeside, so people went +missing all the time. It wasn't until we really looked into the +case that we found her name on the files and in her bag she still +had her old wartime identity card. Until then, nobody really knew +who she was or where she was from. Now you've got the same thing. +Greta Simon, Heather McDougall, and now your Marsden girl. It's a +hell of a set of coincidences, isn't it?"

+

"What do you mean?"

+

"I'm not the first to come up with the notion that it was all +too pat. I heard something like this before, a long time ago, +before your time. Before Donal Bulloch's time in fact, but I never +gave it any credence before. Now I wonder if I was wrong. Maybe +there's some sort of virus that makes women steal children."

+

"I'm still not with you."

+

"No. I didn't think you would be," Phil Cutcheon said, sitting +back in his seat and running a hand through his grizzled hair. +"Tell you what. You go down to Blairdyke Hospital. Mike Fitzgibbon, +he's the senior man there, I'll give him a call and he'll let you +talk to Greta Simon. You can see for yourself what she'd like. Once +you've done that, come back to me and I'll see what I can do. +You've whetted my appetite and there's bugger-all to be done in the +greenhouse at this time of the year."

+

Dr Fitzgibbon was tall and spare, with receding ginger-coloured +hair cut very short and wearing octagonal glasses which gave him a +hard and heartless look, but he'd a wide and friendly smile which +transformed the initial impression. He had narrow shoulders from +which a while coat drooped. It flapped behind him as he walked down +the straight corridor which was painted in that shade of green they +save for public institutions as if it's a legal requirement to be +as dismal and depressing as possible.

+

"Old Phil Cutcheon called me," he said. "It's a shame he's not +still on the force. He knows more psychology than some of the +dough-heads and wide boys here. He can spot a faker a mile off. +Don't ever tell him a lie or he'll have your guts."

+

David promised he wouldn't. Mike Fitzgibbon insisted on using +first names and led David to a small, neat office with views over a +regimented garden.

+

"Greta Simon. One of our enduring mysteries is old Greta. I've +been here for fifteen years and I still haven't a clue, but you're +welcome to talk to her. She can be friendly when she chooses, and +then again, she sometimes doesn't say a word for weeks. It depends +on the moon or whether it's raining, or if she heard a blackbird +after dinner. I know her case bugged the hell out of Superintendent +Cutcheon and I can quite understand that."

+

He crossed to the wall and opened the second drawer of a grey +filing cabinet and brought out a thick folder. "These are just the +basics. There's a bundle of case notes going way back, but there's +no harm in giving you the brief history."

+

Mike opened the file and took out a sheaf of official looking +papers. To David they looked very much like police report +forms.

+

"Greta Simon. Presented July 27 1967 at Blane Hospital, aged +approximately sixty. Suffering multiple fractures and a massive +depressed fracture of the skull following a road accident. That +much you know already."

+

"Badly injured?"

+

"Appalling. She'd got twenty pins in her legs. Pelvis was +compacted and both knee-joints shattered. The surgeons considered +amputation, but because of the head injury they thought she might +not survive. It was a miracle that she did." The doctor went down +the list. "The coma lasted approximately five weeks after which she +needed intensive therapy. The damage was to the left side of the +head, affecting the temporal lobe. She suffered paralysis of the +right side, facial distortion and speech dysfunction which is quite +common in injuries of this nature as well as in stroke and +haemorrhage victims."

+

Mike looked up. "Those were the injuries. She didn't talk for +six months, maybe seven. But there were other interesting aspects +to the case. We had her aged approximately sixty. To all outward +appearance, from bone structure and composition, she was that age. +It turned out she was nearer fifty, but that's by the way. What did +surprise the team at Blane was the fact that she was still +lactating."

+

"Lactating?" David asked. The word made him sit up straight in +his seat.

+

"Yes. Producing milk."

+

"Yeah, I know. I was just surprised." In fact he could hardly +believe what the doctor had said. It was another coincidence. A +huge coincidence. Another one was about to fall his way.

+

"And menstruating." Mike Fitzgibbon said, reading from the +notes. "Very unusual. Dr Tvedt made particular reference to both. +He'd have loved to have done a post mortem, I can tell from his +notes. Just a shame she didn't die." Mike gave a grin, wide and +natural. "He was an old bugger. Horrible swine of a man. Somebody +did a post mortem on him last year. Liver failure. Too much arm +bending. He liked his brandy."

+

The young doctor went back to the notes. "Anyway, she wasn't +expected to live, not with her injuries. The worst of all was the +skull damage and naturally there was collateral brain injury. She +had three clots under the surface of the cerebrum, one of them +quite massive. That's what caused the speech dysfunction of course +and the lateral paralysis. The neuro team managed to partially +raise the depressed fracture to remove some of the pressure on the +meninges, that's the membrane covering the brain."

+

David nodded. He'd read enough post mortem reports, or listened +to them in murder trials, to have a fair working knowledge of the +terminology.

+

"And on the brain itself. What was remarkable was that the clots +dissipated very quickly, without the use of anti-coagulant. +Normally we'd try to break up a major blockage and hope it +dissolved before further damage is caused to the blood supply. +Nobody was sure of what caused that spontaneous dissolution, but +Tvedt was convinced it had something to do with the presence of +unusual antibodies in her blood.

+

David raised his head. "What was unusual?"

+

Mike quickly scanned through the notes, though it was obvious +he'd read them a dozen times or more. "There was quite a range. +They couldn't make out whether they were defences against bacteria +or virus, and remember this was back in the sixties. Things have +moved on since then. It seemed that she'd been exposed to some +infection, some invasion before the accident and her body had +either produced antibodies, or these large protein structures had +been introduced from the outside."

+

"So what were they?"

+

Mike shrugged. "Nobody knows."

+

"Haven't they been checked recently? You said things have moved +on since then."

+

"Sure they have. We're mapping the human genome and we've +techniques to identify specific antibodies, even down to their +protein coats. But that was then and this is now. About six months +after she arrived in Blane, there was no sign of them at all. Tvedt +had thought there was a never-ending supply in Greta's bloodstream, +but he was wrong. Oh, he should have kept samples, but he didn't +and there was no way his people could induce her to produce the +antibodies."

+

"What made them disappear?"

+

"Who knows. Some believe that we've got every antibody to every +disease since life crawled out of the swamp, a sort of biological +array of defences that are triggered into production to counter +every threat. What really kills us is the emergence of new +varieties and there's new ones coming along all the time. More and +more since man in his wisdom is getting down to serious genetics. +Anyway, Greta, it would seem, had produced these complex molecules +as a defence, or as an inhibitor. When the threat was gone, her +body simply turned off the supply. It's unusual for the human +immune system to leave no trace once the defences are switched off, +but not impossible. Tvedt just couldn't recreate the conditions +because he didn't know what had switched them on in the first +place."

+

Mike closed the file. "After about five weeks, she woke, which +came as a surprise to everybody, and her injuries started to mend. +They did a radio-opaque scan of her brain and found the clotting +gone, though there was still scarring at the source of impact. Her +speech aphasia was apparent for a year or more, though she hardly +talked at all. She had motor dysfunction and severe pedal handicap +because of the muscle and bone injury to the pelvic area. Apart +from that there was nothing much wrong with her except...."

+

David nodded him on.

+

"Except the brain damage was not merely confined to motor and +speech function. It left her permanently disabled, and that's why +she's here at Blairdyke. She's been variously diagnosed, but in a +nutshell, he's got the mental age of a girl of seven. That's just +one aspect of the brain injury.

+

"From time to time she exhibits varying symptoms of catalepsy, +grand and petit mal."

+

"She throws fits?"

+

"As you say. She throws fits." Mike smiled, but not +condescendingly. "While there is no clinical evidence, either +chemical or hormonal, she displays evidence of schizophrenia, which +could be attributed to new synapse pathways forming but not +connecting properly. She talks to herself. She believes she is +possessed. She occasionally believes she has a baby."

+

David sat back. Coincidence was piling upon coincidence.

+

"Does anybody know whether she ever had a baby?"

+

"I'm no pathologist. I'm a psychologist. But no, she never did. +Her clinical notes show that she presented with adhesions on both +fallopian tubes. One of these turned out to be a tumour which was +removed in the early seventies. Initially her ovaries were grossly +distended and fully functional. In fact they were unnaturally +active, even for a woman half her age. They were producing vast +amounts of hormone when she was first admitted and there was some +suspicion that this had been caused by damage to the pituitary +gland, though there was never any proof. What I'm saying is that +she was hormonally fertile, but physically sterile."

+

"Was she a virgin?"

+

"No. But she never had a baby, not one of her own. Shortly after +admission, at least within the first six months, the overpoduction +of progesterone and oestrogen slowed and then failed completely. +She entered menopause almost overnight. That possibly didn't help +her mental condition, but again, that was before my time. I was +still in school."

+

"Me to," David said.

+

"So what's your interest in our Greta?"

+

"I don't know," David said honestly. "I'm following a list of +coincidences that have me beat, There was a similar case to hers in +my neck of the woods, somebody who would have interested you, but +she died."

+

"Phil Cutcheon said you might want to speak to her?"

+

"Yes. I would," David said. "I don't know what I'm looking for, +I have to admit, but I'd like to check everything out."

+

"You'd make a good doctor," Mike Fitzgibbon said. He stood up +and opened the door. They went back down the dismal green corridor +which echoed like a cave, amplifying their footsteps and making +them reverberate in a shadowy back-beat. At the far end, a narrow +stairway led down to a lower level where, oddly, the corridor was +brighter and the windows let on to a small, neatly tended garden +where winter roses sparkled under a sugaring of frost.

+

Half way along, Mike opened a white door. He went in first, and +beckoned to David to come through. Inside, the spartan room was +clean and shaded. A pull-down blind came almost to the sill. For a +moment David's eyes were unaccustomed to the shade but there was +enough light coming in through the open door for him to see a tiny, +emaciated woman sitting in a wheelchair, hugging herself tight. She +shivered in a palsied tremor, the kind of motion he'd seen on +Heather McDougall's old and ruined father. The eyes at first were +just as vacant, focused into the far distance or into the far +past.

+

This old woman had lost her mind on the same day that old Callum +McDougall had lost a daughter. There was a strange symmetry in +that, an uncanny similarity.

+

"Hello Greta," Mike said brightly, walking towards the window. +He raised the blind, not fully, but enough to let light in so they +could both see without straining. A shaft of brightness caught the +old woman's eye and David saw a gleam that could have been anger or +mischief or complete insanity. She turned her head, still shivering +slightly, away from the glare. Her hair was faded and sparse, +showing a pale, mottled scalp. The light cast a shadow that focused +attention on the shocking depression in the side of her head and +cast a glint in the eye that was violently turned inward.

+

She lifted her head. In the silence of that moment, David heard +the creak of bone against ligament.

+

"Shhh," the woman said, fixing that one eye on the doctor while +the other one glared madly at the wall on the other side. "You'll +wake him."

+

"Wake who Greta?" Mike Fitzgibbon asked, turning towards David, +one eyebrow raised.

+

"You'll wake the baby, Doctor. You know he needs all his sleep, +poor wee thing. You'll waken him up again and then we'll never get +any sleep."

+

"What's your baby called, Greta?"

+

"Tim. You know that. He's Tiny Tim." She leaned forward and then +pushed back, rocking slowly. Her wizened, slumped head seemed to +waver and twist in the half-light. It gave her a gnome-like cast, +as if her face was trying to change into something else. Despite +her frailty, it gave David an eerie shiver.

+

"I found him you know." She leaned back and the chair quivered. +"Before. I found him. He wanted me, you know. He cried to me and I +saved him. He needed me and I needed him."

+

The old woman jerked in a sudden start, blinking rapidly, three +times in succession. She turned round, her good eye wide, +bewildered, scanning the room. Mike looked at David again.

+

"This is what to expect. The alterations between her states are +inexplicable and very rapid."

+

"Where is this place?"

+

"You're in the hospital Greta. You know that. And this is David +who's come to see you."

+

The old fluttery hands rubbed up and down against skinny arms, +sliding scratchily over shoulders that were fleshless and bony.

+

"David," she said, voice tremulous and weak. "David. Can you +find him? I lost him and I can't find him." Greta Simon's mouth was +twisted to the side and the words were floppy and unfinished. "She +took him. She took my baby and I can't find him any more and he +needs me."

+

"Who was that?" Mike asked.

+

"She did. She came and took him. I saw her." She stiffened and +twisted her head, making a circling motion that made her look even +more imbecilic. For a moment there was a silence in the room and +then the old woman began to hum softly. It was almost inaudible at +first, like a vocal shudder, low and quavering. Then it came +louder, not quite in time, but not far out. Hmm-hmm. Hum Hum. Dee +da. Dee da...

+

"I left my baby lying here," the words were wet and +almost drooling, but comprehensible enough. "I left my baby +lying here and went to gather blueberries." David recognised +the song. His own grandmother had sung it to him when he was a +child. The melody had stayed in his head, buried under his +experience, under the games and the growing. He hadn't heard the +tune for twenty years or more. As soon as he recognised it, an +image of his own mother's face came back to him somehow, not as she +was now, robust and motherly, but young and red-haired, the way she +must have been when he was too young to notice her own youth.

+

The plaintive unmelodic tune shivered out between those few +stumps of teeth. "I left my baby lying here."

+

David recalled the words of the old song. The baby was taken by +fairies. They stole babies in the old Gaelic myth. The woman +stopped rocking. She stopped singing.

+

"I left him for a moment. Just a moment on the bridge. I left +him and she came and took him."

+

"Who was that?" David asked. Mike Fitzgibbon leaned against the +table, his chin cupped in his hands.

+

"She did. It made her. I turned round to look at the +water and she came and took him out of the pram. I tried to stop +her. I knew what she was doing and I had to get him back."

+

"And what happened then?"

+

The old woman's good eye went still, seemed to fog over. Her +brow lifted in an expression of bafflement. Her head twisted to the +side, as if listening for something, but the bewildered gaze +remained.

+

"She's got no recollection of the accident," the doctor said. +"That's normal of course. Most of her short term memory is gone +anyway. Ten minutes from now, she won't remember who you are. Or +me."

+

Greta Simon's palsied, slumped face turned down again very +slowly and the eye fixed on David again. The fog seemed to clear +from her eye, as if intelligence of a sort had fled and then +returned.

+

"Where did the baby come from," David tried a different +thrust.

+

"He's mine," she hissed. The life came back into her, though +there was an eerie mischief in the glint of the eye. The twisted +pupil caught a shard off light and glittered grotesquely. "He's +mine, Tiny Tim, Little tiny Tim. That's his name, you +know. He's so small and perfect and he loves me."

+

"Your baby?"

+

"He loves me and I feed him." The hands were fluttering back on +her thin, fleshless shoulders again, hugging herself tight, as if +she held something close to body. David could imagine a mother +clutching a child.

+

"I found him," she said. "He called to me and I took him. Long +ago it was." The glitter shone in her eye and her mouth widened to +a grin. "He called to me and I took him, for he needed me. It was +in the trees, beside the water. I saw her fall down and he called +to me. You couldn't refuse a baby, could you? No. Not at all."

+

"Saw who?" David asked, but she was somewhere else.

+

She hugged herself tighter. "You don't know, do you? Nobody +knew. But I could look after him and Tim wanted me. He said +take me. So I took him and he's mine."

+

"Who did you take him from?"

+

"The lady died. She fell down and she died. She made a noise +when she hit. It was by the water, where we were picking the +flowers for the wine. I couldn't help her, though I tried, you +know." The voice became tremulous here. "She fell down and the baby +called to me and he needed a mother. I look after him and I feed +him. He's so hungry all the time. He could suck you to death, but +he needs me."

+

"And when did this happen, when you found the baby?"

+

The old woman squinted at David.

+

"You can't have him. He's my baby. She can't have him neither. +Bitch. Wants to steal my Timmy. Wants to take him away and mother +him. That's what she wants. But she can't." Her voice started to +rise.

+

"Nobody wants to take him away," David said soothingly. What he +was hearing was bizarre. He'd hoped for something more from the old +woman since Phil Cutcheon had told him she was still alive. He'd +only been following his instincts, at least his curiosity. But +Greta Simon was simply wandered. The dent in her skull showed up in +the slanted light like a crater on the moon.

+

Again on instinct, David asked one last question.

+

"How old are you Greta?"

+

"I'm twenty six."

+

David looked at Mike Fitzgibbon. The doctor gave an almost +imperceptible nod.

+

"And what year is it?"

+

"It's Forty one. Middle of May. Don't you know there's a war on, +silly?"

+

She grinned again and for an instant her face took on a sly +expression. The twisted eye gleamed. She bent her head and began to +hum a tune again, very faintly. She curled her hands and shifted +her arms, as if once again she really was cradling a baby.

+

"Oh, not so hard Timmy. You'll empty me right out, so you +will."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus16.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus16.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e4e3f8 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus16.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,556 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

16

+

The baby was sucking hard, making small, quite feral grunting +sounds. Its fingers were clenched into her skin, gripping hard, +causing pain. There was more pain on her breast where it rasped the +already abraded skin and she squirmed against it.

+

Ginny Marsden had gone out into the cold in the early afternoon +and spent a few pounds in a charity shop which had baby clothes of +all sizes. The assistant watched as she chose a hat and a tiny +jumper and an all-in-one little jump suit, each of them in +different colours, as if she didn't care how the baby looked. There +was an old fashioned crocheted shawl which she bought. Up at the +back of the shop there was a selection of used baby-walkers and +buggies. Ginny hesitated for only a moment and chose an old blue +pram with high sides and a hood with a plastic weather shield which +could be raised and clipped to it. She paid the money and while the +assistant was putting it in the till, she turned, put the baby in +the pram, jammed the new clothes under the storm-cover and was on +her way out. The pram's left wheel squeaked.

+

Back at the small room, she wrapped the baby in the shawl, +tucking its thin arms tight, almost unaware of what she was doing. +She moved slowly, hesitantly, as if she was recovering from flu, or +just drained of energy. She was desperately tired and her vision +kept blurring at the edges, as if she was travelling backwards down +a tunnel. Finally she wrapped the small form snugly into the shawl +and went to lie on the bed. Her blouse was open to the waist, to +allow its small, snub face to press against the heat of her skin. +Her skirt was rucked up at the back. All she had taken off were her +coat and shoes. She lay down on the cold sheets, holding the baby +tight against her while the bed warmed up. Within a few moments, +the utter exhaustion overwhelmed her. Her last, vaguely conscious +thought was that she must have had a pair of tights on. She +couldn't remember where they were.

+

The darkness enveloped her as soon as her eyes were closed +against the silver line of moonlight that came through the gap in +the curtains and in a matter of moments she was sound asleep. As +soon as she slept, she tumbled into the black well of a +nightmare.

+

She woke up cold and hungry, stiff and sore with the baby +tugging at her nipple, draining her. The dreams had been so +malignant, so terrifying that it was a wonder that she had slept at +all.

+

All through the dark, visions and images had beset her. She had +dreamed she was being eaten alive by maggots which writhed and +pulsed under her skin. She had been unable to move, powerless to +act. She could feel her flesh tear and fragment, she could hear the +grinding, sucking noises they made when they fed upon her and she +realised, in the depths of the nightmare, that she would die.

+

All through the dark hours, the visions haunted her and she +shrieked in pain and fear and anguish, one moment fleeing in terror +from the grey and warted scuttling thing that pursued her and then +in that strange and incomprehensible rationality of dreamscapes, +the horror altered and again she was pinioned in the grip of a +spider the size of a spaniel dog, trapped in its web while it sank +its fangs down into the skin of her chest to fill her with a poison +that would dissolve her in rivers of pain before it sucked her dry +and left a wrinkled, crumpled husk.

+

She awoke with this image right in the forefront of her mind and +she almost screamed aloud.

+

The baby snuffled again and a shudder rippled through her, an +initial quiver of fear and loathing and repugnance every bit as +powerful as the dream terror of the night. It grunted and the air +filled with its scent and the dread was squeezed and squashed down +by the weight of the other emotion.

+

She had been in the act of turning and the grey dome of the +thing's head had just been visible in the edge of peripheral +vision, blurred and out of focus down below her chin. In the blink +of an eye, it resolved, the lines wavered and rippled confusingly +then positively defined themselves. The pink fuzzy curve of the +baby's forehead leapt into clarity. It turned, still suckling on +her and fixed her with a wide blue eye.

+

Something, a sense of contact, brushed across her mind with the +texture of slub silk, of cold, foetid damp. The panic was squashed +flat and the surge of the deep imperative to care for this baby +swamped her.

+

Yet once again, deep inside her own mind, that part of her that +was unaffected by the monstrous compulsion was bawling insanely in +fear and anguish and absolute terror at the imprisonment of her +very self and the subjection to the will of this loathsome +parasite.

+

Ginny Marsden tried to move and for a moment found that +impossible. Her limbs merely twitched, stiff and cramped from the +cold of the night and somehow drained of energy. She tried again, +succeeded in lifting one hand, one arm, though it felt as if it was +made of lead, pulled down by a monstrous gravity. Her skin was numb +and underneath it her flesh tingled in pins and needles which +instantly recalled the appalling images of the maggots writhing and +chewing underneath. She shuddered again, swallowing down on thick +and hot bile that threatened to surge up acidly from the back of +her throat. Her shoulder creaked, sending a seismic jerk though +her, while a hot and grinding pain flared there in her joint. She +stopped moving instantly, waiting until the pain died away. It took +a moment for it to fade down to a hot glow.

+

Down on her breast the baby was feeding greedily. She felt her +skin drawn down into its mouth and sucked and hauled painfully. Her +right breast was still rounded and engorged, tender with internal +pressure. Soon the baby - the monster, that crushed-down part +of her mind protested - soon it would move and fasten onto the +other one and drink its fill. It was getting stronger all the time. +Its fingers shifted their grip on the soft skin covering her ribs, +pin-points of pressure and hurt. She was powerless to resist for +now.

+

A sigh, a moan of utter weariness escaped her and she tried to +move again. Her shoulder yelled its protest but she persevered. +Down in her belly, the cramps had started, pangs of hunger that +told her she had to eat. Using her left arm to lever herself up +from the swirl of blankets on the hard little bed, she gained a +sitting position, with great difficulty. All of her strength had +gone, it seemed. She felt as if she'd suffered a bad bout of flu +and needed weeks to recover her energy. Apart from her shoulder, +her joints ached fiercely. When she swung her legs off the bed, her +knees and hips groaned almost aloud. She could feel the edges of +bone snarl and grind against each other as if the contacts were all +pitted and ragged.

+

"I'm dying."

+

The thought came unbidden, but it landed with a deadly thud.

+

She understood the finality of it. Five days ago she had been +strong and as carefree as a girl can be at the age of twenty two. +She'd been fit and healthy and she'd been happy, content to stay at +home for Christmas, rather than jaunt to a hot island in the +sun.

+

Now she felt sick and used and rotting from the inside. Her +whole body ached and her mind reeled. Down on her chest, the baby +suckled lustily while she felt as if all the life, all the goodness +and the strength were drawn out of her. The hunger pangs twisted +again and she made it to the other side of the room, gaining her +feet with difficulty, walking slowly, like an old, sick woman. Over +in the corner, there was a kind of work surface beside the old +cooker where she'd lung the purchases of the previous afternoon. +She sat slowly down on the hard chair, listening to the creak of +muscle and bone, and opened the package of meat she'd bought with +Celia's money. She twisted slightly to enable her to use both hands +on the plastic wrapping, and freed the raw slices of dark +liver.

+

Without any hesitation she leaned forward and bit into it. The +meat was soft and spongy, though the surface membrane felt like +rubber before her teeth broke through. An instant taste of cold +metal flooded her mouth and her gorge reacted instinctively, +bucking against the slithery texture and the appalling taste. The +strength of the repugnance against eating raw liver was intense +enough to make her quiver.

+

Yet more intense was the sudden need to eat it, to swallow it +quickly. Her hands forced the meat between her teeth and she +gobbled quickly. It had the texture of wet and rotting mushrooms in +a cold October, and her mouth was clogged with the iron taste of +cold blood. It trickled at the back of her throat and slid down. +She gagged, swallowed, gagged less, swallowed more. She guzzled the +stuff, lobe by lobe, chewing as quickly as she was able, snorting +and grunting in the sudden overwhelming need to get the rich meat +inside herself. Her hands were sticky and red, but she hardly +noticed that. The pound of meat disappeared in minutes and the +empty feeling in the pit of her stomach reversed itself to a sudden +straining pressure as the heavy liver sat there , so close to her +own. A wave of dizziness rippled through her as her body tried to +compensate for the sudden distress of distension, but already she +was reaching a bloodied hand to the packet of eggs on the surface +next to the empty liver pack.

+

She flipped the top, ignoring the sticky mess on her hands. The +six eggs nestled in the papier-mâché hollows. Without +hesitation she lifted one. It slipped from her fingers, almost +toppling from the box, but she grabbed it again and once more, in a +completely natural motion, she brought it to her mouth.

+

Revulsion lurched and her whole being shied away from the +thought of what she was doing. Yet she still opened her mouth and +thrust the egg inside, unable to resist the compulsion. Her teeth +came down on the shell and bit through. The yolk burst, raw and +slick and slid over her tongue and down her throat along with the +ropy trail of albumen. The glutinous, flowery taste filled her, but +she continued biting down on the shell. It crackled then crunched +like grit. She chomped hard, grinding the eggshell into smaller +pieces. They mixed with the remains of the egg yolk and she +swallowed them all. The shards of shell scraped against her throat, +but she ignored the rasp of their passage. Already she was reaching +for the next one.

+

A few minutes later, gasping for breath and her belly distended +so tightly it caused a pain to rival the ache in her joints, she +finished the six eggs. She waited for a while before she opened the +carton of full-cream milk and drank it as greedily as the baby +drank her own. The sharp edges of the shells had cut her gums and +the warm taste of her own blood mingled with the milk.

+

Ginny Marsden was no longer hungry, but a compulsion to eat more +drove her on. She stood up slowly, feeling the pressure of the +added weight of the meal she had consumed, and ran some water from +the tap. She held both hands under the cold flow, watching the +water turn pink from the residue of the liver on her fingers. Small +pieces of the meat, red as jelly and with a similar texture, +dropped into the metal sink and swirled down the drainhole. She +dried her hands on a dishtowel that bore a mitre-shaped burn from a +careless iron, alternately freeing one hand from its grip on the +baby's back. As soon as she was dry, it drew away from her nipple. +Ginny looked down and saw the teat, raw and abraded, still standing +proud of her breast. The baby snuggled closer against her skin and +closed its eyes. She heard its snuffling breath, the contented +breathing of a well-fed child. Her breast seemed still full and +inflated, but where it swelled just below the curve of her neck and +close to her armpit, she could make out the fine tracery of small +wrinkles.

+

Her tangled mind tried to fix on the filigree lacework where the +elasticity seemed to have leeched out of her own skin, but it was +difficult to force her mind to make the effort. Even as she looked +down, she experienced a powerful craving to chew on chalk or iron +rust and overlying that was the urgent compulsion to hold the baby +close to get and protect it from the cold.

+

She turned away from the sink where the tap was still dripping +an echoing metronome of beats and passed the mirror on the wall. +She saw the thing pressed against her. In that fraction of a +second, she saw a grey and ridged thing, arms and legs splayed out +like a frog, wrapping themselves to clutch onto her skin. Its head +was elongated as was its narrow, slat-ribbed back, and the limbs +were long and thin and sinuous. It twisted in her arms, sensing her +distress. The image in the mirror wavered and blurred again, even +as her eyes sparked with tears of anguish and fear, and in that +split second it was a baby once more and the overwhelming need to +mother the thing came rushing so powerfully that it made her feel +she might faint.

+

Yet in the far depths of her mind she knew who she was and knew +it for what it was and she screamed and screamed and screamed in +silent terror. She could still make no sound.

+

Ginny slowly passed the reflection of the pink baby snuggled in +against her. Her blouse, now five days unwashed and grey at the +collar, was opened right down the front and her breasts protruded, +ballooning out, from the gap. They were thick and rubbery, dotted +with the patchwork of haematoma bruising, like purple explosions, +where it had sucked hard enough to draw a trace of blood through +her pores. The breasts themselves were rounded and turgid, heavy +and slightly drooping, twice the pert size they had been only days +ago, before the baby had started to change her.

+

She raised her eyes to her own face and almost reeled back in +dull shock. Her blonde hair was streaked with grey in close to the +roots and the wrinkles on the skin of her body were mirrored here, +in crows feet on the sides of her eyes, in the fissures spreading +upwards from her lips.

+

Oh Jesus help me I'm growing old.

+

Heavy bags puffed under her eyes, almost as dark as the bruising +on her breasts, and the whites of her eyes were no longer clear and +pure. Now they were ringed with a nicotine shade of yellow, as if +there was some sluggish poison accumulating in her blood. Less than +a week ago, she'd been vainly and justly proud of her high +cheekbones, inherited from her mother, which gave her classy +hollows that needed no make-up to accentuate.

+

Now they were pits sunk into the sides of her face. They held +shadows of their own and her cheek bones stood out in ridges. She +was gaunt and emaciated. If anybody who had known the woman who +called herself Thelma Quigley had seen Ginny Marsden at that point +they would have thought both women had suffered from the same +wasting disease. Ginny saw herself look back, and the dawning +realisation of the enormity of her disintegration was evident in +her own blank stare.

+

I'm dying,

+

It was a reality, not merely a notion. She could see it for +herself in this moment of sudden clarity. At the age of twenty two, +she had aged so much - in less than a week - that she looked forty +or more. But it was worse than that. Inside, she felt as if her own +body was decaying, as if all the good was being sucked out of her, +all the life.

+

The baby she held snuffled to itself, a sound pitched at such a +level that her body reacted immediately. It was sated and asleep. +Inside her the muscles of her belly cramped and she felt a trickle +of blood drain down inside her, the trickle that had started on her +way out of the mall and had continued unabated ever since. She was +sick and she knew why.

+

She lay on the bed, very slowly, careful not to disturb its +sleep. The squashed down part of her mind had managed to push open +the barrier and was fighting to be free. She tried to calm herself, +aware that panic would rouse the thing's senses. Even at that +moment her own will was battling the compulsion it forced upon her, +but she fought the fear down, making herself be calm.

+

Inside her distended stomach, a bubble of gas rippled upwards +and burst from her throat, giving her another taste of the foul mix +of raw eggs and bloody liver and her own tainted blood. She +swallowed against it, turning over carefully. Her coat was on the +stand beside the door. Her shoes were there too. She was still +wearing her skirt and even though it was rumpled from sleeping, but +that wouldn't matter.

+

A thought had formed.

+

She moved again, pushing very gently at the baby, trying to keep +her breathing slow and even, listening to the purr of its own +respiration. It sounded just like a tiny baby, snuffling peacefully +and gentle. Very slowly, despite the grind inside her, she pushed +its little hands off her skin, holding her own hand against its +back to maintain the pressure contact. It made a little shiver and +snuggled against her, letting her turn it slightly. Its legs were +now drawn up and crossed over each other. With infinite care, she +got the sheet of the bed and began to wrap the baby.

+

Even now, as it slept, she could see its outline blur and +ripple. It was like trick photography, a sort of double exposure +effect. Its skin would shimmer and the colour would, for the +briefest of moments, fade away. It was asleep, sound asleep, +comforted by the pressure of her hand, safe in the knowledge that +it was being mothered. She wrapped the sheet tight around it, +holding it close and keeping up the pressure so that it would never +know it was being moved. Finally it was cocooned in the sheet, +though still held tight against her own body. Its breathing was +deep and even.

+

Outside, a sussuration of ice crystals scraped against the +window, reminding her it was still winter out there, bitter and +cold. Inside herself she felt as if winter had settled for ever. A +frigid and icy fear was creeping through her as her mind tried to +free itself of the monstrous imprisonment.

+

Still moving almost imperceptibly, she drew both pillows down +from the top of the bed and pressed them firmly against the sheet, +piling one atop the other. Only then, when the baby was under the +new weight, did she move, drawing herself back out of the bed, +moving with glacial slowness. It took an age. At one stage the bed +creaked with the motion and the baby made a grunting sound, high +and feral. It's head turned, as if its mouth was seeking the nipple +again. He put her hand on top of the pillows and pressed down, her +own heart speeding up and her mind willing it to slow down. The +grunt turned into another snuffle. The head turned back down +again.

+

Ginny Marsden waited a full ten minutes before she eased herself +off the bed and, with delicate and deliberate care, stood up. +Walking barefoot, ignoring the squeal of protest in the bones of +her ankles and the sudden need to cough, she made it to the +door.

+

For the first time in five days, she was more than three yards +from the thing that had ensnared her in the mall. In that distance, +its influence was fading.

+

Move now. Go on. Get out. Her own mind, now struggling +to break completely free, shrieked urgent and panicked commands. +Go Ginny!

+

And underneath that, she wanted to turn round and strangle the +thing. To batter its head against the solid edge of the basin until +its brains burst like the lobes of liver its compulsion had made +her gorge. To drown it in the cold water until its unearthly heart +stopped beating, until its purring breath stilled. The part of her +that was completely her own self wanted to utterly destroy it, tear +it limb from limb and wreak an enormous revenge on the thing that +had stalled her in the mall and had fed on her until her skin +wrinkled and stole the life out of her.

+

Yet despite its slackening influence as it slept, she was still +under the powerful compulsion that she had to fight every inch of +the way. From the distance of three yards, it was still a baby. The +lines were blurring sickly. The colour was running. She turned +round, even as she forced her right foot into her shoe, and she +could see its head, barely visible in against the swaddling of the +sheet. It was rippling and pulsing as if the skin itself was +melting under the flare of internal heat

+

Go. Get Gone! Her mind squalled desperately. Run +for your life.

+

It was now or never. She forced her other foot into the shoe, +not waiting, not daring to unlace them. Her heel wriggled hurriedly +and bent the back leather edge inwards with the pressure and haste. +Her mother would have scolded her for that ten years ago, though it +could have been a hundred years ago for the horror and strangeness +of the last few days had distorted Ginny's subjective comprehension +of time.

+

Hurry hurry hurry

+

The jittery panic was beginning to well up in a dark tide. She +tried to calm herself, knowing the importance of keeping herself +emotionally stable just for the next minute or so, just until she +got out of the door.

+

The thing on the bed was wavering and changing. Its breathing, +at first slow and deep was now beginning to quicken. She sensed its +uncanny senses picking up the wrongness of its situation. Any +second now it would awaken, and when it woke, it would pull her +back, it would make her...

+

She got the shoe on, reached for her coat. The tab caught on the +curved hook of the stand, making it wobble. It swung forward then +back, clunked against the wall. In the bed the thin, ridged thing, +now no longer pink at all, but a mottled, somehow shiny grey, +snorted gutturally.

+

Oh please don't let it...don't let it...

+

The coat came free. With her left hand she reached towards the +doorhandle. It was cold and smooth under her fingers but the +contact sent a jar of pain through her knuckles and elbows. It felt +as if her bones were fragmenting and turning to chalk. The handle +turned smoothly, without a sound., She pulled, sensed a muscle +twist in her shoulder, a small flare of heat and pain. The door +refused to open.

+

Oh God let me out of here

+

For a second she was stunned, completely bewildered. Her +reeling, panicked mind could not comprehend the door's +reluctance.

+

The key the bloody key turn it you stupid bitch

+

Her hand jerked off the handle. There was a blue plastic tab +hanging from the key in the lock. She snapped it quickly in a +counter clockwise twist. The bolt shot back with a solid thump of +brass on steel.

+

The thing growled behind her, high and bestial. Ginny had never +heard a stoat in a hole before but that's exactly the kind of sound +she would have expected a small, fierce predator to make. Her heart +catapulted into her tight throat and pulsed so hard her breathing +stopped.

+

Oh Jesus please

+

Another sound behind her. The mortise bolt shot back, snapping +hard. She reached for the handle and gave it the same twist as +before. Behind her something rustled. Instantly every nerve in her +body started to shiver. A scrape of cold slither dragged across the +surface of her mind, not yet focused, not yet concentrated, just a +dull and mindless questing. She pulled the door, trying to make it +open quickly, but by now everything was going in a dreadful slow +motion as if all her reactions had been dulled down, frozen to a +wintry slowness. It was like wading through glue, through treacle. +She tried to make herself move faster and the world simply refused +to get off slow time.

+

The door creaked loudly. Like a branch rending in a high wind, +like a plank of wood torquing under pressure. The sound cut into +the sudden silence in a jet shriek.

+

From ten feet behind her, another shriek erupted, though whether +it was a true sound Ginny never knew. The rustling noise came again +and all the hairs on the back of her head crawled in unison.

+

It's awake oh it's coming

+

She half turned. Inside her head the shriek was going on and on, +like a pig in a slaughterhouse, loud as a stone saw, vibrating +inside her head.

+

She turned fully and saw it wriggling in the wrap of blankets. +Her heart, still in her throat, kicked madly. Her mouth opened and +she tried to turn away. Despite the shriek inside her head, there +was an audible creak and the thing's eyes opened wide. Absolute +revulsion washed through her on a surging tide of pure fear.

+

The red eyes speared her, widening like the aperture of a +camera, a sudden blare, a sudden glare. It lanced across the +distance and transfixed her.

+

She was paralysed with fright. She stood there trembling.

+

It wriggled frantically, trying to free itself from the +swaddling of the sheet she'd wrapped around it. Ginny stood, coat +draped round her, legs braced apart, one hand on the door handle. A +shard of blackness showed the door was open six inches wide, hardly +more. Her free hand was a pale bird, trembling in the air. Her +hair, lank and lifeless, was swishing across her shoulder from the +motion of turning her head.

+

The creature growled. Its eyes were wide as saucers, picking up +the faint light from outside.

+

Vampire. The thought came crystal clear and cold as +ice.

+

The eyes had the red glare of every vampire she'd seen in the +cinema, every one she'd ever read about or imagined. But this was +no Count Dracula, no handsome European who would bend to drink the +blood of beautiful women. This was a monster, a mindworm who sucked +and probed and controlled. In five days it had drained the life out +of her and it still wanted more.

+

It was awake now and it was coming for her. She could see the +frantic wriggling and writhing under the sheet as it fought to get +free. Inside her head she could feel its dreadful mental blast, its +awesome demand for sustenance and mothering. She could also feel +the heat of its anger, alien and malignant and utterly, completely +ferocious.

+

She tried to move, managed to turn her head away from the thing. +She pushed the door open wider. Down there, down the stairs, she +could hear the early morning stirrings of the hostel, the clatter +of pots down in the kitchen. Low early morning voices. The normalcy +of muffled human conversation hit her so powerfully that sudden a +desperation welled inside her. She needed them. She needed to get +there, down to the kitchen and warn them of the danger.

+

The thing growled and snarled inside of her head, its +inarticulate demands and injunctions scraping on her brain, mental +claws rending at her, hooking into the substance of her own +thoughts. The taste of blood was sour in her mouth.

+

Downstairs somebody sang a few lines of a song. A warm, woman's +voice, the sound of someone at ease enough to sing on the dank of a +winter's early morning. It drew her like a magnet. On the bed, the +writhing, snuffling thing tried to hook her like prey, like so much +meat on a butcher's slab.

+

Ginny pushed her way through the door, desperately resisting the +compulsion to turn. It was hauling at her, pulling invisible cords. +Her hips ground painfully as she took a step. Inside her the liver +and the eggs turned and pressed against her abdomen. She wanted to +vomit, fear making the internal peristalsis try to reverse +itself.

+

Something thumped on the floor and she couldn't help but turn. +It all happened so quickly. She was turning, though still walking +away, aware of the danger, terrified of being caught, needing to +get to the other humans and warn them, get to the comfort of their +safety. Something thumped on the floor and she turned. It had +fallen off the bed. The sheet had half unravelled.

+

Go, get out of here

+

The door swung back and hit the wall.

+

"You've woken them up with your singing," a woman's voice came +floating up. Another woman laughed infectiously.

+

"Free bed, board and entertainment, what more could they want?" +The second voice chuckled.

+

"Help," Ginny tried to respond. Her mouth opened and a small +rasp of noise came out, a dry hiccup that sounded as much animal as +the grunting little thing that twisted and humped on the threadbare +carpet.

+

She reached the top of the stairs, forced herself forward, +stretching the invisible bonds, feeling them weaken. She turned, +away from the room, and the pressure of the compulsion +lessened.

+

"Do you want a cup of tea before we get started?" somebody +asked. The image of a cup of steaming brew flashed in her mind in +an astonishingly powerful picture. Tea and sympathy. Tea and +comfort and company and protection. They would protect her, surely, +her fellow women. They would hold her and mother her.

+

"Sure. Tea and a cigarette before the day starts. Best way to +get the engine running." Another woman's voice, gruff, rough and +ready, full of humour. She laughed again, a smoker's laugh, the +laugh of a woman with little expectation and content with her lot. +It tugged powerfully at Ginny Marsden who stood poised on the top +step, a ghost of a woman, slim and tall, now gaunt and decaying in +the shadows. She hovered there, forcing her foot down, working +against the pain and the fear and the sudden exhaustion, her hand +grasped the cold wood of the banister, gripping it tightly as she +could. She felt herself sway, managed another step, then another, +down to the landing. Six tortuous steps in all. Behind her the +thing clattered and thumped on the hard floorboards. Ginny got to +the level, turned, feeling it easier with the distance, sensing the +weakening of the mental compulsion the thing radiated. Knowing she +could make it if she tried.

+

Something clattered upstairs in the room.

+

Should have shut the door!

+

The realisation hit her like a physical blow. She should have +closed the door and locked it from the other side. How could she +have forgotten? She could have locked the thing inside the room and +it could never have got out. Ginny froze for an instant. She could +still go back. She turned, once again feeling as if she was wading +in syrup, and looked at the mountain of stairs she had to +climb.

+

Five days ago she would have bounded up there, taken them two at +a time, three at a time; skipped up without effort, without losing +her breath. Now the climb stretched ahead of her, a range of +Himalayan proportions, a cliff of wood, of risers and treads. It +had taken all of her strength to get here, to get down them. Did +she have a chance of scaling those heights?

+

It was only six steps. It was a hundred miles. It was only six +steps.

+

She had her mind back again, most of it, the part that wasn't +shivering and trembling in abject fear and utter panic.

+

It could still get to her. If it freed itself from the wrapping +of the sheets it could get her. She had seen it scuttle in the dark +of the garden hut, had seen it slither out of reach in the shadows +when the cat came in through the flap on the door. She knew it +could move quickly, like a spider in the night. Even in her memory, +it had that odd, double image, a plump and pink baby skin grafted +over something so alien it was madness in motion. If it reached the +door, it would come clambering along the floor and it would reel +her in like an exhausted, dying fish. It would have her again. And +if it got her she would die.

+

Ginny Marsden took the most courageous decision of her entire +life.

+

Down in the kitchen, a woman had started to sing again in a +rough, but melodic voice. A steam kettle's whistle began to quaver +and sing along. The sounds pulled at the very fabric of her being. +She turned though, forcing them out of her mind, aware only of the +need to close the door on the little monster.

+

She began to clamber back up the stairs.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus17.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus17.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d4374e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus17.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,843 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

17

+

“Sure I saw her,” the woman said, holding the +picture tilted to catch the light from the faintly flickering +fluorescent bar overhead. Her eyebrows, carefully pencilled, arched +in twin, proud curves, matching her jet-black hair. Her eyes +narrowed as she remembered, accentuating the wrinkles around them. +She had a kindly, lived-in sort of face.

+

She turned round to call to the other woman in the steamy space +behind the laminated counter where the sausages were sizzling on +the flat skillet. “You remember the girl with the baby, +Maisie?”

+

“The one who sat all morning, yesterday, +Margaret?”

+

“Yes. That’s her. This is her picture, isn’t +it?”

+

The other woman came across, her hair that faded dyed red of an +old women who remembers her bright young days. She walked with a +waddling gait, centre of gravity dropped and getting lower all the +time.

+

“Aye, that’s the one. Poor soul looked half starved +and half frozen. And scared half to death. I thought maybe there +was somebody looking for her, or she was hiding from somebody. She +never said, though.”

+

David had gone east, following up some other lead and had left +Helen to carry on her own search. It her two hours to find which +bus Ginny Marsden had taken the day before. Two patrolmen thought +they had seen a girl with a baby heading for the bus station close +to St Enoch’s, not far from the Waterside mall. That had been +in the early hours of the morning. Acting on the hunch, working +patiently and taking the time to ask questions, she found a bus +driver who said he thought he’d seen her sitting in the +waiting room of the terminus. She pushed him a little harder, +trying to find out which side of the room. It was a long, narrow +corridor of a place, with several doors. The position somebody sat +might give a clue as to the direction a person might travel. The +four doors, north south east and west, in actuality corresponded +with the directions the main-route buses would take from the centre +of the city. Ginny Marsden had been sitting close to the west bound +door, if indeed it had been Ginny Marsden. It was still all +surmise, possibility rather than probability.

+

Another stroke of luck found her the bus crew, now just going of +shift. John Skelly the driver, a beefy man with mutton-chop +sideburns, recalled the girl.

+

“Just about fell upstairs. I thought she was drunk at +first, but she was all right. Maybe just stiff with the cold. She +gave me a tenner, which I wasn’t going to take - you’re +supposed to give the right money, know what I mean? But what the +hell, she was just a young lassie, far as I remember. I’ve a +daughter who’s older than her and I wouldn’t like to +see her out on the streets in the middle of winter, not with a +baby. I’d smack her ear if she ever came home with one right +enough, but I wouldn’t like to see her out in the dark at +this time of the year.”

+

Helen led him back onto the track, thinking for an instant, that +he’d sidetracked himself the way David Harper was prone to +do. She suppressed a smile. She couldn’t see David Harper +driving a bus.

+

“Anyway, she went up the back. There were two workmen, +regulars, who were already there. They get the bus every morning, +but you’ll have to get up early if you want to speak to them. +I wouldn’t bother, for they sleep from here to Kirkland and +only wake when I’m turning the bus outside the hospital. Ss +she was up the back. Skinny thing. Looked as if she needed a good +feed, big bags under her eyes. I thought she was older at first, +but maybe she just had the flu. Oh, and what’s more, she +could have done with a good wash an’ all. You don’t +often get a girl smelling like that, but she was pretty ripe, I can +tell you.”

+

Helen’s ears metaphorically cocked up. “She +smelled?”

+

“Like a house full of cats. I should know. My auntie, +she’s a bit wandered, she takes in every stray. The smell up +in her place would choke a horse, swear to god. Well, this lassie, +she was pretty powerful. I thought maybe it was the baby, maybe she +hadn’t changed it for a while, for it was rank. Like shite +and vomit and cat’s piss all mixed in, pardon the lingo. +Maybe she had some sort of disease. Maybe it wasn’t the flu +after all.”

+

Helen thought that Ginny Marsden, if it really had been her, +might have some sort of disease, but not a physical one. Anybody +who stole a baby had to be sick in the head.

+

“No. Tell you what. My uncle Jim, he had emphysema and his +leg got gangrene. At the end of the day they had to cut it off at +the knee, but it just got worse. The smell of that would have +knocked you down for a mandatory eight count. That’s what she +smelled like.”

+

“And where did she get off?” Helen wanted to +know.

+

“Levenford. Just at the junction of River Street and Kirk +Street. It was still dark and pretty damned cold. Soon as the door +opened, there was snow blowing in. I wouldn’t like my girl to +be out on her own in that, baby or no baby. It was a damned shame. +She just looked like a poor soul. I nearly never bothered taking +her money, but if the inspector catches you doing that, then you +get your jotters, the sack, the old tin tack and no appeal. +They’ve got hearts of pure stone, so they have.”

+

Helen Lamont knew inspectors just like that, though not on the +buses. She thanked John Skelly, appreciating his honesty and his +ineffable cheeriness, and went out of the station. She called David +Harper on the mobile, got a busy signal, and decided to head down +on her own. She wanted to have something more positive to tell +him.

+

The drive to Levenford - fifteen miles, maybe a little more, +west of the city - took nearly half an hour. It was mid afternoon +when she turned at Roundriding Road, vaguely aware of having heard +the quaint name before, wondering if someone she knew lived here. +She drove down towards the centre of the town past the old Burgh +hall that stood bare and weathered in the shadow of the great +square red-brick bulk of Castlebank Distillery. A memory tugged at +Helen as she went past the squat building. There had been something +here, an incident a year or two past. She screwed her eyes up in +concentration as she drove past the edge of the building, and saw +the looming double hump of the old castle rock down on the mouth of +the river.

+

Levenford. Things had happened here a year or two back, she +recalled. Some crazy killer had stalked the streets in a winter as +bitter as this, picking off kids at first. She remembered the +stories in the papers at the time, the bulletins on the +six-o’clock news. The madman had left a girl hanging from the +tall, slender steeple Helen was driving past. She shuddered at the +thought of the brazen arrogance, the madness that would lead +someone to snatch and kill a young girl and leave her dangling from +the weathervane like a trophy.

+

The distillery building drew her eyes. There had been something +there too, had there not? She couldn’t remember, but she was +glad she was not hunting a madman today. Maybe a crazy girl on a +hormonal helter-skelter, but not a killer.

+

Ginny Marsden was somewhere here, Helen told herself. She had a +hunch that she had come here and stopped a while. This old, +narrow-streeted town was the place where you could come and find +some peace to sit while the chase went rumbling past. Helen parked +her car down by the river and walked up an alley of foot-smoothed +cobblestones, under the arch of a tunnel-pend that led beneath an +old and crumbling building. As she walked underneath, into the +darkness away from the weak light of a winter-morning sun, she +shivered again, and not with cold. Something had happened here. +Helen did not know how she knew, or why. All she got was a a tickle +that itched at the back of her head, and she wanted to be away from +that place. She walked quickly to get to the daylight at the far +side out on River Street where the feeling of sudden oppression +faded. She told herself not to be a fool. Yet the feeling had been +real.

+

The café next to the bus stop on the end of Kirk Street was +quiet when she got there. Margaret and Maisie were grateful for +something interesting to happen. They brought Helen a steaming mug +of tea, big enough to take almost a pint of strong brew, and a +fried egg sandwich, done just enough to let the yolk burst thick +and wet. Both went down just a treat. Helen Lamont knew nothing +about Ginny Marsden’s meal.

+

“You look as if you could use another one, love,” +Margaret said kindly. She pulled a chair and sat down. “This +girl, what’s she done?”

+

“She’s gone missing,” Helen said, giving +nothing away. “Her parents are very worried.” She was +really amazed that she had actually traced Ginny Marsden’s +movements so easily. If it hadn’t been for the sheer luck of +the two patrolmen remembering her, she could still be knocking +doors round the city.

+

“So they should be worried,” Maisie said. +“There wasn’t a pick of meat on the girl’s bones. +Margaret tried to get her to eat something, but all she would take +was a coffee and even then it was hard enough for her to drink +that. You’d have thought it was poisoned. She was just a poor +soul. Is her boyfriend after her, or did her family throw her +out?”

+

“Nothing like that. I have to find her though.”

+

“Well, you should try the hostel opposite Ship Institute +Hostel,” Margaret chipped in. “She was asking for +someplace to stay and that’s the only place I could think of. +They take in the homeless there. Big Nina Galt, she helps run the +place for the institute. She’s a cousin of mine on my +mother’s side. Anyway, the girl was looking for a room for +the night, maybe longer, I don’t know. I told her to go round +to see Nina. I think she must have, because we got busy with a +crowd of folk off the bus and heading for Creggan. By the time I +served them their food and looked back, she and the baby were +gone.”

+

“Did you see the baby?”

+

“Just a snatch. You know what it’s like. You +can’t resist having a look. She was holding it tight, and I +remember thinking the wee one should have a hat at this time of the +year. Any time of the year come to that. But she was hugging it in +under her coat. I pulled it back to have a look and the girl, kind +of, what’s the word, jerked back. Like flinched? I just got a +peek at the baby and for a minute I thought it was deformed, honest +to god. I felt my coffee and bacon coming right back up again it +was that bad.”

+

“What do you mean?”

+

“Och, the old biddy, she needs glasses,” Maisie +interjected. “She wouldn’t recognise her sister from +across the street.”

+

“Nothing wrong with my eyes,” Margaret countered. +The black eyebrows rose up in tandem arches. “No, when I +looked at the baby, its head looked all wrong. I thought it was a +doll at first and that maybe somebody had squashed its head. But it +moved and I knew it wasn’t a doll. For a minute it was like, +like....” Margaret searched for the words. “Like all +out of shape, and a funny colour. But it must have been a trick of +the light, because I coughed or something and my eyes watered and +when I blinked them clear, it was fine, a lovely wee thing. I could +have cuddled it to death.”

+

Helen felt a strange, unexpected shiver run through her. +She’d heard those words before.

+

“It really was a bonny wee thing. I only got a glimpse, +but I could see it was lovely. It was looking at me with a big blue +eye, blue as the sea. Goodness, that’s like a poem, +isn’t it?” She smiled widely, showing her impressive +array of false teeth.

+

“It made that sound new babies make, kind of shivery, just +a wee whimper, and it brought it all back to me what mine were like +when they were just born.”

+

“And that wasn’t yesterday,” Maisie +interrupted. “Her eldest’s thirty-eight and the way +her daughter’s going, Margaret here’s going to +be a great-granny any year now.”

+

“Och, hold your wheesht,” Margaret scolded, but +gently. “Anyway, it smelled just like a new baby, you know +that hot milk smell?”

+

“Did you notice any other smell?” Helen asked.

+

“Oh, at first I thought the girl needed a good +bath,” Margaret said, wrinkling her nose. “When I came +across to her at first, it was like those tinkers down on the West +Mains by the shoreline, dirty beggars. Some of them stink to the +high heavens, so they do. Well, at first, I thought she smelled +like that, but I must have been wrong.All I could smell was the +baby, and you know, I just wanted to pick him up and cuddle him. I +really took a notion then. Imagine it, me at my age, thinking about +having a baby.”

+

“It would be a bloody miracle, wouldn’t it?” +Maisie snorted, and both women burst into laughter.

+

“And not just for me,” Margaret said. “I think +my Billy’s forgotten how it’s done.”

+
+

He screamed.

+

She had abandoned him. The realisation triggered an +uncontrollable fury and panic. He had fed, guzzling on the milk and +the thick proteins the mother’s changing body had +manufactured for him, feeling his new strength swell. Already the +skin on his back was tight, shiny with pressure, aching with the +need to slough. He was changing again and this was different from +those other times. The change was imminent and it was immense. He +could sense it with every cell of his body.

+

He was becoming something other. He had not the words +or the capacity to understand what.

+

The past few sleeps had not been easy. He had dreamed again, +dreamed of dark and shadowed places, of the long and arduous pain +of birth, recalled and echoed in a strange and fearful replay, as +if all of his being was resonating with his own long history. He +dreamed of hunger and thirst and the overwhelming need now building +up inside him, a bewildering, confusing want that felt like another +hunger but was something more powerful.

+

It was the change he could recognise, rushing in on him.

+

And now she had abandoned him. She had waited until he had +slept, stupefied by the feast and the lethargic torpor the changes +wrought. She had bound him in the swaddling. He wriggled and fought +against the sheets, feeling the fabric rasp against his drying, +peeling skin. He kicked and pushed, rolling this way and that. He +screamed all the while, sending his mental blast out so loud it +rattled the windows and shivered on the floorboards.

+

He knew she could hear him because the reaction inside her +flared in his senses, like a beacon of pulsing light throbbing hard +on the forefront of his mind. He located her and demanded that she +return. She shivered and her own mind shrieked in awful sympathy +with her fear, deliberately defying him as she had resisted him +before.

+

This one was different. The others had been cattle; complacent, +contented; bovine. They had taken him and given themselves to him +even as he drained them of their substance.

+

But this one was different. He had chosen too quickly, seizing +the opportunity in the midst of his own panicked vulnerability, and +he had chosen wrongly. He could not completely dominate her. She +would not subjugate to him.

+

She was not a proper mother.

+

Even then he could sense her disintegration. He was draining her +quickly, leeching her away, sucking her dry, and that too was new. +A mother lasted longer than this, so long that time meant nothing +at all. He would feed and sleep, feed and sleep and finally when a +mother wore dry, he would chose another. This was different, +because his needs were different, hotter and more urgent. He could +feel the change in his own needs and in the feeding. He was taking +not just what she could produce for him, what his own cells, +speeding round in her bloodstream, commanded her body to +manufacture. His feeding had altered. The new growth was able to +probe into the veins inside her and drain directly, absorbing the +elements, the nutrients, the building blocks his rapidly altering +state demanded.

+

Yet she was not a proper mother. She fought and struggled and +that was new. She tried to defy him, tried to deny him, and now she +had bound him in the cocoon of fabric. She had ticked him and now +she had marooned him while she escaped.

+

Awesome anger bubbled up inside him. This had never +happened before. For a second, the dreadful panic threatened to +swamp him and his mind shrieked in fear and hate. He sensed her +falter, touched her pain. He probed instinctively at the fractures +and crevices within her mind where he could manipulate and trigger +the responses.

+

She fought desperately against his touch and he snarled, still +wriggling frantically to free himself from the sheet. His head +worked free and he rolled to the left, swivelling like a +caterpillar weaving its own cocoon, rolled too far and fell off the +edge of the bed. He hit the floor with a solid thump. A sensation +akin to pain lanced across his back where the skin was thin and +tender. Something tore and the urgency welled up from deep inside +him, hot and corrosive as acid.

+

Down below, beyond the door and down the stairs, he heard the +caterwauling of another female, cacophonous in his consciousness. +For an instant he debated sending a call in that direction, then he +realised, again instinctively that she was old, too old to be of +any but momentary use. The older ones were harder to control +because of their own changes. He screeched again, drilling the +mother with the awl of his imperative need. She paused on the +steps, almost drew back, then moved further away. He commanded +desperately, felt another hesitation, another refusal, a mental +protest made in abject fear. She took another step, another. He +could feel the vibrations through the floor, seismic ripples picked +up by the supersense he possessed. She was getting further away and +he knew his influence was waning with the distance. He put out +feelers, conscious tendrils of thought, to the rooms above and +below, seeking contact, trying to find another human it could latch +onto.

+

In behind the wall, a hibernating mouse woke up, screeched and +died. The dendrites of its brain sparked and jittered, shattering +themselves in the sudden blast of energy. Under the eaves, two +roosting starlings fell from their perch and hit the frosted +flagstones with muffled thumps. Their eyes leaked out onto the ice. +A cat prowling at the kitchen door, looking for scraps, turned +tail, yowled a strange sound that was like fingernails scraping +down a blackboard, ran out of the narrow alley and under the wheels +of the very bus that Ginny Marsden had taken from the city down to +Levenford. It made a greasy smear two yards long on the road.

+

Out in the back yard, a pit bull terrier, the property of Nina +Galt’s ne’er-do-well brother in law Campbell, (whose +son had once faced something even more preposterous and terrifying +than the thing which shrieked after Ginny Marsden, and survived +that dreadful contact) suddenly went berserk and attacked the stout +wooden door of the old brick outhouse where Campbell Galt kept it +out of sight of prying eyes. He had trained it for a major fight +set for after the New Year, forcing the wide-jawed and somehow +manic beast to bite on an old bath towel and then dangling it from +a third floor window for hours at a time until its facial muscles +were so strong and distorted that the dog looked like a grotesque +gargoyle. Now those jaws attacked the wooden door, twenty five +yards from the hostel, down an alley which could only be approached +from River Street. Nobody noticed until it had gnawed its way +halfway through the door, its face a bloodied mess, spiked with +wooden skelfs and splinters, its mind completely gone. Campbell +Galt killed it with a single, catastrophic blow of a garden spade +the following night.

+

The mother hesitated no more, despite the fearsome command the +thing radiated as it writhed on the floor. She took another step, +another, got further away. He was getting beyond his range. He +panicked, rolling this way and that, the strange circular mouth +rolling back from the almost perfect sphere of tiny, glass-shard +teeth. Its mottled face twisted and torqued. Under the wrinkled lid +of a protuberant eye, the skin tore in a series of jittering rips, +exposing a purplish underskin that looked as if it was filled with +exotic poison. Every gland under his upper limbs opened and pulsed, +but he was still wrapped up. The chemical messengers, the powerful +pheromones that he had used to manipulate the mothers and other +humans before his mind had grown strong enough to command, sprayed +directly into the fabric, almost dissolving the cotton, but it +absorbed them so efficiently that the smell could not escape.

+

For an instant he was completely powerless. She was escaping, +leaving him on his own. If he remained here, he could be +discovered. He might be found another human who could not be +influenced, a male. The chemical messengers in his glands could +take a mother, make her love him, but on a male they would only +drive him made with rage. He knew from somewhere in the past that a +male could not tolerate him. Instinctively he knew he could be +destroyed.

+

Fresh fear erupted. He was not strong enough yet to survive +alone. The change was imminent and disabling. He could not travel +on its own. He would be trapped here, trapped without a mother, and +in an hour, maybe less, he would have to feed again. The urgency +and panic swelled again.

+

Then the mother stopped on the stairs. The vibration in the +floor faded and died. She had stopped on the landing, no more than +thirty feet away.

+

Everything went silent. He stopped breathing, sensing out. Very +slowly, finally figuring it out, he rolled to the left again. +Almost miraculously the sheet began to unravel. His brain, or what +passed for a brain, an organ that worked more on instinct than +true, coherent thought, recognised the possibility of release. He +rolled further until he fetched up against the base the bed, then +astutely, he wriggled back to where he had started and rolled some +more. The pressure of the sheets lessened. He twisted and managed +to get his shoulders out.

+

She was still stopped on the stairs. Even as he moved, he could +sense her turn. She radiated fear and dilemma. Her hesitancy was a +vibration on the air, her awful apprehension a tremble resonating +across the distance. The mother turned completely. She took one +step upwards. The board creaked under her foot, a protest that +sounded like a small animal’s alarm. Now he had his shoulders +free, his arm reached out and clawed on the carpet, dragging it +towards him. The carpet’s far corner was snagged under the +leg of the bed. The slither across the floorboards stopped. He got +his other arm out, clawed his elongated fingers on the rough, +matted pile. The motion drew him out of the wrap of the sheet, like +a caddis fly emerging from its protective case. His breath whistled +as he hauled strongly, and a small grunt that was both satisfaction +and exertion mirrored the groan of the stair tread under the +mother’s weight.

+

Enormous excitement washed through him. She was coming back. He +pulled again and rolled free of the wrapping, tumbling right across +the rumpled carpet to the bare floorboards. His skin slithered and +scrabbled on the polished surface. His nails got a purchase between +two boards and he got himself to all fours. His lower limbs, +scrawny and stick-like and oddly jointed, took his weight and he +swivelled fast in a jittery, spidery motion. She came up the +stairs, moving as fast as she could, the exhaustion evident in the +heavy drag of her feet on the boards. He could make out her +laboured breathing and the rasp of grinding pain in her joints. +Still she came.

+

He moved in a scuttle across the floor to the edge of the bed, +half covered by the trailing sheet, small and scrawny and +slat-ridged, a grey, blurring thing. She got to the door, an unseen +presence beyond the doorpost. A pale and fluttering hand reached +in, fumbling in the air, as if the mother was too afraid to look +inside herself, which was utterly true. The fear radiated from her +in pulses. The door had hit against the wall and rebounded slowly. +The blue plastic tab dangled from the key in the lock. Her arm +reached out for it. He could see her shoulder, then the side of her +face. Inside he felt the irresistible pressure building up, the +unendurable strain of his glands as they powered and clenched. He +held it, held his own thoughts, instinctively waiting for the +moment.

+

She half turned, her eyes catching the scuttling motion on the +floor. They flared wide. Her fingers touched the key. Her mouth +began to open as she saw him.

+

He screeched his command and his glands blew, sending an almost +visible spray into the air. She froze, eyes so wide they looked as +if they would blurt blindly from the sockets.

+

Then he moved.

+
+

Helen finished a second cup of tea, a decision she knew she +would regret later. Mentally she made a note to find a toilet +before she started the drive back up to the city. A group of +grey-suited clerks from Castlebank distillery had come in, all +looking like accountants or lawyers. They ordered burgers and +sausage rolls, quick food for the office class, and both Margaret +and Maisie had to reluctantly give up their gossiping to serve the +food. Helen put a few coins under the outsize saucer and made her +way out into the cold air. The sky was clear, the glassy blue of a +cloudless midwinter, and the haze of river mist was curling round +the corners of the alleys which led down past the old bakery on the +other side of the road towards the quay. The air was still and cold +and the tendrils of river mist haar were like translucent +tentacles probing the day. Even in the watery brightness they crept +eerily. Helen shivered with more than just cold. She turned, took a +step along River Street and she shivered again, this time more +violently.

+

“Somebody must have walked on my grave,” she +muttered to herself, feeling the shudder still ripple insistently +down her back.

+

It was as eerie as the probing fingers, an odd and inexplicable +sensation of wrongness.

+

She took another step forward, two, then she stopped. It came to +her with sudden clarity. She’d felt it before, the feeling of +being watched, of eyes upon her. She was young enough, certainly +attractive enough to be aware of the glances she would draw from +scaffolders or road workers, the traditional public oglers. She was +aware of it from men in cars, catching their pale faces turn away +as she glanced to challenge their stares. She was also aware of it, +more strongly, at other times, when she walked into a crowded bar +and she would feel eyes peeling her, picking her clean, some +hostile, some hungry. It was a kind of sixth sense which was +valuable when it alerted the other senses to the possibility of +danger.

+

Now she felt it again, though more strongly, inexplicably so. It +was somehow different, this sensation of surveillance.

+

She stopped and turned, drawing her eyes quickly back along the +walkway to where Kirk Street connected at right angles with the +main road through the town. Two men, burly in thick overcoats, were +walking quickly together, a matching pair of lawyers coming round +from the sheriff court sitting. By the bus stop, a couple of +teenagers with shaven heads which looked vulnerable and cold, were +hunched, sharing a cigarette. For a second Helen did not recognise +them as girls until one turned round and blew a plume of smoke into +the air through pouting rosebud lips.

+

The sense of being observed died abruptly. The inspection, if it +had been that, was over. For a brief moment, Helen felt +disoriented, as if she had imagined it, but she was left with a +strange and uneasy sense of contagion. It was as if something had +touched her and left a stain. She shivered again, an invisible +vibration, told herself to get a grip. There was no-one else +around, apart from the portly fat cats and the skinny idlers and, +further along the street, several stout old ladies weighed down by +age and large bags of groceries. She moved on away from the cafe +and the trickling sensation under her skin, the resonance in the +long nerves down the length of her spine, died away. If somebody +had stood on her grave, they had moved off again.

+

The Ship institute was on the other side of River Street, up a +narrow lane. The Victorian building had been imposing in its day, +when the town was rich from shipbuilding and shipping, when the +tobacco barons and tea-lords reigned supreme. Now it was a +mouldering monument to days gone by, the carved stone cargo ship +above its wide doorway, an anachronism. The town built no more +ships. It built nothing at all these days.

+

The hostel, which once housed sailors home from a windjamming +run from Cathay, was incorporated into the building, sheltered from +the prevailing west wind, and therefore better preserved than the +once imposing institute proper.

+

Nina Galt took a wary look at Helen’s warrant card. +“We’re not really supposed to talk about our +guests,” she said.

+

Helen couldn’t be bothered going through the rigmarole of +worming her way in. “I could come back,” she said +flatly. “I don’t want to fall out with anybody or have +a dispute on the doorstep. But I could go and get some paperwork +and come back. But that’s going to mean an awful lot of +trouble for me, and naturally, that’s going to spoil +everybody’s day.”

+

Nina Galt started to speak, but Helen held up her hand: +“Here’s the base line. I’ve got a missing girl +whose parents are worried to death, and my boss has asked me to +find her. She’s been reported missing and it’s now my +job. This is the law. She might be here, and she might not be. What +I want you to do is have a look at a picture and tell me. On and +after that, we’ll talk, but in the meantime, just have a look +for me, okay? We both want to have a nice day.”

+

Nina Galt looked Helen in the eye, weighing her up. She’d +had a hard life of her own, growing up with a family of boys who +were never out of trouble with the police, and then marrying a +husband who had spent many a Friday night in the slammer of the +police station down by College way. She had no love of the police, +but she was herself a law abiding person. She did, however, have a +loyalty to the people who passed through the hostel, some of them +on the run from trouble of one sort or another, some of them not +wishing to be found.

+

“She’s really missing?”

+

“Yes. And she’d not in any trouble, not official +trouble.”

+

“Show me the picture.”

+

Helen took it out from her inside pocket. Nina Galt held it up, +drawing her eyebrows into a frown. “Yes. She came here +yesterday. She’s got a room upstairs. There’s always a +couple just before Christmas. We just give them a room until social +services find them a place.”

+

“I told you, there’s no trouble for her, not from +us, nor her parents,” Helen said. She wasn’t telling +the entire truth. There could really be trouble for Ginny Marsden. +She’d taken the baby. Yet something inside Helen, a mere +hunch, an intuition, told her that the missing girl was in a +different kind of trouble altogether.

+

“Is she in now?”

+

“I reckon so. We don’t keep much of a check on the +clients. We give them bed and board and make sure they’re not +taking anything illegal. They’re free to come and go as they +please.”

+

“Did she give you a name? Show you any +identification?””

+

“Celia,” Nina said after a moment of concentration. +“Celia Barker. It was on her bank card.”

+

Out in the back of the hostel, a dog was barking furiously, the +sounds hardly muffled by the distance or the thickness of the +walls. Nina Galt got a master key from a hook underneath the front +counter and led the way towards the stairs. Just at the foot of the +steps, where the ornate banister curled round in a smooth, polished +sweep, she stopped and looked along the narrow corridor behind the +stairway where a line of coat hooks, old brass, stood out from the +wall at eye level.

+

“She’s moved her pram,” Nina said. “It +was there this morning.”

+

Helen’s heart sank. She wanted to get this over with and +get back to what she considered real police work, catching +criminals.

+

“Maybe somebody shifted it,” Nina went on. “We +don’t like to have the hallway cluttered up. The fire safety +inspectors don’t like it, but we can’t expect the girls +to haul their prams upstairs. It could be out in the back +yard.”

+

“Let’s check the room first,” Helen suggested. +Nina shrugged and led the way upstairs. She was about to slide the +master key into the hole when she stopped abruptly. An oblong of +blue plastic was lying on the floor, partially hidden under the +door itself. She stooped, picked it up, drawing the key through the +narrow gap as she did so. She straightened and without hesitation, +she opened the unlocked door.

+

“Jesus God,” Nina said, turning back, nose wrinkled +in a sudden grimace which sent frown ridges gathering on her +forehead. “Something’s gone and died in +here.”

+

Helen moved past her. The smell was thick and stale, and she +recognised it from the previous times. It was weaker than before, +as if it had faded from the air, but it was still discernible, +still rank and foetid. She felt her eyes sting and her heartbeat +cranked up to a faster level. Her pulse beat behind her ears and +for an instant the bright outline of the unshaded window wavered in +her vision. She shook her head and backed away from the door.

+

The entire room was visible from outside in the hallway at the +top of the stairs. The blankets were swirled on the bed, the way +they had been in Heather McDougall’s home, the way they had +been on Celia Barker’s neat little divan.

+

On the floor a sheet was stretched out, crumpled but unravelled. +A dried bloodstain , the colour of old rust, smeared down the +middle of it. The carpet was twisted and rumpled.

+

“What the hell’s been going on here?” Nina +asked.

+

Helen stood stock still. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, +taking in the open door of the tiny bathroom, and the wall cupboard +on the far side. The room was empty.

+

Something wrong her instinct told her. A shivery +sensation scuttered over the skin of her back, prickling the +follicles on the back of her neck. It felt like a rash of +goose-bumps.

+

Nina Galt turned to look at her. The young policewoman’s +face had gone pale, chalk white in contrast to the black sheen of +her short-cropped hair. Helen Lamont stood, breathing hard, +wondering what to do next. The memory of what had happened in Celia +Barker’s kitchen, when the dead cat had got up and danced and +when the walls had begun to pulse and breathe and when the two +headed monster had come rushing out, twisting and distorted in her +vision, it all came back in a rush.

+

She did not want to go into the room. All of a sudden she knew +she should call in, get David Harper here. She did not want to do +this alone any more. The voice of instinct was so powerful that she +could almost hear it clamouring in words, but there were no words, +just an uncanny certainty that this whole thing was out of hand, +suddenly and incomprehensibly out of control.

+

She was not dealing with anything natural. The realisation +abruptly crystallised within her.

+

Outside, beyond the window, the dog howled and grunted and +slavered quite madly, adding to the insanity of the scene. Beyond +the window, beyond the wood of the brick outhouse door, she could +hear it growl and froth, throwing itself against the door which +slammed against the upright. Below, on the ground, two dead birds +were being slowly covered up by tiny snow crystals blowing off the +roof. In a cavity in the wall, the soft and jellied brain of a +mouse was leaking from its southernmost ear.

+

Helen’s nerves felt as if they were all on the outside of +her skin. She was aware of Nina Galt looking at her askance, even +though the other woman’s throat seemed to be involved in its +own contraction, trying to choke down a rush of bile. She was +conscious of the other woman’s presence on one level, but +deep in her primitive core she was only aware of a dreadful feeling +of supernatural fear.

+

On the video, she had seen Ginny Marsden stop dead in her tracks +as if she’d been garrotted. It had happened when Heather +McDougall was writhing in her death throes on the floor of the mall +and the girl had turned and lifted the baby, the infant the woman +had brought, from the pram. Now, here, the air was still thick with +the scent that had sickened her in McDougall’s house, the +scent that had twisted her emotions like some sort of +hallucinogenic drug. It was the same smell as at Celia +Barker’s apartment, the girl whose name Ginny Marsden had +adopted.

+

It was all connected, she understood now. The strangeness of it +all twisted once more at Helen Lamont, contaminating her with the +unfathomable sensation of threat.

+

“Close the door,” she said. “And lock +it.” She backed away while Nina Galt swung the door closed, +her throat still working against the reaction caused by the +cloying, rancid smell. The key went into the lock, turned and +clicked. The smell faded almost instantly. Beyond the door, the +noise of the madly barking dog was muffled down to a series of +distant howls.

+

“What on earth was that?” the other woman finally +said. She could see the policewoman’s hands were trembling +slightly, as were her own, for no reason. She felt dizzy and +nauseous and disorientated. The policewoman looked scared to death. +“What in the name of God is that smell?”

+

“I don’t know,” Helen finally said, “but +I’ll find out. Don’t let anybody in there yet. +I’ll have to have it checked out.”

+

“I’ll have to have the place fumigated,” Nina +Galt added. “That would make you sick, so it would.” +She pulled back from the door, shoulders working in a swivelling +motion as if she itched. She lifted a thumb and dug it in under her +own armpit and twisted, pulling the fabric away from herself. Helen +recognised the motion. She was adjusting a brassiere that had +suddenly become uncomfortable. She froze, realising that she +herself was doing exactly the same thing.

+

She looked down at herself while the other woman was turning +away to walk to the head of the stairs. Her nipples were throbbing, +pulsing with every beat of her heart, and the pressure of the +cotton weave was suddenly uncomfortable and rasping. The nipples +were straining against the thin sweater she wore under the flying +jacket, standing proud. She pulled her jacket closed, hiding the +tell-tale swellings, while the sensation of pressure continued as +she walked down the stairs. The motion rubbed her turgid flesh +against the cup and made it rasp sensitively.

+

Helen thought the thick, cloying smell would make someone more +than just sick. The sensation that somebody had walked over her +grave came back to her, strong as the vibration of a bowstring

+
+

It had come at Ginny fast. It had come at her like a +spider.

+

She was reaching for the key, while a fear so terrible it felt +like it could shatter her into fragments was shuddering inside her, +blacking out everything except the urgent need to close the door +and lock the baby

+

monster it’s a fucking monster it is a devil.

+

inside the room and close it away. She had to trap inside. It +was, despite the crippling terror, the bravest thing the girl had +ever done in her life. It was the first time she had ever had any +need to be brave. It was struggling up there, she could +hear it thumping against the floor and she could imagine its +twisting and desperate writhings to be free of the sheets.

+

She had almost got away. She had stopped on the landing and then +trudged back up the impossibly steep cliff of staircase, battling +the horror and the pain in her joints and the creeping exhaustion +of her muscles. She reached the doorway. Inside the room it was +panting and snuffling desperately, like a trapped and vicious +animal and making that horrible screeching sound that was so high +she couldn’t physically hear it, but her brain could somehow +pick up the anger and supernatural fear it was broadcasting. She +reached towards the door handle, knowing she had to expose part of +herself to its gaze.

+

Ginny thought she could do it, imagined she could get the key, +turn it in the lock. She held her breath tight against the demand +for air caused by her painfully thumping heart. Her vision wavered, +going dark then coming light again.

+

The key was stuck in the lock, but it was on the other side of +the door. She had to reach further while all the time the white +sizzle of its distress and anger flared and burned on the bones in +the back of her skull. She forced herself forward.

+

It hissed. It called to her. It demanded. It +commanded

+

She tried to force her fingers round the key, but they were +white and numb. Pins and needles danced on the skin of her arms and +throbbed in her hands along with the new and grinding pain. It +commanded and she felt her head turn, entirely against her will. +The blanket was unravelled, unravelling still on the carpet which +was pulled into a crumpled roll, caught by the leg of the bed. A +small, dark and angular shape moved and she tried not to look.

+

It shrieked inside her and she gasped with the ferocity of the +hurt its sending caused deep in her centre. Ginny tried to turn +away, hearing the small metallic tinkle as the tab twisted on its +loop. Her fingers got to it, fumbled for the key. It rattled, +pulled out a mere fraction.

+

Her head was jerked round, hauled by the irresistible force of +its demand.

+

The thing rolled and squirmed beyond the edge of the bed. Her +hand pulled at the key. It tumbled out of the lock, slowly twisting +in the air in slow motion, whirring softly as it fell. Her senses +were cranked up to supernatural perception. Every cell of her body +was suddenly and completely aware.

+

The monster twisted round to face her. Flat red eyes glared in a +small and flattened face. The round mouth opened and closed in a +sucking motion, showing her the lamprey circlet of teeth slivers. +Its limbs were scrawny and stick-like, its skin wrinkled and +mottled and slatted grey, the way she had seen it in the +mirror.

+

It came at her like a spider. It scuttled across the floor, +small and spindly, a grey, blurring thing that moved so fast she +could hardly make her eyes follow it. The key hit the floor with a +low, metallic thrum and bounced out of sight. Down in the +kitchen, a million miles away, the sound of the woman singing was +now a monotone drone, drawn out and slowed to incomprehensibility. +A steam kettle’s whistle sounded like a distant ship’s +foghorn.

+

The thing came in a scuttling rush. Its outlines fuzzed and +blurred as the swellings on its sides pulsed and clenched like +small lungs, like poison sacs, sending a fine mist into the air +around it. Ginny’s mouth instinctively shut like a trap. She +tried to move, found her feet were glued to the floor. Her hand was +still reaching for the key that had long gone and the thing on the +floor launched itself at her.

+

The smell hit her at the same time as the monster scuttled and +leapt, taking her at waist height and then climbing up with +arachnid speed, its small, wizened hands reaching to grab the sides +of her face just under the jawline. The fingers, elongated and +warted digits, like the hands of some reptilian lemur, clenched on +her skin, almost hard enough to break through into the underlying +tissue. The eyes glared, great saucers of red, up so close against +her that they lost definition like twin, flaring lava pools, like +mad moons.

+

The stench enveloped her, infusing her pores and passages with +its chemical power while the thing’s mental blast seared her +own mind.

+

In that instant she was recaptured.

+

Its outline wavered and blurred in her vision, first grey and +rough, then pink and smooth, then back again, as if the camouflage +was no longer completely necessary. It fixed its eyes on her, +drilling its singularity into hers. Her heart seemed to expand like +a balloon under her ribs, swelling with sudden pain. She gasped and +its essence went down her throat, swirled into her lungs. Every +nerve bucked, every muscle twitched, every joint ground like stone. +Fear and need fought with each other, desire battled with the +incredible loathing. The compulsion to mother the thing vied with a +powerful desire to kill it and be gone. She wanted to run and hide, +to kick and scream, to twist free of its grasp and go somewhere to +be sick while alongside that she was forced to obey its overriding +domination. Over all of it lay an appalling weight of utter despair +and loss.

+

It had her now and she would never be free.

+

Ginny Marsden backed against the wall, hit it with a thump, +slowly slid down to her haunches, her coat stripping off a loose +sliver of old flaking wallpaper. The thing in her arms continued to +glare into her eyes, mesmerising her with a brutal mental blaze +that sizzled into that part of her brain which gave her volition +and seared it with its own baleful heat.

+

A rope of saliva drooled from the corner of her mouth. She +moaned slightly while out beyond the window the mad dog went even +crazier, attacking the wooden door with snout, teeth and skull.

+

After a while, after a long while, she began to stir. The thing +that was still clenched onto her skin loosened its grip a little +and after a while, the great red eyes, glassy as garnet, slowly +closed. It lowered itself, moving like an emaciated and scaly +monkey, down over her breasts and began to burrow in once more. +After more of a while she felt it clamp on her skin and then she +sensed the thin and slick probing between her legs.

+

But this time she was not aware on any conscious level.

+

What there was of Ginny Clark’s own self, her own +comprehension of being, was clamped down and trapped in an +impervious bubble within her, buried down there in the dark where +its screaming, panicked cries could not be heard.

+

Ginny Marsden, the mother, let it suck on her, let it +probe her until, once more, it was sated. The draining sensation +deep inside her was like a cold and constant trickle. She ignored +that. All she knew was the need to do its bidding and the creeping +ache that had invaded her whole body.

+

After more of a while, the baby told her to move. Her eyes could +make out its shape. Somewhere within, her thoughts translated the +visual image into something resembling a baby, but by this time it +did not matter. It had taken her now and she was no longer her own. +She belonged to it.

+

Outside, as she pushed her pram down to River Street, it held +her tight. Every now and again, she would bend down, leaning under +the hood, the mothers do when they are pacifying a small child, +comforting an infant, just letting it know she is there.

+

The pram’s left wheel squeaked its protest as she slowly +went down the alley, moving like an old woman.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus18.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus18.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6bc283 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus18.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,717 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

18

+

“I don’t know what on earth’s going on +here,” Helen said into the phone. “But I’ve +locked the place and I’m not going back in there again until +I have back-up. I can call in and get a patrol team, but honestly, +I’d rather you were here. We’re both in +this.”

+

“All right,” David said, his voice tiny and +fragmenting. He was obviously in his car, a fact she already knew, +for his voice kept dissolving into hisses of static. Bursts of +crackling interference split his sentences into senseless islands +of words. “I should be there in.....an hour.”

+

“Say again?”

+

“Wait... half an hour.....through traffic.” She got +the message. There was one final burst of electronic heavy +breathing and the phone went dead. He was on his way, just passing +the centre of town. He’d come down the motorway and across +the bridge that spanned the river near Barloan Harbour. She felt a +warm glow of more than just relief.

+

Down in the kitchen, Nina Galt was trying to remember exactly +what the girl had said. Helen was on her third cup of tea of the +afternoon and the pressure was getting to her, but she was +reluctant to move. The toilets were beyond the stairway which led +up to the room where Ginny Marsden had spent the night and had now, +somehow contaminated with the foul, disabling smell.

+

“She looked more than twenty two to me,” Nina Galt +was saying. “She must have had a bloody hard life. If +I’d looked like that when I was her age I’d have put my +head in the oven. I thought she was at least thirty something, +maybe even older than that. I remember thinking she was pushing it +to have a kid, know what I mean?. There was grey in her hair and it +looked like she could use a good shampoo. You could see places +where it had fallen out. Has she got aids or something?”

+

“She’s pretty sick,” Helen conceded. Once +they’d come downstairs, Nina Galt seemed to forget the fact +that she was a policeman and any hostility she might have initially +harboured melted like spring frost on a south wall. She had seen +the look of unaccountable fear on the younger woman’s face +and some of it had transmitted itself to her. They were now two +women sitting in a big kitchen, drinking tea, and trying not to be +afraid. What she should fear, Nina had no idea, but when +she’d got to the room upstairs, she had felt the +unaccountable shiver of panic. She had been downright scared, for +no reason, and that was scary enough. Helen Lamont, for all she was +young and slightly built and good-looking, she looked tough and +capable, had to be, going by the way she had faced Nina down in the +front of the hostel, and if she was scared then there was something +to worry about.

+

“What about the baby?”

+

“We don’t know. She may have kidnapped +it.”

+

“She never did,” Nina said, more of a question than +a statement. “She didn’t look like somebody who’d +do that. A good breath of wind would have knocked her +down.”

+

Helen had brought in the register from the front counter and had +it opened on the table. Ginny Marsden, confirmed from the +photograph, though Nina Galt claimed she looked at least ten years +older, had given her friend’s name and shown a bank card as +identification. Nina confirmed, yet again, that she didn’t +have a pram when she arrived, but had brought one back later in the +afternoon, leaving it in the space behind the stairs in the +hallway.

+

“And nobody saw her leave?”

+

Nina shrugged, blowing a dragons breath double plume of smoke +down her nostrils. “They come and go. We give them a roof and +a kettle and hotplate, a bed and somewhere to put their clothes. +It’s a charity, a kind of halfway house, just a shelter out +of the cold.. The social services take them in after that, some of +the time anyway, and sometimes the council might find them a +permanent place, if they’re really lucky, for this +council’s been broke for years, run by loonies and +gladhanders. As I say, they come and go. It looks pretty much like +she’s gone.”

+

She drew in another heavy drag of smoke, held it for a while, +her eyes fixed on Helen. She let it go and spoke through the smoke. +“I home she doesn’t come back. Whatever she’s +got, I don’t want to catch. And I’ll have to get that +room fumigated too.”

+

David Harper arrived twenty minutes after the telephone call and +Helen knew he must have broken the law to get there so quickly. She +felt a glow suffuse her at the thought of his concern.

+

“Plenty to tell you,” he said. “How did you +find her?”

+

“Solid police work while you were running around chasing +your tail. And I haven’t found her. I’ve only found +where she’s been. She’s gone.”

+

“Great,” David said, brows drawn down. “You +could have told me on the phone and it would have saved a +trip.”

+

Helen’s glow vanished. She bristled. “Don’t +come the smartass David. You should have been here and you’d +be telling a different story.”

+

She stoppedherself, realising it was the very concern that had +spurred that response. “Sorry. Anyway, she’s on foot, +with a baby,” she waited for his eyes to register that, +“and a pram. She won’t be far, and it doesn’t +look as if it’s in danger, but the girl herself could be. Mrs +Galt says she’s sick.”

+

“Call me Nina,” the big, not quite natural blonde +insisted, favouring David with a wide and predatory smile. She +looked as if she could swallow him. For some reason, it annoyed +Helen. Nina went through the story again and then they went back +upstairs, Helen trailing cautiously behind David, noting this time +how Nina wiggled her broad but shapely backside in an almost comic +come-on. The door opened and Nina stood back to let them both +inside and immediately Helen felt her heartbeat speed up.

+

“Same smell as the McDougall place, and Barker’s +house.” David noted. “But a lot fainter.”

+

“What is it?” Nina wanted to know. “Should I +get the health inspector in and have the place fumigated? Is it +some kind of disease?”

+

“Don’t think so,” David told her. “A +good scrub with soap wouldn’t do any harm.” He was +looking around, noting the rumpled carpet still snagged under the +leg of the old bed and the swirl of blankets on the mattress, like +the nest he’d seen in the McDougall house. Like the one +he’d seen at Celia Barker’s place after Helen had +stumbled out. Round the back of the hostel, the dog was still +barking, though the sounds were weaker, more muted. Every now and +again, the clatter of its charge against the door, and the sound of +wood tearing would rattle the ancient sash window in its frame.

+

“Somebody should put that beast out of its misery,” +David said.

+

Over on the work surface beside the sink, David picked up the +polystyrene package which still contained a shallow, dilute pool of +blood. It bore the name of the butcher’s shop on a stick-on +label. Nina told him the shop was less than a hundred yards away. +An empty eggbox lay close by, with twin trickles of hardening +albumen glued to the wooden surface of the well-used +breadboard.

+

The scent was almost gone, though Helen’s nose was still +wrinkled in disgust. When he had walked into the room, David had +experienced a flutter, a sudden thumping double beat of his heart +and an odd, burning sensation in his temples which spread to his +ears and he recognised it as his angry mode, a mood-marker that had +been part of him since childhood. His father had always teased him +about it, telling him to go cool his ears whenever the younger +David had lost his temper in frustration. It was nowhere near as +bad as the twist of violent emotions that had shunted through him +in the house he’d thought of as Thelma Quigley’s, but +it was similar enough to make him realise that Helen had been right +to call him. There was indeed a connection, a very bizarre +connection, between the flat and rotten - and if he admitted it, +strangely exciting - smell and the two women, one dead, one still +missing for now. The baby was the other connection.

+

For an instant, a thought tried to grab his attention, danced +away, then came back. He snatched it. Was the smell something to do +with the baby Ginny Marsden had scooped from the pram? Was it +sick?

+

Was it dead? That was something to consider, a +possibility, however remote. David made a quick and professional +search of the room, realised there was nothing more to be learned, +and went out.

+

The big and typically beefy butcher told them that a girl had +bought more than a pound of ox-liver and some eggs. He +couldn’t recall exactly when, but he recalled she looked +stooped and cold. “I remember thinking the liver should do +her some good,” he said. “Plenty of iron and vitamins. +Put some meat on the bones. A good steak would have done her some +good.”

+

Of Ginny Marsden, however, there was no sign. Nobody else had +seen the girl with the pram with the one squeaky wheel, with the +exception of the assistant in the charity shop who had sold it to +her, and she couldn’t remember what the girl had looked like, +even with encouragement.

+

It was only after speaking to the butcher that David’s +thought came back to him, that the baby might somehow, however +improbably, be dead. But when he voiced it, Helen countered the +notion. Old Maggie in the cafe down by the bus stop at the far end +of River Street had told her the infant had turned and looked at +her with big blue eyes.

+

“She said it made a noise, and it smelled like a new baby. +Smell of milk. They’re all like that, I can tell you. Every +weekend my mother’s house is full of them. They smell of +worse than milk, I can tell you.”

+

“Not your scene?”

+

“Believe it,” Helen assured him. “I’m +the black sheep of the family ’cause I haven’t gone +into mass reproduction yet. My sisters give me pitying looks, but +it’s not me that’s stuck with changing nappies and +getting up in the middle of the night to pace the floor with +teething babies. It doesn’t look like fun to me.”

+

David smiled at the idea of Helen pacing the floor, but at the +same time he recalled June’s ever more frequent complaints +that time was moving on; that her biological clock was ticking +off the days.

+

“Oh, probably sometime I might go for it.” Helen +said. “When I meet the right guy. And after I reach chief +inspector level. My mother doesn’t believe women should have +a career. She thinks we should populate the earth, but as far as +I’m concerned, the earth is doing very nicely without my +help. Anyway, I haven’t met the right guy yet.”

+

She looked up at him and they both smiled.

+
+

He had sensed the other one.

+

Immediately a tingle of strange and fearsome excitement had +washed through him. It brought a hunger, the new and different +need, a hollow yearning that was hot and fierce and infinitely +powerful.

+

Already he was spent, tired and drained from the effort of +subduing the mother and bringing her back under control after the +terror of abandonment. He had made her feed herself and he had fed +off her, draining her of the building blocks his own changing body +needed and then he’d slept and she’d tried to leave. +The anger bubbled inside of him, anger and fear and the realisation +of his own vulnerability.

+

That was another new thing that he had learned since the moment +the old mother had stopped and failed. He had discovered a fear, +something that he might have known long ago but had forgotten in +the years of complacent feeding. Fear.

+

There had always been a mother, back, back as far as his +strange, wordless memory would allow him to look, all their bovine +bland faces merging into one, all of their teats melded into one +great feeding. When one was finished, another would come to take +her place, without fail, without question.

+

And now there was this one, who had fought against him as he +drained her.

+

Inside her, he could perceive the destruction and dissolution, +and instinctively knew she would not last. His hunger quickened at +that. He would need more, much more as the change burgeoned. +Already, he could feel his limbs lengthen, his muscles strengthen, +and there was an even deeper hunger than the one he was used to, +now awakening from dormancy within him.

+

The change was racing towards him and it scared him as much as +it excited. It was new and unknown, the first real new thing in his +life for as long as his memory could ascertain. He could not +remember his beginning.

+

But he remembered the other one, the new female, with that +tingle, unexpected and strange, the stirring of his growing want. +The fearsome excitement had ripped inside him in a tide of sudden +ferment. It was mixed with the fear and the inexplicable sense of +vulnerability.

+

She was threat.

+

Yet she was more, though he did not have the words or the +thoughts to explain what or why.

+

He had made the mother move, after a while, when he had fought +to dominate her and get his will inside her thoughts, damping down +the fires of rebellion, stamping on the sparks until there was +little left but a residual heat and some distant, bubbling flares +that were far enough away to cause no concern. He had expended +himself in that huge burst of energy and passion, draining his +glands of everything they had, using up his vital growing +sustenance in the singular effort of concentration that harnessed +her. He was drained and had to rest, but even then, while he made +her move, he could not let the link between them subside.

+

There was danger here now, he sensed. Outside, the animal +screeched and howled as it battered and snarled for freedom, its +mind crazed by the mental shriek that had almost turned its brain +to slush. As soon as he had the mother, as soon as he could make +her move, he needed to be out of that place, where it had seemed, +his next change would happen. She moved slowly and he could feel +the vibration of the grinding bones and feel the heat of the +inflammation in her joints as all of her goodness was leeched out +to make his frame strong for the next stage.

+

She had carried him down the stairs, wrapped in the shawl, much +as she had wrapped and trapped him in the blanket, but he sensed no +danger now. He made her put him in the carrier, in the dark. In +another room, another of them, an old, spent and used one, was +singing low. He stretched a curious tendril of thought to touch +this one and picked up her dry fruitlessness, the emptiness of her +body. There was no feeding there.

+

Outside he closed his eyes against the light, however dim, that +managed to get between the storm cover and the hood, turning his +head to bury his face against the cloth, all the time holding her +with a loop of his own thoughts, a rein of attention and +compulsion. The pram rattled and jounced on the flagstones. She +walked on in the narrowness of the street where there was no direct +sun, just moving.

+

Then he touched the other one.

+

His outreach trailed across her and a sudden panic flared inside +him,. The mother stopped dead in her tacks. Another one, again old +and dry, muttered something in the passing, annoyed at having been +held up by the sudden stoppage. The different one, the one he had +touched before was very near, so close her presence was like an +itch on the surface of his skin. His attention wavered out in an +expanding circle of apprehension, ready to draw back at the first +real hint of danger.

+

He touched her again and felt her response. She was turning +towards him, her mind already open. She was moving, quite slowly, +moving in the other direction. She was turning, very quickly, +swivelling towards him and he stroked the different part of her +mind, that rare part in one of these creatures, that could +perceive. It was weak and unused, but inside it the potential was +vast. As soon as he felt it, he withdrew very quickly in great +alarm. She too could reach.

+

She was swivelling, and the crevasse in her mind was beginning +to open, triggered by, responding to, his initial alien invasion. +He knew she could feel his touch.

+

Go Go Go Go NOW.

+

The mother turned, swivelled the carrier, back up the alley. He +drew back, pulled back. Let go. He broke the contact with a psychic +snap that was almost a pain.

+

Mentally, for some reason, he was cringing away from her, +stretched between the horns of his own hungers, confused by the +seismic heavings inside his head and his body. He felt the glands +puff up, draining his own substance, and he had to concentrate to +force them back to quiescence. The tingle, fierce and unexpectedly +violent, shuddered under his skin. He experienced a new hunger and +a savage gladness that mixed in with the fear of entrapment and the +uncertainty of the hunted.

+

She was hunting him, he could feel that. She did not know what +he was. Was unsure of his very existence, on the conscious level, +but already she had breathed him in and the chasm inside of her own +mind, the crevasse that held the coiled power, had sensed the +strangeness, the difference of him.

+

She did not know it, but they had already met, already +touched.

+

She had savoured him.

+

He forced the mother to move away, to keep walking. The wheel +squeaked and the mother’s bones ground together, the sound of +uncontrolled erosion. He made her move, put as much distance as +possible between him and the other one. That was all he could do +for now, get away, make a retreat. If she was hunting for him, she +would find him, maybe, but by that time, he might be prepared; he +might be able to do something about it.

+

For the time being, all he wanted was the quiet and solitude he +instinctively knew was needed for the change. Despite that, as the +mother took him further from the touch of the other one, the +strange, unique excitement shuddered through him.

+
+

Barloan Harbour’s small railway station looked like the +centrepiece of a Victorian Christmas card under the light fall of +snow which sent flakes floating silently to earth beneath a sky +that was mysteriously clear to the east. Overhead the moon, low in +the early evening winter sky, was round and bright, ringed with a +soft and fuzzy halo, a bomber’s moon they used to say in the +old days. It picked out the sluggish waters of the harbour basin, +now at half tide and on the rise. The scattering of snow lined the +stone slope down to a few feet above the waterline where a few +hardy gulls and oystercatchers bleated hollowly. The moonlight +limned the rail tracks which led east to the city, or back west to +Levenford where Ginny Marsden had laboriously pushed the pram, +still squeaking, up the ramp and onto the first train to pull in, +heading eastwards. Something urged her to get off here at the +harbour station, in the shadow of the soaring bridge which crossed +the broad tidal river in an elegant double curve.

+

It had been difficult to get the pram off when the automatic +doors had opened. A boy, maybe a student, had taken the heavy end, +hardly looking at her as he did so, and eased it onto the +platform.

+

“There you are, missus,” he said, courteous and +friendly, hefting his full shoulder bag and sauntering away into +the gathering dark. Five days ago, he’d have given her the +eye, taken in her long and elegant legs, maybe even sat next to her +on the train as soon as he spotted her tumble of blonde hair. Now +he only saw a woman with a pram, hardly giving her a glance. Ginny +Marsden was hardly even aware of that. There were other matters +demanding her close attention.

+

She slowly shoved herself and the pram towards the small, old +fashioned waiting room, which, as luck would have it, if luck has +anything to do with this story, was the only one in the whole line, +from Kirkland right up to Central High, to have a coal fire, and +that was only because the stationmaster, who lived in a small brick +house just beyond the edge of the platform, could get as much coal +as he could from the scuttle boats that stopped to unload at the +far end of the harbour.

+

A couple of schoolkids stopped canoodling when she slowly pushed +the door open and trundled the old pram ahead of her. She hardly +noticed them but, now disturbed in their private place, they pursed +their lips, exhaling in suffering sighs, and went out to find +another private neuk to resume their closer acquaintance. Ginny +walked slowly towards the flicker of the fire, spent a few moments +effortfully turning the pram so that it was broadside to the heat +and then sat down, trying to ignore the grind of dreadful pain in +her hips and knees. Her fingers were red from the cold in +Levenford’s elevated station where the wind had been gentle +but insistent and frigid. She had no gloves and she’d had no +mind of her own, at that time, to tell her to put her hands in her +pockets. They had stayed motionless, clenched tight to the handle +of the pram. Now in the warmth of the waiting room, they were red +raw and scadded, each knuckle swollen to twice its normal width. +When the blood began to run again into the shrunken veins, the pain +in her hands corkscrewed deep under the skin and she was aware of +it constantly, without reprieve. She could do nothing about it. She +could not, at this time, even weep.

+

Outside, beyond the dusty window, an occasional flash of bright +blue light would jitter and sizzle on the overhead electric line +where the hard frost allowed a trickle of power to escape. It was +an eerie lightning, a hissing spark that sounded like the +shivering, wordless hiss of the commands inside her head. Moving +with infinite care, like an old, spent woman, she sat at the end of +the slatted bench, feeling the heat on the side of her bare leg. +Her head ached and her breasts ached and in her womb, blood +trickled thickly, radiating the constant cramp, but these +sensations were almost pleasant in comparison to the awful tides of +hurt that juddered into her bones.

+

She sat there, passing the time in a daze that allowed for +hardly any thought. The baby still had her battened down, its +pressure still hissing inside her head, its manipulation almost +absolute.

+

After a while a train went past, clattering over the +cold-widened gaps and making the waiting room shudder. Once past, +in the darkness under the soaring arch of the bridge, it howled +like a beast and was gone. The baby jerked in the pram, its +attention momentarily grabbed by the noise and vibration. The brief +escape from the pressure of its will let Ginny’s +consciousness bubble up to the surface.

+

“Please God,” she prayed silently. “Please god +spare me from this.”

+

Out in the night, the train’s clatter diminished and the +blue sparkle jittered again on the overhead cables.

+

“I’m dying,” Ginny Marsden realised, but there +was nothing she could do about that. She was too tired to move, to +hurt and too desperately weak to do anything but bear the pain. In +the momentary respite from its attention a tear welled up in her +eye, making the already dim shapes in the sparse room waver and +dance. It spilled out and trickled down her cheek, a brief, +transient warmth on the dry and wrinkling skin of her face. It slid +past the corner of her mouth where the surface was fissured and +puckered into creases that aged the young girl so violently that +the student on the train had taken her for middle aged.

+

The single tear trickled to her chin, hung there for a moment, +then dropped to the matte of her coat. It was a tear of utter +despair. It was all she could do.

+

The sound of the train disappeared into the far distance, a +rhythmic rattle that faded to a whisper. High overhead, on the road +bridge, the lights of cars and trucks speared out across the curve +and into the black gulf of the night, picking out the motes of snow +suspended in the air.

+

The baby’s attention turned back to Ginny Marsden.

+

She felt its probe, its rough and feral touch and her own mind +flinched away from the contact, quite fruitlessly. It did not even +have to waste its energy and substance by spraying its chemical +messengers now. If she had looked inside, under the hood, she would +have seen, not a baby, but a blurred shape whose outlines twisted +and changed, now dark, now light, now smooth, now dry and flaking. +It would have been baby sized, but thin-limbed and +belly-bloated.

+

Yet when it demanded to be fed, she would feed it. When it +demanded to be held, she would hold it. When it wanted mothering, +she would mother it.

+

Later, another train, this one heading west, went thundering +past, not stopping at Barloan Harbour. Ginny stirred and with +enormous effort, she stood up. There was no-one else in the waiting +room, but had there been, he would have heard the awful millstone +sound of bone grinding on bone. Ginny Marsden paused for breath, +unable to let out a cry, even a moan. Her feet moved, and she went +out and along the narrow platform to the white gate that led to the +cobbles of the narrow sloping road. She pushed the pram ahead of +her up the hill just as a small girl on a big boy’s bike came +flying down, pigtails flying in the slipstream.

+

“Watch out Kirsty,” another girl called, swooping +down the hill on a smaller bicycle. “You nearly hit that +woman.” The pigtailed girl wobbled, turned her head to watch +the woman push the pram, her attention snagged by something. The +bike’s momentum carried her beyond the stooped figure, away +from whatever had attracted her notice and both children, carefree +and excited, whizzed past, leaving Ginny Marsden alone on the +road.

+

It took her half an hour to get to the main through road. By the +time she reached the small end cottage with the bed-and-breakfast +sign in its window, she was limping heavily and the nerves in her +left foot were completely numb.

+

The old woman who answered the door wore glasses as thick as +bottle ends, which made her eyes piggy and shrunken. While her +vacancy sign was out in the garden, an old fashioned B&B plaque +hanging from two chains on what looked like a hangman’s +gibbet, she hadn’t expected any business so close to +Christmas. She had two rooms on the top and one on the bottom and +that was the one she offered the gaunt, ill-looking woman who stood +at the door.

+

Mrs Cosgrove, a dumpy little woman with a wizened leg, a legacy +from the old polio days before the war, told her the rate and said +she always took cash, never trusting those plastic cards. Ginny +fumbled, almost absently for her bag, searched it and said she +would have to go to the bank the next day. Her voice was hollow and +distant, as if she really was sick. The old woman looked her up and +down suspiciously. There was a silence as she peered through those +magnifying lenses, then, at that moment, the baby whimpered. Mrs +Cosgrove looked for a second as if she’d been suddenly +slapped. She blinked several times and without hesitation, she +bustled the woman and the pram inside.

+

Ginny hardly said a word, merely nodding like an automaton, as +the woman, as wide as she was tall, and her hair pulled into a +savage bun, shoo-ed her into a ground floor room, lit a gas fire, +and then brought the girl a steaming plate of soup and a mound of +buttered bread.

+

She asked if the baby might need a bottle, explaining that she +had one of her grandson’s still in the house. Ginny shook her +head and bent to sup the hot soup.

+

For some reason, it tasted slimy and alien, almost made her +sick, but she forced it down. She wanted something with blood and +calcium, something raw and full of sustenance and powerfully rich. +The tastebuds of her tongue seemed to stand out on their own when +the strange appetite came upon her, but still, she supped the soup +until it was gone.

+

The woman finally left her alone and after a while, the baby +demanded to be fed.

+

Ginny Marsden, looking like a woman more that twice her age, now +aware of the imminence of her own death, obeyed.

+

______

+

June rang the bell after ten, just as Helen was leaving. The +three of them stood awkwardly in the hall, David, wrong-footed +again, not sure whether to let Helen out first or invite June in. +Finally June made the decision, pushing her way past and drawing +Helen a look that should have pinned her to the wall.

+

“See you in the morning,” Helen said, giving him a +wide smile which also conveyed her mirth at his discomfort. Quite +archly, very mischievously, she added: “And don’t sleep +in, Sergeant, we’ve a busy day ahead of us.” Before the +door closed, she winked at him and turned away towards her car.

+

“What was she doing here,” June wanted to know.

+

“She was collecting some of the papers we’ve been +working on.”

+

“Are you screwing her?”

+

“Jees....” David started to say. The question, so +bluntly put, had startled him to bewilderment. He’d never +heard her use that word before. “What do you mean?” he +finally asked.

+

“I mean, are you screwing that bitch? Are you giving it to +her? Huh? Like what you and me never seem to do these +days?”

+

“Don’t be so bloody stupid,” he snorted, all +the while sensing a hot and turgid flare of excitement at the +now-conscious thought of it. He hadn’t actually considered +the idea, not deliberately, he told himself and even then he knew +that was not quite true. He had thought of her, even though +he’d always tried to keep his working relationship +separate.

+

He had pretended he hadn’t understood the previous night +when Helen had told him he didn’t have to do a runner, +letting him know by her very posture, that he was welcome to stay, +at least a little longer. Maybe he had picked it up wrongly, though +he didn’t think so. He recalled the powerful, unexpected +surge of desire that he’d had to clamp down, not as powerful +as the un-natural sensation in the dead woman’s house, but a +powerful need within him just the same. They were partners, but now +there was something else sparking between them that confused and +wrong-footed him. He could have stayed at Helen’s, but he +hadn’t, because he had made the effort, ever though +on the way home, he’d swung between lust and loyalty, pinned +between the physical drive and his own sense of fair play.

+

“Then what was she doing here?”

+

“I already told you.”

+

“You’re a bloody liar. You’ve been seeing her +behind my back, haven’t you?”

+

She pushed past him, along the short, wide hallway where some of +his best pictures were lined up in large frames alongside his +favourite elemental shots, a skein of geese passing in a chevron +across the face of the full moon, a world-famous piece shot by +Fiona Spiers, one of his own, from early autumn, a woodcock in +sharp and perfect focus while the trees it flew between were only +blurred shadows. The centrepiece was the one he’d taken as a +boy, a close up shot, so close the edges were distorted, of a +dragonfly on a stalk, glittering in the sunlight, while empty paper +skin from which it emerged hung down, transparent and useless, and +as ugly as the larva from which it had transformed. She strode past +the photographs and into the front room. He followed.

+

“Well?

+

She had stopped in the middle of the room, winter coat swinging +round to catch up with her. She looked neat and capable, a matching +beret at a jaunty angle. She was looking down at the scatter of +papers and books all over the floor. There were two half empty +coffee cups on the table.

+

“I’ve been seeing her every day. I told you,” +he said. “We were working.”

+

“For the past week?”

+

“Three days, you know that.”

+

“I’ve left messages all over the place. You’ve +not answered any of them. It’s just not good +enough.”

+

“For God’s sake, June. I’ve been up to my +eyes. I just haven’t had time.”

+

“Don’t you love me any more?” She spat the +words out.

+

That question really caught him on the hop. “Of course +I...” he started without thinking. “Yes, of +course.” Even as he said it he realised it was a response, a +conditioned reflex. She had needed him to say that, right from the +beginning of their relationship, driven by the need to love and be +loved. For a while he had thought he meant it and after a while he +had stopped thinking about it. Now he realised he should have. He +had not been entirely fair, with himself or with her.

+

She turned to look at him. “No you don’t. You really +don’t. We’ve been going out for nearly two years and in +the past six months I’ve hardly seen anything of you. The +last time I did see you, did you stay? No. You gave me some +limp-dicked excuse and left.”

+

“Steady on,” David started to protest. She was all +fired up and all her sentences were crammed up against each other, +and she was using language he heard every day of the week, but +never from her. “That’s a bit unfair. You know +I’m in the middle of something important.”

+

“A dead woman in the shopping mall? A missing girl? +That’s hardly the crime of the century. You must be losing +your touch or your reputation. But I don’t give a damn about +the job. I care about us. What am I supposed to think? Look at +me.”

+

He did. She was standing in the centre of the room, one hand on +her hip and the other stretched towards him, a finger jabbing the +air. Her nail was long and red and looked as if it could stab him +deep enough to draw blood.

+

“You spend all of your time with her.”

+

“That’s because she’s a police officer. She +works with me. We work together.”

+

“It’s more than that. In know it. I’m not +stupid. Otherwise you’d have stayed with me the other night. +But you didn’t stay, did you? You haven’t stayed over +in weeks. You won’t move in with me and you won’t let +me move in with you. All my other friends are engaged or married. +They’ve got children for heaven’s sake. And all the +time my clock’s ticking. I don’t want to wait until +I’m forty. I can’t wait, don’t you +understand?”

+

“So that’s what this is all about, is it?” +David said, quite needlessly. He’d already known that. +“It’s about kids.”

+

“It’s about us, David,” she said +passionately, her eyes flashing blue, and right at that moment, he +felt ashamed of himself and sorry for her. She had drives he could +not, would not, comprehend.

+

“It’s about us,” she said, voice high and +almost desperate. “Us and the future. I can’t wait any +more, watching you run around with her, spending all your time +working or taking your stupid pictures. I need more than that. I +need a relationship and yes, I do want children. I want to be part +of something, part of a family.”

+

“I told you I would think about it,” David said, and +again he realised he wasn’t being fair. “It’s a +big step.”

+

“What are you?” she demanded, eyes glittering again. +“Are you sterile? Or have you turned gay? I’m beginning +to think you might have, for your sex drive seems to have died the +death. I remember when you couldn’t get enough.”

+

Quite involuntarily, David burst out laughing as irritation and +guilt and exasperation and sudden anger tumbled inside him. +“I can’t be gay if I’m screwing Helen Lamont, can +I?”

+

Her jaw dropped and for an instant he enjoyed it. “Are you +telling me...?” her voice trailed away.

+

“No of course I’m not. It was you who said I was and +if that’s what you want to believe, no matter what I say, +then it’s up to you.” He stopped, closed his mouth when +he realised he was being drawn into this confrontation, reacting in +anger. He started again. “ Listen, this is out of order. +Let’s just sit down and calm down and talk this through like +intelligent adults.” He put his hands out, reaching to place +them on her shoulders. She wriggled away from him.

+

“No,” she said with a quick shake of her head. +“I need an answer now. We’re either together or +we’re not. I need a commitment and I need it now.”

+

“What kind of commitment?”

+

“A real one. Something definite. I don’t want to +waste my life hanging around for something that might happen, +maybe, some time. Like never. I need to know where I am, where I +stand. It’s easy for you, but it’s hellish for me when +you’re never with me and when you miss dates and don’t +phone. Yes, I want a commitment that says you’ll be where +you say you’ll be, and that you’ll take me out +and that we can live together and yes, have babies. And honestly +David, the way I’m feeling, if I can’t get that +commitment, that’s it. End of story.”

+

There it was, hanging there. He wanted to avoid it, wanted to +squirm away from it and spend some more time picking it over, +thinking it through. He wasn’t a weak man, not in any real +sense, but he hated hurting her, hated hurting anyone except the +occasional villain who had a go at him. But he was beginning, +however belatedly, to realise that sometimes kindness wore a face +of stone.

+

The silence stretched out for a long, frozen moment while the +two of them, stood motionless, protagonists or dancers.

+

“All right,” he said finally. “You’re +right. I haven’t been fair. But I really don’t want to +move in. I don’t want to have children, not yet. I +don’t want to get married, not yet, and I don’t want to +settle down.” He stopped talking, looked at her. “Not +yet.”

+

Her mouth opened, closed, opened again. He held up a hand. +“I don’t have the same drives you have. I don’t +have the same needs either. I really love my work, honestly, even +all the crap that goes with it. And I can’t take you with me +when I go up the hills and take pictures, because that’s not +your thing. If you want more, then I’m sorry. I can’t +give you more, not yet. Maybe,” he started, looking into her +eyes and now seeing the need to say the obvious. “Maybe not +ever. I’m sorry.”

+

June rocked back as if she’d been slapped. Her mouth +goldfished some more and David felt an unaccustomed tear springing +in his own eyes as he picked up her distress. It was an awful +moment. For an instant the blood drained from her face and he +thought she might faint. Instead, she recovered quickly. Her brows +drew down into a frown and her mouth pulled itself into an angry +twist. Without warning she moved, striding past him, coat flapping +again, he half turned, a word trying to blurt out. She stopped, +turned, and then, striking like a snake, she balled her hand into a +tight fist and hit him square on the nose.

+

The tear of anguish and remorse died unborn. Real tears of +blinding pain sparkled instantly and made his vision waver.

+

“Jesus fuggig gryst,” he said.

+

She stormed past him, through the door, down the hallway. She +swiped again and knocked one of pictures from the wall. The world +famous Spiers shot of the skein of geese took off, flipped over and +landed with a crash of smashing glass. The front door opened, +banged hard against the wall.

+

“Bastard,” she snarled just before the door swung +again and slammed shut. The hallway shook with the vibration.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus19.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus19.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eebce61 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus19.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,612 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

19

+

“You sound like you’ve gone eight rounds.” +Helen’s voice was sleepy and soft at the edges as if she was +stifling a yawn. “What time is it anyway?”

+

“Late. Or early,” David said. “I had a +thought.”

+

“So you just had another thought, to wake me up and share +it with me. Woke up my niece as well.” Helen said, but +without rancour. The initial drowsiness was fading as she came more +alert and now he could hear the suppressed smile. “You looked +all set for a right hook and a possible knockout tonight. She did +not seem to me to be a happy lady.” David thought she +didn’t realise how close to the mark she was. She would see +the bruise in the morning. “Were you in big +trouble?”

+

“Deep shit,” he admitted. “It’s over +now.”

+

There was a silence on the phone as she considered the +permutations and possibilities.

+

“Over.” Another statement and question.

+

“We finished. Split. And yes, she did hit me on the nose. +It bled a bit.”

+

There was another silence that stretched between them. He +wondered whether she’d laugh, or sympathise. She did +neither.

+

“So you just thought you’d wake me up and cry on my +shoulder?”

+

“No. Not at all.” He didn’t really know now +why he had called. He thought he did when he dialled but now, in +the spotlight of her question, he wasn’t so sure. He’d +dreamed, slouched in the seat in front of the flickering screen, +surrounded by the papers that they’d been going through +earlier, and he’d woken with a start when his arm had slipped +and banged against the still tender side of his nose. He’d +woken and he’d wanted to reach out and make contact.

+

“I had a weird notion I wanted to bounce off you.” +He said. He took her silence and the odd whickering sound that +sounded like a stifled laugh as encouragement to go on. +“You’ll think I’m crazy. I mean really out of the +park. But I think we’re looking at this from the wrong point +of view.” He paused for just a moment then ploughed ahead. +“I asked Mike Fitzgibbon what sort of woman steals a +baby.”

+

He closed his eyes and recalled the tall doctor’s +response. He could see him frown, hear the measured tones.

+

“I’ve dealt with several in my time,” he had +said. “Though it’s a fairly rare phenomenon. Many +people consider it, but few carry it further. It’s a major +taboo in our society; in any society. The drive to mother is +inherent in most women, despite what the feminists say. It’s +a programming thing, as much instinct and inherent as learned. More +so in fact.”

+

Mike had taken David back up to his office and called for two +cups of coffee. He turned and looked out the window over the neatly +laid out garden where the standard roses were frosted with snow. +Two magpies, resplendently irridescent chattered to each other on +the tall wall.

+

“You get bereaved mothers, women who have lost a child or +children. They’re the rarest, but occasionally, their sense +of loss is so great that they can be motivated to take another +woman’s child. They are found almost immediately because they +go home and normally present the partner with the problem, which is +often a great shock. He usually, almost invariably, reports the +matter. These are simply traumatised women who are not at all +responsible for their actions in the short term. Their depression +is often treatable and it rarely develops into full-fledged +psychosis.”

+

Mike held up his hand and counted off his thumb, moving to the +next finger. “Then there’s infertile women, or those +who believe themselves to be incapable of bearing children and have +developed an obsessive compulsion. It is a distortion of the +normally powerful mothering instinct. They are the hardest of all +to find because despite their clinical depression, they will have +planned the move in advance, like a bank robbery. It is rarely a +pram theft though. They tend to take neonates from hospitals, or +even go so far as to pose as social workers or district nurses to +remove them from homes. Often they build up an elaborate background +story and rehearse earnestly, even to the extent of having a name +for the child and all the paraphernalia, feeding bottles, cribs, +toys, that sort of thing. That’s the kind who take longest to +trace. So far, in the UK, there has not been a case which has not +been resolved. In America, there are several every year, but then +there’s more murders too.”

+

Mike ticked off another finger. “You get sociopaths, +psychopaths, who want to damage another woman. Again, this is very +rare. Most woman who take a child are doing it from a deep seated +need. There was a case in Boston of a woman taking a +neighbour’s baby to get revenge over a garden fence +argument.” A fourth finger was marked off. “You get +sexual sadists, equally uncommon, but not unheard of, who want to +damage a child. For them a baby’s cry hits the wrong +programming. For most folk, even for men, the pitch causes anxiety +and stress, as a number of tests clearly demonstrate. That’s +pure evolution. It’s how a baby gets into your mental +software and presses the buttons. For a psycho-sadist, the sound +brings pleasure, and of course, in an infant, it’s easily +induced. There was a very distressing case in Brisbane back in the +eighties. The woman kept the baby fed, but made a blanket out of +fibreglass insulation. The baby’s back was suppurating with +gangrene by the time it was found.”

+

Mike held up his small finger. “Lastly, and this is more +common than you might expect, even in this country, there’s +witchcraft. I read a paper on babies being sacrificed in Gambia, +Zaire and Haiti. Some of them, it is believed, were stolen, but the +majority, probably were sold, or even given willingly. There were +two suspected cases in Bristol two years ago as far as I remember. +That’s about it.”

+

The coffee arrived, two small cups, lukewarm and bitter. Mike +grimaced, as if he’d made the same gesture many times.

+

“So, what about Greta Simon?” David asked. “Do +you think she’s telling the truth?”

+

“With what’s left of her brain, it’s hard to +know. But she could be. The short term memory is gone, which means +that by now, she wouldn’t remember your face or your name. +She might, one time in a hundred, remember who I am, but I +wouldn’t put money on it. Certainly, as I told you, there +were no signs of her ever having given birth, but signs that she +had cared for a baby, and of course, there was nothing to show why +a woman of her advanced years was still lactating. That was a +mystery.”

+

“It sounds very like the case I’m working +on.”

+

“I know. But as far as Greta is concerned, she lives in a +small series of bubbles in time, if you forgive the analogy. She is +not in the present. That temporal part of her brain is damaged +beyond repair and at her age, there will be no new neural pathways +to be established. Whatever she’s lost is gone for good. I +can guarantee that. But whenever she is in one particular time +zone, as I like to call it, she sees things perfectly clearly. If +she tells you she is holding a baby, then she believes that is what +is happening, because the memory is forming a perpetual rationality +loop. The brain is a wonderful, and mysterious organ. It tries to +rationalise what it cannot comprehend. It can also recreate, more +vividly than any memory, the exact conditions relating to any given +period, so long as the recalled input has been strong enough +initially.”

+

David said he didn’t quite understand that.

+

“Basically the cerebral cortex is a time machine. You +trigger the response and it puts you back to where you’ve +been. The injury Greta Simon suffered caused lesions and scarring +which caused considerable damage. She has lost the bulk of her +memories and that is not unusual with trauma of this sort. The +brain compensates of course, boosting inherent and surviving +memories, giving it some frame of reference. Basically, there are a +few parts of her life which are still extant, still current. Each +of these parts, at any given time, is real, and because her short +term memory function is gone they are more real than the present. +For Greta, the present does not really exist. Her whole life is +encapsulated in those surviving areas of memory. At any given +moment, she could be back in the sixties, or she could be five +years old again, and she can tell you the name of everybody in her +school class, where they are sitting and what they wear. It never +varies, because she actually believes she is there. Most +of the time, she’s cradling a baby, Tiny Tim. She +sees him as vividly as we see each other. Now that itself leads me +to believe that at one stage, probably very shortly before the +accident, that she was indeed responsible for, however temporary, +the care of a child. Greta has no capacity to lie.”

+

“But not her baby?”

+

“No. Quite unequivocally not hers.”

+

Back in his own place, David had poured himself a drink, still +shaken in the aftermath of June’s anger and in reaction to +the stinging blow to his nose. He let the Jack Daniels bubble over +ice and then sipped it slowly, letting the smooth burn spread in +his throat. He tried not to go over what had happened, still +feeling guilt and a certain strange elation which added to the +guilt-weight. He had cleared the glass from the hallway, buttoning +down the anger at her nasty swipe which crashed the picture frame +to the floor. The whole thing had been unexpected, though, inside +himself, he knew he had only been postponing the inevitable.

+

His nose throbbed and his emotions did an eightsome reel, and +after a while he pulled together the papers on the floor, collected +them into a neater pile, and put them all under the coffee table, +realising that he would get no more work done tonight. Instead, he +poured himself another whisky, popped a can of lager, sat down on +the carpet with his back against the couch and thumbed the remote +control. The television came to life and offered him a choice was +golf, a chess match, or old soap repeats, none of which were worth +staying in for. Instead, he checked his list of tapes, possibly the +most organised part of his life and selected the wildlife series +he’d been compiling week by week.

+

The beer was almost ice cold and after the first swallow, he +held the can against his nose, letting the chill numb the hot +throbbing.

+

On screen, the famous naturalist was hunkered down observing a +troop of baboons spread over a rocky clearing. He turned to the +camera, his well known, almost beatific smile wide and excited.

+

“And here,” he said, “the subordinate male +protects itself from the Alpha, the leader of the troop.” The +camera zoomed in on a bulky primate, tail held high over its +rainbow backside, as it snatched a tiny baby from its mother. She +screamed in protest and the baby whimpered in fright, but the +baboon ignored both. From the edge of the picture, an even more +massive male came powering in, its mane hackled and forelegs stiff +with aggression. The first baboon began to run the tiny +mite’s fur upwards against the grain and immediately it +shrieked its discomfort.

+

The dominant animal stopped in its tracks.

+

“Like us,” the presenter said, “like +chimpanzees and the great apes, baboons have a defined family +structure. Instinctively, they react to the sound of a baby’s +cry, which is pitched at such a level to cause distress in the +adults. As you can see here, the Alpha male has stopped in its +advance. It wants to fight the Beta male, driven by its natural +response to dominate the troop. But the inferior male is using the +baby’s shrieks as a shield. The dominant male is anxious and +agitated, because the baby’s cries for help trigger the +adult’s protective response, in the same way that an +infant’s cry automatically attracts attention from a human. +Confused by the interference of the baby baboon’s cry, the +Alpha stops, unable to attack. In this way we see that the +baby’s genetic programming coincides with that of the adult. +It demands attention and the adult is powerless to ignore +it.”

+

Almost miraculously, while the tiny baboon shrieked its glassy +cry, while its mother chattered in real distress close by, impotent +to snatch her baby out of danger, the huge male stopped, sat still +and looked quite comically confused. The rival continued rubbing +the infant’s fur up the wrong way as it sidled off, far +enough to be out of danger. Then, quite casually, he dropped the +baby onto the ground. The mother rushed in, snatched it up and held +it close, checking for damage. Instantly the baby buried its head +against her fur and began to suckle. Its cries stopped +immediately.

+

David watched the programme through, but his mind kept jumping +back to the scene with June which clamoured for his attention, +demanding to be picked over and analysed, and for some reason, when +he thought of her, Greta Simon’s strangely sly, lopsided +face, would intrude in to his thoughts.

+

“I found him,” the old woman had said. “And he +was mine.”

+

He’d been thinking about June, how she’d wanted to +start a family, how she’d get depressed whenever one of her +friends announced a pregnancy while she wasn’t even married. +He thought about the biological drives some people have in +abundance, recalled asking Helen, quite clumsily as he now +remembered, about the reproductive imperative and she’d +laughed, telling him that her sisters had it in great +abundance.

+

“Because of that, I’ve got a tight rein on +mine,” she’d said. “I make a terrific aunt, costs +me a fortune at Christmas, but the rest of it I can do +without.” She’d looked up at him and given him a +teasing smile, nudging him with her elbow. “Unless I find the +right man, of course.”

+

He’d smiled at that recollection, faintly embarrassed +despite the third Jack Daniels, and then again, with no warning, +Greta Simon’s face floated into his memory.

+

“She fell down and the baby called to me and he needed a +mother.” The good eye had rolled round to face him, pinning +him with its oddly iced sharpness. “I look after him and I +feed him. He’s so hungry all the time. He could suck you to +death, but he needs me.”

+

The old woman had believed she was suckling a baby, from the +motions of her hands and the posture of her body. Her hands moved, +the way the baboon mother’s hands had moved, a natural +clutching, hugging motion as she pressed the imaginary child to her +thin, shapeless chest.

+

Superimposed on that image, he saw the baby baboon, skinny and +flat faced, its arms stretched and fingers clenched on its +mother’s fur, nuzzle in against the black teat.

+

“Oh, not so hard Timmy. You’ll empty me right +out.” Greta Simon had complained, pretended to complain, as +the invisible baby suckled.

+

There was something in those images, an important connection +tugging at him. As before, he reached for it, but it danced away. +By now he was on his third can and the effects of the liquor and +the events of the day began to overtake him. He tried again to make +the connection and failed. He considered calling Helen, dismissed +the notion.

+

On the screen the camera swung round past a crackling flame +which ate its way up a trailing vine. It zoomed in to a hollow in a +tree where a bird, something small and plain, a lark or a maybe a +linnet, sat on its clutch of eggs. The flames of the brush fire +made the air waver and dance in heat mirage, but behind it, the +bird’s eye, black as a coal could be seen sparkling. The +camera zoomed even closer, a terrific feat of photography, and even +managed to capture the red flames flickering angrily in the +eye’s reflection

+

The red eye glared, sending a strange and unexpected shiver of +intuitive recognition inside David, despite the numbing effect of +the beer and whiskey.

+

“As you can see,” the famous naturalist explained in +hushed, awed tones, “this bird continues to sit on the nest. +The other animals, the lizards and the snakes, the meercats and the +other birds have fled the approaching flames. In this bird, +however, the urge to protect her chicks is too strong. This is +genetic programming at its most implacable. The bird wants to flee +the flames, but it senses the danger to the nestlings. The need to +protect its children is stronger even than its own natural +imperative to survive. Again, we can see the command children have +over their parents, and this it to the death. The mother bird will +sit here as the fire consumes the bush she chose as a safe haven, +defying the heat and the fear. All to no avail.”

+

The flames crackled as the scene began to blur on the screen, +the great red eye staring desperately out. The mother bird sat +there until the heat and the smoke filled the screen, blotting +everything out.

+

“The natural imperative, the drive to reproduce, to +protect its offspring against all dangers, is so powerful that it +has over-ruled every other instinct,” he said, “In the +end, it has killed them all.”

+

The credits rolled and the dramatic music swelled. David leaned +back against the settee and closed his eyes, listening to the +soulful notes while the images, June, Helen, Greta Simon, the baby +baboon, the dreadful red eye, they all came swimming and circling +in his memory. By the time the next programme began, he was half +asleep.

+

The tape rolled on. On screen, a mass of moving twigs resolved +as the camera pulled back, into a mound of ants. The voice came on +again, whispering atmospherically, explaining the army ant bivouac. +As the teeming mass of insects broke up, the camera followed the +monstrous, swollen thing that was the queen, hauled hither and yon +by the nurses, bloated and helpless.

+

“She lays eggs constantly,” the naturalist said. +“While the workers, her daughters, are programmed to raise +them. They will die to defend the queen’s offspring, obeying +the queen’s own reproductive imperative. She needs to breed. +It is her sole function, and it is that drive which powers the +whole colony.”

+

David did not hear those words, not consciously. He was fast +asleep. And in his sleep, he dreamed.

+
+

“Bastard.”

+

June’s face twisted in anger as she spat the word and all +of the pictures fell from the walls, spinning away from him, each +of them warping and twisting, each of them now a screen in which +the subjects moved in their own separate cells of life.

+

“Bastard.” The word echoed from the walls and she +was turning to face him, her face white and eyes wide. “You +must be impotent!”

+

He looked down and thought he might be impotent because he was +naked and nothing was happening where it should and when he looked +up again, Helen Lamont was coming towards him, hunched against the +cold in her flying jacket. Somewhere in the distance a cuckoo +hooted and they were sitting beside a pool where dragonflies +swarmed in fighting squadrons, snapping insects out of the air.

+

“You’re one of the good guys,” Helen said and +smiled at him while June was storming across the field, her skirt +blowing in the breeze. “I might have one if I find the right +man.”

+

He had turned towards her and she had smiled again and the +flames were in her eyes and they were all red.

+

The cuckoo hopped again closer in now and he could see it +flutter from bush to bush, seeking the pipit’s nest. He +turned away from Helen and watched it settle on the nest, furtively +pressing down, head swivelling from side to side. The egg came out, +soft and membraned and it wriggled and swelled and then burst open +to show the big-eyed bird that jostled the others out of the way, +out of the nest and then shrieked for food.

+

“Poor little thing,” Helen said and he turned back +to her while the baby cuckoo begged for food. “It needs +fed.”

+

“Of course it does,” he told her, edging forward to +plant his lips on hers. “We all need fed.” The words +came out smooth as oil and he marvelled at how cool he was and her +tongue came out and the tasted the freshness of it and closed her +eyes, lifting a hand to her breast.

+

He touched the leathery skin and his eyes flicked wide open. +Heather McDougall was writhing on the ground, the three moles like +risen cancers on her cheek, while he was pressing against her +chest, trying to get the heart to start and the smell of her blood +and vomit was like a cloud in the air. Helen was screaming at him +to do something while June just kept telling him he was a bastard +and that he’d destroyed another one and that she +wouldn’t have his children if he was the last man on +earth.

+

He turned back to the dying woman and Greta Simon leered up at +him with that monstrous dent caving in the side of her head and +forcing her red eye to look at the other one, madness swimming vin +her gaze and her laughter cackling out.

+

“I left my baby lying here,” she screeched. +“And went to gather blueberries. She took it she took it she +TOOK IT.”

+

“I did not,” June hissed. “I didn’t want +that baby. I wanted yours.”

+

David spun, confused and the sun was going down and the +dragonflies game whirring in on their helicopter wings, great eyes +redly reflecting the setting sun. Helen lay back in the grass +beside the water filled crater. He bent to kiss her again, now +strangely excited. She put her hand down between his legs and +trailed her fingers up against his thigh. He felt the heat expand +on the side of his cheek and she leaned into him once more, +pressing against him and he was inside her, slowly surging, back +and forth, smelling the heady scent of her body and feeling the +shudder and gasp as she forced against him. She lay back and looked +at him with the sun in her eyes and after a while the water rippled +and something dark and devilish broke the surface and began to haul +its way up the stalk of reed, expanding as it came until it reached +eye level and the skin on the back split down the middle and +something else came out. He raised his camera to get a picture of +the light reflecting on the bulbous, predator’s eyes, but it +was no dragonfly emerging, it was a small, fragile baby baboon, +screeching in fear and alarm and he felt the sudden anger build up +inside him.

+

“Bastard,” June bawled fiercely. “It’s +your baby, don’t you see?”

+

He turned, whirling, and saw Helen was gone and spun back to +June who was turning slowly away with the red sun in her eyes. Over +in the bushes the pipits were feeding a huge bird, the size of a +turkey and the baboon squealed harshly as it sank slowly into the +water.

+

He awoke with a sudden start, heart hammering, thrown out of +sleep by the sudden fear of the incomprehensible and by the sudden +flare of pain in his nose when his arm knocked against it. The heat +on his cheek was almost a pain and a real pain was jabbing in at +the muscle of his neck. In the video recorder the tape was +screeching to a halt, rewinding itself back to the start.

+

Groggily he forced himself up onto one elbow, then pushed again +until he was sitting. He had slid down to the thick rug, too close +to the gas fire. His cheek felt as if it was baked and for and +instant he imagined he could smell scorched hairs. The tape +squealed shrill then clicked to a stop. The terrified baboon sound, +or what had seemed like a baboon in his dream, died instantly. He +moved again and his neck protested in a stab of stiff pain. He +groaned, knocked his glass over, spilling a tablespoon of Jack +Daniels onto the carpet. The scent of whisky overpowered anything +else and David came fully awake.

+

The after images of his dream danced in his vision, fading +slowly. June’s face still held the expression he had seen +when she’d stormed out. Old Greta Simon’s distorted +head slowly fuzzed out, leaving Helen Lamont, eyes glazed and mouth +open, as she had been in the strange dream. Embarrassment and +sudden lust challenged each other and cancelled each other out.

+

For a few minutes, blinking the sleep away, he tried to +recapture the details of the dream, but they faded as quickly as +the images had done, leaving him with the slightly disoriented, +half-bewildered sense of something not quite achieved, of something +half-grasped and now lost.

+

He got up, went to the bathroom to wash his face in cold water, +massaging the cramped muscles of his neck with a cool hand and then +came back through to the living room. Somewhere in the ten yards +from bathroom to where he’d fallen asleep, the notion +he’d been reaching or came in on him with complete, +crystalline clarity. The connection.

+

He sat down by the table and clenched his hands together, +resting his chin on the lattice his fingers made, thinking about a +concept so monstrous he could hardly believe he could even consider +its possibility. He let out a long, slow breath. The dream images +had fragmented and vanished, but the core of the symbology remained +with him, mental pieces interlocking, parts forming a monumental +whole. He wondered why he had not put them together before, because +his interest in the natural world had already provided him with all +of the clues. He had known about the drives and the imperatives +without having to see them again on a television programme.

+

Drives. Imperatives. Programming.

+

Pieces of the jigsaw. Could they all fit? He sat and forced +himself to think, drawing on the dream images, sizing them up. The +naturalist on television had spoken of fundamental drives, the +basic instinct that is the engine of the vast and intricate +biosphere of the earth, the urge to replicate. The cuckoo of +David’s previous dream came back to him, the hairless and +blind chick, murdering its foster-siblings by throwing them from +the nest while its new parents could do nothing but follow their +programming to respond to its cries for food and work themselves to +exhaustion to feed their giant ward.

+

A brood parasite, the cuckoo was. There were worse parasites, +but this one used the parents drive to protect its offspring. Like +the baboon baby’s cry which drove the adults to feed and +protect. Like the bird in the nest, suicidally remaining on the +nest, the genetic program was clear. The bird had no choice.

+

And in humans, biologically no further along on the evolutionary +trail. Did humans have any real choice? He thought of a +baby’s high-pitched cry and knew that even he would +experience the quickening of his pulse and the tightening of his +nerves if he heard a child’s wail. That response was an +evolutionary necessity. It was how the infant controlled the +parent.

+

If, if there was a kind of thing that had evolved to +use humans, how best to be protected? There was one answer to +that.

+

The concept he’d arrived at was such a stupendous one that +he really had to sit down and think it through. The bottle of Jack +Daniels picked up the light and gleamed from the far side of the +table. He almost reached for it again, changed his mind, and hauled +himself out of the chair, his stiff joints protesting at the sudden +motion. He flipped the switch on the kettle and paced the kitchen, +still juggling with mental images, until the kettle boiled. He made +a pot of coffee, strong and aromatic, downed a cup, had another and +by the time he was on his third, he was almost completely +awake.

+

“Say that again?” Helen said, on the other end of +the line, her voice quizzical. “And slowly this time, so I +can understand it.”

+

“I asked Mike Fitzgibbon the wrong question, I think. What +sort of woman would steal a baby. What if it was the other way +round?:”

+

“You’re serious?”

+

“Sure. Maybe. Christ, I don’t know.” He +stopped, pulled himself tight. Took a mental step forward. +“Yes. I’m serious. It sounds crazy, and it is crazy. +But we’ve done the checks and this is not the first time +it’s happened, and there’s no real evidence of any +other babies. Not ever. People have seen the prams, maybe even got +a glimpse, but there’s no name, no real identity.”

+

“Are you drunk?”

+

“I’ve had a drink. But I’m not drunk.” +He wasn’t sure if that was the actual truth or not, but right +at that moment he felt absolutely sober. For a moment of misgiving, +he felt that he might have made a complete idiot of himself, but +then he realised how it all fit.

+

“You think we should look for a baby that steals +mothers?”

+

The silence drew out for longer than before. He hadn’t +heard a click on the line, but just as he wondered whether +they’d been cut off, Helen’s voice came back. She spoke +quite softly.

+

“I don’t want to talk about this just now. I think +you should get some sleep and we’ll talk about this in the +morning.”

+

This time she hung up.

+

She never got back to sleep that night. Now that she was awake, +now that he’d put the idea into her head, she couldn’t +let it go, and the more she thought about it, the more, however +preposterous the notion seemed, the more it seemed to fit with the +facts of the case. She lay in the dark, with a shaft of moonlight +lancing between the narrow gap of the curtains to slash a silver +line down the wall, trying to sleep while her mind picked and +teased, refusing to let it go.

+

What if. What if?

+

He’d told her about Greta Simon, when they’d arrived +back from Levenford where the trail had suddenly gone cold. Greta +Simon had been on the bridge where she’d been hit by the +front end of a lorry and lost too much of her forebrain to exist in +anything but an institution and a sphere of time somewhere back in +the distant past. She had had a baby and it had gone missing, +presumed drowned. But nobody knew who the baby was, or, more to the +point, whose. And it was never found, dead or alive.

+

Heather McDougall who had vanished on the same day. She turned +up dead in the mall, with a baby in a pram, caught on camera in the +moment of death. The baby caught, blurred on the screen only when +it too vanished. Ginny Marsden who had gone missing so dramatically +while the McDougall woman lay writhing on the ground. Ginny Marsden +had stopped and snatched the baby, cuddling it tight against her +body.

+

The baby.

+

The link was there. It was clear, and yet Helen was reluctant to +reach for both sides, because that would make her a conduit, a link +which would keep the circuit, make the connection between one case, +another, a third. If she was a conduit, the electrical connection, +a canal linking them all, then she could be contaminated by this +thing. Something inside of her mind, a part of her brain which +might not quite operate on the truly rational, the part of her mind +that the little parasite had recognised over the distance when she +had felt someone walk over her grave, shied away from this.

+

The fingers trailed down her spine again. Out in the dark, at +the far end of the hallway , one of her nieces snuffled in her +sleep and wailed faintly in dream distress and Helen remembered the +same feeling of impending danger that she’d sensed when Nina +Galt had opened the door and the bitter smell had come wafting out +from the room. That part of her mind that could reach out of the +rational and pick up a taste of the other-natural, flexed, still +weak, still unready, and gave her a sensation of shadowed and +threatening prescience.

+

There was danger here and it was real.

+

The same smell as at the house on Latta Street. The same as at +Celia Barker’s apartment where the dead cat had got up and +danced and the walls had breathed and the two-headed beast had come +lurching for her in the hallucination. She sensed danger looming +ahead.

+

What sort of baby would steal a mother?

+

Helen closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but still the shiver +of prescience wouldn’t let her go and her mind still tickled +and itched with the preposterous notion of something completely +unnatural.

+

Yet.

+

She had sensed something that morning when she’d come out +of the cafe where Margaret and Maisie had told her of the girl with +the baby. She’d stopped and the unnerving sensation of being +watched had insinuated itself. She had felt eyes on her, felt the +touch of something else slide across her consciousness, leaving her +with a besmirched feeling of contamination. She had dismissed it +then, in the cold light of day, but in the dark of the night, with +the dust motes dancing in that strip of moonlight, it came back to +her and she knew why she had been scared in the hostel. She had +pushed the idea of being watched, shucked it away from her, but it +had clung to her. In the chill of the winter’s night, she +knew her instinct had not been wrong. She had received a warning +then, just as she felt the warning now.

+

And who had been watching unseen? Had it been Ginny Marsden? Had +it been someone else? Intuition buzzed inside her head, an angry, +insistent insect. Had it been some thing else?

+

Damn David Harper, she thought. He was probably sound asleep by +now. He’d sounded thick and mumbling when he’d come on +the phone, as if he’d just woken, or as if he’d gone +the distance with that bottle of Jack Daniels. He was most likely +snoring like the proverbial pig by now, while she tossed and turned +and tried to shake off the images that came dancing into her +imagination, images she did not want to consider in the cold +shallows of a midwinter’s morning.

+

The baby’s blurred, unclear and wavering likeness on +screen stayed with her. It had no face.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus20.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus20.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..298d3ee --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus20.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,690 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

20

+

There was no sign of Ginny Marsden on Christmas Eve. Both David +and Helen had visited her parents again and he was struck by the +resemblance in posture, in expression, between Winnie Marsden and +old Catriona McDougall. At least Winnie knew her daughter was still +alive.

+

“But why is she doing this?” she wanted to know. +Ginny’s boyfriend Tony hung about at the back of the room, +looking uncomfortable and out of place. The western division which +covered Levenford had assigned two patrols to make inquiries and +both David and Helen had spent a cold day collating the information +they had. It wasn’t until late on the night before Christmas +that word came back that she might have boarded a train again, +heading for the city. That would complicate the search.

+

David took Helen to her mother’s house and found the place +filled with sisters and brothers in law and a confusing array of +children. Almost everybody, it seemed, was wrapping presents, +hanging Christmas cards, or crowding into the kitchen to cook, or +to eat. It was a benign bedlam. David was introduced all round and +promptly forgot most of the names. Helen told her mother they had +to go back to the office just to sort out some paper work. Mrs +Lamont, whose hair was still dark and thick and whose smile showed +how well Helen would weather the years, expressed harassed sympathy +and told David not to keep her daughter out too late at this time +of the year. He promised, not sure of whether he had any control at +all.

+

Outside he asked: “What paperwork?”

+

“It’s a madhouse in there. I need some quiet. +Let’s go back to yours. My own place will be just the same. +Families, at Christmas? Who’d have them?” David had to +stop at a corner store for another bottle of Jack Daniels and added +a bottle of gin to the list. He bought two six-packs, selecting +cold ones from the fridge, threw in crisps of all flavours and a +variety of peanuts

+

He hung her heavy jacket on the hook beside his dragonfly +picture which had escaped June’s wrath. He hadn’t had +much time to reflect seriously on her dramatic exit, because +he’d been busy since the morning, but he’d been +surprised when he’d woken that the swelling in his nose had +gone down without leaving a tell-tale bruise which would have +caused comment at the station. There was hardly a twinge of +pain.

+

He poured a drink for each of them and, without ceremony, Helen +pushed some cushions off the sofa, bundled them into a little nest +and made herself comfortable on the carpet in front of the fire. +Outside, the sky still clear and the forecast promised a sharp +frost. The moon was still haloed in crystals of ice. Helen sipped +her drink while he talked about the difficulty of finding anybody +in the city, especially someone who did not want to be found until +finally she stopped him and asked him about the previous +night’s phone call.

+

“Oh, that was just the drink talking,” he said, not +meeting her eye. He’d been hoping to avoid this and during +the day, because she hadn’t mentioned it, he thought she +might have forgotten. In the heat of the night, the thought had +been so positive, so clear. In the cold of the morning, however, it +was such a colossal concept that he had to get some distance on it. +It had been a mistake, he knew, to dump it on her. “I’d +had a blow to the head.”

+

“Don’t bullshit David.” The words came out +sharply, not angrily. “There’s something happening here +that I don’t understand. You were trying to tell me +something.”

+

“Look, I was just trying to rationalise all of +this,” he admitted. “I told you I spoke to the old +woman, Greta Simon. Her story is just a reprise of the Heather +McDougall story. Simon said she lost a baby. It happened on the +same day McDougall went missing back in the sixties. We have +incontrovertible proof that Ginny Marsden took the baby from the +mall, and it was the same one McDougall had wheeled in a few +minutes earlier before she threw a thrombo on the floor.”

+

“Nice turn of phrase,” Helen said. “Very +sympathetic.” David ignored her and went on.

+

“So I’m just tying to establish connections. We +already have links I suppose, but nothing that makes sense. Nothing +I’m ready to put in any report to the boss or to Scott +Cruden.”

+

“But you said something about babies stealing +mothers.”

+

“It’s true. I did. I’m sorry, but my +imagination was running away from me and I apologise for waking +you.”

+

“No, it’s more than that,” Helen said. +“I can tell. You’re backtracking right now. I wondered +why you never mentioned anything about this today. I kept waiting +for you to bring it up. And that’s the real reason I dragged +you out of my mother’s. Well, part of it. Anyway, +you’ll be pleased to know I lay awake all night after you +called because I realise there’s something not quite right +here. You know more than you’re telling. Don’t ask me +how I know that, for I don’t know myself. But call me a liar +if you dare.”

+

“No,” David conceded. “I know as much, or as +little as you. But as old Sherlock said, whatever that’s +left, however improbable, is the truth. Has to be. So I have to +think on even improbable things. There’s a similarity all +down the line, and I mean going back to the forties when old Greta +said she had found a baby. Mike Fitzgibbon says she’s +incapable of lying, so I have to take that as the truth. She had a +baby in her care in the forties and then again in the sixties. +McDougall had one in the sixties and another one this week. Where +did the babies come from? Why were both of these women lactating? +Old Hardingwell told me our Jane Doe was carrying something in her +blood, major league molecules, long peptide chains, something that +was very like the structure of a virus, so Hardingwell says, and +I’m thinking maybe that’s another connection. Greta had +something in her blood that they couldn’t identify, not +then. It was probably the same thing. Maybe this baby’s some +kind of carrier. Maybe it’s got a virus or some kind of bug +that alters hormones for instance.”

+

“You think they’re sick?” Helen asked and when +she did she felt a tremor again. Someone’s walked over my +grave again. She remembered the odd moment on the stairs when +both she and Nina Galt were adjusting the pressure of their +brassieres. She’d smelt the bitter stench in the room and her +nipples had stood out, tender and throbbing, pushing against her +sweater. She tried to think back, picturing the big woman jostling +her substantial breasts, trying to recall whether she too was in +the same turgid state. The memory wouldn’t come. She’d +been too concerned about covering her own fear and her own +embarrassment.

+

“I don’t know,” David answered her question. +“There’s just a strange chain of events. It could be +something like rabies.”

+

The shiver ran through Helen again. Had she herself picked up +some contamination? “What do you mean?”

+

“Rabies is a very smart virus. It programmes its hosts. +First it infects the bloodstream then gets to the saliva glands. +After that it spreads to the central nervous system, drives the +host mad, and then makes it bite others. The saliva in the bite +carries the virus on again, right down the line. Smart +virus.”

+

“And you think that’s what we’re dealing with? +Something that could infect us?”

+

“No. I don’t think there’s any danger. +I’m just thinking aloud. Maybe there’s a virus that +alters a woman’s drive. Maybe. I don’t know. But Ginny +Marsden stole a baby. So did Heather McDougall, at least so we have +to surmise, because she never gave birth and nobody has reported +the kid missing. As far as I know she stole one from Greta Simon, +way back when I was in shorts. Greta herself says somebody took it, +and Phil Cutcheon now believes the baby never died.”

+

“So what happened to the babies?”

+

“That’s the million dollar question. We know, or +have to assume, that the Marsden girl still has this one, but we +don’t know where it came from. Nor do we know what happened +to the one I believe Heather McDougall might have picked up at +Duncryne Bridge. Did it die? Did she give it away to somebody else? +And where did that one come from, because old Greta never gave +birth, and as far as I know, nobody ever reported that baby +missing. As you say, it gets pretty weird.”

+

“So there could be some disease that makes women steal +babies?”

+

David laughed. “There would have to be one that made +mothers fail to report the loss too.”

+

“So far we’re talking of at least five, because +McDougall has been seen with kids for the past five years, off and +on.”

+

“Unless it’s the same baby,” Helen said, +trying to make it sound light, but the shiver stole through her +again.

+

“It would have to be a pretty old baby,” David said, +but he gave Helen an odd, almost surprised glance. “Old +Greta, she had a baby back in the forties, during the war. That +would make it close to sixty by now.”

+

“Older than my mother,” Helen said, wishing the +strange feeling of uneasy prescience would leave her.

+

“Anyway, that was just one of the things I was considering +last night, and I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I’d been +looking at some of my natural history tapes and I started seeing +similarities. Now it sounds a bit crazy. I’ll have to think +on it some more.” Even as he said it, he knew he was not +telling the entire truth. What had started out as a simple sudden +death in plain sight had turned into something completely +different. David was experiencing the same thrill of forewarning +that was making Helen’s skin stick out in goosebumps. +Unless it’s the same baby, she had said. That had +brought out his gooseflesh.

+

Just as he mentioned his tapes, he recalled the dream again, the +dream he’d remembered as soon as he’d woken up and +instantly he felt his ears redden in the way that they did when he +was angry, but this time the flush was embarrassment. In a flash of +recollection he smelled the scent of her body and felt the shudder +and gasp as she forced against him. He felt her eyes on him and +tried to look away casually.

+

“It might sound just as crazy, but I think there is +something wrong in this whole thing. I don’t like it.” +Helen said. “To tell you the truth, it gives me the creeps. I +can’t say why, but I’m getting a bad feeling out of +this.” She was turned towards him, looking up, her face +raised, almost aggressively. As she moved, his memory superimposed +the dream Helen who had turned and trailed soft fingers on the +length of his thigh. Another flush of embarrassment, and of +something entirely different, crept up from his open collar and he +rubbed his fingers on his jawline, as if to check his day’s +growth.

+

She said something again, which he missed.

+

“Are you listening?” She was looking right at him +and the gleam of the side-light was in her eyes, the way the sun +had been.

+

“I was thinking back,” he said truthfully, wondering +if she could see the flush of colour. To cover it, he poured her +another drink, while she held the glass up to him, her arm +outstretched. The glass trembled slightly, breaking up the light +from the fire into diamond sparkles. She raised herself up and sat +beside him.

+

“What do you really think?” she demanded. “And +no bullshit this time.”

+

“As long as this is between the two of us?”

+

She nodded, staring earnestly into his eyes.

+

“Of course it is. I’m one of the good guys +too.” She smiled, but there was something else in the smile. +He couldn’t identify it.

+

“You know anything about the natural world?”

+

“I know a brachiosaur from a brontosaurus,” she +said. “Which is more than you do. Yes. I grew up in the +country. My uncle’s a gamekeeper. His brother’s the +best poacher you ever saw, and they still drink together. I know +where the dipper nests and where the big trout lie in a stream. +It’s not all dolls and prams with us girls, you +know.”

+

“I was thinking about cuckoos last night.”

+

“Brood parasites.”

+

“Exactly. I was putting two and two together and coming up +with a lot more than four.”

+

She pulled back and looked him straight again. “You think +we’re dealing with some kind of parasite? Like a +vampire?”

+

“I don’t know. Maybe. Possibly. There’s a +connection running all through this that’s just not right. As +I said, when everything else is exhausted....anyway I think +I’d like a day off, and get my head clear of all of this. +There’s more permutations in all of this than you get on a +football coupon. Too many names and too many babies. Maybe I need a +week off.”

+

“That’s a good idea,” Helen said. “I +wish I hadn’t brought the subject up. I think we should +declare an amnesty from work, at least for the now.”

+

“Suits me,” he said, wondering how crazy she thought +he was. He leaned back. This time she took his glass, poured +another measure and handed it back to him. She drew her feet up, +tucked them underneath her, took a sip of wine.

+

“So what are we going to do?” she asked.

+

“Christ alone knows.” He looked at her and she +looked back at him, dark eyes still catching the light. That +expression was back again and it looked like hunger.

+

“I don’t mean what will we do about work,” she +said. “That can wait. It’s Christmas, isn’t +it?”

+

He turned to her askance and without any hesitation she leaned +forward and kissed him. He was too taken aback that he did nothing +for all of five seconds. She pulled back eyes scanning his, left to +right and back again, her own eyes wounded and moist.

+

“Do I need some mistletoe?” She asked, soft, now +uncertain. “Or have I grown two heads?” He tried to +shake his head, opened his mouth just a little. She tried again and +this time, more prepared, he responded to the press of her mouth +and the heat of her skin. Her tongue slid out, very slowly and +licked the inside of his own lips, a slide of sensuous contact. He +met it with his own. She made a very small noise that could have +been a whimper or a sigh. There were two simultaneous, almost +identical sounds as they reached blindly to put their glasses down +on the table and then slowly leaned against the back of the +sofa.

+

Some time later, he took her into his bedroom.

+

The moonlight sliced its slash on the wall, catching the bright +and beady red eye of a fighting black grouse cock framed on the +wall, though neither of them saw that.

+

Some time later, deeper in the night, he’d lain there, +listening to her breathing in the dark, watching the moonlight on +the curve of her neck, feeling guilt about June and uncertainty +about getting involved with somebody he liked and somebody he +worked with and wondered how he’d got himself into this mess. +He also recalled the shiver and sigh that he’d seen in the +dream and then felt against him in their deep contact, and +marvelled at her responses. Sometime in the night she woke up and +heard him snoring softly and cuddled into him, grateful for his +presence on a cold night, delighting in the press of his tough +body. She knew, she told herself, that she hadn’t exactly +planned this, but she was glad it had happened. Some things really +were simply unpreventable.

+

There were some drives that had a control all of their own. In +the dark, she remembered his touch and the sudden ripple that had +started deep within her and become a shudder and she remembered +crying out, almost laughing with the force of it. She remembered +the urgent demand that overwhelmed her and the spark of warm tears +as it began to ebb. She remembered shaking her head when he had +looked at her to see if there was anything wrong.

+

Some time, even later, she roused him with more kisses and told +him she had to go home before midnight. When he sleepily asked why, +his face a picture of confusion and then drowsy comprehension, she +told him.

+

“It’s Christmas. They’ll expect me. It’s +a family thing and I can’t break the tradition.”

+

Ten minutes later, wrapped in his dressing gown and looking even +more slender than slight and defenceless, she dried the +short-cropped hair that gave her a pixielike, innocent look that +belied her toughness and strength of her slim body. She came out of +the bathroom and gave him a smile that dimmed the light.

+

“I found the birthmark,” she said, laughing and he +went along with it, trying to squash down the feelings of guilt and +uneasy elation. June’s angry, pained face floated in his +memory, scolding and accusing. He turned away from her, made her +image fade away and he knew that he had turned a corner. Exactly +where he was going, he had no idea.

+

Helen changed back onto her jeans and flying jacket while he got +his winter jerkin out. She turned to him, easing his collar up to +protect his neck, while he did exactly the same thing to her.

+

“Listen,” she said. “If you go all guilty on +me, I’ll feel we did something wrong. But I know we +didn’t. No pressure at all, but I’d like to do it +again. You’re one of the good guys. I’ve known that for +a while, even since before you saved me form getting my ribs stove +in, and there’s hellish few of you around.”

+

He pulled her close and kissed her again, savouring the taste +and the texture and suddenly he did not want her to leave. June +still tried to intrude, but he mentally straight-armed her away +with a determined thrust. When he and Helen broke apart, almost +fighting for breath, he reluctantly walked her down to his car, +enjoying the close clutch she had on his arm, then drove through +the bitter cold night and waited outside her house until she went +inside. It was just more than an hour short of midnight and the +moon was riding high.

+

In the morning, when he awoke, for a confused few moments, he +thought it all might have been a dream.

+

_______

+

On the day before Christmas Mrs Cosgrove woke early and prepared +breakfast for the woman and her child. They had gone to bed early, +the thin woman moving slowly as if she’d walked a thousand +miles and had more to go before she reached her destination. The +old woman remembered thinking it was a darned shame that anybody, +any woman and child, should be away from home at this time of the +year, staying in bed and breakfast with strangers.

+

She looked at the line of cards along her wall, pictures of +angels and glittery Santa Clause figures. At the far end there was +a big one from her youngest son in Canada. It was a picture of the +virgin Mary and her child, in a wooden stable. Another young woman, +thought old Mrs Cosgrove, a long way from home with her baby. She +put the kettle on and decided to give the woman two eggs and +another rasher of bacon.

+

As it happened, the stranger only ate the yolks and never +touched the tea. She went out early and came back a while later +with money which she handed over without a word. There was enough +for a week’s lodgings, and that meant the poor dear meant to +stay here right over the new year. Mrs Cosgrove wondered if maybe +the girl was running away from something, if she was maybe in +trouble with the police. She leaned back, taking the weight on her +good leg and had a good look at her paying guest. The girl’s +bones were pressed out against her cheeks, making the hollows under +the ridges as dark as caves.

+

As she told David Harper some days later: “I thought then +that she was really sick. You know, that new thing, the Aids +plague. There wasn’t a pick of meat on her. Just a rickle of +bones. She should never have been out with that baby. I took a peek +inside his pram and he looked healthy enough to me. It had big blue +eyes and a smile that would break your heart. I could have picked +him up and cuddled him. But the mother, she looked as if her days +were numbered, poor soul. You know what she looked like? She was +like one of them Jews in Germany in the war. The ones in the +camps.”

+

This was some time after what happened in Barloan Harbour came +to light.

+
+

The mother was finished.

+

She would not last much longer and already he felt the panic of +imminent vulnerability rise up like bile inside him. The old dry +woman, who had a familiar scent, one he remembered from days long +past, hovered around, desiccated and done, while the mother’s +milk turned sour and thin. He was hungry now and there was little +sustenance left.

+

He had to move, had to find another one quickly. His senses told +him that he would be found here if he did not move on. The others, +the man and the woman - the very thought of her made the new hunger +swell under the old one - would follow and the mother was not quick +enough, not strong enough to carry him much further.

+

It was time. He lifted this head up from the mother’s teat +and forced his thought into her. She sagged back, twisting away +from the hurt of it. Her eyes screwed themselves into slits. There +was a dirty smell of old blood on her breath, partially from the +pound of raw minced beef she’d got from the corner shop and +also from the three gaping molar sockets where, during the night, +the teeth had loosened and come out. He touched inside and she +slowly sat forward and began to wrap him up.

+

She was almost finished. He had to act.

+
+

Ginny Marsden had no strength to resist when it made her +rouse.

+

It made her take it out into the cold again when all she wanted +to do was close her eyes and let it all drift away.

+

“Hail Mary full of grace please mother take this thing +away from me.” The thoughts linked together in a +profound litany. “Holy Mother please.” She had +never been a religious person, not since the piety of early +childhood and bedtime prayers, but the words all came back to her +now in her extremity. Sometime that day she had turned to a mirror +and the part of her own mind that was still hers had perceived the +witch in the reflection and she had known it was herself. She had +been to exhausted, too drained, to be shocked, or frightened. She +sensed the imminence of the end rushing towards her. The witch in +the mirror looked like death itself, (death warmed up, as her +mother used to say a million years ago, and a tear sprung into the +eyes of the decrepit, desiccated woman who used to be Ginny Marsden +the girl) The glistening tear tumbled over the dark, blood-purple +bags under her eye and trailed down the cavernous hollow of her +cheek, getting lost in the fissure cracks around her lips.

+

The approaching end was not rushing fast enough.

+

Her joints ground like sand in gearwheels, and the rasp of +dreadful friction vibrated the deadly abrasion through her +faltering frame. Her mouth hurt and her eyes hurt. She began to +button her coat over her breasts, noting vaguely that they were not +as swollen, not as turgid as they had been. The nipples were red +and raw, and beside them, the scadded skin where it had sucked +blood through the capillaries and the pores, was beginning to map +itself in islands of scabs.

+

It made her move and everything inside her hurt and burned. If +she had been able, she would have got on her knees and prayed, +though the pain of that would have made her scream out or pass out, +she was sure, before the thing woke her up to urge her on. It +stared into her eyes and she stared back, unable to pull away while +inside of her head, her mind was shrieking uncontrollably at the +hurt and the fear and the knowledge that she was damned.

+

Devil. It’s possessed me.

+

And when she thought that, the corner of her mind that had a +kind of rational capacity, suddenly recalled what she’d +learned a learned time ago, of Christ in his passion in the Garden +of Gethsemane, when he was so raddled by the fear of the manner of +his death that the blood had come bursting through the pores of his +body and he had appealed to his father to take this chalice +away.

+

Ginny Marsden might have prayed, but the monster reached out its +thought and turned her around with brutal force, and made her stand +up. Her joints squealed, both in pain and in actuality, rusted door +hinges protesting. She shuffled to the door. Somewhere at the front +of the house the television was on and old Mrs Cosgrove was talking +to someone, possibly on the telephone. It didn’t matter. +Ginny was made to walk towards the back door, down the narrow +little lobby that separated her bedroom from the kitchen. The door +opened easily, though the motion of turning the handle sent needles +of pain up to her elbow. She went out, almost tripping over the lip +of the door edge and down the broad path where the skeletons of the +summer’s sweet peas and nasturtiums waited to be cleared away +in spring. The air was cold and rasped at the tenderness of her +throat and froze her lungs, but she moved on, turning at the gate, +not even looking back.

+

The thing in her arms pulled at her, making her move, right, +left, pain, hurt, right, left,

+

please God take this chalice.

+

Agony. She staggered not down the hill as she had before, to get +to the little branch bank and the corner shop in this winter-silent +village. It forced her onwards, upwards, along the road, a pause +while it let her gather failing strength.

+

Oh please make it stop.

+

It made her go on. Here the hedges were frosted in the cold, +rimed with ice that blew in from the estuary on the misty +sea-haar. Down in the distance a monster howled and she +did not even realise it was a foghorn blaring from a blinded tanker +slowly feeling its way upriver.

+

Behind her came a hollow clatter and she half turned, regretting +the motion instantly as the shock-waves ran up the length of hr +spine and seemed to explode in her head. For an instant the whole +world went black and she felt herself stumble towards the ditch. +The light came back on instantly and she managed to keep her feet. +Two women on horseback passed by, eyed her curiously. The horses +whickered and whinnied nervously.

+

“Watch out for the ice, Kate,” one of them said, +“the ditch has overflowed close to the hedge. They’re +worried they’ll slip.”

+

The one who spoke passed by. Ginny Marsden looked up and the +woman at the rear, auburn haired, darker than Ginny had been and +robustly healthy, looked down. Her eyes widened, not in shock, but +in surprise, the way whole people do when they see the deformed and +the grotesque. Ginny had no will, no strength to react to it. All +she felt was the pain and the rasp of bone on bone. The horse +skittered nervously, snorting through dilated nostrils and shaking +its head, stamping hard on the road surface as it passed her and +the woman had to pull tight on the reins. It got over the patch of +ice, hooves sounding like mallets, danced on beyond, still nervous +and spooked. The woman up ahead called back and the second woman +caught up on her. The horse settled down again, slowing to a walk +and moved on with its companion, both sashaying like proud women, +backsides swaying from side to side. They quickly passed by, +carried on along the road to where it turned uphill. At the turn, +the one who had looked, turned back to look again.

+

“Come on Kate, I have to go fetch Jeremy from the +airport,” her companion said. The horses moved away and the +sound of their hooves faded. The cold was beginning to sink into +Ginny’s bones and for a little while, she was grateful for +the numbness that spread into her throbbing fingers. She kept +moving, slow and faltering, forced onwards while the thing at her +breast kept its eyes closed tight against the weak winter sunlight +that came through the gap between the buttons of her coat and +waited for dark.

+

It took her more than an hour to make it to the barn. In that +time a four wheel jeep almost knocked her into the ditch, just +pulling up at the last moment as the woman, the one who had been on +the leading horse, realised there was someone walking on the narrow +farm road. The headlights, on full despite the hour, blared and +seared her eyes, causing her to wince away from a fresh input of +hurt. Her breath was coming hard and sore, like an asthmatic in the +midst of a final, catastrophic attack. The pain in her feet had +gone now, gone completely as if the nerves had been eaten away. She +heard her shoes slap down on the hard road metal as she approached +the gate. In the near distance, horses whinnied, their hollow +voices magnified by the slope of the stable roof. Overhead, a +chevron flight of honking geese passed across the now deepening sky +and off in the distance, a magpie machine gunned its aggressive +call from a stand of trees.

+

It impelled her to climb the gate. The metal rang and clanked as +she hauled herself over it, not knowing where she was or where it +was forcing her towards. In her head, her own befuddled mind was +chanting the prayer over and over again, Holy Mary, Mother of +God, pray for us sinners, pray for me. Let this chalice pass. +The prayers went unanswered. She got down on the other side of the +gate, slipped on the slick ice and felt her thigh bone pull right +out of the socket. A momentary shriek of anguish ripped in there, +but still she was goaded onwards, the mad puppeteer that had +control of her volition dragging and tugging on the strings. The +next twenty yards, despite the rending hurt in her thigh, were +easier, because the bone was now outside its own socket. A +monstrous lump swelled on her hip, at the top end of the thigh, +where the flesh was all bunched up, but the ends of the bone were +now separated. Somehow, she was able to walk, in an odd, staggering +and crablike motion, but the immense pain screamed only in the +right thigh where the joints still grated and abraded. She had no +willpower to be thankful for this tiniest of mercies as she +stumbled on, only enough of herself to repeat the mantra over and +over, though it did not help, except to focus what was left of her +away from everything else.

+

She stumbled onwards. Out beyond the whitewashed walls, a dog +barked, high and agitated. Closer in, from the roof of an ancient +dovecote, a throng of pigeons clapped their panicked way into the +air. The sky was getting darker now, noticeably so as the shadows +lengthened. There was a light at the side of the farm’s small +and horse-shit fouled courtyard which sent the shadows of the +hawthorn hedge reaching towards her. The light hurt her eyes, but +she still shambled towards it. The whinnying was closer now, though +the barking had stopped. Out of sight a galvanised bucket was +kicked over by a careless foot and she stopped, still muttering +madly to herself. Her feet, now completely numb, were bleeding +where the bones had pushed into decaying flesh, and it was hard for +her to keep her balance. In at her breast, the thing nuzzled, +sucking hard at her skin.

+

The barn door yawned and she went inside. It was musty here, +musty and dusty, with harsh motes of hay dancing on the air in the +light that speared through the holes in the wall in solid beams. +The bales were piled high, great oblongs of fodder, stacked one +upon the other. It made her climb up the giant steps of hay, higher +and higher, her heart now pounding with the enormity of the effort, +her feet unable to feel where they were stepping, her dislocated +hip making it almost impossible for her to bend her leg properly, +but still it drove her, onward and upward, now far above the +village of Barloan Harbour. Finally she could go no further. Up at +the back where the hay bales formed a natural hollow which had +actually been carved out by a teenage boy from down in the basin +who had found the ideal place out of the cold and away from prying +eyes, to copulate at every opportunity with the red-haired and +heavyset girl who occasionally helped out in the tackroom. The +place, this close to Christmas, was empty except for the faint +squeak of the colony of rats which burrowed far under the hay.

+

Ginny Marsden hated rats. She would have run a mile, under +normal circumstances, had she realised what was making the sound, +had she even heard what was making the feral twittering sounds +under the bales. These were far from normal circumstances.

+

Ginny Marsden was dying.

+

She slumped down in the shadows, gasping for breath, lungs +rasping air and hay dust, her sides heaving like an exhausted +animal.

+

Holy Mary mother of God pray for us sinners now and at the +hour of our death.

+

The dark crowded in on her and in the depth of it, despite the +hurt and the catastrophic wasting of her body, she saw her +mother’s face floating just in front of her, wavering as if +seen through a film of liquid. Her mother was calling out to her, +anguished at her loss and Ginny tried, desperately to call out to +the woman who had gone through the pain of childbirth and had +suckled her at her breast. The illusion wavered and danced, +rippling in the forefront of her mind, and in that moment, Ginny +knew that her mother was crying for her. She did not even know that +this was Christmas Eve and that all of her presents were wrapped +and neatly stacked under the tree.

+

The thing on her breast snuffled and gobbled. Its mind was +loosening its grip on her,. She was suddenly aware of that, that it +was withdrawing. Tears welled up in her eyes as, suddenly, she was +able to think of her warm house and her mother’s hugs and the +safety she had once, so long ago, taken for granted.

+

Way in the distance, down in Barloan Harbour, a choir from St +Fillan’s church sang carols through a public address system +and the faint melody floated up hill, even as far as the farm, even +as far as the barn, even as far as Ginny Marsden’s dissolving +mind. The tears rolled down the hollows of her cheeks while the +thing snuffled and sucked, almost desperately. Inside, she could +feel the rot, the sense of dereliction, the breakdown of her organs +and her body. It had made her come here, overcoming the defeat in +her own body, showing the power of one kind of mind over her kind +of matter, making her achieve what would have been impossible by +the force of its desperation and its unnatural drive.

+

Monster.

+

In the distance the choir sang about three kings and a babe in a +manger, huddled in a barn. Here, the thing that sometimes looked +like a baby and sometimes looked like a beast from a black +nightmare, lifted its flat head. In the dark, its great eyes +flicked open. Ginny Marsden saw them, big as saucers and emitting a +strange, feral light of their own, but they were not fixed on her. +It moved on her, lizard like, spider like, clambered off her +prostrate and almost paralysed body. It rustled in the hay. Down in +the depths, a small thing squeaked and then went silent. She heard +a snuffling sound, a kind of breathless snort and the monster moved +away.

+

She tried to move but could not. The pain in her fingers was +draining away, mercifully. The hurt in her spine was still a +throbbing shudder, but she knew that too would fade in the end.

+

About the time David Harper and Helen Lamont found their way +into his bed and into each other, something burst inside Ginny +Marsden with an actual sound of tearing. She twisted, contorted to +the side by the force of the rupture. Her bowels pulsed and her +whole lower intestine began to protrude from her anus, while her +womb, that part of her that had been destined to carry children of +her own, turned itself inside out and prolapsed grotesquely down +through her vagina into the cold air.

+

She rolled to the side, unable to prevent herself and she +coughed hard. A gout of wet came unravelling up her windpipe and +through her throat to burst in her mouth and then drip down to the +hay. Liquid bubbled inside of her. The dark took on a strange +lightness and a succession of faces paraded in front of her, Celia +Barker smiling as she waved goodbye and told her to look after the +cat and the fish, Mork and Mindy; her mother came again, an +elegant, oddly young face leaning over a tiny Ginny with a soft +sponge in her hand and a smile on her face; the dark-haired woman +who had come stumbling into Celia’s kitchen; Old Maggie and +Maisie in the bus-stop cafe; Mrs Cosgrove and her big breakfast; +the woman on the horse. And glaring past them all, the red and +ferocious eyes of the monster that had snared her and drained her +of everything that she was.

+

Holy Mother of God, pray. Holy. Pray

+

prey

+

Something else burst inside of Ginny Marsden. Just before +everything began to fade, she thought of her father and his big +manly hands and his gentle eyes and then she thought of Tony and +how she had never let him touch her, saving herself for a special +day, saving herself for the first time. Saving herself for +motherhood.

+

She coughed again while down in the hay, the thing snuffled, +moving towards the door of the barn. The choirboys sang and in the +distance the beast in the fog moaned again far down the firth.

+

In the Lamont household, there was laughter as sisters and +cousins kissed and hugged Christmas in. David Harper kissed his +mother and poured a good shot of whisky for himself and his father, +thinking about Helen Lamont and wondering what to do with the +present he’d already bought for June.

+

In the Marsden house, a man and women cried in each +other’s arms and prayed to God for the safe return of their +daughter.

+

On the other side of the country, in the tiny house where +Heather McDougall had been brought up until the day the monster had +snared her, Catriona McDougall wished her husband a happy Christmas +and pecked him on the cheek, though he should have been in bed a +long time ago. Something had made her stay up and she treated +herself to a small, thick sherry. She watched her man stare +drooling at the fire and then she lay back and inside her head, a +small vessel burst and she died without even knowing it. Old +Callum, too far gone to realise that his wife was never going to +wake up, died in mid morning when the heat of the fire drained away +and the house slowly froze.

+

Ginny Marsden coughed violently and some other bloodied part of +herself gouted out. The darkness expanded in a blare of white light +which quickly fizzled down to a point of intense luminescence. All +pain fled from her and she let out a rattling sigh which went +strangely silent as very quickly the pinpoint of light expanded +again and she was swept through it on a wonderful wave of +warmth.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus21.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus21.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..71b190d --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus21.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,675 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

21

+

“Now you look as if you’ve gone eight +rounds,” David told Helen as they went up the steps at the +city station in the sharp cold of morning. He was tired too, but +Helen looked as if she had some way to go before she’d be +properly awake.

+

“Christmastime exhaustion,” she said wearily. +“Family, food and fornicating.” Her words made breath +billows on the frosted air and her cheeks were rosy with the cold. +Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief.

+

“What, again?” he stopped, turning towards her. She +laughed out loud, a natural explosion of mirth.

+

“No, silly bugger, not again.” Her mirth +bubbled into the words. “You were enough, thank you ever so +much. Aftermath and afterglow, and I’m suffering from two +mornings after in a row. It’s good to get back to some +semblance of sanity, if there is any sanity in all of this. I need +the break.” She straight armed the fire door, giving it a +surprisingly vigorous push, though he should not have been +surprised for he’d felt the strength in her supple body, +almost slammed it into a young policeman who was adjusting his cap, +not paying attention.

+

“Have a good Christmas then?” she asked.

+

“I told you on the phone. It was fine. Quiet, friendly. My +mother fussed over me and I loved it.” He gave her an +appraising look in the empty corridor. “I could have used +some other company though.”

+

“Me too. I just called to say,” she started to sing, +then burst into laughter. “I just called to make sure you +weren’t floundering in guilt and angst. I’m glad I did. +My mother’s getting suspicious, naturally. She sees every man +as a potential rescuer from spinsterhood, so we’ll have to be +careful.”

+

He opened the door and held it. She walked past, did a quick +visual sweep of the room, saw there was no-one there. She stopped +then and gave him a very quick kiss, right on the ear, pursing her +lips and smacking hard. He pulled back fast as his eardrum almost +burst with the sudden vacuum.

+

“Be gentle for God’s sake,” he said. She +laughed again and pushed past him, taking off her heavy jacket. He +got to his desk sat down and the phone rang almost immediately. He +snatched it up while Helen rummaged for change and went down the +corridor to the coffee machine.

+

Phil Cutcheon the former CID boss from the east side apologised +for calling so early. He exchanged brief seasonal pleasantries and +then got straight down to business. The two of them talked for five +minutes or more. Helen came back with two coffees, and placed one +on the edge of his desk just as Phil was winding up. David said +he’d see him in an hour.

+

Two other detectives came in, both broad and beefy men who just +looked like cops in grey suit uniforms. They looked bloodshot and +grizzled with festive overload. One belched loudly, apologised to +the nearly empty office, wished David and Helen a merry Christmas +and asked if they’d both spent the night in the office. David +felt his ears begin to colour. Helen said she wished she had spent +the night in the office.

+

David had turned from his desk with the hot coffee, opened a +filing cabinet when the phone rang again. The big sergeant lifted +the receiver in the passing, growled a word, listened for a couple +of seconds then passed it to David.

+

“It’s your missus,” he said, winking.

+

Helen watched him over the rim of her plastic cup as he took the +call. June’s voice had that broken, hiccup quality of someone +who’s been crying for a while and might start again any +moment. She apologised for her outburst and her ultimatum, told him +how much she had missed him over Christmas, said she still had his +present all wrapped up and how she had suffered such a miserable, +blighted day. He listened, feeling his face colour now as Helen +watched him closely. She narrowed her eyes in mock threat, while +June babbled on the phone, cramming her words and sentences +together. Finally Helen tilted her face, almost challenging and +then, surprisingly, she mouthed him a silent kiss, not arrogantly, +more in support. At least, so he thought. The other thought that +occurred to him was the no-holds-barred status of both love and +war.

+

“I’ll have to think,” he said flatly. “I +really will.” He felt a sudden wariness, an odd sensation of +being trapped and he fought against it. She was having second +thoughts, no doubt exacerbated by the fact that she and he had not +been together at Christmas, and she wanted to make up, get back +together again. He did not want to hurt her, didn’t want to +turn her down flat, but at the same time, he recalled the powerful +relief and release of tension when she had walked out, telling him +that she had done what he should have had the guts to do weeks, +maybe months before. “No. I can’t right now. No. +I’m too busy.”

+

It made him feel cruel and heartless, but right at that moment +he wanted her off the phone. He’d need space to think. +Already the complications had set in, and he’d had a full day +to think about Helen Lamont and himself and, strangely, he did not +feel any entrapment, any fettering there. He’d always +considered it a mistake to get involved with colleagues, but that +was the voice of reason. On Christmas morning he’d woken up +thinking about her and he’d spent most of the day doing the +same thing. She’d called to tell him the same story. He did +not regret what had happened at all. Finally the phone went down. +Helen came across, walking as casually as she was able. The two +other men were at their desks, bent over paperwork.

+

“You’re still one of the good guys,” she said +in a whisper. “I just want you to know that. Even if you do +go back to her.”

+

She stopped, turned and looked him right in the eye, and that +quick look conveyed a number of messages. One of them was that she +didn’t give herself to everybody, that she had put her trust +in him. Her voice was almost inaudible, even though she was right +up against him. One of the other men looked up, noticed the +closeness, grinned and looked away. “But I’d really +prefer it if you didn’t. That’s the truth.”

+

The phone rang. The first man picked it up, listened then called +over to Helen. “Transferring to you,” he said. +“Some chick asking for you. Says you left a message on her +machine. Lost her cat and her wallet.”

+

Helen picked up the receiver and spoke for the first time to +Celia Barker.

+

________

+

In the corner of the barn, in the dark gloom of that cold +Fhristmas Eve had been dimly aware of the mother’s racking +cough, but his attention was focused forwards. She groaned, and for +a moment it sounded like the wind through the eaves, but on this +gloaming winter afternoon, there was no wind. Somewhere outside the +barn, a dog barked, the high pitched, narking aggression of a small +terrier. Beyond it, a cockerel bawled its hoarse territorial cry. +Close by, a horse whinnied and jostled a stable door.

+

He was alone now and all of his instincts were wound up tight, +all of his needs and hungers. He was afraid too, caught almost in +the open while the mother was disintegrating. The sense of danger +and vulnerability swelled inside him like a cancer. The skin on his +back was peeling away, cracking into fissures while underneath the +tender new skin protruded. He scratched at his back, twisting his +oddly jointed limb round to hook a nail there to ease the dreadful +itch.

+

Behind him the used-up mother was finishing. He could sense her +glow diminish in his mind. Already he had released his grip on her. +It had taken effort to bring her up this far, forcing her every +step of the way, over the gate and up into the hay, while +everything in her was shutting down. the muscles and the nerves. He +had drained her even as she staggered upwards, stealing the last of +her, emptying the store for his coming change.

+

It was not quite dark, not yet, but it would be soon. He would +move then, when it was safe enough. Over in the corner, something +squeaked. He considered it, sitting as still as stone but let the +creature live, reaching out the merest tickle of thought to +encompass its glow. He might need all of his energy for the next +stage. He crouched there near the door, eyes closed, just sensing. +The big beasts were nervous, somehow aware of his presence and not +liking it at all. They skittered and banged on the stalls. He +ignored them. They would taste bad, his own senses told him, but if +necessary, if he had to, he would

+

change one of them if he could. He did not know if that was +possible, but the intuition told him the creatures were big and +warm and female. Instinctively it noted their presence.

+

The moon finally rose in the sky, dim at first in the fading of +the day, but gathering brightness. The silver light did not hurt +his eyes the way the day would, the way the street lights would +burn. The moonlight was a cold balm on his dry and itching skin. He +edged closer to the barn door, letting his eyes open slowly, taking +in the new night. With equal care he moved out of the barn, a +small, thin thing, scuttling on all fours, back arched and blunt +face held low. The two flat eyes were red despite the silver of the +moon, wide and alert, devoid of anything resembling humanity. The +cold was intense here and automatically he speeded up, getting +close to the stable wall. He rounded it, almost rat-like, keeping +very close to the masonry. Here, the smell of horses was powerful, +but there were other smells too, the dry scent of birds feathers, +the bitter reek of cats and the flat odour of dogs. Over and above +that, the real smell came, thin and far off. Enticing and +intoxicating.

+

The smell of a mother.

+

He had scented her before, sensed her before, instinctively +leading the old one up the hill towards the new.

+

He scuttled round the whitewashed corner of the tables, skirting +the rain barrel, then round into the farm’s small courtyard. +Here, the angle of the roof cut off the moonlight, throwing this +part into inky blackness. He sat there, reaching out his thought, +sending tendrils to probe ahead. He touched a trundling black +beetle under a slate and it died with a click of its jaws, legs +folding up under the carapace. Over in the dovecote the pigeons +panicked again, taking to the air in a clatter of alarm. He saw +them as warm, fluttering dots of light in his outreach.

+

He took two crab-steps, staying close to the wall, emerged into +the courtyard proper. Two of his glands pulsed, audibly hissing as +they expelled their payload into the air. He waited while it +drifted away from him, revelling in his own scent. He reached out +with his extra sense and paused for a few tense seconds, crouched +in the shadow.

+

Bedlam erupted.

+

On the far side, the wire door of a small brick chicken coop +punched outwards as every bird went into a frenzy of hysteria. +Feathers tumbled out into the cold air, wide snowflakes slowly +swinging towards the ground. A tall cockerel came barging out from +an outhouse doorway, crest erect, chest feathers bristling with +instant outraged aggression. It stood on its toes, started to crow, +harsh and brittle..

+

From the shadows nearby, a black cat came rocketing out, +screaming in absolute fury. It clamped its jaws on the bird’s +head. Bone crunched and the cock’s brains dribbled out of its +skull. Instantly its wings thrashed in its death convulsion. The +cat did not even stop. It crossed the courtyard, a black streak, +heading straight for the corner.

+

He turned to it, touched hard with a pulse of thought. The cat +went veering off and ran straight for the chicken coop, hitting the +door with such a crash that it shook on its hinges. Its claws +snagged the wire and it hung there, screeching like a demon while +inside the coop the already mad chickens pecked ferociously at each +other and whirled in crazed circles.

+

The two terriers, half asleep in their basket just inside the +storm door where coats and boots were stored, came instantly awake +and came bolting out, ears erect, sniffing at the air, growling in +the back of their throats. He hardly needed to reach and touch them +at all, such was their sensitivity to the powerful scent. One +flopped to the ground, got up again, snarling, saliva already +beginning to foam in its mouth.

+

Inside the byre, just through the wall from where he crouched, +seven jersey cows, sheltered from the harsh winter, simultaneously +began to leak milk in identical streams from each udder and inside +their vast wombs, seven unformed calves died. Beyond that, two +fillies began to stamp their feet in the stables and then, as one, +began to lash out at the door with their heavy hooves, sending +shards of wood whirling into the air. One of them, the lead horse +on the way uphill, kicked so hard that a bone in its foot broke and +burst through the skin. It bled until morning.

+

The second terrier jumped on the first, clasping it round the +chubby waist and started bucking uncontrollably. The first one, +still drooling saliva howled in protest as its brother mounted it +and penetrated in two savage thrusts. It turned, fighting the +weight and snapped hard, taking hair and flesh in its jaws, rending +both. Blood flowed. Its teeth clamped on the carotid artery, bit +through and blood fountained. Its brother, a white cairn terrier +kept on bucking and thrusting even as its lifeblood drained away. +It was unable to stop. It carried on in a frenzy as it died while +the other tried without success to pull out of its locked embrace. +After a short while, both dogs toppled over, the first one still +twitching but dead, the second covered in blood and gasping for +breath, bleeding from its ruptured anus.

+

Over at the coop the cat still hung on the wire, screeching like +a banshee.

+

A flock of starlings, as ever susceptible to the emanations of +the alien mind, were first startled by the howling of the cattle as +their udders clenched of their own volition and expressed their +milk onto the shit-bestrewn floor. Then the touch scraped over +them. They took to the air in a whirr of wings, trying to find an +escape. As one they wheeled and as one they crashed into the far +wall of the byre and dropped with soft little plops to the +ground.

+

The moon rose over the roof of the outhouse as he moved forward +towards the door, all of his senses now sharp as fangs and his +glands pumped up so hard he could feel the skin over them rip and +tear.

+

Inside of him the hunger and the need was vast.

+

______

+

“I always thought he was a bit cracked, the old +fool,” Phil Cutcheon said. “Now it could be me +that’s been the fool all along.”

+

Between them sat a folder which bulged with papers. It was tied +with an old fashioned piece of ribbon, like a lawyer’s +brief.

+

“I dismissed old McBean way back in the sixties, but it +might just turn out he was a better policeman than anybody ever +gave him credit for. Way back then, before the Duncryne killing and +the thing that happened to Greta Simon, old Ron had a theory. It +became an obsession with him. He approached me in confidence round +about that time, maybe the year after Heather McDougall went +missing. I thought it was just an fixation with him, and it +probably was, but he was certainly a methodical old beggar. This is +his obsession box. I got it from his grandson, who was on the +force. He left to start his own security firm.”

+

“And what is it?” David asked. The office was still +half empty at this time on Boxing Day. All he could offer the +retired policeman was a bitter coffee from the machine, but Phil +smiled and told him it took him back to the good old days. +“Coffee and ulcers. Sore feet and rain always dripping down +the back of the neck. Good old days? I must be dreaming.”

+

He took a big swig of coffee and smacked his lips, relishing the +nostalgia, then opened the file.

+

“It was when you came to see me that I remembered this. I +hadn’t thought about it for a long time, and if I’d +done my job properly, I would have made the connection.”

+

“But what is it?” David repeated. Helen had gone +round to Celia Barker’s house, alone again, though she was +hardly in any danger now the girl was home. He would have preferred +to have gone with her but something in Phil Cutcheon’s tone +had made him stay.

+

“It’s a list of connections, just like yours, only +much older. I have to be honest, I probably rejected them because I +was busy with a murder and because I didn’t have the balls +even to consider the possibilities. Old Ron McBean came to me with +a crazy story and I told him to shove it. I didn’t want +anybody to think I was crazy.”

+

“What are the connections?”

+

Phil leaned forward and drew out an old fashioned police +notebook. “You told me about Greta Simon and the McDougall +woman and now this young girl from your neck of the woods. +You’ve got a connection between Greta and Heather and now +you’ve found a link between Heather and your girl.”

+

“Ginny. Virginia for long.”

+

“Yes. Her. Now this little lot takes your links and makes +a daisy chain of the whole lot. You might be able to make some +sense out of it, for what I think doesn’t make sense. Either +there’s something getting passed on like a disease, or +there’s something really crazy happening that I don’t +want to think about.”

+

He leaned back and his brows gathered down, making his seamed +and benign face look very grave. “Ron McBean stumbled onto +something that he couldn’t let go. His grandson tells me it +became a real obsession with him, long after he left the force. He +died about ten years ago.”

+

He tapped the file, flicked open the flap and drew out a few +sheets of paper. The top page was white except for a yellow border +at the very top where it had been exposed to sunlight at some time. +The writing was thick and blocky, a big man’s writing, slow +and careful. Phil turned it so David could read it. He drew his +finger down to the third paragraph, drawing David’s eyes with +it.

+

There is no doubt in my mind now, none whatsoever, that the +chain will continue. It confounds all reason and the Good Lord +alone knows the why’s and wherefores of it all. I remember +speaking to the divinity professor at Heriot Watt University who +told me there was no historic proof that Herod sent out soldiers to +slaughter the innocents. He told me that was from a more ancient +Hebrew myth. He told me there have been many occasions in history, +when baby boys were hunted and slaughtered without mercy. There are +books in the library which confirm this. There is a necropolis in +Ghassul, in the Holy Land, by the Dead Sea, where hundreds of +infants have been uncovered, all of them with wooden stakes through +their heads. In the mountains near Lake Titicaca, they have +uncovered the dried remains of many baby boys, all of them +murdered. The professor told me of this madness happening again and +again all down through the years. Perhaps the hunt for a new-born +baby was not a search for the King of Kings at all. They could have +been looking for the devil incarnate.

+

The Simon woman does not have all of her faculties back yet +and the doctors say she never will again. Dr Tvedt tells me it is a +miracle that she is alive at all, though in all honesty, I am +hardly minded to consider miracles. The opposite in fact. I only +wish the records went back further, but they do not. All I know is +that it appeared on record some time in the past century. It will +appear again, but where and when, who knows. All I can say, with +absolute clarity and conviction, is that it will emerge again and +anything that can do that, time and time again, is not +natural.

+

Nobody is prepared to accept any of this research, and I can +hardly blame any of them, even seasoned officers. They do not +believe in the un-natural, but as God-fearing men, there is no +shame in it. I have tried and failed, but I will continue to try. +It will be seen again, with some other poor woman. All I am able to +do is check the library for news of a sudden death and the +disappearance of a child and I will know it is still alive. It may +not be for many years and I don’t know how many I have yet +allotted. God willing, and I pray every night that he is, I hope I +am alive and I hope I can hunt it down.”

+

“A shade dramatic,” David said. “And +pedantic.”

+

“He was a bit old fashioned, and a bit serious too,” +Phil agreed. “He was an elder of the church, but not a Holy +Willie. We all put him down as an obsessive but there was never any +harm in him, so people, including me turned a blind eye. I kept it +turned, most of the time, but I did go along to see Greta Simon +every now and again and I was never sure why. I never told you +that. I thought you should see her for yourself. Anyway, now I +don’t have a pension to lose. Old McBean’s grandson +says we can have this. He’s not interested. Thinks the old +man was a bit wandered.”

+

“Sounds as if he was,” David said guardedly.

+

“Aye, there’s that possibility. But he was just +following leads, and he was never even a detective, just a small +town sergeant and a god-fearing man. Not sophisticated like you and +me.” David recognised the irony in Phil’s voice. +“But like you, he thought he was on to something and he dug +away. Like you. You turned up at my door because you’re just +doing your job, checking out the possibilities. Most folk would +have got an I.D. on the dead woman and left it at that, but you +stuck with it. You think there’s something odd going on here +and when you mentioned this baby and the women involved, it gave me +something to really consider. I wasn’t going to turn a blind +eye like I did all those years ago.”

+

David started to speak but Phil held up a hand.

+

“At the end of the day, there might be nothing in it, +nothing at all, and I would rather like to believe that this is the +case. But if you put what you know and what Ron McBean turned up, +put them all together, then, I have to tell you I have my doubts. +You’re on to something, and I don’t mind telling you +that it makes my skin crawl.”

+
+

Something was wrong.

+

Kate Park heard the racket from the back of the house and for a +moment she thought it was something on the television. The baby +whimpered softly in its cot and she pulled back the coverlet. Her +eyes were crinkled up tight and she was making little, blind +sucking motions, even though she was fed and fast asleep. +Kate’s cousin Jill who had baby-sat while she and Anne +Collins had gone for a canter down on the bottom fallow, had got a +lift home in Anne’s jeep, and while Kate herself had felt a +pang of guilt about getting a baby-sitter less than a months after +the birth, the easy ride had felt good, even if her muscles were +unused to the exercise and even if the saddle stretched the tender +skin where she’d been stitched. The hot shower had soothed +the stiffness of muscles. Her hair was still damp, ringletted in +dark chestnut curls. She was unbending when the racket started up +out at the front of the farmhouse.

+

Instantly she knew something was wrong. The skin between her +shoulderblades puckered, drawing over her spine in a creeping +contraction. She moved out of the bedroom, closing the door slowly, +aware of the tremble in her hand and unable to explain it. She +shivered, pulled the dressing gown close.

+

Out beyond the front door the dogs were howling. Or one of the +dogs was howling, or coughing. Two of the cockerels were squawking +as if they were in a fight to the death. Behind her, in the +baby’s room, little Lucy whimpered again.

+

Something wrong.

+

The slam of the horses hooves against the stable doors came like +hammerblows, muffled only by the thick walls. The cattle were +lowing, their cries, high and pained echoing out through the +ventilation slits of the metal-roofed byre.

+

She stood in the hallway, undecided. The dogs were not howling, +they were snarling as if they were tearing each other’s +throats out. There were other sounds. The caterwauling of the cat, +the frenzied clucking of the chickens.

+

What was happening out there?

+

Something wrong something wrong something wrong. The +message came from deep inside of her, as clearly as a voice in her +head. There was somebody out there. The dogs fought and slavered. +Lucy whimpered again, a troubled little kitten-mew, faintly +tremulous. Kate stood still, wondering what to do. Jack’s +guns were in the front room cabinet. His cartridge belt was still +hanging in the hallway stand, illegally of course for they should +have been secured, but this was a working farm. She stood +undecided, her heart tripping joltingly, breath held in. She lifted +a hand to her brow to push back her short auburn curls.

+

A faint noise came from just inside the porch. Her eyes flicked +to the door. The dogs normally sat there in the corner of the +porch, out of the wind. The sound came again, a soft scrape of +noise that was suddenly and incongruously loud, reaching her over +the madhouse cacophony out in the yard and beyond.

+

Something made a faint whining sound, almost like a kitten, but +unnervingly, terrifyingly alien. Her blood turned to ice. She +backed off. The letter box rattled, the knocker rapped several +times in quick succession against the plate. A faint squeal, the +familiar sound the postman made when he delivered the mail, creaked +out from the slot where Jack had always promised to oil the hinge +and spring.

+

A hand and an arm came through. For an instant it looked grey +and slender and somehow tattered. Her heart stopped, kicked, +stopped again. Her vision swam.

+

A baby’s hand was scrabbling through the slit.

+

Oh my oh my...

+

Her mouth worked, no sound came out. She thought she would pass +out and that thought seemed to shunt her heart back into life +again, hammering against her ribs, suddenly louder and as violent +as the horses hooves on the door.

+

The baby’s hand reached out into the hallway, the small +pink fingers splayed. A baby whimpered, soft as a lamb and as +insistent and she knew it was not Lucy. Behind her Lucy cried out, +a shivery, pitiful little fearful cry. In that instant, Kate Park +felt her soul wrenched one way and another. Yet her mind was +suddenly frozen in abject and utter terror. She was here alone with +her baby in a farmhouse, a mile above the town. The animals were +going crazy out in the yard, whooping and howling and snarling as +if they all had indeed gone mad.

+

A baby’s hand was reaching through the letterbox of her +front door.

+

Poison, she thought. Jack had warned her about the +sheep dip organo-phosphates that had caused a series of hill +farmers no end of mental and physical problems. Had some of it +spilled, sprayed from Upper Loan Farm and drifted down on the +wind?

+

Yet she knew it was not poison. She was here alone with her baby +and another baby, a mite hardly bigger than her own, was clambering +on her door, reaching its hand inside, grasping mutely at the air, +trying to get in at her, trying to come in.

+

It was the most ghastly, most terrifying sight. It was a scene +from a mother’s worst nightmare, made more hellish because +her own motherly instincts were so strong.

+

It was impossible. It was completely impossible, she tried to +tell herself, but her eyes were watching the creepy waving motion +as the pink arm reached and the small baby fingers grasped +emptiness.

+

“Go,” she heard her voice blurt. “Go away. Get +away.”

+

She backed up the hallway. The hand stopped moving. It stayed +there, still and outstretched, completely and utterly +incomprehensible, completely and utterly terrifying.

+

Lucy squealed and Kate’s heart kicked again as her +mother-self recognised her baby’s fear and alarm. Lucy had +somehow sensed the threat. She felt her knees give way just a +fraction. He was a strong and robust woman, more muscular than +slim, able to hold a rearing horse or help push a heifer into the +stall. She was a farmer’s wife who could confidently do a +man’s work on any day of the week.

+

Yet the sight of a baby’s hand reaching through the +letterbox of her door had simply robbed her of strength.

+

Without warning, the hand withdrew. The letterbox lip slapped +shut with a rattle of metal. A weight dropped to the tiles outside. +Something scuttled. Kate leaned against the wall, willing her heart +to slow down. She did not know what to do, what to think. The +apparition had been so unnatural, so malignantly alien that her +entire reasoning process was struggling to cope. In the room, Lucy +was howling frantically and Kate wanted to turn towards her, but +she was scared to take her eyes off the door, in case that +impossible little hand came groping for her again.

+

Think, damn you, think.

+

She tried. There was something she should consider. She knew +that, but her mind, fizzing and sparking under the enormity of the +horror, wouldn’t let her think rationally. She kept seeing +those grasping fingers reaching for her and that precluded real +thought. She turned, bumping her substantial breast on the corner +of the wall, ignoring the dull thud of pain.

+

There was something else. Some other danger. She heard the +scuttle, imagined she heard the scrape of dog’s nails on the +flagstones round the side of the house where she kept the kitchen +garden. Imagined she heard the scurry of some small but heavy thing +crunching over the smooth stones bordering the path. Imagined she +heard the creak of the

+

Oh no it can get in through the cat flap.

+

The sound came from the back of the house. The cat flap opened, +snicked closed with a whump of compression. Something moved, +skittering on the red tiles just inside the door. She jerked +around, an insane fear twisting up inside her, shuddering up the +whole length of her spine. Lucy screamed. The sound of movement +came down the back hall. She whirled to face whatever it was, every +nerve glassy with tension, the hairs on her neck crawling with a +life of their own.

+

Something dark came skittering around the corner of the back +hall, moving with jerky speed. Its limbs pistoned, hit against the +wall as the momentum carried it to the side, then surged down the +narrow hallway. Kate Park saw it black and tattered, then grey and +thin, altering, blurring as it moved towards her, turning into the +pink form of a baby, still moving with spidery swiftness, its round +face held up, eyes fixed on her. She gasped, tried to turn. Her +heel caught the carpet, threw her off balance. She fell backwards, +slamming against the door which whipped open to crack against the +wall. Lucy screeched in shivery terror.

+

Kate tried to scream. She was tumbling backwards, unable to get +her balance while the monstrous little baby scuttled towards her, +the lines of its face wavering as if melted under heat. It was a +baby, and it was a monster, a double-image monster which shrivelled +out of the pink as if bursting out of a skin, to become a red-eyed, +staring thing with a flat grey face and a circular, pouting mouth +which opened and closed like a sphincter, showing a ring of glassy, +needle teeth.

+

It moved like an awful insect.

+

She fell against the wall, spun, went clattering to the floor, +feet scrabbling for purchase. Lucy was screaming, infected with the +horror and the panic, her blank baby mind sensing some kind of +threat. Kate rolled, got a hand up to fend the thing off, to slam +it against the wall.

+

It came scrambling up her body, faster than she would have +believed, a nightmare in motion. It clambered up, its nails digging +into the towelling of the robe, snatching at the rough dry fabric, +digging into her skin. It got there and its eyes opened, flat blank +and fathomless red depths with the dry texture of polished stone. +It looked right into her eyes, bored its glare deep inside her.

+

Lucy, she tried to say. Oh Lucy its got me

+

It clung there. The eyes fastened on her. Some dark and foul +touch scraped across her mind, poked and probed, snagged like black +and poisonous thorns. The thing flexed, arched its back. The +swellings down its side seemed to expand and then deflate. For an +instant a watery, unpleasant hiss seared the air. Then the scent +hit her.

+

She opened her mouth in a soundless scream. The eyes began to +close, rippling down from red. The scent invaded her pores. The +room spun crazily and the baby on her chest looked into her eyes +with its own which were turning from red to black and then to blue, +now were closing very slowly. It held her tight, fingers digging +into her skin while the scent, at once bitter and rancid and +somehow sweet as honeydew, flowed into her. Instantly her breasts +ached. Her nipples swelled to painful tautness. A shudder of some +desperate need swelled deep inside her and an awful warmth spread +down in her tender womb.

+

Behind her Lucy screeched in fear, but Kate never heard the +sound of her own child. The baby on her chest looked in her eyes +and stole her away.

+
+

“I knew we should have checked,” Helen said. David +had waited until he came back, unsure of what to tell her. He had +read the papers Phil Cutcheon had dropped on his desk and what they +contained had set up a powerful resonance, an oscillation of +thought. They had brought back the conversation he’d had with +Helen, the day after he’d phoned her in a blur of alcohol and +confusion.

+

What kind of baby would steal a mother?

+

He had not been the first to consider that possibility, however +impossible, however unearthly. It was all in the laboriously +written pages in the file, compiled by the careful hand of an old +policeman who had got a glimpse of the unusual and had followed its +trail. The dead hand of old Ron McBean led him down through the +years.

+

Was it real? Was it true? David had asked himself the question +over and over again,, always coming up with the same answer. It was +a history, a strange and continuing history, of lives touched, +lives affected, and by the looks of it, lives distorted and +destroyed. Where McBean had broken off, David Harper had started, +linking the past to the present. There was now no doubt in his mind +that this was real and that something dreadful was repeating itself +over and over and over.

+

“I knew we should have checked,” Helen repeated when +he looked up from the papers. “Celia Barker confirms that +Ginny Marsden was supposed to look after her pets. She had a key to +the place. She’s just back from holiday, lucky little bitch, +and she finds out her bank card’s missing. Ginny Marsden has +her pin number.”

+

Helen was flushed, most likely with sudden heat inside the +office, but she looked elated. “We should have checked to +find out where she was staying and contacted her direct.”

+

“But she wouldn’t have known the bank card had gone +missing.”

+

“Or about the dead cat and goldfish. You’d think +she’d stumbled across the bullet-ridden bodies of her parents +the way she’s going on. I told her the cat probably starved +because nobody fed it. She found it in the bin.”

+

“That’s where I put it,” David said. +“The flies were at it. Its eyes were gone, poor thing.” +Even as he said that, he realised there was something wrong there, +something he’d missed. He tried to reach for it, but his mind +was full of other matters to consider. It wasn’t that +important.

+

“Anyway, all we have to do now is get to the bank +tomorrow. They’ll tell us what branch the Marsden +girl’s been dipping and we’ll find her.”

+

“Assuming that she’s used the card,” David +said. He was itching to show Helen the old McBean file. She turned +on him, telling him not to be such a pessimist, her dark eyes +flaring just a little but more theatrically than in anger. +“So what did you tell her?”

+

“Who?”

+

“The girl who wants to kiss and make up and come +back.”

+

“I told her no,” he said, not quite truthfully, +wishing he had, now determined to make it the truth. The smile +Helen gave him made the small lie worth while. All was fair in this +war, and it was that smile that finally made his mind up +completely. It conveyed a feeling so powerful, and something so +welcome, that he wondered at the strength of it, and the instant +effect it had on him. He only wondered why he hadn’t felt its +power before.

+

They both went back, at his request to David’s place when +they finally cleared their desks. One of the other detectives said +something, leaning across to his colleague who sniggered. Helen +stopped at the door, turned back and leaned over the desk, putting +her face right up against his.

+

“I can hear the slither of your grubby little mind,” +she whispered, quite softly, almost seductively. “You should +go back to vice squad where you can get free rides any day of the +week. It’s better than playing pocket pool with yourself and +letting your imagination run riot.”

+

“But I...” the other man started to say.

+

“But nothing,” Helen said, very slowly. “I +hear any rumours and, I’ll be back, big boy. Got +me?”

+

The man, who dipped the scales at twice what Helen weighed, +nodded. She had a reputation for taking no prisoners.

+

“What was that all about,” David asked. His mind had +been on other things and he hadn’t noticed the exchange of +looks and the laugh.

+

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said. +“Girl talk.”

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus22.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus22.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..503925d --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus22.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,556 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

22

+

Jack Park came trundling up the road in his Range Rover, feeling +the car bounce and sway as he took the corner, avoiding the ice +patch picked out by the beams, where the ditch had spilled over +from the field drain. He’d had a long drive up from Leyburn +in Yorkshire, pushing the limits, desperate to get home for +Christmas Eve. He’d checked out a couple of yearlings that +might make an addition to his stable. Already he was planning for +an end to recession and brighter times ahead when people had more +money to spend. He was ready to open his paddocks as a riding +school and get rid of the cattle altogether. At the height Middle +Loan farm stood, high on the hill overlooking the estuary, with a +commanding view up and downriver and with the orange lights of the +sweeping bridge a magnificent string of jewels in the winter mist, +the farming was a marginal business. Weekend riders and summer +trekkers, would be money spinners when the time was right. It had +been Kate’s idea, one he’d initially looked at with +some reluctance, farming being well grained into his tough hide. +His family had farmed Middle Loan since the middle of the last +century.

+

He eased the car round the last bend and onto the narrow +straight that led up to the farm, noting with no surprise, the +mounds of horse droppings, pleased at the evidence that Kate had +got back in the saddle again so soon after her legs were in the +stirrups. He smiled at his own joke and looked forward to a good +malt whisky, and after that, a great grilled steak festooned with +mushrooms and tomatoes. More than that, he was glad to have made it +home despite the delays on the motorways. He wanted to help wrap +little Kirsty’s Christmas presents for the morrow. He’d +phoned from the pit stop down the motorway and Kate had held the +baby close, letting her snuffle into the receiver and instantly +Jack had felt that warm, urgent twist in his belly.

+

That was something completely new. He was in love. For the first +time in his life, he was completely, irrevocably, absolutely in +love. It was different from the love for Kate, vast orders of +magnitude stronger, though what he felt for his wife was a powerful +emotion in itself. He loved Kate truly and deeply. They were +friends and lovers and partners. He had hungered for her since the +first time they’d met at a young farmer’s barn dance. +Her auburn hair had been longer then, glinting chestnut under the +lights and she’d been a pound or two lighter, no +featherweight, but her sturdy curves had been well within his own +ideal, and her thick red hair which faded to a fair matt beside her +ears had hinted at a hirsute secrecy which he had discovered and +revelled in. He had lusted after her and he had liked her,

+

and had great appetites for everything in life and for life +itself. She could milk a cow and cook a steak and wrestle a ram to +the ground and at night, when he cuddled up against her firmness, +she would go the distance with joyful and noisy passion and then go +some more. He loved her, he imagined, as much as any man loved a +woman.

+

But when he saw Lucy the hammerblow had hit him so hard, he was +still, more than a month later, reeling from it. It hit him in his +heart and in his soul. He had seen her head push out from between +Kate’s quivering, straining thighs and seen the ugly little +twisted face and then they’d handed the slippery bundle to +him and to her and he had almost died of it.

+

Parental love kicked him down, lifted him up, made him fly. It +had been the greatest, most momentous occasion of his entire life. +Up in the high field, bringing the highland cattle down to the low +pasture, he would savour the moment over and over again. Coming up +the motorway, he would relive it time and again so that the +distance passed without him being able to recall any of the road. +Lucy, she had transformed from a lump, to a squirming thing and +then to a complete human person as soon as he held her in his big, +strong hands, and she had transformed him. He’d been a man +who was comfortable, but distantly vague, with the idea of +impending parenthood. Then Lucy had arrived and he was a father and +what he had considered before as sunshine paled to twilight beside +the radiance she put in his heart.

+

He thought of a malt whisky, he looked forward to a good sirloin +steak dripping in its own fat. He felt a buzz of pleasure and +pressure at his groin in anticipation of getting his wife under the +sheets and running his hand down the taught curves of her breasts +and her hips into that hirsute secret.

+

But more than anything he wanted to hold his baby again.

+

He gunned the engine, feeling the back fishtail on the black ice +now forming on the road and got to the gate. The light was on at +the corner of the byre, the warm and welcoming glow reflecting off +the whitewashed corner, illuminating the side of the barn and the +smooth cobbles of the entrance to the courtyard. He got out of the +car, arching his back to take the stiffness of the road out of his +muscles, glad he was driving a high-topped four by four and not +some low slung saloon which would leave him creaking for weeks. He +walked to the gate imagining he could feel the heat of the halogen +lights on the back of his neck and as he pulled back the bolt, +something flickered above him.

+

Startled, he turned. The flock of pigeons, racers and fantails, +the doves white as snow in the beams, went fluttering with a +whistle of wings, wheeling all together across the road, circling +the dovecote.

+

Jack pulled the bolt against the spring and swung the gate +forward, once again reminding himself that one day he’d get a +remote control to open the gate and save him the start-stop every +time he arrived home. The pigeons wheeled round again, flying in +tight formation, turning all at once. They looked panicked and he +wondered if a stoat had got into the dovecote. A stoat or a ferret, +or one of those wild mink from the old farm on Langside, any of +them could do a lot of damage in a henhouse or a pigeon loft. The +birds hardly ever flew at night and when they did, they sought a +place to roost as quickly as possible. Something must have spooked +them to keep them on the wing. He thought he’d get the gun +out and check out the roost after he’d something to eat.

+

He drove the car through, got back out again, closed the gate. +For a third time the birds circled, trying to keep within the +circle of light the lamp afforded, certainly unwilling to settle. +Ahead, one of the horses was whinnying. It kicked the door and he +thought maybe it was a fox, though the horses rarely bothered about +vermin. The car door closed again and the heat inside, after the +cold of the night, was suddenly quite oppressive. A bead of sweat +trickled down the back of his neck, making the skin pucker. He was +half way along the track, along the home straight as he and Kate +called it when he realised it was not a hot sweat at all.

+

The hairs on his forearms rippled.

+

Something wrong?

+

He shook his head. He was just tired. On the way up, apart from +thoughts of his beautiful daughter, he’d decided the price +was right for two fillies. He’d phone later and make the +deal. All work and no play made Jack a tired boy. That’s what +he told himself as he slowed down at the end of the drive where the +close cropped hawthorn hedge glistened with frost. The lights +bounced off the whitewash of the wall, illuminating the night and +making the mist sparkle. With the ease of long practice he swung +the wheel, feeling another little slip as the tyres spun on hoar +ice on the cobbles, then he was past the gaping door of the +barn.

+

He eased the car into the yard, hauled hard to the left and +drove straight into the garage.

+

Something wrong?

+

A twist of odd sensation gripped the muscles of his belly and +gave a squeeze. He was out of the car, still in the dark of the +garage. For some reason, his senses seemed abnormally acute. He +stopped for a moment, put his hands on the roof, leaning. His +breath made pale clouds in the dark and he tried to slow it +down.

+

Why was he breathing fast?

+

“Must be coming down with something,” Jack muttered. +He hoped not. Not now when they were getting ready to celebrate +their first Christmas as a threesome. He’d told his parents +and Kate’s family too, that they would see them all the day +after Christmas at the earliest. The big day, he swore, was going +to be at home, all of it. The tree, the presents, the dinner, it +was to be their special time and he wasn’t going to drag his +baby daughter round from one side of the country to another on a +cold winter day to visit grandparents.

+

“Maybe it’s the flu,” he wondered aloud. He +really hoped not. He didn’t want the baby catching something. +If she got sick he’d shit himself, he knew that. He’d +be unable to move for the fear of it. The hairs on his forearms +were all marching together, standing proud like proper little +soldiers. The skin puckered and tensed and he thought that was very +odd indeed.

+

“Maybe it’s just the cold.” The cold. A cold. +Maybe even just the tiring journey. He pushed himself away from the +car.

+

Something wrong?

+

He walked out of the dark, into the yard and stopped. The moon +was high and dented, a slumped face in the velvet sky. Over beyond +the byre, the birds were still flying. What was different? He knew +what was different, his instinct knew and his years on the farm +told him. Something was wrong. Something was out of place.

+

There was noise where there should be silence. There was silence +where there should be noise. It was inside out or back to +front.

+

Out behind the cowshed, where the sturdy stables gave on to the +paddock where the old dovecote stood in the centre of the field, +the horses were whining and snorting. One of them kicked out every +now and again, rattling the door, sending a hammershot into the +night air.

+

Inside the byre, the cows were all howling. They were not +lowing, the way they would in the spring as they headed along to +the pasture, or the way they would when it was time for the +afternoon milking. They were howling the way cattle did when their +calf is straining to get out, head turned back the wrong way, stuck +in the passage. The hoarse, high grunts made the building +shiver.

+

“What the hell...?” he began to say. Where was Kate? +Had she gone for the vet? Were they sick?

+

Something wrong.

+

The chickens were silent. There was always, even in the dark, a +squawk as the pecking order was maintained. He turned and walked +past the coop. A black shape came scooting from the side of the +shed, startling him of balance, just a dark blur. The cat, the best +ratter they’d had in years, went screeching past him, ran +towards the door of the tack room, missed and hit the wall with +such a thud that it somersaulted backwards, landed on its back, got +to its feet still screeching and then shot right out of the +yard.

+

Where were the dogs? They always yapped him a frenzied welcome. +Always.

+

“What the fuck is going on here?” he demanded to +know, speaking aloud.

+

He almost went straight to the house, but something held him +back. He could not explain it, but suddenly he felt a shudder of +real apprehension. Instead, he crossed to the byre, got his weight +against the door and slid it open on its rollers.

+

The cows were crying. They howled and screeched, each one in its +stall, crying in the darkness. He reached a hand and hit the light. +The fluorescent bars flicked on one after another, drenching the +place in their pale glare. He walked into the centre into the warm, +steaming air, breathing in that familiar scent of hot milk and warm +cattle. He turned round by the stalls and his jaw dropped so wide +his chin hit his chest.

+

He was standing in a pool of milk. Six of the seven cattle were +standing, legs spread, sides convulsing while all of their milk +poured steadily in pulsing spurts from their grotesquely swollen +udders. One of them managed to turn round, a gentle jersey the +colour of old honey. Its great black eye rolled, showing white all +round, pinning him with the desperation of its pain.

+

“Jesus God,” Jack said finally.

+

The six cattle were standing leg-spread and each of them was +covered in blood. Behind them all, in the drainage gully, their +part-formed calves, calves that would have been born in the late +spring, lay in greasy heaps of placenta and blood. They had all +aborted, every one of them.

+

A chill stole right inside Jack Park. Were they sick? Had they +caught a disease?

+

He saw his milk profits and his calf profits gone for the year. +A sick feeling of apprehension lurched inside him and he staggered +backwards with the force of it, feeling his own gorge rise at the +grotesque sight of all those slimy packages that would have been +calves. The seventh jersey, his best milker and mother of three +others standing in the stalls, was lying on the ground, her head at +a strange angle. She must have slipped and the collar had choked +her, retaining all the blood in her head so that her face was +swollen and black and her tongue protruded grotesquely. Her legs +were splayed and from just under her tail, her calf’s hind +legs protruded like a growth.

+

Jack moved back. His good-to-be-home feeling had evaporated +instantly.

+

“What the fuck? What the bloody fuck?” he demanded +to know, almost incoherent. He bulled his way out of the barn, +leaving the cattle to bellow their pain. He crossed the yard at a +trot and almost stumbled over the terriers, still locked in a dead +embrace.

+

Dread clamped on Jack Park’s heart.

+

Poison, he thought. Had there been a leak of something? Had +there been a chemical emission from the big incinerator over the +hill towards Drumadder? His heart was beating so hard it made him +dizzy. Nausea and vertigo came on in waves. The front porch loomed +and the fear gripped him in a cold and merciless hand.

+

“No,” he said aloud, a panicked blurt of sound.

+

This was all madness. His dogs were dead. His cattle were dying. +What was happening? The pigeons flew round again in their sweep and +he wanted to shoot them down, make them stop. He wanted the cattle +to stop their wailing, the horse to quit kicking. He wanted the +pressure inside his head to slacken because suddenly he was very +afraid to open his own front door.

+

Had somebody done this? Had somebody killed his dogs and +poisoned his cattle? The irrational thought did not seem irrational +to him, not at that moment. His wife and child, his wife and his +baby girl, they were inside the house

+

Were they?

+

waiting for him to come home to them.

+

“Oh please,” he whimpered, his voice breaking, +gaining two octaves in height, making him feel like a helpless boy +again. He moved towards the door then stopped. Maybe there was +somebody here. Maybe strangers had come and were inside there +now.

+

Anger suddenly flared up under the fear, twisting him this way +and that. He stopped once more, trying to think. They would expect +him to come in the front. They could be waiting for him. +They. He turned and moving as quickly as his quivering +muscles would let him, went to the path at the side of the house up +beside the vegetable garden, unwittingly following the trail of +something else.

+
+

The mother’s breath came harsh and shallow, panting for +air. She was fighting him, even in her shallow slumber the way the +other one had fought him, but he had been prepared and he had +battened her down, using the last of his resources to subdue her. +Now she lay slumped in the darkness, dazed and numb, her body +shaking all over, vibrating with a delicious frequency that set up +a sympathetic resonance within himself.

+

His glands had squeezed him almost dry, filling her with his +essence and she had succumbed. Her massive teats were filling now. +He could feel the swell of them and smell the nourishment surge +inside. He had clamped his sucker mouth on one of them, letting his +tiny teeth dig just enough into the surface of the skin so that the +trickle of blood and new milk mingled. Strength began to flow back +into him in a hot stream.

+

After a while he was aware of the rumble of the engine as the +car trundled along the road he’d been carried along when the +day was fading.

+

Immediately, all of his gathering senses went on the alert.

+
+

Ginny Marsden coughed the last of her blood onto the hay and she +died at the same time as little Lucy Park.

+

The baby’s mother had been powerless, bound in mental +webs, chemical manacles that prevented her from moving. She +remained slumped against the wall with the image of the +thing’s eyes burned into her brain, hovering in front of her. +The whole world had taken on a red tinge, turning the light of the +room into a strange purple. She was gasping for breath trying to +clear her lungs of the thick and acrid miasma that had sprayed out +from it. Behind her the baby whimpered and the thing, the other +baby turned its head, quite unnaturally, almost completely around +on its narrow shoulders, like an owl responding hungrily to a +squeak in the dark. She needed to mother it, was compelled to feed +it, yet at the same time she wanted to kill it. She had tried to +reach and clasp it by the throat, but her hands were only capable +of stroking its smooth, unblemished skin and pull it even closer to +her own body. She could not make them grasp and strangle.

+

Behind her Lucy cried again, and the baby moved quickly.

+

“You can’t walk,” she tried to reason, +mouthing the words while dribbling saliva onto her bare chest. +“Just a baby.”

+

It clambered off her, crawling quickly and moved to the little +wicker Moses basket Jack had brought back from a trip down south. +She heard the scrabble as it climbed up and she tried to scream a +warming. The baby was climbing up to her child.

+

Not a baby she tried to think, but the thought +couldn’t break through the membrane that encapsulated her own +mind.

+

Out of sight, she heard a sucking, wet sound and her heart +slumped, giving a slow double beat that was shock and loss and +dreadful despair. She tried to move once more, but her limbs were +incapable of anything more than a slow-motion, directionlesss flop. +The baby cried out, thin and fearful and then the sound faded out. +Kate’s mouth stretched wide in a silent scream and all that +came out from between her quivering lips was a thick and ropy +saliva.

+

The baby, her own baby, gurgled again, a sound that was liquid +and high. The cot rattled violently and she could not turn to stop +it, could not turn to protect her own. After a while, the sound +stopped and her baby was silent and the other one came crawling +back to her, climbing up between her breasts again. She felt the +terrible touch inside her head and the need to mother this thing +came rushing back into her. Down in the depths of her belly, blood +trickled and the baby on her breast lifted its head. His eyes bored +into hers and forced once again and she drew her arms around it, +compelled to protect this one, driven to feed it. She drew it back +down to let it suckle and after a while the appalling pain in her +heart was crushed away by the scraping touch in her mind and she +fell into a numbed daze.

+

It was some time later when she awoke, fuzzy and drugged, rising +up from a black pool of sleep where terrible things happened in +nightmare visions of death and destruction. She slowly got to her +knees, clasping her baby tight, pressing its tiny frame against +her. There was somebody outside and he was coming for the baby. She +knew that without doubt, not aware of any true reality.

+

She quickly moved to the front room, robe flapping, protecting +the child. Someone was outside. She heard the engine, over and +above the howling of the cattle. Someone was coming and the baby +was in danger. She could feel its urgency, feel its demands for +protection

+

Mother me mother me mother me.... A mantra of wordless +demand. She could do nothing except obey.

+

It was dark in the room where she sat in the corner, prepared +now.

+

And all the time, her very soul was riven and rent by the +unspeakable knowledge that her own baby, her Lucy, was gone.

+
+

His guns were in the cabinet in the front of the house. There +was a spare key in the roll-top desk in the same room, but it was +still at the front of the house. He was sure nobody could break +into the gun case where the two twelve bores stood side by side, +but whoever was in the farmhouse, they could still be armed. He had +convinced himself that the threat was human.

+

His heart was beating somewhere in his throat, making it +difficult to breathe quietly. Fear and anger were battling it out, +each a powerful force, but utter desperation overshadowed them +both. His hands were shaking as he grabbed the spade from the side +of the greenhouse and hefted it in two hands. It had been well used +in the summer and autumn and the moonlight reflected off the +abraded blade.

+

“Let them be all right,” he whispered under his +breath in a hoarse prayer. “Let them be all right. +Please.” He appealed to any god, any force. What he was +saying was let them be alive. Cold dread twisted inside +him, and he could feel the loop of sudden nausea force upwards. He +swallowed it back, telling himself he had to be clear, he had to be +strong.

+

There was light inside the house, but no sound at all. He made +his feet move silently on the flagstones, avoiding the small +decorative chips that would crunch underfoot, and got to the back +door. Very carefully, he turned the handle. The door opened a +crack.

+

Something here.

+

The perturbing smell reached him and for an instant he thought +again about poison, some sort of pollution. His heart leapt at the +notion. Maybe they were safe. Maybe....

+

He opened the door further, pushing it quickly to prevent a +squeal. He got inside. Slunk along the narrow little corridor to +the corner where it turned beside the baby’s bedroom. Here +the smell was thick and clogging and he felt his heart speed up +with sudden vigour. Without warning, the desperation evaporated and +the anger suddenly soared to ascendancy. The fear disappeared. An +instant, burning rage bubbled inside his veins, making his temples +pound. His vision wavered as the adrenaline punched into his +bloodstream. He moved quickly, carried on the surge of anger, +holding the spade right out in front of him, ready to decapitate +the first bastard he saw. In his mind, pumped up in the flare of +rage, he saw an ugly head topple from shoulders to land with a thud +and the image gave him a savage sensation of gleeful +anticipation.

+

“Fuckin bastards,” he growled, unaware that he spoke +aloud. He barged, not quietly, into Lucy’s room. It was +empty. The little Moses basket was askew on its stand, and he knew +instantly that Kate had grabbed the baby to protect it. She must +have. He turned, about to storm out, then halted, garrotted by some +new information. He spun back, leaned over the cradle. A dark stain +smudged the tight basket weave of the little cradle. A smudge of +deep red.

+

His thudding heart hammered against his ribs with such violence +it was like a small explosion. He leaned forward, face contorting +in awful apprehension, fingers digging into the shaft of the +spade.

+

A waxen doll lay on a red-stained pillow, a small and inhuman +thing with plastic, stiff fingers, and half-closed dark eyes which +glinted in the overhead light. A darker smudge indented under its +chin, like a bruise. Twin trickles showed where tears had trailed +from its glassy eyes.

+

The bolt of nausea made it into his throat, hard and bitter +lumps hitting his palate only to be swallowed down in a little +acrid stream. He turned away, stumbling, his brain in a state of +complete rejection. He saw a doll, he told himself. It was just a +doll that Kate must have bought for the baby.

+

The stiff little fingers reached up into the air. He could see +them in his mind’s eye and he knew they had to be plastic +because they were still and rigid, not like his baby girl’s +soft and gentle, perfectly formed hands. He made himself walk out +of the door, trying to call his wife’s name, but unable to +get his mouth to form the words. The muscles in his belly were +heaving and twitching and all across his back they were moving in +conflict with each other as if all the nerves had been disconnected +and rewired wrongly. A singing noise filled his ears in a juicy, +high pitched monotone.

+

He staggered into the kitchen. On the stove a kettle was +billowing steam. A pile of washing lay on the table. On the work +surface by the sink, two substantial steaks were lying on a flat +plate, each in a dark pool of blood.

+

“Must have been the steak,” he said. “Must +have been. Sure.” He giggled and the sound had a taste of +madness in it. “Should have washed her bloody hands +first.” He laughed again, high and manic. “Bloody good +pun.”

+

Inside him, his inner voice was trying to make him go back into +the baby’s room, telling him to look again. His subconscious +had taken in the shape in the cot and it had recognised it for what +it was. Jack Park’s conscious mind would not let him accept +it.

+

He whirled round, shouted his wife’s name now. +“Kate, I’m home.”

+

He still held the spade up like an axe as he walked into the +front room.

+

His hand reached for the light, but even before he touched it, +he saw her in the corner, slumped or crouched against the wall. Her +robe was wide open and she held a small monkey in her arms. He +blinked once, twice. The smell here was dreadful, nauseating. It +stung his eyes and he felt the surge of emotions shudder through +him again. He hit the switch and the thing on Kate’s chest - +both of the breasts were bared, rounded and full - the wizened form +blurred and wavered. For a second it was grey and emaciated, ridged +and flat faced and then its outlines ran and expanded. It was Lucy. +He shook his head, trying clear his vision. The baby screamed and +changed again, wavering into some ridged and blotched little +gargoyle. The scream sounded like grinding glass. It scraped inside +his head like fingernails down a blackboard. Sudden pain twisted in +both ears.

+

“What the fu...” The red eyes flicked open and +glared at him.

+

A fucking alien Jesus it’s a

+

He didn’t even think. He reacted, taking two steps +forward, raising the spade at the same time. He would smash it off +her. The thing wavered again, twisted. It was Lucy again, small and +fragile, bleating in fear. He was about to smash his +daughter’s head with the garden spade.

+

The picture of the doll in the cot, the doll with his +child’s face suddenly leapt into the forefront of his mind. +Utter horror swamped him. His brain almost stopped functioning from +overload under the overwhelming visual and mental and chemical +assault. He managed one more step forward.

+

Thunder erupted from the corner and smashed him backwards into +the wall. He spun, hit his knuckles against the cupboard door and +saw a crimson slash appear on the paint.

+

“Wha...”

+

Thunder roared again and slammed him again, taking him in the +side. His hip hit the wall and a strangely numb but somehow +fizzling pain, expanded in his arms and in his side. The spade spun +away and landed next to the desk, clanging like a cracked bell.

+

“Kate its...” he started to say when he saw his +hands, torn and ragged where the shot had blasted them, trying to +comprehend the enormity of the damage, the immensity of this. He +twisted, tried to make his legs move, failed and toppled to the +floor. His feet did a jittery little dance and then were still. +Huge pain bloomed in his side and in his back and he knew the heavy +goose shot had done more than ruin his hands.

+

A cool realisation soared above the pain. “She must be +mad,” he thought. “She’s bloody well killed +me.”

+

He lay on the carpet, feeling his very essence ooze away so +quickly that the room darkened almost instantly. Over in the +corner, he heard Kate moan and for some reason the sound was the +distillation of all fear, even though she had used his own gun and +had killed him.

+

A picture of the doll in the cot came back to him and he saw his +daughter’s face lying face up, his brain now able to +comprehend a greater enormity than the fact of his own death.

+

“Lucy darlin’...” he managed to blurt before +his lungs emptied in a frothy gush. He fell forward and died.

+

The last thing he saw as his vision faded to black, was the grey +and ragged thing that squatted over his wife’s trembling +body, one great red eye fixed on him while it sucked at her flesh. +In the last moment of his life, Jack Park thought he saw the face +of the devil.

+

Much later, long after the bottom of the kettle had melted on +the stove, while her baby’s body was stiffening with rigor +mortis, while Ginny Marsden’s disintegrating corpse was +turning rigid with the bitter cold out in the barn and while her +husband’s mutilated, slumped shape had dripped his last +through the devastating wound in his side, Kate park got to her +feet and went through the chest in the baby’s room, cradling +the thing close to herself. Almost instinctively, she turned to +look in the cot, but another force made her turn away and pay +attention to what she was doing.

+

Over there in the little moses basket, there was something she +should know, something she had to see, but she had no volition, no +wherewithal to make herself cross the short distance. Her mind was +not her own. She bent and wrapped her new baby up in the wonderful +Christening shawl her mother had passed down, a link from a +generation gone, her grandmother’s to a new one just begun. +She wrapped it tight against the cold while its huge blue-lagoon +eyes held her attention and her mind.

+

She wrapped the new baby while in the core of her being she was +screaming madly, as Ginny Marsden had done. Her breasts were full +and swollen by now and there was a tingling in her veins as her +temperature rose, her body fighting a futile war with the new +chemicals, the long and complex molecules now riving through her +bloodstream. The twist in her belly proclaimed the start of her +period after ten months of freedom from cramp. Without pause, she +stripped off her robe, not noticing the new bruises on the +ballooning skin, or the scratch marks where small and thin fingers +had clenched her tight. She dressed herself like an automaton, +knowing she would have to move soon, while ignorant of where, or +when, or why.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus23.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus23.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1533cfb --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus23.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,578 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

23

+

The baby impelled Kate Park and she picked it up, went through +to the living room where the log fire was just beginning to burn +itself out. She sat for a while staring at the glowing embers while +the baby turned its face into her and felt its change come rushing +on.

+

Half a mile further north east, on the brow of the hill at Upper +Loan farm, the old shepherd looked out of his window, wondering if +Jackie Park had got the fox he was hunting a while ago. The two +shots had not been repeated.

+

Down in Barloan harbour, old Mrs Cosgrove wondered about the +woman who had come limping, with the baby in the old pram. She had +gone out in the afternoon, after paying for several nights board, +and had not returned. It would be a few days, in this weather, +before the old woman would venture round the back of her house to +empty the trash. Until then she would be unaware of the old pram +angled against the wall. She blinked behind her big glasses, eyes +watering, and she whipped a huge handkerchief out to blow her nose +vigorously. She always got a cold at this time of the year. Despite +that, she was sure she could smell something. She wondered if maybe +a bird had got in one of the vents under the eaves and had died. +Oddly, she felt a wrench of cramp deep down between her hips, a +pain she had not felt for a long time, and her old and sagging +breasts tingled strangely. She wondered if her cold was turning +into something worse.

+

All of this happened on the day before Christmas, while the +choir from St Fillan’s went round the doors of Barloan +harbour, singing of peace on earth to men of goodwill and about a +new infant, born in a manger, who would still save mankind from its +sins.

+

Two days later, on the night of Boxing Day, David Harper and +Helen Lamont were discovering each other all over again.

+

It had been a long day and a long night. He had brought the +papers home with him after reporting their progress to Scott Cruden +who was quite reasonable about the delay. He told David he could +borrow another two patrols for some house-to-house inquiries the +next day, once the shift patterns got back to normal. David +wondered if that would do any good because Ginny Marsden was back +in the city, she would be hard to find. He wondered if he should +ask the public relations folk to put out an appeal in the press, +maybe get a picture flashed on the tea-time news. It was still +early days yet, he decided. He’d let Helen make an inquiry at +Celia Barker’s bank. It was a long shot, but she’d done +a fine job so far and he knew she had an instinct for this. They +had picked up a pizza, both of them agreeing on a seafood topping +(and he pleased to find they had something else in common) and went +back to his place.

+

June had left two messages on the answering machine and Helen +felt herself bristle as he played them back. Both messages began +with an apology and the first asked him to call her. The second +almost demanded that he return her call. He didn’t, but while +he re-heated the food, she rang again. The pizza was warm by the +time he got of the phone.

+

“Doesn’t she give up?” Helen wanted to know. +He gave her an apologetic look and shrugged wearily.

+

“It’s not easy for her. It’ been a while for +both off us.”

+

“But she claimed you and I were having an affair, and she +half wrecked this place. Plus it was she who told you it was over +and you were never to darken her doorstep again.”

+

“And I’ve told her it’s over,” David +said. “I don't like hurting her, that’s all, because +she’d not a bad person. We just came to the end of a +relationship and that’s the best thing. Convincing her of +that is something else. It’ll take time.”

+

“She’s just lonely at this time of the year, and she +thinks she made a mistake.”

+

“You bet she did,” Helen retorted, fire in her eyes. +“But that’s over now.”

+

He smiled awkwardly and busied himself with the plates. He knew +June and realised there would be more telephone calls, more +messages on the machine. She was stubborn, and when she was fixed +on something, she wasn’t easily side-stepped. +“She’ll be fine in a while,” he said, though he +knew a while might be a while longer.

+

They ate the pizza and had a beer apiece while changed the +subject nd drew out the old and detailed report a long dead +policeman had compiled.

+

_______

+

Greta Simon had disappeared in the middle of May, 1941. She had +been a scullery maid in Overburn House, the dower house to the +mansion in the valley behind Lochend, where the old Coleraine +family had held their clan seat for centuries. At this time the +dower house was owned by an English ironfounder who was rolling out +tank treads and armoured panels for the war machine and would later +be elevated to the House of Lords.

+

She had been a skinny, plain girl, in her late twenties, with +thin hair and large teeth. There had been a rumour that she had +indulged in a passionate affair with a married man from Levenford, +where she’d initially been raised, the only daughter of a +widow who had died five years before. The un-named man, (known from +her letters as Mars - she called herself Hesper, after the morning +star, a fine play on words, linking the god of war with the goddess +of love) the unknown lover, some folk believed, had been killed on +the beach at Dunkirk. Greta Simon had gone missing from the dower +house in 1941 and some folk believed she had killed herself. She +had failed to turn up for work on the seventeenth day of May. The +next time anybody heard of her in any official capacity, was in +1967. Nobody knew how she had evaded official notice. There was no +indication of how she had made a living. Her tiny apartment held +only the bare essentials and another strange collection of toys and +baby clothes, all of them hand-made. Her landlord said she had paid +the rent in coins. A neighbour said there were always coins in the +pram and she even recalled that she herself, the neighbour, had put +money in for the baby several times, luck money, an old Scots +tradition. That was a puzzle to her, Sergeant Ron McBean noted in +his stolid hand. The tradition only calls for one donation of +silver. The woman could not remember why she had been moved to be +so generous. She could not recall what the baby had looked like. It +had just seemed the right thing to do.

+

Ron McBean had noted the strange, rancid smell in Greta +Simon’s house. He had smelled it before.

+

It had been routine work, more than two decades prior to this, +when McBean had been a young constable in Lochend, he had stumbled +onto the mystery. If he had not, five years later, taken a transfer +for promotion to a town on the other side of the country, he would +never have made the connection between Greta Simon and Harriet +Dailly.

+

The connections were laid out in a chart, on sheets of yellowed +legal-pad paper which had been stuck together with glue. The glue +itself was old and hard and looked like a fine amber. The rest of +the report was written out in McBean’s clear, laborious hand. +He had been a good, methodical policeman. What he had discovered, +he could hardly believe himself and he had been unable to get +anyone else to believe there was more than coincidence +involved.

+

Phil Cutcheon had been too busy with the murder inquiry to be +concerned with myth and fable as he had called it then, but now, +more than fifty years after Greta Simon walked away from her job +(to her death, some thought at the time, suicide from a broken +heart) Phil Cutcheon had changed his mind.

+

Harriet Dailly had been a woman of sixty two when she jumped off +the Pulpit Rock, an outcrop of slate which overlooked Loch Corran, +famed in song and for the mythical creature said to swim under its +dark surface, and its own connection to the low roads of the +underworld. She might have drowned, but could possibly have been +saved, because the teenage son of the ironfounder who ruled the +Dower House was fishing for salmon nearby, in a boat rowed by his +own bailiff. Unfortunately Harriet landed on a half submerged tree +trunk and had caved her skull in. She died instantly and her brains +and blood had spilled out into the clear water, colouring it pink +for several yards around the body.

+

There would have been no real interest, had it not been for the +baby Harriet had been seen carrying in her old shawl on the path up +to the rock. A few girls from the dower house, Greta Simon +included, had been given the afternoon off to pick elderflowers for +the season’s wine. The bushes near the pulpit were a +traditional source. Two of the girls had seen Harriet jump. It was +May 17, 1941. An immediate search for the baby turned up no sign at +all. There was speculation that dogs or foxes might have taken it. +Or perhaps that Harriet herself had killed the infant herself and +then committed suicide. That part of the loch was searched by a +team of navy divers in cumbersome suits, but the water dropped +straight down from the edge to more than two hundred feet to +blackness and nothing was found.

+

Nobody knew where she had come from, not immediately. Constable +Ron McBean was charged with finding her nearest and dearest. A +perfunctory post mortem showed that the woman had a degenerative +condition, a loss of bone tissue at her joints which would have +made movement almost impossible, and at the very least, quite +excruciating. Quite unbelievably, according to the young doctor who +would soon be carrying out triage on the awful wounds of war, she +was still producing milk and showed signs of menstruation. She had +been chronically anaemic and her liver was grossly enlarged.

+

It was not until a quarter of a century later that Ron McBean +would read a similar report, by sheer luck or coincidence, in a +similar town separated by the narrow width of the country, and he +would start adding up the coincidences. Initially, he was driven +only by curiosity, as he admitted in the summation of his report. +It was to become an obsession.

+

McBean almost by accident found a clue in Harriet Dailly’s +shabby little house, down an alley at the west end of Lochend, a +crumbling little shack tacked on to the end of an even older +dye-house. It had a bed and a sink and the gutted remains of two +rabbits, liver, kidneys and brains all gone, the rest substantially +chewed. The place stank, possibly of the lye from the old dye +works, or possibly from rot. There was a hardboard chest full of +baby clothes and the bed was piled high with hand-crafted toys. +McBean found a pile of bones in an old wooden barrel in an +outhouse. Some of them had been chewed. There were rabbits and +pigeons, a couple of cats. Nobody remembered the old woman having a +dog. Everybody had seen the tightly swaddled baby and had believed +it was a grandchild. They had taken her for an old tinker woman who +kept to herself. People passing by gave her money for the baby.

+

The young policeman, whose career would take a four year +vacation during which time he would see more murder and mayhem in +North Africa and then in France than he would experience in the +rest of his life, discovered a photograph of a young couple, alike +enough to be brother and sister, and an old letter to “Dear +Harry” and signed “Yr Lving Bro, Chas.” The +address on the envelope was faint, but legible. The letter told +Harry that Chas would be coming home on leave in less than two +weeks and he was looking forward to a break from all the square +bashing. It was dated 1918.

+

It was a fifty mile train ride to Lanark where Ron McBean found +the Reverend Charles Dailly, a short, portly man with the ruddy +cheeks of a committed drinker and the smile of a jester. McBean had +taken sandwiches wrapped in a sheet of greaseproof paper and tied +with string, just in case he got hungry, but the minister brought +him into the manse and plied him with tea and home baking.

+

When he saw the picture of himself and his sister, instant tears +sparkled in both eyes and he had to dab them with his spotted +handkerchief, blowing his nose vigorously, much as old Mrs Cosgrove +would do more than half a century later. By sheer coincidence, if +anything relating to this could be, the old woman who did +bed-and-breakfast in her cottage in Barloan Harbour, had been one +of those girls who had seen Harriet Dailly jump from the Pulpit +Rock. She had been with Greta Simon that afternoon, both of them +singing that old Gaelic song about the fairies who stole babies +from their mothers, but McBean, who would have recorded such detail +in his notes, was long dead by the time Ginny Marsden and her +strange and deadly little bundle came to stay for a night.

+

“I haven’t seen Harriet since the year the Great War +ended,” Charles Dailly said when he composed himself. +“Dead, you say? How, where?”

+

The minister explained that his sister had grown up in his +house, the old manse in Lanark where his father had been the +incumbent before him. “Harry and John, that was her +husband’s name you know, they had been hoping to have a +family, but she couldn’t have babies. Something wrong with +her innards you know. But she helped foster the youngsters from the +orphanage, and she told me she would adopt as soon as Johnny came +marching home. She had taken responsibility, she told me, for the +child of a woman who had been admitted to the sanatorium down in +Carstairs, a poor soul who had gone mad. That was on the same day +she got the telegram that John had bought it in France. He was +killed on the Somme, you know, just before the end of it all, poor +soul. I never saw Harriet again after that. I went round to her +house and she was gone. Someone said they had seen her at the train +station, and somebody thought she might have been carrying a baby, +but from that day to this, there’s never been a word, not a +whisper. We reported her missing, of course, but that was under her +married name of Burton. It was a log time ago, but we never thought +she’d go back to her own name.”

+

The red-faced minister gathered himself together.

+

“In fact I had always had the notion that she’d +killed herself all those years ago, from the grief of it all. She +and Johnny were made for each other. The young folk would say, +crazy for each other. He was a handsome devil, and quite a catch. +His father had the strawberry farms down the valley, and they made +a fortune out of preserves.”

+

Ron McBean had not told the minister, feeling it was neither his +business nor necessary information, that his sister had jumped into +the loch. He did not elaborate, but left the bereaved brother with +the idea that she had fallen accidentally. There was no harm in +that.

+

When he mentioned the possibility that the old woman (who local +people had thought of as a tinker, possibly of Irish extraction, a +wartime version of a bag-lady) had been carrying a baby, Charles +Dailly said that was quite in character.

+

“Loved them. She would have had a dozen if the Lord had +blessed her. She was always looking after other folk’s +children and it was a real shame that she was cursed to be +barren.”

+

“What happened to the baby she fostered?” McBean +asked. It was only curiosity, as his older self would later write. +Obviously the child was now a man of twenty three, unless he too +had died in this new war.

+

“Well, nobody knows. Who could know? She just disappeared. +I didn’t know if she even adopted it. It was all very +confused at the time.”

+

“Who would know?” It was just a loose end, but +McBean was a painstaking and thorough young policeman who was not +ambitious as such, but would always do a job to the best of his +ability. He turned down a sherry, but accepted another cup of tea, +while the minister wrote down the address of the sanatorium at +Carstairs. “It would be June 7, 1918. That’s when the +telegram came. I remember because it was Harriet’s birthday. +My mother had baked her a big cake. We gave it to the +orphanage.”

+

The place in Carstairs had been a madhouse at one time, and now +it just seemed like a madhouse, in the May of 1941. The three main +wings had been given over to the wounded, the men of the Scottish +battalions who had been blasted and broken on the shoreline in the +dreadful retreat. Some of the men, young boys, hardly out of their +teens, with dreadful injuries and missing limbs, were sunning +themselves on the grass or on benches, all of them smoking, and the +ones that could see, staring into the distance with that long-range +stare of men who still looked into the fires of hell and felt the +heat.

+

Ron McBean recorded in his personal notes how the dreadful +damage, both physical and mental, made the place look like an image +of another hell. He would also later record in his personal papers, +after his own war experiences, how familiar that look became.

+

Matron Ducatt, a squat, grim-faced woman with a transforming +smile, took him to the records office. She had been a nursing +sister back at the end of the Great War and remembered Harriet +Burton. She had gone to school with her cousin. She could not +remember any adoption, though Harriet had taken several children +into her care, easing the burden of mothers whose husbands had gone +to war. McBean gave the date and the elderly nurse checked the +records of admissions.

+

“Oh, I remember that day,” she said when she looked +up the entry. “It was awful, and I shall never forget it as +long as I live. That was the day we brought Mrs Parsonage in. She +had killed her husband with a coal scuttle. She said he’d +tried to kill her baby. She was quite demented of course and she +was sent away to Dalmoak when they made it a State Mental Hospital. +We had the charge of her until then, and no matter what treatment +we gave her, she stayed in a strait-jacket for most of the +time.”

+

“What happened to her?” Ron McBean wanted to +know.

+

“Well, she killed her husband all right, but she never had +a baby, not one of her own. She had adopted the child, some time +before, after its guardian died, some relative, an old washerwoman +from down in Dumfries. The baby was thought to be her +grand-daughter’s who’d had it out of wedlock. Mrs +Parsonage’s husband, he was a planter in India and he was +never home from one year’s end to another. It’s all +coming back now. Anyway, he came home and he never took to the baby +at all. Even the minister

+

said he asked him to come down to the house to make his wife +give up the baby. He said it was possessed. Whatever the case was, +she hit him with a coal scuttle and killed him and she was +completely deranged when she came here. They found her in the +garden of her house, all covered in blood, and with hardly a stitch +on. She was trying to feed the baby herself, poor soul, at her +age.”

+

“And what happened to the baby?”

+

The Matron looked at the old file, flicking several pages over +before turning back to him. “Mrs Burton, Harriet Dailly as +was, she was on the parish board at this time and she took the +child to their care, for adoption. I imagine she did. Didn’t +she?”

+

The old parish records showed no such admission. It was getting +dark by the time Ron McBean discovered this, apologising to the old +church clerk who got a box of redundant ledgers and records down +from the loft where they’d been untouched for many years. On +the way home, he pondered over what he had gleaned, but at that +time, he had nothing at all to make him suspicious. On the train +journey back to Kirkland, with one stop in the city centre, in a +station which would be later demolished and the site redeveloped +and renamed Waterside Shopping Mall, he passed over the very spot +where more than fifty years later a woman masquerading at Thelma +Quigley would drop to the ground, her heart burst asunder. He had +to avoid two porters with a stack of cases on an old trolley, +skirting the corner where Ginny Marsden would later be filmed +turning to take a baby out of a pram.

+

At that stage, he had nothing to be suspicious of. But McBean +was methodical and he was conscientious. He may also have had a +trace of the fey Highland touch, being from that +superstitious and shadowed area of mountains, and being the seventh +child of his family. Over the years, his notes revealed, he thought +about the strange case, wondering what had happened to the baby +that a demented, bloodstained woman had tried to suckle in the +garden of her substantial home.

+

As time passed, through correspondence mainly, he built up a +kind of picture which made no sense at all. He had, after speaking +with Charles Dailly, discharged some of his duties, but if +Dailly’s sister had adopted a child, now obviously a young +man, he had a further duty to try to trace him. While the parish +orphanage records showed no such adoption,

+

and though had been seen with the child, both by witnesses and +by her brother there was no subsequent record of the baby after she +had run away

+

That left him with a series of mysteries which nagged at him +down through the years. Who was the baby that Harriet Dailly had +cared for when she had died. Who was the first baby adopted by mad +Mrs Parsonage and then taken by Harriet? What had happened to them +both?

+

There was a possibility, he had to consider now, that Harriet +Dailly, crazy old lady that she seems to have been, had killed both +children..

+

Over the next two years after Harriet Dailly’s death back +in the war years, McBean discovered, with the help of a local +undertaker who was an unofficial historian down in Lanark, that Mrs +Parsonage had become a sort of recluse during the year before her +breakdown, since she had taken the baby into her home. The +unregistered adoption had come after the suicide of that distant +cousin, an impoverished washer-woman widow from Dumfries, some +forty miles south, whose death had caused a some notoriety, as she +had leapt naked from a stone bridge which spanned a narrow, rocky +gorge. When recovered, her whole body was found to be covered in +bleeding lacerations and bruises which a doctor described as very +similar to the sucking circlets caused by lampreys on salmon from +the nearby River Nith. McBean automatically noted the similarity in +the odd circular lesions uncovered in the autopsy on Harriet +Dailly.

+

It was to be almost fifty years after that strange suicide, +following the accident at Duncryne Bridge which took away most of +Greta Simon’s brain, that Sergeant McBean was moved to dig +further. The records by this time were sparse, but what had started +as a routine inquiry, gathered a mass and momentum of its own for +McBean as he counted up the coincidences

+

The cousin in Dumfries, an Emily Melrose, youngest daughter of a +hatmaker who had succumbed to the madness of mercury poisoning, had +left her home in Lanark to work as a seamstress, though she had +ended up in the parish workhouse in 1890. She had disappeared from +there, vanished from sight in fact, on the same day after a fire in +which an elderly woman and her baby grandchild had died. No trace +of the infant was ever found in the ashes of the poorhouse.

+

It was only after the Duncryne Bridge case when driver Brian +Devanney was sentenced for the manslaughter of a baby whose body +was never recovered, that Ron McBean’s personal investigation +became an obsession.

+

He listed, in his papers, his growing consternation and concern: +“In all this time, I have never been able to identify any +one of the children alleged to have been involved. I can draw a +number of conclusions, but coincidence is not one I can honestly +infer, not any more.”

+

“Do you believe in coincidence?” Helen asked David +as she finished reading the old policeman’s account.

+

“Sure I do. But I’m with McBean. He was a +cop’s cop. And nobody believed him, the same way nobody would +believe us if we came up with the same idea. They’d lock us +up, wouldn’t they? Phil Cutcheon says he’s on the point +of belief, though he hasn’t a pension to lose. What I +don’t believe in any more is that there is any coincidence in +all of this.”

+

“Me neither,” Helen said. “The woman who died +in the fire, Agnes Lassiter, she had a baby with her, but after the +fire, nobody ever knew whose it was. Then Emily Melrose, who was in +her fifties, and was looking after a child, and she was long past +her sell-by date. She took a dive and killed herself, just like +Harriet Dailly.

+

“They’re all connected, in time and in space,” +David said. “Lassister, Melrose, Parsonage and Harriet +Dailly. Like a chain, down the years. They die or they disappear, +or they go mad. McBean did not discover until very late on, a +quarter of a century later, the connection between Dailly and Greta +Simon, but it was there. Nobody sees the obvious when it cannot be +explained in rational terms.”

+

“And how would you explain it?” Helen asked.

+

“I’ll show you something in a minute that +you’re going to think is very crazy, crazier than the idea I +had before. But let me get the sequence right. Greta was there when +Harriet jumped and she disappeared the same day. There was no sign +of the baby, though there were dozens of people who knew the old +woman had one. Twenty five years later, Greta gets hit by a truck +and her baby disappears, presumed dead. On the very same day, +Heather McDougall does a runner, turning up nearly thirty years +down the line, and once again, she has a baby which, very strangely +disappears, taken by a woman who, as far as we know, is acting well +out of character.”

+

He tuned to Helen, counting on his fingers, much as Mike +Fitzgibbon had done. “Look at the conditions in +Harriet’s house. Exactly the same as Greta’s place. +Kids clothes, toys; hardly anything else. Same with Heather. McBean +mentions the smell in the house in Lochend. Probably the same as +the stench that’s been getting up our noses since this whole +thing started. I don’t think it’s poison. And I don't +think it’s a disease.”

+

“So what do you really think?”

+

“I think it’s what McBean believed.” David +reached down into the side of the box and found the thin envelope +that had been jammed down the lining. He took out the thin sheets +of paper. The top one had the yellow band at the edge where +sunlight had dulled its whiteness. He read beyond the first page of +this separate letter which was undated and unaddressed. He drew +Helen’s attention to the part near the end, the few +paragraphs Phil Cutcheon had showed him that morning.

+
+

“All I know is that it appeared on record some time in +the past century. It will appear again, but where and when, who +knows. All I can say, with absolute clarity and conviction, is that +it will appear again and anything that can do that, time and time +again, is not natural.

+

“When I was a boy, my mother used to sing a song, the +same one that Greta Simon and her friend were singing back in 1941 +while picking elderflowers. You could say my mother was an old, +uneducated Highland woman whose first language was the Gaelic, and +who clung to the old ways. Hovan Rovan, was the song, +about the fairies who would steal a mother’s baby and leave +another of theirs in its place. The infant was a goblin, a thing +they called the Tachara. The mother felt the pain and loss of her +child, but the goblin had the power to make it love it and nurture +it and raise it as her own, and the woman was damned for ever and +her own child was gone. An old wives tale from the highlands, but +somehow, it rings a chord now.

+

“My mother would have said that the Tachara had stolen +these mothers. She would have said that somewhere in the past, a +real baby had been spirited away and this goblin put in its place. +They called the thing a changeling. It is possible they were +right.”

+

As Helen read, her eyes widened. Finally, very slowly, she put +the sheets of paper down on the table and turned to him. +“That’s just what you said. What kind of baby would +steal a mother.”

+

“He thinks it’s been going on a long time,” +David said. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m +very close to going along with the old guy on this.”

+

He put the file back in the box and put it away, not wanting to +read the dead man’s words again. Helen was about to say +something else, but he motioned her to silence with his hand while +he reached for a video cassette.

+

“I spent a couple of hours compiling this lot. I just want +you to look at them and tell me what you think.” He jabbed +the starter and the screen flickered to life. The bird in the +burning bush glared wide eyed and desperate over the rim of the +nest, while the naturalist explained the unbreakable conditioning +that made it sit on the eggs until she was consumed by flames.

+

The screen blurred, danced then focused again as the scene +switched to another shot of a baby cuckoo in the next, blindly +ejecting its rival foster brothers from the pipits nest, arching +its back to roll the eggs up and over the rim. A commentator +described the hollow in the naked little bird’s back, an +evolutionary design which allowed the bird to carry an egg and +eject its rivals forever.

+

“The cuckoo,” the narrator said, “is a +successful brood parasite, driven by instinct, because it obviously +cannot learn this behaviour from its parents. Within an hour of +hatching, helpless and completely blind, it gets rid of all +competition by killing its rivals. It is an efficient little +murderer, and now it will reap the benefits. The pipits will feed +it, unaware that they have adopted a killer, and it has adopted +them.”

+

Another flicker, pause, another scene.

+

A Pepsis wasp battled with a tarantula spider, forcing +the curving fangs away from its thorax while it manoeuvred its +abdomen right underneath the poison needles to plunge its sting +into the arachnid.

+

“This is a pendulum battle, win all or lose all,” +the voice-over informed. “The wasp risks death, driven by its +procreative imperative. If she wins, then her genes will carry on +to the next generation.” On screen the insect paralysed the +spider and dragged it into an underground chamber where it laid an +egg inside the former foe. “Alive, but motionless, the spider +is now a food store for the emerging grub. It will be eaten from +within.”

+

Helen shivered. “I hate spiders,” she volunteered. +The screen flicked.

+

A baby looked directly into its mother’s eyes.

+

“Humans, like animals are programmed by their own +genes,” the well known anthropologist intoned, +“programmed to recognise a human face. That is why we see +faces in patterns and in rock formations, in the craters of the +moon. We first recognise our mother, both by smell and eyesight and +later, by voice. It is a two-way process. The human infant, like +the young chimpanzee, like the nestling bird is dependent on the +mother for food, for shelter, for protection and the mother is +made, genetically programmed, to respond to its demands. A human +baby’s cry is pitched at a level which causes her distress +and impels her to rush to its defence or its aid. The smell of a +baby, human or mammal, imprints upon the mother, increasing the +flow of hormones from the pituitary and other glands, reinforcing +the mothering instinct. If this system had never existed, then +higher mammals, primates, the human race, would never have existed. +You could say, that the most powerful force on the planet, the +controlling influence, is the power a baby exerts on its +mother.”

+

David switched the machine off. “There’s plenty +more, but that should do for now.”

+

Helen gave another exaggerated shudder.

+

“That,” she said. “Is the creepiest thing I +have ever seen in my life.”

+

“Ah, but does it really apply?” They looked at each +other, both wondering. Both on the cusp of belief in the +impossible.

+

Sometime in the night, he woke with a start, drenched in sweat +and shaking in the aftermath of a surreal dream where an unseen +baby whimpered and cried while he searched for it in the dark of an +old and derelict house, following its high echoing cry through the +nooks and crannies and cobwebbed hollows, all the time knowing that +it was trying to lure him into danger and that if he set eyes upon +it, it would ensnare him in a dreadful, hypnotic power.

+

Helen held him tight in her arms until the aftershock of the +dream faded.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus24.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus24.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34e64c0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus24.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,498 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

24

+

“Oh she looked a lot older than this wee lassie,” +Mrs Cosgrove said, looking at Helen through the thick lenses which +made her eyes seem huge and staring. She stoked the coal fire in +the front room of her little cottage in Barloan Habour where Ginny +Marsden had stayed. Both the old woman and Helen Lamont were +ignorant of the fact that Mrs Cosgrove had already crossed the long +and sinuous trail of this affair many years before, as a friend of +Greta Simon back before the war years.

+

“And she didn’t look well, the poor soul,” she +quavered. “If it had been back in the war, I would have said +she was sick with consumption. There wasn’t so much as a pick +of meat on her bones.”

+

The description mirrored Nina Galt’s observations and +Helen wondered just what was it that Ginny Marsden had that could +transform her from the healthy and fit girl on the video into the +seemingly emaciated, much older woman that people perceived. Since +the first time she had entered Heather McDougall’s house she +had experienced that strange and disturbing prescience, a sense of +foreboding. Now that feeling was magnified and getting stronger all +the time. Whatever Ginny Marsden had, she did not want to +contract.

+

And David, adding his own weight to the old policeman’s +years of obsession, had almost convinced her of the sinister +connection. He had told her, in the early hours of the morning that +the baby was probably some kind of mutant, though what kind of +mutant he couldn’t even speculate.

+

They had fallen into each others arms again, both of them tired +and yet strangely excited by the new, menacing overlay to their +investigation, and in the night she had whimpered as she clutched +at him, powerfully desperate for his strength, matching him motion +by motion, thrust for thrust, carried on an irresistible wave of +her own drive and her own need

+

Sometime in the dark and cold hours of the morning, she too had +woken from a dream on which a wasp had stung her and laid a grub in +the pit of her belly and it was eating her from within. She had +jerked awake, trembling with fear, disoriented in the unfamiliar +shadows of his room, with a burning acid pain twisting under her +breastbone. It slowly died away and she lay back, listening to the +sound of David’s breathing, pressing herself close to him for +warmth and protection against the images in the dark. The fear +diminished, but it did not go away.

+

It was with her still, faint yet insistent, the next morning, a +sense of prescience that she could not shake. She had experienced +tickles of forewarning before, just snags of hunch. Now, there was +something deeper. She did not know how or why he knew that, but a +part of her she did not even comprehend recognised the approach of +danger. The odd, exposed feeling remained with her when she got the +call back from the bank. Celia Barker had contacted them first +thing on the morning, authorising them to give CID any information +they needed. From the description she had of Ginny Marsden’s +condition, Helen had not expected her to make a withdrawal from a +hole in the wall auto-teller, but she had thought back to the image +of Heather McDougall on video, dying, maybe even clinically dead +yet still crawling towards her baby and she wondered. Even as that +thought struck her she knew that she had crossed a threshold. She +had stepped from the world of the rational, to a dimension where +the inconceivable could actually be considered possible.

+

She wondered if Ginny Marsden was lactating now to feed her +baby.

+

“She’s in Barloan Harbour,” she said +excitedly, turning round as she out the receiver down. “She +made a withdrawal two days ago.”

+

“I know that place,” David said. “It’s +just a village. I used to fish on the canal and take pictures of +kingfishers when I was a kid. It’s not a big place, so if +she’d there we’ll find her.”

+

“And it’s between Kirkland and here,” Helen +said. “It’s on the same train line as Lochend, where +Greta Simon came from. Ginny must have got the train, but she got +off after a few stops instead of coming back into the +city.”

+

“When was the withdrawal?” David wanted to know. His +face fell when she told him it was Christmas Eve. The girl had had +plenty of time to move on, but they wouldn’t know until they +had checked it out. They got to the village in less than half an +hour and by the time they turned at the bridge over the canal and +down to the small station, clouds were beginning to gather, +billowing up the estuary, promising a dank and dismal rain or a +heavy fall of snow. The harbour here, where the waterway that +meandered through the city emptied itself into the old river, was +old and weathered and at this time of the year, there were few +signs of life apart from a pair of mallard ducks in the broken +reeds. Further along the waterway, the same canal that looped +through the parkland close to June’s apartment, was lined +with old and gaudily painted narrowboats. They all looked deserted +and empty and one or two were slumped on their sides in thick +patches of weed. David took a minute to reclaim childhood memories +of birdwatching here where the fresh water met the tidal brack, +attracting waders in their thousands, marsh harriers and herons. He +remembered this place in sunshine and summer warmth. Now it was +cold and bitter and somehow empty.

+

The railway angled past the canal harbour and under the arches +there was a little restaurant where he’d once taken June. It +was closed now, possibly for the winter, maybe for ever. There was +little passing trade in a place like this. Most of the village was +to the north of the canal, and further away from the flat where the +old locks held back the water, the land rose up to the Langmuir +Hills where the heath and bracken covered slopes were powdered with +snow. This had been a good place to come as a child, back then, +armed with a fishing rod and a camera and no complications.

+

In less than an hour after they arrived, he and Helen, they had +got the first clue in the corner shop where a thin, birdlike woman +with hungry, gossip’s eyes recognised the girl from her coat +in the photograph, told them she had bought a pound of minced beef +and had gone up the Loanhead Road.

+

“It’s a dead end,” she said. +“She’ll be in one of the houses there. They take in +lodgers, most of them.”

+

In five minutes, old Mrs Cosgrove was making tea.

+

“And her pram’s out the back,” she said. +“I couldn’t believe she would have left it, but she +must have just taken the baby and gone.” There was a faint, +familiar smell in the old woman’s house, hardly traceable, +but enough of a taint to make them both recognise it. Ginny Marsden +had been here. The baby had been here.

+

The old lady told them she hadn’t smelled anything, but +she said there had been a bloodstain on the sheets and she’d +had to wash them in bleach. “I don’t think the poor +girl was all there,” she said, tapping her temple. +“Maybe she’d one of those unfortunates they’re +putting out of hospital and back into the community. It’s a +terrible shame. Maybe she’d gone back to somewhere she +knows?”

+

They had some tea, strong and welcome against the increasing +cold in the air when they left the cottage knowing they had picked +up Ginny Marsden’s trail, hoping they could find it +again.

+

“Where now?” Helen asked. He shrugged. The trail, +first hot, could go cold. The pram left few clues, for it had been +out in the cold since boxing day and had only been discovered that +morning. Even the blanket was hoared with frost. They went towards +the car and David was just about to put the key in the lock when a +white patrol car came labouring up the road. David held his hand +up, motioning it to stop. The local policeman seemed irritated at +the delay until David showed him his warrant card.

+

The young man, who looked too thin for his shirt collar which +gaped over a prominent Adam’s apple hadn’t seen the +girl in the picture, but he’d been in bed with a cold since +Christmas Eve. This was his first day out since and he maintained +his belief that he should have stayed under the blankets. David +thanked him and was about to move away when, for no particular +reason, he asked the local cop where he was going.

+

“Up to the Middle Loan farm,” he said. “Got a +call to check out the Park’s place. They’re not +answering the phone. Their in-laws have been trying to get them for +a couple off days. Lucky buggers have probably flown out to +Barbados and away from this bloody winter.”

+

He went driving up the road and they got in the car. David +started the engine, thinking.

+

“Do you think we should...?” they both asked at +exactly the same moment. Another coincidence. A cold and clammy +sensation caressed Helen’s mind. Without another word, David +put his foot down and followed the patrol car.

+

The policeman had stopped at the gate on Jack Park’s home +straight when they caught up with him.

+

“This is the worst thing about working out in the +sticks,” he said. “You spend more time opening and +closing these things than anything else. That and rounding up the +livestock when people forget to close them.” His name, he +told them, was Jimmy Mulgrew. He’d been in Barloan Harbour +for three miserable months of winter and out of the warmth of the +car, he looked as if the wind blowing up the estuary would knock +him down. His nose was scarlet with the cold and raw from rubbing +with tissues.

+

“Jackie Park and his wife Kate.” He dropped his +voice. “She’s a looker. Big girl, but classy.” +David gave him a man’s look which said he got the drift. +“Had a kid a few weeks ago and they were staying home for +Santa Claus and then going to visit her parents yesterday. +They’re not answering the phone. He does a lot of travelling, +so maybe he’s stuck somewhere. There was a hell of a fall of +snow over the borders in the past couple of days. The sergeant +asked me to have a look, just for the record.”

+

“We thought we’d give you a hand,” David told +him, and that was fair enough with the local man. He was a city +boy, not at home with the big shambling cattle on farms, not quite +ready to believe they weren’t ready to kick and rear and +maybe bite and gore.

+

“Don’t see smoke from the chimney,” Helen +said. The cold and troubling shiver that had gone through her had +left her with a quiver of inexplicable apprehension.

+

Something wrong.

+

Even she did not know how many times that mental warning had +flared in other people’s minds. All she knew was that, quite +unaccountably, this didn’t feel right.

+

Something wrong. David Harper could sense the +wrongness, though he did not know why. An instinct had made him +follow the patrol car, an instinct that had no foundation in +reason, yet...yet...

+

It was Christmas time. Up here, they’d have log fires and +there would be smoke. Over by the whitewashed edge of an outhouse +he could see the stack of wood piled on the lee side out of the +wind. There would be smoke on a day like this. Something +wrong. David was no city boy. He’d spent his childhood +up the hills, helping on farms, taking his wildlife shots. +Something was not quite right here. He knew it, not just in the +strange and threatening sense of foreboding, but in his rational +mind too.

+

The farm was silent. Dead silent.

+

Down in the woods a pheasant hawked, tin on stone, jarring the +air. Up on the moor a hawk bleated, high and plaintive, a strange +contradiction between hunter and prey. In the farm, no animal made +a sound. The hairs on David’s arms went walkabout again. +Jimmy Mulgrew heard nothing and did not realise that was +extraordinary. There were no cattle lowing, no dogs barking. That +was not necessarily odd, though almost any approach to a farm will +get a response from the guardian dogs.

+

Even more peculiar, there was not a sound of poultry. Chickens +did not have the sense to stay silent. A cockerel did not have the +ability to stop proclaiming its territory. Yet there were no sounds +of either. As Mulgrew closed the gate with a rattling clang, David +looked over the cropped hedge and into the field beyond. A pigeon +loft, one of the old fashioned ones that might have braved the +storms of centuries stood squat in the middle of the field. Beside +it, scattered around its stone bulk, light shapes fluttered in the +gathering wind.

+

David held up a hand to shield his eyes from the watery glare +reflecting from the snowclouds but he already knew what the shapes +were. A flock of dead pigeons lay on the short grass, their hapless +wings fluttered by the impending storm. The sensation of cold +expectation swelled. He waited until Mulgrew got back into the +patrol car before following on, a small convoy moving slowly along +Jack Park’s home straight.

+

“Something’s not right,” Helen said;. +“But I don’t know what it is.”

+

“You got the second sight?” he asked, trying to make +it light, but he could sense it too, though he didn’t know +what it was or how he could sense danger. “As the cavalry +say, it’s too quiet. It is too quiet. There’s +no sound at all, and that’s unnatural.”

+

They drew round the corner, in the gap between byre and barn, +turned sharp to negotiate the space, and found themselves in the +small courtyard. Helen turned in her seat and pointed to the gaping +door of the garage. A Range Rover stood next to a small Volkswagen. +Two cars. The jeep’s door was wide open.

+

“Wonder how many they’ve got,” Helen said. +Both of them knew this just didn’t look right.

+
+

He heard their approach.

+

It was a faint vibration at first then a rumble in the air. It +stretched its perceptions and an instant panic flared when it felt +something familiar.

+

They were both coming now.

+

It woke the mother with a hard, brutal twist of thought while +its glands pumped up reflexively. It forced itself to be still, +listening, now fully alert after the miasma of the shedding. He had +pushed and squeezed, expanding and contracting until the split had +widened down his back and then he had laboriously freed himself +from the dry sheath. A breeze had carried the discarded, papery +skin away across the field as soon as the mother had opened the +door. It had flipped over, that translucent, fragile image of his +former self, tattered and torn, shrivelling in the cold as the wind +scraped it over the far thornbush hedge. He had taken a while to +rest, but now he was fully awake. The mother moaned, coughed +huskily until he forced her to stop. The gate clanged, the same +sound he had heard before, when he had taken the mother. Now there +was a new threat and his survival instinct kicked in hard.

+

With another wrench he had forced her to absolute stillness. He +could feel the thud of her heart magnified in the hollow of her +ribs and he could perceive its liquid rush in the veins of her +breasts. The skin there was dry and scabbed where he had fed +hungrily, draining this one even more rapidly than he had drained +the last.

+

Up here it was dark and for the moment he was safe.

+

But they were coming. She was coming, and the peculiar +hunger, the different hunger tried to swamp his wariness. Tyres +rumbled on the cobbles, making the building shiver. The smell of +dead chickens filtered up, an oily smell on the dusty air. He sat +perfectly still, his great eyes closed, sensing outwards.

+
+

Helen felt the touch again, registered the sensation she had +experienced before and for a bewildering moment her vision +swam.

+

“All right?” David asked. He too felt his nerves +tensed up. Jimmy Mulgrew was whistling. If he had seen the two cars +in the garage, he made no mention. Helen nodded in silent response, +clamping her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering. Her skin felt +as if it was trying to shrink on her. For some reason, a flare of +discomfort pulsed in her breasts and her nipples scraped against +her brassiere. Instantly she recalled the sensation in the hostel. +David came round beside her.

+

“It doesn’t sound right, not even a starling or a +sparrow.”

+

“You’re right. There’s no sound at all,” +she agreed. “That’s weird.”

+

Over by the chicken coop, a small whirl of air spun a handful of +white feathers in a will o’ the wisp circle. Over by the +farmhouse proper, beside the angle of the porch, a white heap lay +on the cobblestones. At first it looked like a dead sheep. All +three walked forward, Jimmy Mulgrew huddled against the cold, his +keys jangling beside his cuffs. For all of ten seconds they stood +and looked down at the dead dogs, and the now black pool of +congealed blood. It was clear that one had bitten the other. They +were frozen in their bizarre embrace.

+

“What the fuck...?” Jimmy asked, he looked at Helen +and apologised with his eyes. She hadn’t even heard him. Her +heart was revving up now, pounding harder and faster. Her breath +was shallower and for a reason she could understand, but not put +into words, she wanted to be out of there, driving fast down the +hill from the farm, and looking in her mirror to make sure nothing +was racing after her.

+

The alien touch slid on the surface of her thoughts and a +shudder of nausea ran through her.

+

David went quickly to the front door, eyes flicking from window +to window for the merest hint of movement. Of a sudden he felt +dreadfully exposed. Anyone could be watching them and he +didn’t even have a baton with him, though he could see Jimmy +Mulgrew carried his night-stick. It was still on the loop of his +belt and in a flash of uncharacteristic contempt, David thought the +village constable was a congenital idiot.

+

They got to the door, David taking natural command of the +situation, pushing the younger man to the side, away from possible +danger. Anything could come through the door, an axe, a bullet. He +stood away from the direct front, tried the handle. It turned +without any resistance. The door opened.

+

The smell of blood came billowing out, cold and familiar, +carried on the sickly smell of death.

+

His heart blagged against his ribs. The knowledge of complete +vulnerability was right up there at the forefront. Adrenaline +socked into his bloodstream in the instant preparation for fight or +flight, made his leg muscles tremble. His throat tried to swallow +the excess of saliva. Behind him he could hear Helen’s harsh +breathing, accentuated now in his heightened senses. Jimmy Mulgrew +started to say something and David jabbed him with the edge of his +hand.

+

Very slowly, very silently, his whole body now hypernaturally +aware, he edged inside, motioning them to stay back. If someone +came round the corner of the hall, pointing a shotgun at him, he +could throw himself to the floor. Maybe he could. Silence and speed +were his best weapons in this situation, he knew. A very reasonable +part of his mind told him to get the hell out of here right +now. Another part told him that people here could be in danger +if they were not already dead. He could smell the death in the air. +He got to the end, closing his mind to the sickly smell. There was +no buzzing of flies, not at this time of the year, but the house +had not quite frozen. He reached the end of the corridor, turned, +flattening himself against the wall. A door lay wide open.

+

David eased round the threshold and saw the dark splash on the +wall. He held his breath, succeeded only in making his heart pound +a deafening pulse in his ears. He exhaled slowly, drew his eyes +down and looked into the eyeless sockets of Jack Park.

+
+

Kate Park awoke cold and shivering, her skin almost blue with +the cold, trying to scream but unable to make a sound. There was no +sensation in her toes and her mouth tasted of blood. She wondered +if she had bitten her tongue. She came clawing up from the pits of +hell where her dreams replayed the catapulting body of her husband +over and over again. She saw him slam against the wall, saw the +spade spin away, tumbling in slow motion while Jack turned, +twisting in an ungainly pirouette, his hands disappearing in +fragments.

+

Kate it’s...Kate it’s...Kate it’s +...his voice echoed in its own mantra, the words repeated over and +over and over in her head as if an endless loop was running in her +brain, unable to switch off. She had come awake on that black surge +of unendurable horror, still seeing him, spin away and then hearing +his voice overlaid by the dreadful sucking sounds the baby had +made.

+

Monster. The core of her own self recognised it and +repeated Ginny Marsden’s mental shriek. It had been at the +cot, at the crib. It had sucked there and she had done nothing +because the baby, the baby devil had captured her.

+

It had fed on her and it had fed on them all. In the fog of +shock and mental paralysis, she had seen its red, glassy eyes blink +once, and then it had turned from her and crawled across the room, +its image wavering and blurring and then it had sucked at the still +twitching body that had been Jack Park, the husband who had tried +to save her, who had put the baby inside her. It had slobbered and +sucked and then it had come back to her, the mental bonds tight and +unyielding. Over by the wall, Jack’s mouth was open and his +eyes were mere shadows. The dark hollows stared accusingly at her +and she knew again she was damned forever.

+

Now she was here in the cold and the dark, in the musty confines +of the back barn where they had stored the hay before the new barn +was built. It smelled of mice, though not one sound could be heard. +It smelled of bird shit and old hay and the dried out carcasses of +long-dead rats. She had moved once, only taking the narrow stairs +in the early morning when it was still cold, to get a drink of +water from the trough at the corner of the wall, sucking up the icy +drink with her face almost submerged while the baby, a greater +weight now, clung tight to her, dangling like a long, thin +monkey.

+

It had changed in the night. She had heard the grunt and strain +of the thing and for a little while, the mental connections sparked +and fizzled and she was almost herself again. Without warning she +came tumbling out of its control, back into the real and awful +world where she could suddenly think.

+

For a ghastly, unbearable moment, everything came flooding back +to her, all of it, every movement, every noise. The sounds of the +dogs and the horses and the cattle and her own husband slamming in +a thudded crunch against the wall. She heard again the gobbling +mucous sound form the cot and knew that everything in her life was +gone. It was dark in the old loft. A few stray rays of moonlight +came through the holes where a few slates had come loose, solid +silver rods in the dusty air. The thing was close

+

not a baby it’s a fucking devil. She did not know +that she was only repeating Ginny Marsden’s desperate +protest. She did not know that the emaciated, skeletal thing that +had been Ginny Marsden was lying stiff and frozen less than twenty +yards away, feasted on by a horde of rats, the only creatures which +had survived the proximity of the thing.

+

The beast was a black and twisting shadow, roiling on the floor +close to the angle of the roof where the cobwebbed beams sloped +down to the flat. It grunted, though the sound wasn’t quite a +grunt, more of a hollow and flaccid gulping noise. It was like +nothing she had ever heard. She knew, right then, that this was +something like nothing else on earth. This was something that +should never have existed in this world.

+

She turned, almost able to hear the protest in her joints. It +was squirming there, making an effort. Its mental pulses swelled, +flickering randomly on the surface of her own mind, unfocussed +little jolts of energy. It was concentrating on its escape. In the +dark shadow, she could hear ripping sounds, but the motion was oily +black, shadow upon shadow.

+

Yet she was free. Everything in her life was gone and Kate Park +had no intention of running now. There was nothing for her to gain. +All she could think of was that the thing had to be destroyed. She +moved, rolling away on the rough boards, getting towards the hatch. +She reached the edge of the rickety stair and did not hesitate. +Down she went, on hands and backside, like a disjointed crab. She +got halfway down when she heard it scuttle above her, heard it howl +its silent, cerebral shriek.

+

Down at the bottom she turned. It came scuttling like a spider, +still making the hollow sound and sending dreadful commanding +pulses at her. Its anger and rage sizzled ahead of it reaching out +towards her. From its hind legs trailed a whispery translucence +that for a moment looked like crumpled old polythene sheeting. She +turned away from it, lurching towards the wall. An old pitchfork, +one that hadn’t been used since before Jack had been a boy, +was stuck into the soft and rotted wood of the walls. She grabbed +it without hesitation. It came out with a singing vibration, +humming as she spun it round. The beast came at her, its red eyes +glaring poisonously. She hefted the shaft, raising the curved +tines. It jinked to the side, its edges blurring and wavering again +as it pushed its thoughts at her. She leaned into the thrust, +snagged the papery trailing flutter which merely ripped away with +the sound of dry leaves.

+

The ghostly thing whipped round, a pale image of the monster +floating upwards. It snagged her attention for a fraction of a +second. The black and rippling thing scuttled under the prongs, +came for her, snatched at her coat. She gasped, turned to face it, +trying to get the pitchfork down onto it. She lunged hard again. It +blared its command into her and a huge and glassy pain exploded in +her head. Her eyes went blind in that instant and her whole body +convulsed under the force, as if an enormous electrical charge had +gone right through her. The fork came down, twisting with the +motion of her body. The spike slammed down onto her foot, stabbed +through the skin and flesh, bored between the bones of her toes and +continued through the sole of her shoe and down into the soft earth +of the bottom barn.

+

The little monster scrambled up her coat, fingers scrabbling at +her skin, got close enough to fix on her and snatched her mind just +as the hurt of the stabbing reached her brain. It probed, touched +and pushed. Kate’s muscles contracted again, sufficient to +pull the pitchfork from her foot. A distant scrape of pain +accompanied the motion. The implement dropped to the dry muck where +her blood was now mingling with the shit of long dead cattle. It +held her there, her whole body vibrating with the power of its +seizing, unable to move a limb. After a while, it made her walk to +the door, keeping to the side of the building, and made her drink +until her belly was hugely distended. She could not refuse.

+

When she had opened the door, the ghostly white thing had +tumbled away, drawn out in the draught of air. It had looked like a +ghost. It had looked like her worst nightmare.

+

Much later, in the dark of night, she crouched in the cold, +waiting for the next thing to happen. At her breast, the baby +mewled, now heavier than before, now grown more. Pains creaked out +in her joints and every beat of her heart gave her an odd, +wrenching discomfort. Her gums bled and her back ached and the +pounding between her temples made it hard to see in the dim +light.

+

She could do nothing but watch and wait while the baby drained +her and would not let her die. Day and night passed. All she took +was water. It fed like a glutton.

+

When the sounds came, sounds of the approaching cars, she did +not hear them. She sat still as stone in the shadow of the barn +until the baby roused her and made her move.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus25.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus25.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..021b2b1 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus25.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,547 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

25

+

“We should take a look,” Helen had protested and +David had reluctantly agreed, over his better judgement. Both of +them were subliminally and consciously aware of the presence of +threat, the imminence of danger, yet each of them were now driven +to put an end to this, to find Ginny Marsden and the mysterious +baby. The young policeman was whey-faced and every now and again +his stomach muscles would spasm and he’d double over, +dry-retching. He had not been sick yet. Helen had felt the bolt and +roil of nausea and swallowed it back. The dead man’s awful +injuries had not been the worst, though they had been devastating. +The shotgun wounds were black and still liquid, while the blood on +the walls was black and dry, soaked into the paper. Other things, +dotted like flies still stuck there, shrivelling as they too dried. +The dead man had not been the worst of it, though his frozen +grimace, lips stretched back from bloodstained teeth, making him +look like a savage snarling in death had been a sickening sight. So +too had been his empty, bloodied eye sockets blindly staring at the +ceiling, mutely appealing for help.

+

The baby’s thin and waxen little body had been the worst. +David had tried to push her back from it, sparing her the horror, +but she had squirmed past him and now she wished she hadn’t +done that. The other policeman had not seen the baby. If he had, he +might have been a stretcher case by now.

+

She was shaking inside, shaking in fear and in anger and in a +sudden pathological loathing for the thing that had done this.

+

Not human. The words repeated themselves in her mind. +Thing. She tried to shuck that thought away, but it came +back insistently, reinforcing the crazy theory that David had +raised.

+

What sort of woman steals a baby? What sort of baby steals a +mother?

+

And what sort of devil could do this to a helpless infant?

+

She had bit down on the nausea and backed away from the cot +where a thin trail of congealed blood hung down in an elongated +drip, like old black toffee. The baby’s little mouth had been +open

+

in a perfect circle, its tiny tongue, soft and delicate as a +rabbit’s tongue, protruding over the toothless gums. Splashes +of black, fathomless and alien, sank where the eyes had been. The +tiny chin was angled to the left and below it was a hole in the +flesh that reminded her of something. It was not until she got +outside that she remembered what it had been. She had once seen the +body of a tramp who had died of exposure in an old derelict +warehouse. He had not been found for some time, not by humans. The +rats had discovered him and had gnawed their way under his rib-cage +and were eating him from within. The body had twitched in a +ghastly, possessed way and the rats had come scurrying out of their +fleshy tunnel, glutted and fat. The baby did not twitch or tremble. +The tunnel in her little neck showed ragged and abraded ends of +tendons and blood-vessels. It looked as if something had drilled +its way through her skin and flesh. The small arms and legs were +thin and wasted, as if all the goodness had been sucked out of her, +and though Helen did not know it, that is exactly what the +pathologist would discover.

+

Outside in the yard, where the snow had begun to fall, swirled +round by the wind boiling up from the estuary, she had leaned +against David, while he had used Jimmy Mulgrew’s radio to +call in. He had kept it very brief. She held on to him, more for +the warmth of another human being, than for anything else, while +the initial ripple of shock and abhorrence faded to a level where +she could grasp it and wrestle it down. He put the radio back in +its socket in the front of the patrol car and then moved towards +their own car.

+

It was then that Helen had sensed something, and later on she +would say it was just like the scrape of awareness that had made +her flesh creep down in Levenford as she was leaving the old women +in the cafe, footsteps on her grave. Something touched her and she +stopped dead.

+

“What is it?” David asked. His face was pale and +pinched, showing he was not immune to what they had found in the +farmhouse.

+

“I don’t know,” she said. “I got a +feeling.”

+

“What kind of feeling?”

+

“We should look here.”

+

“We should wait for reinforcements,” David said. +“I think we should get out of this yard, just in +case.”

+

“There could be something here,” she said. +“The guns are inside, and the used one is on the floor. +Whoever did this has cut and run.”

+

The contact touched her again, a feather stroke on the edge of +her thoughts, slightly greasy, ominous as a distant thundercloud. +She sensed it and something deep within her responded.

+

“I want to look around,” she said, suddenly afraid, +but needing to move. “It can’t do any harm.”

+

He had looked at her, weighing it up. She was probably right, he +finally conceded. This had not happened today, or yesterday. The +damage was a couple of days old and the killer had gone. He thought +that, yet the other part of him, the part that had read old Ron +McBean’s account and had dreamed of parasites, told him to +get the hell out of there. Ginny Marsden had come to Barloan +Harbour with her creepy little baby. Down the years, there had been +a trail of death and madness, suicide and lost, abandoned lives, +and they were all linked. Ginny Marsden had come here with her +creepy little baby and they had followed her trail and they had +found a tiny infant with a black, gaping hole in its neck and not a +drop of blood left in its body. He lifted up a hand to call her +back, but she was angling away towards the corner of the garage. +Behind him, Jimmy Mulgrew gurgled like a drain and then heaved his +substantial lunch onto a pile of potato sacks.

+

David shrugged. She was probably right. The inner voice nudged +and tweaked at him, but he ignored it. They were the police, his +rational voice said, stolid and definite. This is a murder.

+

Helen was across by the wall. The touch came again, gentle as +fog. She thought she heard the squeak of tiny bats, whispery as +insect legs on dry sand. It drew her onward and she did not even +know she was being pulled.

+

Go back. The logical segment of her brain, the one +corresponding to David’s rational part, urged powerfully. +Get out of here NOW, pleaded the deep, subconscious core +that sensed a deep and alien danger and an awesome threat in the +shadows. Yet beneath that, something darker egged her on. Her +nipples tingled. At first she had been unaware of it as she crossed +the yard, feet muffled by the thickening snow. It came as a +pressure in her breasts and then a warmth that spread to the tips +and suffused them with a fierce, prickling heat. Down in her belly, +another warm, sensation spread, edged down between her legs, pulsed +twice, unexpected and powerful. For an instant her vision swam and +she thought she was slipping on ice. She reached a hand out to the +wall, found its cold surface, steadied herself. The brief flare was +gone, leaving her with only an itch and a sudden sense of need that +she could not identify.

+

Go back! Get out of here!

+

It came loud, like a physical blow, just as she pushed forward. +Her hand shoved the faded red door. It creaked open in a shudder. +She was in before she knew it. The bat-squeak subaudial sound in +her ears swelled stronger. It felt like a resonance in the bones of +her skull. The fillings in her teeth sang in sympathy, sending a +ripple of galvanic shock down her jawbone. Behind her she heard the +clatter of the byre door as it swung along on its rollers, but it +sounded far away. She was here and she was now and her whole world +was suddenly shrunk right down to this singularity.

+

Above her, a slow, flopping sound rolled down from on high. The +air was cool and dry, filled with dust and another, more familiar +smell. She walked inside, across the dry straw-covered floor, +between two stalls festooned with ancient harnesses and bridles, to +the other side. Very slowly, and with hardly a sound this time, the +door swung shut. The darkness here was not absolute.

+

Another smell. She breathed in and the flush fluttered over her +skin in a hot tide. She turned, feeling the touch stronger now, +feeling it close. Deep within her, in her mind and in the cells of +her body, urgent messages were pulsing, exchanging, jumping from +axon to dendrite, from cell wall to cell. They shunted through her +nerves. For an instant, everything else was forgotten and a tide of +hungry need rolled up to swamp her.

+

Up there, the sound came rumbling, as if heard through several +layers of canvas, while the whispery call that snagged her went on +and on and on, insistently tugging at her. She was halfway up the +short flight of wooden steps when a shape launched itself from the +doorway ahead. Helen saw a pale face and a flapping coat, white +skin. It came rushing at her.

+

The singing in her ears soared to a glassy, brittle pitch, and +pain drilled into her skull, but over them, the appalling need +swamped everything. It took hold of her and drove her on. She +wanted it. It wanted her. She had to have it, Protect it, +mother it.

+

Uncontrollable ripples of emotion pulsed into her, pulsed out +from her. The shape came lumbering down, pale in the gloaming +light, the edges of a coat flapping, while legs, moving slow, as if +through glue, thudding with soft, muffled crumps on the treads. She +saw a dark triangle of hair, realised this was a woman. She tried +to raise her head. There was something dark clutched tight in the +other woman’s arms.

+

The baby.

+

A surge of need was like a bolt of electricity, shivering her +from foot to head. She had to look after it, had to protect it. She +felt its touch and heard its cry and smelled its smell and for an +instant she was completely and utterly ensnared. She reached to +take it. It reached towards her, focusing its thoughts. She heard +its hunger.

+

Yes. Yes. Come now. Sizzling messages jangled between +them and the darkness started to close in on her.

+
+

He saw her.

+

In that moment of recognition, his new hunger yawned, huge and +empty, confusing his senses and for an instant stripping his +instinct away.

+

The scent of blood was even now still in the air, the +mother’s blood, and with his own essence in it, rich and +powerful. She had come for him on the cusp of the change, when he +was freeing himself from the tight and fraying shackles of the old +skin, while he struggled to break out. She had almost succeeded +this one, even more than the last. The anger had flared and he had +almost put his head against her neck and sucked her dry, but he +still needed her. Instead he put the hurt in her, pushing the pain +deep inside, sensing the explosion within her and hearing that +sudden mental shriek as it burned in her head.

+

The mother had stopped, snared by the hurt and then he had +pulled the pain out and covered it with a different pressure, +making her love him again. She had nursed him in the dark, and he +had fed, stronger now and needing more. He had fed ravenously, +glutting himself even as she felt her own strength diminish. +Another change was already boiing inside him, making his blood +sizzle and his muscles tremble. It was coming so swiftly, hard on +the heels of the last one, that its speed confused him and he only +knew he had to feed fast now. Soon he would have to make her move +on, because he sensed this change would not last long. The growth +inside him was phenomenal. There were changes within changes, new +senses, new needs, waxing with every feeding. He could not resist +those changes any more than he could turn away from the need to +feed.

+

Still he had no conscious thought, though a kind of intelligence +burned behind the thick lids that protected his eyes from the day. +His instinct, however, was all. He fed and slumbered, holding the +mother tight with his neural connections as he did, making sure she +could not escape again.

+

The sensation of threat, his ever-alert sentry, woke him and he +knew they were coming again. Unconsciously he had reached out and +touched, feeling them approach and he recognised their glow, the +way a dog sniffs a familiar scent. He pushed the mother, waking her +brutally. She came awake, coughing harshly, choking in the dust +until he suppressed it. Her lungs were filling up with fluid. He +made her sit very still, despite the cold of the old loft. They +both heard the trundling vibration of the cars as they came round +into the courtyard and still he waited, despite the urgent +instinctive need to move, to fly.

+

His new hunger confused his instinct and made him wait.

+

After a while, noises came outside. People talked, +unintelligible grunts and creaks to him and he recognised her +sounds again. He stretched out, sending a tendril curl down towards +her and slid it over the top of her thoughts.

+

She sensed him and recoiled. A delicious heat spread inside him, +and the new thing between his legs swelled, urgent and +thrusting.

+

He waited a while, fighting the need to be away and in a safe +place, unable to comprehend the speed of the next change. The +mother breathed steadily, her eyes closed and mouth open, a trickle +of saliva dangling from her cracked lips. He could feel her +encapsulated horror tumbling inside her mind and ignored it. +Outside, beyond the walls, danger walked. He stayed stock still, +all his senses stretched to their ultimate, picking up sounds and +vibrations and the heat of the moving shapes. In the dark, +surrounded by the old hay, clutched in the mother’s arms, he +was safe for the moment.

+

Out there, the noises faded for a while, leaving a silence +broken only by the rising moan of the wind, until a cry came, low +and inarticulate. Some more noises, a clang of metal. His nerves +twitched and he waited, awake and aware. Something was about to +happen. The imminence of danger pressed at him. He closed his eyes +and reached out just as the door opened below and alarm suddenly +flared.

+

The mother jerked, hauled out of her torpor.

+

“Wha...?” a sudden sound blurted. He punched a +command at her and her mouth clamped shut. The door rattled, the +old loose hinges protesting. A shape came inside, sensed, rather +than seen, through the gaps of the floorboards of the hayloft. He +reached again, and touched the other female. An explosion of +emotions erupted within him. The mother jerked back, hitting her +shoulder against the heavy oak beam. The thud boomed hollowly.

+

Some reflex, some intuitive force made him move. He shoved at +the mother, giving her a savage mental wrench. Her eyes opened +wide, mouth wider. She got to her feet and moved slowly to the top +of the steps.

+

______

+

When Kate Park became aware, she was already moving. Her body +was a mass of pain and her foot was shrieking loudest of all. The +bones of her toes had been dislocated and distorted as the tine of +the pitchfork ripped between them. The puncture holes, top and +bottom, were now ragged and black. A gangrene was setting in there +on top of the infection from the rats droppings. Her joints sung a +protest song as they ground together. Her breasts, now thin and +dangling, felt as if they had been torn in a clawed vice. She was +moving down the stairs from the dark of a hayloft. A blink of +darkness flooded her vision, as if an internal switch had been cut, +then her sight came back and with it came her own conscious +self.

+

She was moving and her body was screaming in pain but her mind +was her own. It had turned away from her, swung its dreadful +concentration from her own mind. She stumbled down the stairs, not +even limping, though the agony was so immense it felt as if she was +riding an impossible surf of hurt. It carried her along, carried +her down.

+

A pale face floated in the gloom.

+

She saw the woman, seeing her eyes widen, all of it in slow +motion. She was slim and dark haired and she was reaching outwards +towards the baby as if her life depended on the contact.

+

In that instant of recognition, Kate Park became a martyr.

+

In that moment of time, all three of them were bonded. The other +woman’s hunger came sizzling between them and her primitive +need to protect the baby came rolling up from her depths. The baby +was calling out to her, a feral, mindless demand. The girl was +reaching for it, snared by the thing.

+

The image of her baby’s pallid face lying in the cot came +suddenly back to her and Kate Park’s mind almost broke with +the pain of it. She saw her dead husband twitching his last while +his blood ran across the floor. She saw the thing sucking down +there at his face.

+

“No,” she grunted, though the sound was hardly even +audible. She perceived the young woman’s need, knew it would +have her, would capture her mind and soul, and in that instant she +reacted.

+

Helen Lamont reached to touch the thing that was still huddled +between Kate Park’s breast, overwhelmed by the need to hold +and protect it, and overcome by the strange, hot urgency in the pit +of her belly that was something entirely different from +mother-love.

+

She reached with both hands and Kate Park slammed her to the +floor. There was no hesitation. The woman swung out a sturdy arm +and hit her square on the side of the face. The slap sounded like +leather on wood. Helen went spinning away. She hit an upright with +a dull thud and fell to the floor.

+

The beast howled in fury.

+

Kate’s momentum carried her across the store-room, past +the stalls and out the back door. The thing in her arms was +shrieking madly, its mind still casting round to grab the other +woman. But for seconds, for a few vital seconds, Kate Park’s +mind was her own, and in that brief, somehow eternal, space of +time, she refused to let the monster take another human.

+

She pushed the door hard. It swung back, hit the wall and she +was out in the snow. Cold bit at her skin. The thing at her breast +cowered from the sudden lack of warmth. It’s mind was singing +in screeching anger and thwarted hunger. She ran along, loose shoes +clacking on the hard-pack ground, coat flapping in her wake, right +down the line of the hedge, taking advantage of its frustration and +confusion, putting distance between her and the farm, knowing she +was doomed anyway, but doomed to hell if she stayed to let it take +another woman.

+

Down at the bottom end of the field, where the old fence gave on +to woodland, it stopped her headlong, staggering rush with a savage +twist of demand, but she was too far now. It turned its attention +to her, seething with incoherent anger. It pulsed at her and an +augur of pain drilled into the back of Kate Park’s head. The +last thing she knew before she lost control of her own mind was the +appalling satisfaction that she had fought it, and on one level, +she had won.

+
+

Helen Lamont had hit against the post and she dropped like a +sack. The darkness spun and fragmented into crazy whirling +Christmas lights. The sound was shrieking in her ears and the smell +filled her pores and then everything broke up into shards. She +rolled, gagged, got to a knee, fell again and then she burst into +tears of loss and anger and pain and relief.

+

She had almost seen it. As soon as it was gone and as soon as +she had got to her knees she realised that it had almost had her +and a dreadful horror surged inside her at how close it had been. +Everything was blurred. She remembered walking away from the car +and nothing else after that except the humming sound of music in +her ears and an urgent sense of want. She had turned and something +had...

+

She reached for the memory, not wishing to see that it might +show her, shuddering all the while, trying to overcome the racking +sobs that shook her and filled her with that deadly, hopeless sense +of loss. She turned, got to a crouch, tried to stand.

+

The image wavered in her memory, trying to get through. +Something had come at her, big and white. A woman? Yes, it had +been. And in her arms she had held something that had reached out +to her and demanded her love. She had stretched and even in the act +of reaching she had sensed the wrongness that jittered under the +urgent compulsion. She had not been able to help herself at all, +snared in the intensity of its command.

+

Alien. She had almost been there. It had almost had +her. She had been smothered by the need to protect and nurture it. +It was a parasite. The realisation swamped her in a tide of terror +and relief. The false imperative was ebbing away fast and on its +heels came the fear. It had been an alien thing. It had reached +into her soul and touched her and for a moment she was not herself +at all, just a thing to be commanded by the filthy mental touch of +something that should never have existed.

+

Parasite, she thought, breath now hitching violently. +It was a parasite and it had wanted to feed on her.

+

The woman had slapped her, hit her. Had it been Ginny Marsden? +Had she inadvertently saved Helen from it? Or had she deliberately +saved her?

+

The door opened and David came running in. He took one look at +her, hauled her to her feet. “What happened? Did you see +him?”

+

Helen coughed, felt a bubble swell out of one nostril. She wiped +it away unselfconsciously, pointed at the door. +“There.” She said. “She got away.”

+

“She? Was it Marsden?”

+

“I don’t know. She hit me.”

+

“Did she have the baby?” David wanted to know. Helen +could not even respond for a moment. She felt a warm itch of blood +trickle from a scrape on her temple. David was across at the back +door, pushing it open. Here in the lea of the wind, the snow had +not gathered. There was a space of about two yards clear behind the +building that was bare of snow. He looked up and down, but there +was no sign of movement. There were no footprints on the hard mud. +Finally he came back to her.

+

“You sure you saw something?” he asked.

+

“Yes. I saw something and it hit me. Oh God. It was a +woman and she was carrying a bundle. I think it was a baby. It +almost had me, for god’s sake.”

+

“How do you mean?”

+

“It reached inside me and told me to become its +mother.” She turned to David, blinking the tears back. +“It felt like leprosy, David. It felt like it had been +waiting just for me. And I couldn’t do a thing about +it.”

+

She held on to the lapels of his coat until a fresh and violent +shudder of sobbing passed. He knew he should be out there looking +for the woman, yet all he could do was stand and hold on to +her.

+
+

Kate Park made it to the bottom of the hill hobbling in little +spastic jerks, her body bent against the pain of disintegration. +Her eyes were wide and blinkless, despite the whipping snow. She +was heading for shelter, driven on by the force of its will. She +reached the fence and skirted along the tree-line, now out of the +direct wind. Ahead, the land rose and she forced her way up, every +breath a purgatory of rasping pain, every step a hell of hurt, but +she could not pause, not flag. Her mind was no longer her own.

+

She stumbled on, as the light was beginning to fade in the sky +and the clouds rolled overhead. At the crest of the low slope, a +black cloud erupted from the field that had been ploughed the week +before. A flock of rooks, great black birds, took to the air, +startled by her sudden lurching presence. There were forty or more, +wide and glossy, cawing angrily. They wheeled, took off for the +trees, then turned towards her. She reached the corner where a +stile gave on to a woodland path which would lead to the far side +of Barloan Harbour, close to the soaring bridge over the estuary. +As she levered herself to the top of the steps, the flock of rooks +came winging in, beaks wide, wings whooping. They swooped down, +beating at her with their wings, black beaks pecking at her head. +In at her breast, the baby thing hissed and spat, sensing their own +perception of something alien, but unable to turn his head and open +his eyes to the daylight.

+

If Kate’s mind had been her own, she would have known the +crows were mobbing her, driving her off as they would a stoat or an +owl caught out in the daytime, vulnerable in the open. They sensed +the predator and the parasite and instinctively drove it away. She +stumbled over the stile, landed heavily and twisted her ankle. +There was no stopping. The crows followed them a short distance +into the tangle of the woods and then pulled off, still cawing +deafeningly. She moved on, down towards the old railway, lugging +the weight she was forced to carry.

+
+

It had all been his fault, David knew that.

+

The sirens howled like banshees and the ice-blue lights pulsed +like electrical sparks on the home straight. Jimmy Mulgrew was +shivering and not from the cold. His eyes rolled every now and +again and he would grab something to stop him from falling. He had +been sick so often and so violently he believed the next spasm +would turn him completely inside out.

+

David sat with Helen, merely holding her hand. She was shivering +like an aspen leaf. He could feel it vibrate into him. Her eyes +were wide and dark and she looked into the distance as if she had +gone blind. Two red grooves angled from her ear to the point of her +jaw and the side of her face was swollen alarmingly. It reminded +David of Greta Simon’s slumped leer and he winced at the +comparison.

+

Helen had not been badly hurt, not physically. But the look in +her face told it all. She looked as if she was in the middle of a +nightmare she could not escape from.

+

He should have pulled out.

+

She wouldn’t have been hurt if he’d just got them +out of there and waited for the cavalry. Yet both of them had been +compelled to stay, compelled to look. Christ, they could have been +killed, he thought, all of them. He put his arm around her, pulling +her close. Nearby, beside the barn wall where he’d hauled +them back, the young constable was bent over again, gagging +ferociously. David and Helen were sitting on the upturned trough, +out of the wind, out of the gathering blizzard which had started +only a few minutes ago and was now already covering the dead, +fluttering bodies of the pigeons.

+

Exactly what had happened here? He couldn’t begin to +imagine, he tried to tell himself, but his imagination was all +fired up and doing nicely on its own. She shivered beside him, +breathing hard, as if she’d run a long way and had some +distance yet to travel.

+

The sirens howled a cacophony, the blinking lights battling +bravely through the snowstorm. Down on the lane the gate opened, +slammed hard against its post with the sound of a heavy bell and +the cars came rolling on, wheels crunching on the gravel that would +be hidden when the wind came round to let the snow lie on the +track. A big sergeant, grizzle haired and jug-eared, wide as an +outhouse and towering over them all came striding forward, followed +by four other men in uniform and a pair of ambulance men in medics +greens. Another car let out two pairs of plain clothes men and +David recognised one of them as a Chief Inspector from the west +division. He bulled his way forward.

+

“Well, young David,” he said, recognising him by +sight, or simply from what he’d heard. “What in the +name of God’s going on?”

+

“Two dead,” David said, “In there.” He +pointed towards the farmhouse. “Plus some dead +animals.”

+

“Signs of violence?” The detective asked. His name, +David remembered was Bert Millar

+

David nodded. Helen shivered. “One of them’s +gunshot. Shotgun. Haven’t a clue about the baby.” She +shivered against him again at the sound of the word.

+

“Jesus. A baby?” The detective turned to one of his +men. “Tell the office we need a full forensic, if it’s +not on its way. And dogs.”

+

He swung back to David. “This a today job?”

+

David shook his head this time. “Couple of days, I think. +The blood’s dried and clotted, no sign of mould +yet.”

+

The older man looked at Helen. “Does she live +here?”

+

“No, she’s with me. D.C. Lamont. Waterside section. +City division.”

+

It was almost like a code. Short, rattled sentences, the +machine-gunning of professionals.

+

“What’s up with her?”

+

“Slipped on the ice, Sir,” Helen spoke up. She had +gone very still and David could feel the vibration in her body, +tense and trembling. “Hit against the wall.” David said +nothing. He had only seen a shape, maybe, a kind of movement along +by the far hedge leading along the side of the field towards the +trees. He’d considered pursuit, but Helen had been on the +ground, hands to her face, obviously in pain. She’d seen it, +and she wasn’t ready to tell another soul. Not yet.

+

“There might have been somebody in the barn. I +couldn’t be certain,” he said, knowing he had a duty to +tell them at least that. The senior man nodded, jerked his head to +one of the others who strode towards the gaping door.

+

“I’d get that seen to,” Bert Millar said. He +beckoned to the big sergeant who came clumping forward, his collar +up against the gathering wind. “David’s going to show +us. There’s a man shot in there.”

+

“Is it Jack Park?” he wanted to know, but David +hadn’t a clue, and the young policeman had been no help at +all. He had been unable to speak from the violence of his vomiting +and he now looked as if his mouth had forgotten how.

+

They all walked in through the gap towards the courtyard of the +farm as the snow fell in a silent shroud, giving the day an eerie, +slow-motion effect. The flashing lights added a winking +Christmas-card image as the snow began to pile quickly on the roofs +and chimneys and the curve of the nearby barn, while inside, they +both knew, was like a scene from hell. He was reluctant to go back +inside again. They passed the door that led to the old hay-loft. It +was still swinging on its hinge. He felt Helen cringe as they +walked by.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus26.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus26.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c08334 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus26.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,628 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

26

+

Sirens whooped and howled like beasts in the gathering night and +the wind howled along with them, singing in the wires that +stretched from pole to pole along Jack Park’s home straight +track. It caught under the eaves of the barn and rattled at the +slates of the farmhouse roof, whipping off a spindrift of snow and +leaving miniature cornices along the ridging. The dogs howled in +sympathy, snapping and snarling at each other from the backs of the +vans.

+

“Useless bastards,” the chief inspector rasped, +drawing hard on his thin cheroot and blowing smoke down his nose, +trying to cauterise his nostrils to burn away the stench. Even +though it was midwinter, the mess Jack Park had left of himself on +the walls was still putrid. The first wagon with his remains +wrapped now in plastic was on its way, lights whirling as it +jounced along the track. Inside the farm, men were measuring, +dusting, sampling.

+

“So who the hell is that?” he demanded, jerking his +thumb towards the barn.

+

“It’s the girl we’ve been looking for,” +David told him. “At least as far as I can tell. The coat +matches, plus the shoe and the ring on her finger.”

+

Little else matched. The girl’s emaciated body had been +found sprawled on the tight-packed bales, and if Helen Lamont had +been the first to see it she would have recognised the ghastly +twitching in the belly. Sergeant Holleran, who first discovered the +corpse swore without repetition for almost a minute as he beat with +frantic flails of his night stick at the scurrying bodies which +emerged in panic from the hole in the chest cavity. He missed them +all in the attempt.

+

The big, grizzled policeman had swung the flashlight beam round +and saw her face, mouth wide open and thick with congealed blood. +There was a gap in the teeth where several were missing and for an +instant he thought he’d found an old skeleton. He leaned +forward and saw the crumpled, drying eyes and realised that what +he’d taken for bone was actually tightly-drawn skin over an +emaciated skull. The girl’s hair, rat-tailed and filthy, was +spread out to one side, its golden waves now a bedraggled grey. +After his quite instinctive and frenzied attack on the scurrying +rodents, he had taken a good look at the corpse. The woman was +lying in an old coat, a skirt and a blouse which was rucked up and +unbuttoned far enough to show a wizened, wrinkled breast. He +assumed he was looking at the corpse of some old woman who had +crawled in here to die.

+

He clambered down the bales and crossed to the door where he +shouted to one of his men to fetch the boss. Some time after that, +David took a look at the body and in that first glance, his +impression was the same as that of the big jug-eared sergeant. This +looked like an old crone.

+

But she was wearing the same coat that Ginny Marsden had worn. +One of the shoes were off, leaving a bare foot with toes that had +been nibbled by the hungry rats. The other was a fashionable winter +walking shoe with a gold chain on the side. It was the same kind of +footwear the missing girl had been wearing as she strode into the +shopping mall. He remembered what other people had said. +She’d grown older. In ten days, since John Barclay’s +camera had picked up her lithe walk in the mall, she’d turned +into a hag. Now she was aa corpse.

+

“So she’s not from around here?”

+

David shook his head, eyes fixed on the girl. He shivered, but +not from the cold. Whatever it was that could cause such a drastic +metamorphosis in such a short time, it was frightening. He +remembered Hardingwell’s description of the long-chain +molecular cells in the dead woman’s blood. Could it have been +this? Had she been carrying a dreadful, wasting disease that +she’d passed on to the girl?

+

Was the baby the vector?

+

David shook his head, he’s seen Helen’s face in the +barn. The blod had drained out of it and she had been shivering in +shock. She had seen the baby, and that had almost driven her +crazy.

+

What were they now hunting? All he had were questions. He had to +find the answers.

+

Helen came towards them, sipping hot coffee from a polystyrene +cup. The senior man beckoned them both aside, to the far end of the +barn. “Right. I think I should know what the fuck’s +going on here. I want to know what you two are doing on my patch, +and how the hell you turn up here at this +slaughterhouse.”

+

David told him, speaking quickly. He left out much of it, +sticking only to the bare bones of the story and omitting all of +the history. They had been on the trail of a girl who had gone +missing, and they believed she had stolen a baby. They had traced +her to Barloan Harbour, to the bed and breakfast run by old Mrs +Cosgrove. They had followed the constable up the hill on a +hunch.

+

“Some hunch,” Bert Millar said, swinging his eyes +between them. “And if this is her, where in the name of +Christ is the baby? Huh?”

+

David looked at Helen, she looked back. The Chief Inspector +looked at both of them. “There’s something you’re +not telling me,” he said. “I don’t want to be a +pain in the arse, but I’ve just walked into a madhouse here. +You know I’ve got three bodies, two of them mutilated and a +farm full of dead beasts including two wee Scottie terriers who +look as if they’ve screwed each other to death. Santa Claus +did not stop here at Christmas with peace and goodwill to +all men.”

+

He paused and smiled without any trace of humour. “Now you +might think my head zips up at the back, but I’ve been +running murder hunts since you were on the potty. I can spot a lie +a mile away and I’m spotting one now. So what you two are +going to do, is to come with me, sit down, and tell me everything I +want to know. From start to finish. Because what you’ve said +so far doesn’t add up to a spoonful of shit as far as +I’m concerned. You know it and I know it.”

+

“It’s difficult,” David started to say, but +Helen forestalled him.

+

“We can tell you,” she said quietly. The scrape on +her temple looked like a dark wedge close to her hairline. +“But you won’t believe it.”

+

“Well girl,” Bert Millar said. “We’re +just going to have to see.”

+

It was another twenty minutes and two cups of coffee from the +dispenser in the mobile unit before David finished talking. He took +the senior officer through the story from day one, from the death +of he woman they’d assumed to be Thelma Quigley and the later +discovery of the video shots showing Ginny Marsden who had by this +time become the subject of Helen’s search. He spoke of the +puzzling pathology in the autopsy and the inexplicable and +confusing series of coincidences.

+

At the end of it, the Chief Inspector drained his cup and lifted +his head. “And you believe this? It’s some kind of +mutant?”

+

“It’s getting hard not to,” David finally +conceded. “We’ve been on her tail for ten days. Heather +McDougall had a baby and nobody knows where it came from. Ginny +Marsden took her baby and now she’s dead. Nobody has ever +really clapped eyes on this baby.”

+

“Just the one?”

+

“Who knows? There could be several,” David said, +still instinctively prevaricating. No matter what he believed, he +was aware of how it would appear. “If there’s just one, +then it’s some kind of mutant, and it’s damned +dangerous.”

+

“I think it is, Chief,” Helen interjected. “We +wanted to find her first, to make sure. But I can’t think of +any other explanation. She’s been here, and now the baby, +whatever it is, it’s gone.” The only thing she’d +omitted was the confrontation in the hayloft, and that was only +because she refused to even let her mind approach that. Every time +her memory veered I that direction, a wave of panic began to swell +inside her, threatening to engulf her completely and reduce her to +a quivering, weeping child.

+

“She’s been here,” David backed her up. He +knew she’d seen another woman with another baby, some other +thing in her arms, but he sensed, quite rightly that she +was not willing to share that information with anyone else. +“And earlier on, I thought I heard something over by that +loft. There was nothing there by the time I got the door +open,” he felt Helen tense against him, knowing he was lying, +“but I’m sure there was. There was movement down by the +hedge along the edge of the field. I couldn’t make it out, +for it was snowing by then, and I thought it was best not to give +chase on my own.”

+

“So who could it have been?”

+

“I think it could be another woman, maybe even the +farmer’s wife. There’s no sign of the baby, is there? +Nobody’s found her yet.?”

+

Bert Millar thought about this. He had a long face and beetling +black eyebrows which every now and again drew down so that his eyes +were hidden. He looked as if he’d stood out on a lot of crime +scenes on a lot of cold winters.

+

“You say Phil Cutcheon goes along with this?”

+

“He gave me the old man’s files,” David said. +“He says he thinks there’s something wrong. I know +there’s something wrong. I don’t know the answer, but I +think we came close to it.”

+

“I worked for Phil,” the DCI finally said. “He +was a straight arrow. Still is, I suppose, and he was never given +to flights of fancy. But all this gives me a problem. I don’t +believe in aliens and mutants and I don’t even waste my time +watching them on television. I’ve never seen a UFO and I +think Uri Geller’s a crank. That’s just to state my +position so you know the kind of reports I submit. As far as +I’m concerned you’ve got a missing baby. I’ve got +a father and a child killed by some maniac and I’ve got the +corpse of your runaway girl. I’m going to assume this baby of +yours has been abducted yet again, because there’s no trace +of it and there’s no trace of whoever left this place in a +shambles. Now, until I know better, I’m going on the +assumption that there’s been some leak, some contamination +into the water supply. Maybe some old chemicals lying around that +have killed the livestock, made it abort, and maybe caused some +aberrant behaviour. That’s my official line and that is how +this inquiry is going to proceed.”

+

He dropped his voice. “But you two crazies had better keep +on working on your own thing. You’re looking for a missing +child and at the same time helping me with my investigation because +the two are linked. I’ll speak to Donal Bulloch and get him +to spare you for the duration. He’ll go along with that. Now +believe me, we never had this conversation. I never heard a word +about sixty year old babies, not a whisper about aliens and +monsters. Okay?”

+

He stood up. “When you heard something, out at the back of +the hayloft, which direction would you have said it +went?”

+

“Down towards the trees,” David said. +“Why?”

+

“That’s where the dogs went berserk. The handlers +couldn’t get them past the hedge. They sounded as if they +were scared shitless.” His brows drew down again, hiding his +eyes from them. “I think you two should think about where +this baby might have gone, and who it might have gone with. Your +right when you say we haven’t found the farmer’s wife. +If she’s killed her own child and run off with another, +there’s more of a chance that this really is down to some +toxic leak. I’d honsestly prefer to believe that.”

+

He turned to Helen. “Do you think she did this? Or was it +the siege of Sunnybrooke Farm? I really want to know, and God help +me, I’m beginning to think you two might be able to help +me.”

+
+

He heard the dog in the distance.

+

He knew the frenzied sound from back in his past, so long ago +that it was lost in the haze of all memories. The animals were too +far away to pose a threat. The snow was thicker now and he burrowed +under the mother’s coat, in against her flopping breasts, +feeling the beat of her heart. It stuttered and staggered along +with her and he knew she was flagging. He concentrated and goaded +her onwards. They had reached the old railway, the one which used +to carry the grain to the Littlebank distillery further beyond +Bowling Harbour. The spur line had not been used for years, though +in times past, he had travelled it, huddled against another mother. +He had no way of recognising it or recalling the mother. It was too +far away, too far in the past and all their scents and flavours +merged.

+

Some of the sleepers were still on the flat, but most were gone, +leaving the hardpack grit which was overgrown and matted with moss. +Most of the line was a pathway, used by small boys on bikes as a +shortcut along behind the village in the summer. Now it was quiet, +the sounds muffled by the falling snow. They had been moving for +half an hour, she pushing along, moving in a swirl of pain and +exhaustion, through brambles and rose thickets. Her legs were a +mass of scratches and her twisted ankle kept giving way, but there +was nothing for it. He had to get to shelter and he had to get to +other people before she emptied and stopped.

+

Almost as soon as he had broken through the ragged confines of +the old skin, feeling the new surface shiny and slick and rippling +with the strength of growing muscle, he had felt the start of yet +another change. It was happening so quickly he had hardly time to +act. Now he had to be away, away from the howling beasts and away +from the others who had followed him.

+

He recalled the shock that had come out from the female, the +sudden burst of awareness when he had reached and touched. He had +stretched out, stroked and felt the rightness of her, the +ripeness of her, and the new hunger had raged within him. His +glands had puffed up, filling themselves and the new-grown paart of +him had swelled in readiness. Blinding sparks had fizzled inside of +his head and the heat of contact had made all of his muscles quiver +and vibrate in monstrous anticipation.

+

And then he had missed her.

+

It had been so close he could have had her, taken her right +there and then. He could have snatched her and drooped this one to +the ground with a twitch of his mind, and unbelievably, he had been +thwarted. His anger swelled and he doused it instantly. She would +come again and he would be prepared.

+

They had come too far for him to be able to sense her now. But +she had followed him down the days. From one den to another, from +one hiding place to the next. She had followed him and he knew she +was important.

+

Darkness was beginning to fall now. His own eyes were closed, +but he could sense it through the mother’s dulled reactions. +She pushed through a barrage of broom stems, scraping her ankle on +a gnarled root, ignoring this little pain among so much of it. +Ahead, over the iron bridge which spanned the canal, barely visible +in the deepening shadows, was the old station. A dim and distant +part of Kate Park recognised it. She had played here as a girl, +climbing the trees with her brothers, and trying to catch fish in +the small stream which ran parallel to the high track and emptied +itself into Barloan Canal. That had been a lifetime ago.

+

It had been her baby’s brief and incandescent lifetime +ago. It had been Jack’s lifetime, ended as he spun, twitching +to the floor. Now she was groping her way along this track with the +beast that had made her kill him, with the beast that had clambered +onto the baby’s crib. She was stumbling along and while this +small, helpless part of herself knew it for what it was, its +control was such that she clutched its weight against her and felt +the smooth skin of a new-born baby. The compulsion was so powerful +that she kept going, despite the rot of her flesh and the +disintegration of her bones as it took all the succulence from her +body and used it for itself.

+

She reached the old ticket office, almost an exact duplicate of +the still-used room down in the village where Ginny Marsden had sat +by the cooling fire, resting for her next move. Here it was cold +and damp, hidden by tall trees which kept out most of the wind, but +let the snow billow round the trunks and build up on the west +facing sides. As soon as she arrived, a family of magpies which had +been sheltering under the canopy took off into the gloom with loud, +racketing cries of alarm. Out beyond the track, a stoat sat up on +its hind legs and sniffed at the air, sensing something more +mindlessly hungry than its own self. Very quickly and silently, it +turned and sinuously disappeared into a hole between the roots of a +thick beech tree.

+

The station door was closed, but the lock had long since fallen +out of the rotted wood and Kate Park’s weight pushed it open. +Inside, the air smelled of old fires and piss. An ancient mattress, +helixed with rusted springs, jutted out from the corner near the +fireplace. It smelled of worse, though Kate was unaware of it. She +squeezed inside, out of the turbulent wind. Beyond the ticket +office, through a wide open door, was another small room with a +bench. The windows here were still intact. Kate stumbled to the +seat and lowered herself down, eyes wide in the deepening darkness. +She cuddled the thing in against her and it lowered its mouth onto +her, taking another feed. She felt herself drain into it, every +pulsing suck taking more of her, but she was helpless to +resist.

+

After a while her eyes closed and she gave herself to the +unremitting waves of pain, holding onto them because that was the +only part of her that was truly her own.

+

As the night deepened she sat still, one foot bloated with +infection and the other twisted to the side where the muscle had +been wrenched. The layer of fat that had given her the substantial +round sleekness had gone, sucked out of her and burned by the +creature’s flaring metabolism. It left her angular and sharp, +her cheek bones beginning to stand out the way Ginny +Marsden’s had done. In less than three days, it had robbed +her not only of her baby and her husband, but her very +substance.

+

And still she could do nothing. It held her tight and drained +her dry.

+

By a miracle, she survived the night, the deeply buried part of +her re-reeling those deaths on a constant loop.

+

In the morning, when the sun came up, she came awake from a kind +of torpor, slowly aware of the sound of howling dogs. It too was +awake and aware. It heard the dogs and knew that the danger was +coming. It reached for her and made her move.

+

Kate Park tottered to her feet and held the thing tight.

+
+

The autopsies of Jack Park and his daughter Lucy were carried +out simultaneously with the post mortem on the body in the barn. +Professor Hartley was called down from St Enoch’s and Simpson +Hardingwell arrived within the hour. By this time, the whole of +Barloan Harbour had been blocked off and Bert Millar’s squads +were methodically making door to door inquiries.

+

Hartley got a positive identification on Ginny Marsden less than +an hour after she’d been carried out of the barn, her limbs +jutting like stiffened sticks. The identification needed dental +records which were already on hand. Helen Lamont had got them on +the third day of her search for the missing girl, just in case they +were needed. She hadn’t told the girl’s parents that, +to spare their feelings. Now they would hear the worst. John +Marsden would face the nightmare of identifying his ruined +daughteris corpse.

+

Had it not been for the x-ray’s of her upper molars, even +this first identification would have been difficult, because +Hartley discovered the girl had lost eight teeth in her last few +days. The gaps in the gums were frayed and swollen with infection. +His notes said that the woman appeared to be middle aged and +extremely emaciated. Apart from the gaping wound in her belly where +the rats had gnawed a tunnel into her liver, he found she had been +suffering from acute calcium and collagen deficiency in her +skeletal structure. Her skin was wrinkled and her hair thinning, +much of it turned grey. He remembered the woman who had died in the +mall and reflected on the similarity in their pathology.

+

In his notes he wrote: “The inflammation in the +joints, caused by the abrasion and pitting of the calceous surfaces +due to bone degeneration, would have caused acute pain. It is +unlikely that this person was able to walk, at least for any +distance. Similar deterioration can be seen in the ligaments and +joints of hands and feet and out seems to have been spreading to +her skull and pelvis where a marked thinning of the skeletal +structure is apparent.”

+

Hartley noted the bite-marks all over the body’s upper +torso and the scarring of the skin on and around the breasts and +nipples. There was evidence of lactation, although each breast was +now wrinkled and empty. Ginny Marsden’s blood was devoid of +iron and magnesium, zinc and a host of vitamins. Her white cell +count was huge while the number of red cells was vastly below +normal. She was seriously anaemic. The muscle of her heart was thin +and the aorta had already become porous, leaking her dilute blood +slowly into her chest cavity. The mucosal membrane of her trachea +and throat had been stripped clean. Some of the bloody lining had +already been found on the hay of the barn. Simpson Hardingwell, the +microbiologist confirmed the presence of large polypeptide +molecules and clusters of unfamiliar cells which later proved to +contain unidentifiable chains of genetic DNA cells. Hartley +concluded that Ginny Marsden had died from blood loss and oxygen +starvation possibly caused by an unknown viral infection.

+

Simpson Hardingwell took samples of the cell material for later +study. Despite being kept frozen in liquid nitrogen, the clusters +of cells fragmented, spilling their genetic sugar-chains into a +soup of amino acids as soon as the samples were unfrozen. +Subsequent attempts to identify the cells proved fruitless.

+

The autopsy on Jack Park was easier. He died from shock and +haemorrhaging caused by the two gunshot wounds, first to his hands +and arms and then to his side which took away one kidney, some of +his liver and half of a lung.

+

The baby, little Lucy Park, only five weeks old, had died from +blood loss. The cause of that was more difficult to determine. The +pathologist found a small and roughly circular gash in her neck +where the flesh had been cut away. The striations on the skin and +muscle showed a scouring pattern unlike an animal bite. In fact it +was unlike anything in the experience of the young pathologist who +was working in the room next to Hartley. He wondered if there might +be some kind of farm implement which could have drilled such a +hole. Tests on the few centilitres of blood left in the tiny body +showed a type of anti-coagulant similar in chemical structure to +the kind produced by leeches to prevent clotting. He could give no +opinion as to how the substance was introduced to the body, other +than in a kind of bite. He was unable to offer an opinion as to +what kind of creature would bite in such a fashion or be the vector +of the blood-thinning compound.

+

While the autopsies were being carried out in the basement of +Lochend Hospital, Bert Millar had set up his incident caravan down +in the centre of Barloan Harbour, close to the railway station and +his teams were out knocking on doors. Jack and Helen had been +seconded, with the agreement of Donal Bulloch. The dog teams had +tried again up at the farm but the animals were unable to function +properly. They were confused and agitated, and none of them, it +seemed, could be persuaded to go down to the woods at the bottom of +the slope.

+

Two teams of searchers combed the thick belt of trees until +darkness fell and found nothing on the stretch between Middle Loan +farm and the railway line. The Chief Inspector posted guards on the +upper perimeter on the assumption that anybody leaving the town, +east or west, by road or rail, would be picked up. The road blocks +stayed on until the following afternoon.

+

Nothing turned up, except a poacher called Snib McFee, who was +ambushed by two big policemen as he came scuttling quickly down +through the trees beside the canal just before sunrise. The +unfortunate Snib was running at full tilt along the path and had +not expected a welcoming party, as was clear from the look on his +face as soon as the hand clamped upon his shoulder. The flashlight +beam caught his look of utter terror. His hand went to his chest, +and if the light had been better, his face would have been seen to +go a sickly bluish colour as he gasped for breath. The sack with +four hen peasants, all of them winter-plump fell to the ground with +a thump and Snib almost did the same.

+

“Holy mother of...” he gasped, hauling for breath. +“I’m having a fuckin’ heart attack.”

+

The burly policeman didn’t even hear the protest. All he +knew was that a killer was on the loose, a maniac who had shot a +man and killed his baby and he was taking no chances. Heart attack +or not, he was in no mood to take any chances. He swung his boot, +caught Snib in the crotch with such force that the small man, one +of a large family of poachers who plagued the landowners for a +radius of twenty miles, was lifted three inches above the path. He +doubled over, fell to the ground with both hands between his legs. +He was suddenly, violently sick. The policeman grabbed him by the +collar, dragged his hands away and cuffed them.

+

“Check the bag,” he rasped, hardly daring to take +his eyes off the gasping man. “If there’s a body in it +I’m going to cave this bastard’s head in.”

+

The pheasants rolled out heavily, their necks twisted at odd +angles.

+

It was to be more than an hour before Snib McFee finally got +someone to listen to him and by that time his testicles had swollen +to such an extent that he thought they might burst. Sergeant +Holleran wanted to lock him up, being the local cop and bearing the +considered opinion that poaching was just one degree beneath +treason in the eyes of the law. He and Jack Park had gone fishing +together up in the tarns on the hillside in the summer months. +He’d sat out on many a night trying to catch the McFee +boys.

+

A valuable hour was wasted before anybody listened to what the +little poacher had to say.

+
+

Snib had been after the pheasants at Wester Farrow estate where +shooting parties gathered every autumn and winter for some of the +best woodland pheasants and high-moor grouse. The land was fenced +and well patrolled, but the quick and the brave could get in, snare +a couple of pheasants as they roosted in the branches of a thicket, +and be out again long before anybody noticed. It was simple enough. +The pheasants never flew at night, and a noose of wire on the end +of a pole would bring them down without a sound as they slept and +the birds would buy drinking money for any long weekend.

+

He’d heard the barking of the dogs in the distance, a +couple of miles west at Middle Loan, but he paid them no heed. Big +Jack Park was probably out for the foxes, and maybe even he’d +persuaded the gamekeeper at Wester Farrow to come along for the +fun. Snib preferred to hunt what he could eat or sell.

+

In and out. He’d been quick and he’d been quiet. +Just a flash of light from his maglight and another bird would come +down. Four was enough for a night. It had been cold and the wind +had shaken the trees in the early hours of the morning, dropping +the canopy of snow down in flurries and cascades which sounded like +footfalls in the dark. The dark did not bother Snib. It was his +cover. In and out without a sound.

+

He came down through the pines, following the edges of the +forest and the high fence until he came to the break he and his +brother had cut weeks before, hidden by a clump of rhododendrons. +Through that and into the beech forest, he had only a mile or so to +home if he used the railway track. Down on the level, he followed +the straight of the disused spur-line, his feet now silent on the +thick snow that had managed to get down through the trees. The wind +was still strong, rattling the bare twigs high overhead, but down +on the track he was protected from the worst of it. The pheasants +were still warm against his back.

+

He reached the old station, cupping a cigarette in his hand, and +followed the slope up to the abandoned platform. Here, it was more +exposed and he went round the side of the old ticket office and +stood in the lee for a moment, drawing hard on the smoke and +looking forward to the sharp burn of a dram of whisky when he got +home. He finished his smoke, hefted the sack again and turned round +the corner, into the wind, passing the shuttered window which +rattled softly in the bluster. He was just beyond the window when +he heard the noise.

+

He froze, one foot still suspended in the air, the way he would +while poaching, if he suspected the keeper was close. One wrong +foot in the forest could crack a twig and draw attention.

+

Snib froze, but at the same time, all the hairs on the back of +his neck suddenly crawled and the skin down his back puckered in a +cold twist.

+

The noise was just a groan, hardly heard above the whine of the +wind through the branches, but it had stopped Snib in his tracks. +Very slowly, he put his foot down onto the overlay of soft snow on +the platform, making not a sound. His heart had speeded up, quite +inexplicably, and something inside him wanted him be off and away +along the track. Snib was a creature at home with the night, and at +home with the trees in winter. Perhaps that gave him an added +sense, an alertness to threat or danger. Whatever it was, it gave +him a chill ripple of alarm.

+

Despite that, when the soft groan, a noise like a whimper, came +again, he could not prevent his feet from taking him back two steps +towards the window. He leaned towards the dusty glass which after +all the years of abandonment was still intact. Inside, it was black +as tar. He caught a flicker of his own reflection looming out at +him and started back in alarm. The feeling of sudden menace +inflated.

+

The sound came for a third time, a little louder and he could +not resist peering back again. He drew out the little torch and +twisted it until the bream shone, then raised it to the class. What +he expected, he could not have said. Maybe a fox, bleeding from a +gin-trap bite, possibly even a roe deer trapped inside. He swung +the thin beam round, following its pallid disc on the far wall, a +small moon arcing across the flat blank sky. It passed a dark +shape, moved on. He snapped it back.

+

The noise came again, that eerie, low moan and this time the +ripple down his back was a physical shudder of apprehension. A +dread sense of inexplicable danger settled on his shoulders. Yet +still he peered in. The torch beam flicked back onto the shapeless +huddle.

+

The woman’s face stared blindly at him. The light +reflected back from bloodshot eyes, making them look eerily pink +and somehow blind. Her mouth was open, slack and imbecilic. For a +moment he thought she was dead until she moved and the moan escaped +her. Despite the alarm, Snib almost called out to her, for, poacher +though he might be, he was not a bad fellow and would never leave +anyone, human or animal, lying hurt.

+

He almost called out to her, until he saw something move just +under her chin. He lowered the beam and saw she was holding a +bundle of cloth up against herself. She blinked and in the dark the +torchlight caught the glint when her eyes opened again.

+

It was a baby, Snib realised and he let out a long breath. Just +a baby. She was holding the bundle against herself the way a mother +does with a child, keeping it warm. He raised the light to her face +again, wondering what the hell a woman was doing out in the +abandoned spur line station in the dead of a winter’s +mooring. The light caught her eyes and in that moment they stared +right at him and the look they conveyed was one of absolute and +utter loss. Instantly the sensation of menace fell on him again. He +lowered the light once more and saw the baby’s head squirm +round as if it was trying to free itself from the shawl. The cloth +fell away.

+

A wrinkled forehead puckered and a thick lid opened. A large, +flat, red eye stared into his and he felt a dreadful jolt of +baneful contact through the glass. Snib’s heart somersaulted +into his throat. He jerked back and the flashlight flicked out. The +pane of glass went black.

+

Snib took one step backwards, breathing hard. His foot slipped +on the snow and he went down on one knee. Just as quickly he was +back up again. Inside the ticket office he could hear a muffled +thumping sound and then a pattering scrape. It sounded like +dog’s nails on a hard floor. He reached out a hand to steady +himself, turning once again towards the window.

+

A nightmare face pressed up on the other side of the glass. Two +great red eyes bored into his. He saw a wrinkled demon face and a +round, puckered little mouth with thin, warted lips that pulled +back over a circle of glassy shards. In that instant he believed he +was looking at a devil from hell.

+

“Oh mammy,” he yelped, unaware that he had made a +sound, and oblivious of the fact that at the age of thirty, he had +reverted to the language of his childhood when he had called on his +mother to protect him from any hurt.

+

On the other side of the thin glass, the little beast glared at +him. A grey, thin hand came up and scratched at the pane and the +lips wavered back from the circlet of teeth. Inside that circle the +light flashed on another set of spines. For a second he thought he +must be going mad.

+

Then, behind the glaring nightmare face, he heard a +woman’s loud and hollow cry, a sound so pitiful and desperate +that even on the crest of his sudden primitive fear it touched a +chord within him and he knew he had heard the cry of the +damned.

+

The thing turned, showing him a flat profile and a receding jaw +topped by that alien, rounded mouth. As soon as its attention had +swept away from him, he could move again. Without a thought and +without a sound, Snib was off and running. He slipped on the snow +on the far slope of the old platform, rolled, got to his feet, +trying to keep the scream inside of him. He scurried along the +track, as fast as his feet could take him and if he’d been +thinking at all, he’d have dropped the sack, but his dread +was so great, the fear of a gargoyle-faced devil coming after him +through the dark of the trees, that the thought never crossed his +mind. He went haring along the track until he reached the turn, +threw himself to the left, feet thundering on the hard-pack under +the beech trees and raced downhill, narrowly missing all of the +tree-trunks on the slope. His breath panted, loud as the old steam +trains that had once run on the old line and his heart was kicking +like a horse inside his ribs. There was no sound behind him, but he +dared not stop to look. All he wanted to do was get home and lock +the door and get up to is bed and pull the blankets over his head +and wait until light.

+

Then a hand came reaching out of the shadows to clamp upon his +shoulder and Snib truly thought he was going to die on the spot. +When the foot came up and smashed into his groin, the pain was so +great that he hoped he would die.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus27.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus27.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f517de6 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus27.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,628 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

27

+

She was lurching along the track, unable to stop while the +baby’s mind jittered inside of her own, forcing her on. Her +body was a pulse of pain. She could even hear the sound of her +bones grinding against each other where they met. Behind them men +were coming through the trees. The sound of their voices was +muffled, but getting louder out there among the trees.

+

Help me please help me...someone help me

+

The mantra sang out in the deep and barricaded part of herself +that was her own, but she could not make the words come out, could +not make herself stop. All she wanted to do now was die, but the +thing at her breast tugged her on, its own panic conveying itself +to her in sharp drilling spasms of energy. Off to the right, a +clump of snow fell off a spruce tree with a quiet flop of sound and +she felt it jerk in alarm. In her ears the chittering sound waxed, +a fuzzy little crackle that made her ears feel as if they were +bleeding. It vibrated in the bones of her jaw and made her teeth +chatter together.

+

Go go go. GO!

+

No words but a mental goading, whip and sharp spurs, that could +not be denied. She had to run and hide. She had to get the baby +away from here. That was the only thing on the surface of her mind, +the overwhelming, overpowering compulsion to get it to safety. It +was crying at her, whimpering its alarm and its terror. She could +do nothing but respond.

+

The dogs were coming. Two of them, howling behind, somewhere in +the distance. They sounded like wolves in the early dawn. Over to +the east the sky was pinking, slashed in layers of colours under +the snow cloud, tinged with the rising sun and with the orange of +the street lamps on the main route to the city. Over to the right, +the wide black ribbon of the bridge spanning the estuary was lined +with a coruscation of lights. Under any other circumstances it +would have been a winter scene that would have made her stop to +admire. She did not even see it, not with her own consciousness. +Her whole attention had been focused on the need to run.

+

She ran, while rivers of white-hot pain surged in her feet and +in her hips. Blood trickled form her mouth and from the ragged +wound in her sole.

+

The baby whimpered constantly, huddled against her. She could +feel its arms and legs twitch and its alarm was a sharp and +twisting augur of cerebral hurt.

+

The dogs howled and snarled. Somewhere in the distance a siren +wailed. Down in the estuary the foghorn bawled hollow in the +lessening wind. Snow flurries still blew in, but less than there +had been before. Kate Park’s feet made deep holes in the +virgin snow and they made hardly a sound. Her joints squeaked like +rusted hinges and it was a miracle that she did not collapse to the +ground and lie down and die if such a word as miracle could +describe her awful plight.

+

She stumbled on.

+
+

Behind her, the dog handlers were urging their animals onward, +with some difficulty. When they had arrived at the old station, the +dogs, at first fired with their normal energy had taken one sniff +inside the ticket office and then they’d gone into fits of +frenzied barking. Both of them, powerful German Shepherd dogs, had +cringed back, haunches low, tails tucked tight. Their eyes had been +rolling wildly and they looked absolutely terrified. The handlers +dragged them back, wondering what was wrong with them. Already the +first team had been forced to pull back up at the farm when the +other two dogs had started snapping and snarling each other, and +one of them had tried to mount the other, thrusting way with +powerful jerks of its rump, while foaming saliva flicked from its +gaping jaws.

+

This time, just after dawn, the dogs looked plain scared. One of +the other policemen went inside the office and came out holding his +nose.

+

“Smells like a slaughterhouse dump,” he said.

+

There were footprints in the snow on the far side of the old +building, leading down across the flat where the track had once +been. They angled into the trees where the thick bushes had formed +a snow break. The footprints stopped only a few yards into the +spruce trees where the snow couldn’t reach. The handlers +pulled the dogs away from the station. The animals howled and +barked excitedly, almost like a gathering of wolves, but the +trained men could hear the panic in their yelping.

+

“Something wrong here, Sarge,” one of the men said. +“They don’t want to go on”

+

“They’ll go on with my toe up their +backsides,” Sergeant Holleran warned him. “I +don’t care if they’ve got broken legs. Get them out and +get them sniffing.” The dog men dragged their charges onto +the disused track. The beasts sniffed and yelped, in obvious +distress. This pair, however, had taken their training better than +the previous two at the farm. After a few moment’s +hesitation, they got their heads down, started to snuffle for scent +and then, very slowly, very nervously, they began to follow a +trail. Every now one of them would back off, yipping in alarm and +consternation. Slowly and hesitantly however, they made progress +through the damp forest.

+
+

He had perceived the pursuit and had woken her.

+

He made her move with a brutal, panicked wrench of his thought +The dogs yipped and yelped and in his strange acoustics, he heard +the sound like the cracking of ice, but he still recognised it as +threat. Alarm jangled through him as she gathered him up +and hobbled out into the cold, clutching him against her failing +heat. He touched her mind once, twice, little shoves. Inside she +was shrieking, like the other one had, like no other mothers +before. They had all accepted him, they had loved him.

+

But now he was changing, and while he could control the mothers, +he had to push them hard.

+

He shoved, twisted violently and she lurched outward over the +snow flat and down to the runnel and into the trees. Her breath was +ragged and her heart was beating too fast. He could sense the +weakness there and the heat of slowly tearing muscle. She would not +last. Her pain screamed within her, competing with the constant +shriek of her trapped mind. Still she stumbled on, barging through +the thickets of birch and bramble, charging through clumps of alder +and hazel. He needed a place to hide. The threat came from behind +them, in the howl of the beasts and the hoarse rumbling vibrations +that were the shouts of pursuing men. If they caught him they would +destroy him. That instinctive knowledge burned brightly, not in +words but in a complete concept, on the forefront of his mind. A +sudden dread washed over him. He had never been hunted, not in his +memory. He had always driven the mothers, made them move on, +whenever he sensed any threat. He had never been chased and now he +was out in the cold, exposed and desperately vulnerable and they +were after him.

+

In his panic he reached out a long way, casting ahead and +behind, to sense for spaces where the danger was less, to identify +the points of greatest peril.

+

He brushed the other one’s mind and recognised her.

+

Hope flared. A chance. Hunger swelled with it despite his panic. +She was coming. She would follow him. If he could find a place, she +would come to him, dragged along the invisible lines that bound +them. He needed her now.

+

The mother stumbled on, broke free of the bushes and was down on +the track again. Here, for a long straight distance, the rail-route +was a broad avenue of pristine snow. He shoved and she went along +it, breath crackling like ground glass, heart thudding so hard he +could hear it through the shawl and the coat.

+

The dogs howled. Men shouted. They were getting closer. Ahead of +them, the old iron bridge over the canal loomed, grey and stark. +She stumbled towards it, now reeling from side to side, powered +only by the force of his will. She could do nothing but move and +the rivers of pain sizzled inside her.

+
+

“It’s ahead of us,” Helen Lamont panted. She +and David had been pushing their way through the bushes. Both of +them had listened to what Snib McPhee had said and they were the +only ones who took his description literally. Helen’s mind +wandered back in the direction of the barn and then shied away from +the recollection. She had seen something and her eyes had swung +round, denying what she might have seen in the shadows. It had been +a flash, a glimpse, nothing more, and it could have been anything +at all, except for the fact that her subconscious mind had flared +and snatched the image and burned it deep into her brain.

+

Monster.

+

She knew it had been and it had almost had her. It had reached +with its foul touch and had drawn her in and somewhere in the dark +of the barn it had opened her eyes and she had felt its hunger and +it had been like the touch of corruption. It had wanted her, and +God help her, in that instant, she had wanted it.

+

Monster.

+

“It’s a fuckin’ monster,” Snib +McPhee had said, unashamedly massaging his balls where, according +to the two policemen, he had taken a bit of a knock when he’d +fallen on the slippery snow against a tree-stump. Snib knew there +was little point in protesting about brutality, and anyway his mind +was on other things.

+

“Swear to Christ,” he swore to Christ. “I saw +it with my own eyes. It’s a fuckin’ monster.” The +small man crossed himself several times in quick succession, +driving out devils. His hand slid back down onto his throbbing +crotch.

+

“I saw a woman. She was just sitting there with her eyes +open and I thought she was dead for Christ’s sake and then +she moved. I heard her first. Crying like, sort of moaning. Or +maybe like a grunt. I thought it was a dog or something, stuck +behind the door, but I got a look at her in the torchlight and she +saw me. She tried to talk, I think, but I never heard anything and +then this baby she was holding, it turned round, and it +wasn’t a baby at all.”

+

“What was it?” Bert Millar wanted to know.

+

“I told you. It was a fuckin’ monster. My torch went +out and next thing it’s up at the window. It had eyes like +nothing I ever saw in my life and a mouthful of teeth. A big circle +of them, all pointing in towards each other. You put a finger in +there and it’s never coming out. I’ll tell you what +it’s like. It’s like them lampreys you get on salmon. +You know those things that eat their way inside?”

+

David recalled the words of dead Ron McBean in his strange and +obsessive report. The Lassiter woman, way back before the turn of +the century, had leapt off a bridge and killed herself

+

When recovered, her whole body covered in bleeding +lacerations and bruises which a doctor described as very similar to +the sucking circlets caused by lampreys on salmon from the nearby +River Nith.

+

McBean had noted the similarity in the odd circular lesions +uncovered in the autopsy on Harriet Dailly.

+

Another coincidence, David thought. Whatever this thing was, if +McBean was right all along, it was older than fifty, older than a +century. How long had it been around, picking women, stealing +mothers? And what sort of creature, what sort of beast, looked like +a sucking lamprey that fed on living salmon?

+

“You’d know all about salmon, Snib,” Sergeant +Holleran had volunteered, but the CID boss held up his hand for +silence.

+

“What do you think?” he asked David. “Is he +taking the piss or what?”

+

“No,” Helen said. “It’s probably the +farmer’s wife. She’ll have the baby.”

+

“Killed her own and then run off with another?”

+

“I couldn’t say, sir,” Helen said, falling +back into police-speak. “But the woman is missing and I +can’t think of anybody else who’d be out alone with a +baby on a night like this. And it also wouldn’t be the first +time, if we’re right.”

+

Millar drew them outside. “At least we’ve got a +direction. We’ll take his word for it, but as far as the rest +are concerned, it’s a woman and a baby.”

+

A half an hour later, Helen stopped, panting for breath. +“It’s ahead of us,” she said. They were almost at +the edge of the trees now, coming down to the straight. She had +been pushing through the bushes, well to the left of the other +policemen, maybe ten feet from David when she felt its touch, the +cold slither of hunger and black need. It sent a shiver right into +her, because she recognised her own response.

+

“Which way?” David asked. He recognised the look on +her face and simply believed her. In the cold of the morning, in +the weak winter light, her face was pinched and pale, and her dark +eyes were like black stones in snow. The wind ruffled her hair and +made her seem slender and vulnerable.

+

“There,” she said, pointing ahead, further to the +left. She turned and he followed, up a tree-covered rise and down +the slope. The dogs were behind them now. They reached a stand of +thin, rotting willowherb, ploughed through and found themselves on +the straight.

+

A pair of footsteps, deep and unclear, angled away from them +towards the bridge in the distance. From where they stood, they +could see the shambling progress, as if both feet had been +dragging, throwing up spill-piles of snow into hummocks. The tracks +wove left to right, from one side of the line to the other.

+

David turned and bawled, attracting the attention of the dog +teams who came bursting out onto the line some fifty yards behind. +He pointed to the tracks and then turned to follow them. The dogs +barked frantically, high, fretful yipping sounds that made them, +sound plaintive and timid, but the handlers urged them on. David +and Helen ran ahead, following the footsteps and all the time, +Helen could feel the oily, sinful touch of the thing she had +pursued now for eleven days.

+

_______

+

Kate Park lurched out of its grasp on the steep embankment about +three hundred yards past the bridge. She had stumbled off the old +track and down the slope, driven by the thing she carried. Behind +them the dogs howled and scrabbled. Footsteps thudded on the far +side of the bridge and men’s voices carried on the cold +air.

+

Go go go go GET GONE

+

There was desperation in its urging and she obeyed it. She +slipped, fell, arched her racked body to protect her burden, and +got to her feet again. Every nerve ending jittered with pain. +Burning crushing sensations ground from bone to bone down the +length of her back. Her heart was a lump of fire in the centre of +her chest and the pain in her legs and hips had soared to such a +crescendo that the nerves there had simply given out. A dreadful +numbness oozed up her limbs making it even more difficult to carry +on. Yet she moved, stumbled, staggered, reeled down the slope, +snagged by thorns and bramble runners, down to the low wall that +came to waist height, in the brown sandstone of railway embankments +the world over. An angle-iron fence sat atop the wall, its top +spikes rusted and paint peeled. She started to climb when one of +the upright spars clanged outwards, making a gap. A bolt had +rusted. She slipped through, pushing the baby ahead, then drawing +herself between the spars until she was on the wall itself, maybe +ten feet above a narrow street.

+

The metal clanged back into place just as the dogs came pounding +over the edge of the embankment, whining as they came. The handlers +urged them on. They all came thundering towards the shape on the +other side of the fence, half-hidden by the upright spars. The baby +squirmed until it could see over her shoulder, risked opening its +eyes despite the ferocious burn even in the half light of the early +winter’s morning. Its attention was half snagged by the other +female who was behind the dogs, but it had no time to waste. It +concentrated at the beasts, reached out, stabbed into their +minds.

+

The dogs went berserk.

+

They were halfway down the steep slope when the whining yelps +turned into savage growls. The lead dog turned round, bolted +between its handler’s legs, knocking him of balance. It +pulled the leash from his hand and went streaking for its partner, +jaws agape. The second dog reared up, met it half way, fangs +exposed in a ferocious snarl. The two animals hit, growling like +tigers. Their teeth closed on each other’s necks and they +worried and tore frantically. Blood and fur flew. The two men tried +to separate them, but the dogs seemed to have gone mad. Their eyes +were rolling wildly and their strangled grunts soared higher and +higher as they savaged one another. One of the men got his +night-stick between one dog’s jaws, levered hard and +succeeded only in snapping two teeth. The dogs ignored them.

+

Helen and David came running fast over the rise and down the +slope. They took in the snarling animals and then saw the shape at +the far side of the fence.

+

Helen felt the touch of the thing, not aimed directly at her, +because it was focused on the dog threat, but it still sent a spasm +of horror (and feral hunger too, she knew) right through +her.

+

“There,” David said, pointing. A pale face could be +seen on the other side of the fence. Someone was sitting on the +wall. “Stop,” David yelled, and the face disappeared +from view. The dogs screamed in fear and fury. Blood bubbled form +their nostrils, from their throats. One of the policemen was +shouting at the top of his lungs. David started toward the wall and +Helen followed, her whole mind cringing from the leprous touch.

+
+

It turned its mind away from the mother.

+

The woods were full of noise and motion. She had got through the +fence and was over the road when the dogs came rushing down, +howling and whining and the thing had turned its attention on them. +She felt the buzz of mental energy as it concentrated, and threw +its command at them. It was like he searing heat of lightning in +the air, an arc of pure power. Her own mind had reeled out of the +control and then lurched away from that mental blast.

+

And she was herself again.

+

Kate Park blinked, coughed, and a trickle of pink foam spun away +from her. She felt a scream build up in her shredding lungs, an +enormous primal blast from the depths of her fragmented soul and +she clamped it to silence. All of her was in pain, her mind, her +heart, and her body. The image of Jack’s twitching body came +back again, overlaid by the sound of sucking from the baby’s +crib and the awful dribbles of blood that had come soaking through +the basket weave.

+

She was out of it, out of one nightmare and into another. She +turned her eyes to the thing and saw its flat, mindless eyes. It +was bigger now, more angular, almost insectile. She looked at it +and her hate welled up and in that moment she knew what she had to +do.

+

Behind her, the dogs howled and shrieked, tearing at each other, +men were bawling. The beast was concentrating on the animals, +trying to combat one threat. It would come back to her, or it might +turn on the others.

+

She was done and she knew it. There was nothing now. Jack was +dead. Lucy was dead, her own baby gone. There was nothing to live +for and the pain was so much, so overwhelming that she knew she +would not last much longer.

+

It was turning to the others. She turned too, unable to prevent +herself. Through the bars of the fence she saw the young man coming +towards her, his mouth open to say something, one hand raised as if +reaching to grab her across the distance between them..

+

Beside him was the girl she had seen below the hayloft. She +recognised her instantly, although their previous encounter had +only been a dreadful scrape of contact. She recognised her and her +open mind touched the girl’s, in a flash of empathy. She knew +in that instant it had wanted her and she knew why. The +girl’s mind touched hers and sent a shudder of sorrow and +pity and fear.

+

Kate Park turned away. Down below the flagstones of the sidewalk +came hard up against the wall of the embankment. The thing’s +attention was still on the dogs, just beginning to swivel to the +men, when she launched herself into the air. She clutched her +burden tight, turning as toppled, ensuring that they would both +land together, head first on the hard concrete.

+

Kill you! Her mind snarled. She spun away. Oblivion +rushed at her.

+

David Harper saw the twisting lurch and bawled at the top of his +voice, jumping past the slavering, snarling animals. Helen +screeched an incoherent warning. The woman disappeared from the +other side of the fence.

+

Kate was falling. But a long runner of bramblethorn snagged her +foot as she tumbled, spinning her in mid air. The world whirled. +The thing in her arms shrieked a glassy mental scream, more +powerful now in its desperation, stronger now since its change and +the spurt of growth. It screeched and she felt the mind-blast like +a sizzle in the air, like a physical vibration. A pure distilled +pain shuddered into her head and completely shattered the cochlea +in her inner ear. Above the embankment, the mind-shriek lashed +outwards and a policeman’s retinas detached themselves and he +went instantly blind. In the trees overhead, the flock of crows +that had mobbed Kate on her run down by the hedge, dropped like +fluttering weights, hitting against branches before they flopped to +the ground quivering but not dead, all of them hissing like snakes. +Fifty yards away a cat howled, ran across the broad, and was +flattened under the wheels of an early morning commuter’s +car. Beyond the bridge, a small child in a high-chair vomited and +fell face first into a plate of cereal.

+

Kate Park landed on her hip and her pelvis shattered into +fragments. The appalling jolt smashed her teeth together so hard +that they bit right through the tip of her tongue. A new lava-burst +of pain slammed her breath away and she bounced, flopping on the +pavement, dazed, but amazingly still conscious. Unbearable despair +overshadowed the inconceivable pain in her damaged body. She had +tried to kill them both and she had failed.

+

“Are you all right dear?” A voice came from nowhere, +thin and wavering. Her head turned as she lay, not voluntarily, but +simply with its own weight. An old and weathered face was looming +down at her.

+

“Go,” she tried to say.

+

“What’s that love? Are you hurt?” The old +woman peered down, her head tightly wrapped in a thick scarf +knotted under her chin. “You took a nasty fall there. Did you +slip on the ice?”

+

“Please,” Kate tried to tell her, but the word only +came out in a wheeze. Her vision was looping in and out of focus +and she felt her consciousness only now begin to slip away. In her +arms, a shape stirred, wriggling powerfully and it was only then +that she realised it was still wrapped in the shawl. It kicked +against her. She could feel its mindblast of panic as it shoved and +twisted, like a trapped stoat.

+

“Oh dear,” the old woman said. “The poor wee +thing. Is the baby hurt?”

+

She tried to scream again, to tell the old woman to get away. +Beside her, she saw with unexpected clarity, a shopping bag on +wheels and just then she got a whiff of freshly baked morning +rolls, the first normal scent she had been aware of since the thing +had come scuttling in through the cat flap and stolen her mind. +It’s thoughts were focused outwards, not aimed into her +brain. It knew she was useless. Up above, beyond the wall, the +shouts of men echoed down and she could not move, could not even +speak. Blood gushed from the rip on her tongue, dribbled down her +throat, made her cough in a red spray.

+

It pushed and kicked, panicked now and desperate. The old woman +with the trolley was leaning closer, using her solid walking stick +to brace her weight. She was wearing a long dark coat and had a red +scarf double-looped around her neck.

+

“Can you get up?” she asked.

+

The thing swivelled, managed to get its head and shoulders out +of the confines of the swaddle of the shawl. The old woman blinked, +wrinkled her nose.

+

Take me take me take me. HELP ME!

+

The wordless command blared out. Kate Park recognised it. Her +whole body was trembling in the shock of her fall, making the +twitching motions Jack had made as he death-danced to the floor, +but even then, in her extremity, she tried to move, to roll over, +crush the life out of it. Much of her weight had wasted away, but +there was enough there, surely, to suffocate the monster. She tried +to move, rolled and just then the old woman bent and lifted it, +grunting with the effort.

+

“Oh, who’s a lovely baby then?” she crooned, +sing-song.

+

“No,” Kate tried to say but all that came out was a +bubble of red. She fell forward and hit the pavement with a solid +thud. Her shoulder splintered where the weakened bone took the +impact but even then, she still tried to grab the thing from the +old woman. Already it had fixed its eyes on her. The trolley rolled +away on its own, down the small slope, tumbled off the kerb onto +the road, and a half-dozen morning rolls spilled out and wheeled +around in decreasing circles under the span of the old railway +bridge.

+

“Give me,” Kate grunted but the words were all +bloodied and incoherent. She snatched at the old woman’s +coat, ignoring the white rivets of pain caused by every motion. Her +numb fingers grabbed the fabric and she hauled hard. The little +lady was jerked forward, almost off balance. She turned to look +down at the crawling, desperate woman on the ground.

+

The baby held her tight and glared into her mind. Its glands +pulsed, sending a hiss of chemicals in an visible cloud around them +both. An immediate rush of emotion swept through the old woman, an +unexpected flare of heat and need. Her vision swam for an instant, +steaming up her wire-framed glasses, then it cleared. She looked +down and saw some dreadful woman trying to steal her baby. In that +hellish moment, she felt a twist of pain in her ancient breasts, +felt them swell. Another sensation rippled between her angular, +shapeless hips. Sensations she had not experienced for near-on +fifty years flooded her and in that instant she had to protect her +baby. The dreadful woman on the ground was trying to take it from +her. She wanted to kill it.

+

The old woman dragged herself back with a thin cry. Without +hesitation, she raised her walking stick and brought it down with +all her weight, her strength now augmented by the baby’s +powerful demand. The end of the stick came down in an arc and +caught Kate Park on the side of the face and her head whipped back +in a violent jerk. Without hesitation the club was back in the air +and coming down again. It cracked against her jaw and something in +there broke like a twig.

+

“You can’t have it,” the old woman squawked. +Her stick hit again, right on the bridge of Kate’s nose and +this time it was enough to slam her to the ground. The world spun +in wavering ellipses and then blacked out. The pain drained +away.

+

The old woman did not pause. She turned and tottered away, off +the pavement and past the overturned trolley. Her foot crushed one +of the morning rolls under the bridge, but she saw nothing. Her +whole being was overwhelmed by the need to get away, find a place +to look after the baby. The bundle in her arms, a heavy, dragging +weight, clung tight to her coat and she smothered it in her thin +arms.

+

Move move move move. She heard the commands as her own +thoughts and she scurried under the bridge, turned at the corner +beyond it, hastening in small, old-lady steps. Behind her, dogs +were snarling and men were shouting or crying and she had to get +away. At that moment, for the old woman, it was the whole purpose +of her existence.

+

In her arms the thing shoved hard. A savage, mindless glee +shuddered within it, the aftermath of extreme danger. He would +escape. He would find shelter and find another mother. He had +touched this one and knew it was empty. He instinctively sensed the +twitches deep inside this one as its body tried to respond, as the +old machinery tried to re-awaken, but it was dry and barren. There +was no feeding here.

+

They turned the corner and the sounds of pursuit faded away. +Here the road was narrow, flanked on one side by the blank wall of +the railway where boys came to practise climbing in the summer. The +line then turned to allow space for a terrace of sandstone houses. +On the other side, a couple of old buildings, the bakery and a +newsagents. They were almost at the far edge of Barloan Harbour. +Beyond the cluster of buildings the canal snaked away up from the +harbour itself. A strip of grass, covered now in snow and planted +with cherry trees in regimented lines, gave on to the bridle path. +A mist crept up from the still water where the outlines of the +houseboats and converted barges loomed like ghosts.

+

The old woman scurried along, heading past the shops. In the +distance, ahead of her, a bell jangled and a child came scooting +down the slope on a bicycle. A couple came out of the newsagents +and started walking towards the bridge.

+

Up on the embankment, a tragic comedy of confusion was +unreeling. One of the policemen was crying real tears as he tried +to open the jaws that were clamped and still chewing away it his +own dog’s neck. He did not care that his own animals teeth +were embedded in the flesh of its attacker. They were partners, he +and the dog. He had trained it almost since it was a puppy and it +was dying in front of his eyes. He jammed his night-stick in +between the teeth and twisted savagely. The other policeman, a +close friend, took exception to this and kicked him on the backside +so hard his colleague fell over onto the writhing pair of animals. +All around them, stunned crows were flapping in little circles, +banging into trees and men alike, now cawing raucously in confusion +and fright. Another policeman grabbed the first and dragged him +back, while a fourth was holding on to the trunk of a tree and +bawling for help. “I’m blind, for pity’s sake. I +can’t fuckin’ see!”

+

Both dogs were howling no longer. They grunted and snarled +weakly, unable, it seemed, to open their jaws and let go, locked in +a deadly embrace.

+

David and Helen were over at the fence on the wall. David was +trying to climb the spiked spars which had been designed just to +prevent such an occurrence to keep children off the line. Down +below, through the close-set spars, he could see some movement, but +it was hidden by the ridge of the wall.

+

“She must have got through,” Helen said shrewdly. +She scampered along the side of the fence trailing her hands on the +spars. One of them swung at her touch. “Over here,” she +said. David gave up on his fifth attempt to clamber the fence and +came quickly towards her. She pulled the metal back, leaving just +enough of a gap for him to squeeze through. Ignoring the men and +the dogs behind them they got onto the wall and looked down.

+

One woman was lying spread-eagled on the ground, her pale face +up to the sky. A couple of snowflakes landed on her forehead. Her +eyes were open, staring straight upwards and David assumed she was +dead. Down under the arch of a bridge, an old woman was walking, +head down. David ignored her.

+

“Where is it?” Helen said. “I can’t see +it.” Both of them peered down. There was no sign of the +baby.

+

“It can’t have got away, can it?” Without +hesitation he turned and began to lower himself down. There was +little purchase for his feet on the damp surface and he slipped +downwards, only catching himself at the last moment. Green smears +of moss painted the elbows of his coat. Helen turned and started to +lower herself onto her belly at first and then down the wall. For a +moment the pair of them hung like mountaineers and then both +dropped together, fortunately landing lightly. David turned, +slipped on the snow and went down on one knee which hit the ground +with a sickening thud.

+

He limped across to the prostrate woman. Her eyes were still +open and a trickle of blood was dribbling out of her left ear. Her +face was pale and twisted out of shape, which skewed her mouth out +of position. There was a jarring grotesqueness about the +woman’s posture. She looked as if she had crumpled in on +herself. David got a flashing image of vampires after sunrise, then +dismissed it. This was an injured woman. Even in the first glance, +he could see that she was dreadfully hurt.

+

Helen scrambled across and knelt beside the woman, ignoring the +damp snow under her knees. She took a hold of the woman’s +face, holding it gently as she could. Kate Park blinked once, +twice, and she took a deep, shuddering breath as she swam up to +consciousness. Her eyes rolled, focused and met Helen’s.

+

“Saw you,” she said, and though the damage to her +jaw and the bloody wound on her tongue fuzzed the words, Helen +understood. “Couldn’t let it take you.”

+

“I know,” Helen said. “We’ll get help. +Just lie still.”

+

“Find it,” Kate Park. “It’s got +away.” The pain was razoring and twisting through her and not +one part of her body was free of it. She had welcomed the dark, +welcomed the cessation of hurt, but she forced herself to open her +eyes. She had to do it because the thing had taken everything from +her and she had to destroy it. The pain was a price she was willing +to pay.

+

“Where did it go;?”

+

“Old woman,” she said, gasping for a breath that +seemed to take forever to come. “She hit me. It got +her.”

+

“Jesus,” David said. He hadn’t been thinking. +He had seen the old woman turn the corner just beyond the bridge. +It hadn’t even struck him as incongruous that the woman was +still walking past after another woman had come flying over the +wall and landed on the concrete. He hadn’t even considered +how unnatural that was. Without hesitation he turned to face up to +the embankment. The dogs were still wheezing and the crows were +only now beginning to get their flight capability back, lumbering +unsteadily into the air. One policeman was coming through the gap +in the fence.

+

“Get on to Mr Millar,” David told him. “Tell +him where we are. Get an ambulance here pronto.” The man +nodded. David turned back. “You look after her,” he +told Helen.

+

On the ground Kate Park moaned. She shook her head and a stream +of blood blurted from between her lips. “No,” she said, +guttural and almost incoherent, but powerful enough to make sure +they understood.

+

“Find it,” she said. “Find it and kill +it.”

+

She lowered her dreadfully injured head to the ground and the +red blood trickled down onto the white snow in a searing contrast. +Her body shivered as if in a death spasm, but her eyes were still +gleaming bright.

+

“Go,” she told them.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus28.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus28.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70e744f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus28.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,531 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

28

+

Old Mrs Williams saw the bike approach in the distance, just a +blur in the morning mist. She tottered along the road, moving as +quickly as she could, faster than she had moved in years. The +urgency drove her on. Her heart was speeding up, clamouring now in +twists of effort, each beat loud in her ears with the sound of the +sea on a stormy shore.

+

All she knew was the compulsion to protect the baby. Her stick +dropped form her gnarled hands and she got both arms around the +burden, hugged it tight, and bent her head forward.

+

A burning sensation ignited under her breastbone. Her breath +plumed out, fast, irregular pants and gasps. She hurried on, +ignoring the creak of ancient muscles and the painful twist in old +tendons that had not been used for so long. Under her ribs, her +heart was thudding away, each beat now a burst of heat. She could +not stop, though her body demanded that she slow down. All of her +was hot and then cold, ripples of alternating temperature bands +flowing down from head to foot.

+

A sweat broke out and dripped from her pores, and in her ears +she could hear the distressed triple-thud of her pulse.

+

On another five paces and she gasped for breath, hauling for +air, now almost doubled over. She took another two paces, reached a +hand to steady herself against the wall. Her whole body was +trembling with the enormous effort. The sky darkened, lightened, +darkened again. For an instant her vision failed her, then slowly +came back. The only sound she could hear was the wet and gurgling +pulse in her head.

+

She tried to walk on, to get to shelter, to see the baby +safe.

+

Inside her chest something broke with a terrible snap. Instantly +she spun to the left, against the wall, thrown by the force of it. +Her heart kicked once, very hard, a hammer-blow against her ribs, +and then vibrated like a tuning fork. Blinding pain twisted through +her and a blinding light burst all around her, fading away to tiny +sparkles of luminescence that jittered in front of her head. All +sensation faded and the old woman toppled to the ground, her heart +burst from the enormous effort of running with the child.

+
+

Utter desperation flared inside him.

+

It had happened too fast for his primitive reasoning to cope and +now he was in acute danger. The dogs had come at him and he had +needed to dispose of that threat and to do that he had turned his +mind away from the mother and she had betrayed him for a second +time. He had screeched in fear and alarm as they had tumbled from +the wall and the ground had come rushing up at him., he had tried +to get back into her head, to make her stop, and then she had spun +in the air, they both had twisted and had landed with a colossal +thump which for an instant had shocked his senses numb.

+

Move move move! This command had blared, a desperate +and urgent shriek They were coming for him. The mother had moved, +but he had sensed the numbness in her mind and the fear had looped +up again. Above, the sounds of pursuit were loud and confusing. +Here he was exposed and the mother would not move. He dug at her, +put his thoughts deep inside her, felt the broken places and the +hideous pain and he knew that she could not move, no matter how +much he pushed. He reached further, touched the other one, far +overhead. The heat of want hit him, even then, but he had no time. +She was too far away and there were others with her, others who +would kill him. He sensed the hate of the dogs and the little +sparking pulses of anger and fright from the tiny minds of the +crows and he knew that if the pursuers saw him they would hate him +even more and they would destroy him.

+

Frantic with fear, he turned, squirming in the confines of the +shawl.

+

And he touched another mind. Instinctively, and without +hesitation, he hooked it. He focused all of his attention on this +new one and grabbed wildly. He felt the connection, locked, and a +huge relief washed through him. The new one was coming, she would +take him away. Even then he sensed her barren emptiness, but that +was no concern,. Flight was the only thing he needed, flight and +protection. He would find the protection later, somewhere to feed. +She was reaching for him and the mother had spasmed, twisted and +tried to crush him...

+

...and then he was free, swooped up from the mother’s +grasp, into the air. He had pushed then, pushed hard and the old +one had reacted to protect him from harm. He felt the violence of +her blows, forcing her to move beyond her strength, an act that +started to drain her immediately. The mother fell back to the +ground and he pushed again, knowing he had to be away from +here.

+

She held him in weak arms and he sensed the ruination of her +body and he knew he had to find a mother, find one fast. This one +could not last long.

+

And then, to his utter, feral dismay, she started to falter. +Something inside her broke with a violent crack of vibration.

+

He screeched aloud, a thin, whistling, metallic sound that got +lost in the mist coming off the canal. In desperation he dug his +mind into her, reaching for something to command, touched the +damaged part and knew she was finished. The blood was pooling in +her abdomen, pouring out from her ruptured heart, even as she began +to slump.

+

His mind bawled in desperation while behind him, he knew the +killers were coming.

+

_____

+

Little Kirsty Cameron came down the road on her brother’s +bike which was too big for her and if he knew she’d taken it +out in the snow, she’d be in trouble, but he had been in bed +with a cold since Christmas Eve and that’s why she was out on +a winter’s morning, heading down to the baker’s shop +for bread while her mother attended to Kirsty’s younger +sisters. The girl had been one of the youngsters haring down the +slope of the hill on the day Ginny Marsden had left the station and +ponderously ascended the road up to old Mrs Cosgrove’s house. +On that day, something had snagged her attention and she had turned +her head, almost falling off the bike in the process. On this +winter day, at ten years old, she was just big enough to reach the +pedals as the bike trundled down the gentle slope, crunching the +snow beneath its treads. She reached the flat, brown pigtails +swinging, eyes down, trying to avoid the piles of slush, tongue +sticking out of the corner of her mouth in a grimace of +concentration. Ahead of her, through the thin veil of falling snow +she saw someone walking quickly, huddled close to the wall. She +braked, slowed, careful lest she hit a pedestrian. It was only when +she got to within twenty five yards that she recognised old Mrs +Williams.

+

Immediately she slowed further. The old lady didn’t have +her trolley, or her stick. She was carrying something in her arms +and walking in jerky, speedy steps. Kirsty stopped her bike. She +was a bright girl. Old Mrs Williams was never without her trolley +and her walking stick, and she always walked at a snail’s +pace, each step an effort on her ancient heart. Just as Kirsty +stopped, the old woman’s head arched upwards to face the sky. +She uttered a groan and spun sideways to hit against the wall. +Without hesitation the girl laid the bike on the ground and ran to +help.

+

The old lady hit against the wall. A terrible, futile little +moan came blurting out of her slack mouth and she crashed backwards +like a falling log. Her head hit the concrete with a sickening +crack. She did not even twitch.

+

“Are you all right?” Kirsty asked, suddenly scared. +She did not know what to think, or what to do, and she was +frightened in case the old woman was dead. She did not want to look +into a dead person’s eyes.

+

She got to within three paces of the body and stopped. The old +woman was lying with her head to the side. Her scarf had pulled +back from her freckled head where the scalp showed through the +thin, scant hair. A few snowflakes landed on her face, as they had +landed on Kate Park, and quickly melted. The woman’s mouth +was slackly open and her top row of false teeth had slipped out, +giving her a graceless, somehow imbecilic appearance.

+

On her chest, something moved.

+

Mother me

+

A voice whispered inside her head, not quite in words, but in a +context she understood.

+

“What?” the girl asked. She leaned forward, nerves +making her hands shake. She thought she should call an ambulance, +or at least get across to the baker’s shop and tell someone. +Old Mrs Williams stared at the sky through the open eye. The other +was closed in a ghastly, humourless wink. Kirsty knew she was dead, +but didn’t want to believe it.

+

“Are you all right?” she asked again.

+

Mother me! Mother me!

+

The pulse came stronger. The bundle was moving and for an +instant Kirsty thought it was a small dog wrapped up. Maybe Mrs +Williams’ great grandson was staying for the holidays and had +brought his pet spaniel. She bent down, suddenly curious, drawn to +the thing. She pulled back the coverlet.

+

A face stretched out from the cloth and she jerked back in +terror. Lizard eyes blinked then closed. Her heart thrummed in +shock. Her mouth opened and then the thing reached and took her. It +looked into her head and in that moment her vision crackled and +everything wavered. Just as abruptly, the world came back into +focus again and she saw the baby.

+

No No No, she told herself. It’s not a baby +it’s something else...

+

Despite her denial and the swelling fear, the girl lifted the +thing, grunting with the effort of hoisting its weight. It poked +into her head and she tried to shy away from it. It reached and +stabbed and dug and Kirsty tried to scream but found her mouth +would not work. It was a baby and it was a freak, both at the same +time.

+

It held her in mental manacles, trying to insinuate itself, but +she fought against it, her mind swinging between sudden need and +dreadful loathing.

+

No No NO

+

It’s glands pulsed, exploded weakly, denuded of their +potency by the effort of taking the old one. The scent surrounded +them but the wind blew it away.

+

Little Kirsty squawked. Twin pains flared under the skin on the +front of her chest and a different, more agonising tearing +sensation hooked in her belly. She swung away, still holding the +thing, part of her trying to clutch it tight, the other attempting +to throw it away. It pulsed again, giving its last and the girl +cried out in utter terror.

+

Little breasts budded and started to swell on her narrow, +childlike ribs. Flesh gathered, immature glands suddenly expanded, +dilated, sent hormones flooding her system. Pain twisted on her +skin as it ballooned, forced out by the preposterous growth. Down +between her skinny hips, her ovaries began to enlarge, draining +oestrogen and progesterone into a system that was not yet ready for +it. Instant and devastating puberty came crashing in on the little +girl. A dreadful flush of heat sizzled inside her. She cried out in +real pain and real fright.

+

Somebody called from down the street. The little girl staggered +and crashed against the railway wall. On her chest the thing glared +at her and tried to make her move. Kirsty stumbled forwards, unable +to cope with the sudden, urgent flood of chemicals in her veins. +Her heart was fluttering like a bird’s. The thing was poking +and prodding at her head, but she was too young for it. She was not +yet a woman and for that reason alone, it could not completely +dominate her.

+

The girl staggered on, trying to free her mind from it while +inside her the catastrophic physical reactions were beginning to +tear her apart. Without warning she spun and was instantly, very +violently sick.

+
+

David and Helen came hammering rood the corner under the bridge. +Behind them, on the main road that went through the centre of +Barloan Harbour, they could hear the wail of sirens. Over by the +wall, hardly more than a hundred yards away the old woman was lying +flat out. They reached her in seconds.

+

“What the hell?” David started to ask. The old woman +was clearly dead. Her hands were both arched up from the body, +fingers hooked at the air. Helen remembered the dead cat in Celia +Barker’s house before it had got up and danced.

+

“Where is it?” she blurted, getting to her feet. At +that moment, the old woman did not matter. She was out of this +fray, finished her long innings. There was nothing they could do +for her. A wide snowflake floated down and settled on the +bloodshot, blinkless eye where it melted and ran.

+

“There!” David bawled. He was already moving across +the road, to the patch of grass along the side of the canal. Just +beyond them, the vast arch of the road bridge loomed. On the grass, +moving in a crouching, staggering run, a little girl was ploughing +through the snow. Just beyond the old woman’s body, a +boy’s bike lay on its side on the pavement, its back wheel +still spinning slowly.

+

“Jesus,” Helen spat. “It’s got her. +She’s only a kid.”

+

The small frame, making heavy going, was clutching a bulky white +cloth which fluttered with the motion. David was halfway across the +road, feet splashing in the slush. Helen started to follow just as +two patrol cars came roaring round the corner. The leading driver +only saw a shape on the road, hit the brakes. He missed Helen by +three inches. Her heart leapt into her throat as the wind of the +car whooshed past her. The policeman had stamped hard and the car +spun round, pirouetting on the slick surface. Its off-side tyres +hit the pavement beside the woman’s body, burst +simultaneously with thunderous cracks. The car mounted the kerb, +completely flattened the bike and crumped itself against the wall. +The second car fared better. It managed to stop three inches form +the first. Its driver got out, hands shaking. By this time Helen +and David were running along by the edge of the canal. The three +police officers, two of them women, followed on after checking the +fourth, who was lucky to have got off with a bruised nose and a +staved little finger. He had however, pissed his pants and he did +not want to walk. Two of the other men who had been with them as +they trailed Kate Park through the trees came running out from +under the railway bridge.

+

The little girl was crying. She was screaming in a high-pitched, +pitiful way, but still she continued to stumble along on the grass. +It pushed and chivvied and she could feel the alien touch of its +mind on the surface of her own and there was nothing she could do +about it. Every time she tried to throw the thing away from her an +intense pain knifed into her head. Her chest was sore as the skin +stretched beyond its elasticity, swelling too quickly, tearing +under its surface. Her little nipples were points of fire and she +could not comprehend what was happening to her. Even if she had +been older, she might not have understood either, but little Kirsty +was only ten.

+

She tried to stop and it made her move and all the time she was +sure it would kill her the way it had killed old Mrs Williams. She +ran on, unable even to slow down, heading through the thick mist on +the canal side.

+

David reached her first, tried to get a hand to her collar. She +swerved and he almost fell headlong. Helen had kept up with him, an +enormous black apprehension beginning to build up in her, the +anticipation of catching the thing and a fear of getting close to +it. With that newfound sense she had felt its touch again when it +had reached out from down on the street after Kate Park had jumped +and after that she had felt the pulse of its mind as it grabbed the +old woman. There had been another flare, hot like the updraught +from a brush fire, and she knew that’s when it took the girl. +Each time, she had sensed it and it had sparked the loathing and +the other, dreadfully hot and frightening want deep within her.

+

Behind her footsteps clattered on the road then became muffled +thumps as the rest of the pursuit reached the snow of the grass. +David reached, missed. The girl swerved to the left, went through +an ornate clump of azaleas, diving between the thick bushes like a +small animal. David’s passage was thwarted. He and Helen went +to the left. The others went round the side closest to the +canal.

+

The girl shrieked and every one of the pursuers heard the +appalling fear in her cry. The two of them swung round just as a +policewoman held her hand up to stop the girl.

+

Everything happened at once. The child spun, tumbled as the +policewoman grabbed for her, and the officer’s momentum +carried her forward in a stumbling trip which sent her flat on her +face. One of the uniformed men came barging through the bushes, +cursing hoarsely. Kirsty Cameron got to her feet, moving fast +despite her burden. Helen got a glimpse of greyish pink, just the +curve of a head under the cover of the shawl. A slither of thought +reached out, touched her and she rocked back under the force of it. +A powerful sensation twisted deep in her pelvis.

+

“Don’t get close,” David bawled, suddenly +aware of the reach of the thing. He had felt the sear of energy +radiate outwards and had not known what it was. But this close, he +could feel the mind-burn like a singe on the edge of his +consciousness and the power of it both amazed and aappaalled him, In +that instant he realised how this thing snared the mothers. The +policewoman either ignored him or did not hear his blurted warning. +She reached again and without warning, the girl ran onto the ice on +the surface of the canal. David grabbed at her, got a finger to her +collar, almost caught her, and then they both plunged through the +thin covering and down into the freezing water. The thing in her +arms was tumbled away onto the ice. It spun on the surface. A +small, thin arm reached out and something screeched with the sound +of cracking glass.

+

The girl went right under. Her scream was cut off instantly. +David was right behind her and the shards of ice slashed at him as +he went through. Instant cold froze him to the marrow. He gulped, +took in a throatful of slimy water, coughed. The water was black +down there. He reached out, turning as he did so. His feet were +down in the mud and he couldn’t free them. Panic flared at +the thought of being trapped down here under the ice. He’d +never get out. That thought galvanised him. He spun quickly and his +feet came free. In front of him a pale shape floated. He reached +for it, inadvertently stuck his little finger up the girl’s +nose. She bucked, he caught her, grabbed, lifted her above him. Her +head broke the surface and she hauled in a desperate gasp of +air.

+

Helen saw the thing spin away on the ice, travelling five yards +to settle close to the bank where a stand of reeds stood up from +the surface. Without a thought she went after it. It screeched +soundlessly and a note of singing pain lanced between her temples. +She leapt off the bank and crashed through the reed bank, up to her +thighs in mud and decaying stalks. She got a hand to the shawl, +dragged it towards her, pulling herself back as she did so. She +lifted the bundle, feeling its weight, the powerful squirming of +the thing inside. She turned it round in her hands.

+

A red eye opened and speared her.

+

“Oh my god,” she managed to blurt.

+

And then it reached and took her. A force reached right inside +her, touched her depths, and she was lost. Her mouth opened, stayed +that way. It touched again, suddenly strong.

+

Move move move it demanded. The command speared into +her and she reached out to it and it had her. A pulse of pure +energy flooded her mind and she recognised the alien scrape of +mindless hunger yet she was completely powerless to fight it. The +sky went black. The thing closed its eye and locked itself into +her. Helen stumbled back under the force of its command. One of the +men reached for her and she batted his hand away, pushing herself +out from the bank into deeper water. It came up to her waist.

+

“What the hell?” the man blurted, but Helen did not +hear him. Behind the man, a policewoman burst into sudden, braying +hysterics as she picked up some of the pulses blasted out from its +panicked mind. In the water, Helen reached for a floating branch +and held it up.

+

David got the girl to the bank, literally shoved her up onto the +firm ground. He hauled himself out, gulping for air, gasping with +effort. The other policeman was down at the girl who was crying and +spluttering hysterically. David got to his knees, staggered +breathlessly to his feet, heard a commotion in the water and saw +Helen wade out backwards. In her arms a grey thing was squirming +away from the light.

+

“What in the name of fuck is that?” the policeman +bawled and David could hear the bewildered loathing in his voice. +The shape of the thing rippled and wavered, its lines undefined. It +could have been anything.

+

But there was a mad look in Helen’s eyes. His heart +flipped over and a sudden fear shook him. She brandished the thick +piece of wood, warding the others off. Her eyes were wide and +flashing and her teeth were clenched and she looked like an animal, +like a ferocious panther protecting her cubs. In that awful +instant, he knew it had her. Whatever it did, however it achieved +it, it had reached out and taken her.

+

What kind of baby steals a mother?

+

Now he knew. This ugly, wavering thing had stolen a new +mother.

+

He did not hesitate for a second. That sudden desperation drive +him on. He ran along the bank, past the floundering policeman and +leapt right in again, pushing through the thin layer of ice beside +the reed-bed. She saw him coming and swung the heavy branch in a +vicious swipe, catching him hard on the ribs. Pain exploded as +something inside cracked, but not as much as it would have done had +his whole body not been already numbed by the freezing canal water. +His momentum carried him forwards, carried him onwards. He landed +with a terrific crack and a huge splash. His full weight hit Helen +and drove her under.

+

She saw him coming and only saw threat. The other man was +pulling away out of range of her swipe and then she had seen the +shadow in the corner of her eye and she had snarled, knowing this +was an attack. Her lips drew back over clenched teeth and she spat +in animal fury.

+

He had leapt and she had struck him and then his weight had +cannoned into her and she had screamed. Water went down her throat +and an appalling anger erupted inside her. She reached for him, +trying to scratch at his face and his eyes, trying to claw and rend +to protect her burden.

+

The water blinded her. She held the baby tight against herself +and shoved at the attacker.

+

David reared back and slapped her so hard her head whipped +sideways. With his other hand he grabbed at the thing she clutched. +It was shrieking, a strange high and alien quiver of sound, as if +the very air was being torn apart. He reached for it and she turned +and clawed at his face, hissing like a cat. Her nails ripped on his +eyelid and raked down his cheek. Blood poured into his eye, +blinding him on one side.

+

The thing screamed again, a mental blast of energy that felt +like nails on glass, yet sounded as if it scraped right in the very +centre of his brain.

+

Anger exploded. Bright hot feral rage erupted inside him, +completely uncontrollable. The thing’s mindblast had touched +that male part of him and catapulted him right into absolute and +savage frenzy. All he wanted to do was destroy this. The automatic +response to the parasite was to kill it, break it and tear it and +rend it. He reached to drag it from her.

+

Helen screamed, the sound of a pig in a slaughterhouse. She +lunged at him, mouth wide and all her teeth showing. In that +instant she looked more animal than human. The thing in her arms +was just a blur, its shape rippling and shifting as if it had no +definition. David tried to hit it. She pulled back and he went +flying into the water. Some of it went down his throat and he came +up spluttering.

+

One of the policemen ventured a foot into the reeds, appalled by +the sudden and incomprehensible violence, unable to understand it. +Just then, the other policewoman began to scream and he turned, +just in tome to see her launch herself at him, both hands hooked +into claws.

+

“Hold mother...” he managed, before her weight +slammed into him and threw him into a dense thicket of scrub +willow. The woman came tumbling after him, trying to hook his eyes +out, driven by the thing’s foul appeal for protection.

+

On the bank, young Kirsty Cameron’s body arched backwards +with such violence the ligaments actually creaked like old wood, +and every muscle in her body shivered as if a powerful electric +shock had surged through her.

+

In the water, David got to his feet, lunged again for Helen and +the thing in her arms, She saw him coming, screamed wordlessly at +him, desperately trying to reach the bank and be away. He dived +full length, got a hand to her jacket, pulled her back violently. +She slipped, fell, he reached and snatched at the thing, jerked as +hard as he could, and it came tumbling out of her arms.

+

Helen screamed and then the dreadful contact of its touch +snapped she went spinning backwards, along the side of the bank, +out of the reeds and into deep water. A hand came reaching for her +and hauled her back up again and she gulped, coughing slimy liquid +which ran down from each nostril. The baby was calling for her, +sending out its shivery demand and she tried desperately to +respond, but David shoved her away. She was crying and shrieking at +the top of her voice, in between coughing splutters. Another hand +reached down, strong and steady and lifted her straight out of the +water. David went spinning away out of view with the small thing in +his hands.

+
+

He was dragged down in the water.

+

The mother was screaming for him as she was pulled away and +there was nothing he could do. The man had hit him, almost hard +enough to break his neck, and a dreadful realisation had burst on +him. He had been caught and there was no mother and the one he +wanted was gone.

+

Under the water, his glassy eyes opened and he tried to squirm +away. It was no use, he was caught in the fronds of cloth and he +could not move. His glands opened wide and they filled with water, +drenching him in cold. He pushed at the man’s mind but could +get no response. He could sense hate and loathing and beneath it, +an awful anger. Underneath the anger there was a sea of fear that +mirrored his own. It was the primitive and mindless fear of the +alien.

+

Down they went down into the dark of the mud. He pushed and +squirmed, but the weight kept him down.

+
+

It had tried to take her and it had almost won. David knew that +as he pushed down under the ice. The creature was in his arms, +twisting and turning, all arms and legs and bones, a scrawny yet +powerful thing. He could feel its shape through the cloth and knew +it had no right to exist. It was a spidery, reptilian gargoyle of a +thing. It was a parasite.

+

The sizzling anger still suffused him, a desperate, mindless +lust to kill. It was such a primitive need that it by-passed all +his other conditioning, everything he had learned. It was simply a +basic drive.

+

The thing pulsed at him, sharp shards of thought, glassy blades +of mental energy that stabbed in is head, searing the back of his +eyes, making the nerves in his teeth jump and tingle, sending +corkscrews of hurt into his bones. But he could not help himself, +he had to kill it. The pain was somewhere inside him, but the anger +flooded the hurt and smothered it.

+

Take me take me take me. The creature’s wordless +command blasted out. He felt it reach and touch, on the inside of +his skull, and it felt like some rotting poison, some dreadful +infection trying to find a way in. He shuddered, drawing away from +it. It sensed retreat, pulsed harder.

+

The awesome anger surged up inside him, he shook his head, +unable to control himself. In that instant he was locked with the +creature. Nothing else existed except he and it and the need to +destroy it. He twisted his body and forced himself downwards, right +under the surface at the far end of the reed bed where the water +swooped to its canal depth. It was freezing cold, but he did not +care, did not even feel it. For the past eleven days he had +followed its trail of feeding, its trail of destruction and he knew +that this was beyond any natural law, or any law of man. This was +beyond any nature he had ever heard of. It had almost taken Helen +Lamont and that would have been enough for David if any form of +rational thought could break through the ramparts of his monumental +anger.

+

He went down to the bottom of the canal and pushed the thing +right into the mud, forcing it down into the ooze and kicked his +feet hard to force it further, shoving hard, shoving with all the +strength of his body. He kept it there, down under the silt until +it stopped moving.

+

The mind scream went on and on, but it was weakening all the +time. He pushed, up to his shoulders in mud down in the dark, until +the shivering stopped and the mental pulses died away. Whatever +life was in this thing guttered and failed. David stayed there +until everything began to fade away and just before the cold came +and took him, a wonderful surge of triumph swept through him at the +knowledge that he had beaten this thing. His last sensation was one +of dim regret that he would not see Helen again, for in his fading +consciousness he realised that indeed, she was the one for him.

+

He knew that she had been worth dying for.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus29.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus29.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6310ab0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus29.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,243 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

29

+

His dreams were beset by visions.

+

In the deep dark the images came looming up close and he saw +again the baby cuckoo hunched within the nest. Behind the +translucent lids he could make out the red of the eyeball twisting +and turning, trying to see. It struggled with the egg, getting +underneath it, bracing its legs against the sides and the egg +cracked open and a thin, warted thing came uncoiling to get its +sucker mouth onto the bird. Even in the dream he knew this was +wrong and he tried to turn away from it, but the creature held him +as it held the fledgling and he saw it was no longer a cuckoo, but +a child in a cot and the warted thing was hunched over it, its +circular lamprey mouth straining to suck at its helpless eyes.

+

He reeled back in disgust and horror, knowing he had seen this +before, twisting away and he fell into the water, sinking down and +down into the thick mud. Under his feet something stirred and he +knew it was a sucker-fish, a lamprey with its great flat mouth and +its circle of teeth and he tried to swim away, but it twisted and +changed and he saw it was no fish. The black bulk of a dragonfly +larva scuttled up, its hinged and alien jaw snapping at him, +armoured with deadly spines. He climbed, in desperate fear, +climbing for his life and it scuttled after him while above him the +crows were falling from the tees, cawing madly. Below, the black +nightmare scuttled after him and he climbed further, trying to get +away. He risked a look back and saw it stop.

+

It arched outwards and the skin of its back split down the +middle. Two red eyes came poking through, forcing the torn edges of +the skin apart. Out of the shell, metamorphosing in the dying light +of day, Helen Lamont clambered, but her eyes were now wide and red +and her skin was sagging and her breasts were huge. Dark clotted +blood dripped between her legs.

+

“It got me,” she mouthed at him, “It gave me +the sickness and now it’s inside me.”

+

He reeled back, lost his grip and fell away while she looked +down on him and he knew he had failed. A heavy weight of loss and +regret came rolling over him and he fell and fell and fell +and...

+

He woke.

+

His hollow cry of panic and despair echoed round the room. +Bright lights stabbed his eyes and he flinched from the glare. Pain +drilled into his side and thudded in the back of his head and he +felt reality slip away from him again.

+

A cool, soft hand slid over his forehead.

+

“You’ve come back to us then?” He risked +opening his eyes again and the light was less painful. A pretty +nurse was smiling at him in welcome and for a moment he was +completely bewildered. He almost asked where he was, then realised +he must be in a hospital. He drew in a breath, felt it rasp in his +throat and he coughed reflexively. Immediately he regretted that. +His throat burned like acid.

+

“Drink,” he managed to rasp.

+

“Yes, you’ll be a bit sore for the while,” she +said in a lilting Dublin accent and she sounded like an angel from +heaven to David Harper. “There was a lot of dirt in your +lungs and you’ve had enough antibiotics to stop a +horse.”

+

“How long?” he tried, and it came out a whisper.

+

“Only a day and a half,” she told him. “Doctor +thinks the cold water saved you. It slows the metabolism, you +see.” She took his temperature, gentle with the thermometer. +“You’ve two broken ribs and a nasty cut on your +arm.”

+

He didn’t remember the cut. The nurse checked the +thermometer, failed to react and he knew he would live to fight +another day. His head pounded, deep dull thuds in time to the beat +of his heart and every breath brought a stab of discomfort. He +managed to convey his pain to the nurse and she gave him a tablet. +Swallowing was an ordeal, but finally it got past the rasped +rawness of his throat. A few minutes later it started to work and +the hurt fuzzed at the edges then started to dissipate.

+

Two hours after that, he woke up again, not realising he had +slept. The nurse brought him a drink, eased him up on the pillow, +told him he had visitors and opened the door. He expected Helen +Lamont, but, disappointingly it was his boss, Donal Bulloch along +with Bert Millar from the Western Division. Their bulk and height +cut out a lot of the light which was a blessing. His head still +ached.

+

The two senior men sat down and looked him over.

+

“You’ll live then,” the Chief Superintendent +half-asked. “Bad time of the year to be swimming.”

+

“Is she all right?” he asked.

+

“Which one of many?” Bulloch asked. “I suppose +you mean WPC Lamont. She’ll live as well. A bit of hysterics +and a bit of a chill, nothing much. She’s tough. The +farmer’s wife, she’s still alive, but for how long, +nobody knows. Another tough one. She’s beat all the odds so +far.”

+

“Did you find it?”

+

Both men looked at each other, then back at him.

+

“When you say “it”, what are we talking +about?” The chief asked.

+

“The thing. The baby.”

+

“We’ve had two teams of divers down the whole +stretch,” Bert Millar said, “and the place has been +dragged. We got four dead dogs and two large pike and an expensive +artificial leg that hasn’t been explained. Nothing +else.” He leaned closer to the bed. “Did you get a look +at this baby?”

+

David shook his head. “Just a glimpse. It was no baby. I +couldn’t say what the hell it was.”

+

“That’s our problem,” Donal Bulloch +interjected. “There’s a lot of media interest in this. +I’ve spoken to Phil Cutcheon, after Mr Millar here briefed me +on what you told him. Now, I have to tell you that I have no +interest in any of old Cutcheon’s theories, not officially +and not personally. We’re all policemen here and we all want +to stay policemen and enjoy our pensions. Wild speculation does +nobody any good. Officially, for the record, we were acting on +information on a missing girl and happened to be in the vicinity +when a child fell into the canal and was rescued by a passing +policeman. All true. We might even find a medal for the gallant +lad. As far as the Park killings are concerned, we are looking for +a shotgun raider, and we will go on looking for one. As far as you +are concerned, you were never at Middle Loan farm and there was +never any baby there.”

+

He leaned over and looked David straight in the eye. +“You’ll understand what I’m saying?”

+

David nodded. He was tired and his head and ribs ached. He +caught the drift. Donal Bulloch and Bert Millar had talked it over +and they had done a deal. That was fair enough with him. It was +dead and that’s all that mattered. It was down there, below +the mud and it would rot there. Bulloch his boss had obviously +spoken to everyone concerned and all of their stories would be +matching by now. The boss did not want to see what was down there. +He was a policeman. He upheld the law. He saw no devils except in +the hearts of men. He was lucky.

+

“Suits me,” he said, and worked up a smile. +“That’s exactly how I remember it.”

+

Bulloch nodded and left the room. Millar stayed for a moment. +“I spoke to old Phil. Whatever the hell’s going on, +you’ve got balls. You and the girl did a good job. You want +to work for me anytime, you just ask.” He stood up, put on +his straight look which drew his brown down so that his eyes were +almost hidden. “But no more ghosts and ghoulies, okay? +That’s enough for one career. Remember what your Chief says. +You know it makes sense.”

+

It was the following morning when Helen finally came in, bearing +a huge basket of fruit. She leaned over and kissed him hard, +accidentally pressed down on his cracked rib and then jerked back +when he groaned in dismay. The nurse looked in, smiled, went back +out again.

+

“Is it dead?” she asked as soon as they were +alone.

+

“Last thing I felt it was at least a yard under the mud. +Must be pretty deep if the divers haven’t found it, though I +don’t know how hard they were told to look. It stooped +struggling before I did, and I was down there for a long +time.”

+

“I know that. Everybody stood around and that stupid +constable just sat on her backside crying. The poor little girl was +in better shape than her.”

+

Helen told him that it had been Jimmy Mulgrew, the young +policeman who’d been sick up at the farm who had jumped in to +the canal, diving down fully clothed and had finally, after two +unsuccessful attempts, found David’s foot and dragged him up +to the surface.

+

“He got you out and got most of the crap out of your +lungs, so you owe him,” she said. “And I owe you too. I +can’t remember anything of what happened after we got to the +canal. It’s all a blank.”

+

“You broke my ribs, you silly cow,” he said. She sat +back, taken by surprise, but then he laughed, though the laughter +cost him plenty. “But I’ll heal.”

+

Kate Park was alive. She was in intensive care in St +Enoch’s Hospital where a succession of specialists queued up +for the chance to examine her. She was alive, but in the depths of +her coma, barely just. Her hold on life was so tenuous it barely +existed. It was a miracle that she had any hold on life at all. +According to the x-rays and the cat-scans, the damage to her system +was phenomenal. It was indeed a wonder that she was still +breathing, that her heart could still beat. Apart from the multiple +fractures of her hips and chin, the deterioration in her skeletal +structure and musculature showed she lad lost almost thirty percent +of her bone calcium and all of her body fats. Dr Hardingwell and +senior bacteriologists and virologists speculated on a new super +organism which could cause such catastrophic damage. Kate +Park’s body contained more samples of the large, +proto-genetic compounds that had been discovered in Heather +McDougall and in Ginny Marsden. It was studied at length by many +eminent men, but no two of them drew the same conclusion. Some said +it resembled a kind of virus. Others claimed it was a complex +protein complex that could trigger responses on the cellular level. +Most agreed that its components were amino acids, the very basic +building blocks of life. That was where agreement ended. It +remained and still remains a mystery.

+

Teams of people worked round the clock trying to keep Kate Park +alive and to rebuild the lost elements of her wizened body. +Occasionally she would twitch, as if coming awake, but then she +would go still. Nobody knew what monsters scuttled in her dreams. +Her husband and her baby girl were buried in the same grave in the +family plot in the churchyard at Bowling Harbour. Most of the town +turned out for the funeral on a cold winter’s morning. The +priest at St Fillans prayed for the repose of their immortal souls. +For Kate Park’s soul, as yet, there was no repose.

+

Little Kirsty Cameron spent a week in hospital and was then +transferred to a psychiatric ward where she underwent intensive +therapy for a hysterical fugue state. The girl’s little +breasts were black with bruises and medical examination showed +severe damage to the subcutaneous tissue caused by sudden violent +expansion and stretching. Blood tests showed that she had gone into +a rare, instant puberty. Her ovaries were fully developed and were +now producing vast quantities of adult female hormones. She was +also almost catatonic, staring into space, mouth slack, and +shivering just a little.

+

She responded to no stimuli, or hardly any. It was only whenever +she heard a baby cry that she would react, going into such fits of +hysteria that she had to be subdued with thorazine. She would +remain in the psychiatric ward for some time.

+

David Harper got out of hospital in three more days, during +which time Helen visited him every day, and, awkwardly for them +both, so did June, fussing at his bedsheets and plying him with +outspoken concern at his treatment and fruit for his speedy +recovery. Eventually both of them accepted her attentions, though +she was brusquely and sullenly hostile towards Helen. He drew the +line when she turned up on his doorstep, and she stormed off in an +angry flood of tears. It was to be a further four weeks before he +was allowed back to active duty. Donal Bulloch welcomed him back to +the squad, shaking his hand gravely and thanking him for his +efforts in tracing the dead woman.

+

Between them, David and Helen completed the report that an old +policeman had started before they were born, but they never showed +it to anyone else.

+

They closed the chapter.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus30.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus30.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a25c156 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus30.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,579 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

30

+

“Did you hear something?” Jasmine Cook raised her +head up from the pages on the table. “I thought I heard a +noise.”

+

“It’s probably a coot, or a mallard duck,” +Flora Spiers told her. “Spring is about to be sprung on us, +and a young waterfowl’s fancy turns to whatever it is +waterbirds do at this time of the year.” She was chubby and +had thick, short, grey hair and shrewd, jolly eyes. She was beyond +the door in the galley, over by the stove, stirring a mixture of +Chinese vegetables in an old, blackened wok. In the low, narrow +room Jasmine could smell the aroma of garlic and soy sauce and +crisping beansprouts.

+

Jasmine scratched out two words she had written and replaced +them with ones she considered more apposite, reached the end of her +paragraph and then sat back, pushing her glasses up on top of her +head. At the age of fifty, she had well-cut dark hair which was +still natural and framed a youthful face. She was slimmer than +Flora, a few pounds lighter, and when she smiled, her teeth were +perfect and even. She collected the pages which were scattered over +the low table, shuffled them together and put them into her +case.

+

“That’s the last chapter but one,” she +announced with a satisfied smile, raising herself from the seat to +stack the case on a shelf, before coming through the narrow +passage.

+

“Well done you,” Flora said. She turned round and +kissed Jasmine on the lips. “It’s been a long +time.”

+

“But worth it. The final chapter’s a real climax. +The perfect end.” She put her arm around Flora’s +shoulders and hugged her, letting her hips slide close. “And +thanks for the support. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d +still be floundering.” She leaned to the side and rubbed her +head against Flora’s, feeling the rustle of greying hair +against her own, then hugged her again and kissed her temple.

+

“I think spring is springing,” Flora said. +“The magpies are out in force on the willow. I got a shot of +them this morning when the mist was thick. The sun was coming +through the branches and everything was fuzzy and monochromed, +except for the velvet of their wings and tails. I got another shot +of two whooper swans taking off towards us, coming right along the +canal. If my exposure was right, it’ll make a magnificent +illustration.”

+

“Your exposure is always right,” Jasmine said, +almost bawdily. She slid her hand down Flora’s back, feeling +the warmth come through the blouse. Flora moved back, just a +fraction, to press herself against the touch, almost like a +satisfied cat.

+

The noise came again. A small whimper of sound.

+

“Did you hear that?” Jasmine asked.

+

“Hear what?” Flora said. Despite the close contact, +she was still gently stirring the vegetables on the heat. The oil +sizzled.

+

“I heard a noise.”

+

“The canal’s full of noise, if you listen. +There’s ducks and moorhens and all the finches in the bushes. +If you sit quietly enough you can hear the voles in the +reeds.”

+

“No,” Jasmine stopped her. “I thought I heard +someone crying.”

+

“That’s your imagination. That’s what makes +you the writer.” Flora gave a little jolly laugh. “I +wish I had had that talent. I can only work with what I see.” +She leaned back and with her free hand, she drew her fingers very +gently down Jasmine’s cheek. The touch was smooth as silk and +for an instant she felt the wonderful surge of desire and a deep +swell of love. “Which reminds me,” she said, forcing +her mind down from a such springtime heights. “If it’s +still calm tomorrow, we’ll have another morning mist, and I +can take your picture for the book jacket. We can get something +really atmospheric, something with impact that people will +remember.”

+

“And a fog to hide the lines,” Jasmine said.

+

“You don’t need that, love. Not ever.”

+

Jasmine smiled. “I wish we had more time here,” she +said. “It’s so peaceful and private. It’s like +being in a world of our own, just you and me, and the mist to keep +the rest of it at bay. I just don’t want to go +back.”

+

Flora was about to respond when the thin, shivery little cry +came again. “There,” Jasmine said. “I told you I +heard something.” She pulled away slowly, turning to listen. +The sound shivered again.

+

“Is it a rabbit in a snare?” she asked. Flora +frowned and listened too.

+

Very weak, very faint, the wavering whimper broke the silence of +their held-in breathing. Jasmine felt it resonate inside her head +and a strange, unexpected sense of sudden loss went through +her.

+

“It sounds like a child,” she said, pulling further +away, moving towards the galley doorway. Flora’s hand +followed the motion, trailing down between her shoulders, almost in +an attempt to hold her back. The touch altered the cringing feeling +that was somehow squeezing on Jasmine’s skin.

+

“Don’t go out,” Flora started to say, but then +the cry came stronger in the night. It ended in a small, choking +sob. Flora could not help but take a step forward. In her ears +there was a ringing sound, very high, almost sizzling, the way it +was when her sinus pressure was bad in the winter. The pressure +spread along her temples. Jasmine was moving through the narrow +hatchway.

+

The door slid open and a cool swirl of damp evening air came +tumbling down into the warmth of the narrowboat. Far off, on the +estuary, oystercatchers cried to each other, like lost souls, +drowned spirits on the watery mudflats. An owl moaned in the stand +of chestnut trees on the north side of the canal.

+

A child sobbed. It was a wordless cry, but eloquent of loss and +need and helplessness. Flora felt her heart kick and then quicken. +Jasmine felt a terrible pang of melancholy sorrow, and over that, +she experienced a fierce twist of inexplicable hunger.

+

She stepped up onto the deck, feeling the mist catch in the back +of her throat. It twirled in pallid tendrils here, not freezing, +but still cold in early spring air. It curled around the deckhouse +and oozed inside, a questing miasma that seemed to have volition +and direction. Flora shivered.

+

“Can you see anything?” she asked, still aware of +the fuzzy pressure in her temples. Jasmine had stopped, head cocked +to the side. There was no wind. Further down the stretch of the +canal, on the flat and shimmerless water, the moonlight reflected a +perfect sphere that limned the trailing willows. In beside a bank +of tumbling ivy, a vole squeaked and then took to the water, +sending out concentric circles of jewelled light which faded out +slowly as they reached the far side and merged with the floating +weed. This part of the canal was wider, a place where two barges +could pass each other with still enough space for a third to be +moored. A stand of reeds edged out into the water, tall and +greening now after the winter slump. Something rustled in the +depths, though there was no wind. It could have been a duck heading +for shelter, or a wild mink hunting.

+

The soft whimper shivered the reeds, made them rustle. +Jasmine’s head swung round. Flora saw her breath billow a +hazy plume.

+

“Who’s there?” Jasmine asked. The moonlight +caught her hair and turned its shine to a glint of blue steel.

+

A small shape came slowly out from the reeds. At first, before +it had moved, Flora could have sworn there had been nothing there. +She had looked when she’d heard the rustling sound, looked +with her trained eyes that could spot an adder sunbathing on autumn +leaves, or a lacewing on a green stem. The moonlight had reflected +from the black water between the new-grown stalks and there had +been no shape here.

+

But now there was a small child.

+

His face was in shadow, but she got a glimpse, maybe just an +impression of a haunted look, like the melancholy face in the moon. +He was thin and pallid, at first as insubstantial as the mist. He +moved, holding a thin, starved arm out to them, a waif in +supplication He took a step forward, yet when he moved there was no +sound of his passage through the bed of reeds.

+

“He’s making no sound,” Flora said +distractedly. “Isn’t that strange?”

+

“Oh, Flora, it’s a child,” Jasmine said, +cutting across her thoughts. “The poor thing.” She +stepped out along the planking to where the edge of the hull rubbed +gently alongside the edge of the canal, pressing against the old +tyre buffer. Flora followed, suddenly almost supernaturally aware +of the night, the blare of the moon. It was as if every sense had +been powered up to new levels of reception. She could feel the +water-mist scrape against the skin of her neck and cheek. Way down +on the estuary, far beyond where the canal emptied out into the +tidal basin, she heard the mewling of dunlin and the piping of +redshank. Somewhere in the willow, an early cranefly rustled its +wings and then fell silent. Flora got to the edge of the barge as +Jasmine stepped off and down to the turf that lined the bank. She +was turned away, walking quickly towards the stand of water +reeds.

+

The small boy was ankle deep in water. The moonlight limned the +gaunt outlines of his thin frame, giving him a silver-blue aura +which seemed more solid, more substantial than the rest of him. His +arms were held out towards her, his body bent. He took one silent +step, the kind of step a heron might take, putting his foot back +into the water so delicately, so deliberately that there was hardly +a ripple.

+

Help me please.

+

Jasmine heard no sound, but whatever she did hear, her own bran +translated it into a language she could understand. Every cell of +her body responded.

+

Help me help me help me.

+

Behind her, Flora too felt the irresistible tug. The child stood +with the scart water up above his ankles, naked and slender, with +great moonshadow eyes and delicate, fragile limbs. His whole +posture begged or help. It sang out from him. He whimpered and in +both women, the most basic instincts of all switched themselves on +and waxed strong.

+

“Poor little tyke,” Flora heard Jasmine say. +Poor little tyke. The words had been on her own lips. +Jasmine was bending. The little figure reached for her, stretching +its thin hands upwards.

+

In that bare instant, Flora felt a shudder of fear. It rippled +through her in an inexplicable rush of dire threat. She opened her +mouth, suddenly wanting to urge Jasmine away from the gaunt little +child. Jasmine was bending and the boy was reaching towards her. +The slender arms seemed to lengthen. The moonlight wavered on the +skin as if the child’s surface was twisting and melting. The +little round head inclined.

+

Jasmine put one foot in the water, crushing the reed stems and +splashing down. On the other bank, maybe a hundred yards from the +barge, a duck took off in a whirr and crackle of alarm. Down in the +water, unseen by anyone, a whole swarm of tadpoles, so numerous +they turned the water black in the light of day, stiffened, +convulsed and sank to the bottom to form a sludge of slime. A large +pike cruising in the dark of the willow roots suddenly rocketed out +from its shelter and went rippling down the waterway two feet below +the surface, moving at such panicked speed it sent up a powerful +bow-wave and did not stop until it reached the lock a quarter of a +mile distant.

+

Don’t touch it, stay away!

+

Flora almost blurted the words but they stayed unsaid in her +mouth. The little round, pale head turned towards her and dark eyes +fixed on hers. She tried to look away, tried to step off the barge +and onto the bank. The eyes turned and locked into her. Something +stroked inside her mind and the alarm deflated as quickly as it had +swelled.

+

“Oh, Flora, he must be frozen stiff,” Jasmine +crooned. She reached and touched and lifted the child into her +arms, straightening up and turning, the way a mother will do when +her child has fallen. She spun round to take it away from danger, +from cold, from the night, smothered the boy in her arms and then +turned towards Flora.

+

“He’s shivering,” she said. “He most be +frozen to the bone. I can feel it going right through +me.”

+

“What’s he doing here?” Flora started to ask, +but Jasmine cut across her again. “Quick, get the kettle on. +He’ll need a warm drink. He’s like ice.”

+

Jasmine opened her baggy cardigan, clutched the small boy close +against her, jamming the infant against the swell of her breast and +then wrapped the cardigan closed. She could feel the awful damp +cold ooze from him into her. It was as if he was sucking the heat +out of her and it felt as if she was being drained. In a few short +steps she was back on deck. Flora had done as she was told and was +already stooping to get down into the cabin. Jasmine followed +quickly, shivering now with the cold of the contact. The small +frame twisted and wriggled against her, seeking comfort. Her heart +swelled with the sudden need to protect the little boy.

+

“How did he get here?” Flora was asking. +“Should we call an ambulance?”

+

The boy whimpered. He looked about three, or maybe four. The dim +oil lamp threw more shadows than it cast proper light, but even +then he twisted away from its glow.

+

“It’s hurting his eyes,” Jasmine told her. +“Turn it down. We can use the light from the galley.” +Again Flora obeyed.

+

“He just needs to get warm. He’s obviously +lost.” Jasmine brought her other hand up to clench the +shivering little frame against her. There was a tickle inside her +head, a little fruity hum, almost like the sound of a fly trapped +in a bottle. It touched here, it stroked there. She felt nothing +except the growing, swelling need to protect the child.

+

“What’s that smell?” Flora asked.

+

“What smell?”

+

Flora sniffed. She closed her eyes and sniffed again, then very +slowly, she shook her head. “I thought I smelled something, +but it’s gone now.” She raised her own hand and used +the back of her wrist to rub away an itch of tenderness just under +the skin of her breast, mirroring almost exactly the same motion in +Jasmine. She turned and went into the kitchen, put on the kettle, +and came back. Jasmine was sitting back on the corner seat, +clutching the little fellow tightly. The child was lost in her +shadows. In the dim light, Flora could see the contented smile +slowly spread on her face.

+

“Come sit with us,” she told Flora. “We can +heat him up together.”

+

Flora slowly crossed the narrow room from the galley door and +squeezed in at the corner. There as a smell here, the scent of a +small child. She recognise it now. As the little boy warmed up, she +could smell warm milk and washed skin. It reminded her of her own +sunny childhood when her mother would soap her in the bath. She +drifted off in the wave of reminiscences, overtaken by a sense of +need and warmth, of gathering fulfilment.

+

Some time later, when the moon was high, they went to bed, not +daring to allow much distance between them, or between themselves +and the child. They had discussed nothing at all since they had +come back on board with the little tyke who had whimpered from the +water. In the narrow bed on the narrow boat, they huddled close for +the warmth that they needed, pressing their naked skin together +while between them, smothered and protected in hot mounds of flesh, +the boy was safe from all harm.

+

In the night, they dreamed hot visions of touching and probing +and slick wet contact.

+
+

Helen Lamont woke up in the night, gasping for breath. Her eyes +were wide and staring into the dark of the room and a cold sweat +sheened her skin.

+

Oh God. Her chest heaved and hitched and the back of +her throat was dry and the intense feeling of overwhelming +catastrophe rocked her whole body.

+

She had been dreaming and then the dream had broken and she had +snapped instantly awake, all her nerves taut and bristling. A shaft +of moonlight speared between the curtains, making her damp skin +gleam blue. The fear rippled within her, a nameless thing, a +shadowed, stalking beast in the night.

+

In the depths of her sleep, something had reached outwards with +a foul touch of rot. The wary sentry inside her own mind, the +fey ability to sense danger had felt its approach and had +slammed her from sleep.

+

Sudden, unbidden tears glistened and spilled, making her vision +waver. She reached in the dark for comfort and safety and +protection. Somewhere inside herself realised that there was none +to be had.

+
+

He had come to awareness slowly.

+

It was almost as if he had never existed before the moment in +time when sensation came back to him and for a moment all his +receptors went into a spasm of sensory overload. He awoke with a +start, though in fact, this wakening had been a long time coming, a +slow rise from a great depths that had taken forever and then when +it had come, it arrived with such a violence that he was wrenched +out of his dead slumber.

+

Panic blazed and his first instinct was to turn away from this, +to scrabble back to the dark and stay there until all was still and +all danger had passed.

+

Yet he could not deny this now. He was different. From what, he +did not know, but the difference, the change was in him, complete +and absolute. He stopped, feeling the depth of the cold inside him, +yet knowing it was warmer than before. Down here in the soft cold, +small things wriggled against his outer skin, tiny things clambered +on many legs. He reached out with that part of himself that +mind-snuffled, touched one, tasted, spat. It died. He needed richer +than this.

+

His limbs twitched and a grind of pain burned in them. They had +not moved in a while, and they too were different now.

+

He stopped again, gathering strength, suddenly exhausted with +the quiver of motion, with the effort of thought. He crouched there +in the cold, gasping like a half-born hatchling.

+

This was just another beginning. He could sense it. In the +silence of his rest he gathered himself. Down his back there was +pain, a pressure pain, and all of his bones ached, but it was a +good pain, the hurt of growth. He felt as if much of him was new +again, but there were still parts from before. He tried again, +twisted his thoughts in one direction, cast back. Inside his mind, +a scene flicked.

+

The dogs were after him, slavering in fear, howling in +anger. He felt the powerful flip of the throw and saw them attack +each other while blood spattered the dead leaves.

+

Another flick. She was coming for him through the fading +light of the day, turning up towards him and he had felt the urgent +need for her. The other one hit hard and pushed her away and the +anger had blurted so hot it was like a light stabbing in his +eyes.

+

Flick...They had been behind him. He could sense the pursuit +in the skin of his back, in the bones of his spine. He had cast and +touched and almost had her. Then there had been pain, bright and +burning and then cold.

+

He had gone down in the cold, into the dark depths and the light +was out of his eyes. Hands were on him, ripping and squeezing. He +had tried to push his mind into the man’s own thoughts, but +he could not force his way through. Something inside him had broken +but that did not matter now because the desperate chase and the +danger had brought on the next matamorphosis. It had come on him so +suddenly that he had not even recognised it. All he knew was the +enfolding cold and the collapsing darkness and he was down there in +the clammy black. Sensation began to ebb away from him. After a +while, the weight eased and he sensed the man pulling up and away. +Here in the wet dark he turned very slowly and burrowed deeper, +down where the water pressure was heavy and the mud was thick. He +kept moving, ever slower, twisting and squirming until her reached +a crevice in the dark. He got inside, burrowing still, drew himself +in and waited while the sediment settled around him and all went +quiet.

+

The dark grew through him. Up there, far away in the day, the +sparks and jitters of other minds began to fade. She was +still there, he could sense, but all was muffled and after a while, +they all went away. Some time later, there was more noise, the +close proximity of another mind, but it was as if seen through +thick insulating layers. Him mind was freezing down, His skin was +thickening against the cold and the change was on him. This time it +was an immense change. He crouched under the ledge of stone, +swaddled in the winter-mud where other small lives had burrowed +away from the bite of winter. His skin thickened, hardened and the +cold too faded away as if it did not exist. His breathing had +stopped, but now his skin took in what it needed, even as it +hardened like insect chitin. After a while, even this stopped. +Around him, the larvae of other things, the smaller predators +curled asleep in their pupal cases, waiting for the warmth that +would transform them. Unconsciously, he mimicked them. His thoughts +slowed, flickered, slowed further and then died, all except the +singularity that was his continuing self.

+

He was, on almost every level, unaware of the profound changes +going on within the shell of thickened skin. Yet very deep inside +his own existence, he accepted the power of it and waited. The dark +time went on for ever and ever seemingly without end.

+

And then he had awoken.

+

Awareness came suddenly, though he had been swimming up towards +consciousness for a long time. It slammed him out of the miasma +with sudden violence and he was himself again, and yet he was +different now. He sensed inwardly, poked and prodded with +the tendrils of thought, explored his newness, the different +configuration, and he knew in his wordless, instinctual way, that +he had attained a new level of being.

+

The hunger came.

+

And it was a different hunger. It yawned deep inside him, a +searing wild emptiness that needed to be filled. As soon as the +hunger gnawed in his belly, his higher awareness told him he was +still changing. He needed to feed to become what he would yet +be.

+

He flexed and felt something rip down between his thin +shoulders. His limbs were still crossed over each other, still, as +far as he could perceive, still flexible and unhardened. He flexed +again, bunching unused muscle, gathering strength and the harsh +rending came more strongly. Something gave, the sound of a membrane +bursting, like living hide ripping. This skin was different, for it +had protected him from the cold in the depths of his new change. He +pushed, felt the scrape of the casing on his back, pulsed, pressed +again, and felt more give. This went on, pulse and give, then rest. +Pulse and give, then rest. Cold water was oozing in between the +shell and his own flesh and that eased the passage. His new skin +shrank from it, allowing water pressure to help his own effort. He +pushed hard and the shell split up the back of his head with a +ricketing vibration that felt as if he was being wrenched in +two.

+

And suddenly he was free again. His limbs twisted, shoved, found +their way out to the open. He arched again, turned in a slow, +muddied somersault (and if David Harper had seen it, he would +have seen the dark, demonic similarity to the dragonfly larva +arching out of its chrysalis) drew himself right out. It was +still dark here, still cold, but he was less vulnerable than +before. He crouched tight, ignoring the press of thick mud, waited +until he had his strength back and then started to burrow out. The +tide was within him and he knew the time was right. His senses +picked up the darkness above and the light of the moon. It drew him +towards it. Very slowly, very purposefully, he burrowed upwards +from the deep ledge. After a while he came to a dense place where +old roots and dead reeds matted the bed of the canal and he had to +claw his way through them. Here it was still dark because his +movements had sent up clouds of sediment, but he crawled on, +feeling the tug of the other gravity, got past the muddied water +and out into the clear.

+

Above him, high up there, the thin circlet of silver light +danced in a watery sky. He slowed again, waited unbreathing, then +very deliberately clambered up the slanted bank until his head +broke the surface. Water expelled from his blunt nostrils and he +snuffled air for the first in a long time, like a scenting +animal.

+

It was night, but it was no longer cold. He reached up and got +into the shelter of the reeds. He cast out a thought, cast out his +sense, now with almost casual ease. That power had increased in the +long sleep; he could sense it’s strength. Some distance away, +he touched the warmth of another creature and he slowly made his +way towards it. Behind him, the lights of the bridge dazzled him +and he kept his eyes averted. Some distance away, where a road +paralleled the canal for a span, lights flashed past, painful in +the night, making his eyes sear with hurt. After a while, he was +past a higher bank that cut off the glare and then the canal took a +turn that hid the bridge from him., He was in a shaded part where +the willows overhung the deep water. Ahead of him, closer now, he +could sense the warmths he needed and he quickly and silently eased +his way forward.

+

He emerged, silent as death, from the patch of reeds, and +trailed out a cold quest of sense. He touched the one and then the +other and pulled them towards him. A hunger like a yawning chasm +opened up inside him.

+
+

Jasmine Cook woke up in the night and she shivered.

+

She woke with a start and turned in the dark. The boy was +staring into her eyes and her heart did a little heavy flip. She +reached for him to pull him close. He was cold and his skin was +damp and he made the little whimpering sound that touched the deeps +inside her and made her want to hug him out of any threat of +danger. She brought him to her naked skin and rocked him, humming +wordlessly in the dark. The boy pushed in against her, flattening +himself to gain her heat.

+

“Poor little thing,” Jasmine crooned. “But +you’re all right now. All right now little tyke. You’ve +got someone to look after you now.”

+

In the dark, Flora snorted and Jasmine smelled a warm scent on +the air, a cloy thick odour that was at once familiar and strange. +When she had awoken, the boy had been on the other side of the bed, +close to Flora. There was no envy at all in Jasmine. They were +together, friends and lovers. They had talked many a time of having +a child, though time had passed them by and the imperative that had +swamped both of them, each at different times, different ages, had +faded. Now it was back. They had a child to protect and +nurture.

+

It just fit, a gift from God.

+

“Little Moses,” she said, smiling contentedly in the +silvery dark. “Out of the water, in a basket of reeds. +You’ll be our little prince, and you won’t ever have to +be cold again.”

+

She pulled the child in close to her. Flora snorted again and +the thick smell wafted round, but Jasmine was already falling into +a deep slumber. In against her, the thin little body shivered and +she held it close, hugging it tight, and she drifted off into that +strange sleep. Once again she dreamed, but this time she dreamed +that she was trapped in the dark, pinned down by a weight that +prevented her from moving. Her legs were open, spread out and the +weight on her was bucking very slowly. She felt cold, ice +penetration and a burst of pain. Inside her, something ripped and +she tried to cry, tied to scream, tried to wake, but she was +trapped in the dark and the dream went on and on through the +night.

+

In the morning, she came out of a deep, yet troubled slumber. +Inside the boat, the air was heavy and cool and the metal smell was +still thick upon it. She pressed the child against her, protecting +it, unaware that she even made the motherly motion. The narrowboat +was quiet, safe for the husky little snuffle that came from the boy +under the blankets.

+

Beside her, Flora was lying on her back. Both of her eyes were +open and her moth gaped in a black yawn. Her hair was rumpled and +sticking up in little corkscrews.

+

Under Flora’s mouth, another black hole gaped. A dark +trickle, thick as a mooring rope, dripped down from Flora’s +bottom lip, while under her chin, an even darker, shiny handswidth +covered the skin. It had soaked into the bedclothes.

+

Jasmine puled back. A hand clutched her heart and squeezed it to +sudden stillness. The dim shadows of the room spun and blurred. The +hand let go and her heart bucked once, twice. A pulse throbbed in +her temple and a scream started to expand somewhere in the pit of +her belly.

+

“Flo...” she started to say, but the word got caught +in the desert at the back of her throat and ground to a halt.

+

Under the blanket, the small boy stirred. Jasmine tried to reach +for him, to turn him away from this. Her mind was still making the +colossal effort to take in the horror on the bed beside her. Flora +had grunted in the night. She had made the little gurgling sound +and the blood smell had rolled up from the bed.

+

“Oh,” Jasmine moaned. “Oh no...” That +was as much as she could manage. She was pulling back, drawing away +from the clotted, somehow stagnant sponge of sheet. The wet of +Flora’s blood was on her. She had been lying in it and the +brown-red clots were smeared on her own skin. The fear was winding +up, a dreadful juggernaut of absolute and utter horror.

+

She pushed the boy, getting her own body between him and the +gaping thing on the bed that had been the woman she had loved and +was now a dripping, ripped abomination.

+

Her motion on the bed made Flora’s mouth jiggle wider. A +slew of viscid dark dribbled. Flora’s eyes did not waver. +They were fixed on the ceiling. A thin, translucent sheen, like +peeling skin, or perhaps like the cocooning web of some monstrous +grub, covered the naked surface of Flora’s skin. Under it, +Jasmine could see the flaccid, collapsed breasts. Her body was +caved in, slumped as if she had been drained by some powerful, +unearthly suction.

+

Under the sheet, the boy turned, using her body to clamber +upwards. She tried to hold him down, overpowered by the need to +protect him from the dreadful danger that had befallen Flora. That +need was so powerful it overshadowed her shattering dread. She drew +her eyes away from Flora’s body, turned. The boy came up and +his eyes opened. She saw a glassy sheen of red that held her own +eyes.

+

He was bigger now. His belly was grossly distended and swung +obscenely as he moved, glutted with his latest feeding. His frame +had extended, grown in the night.

+

And then the thing was on her. She could do nothing at all but +fall back against the headboard. Without using any physical power, +he forced her head back, nuzzling in there. Down between her legs, +she felt the cold penetration and a shock of realisation rippled +through her.

+

It held her with its eyes and its mind while it fed from her. +Her limbs spasmed and a deep, central part of her own mind +screeched and writhed and tried to pull away, the way Ginny Marsden +had done, the way Kate Park had done. It held her and inside her +depths its cold spread in a deadly baneful creep while on her neck, +a small popping sound told her the blood was beginning to flow.

+

Beside her, on the bed, Flora stared at the ceiling. After a +while Jasmine’s vision began to waver and fade. The thing +that lay astraddle her, forcing her arms wide and her legs wider, +sucked noisily on her neck while that other part of it found other +sustenance deep inside.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus31.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus31.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d8cc0e5 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus31.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,781 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

31

+

“That’s the fourth time this week,” Helen said +as David rewound the tape on the answering machine. “I never +thought she was God’s gift to intellectuals, but I thought at +least she’d have got the message by now.”

+

The tape clicked to a halt. Helen’s eyes held a mixture of +pity, contempt, and a flash of anger too. “You’ll have +to tell her.”

+

“I did tell her,” David said. “I can’t +seem to get through to her at all. She’s got herself +convinced that everything’s going to be sweetness and light +again.”

+

“She’s got a problem, David. She really needs help +if she can’t get it into her head that it’s over +between you.”

+

“And I could surely do with the break.”

+

“Me too. She’ll have to understand that it’s +you and me from here on. It’s not easy maybe, but it’s +a tough old world. To the victor, the spoils.” She gave him a +look that measured him up and down, managed a half smile.

+

“Even if the spoils are spoiled and don’t amount to +much.”

+

She ruffled his hair with a fast hand. “Tell her. After +what we’ve been through, we’re sticking together. You +won’t get rid of me easily.”

+

“Or at all,” David said, “That’s a +promise.”

+

June’s ever more demanding messages were becoming more +than an irritation. She’d sent him a mass of flowers while he +was in hospital and then arrived in person, elbowing brusquely, and +with obvious hostility past Helen. David had been mildly +embarrassed then, but now he was becoming concerned, not for +himself, though he wished she would take no for an answer in the +hope that they could all get back to some semblance of normality, +if anything ever could be normal since the frantic conclusion in +the freezing, murky water of the canal. David had dreamed of the +thing for nights after that, still did, though he never told Helen. +He didn’t know that she was keeping the same secret from him. +The thing still preyed on their minds all through the spring +months.

+

Neither would June let him go. He’d had the Christmas +cards, and an expensive Gucci watch which he’d almost been +tempted to send back by return of post, but that would only have +been an insult. He still felt pangs of guilt that he hadn’t +been able to give June what she wanted and never would. She’d +sent him the valentine cards. She’d sent him letters. She +called him at the office and she left messages on the tape at home. +She contrived to bump into him in the street and every time he met +her she had that desperate, hopeful, needful look on her face that +made him feel at once guilty and repulsed.

+

“She’s one creepy lady,” Helen finally said. +“She can’t control her emotions, and if she thinks +she’s going to have your kids, then she’s got another +think coming. You’d better watch or you’ll end up in a +fatal attraction scenario. You don’t keep a rabbit she might +be tempted to cook?”

+

“I’ll tell her,” David said. “I will. +Honestly.”

+

“Good man,” Helen told him, favouring him with a +quick smile. “If anybody’s going to have your kids, I +want first crack at it.”

+

He spun round so fast he felt a harsh crick in his neck.

+

“Kidding,” she said. “At least for a year or +so. I want to make Chief Inspector before you do.”

+

“No chance.”

+

“Maybe, but I’m serious about the other thing. +I’m sorry for June, but it’s us against the world now. +I’m not a grasping person and I don’t plan to be a +weight around your neck, but I don’t believe I’m going +to let you go, not after what we’ve been through.”

+

David eased towards her and drew her close. He remembered the +regret down in the mud before everything had faded, the infinite +sadness that he would lose her. She had been worth dying for.

+

“Thank heavens for small mercies,” he said, and she +leaned into his warmth.

+

Helen had transferred to Western Division to work with Bert +Millar not long after David had come back to duty. It had been a +good move for her, and the right move for both of them. Working in +the same office and living together would have done neither career +any good and would have put too much pressure on them off duty. +David was rewarded with what he wanted, a transfer to the murder +squad. The drugs wars were heating up in the east and south of the +city and the subsequent rash of street killings kept him busy as +winter turned to spring and edged towards summer.

+

Apart from June’s pestering, life almost got back to +normal. Then, in late spring, two bodies were found on a narrowboat +in the canal.

+

It may have been coincidence (though both of them had long since +stopped accepting coincidence so lightly) that David and Helen +found themselves, that spring morning, on the banks of the canal. +The sun was already high and the morning mist was burning off in +the heat of the day.

+

When she had arrived here, the memory of the frantic battle for +mind and body had come rushing back to her, and she shivered +silently, getting the same feeling she’d had in Levenford +when she’d imagined that someone had walked over her grave. +Something was wrong. A sense of threat scraped on her mind +and she tried to tell herself it was only the association with this +place and the memories it brought. The water here was deep and +turbid, and in the early hours, the air was still except for the +occasional twist of wind coming of the estuary where the wading +birds piped and whined. The ice was gone, but there was a sense of +life under the still waters of the canal. A dragonfly whirred by, +metallic green on helicopter wings, and Helen recalled the scene in +David’s photograph where he’d caught the insect +emerging in transformation from the ugly skin of the larva. She +shivered again, wishing she were elsewhere. This palace gave her +the creeps, she told herself, and always would.

+

At night, in the dark she could still see the thing glaring at +her, reaching into her mind, while it stole her soul away. In the +daytime, the image came unbidden. She blinked the memory away, +tried to tell herself it was over. A group of people were coming +along the track and that distracted her enough. She turned, drawing +her eyes away from the dark water and saw the murder team arrive. +Helen have David a small, not quite surreptitious wave when he got +to the side of the canal with two young men and a tall, bulky man +she knew was a chief inspector on the squad. David had told her he +was very hard, but also very good. The narrowboat had been +barricaded with police yellow tape. But for the numbers of police +in uniform and the curious crowd of onlookers, nothing looked out +of the ordinary. The surface of the canal was almost glassily +placid, except for that part just beside the barge where the added +weight made it dip slowly and send out a barely perceptible ripple. +An early kingfisher flashed past, an emerald glitter close to the +surface, a little visual bonus that heralded the summer to come. +David recognised it immediately and almost automatically he noted +it for future reference. He could come back here in the late spring +and get some shots of the bird on fast film.

+

Bert Millar came striding up the path, ducking under the tape, +shook the senior man’s hand, then turned to David and did the +same, favouring him with a nod of familiarity.

+

“Two women,” he said. “Doctor Robinson +estimates they’ve been here close to a month. We’ve got +one of the McPhee boys banged up as we speak. He’s talking +his head off. Crying his head off more like. That’s one light +fingered wee bugger who wishes he’d never broken into a +boat.”

+

“Bad?”

+

“Nothing much left of them. You’ll have a problem +getting anything here. And another problem.” Bert Millar +stopped and drew them towards the narrowboat and away from other +ears. “I had a look at them. No matter what Robinson comes up +with as the cause, I’ll give you any odds you name that +it’s the same as that Park baby up in Middle Loan +farm.”

+

A cold touch trailed down David’s skin. The Chief +Inspector raised his eyebrows. “David here knows what I +mean,” Bert Millar said. “He was there.”

+

“I heard,” the murder hunt leader said. +“You’d better come with me then.”

+

Helen watched as both of them stepped onto the barge. David +didn’t look up, so she couldn’t wave, even +surreptitiously. A light breeze riffled through the green reeds at +the edge of the canal, making them rasp together in a +conspiratorial whisper. The still water shimmered in the eddy of +wind, bearing the scent of early hawthorn flourish and willow +pollen. Overlaid on that, there was another, much fainter scent, +barely discernible on the air.

+

Helen breathe for an instant. The fine hairs on her arms were +standing out against the cotton of her blouse. She sniffed, twice, +caught the hint of it again. An itch crawled across the skin of her +breasts.

+

“No,” she breathed. Beside her, one of the other +policeman turned, thinking she had spoken to him. The eddy passed +by and took the trace of scent away. Helen shook her head, +wondering. The sense of sudden threat had swamped her so quickly +that she could feel her heart pound at double speed. Her eyes +scanned the slow water where a bloom of algae was already spreading +over the surface. If there had been a movement there, if some +rounded head had poked out from the weeds, and if a glassy red eye +had fixed upon her, she might just have run along the towpath and +run and run until she had dropped. The deep and dark corner of her +mind that could reach forward and sense the danger in the future, +touched against something and she recoiled from it. David was at +the edge of the barge, walking towards the cabin. The prescience +suddenly swelled inside her, a black tide of foreboding. She wanted +to call out to him, to tell him to stop and turn and get of that +damned boat, but she knew she could not.

+

“I know her,” David said, once he got his breath +back. Despite the open door of the hatchway in the cabin, the air +was thick with that clogging, musty scent of old death. Bert +Millar’s men had searched the boat and despite the obvious +difficulty the forensics boys would have in getting an identity on +the two women, there had been enough personal effects to be fairly +sure.

+

“She’s one of the best wildlife photographers in the +country.” He said. “A world expert.”

+

Flora Spiers’ battered old camera bag was stacked on a +ledge at the foot of the bed. On the wall, a world-famous shot of a +wedge of geese crossing the face of the full moon dominated the +other photographs, the same picture David had on his own wall. +David had long admired the woman’s technique and style. If he +hadn’t become a policeman, he would probably have tried to +make a career of his hobby.

+

“I never knew she lived here.”

+

“According to the harbour keeper, they spent weeks here at +a time. They’re both from London,” the other policeman +said.”

+

On the bed, two mounds which bore little resemblance to human +beings lay parallel to each other. Any blood had long since dried +and much of the flesh that had been left had been taken care of by +the flies, even at this time of the year. The inside of the cabin +was festooned with cobwebs as the spider population exploded to +cope with the glut.

+

Jasmine Cook’s head was canted to the left and her jaw was +open so wide it made her appear to be screaming silently and +eternally. A thick spider scuttled across one sunken eye socket. +Her perfect teeth showed brilliant white against the grey of the +taut flesh. On the side of her neck, where the flesh had shrivelled +and dried, a gaping hole showed ragged edges. The mattress was +matted with a hoary white fungus that rippled in the stir of air +when any of the men moved. It looked like a dreadful infection, but +David had seen it before. It was feeding on the dried blood. +Jasmine’s legs were spread apart in a dreadful invitation +that made the obscenity somehow blasphemous. At the junction, the +white fur had grown up the trail of blood to meet the dark +triangle. On either side, both hips pushed like budding horns +through drum-tight skin. The body looked hollow.

+

Flora was on her side, neck twisted back so that her blind +sockets gazed up at the ceiling. Thin, empty and leathery breasts +hung down on either side of her arched chest. David could count +every rib which poked up through the surface. Both hands were +curled into claws, longer now that the flesh had withered and +shrunk. Her nails seemed like black talons ready to hook and gouge. +The hole in her throat was even more ragged, as if whatever had +killed her had used considerable force. As if it had been very +desperate.

+

“It’s back,” David said aloud. He remembered +Helen waking in the night, her body shivering like a tuning fork, +unable to say what had woken her, what scared her. She hadn’t +known, not in words, what was happening. But she had known.

+

“What’s that?” Bert Millar asked, turning back +towards him. David only shook his head. The smell here was now +quite cloying, rasping on the soft membranes in his nose and +throat. He had tried to kill it, the thing that had sometimes +looked like a baby and sometimes wavered into something else +entirely, and he had failed. He had put it down under the mud and +it had not died.

+

His mind flicked back to the cot up in Kate Park’s farm. +He had crept into the bedroom, his nerves jumping, every one of +them expecting attack. He had looked over the rim of the crib and +he had seen the strange circular wound in the baby’s neck. He +was looking at the same wound now, only this time, the ragged gape +was bigger.

+

Both women had been raped too. He could see that from the trail +of fungus up the trickle of blood. At least they’d been +penetrated, damaged inside.

+

What in the name of God had it done? Mentally he rephrased the +question. This had not been done in the name of any god.

+

His eyes scanned the cabin, looking for any trace of the thing, +but he saw nothing and smelled nothing except the flat and somehow +powdery odour of flesh that was bloodless and dry and the bitter, +somehow alien scent of the hoar-fungus. The thing he’d shoved +down into the mud was back. Of that he was suddenly and completely +certain. It had somehow stayed alive after he’d been dragged +unconscious from the mud at the bottom of the canal. The frogmen +had searched and the stretch of waterway had been dragged with +weighted hooks and nothing had been found except for a couple of +pike and some drowned dogs. They had missed it. It had got away, +and now it had come back to kill again.

+

The wizened corpses on the bed might tell the forensic team a +few tales, might give them some pointers. David could tell, because +he’d seen it before, that they would find veins collapsed +from lack of blood. They would find torn ligaments and muscles, +burst blood vessels. He knew that as a fact. The experts in minutia +would come up with reams of documents to show what had caused the +deaths of these two women.

+

But they would not show the killer. David knew it had a shape +and a face, something that rippled and changed and hurt the eyes. +It was a face from nightmare.

+

Some time later, Helen saw him come out from the cabin and step +down onto the bank. Even at the distance separating them, she could +see the blank, hollow look on his face and she knew something was +badly wrong.

+
+

He was moving.

+

With uncanny and utter silence he followed the line of the +hedgerow, hungry now, ferociously hungry again. He had come out of +the stand of spruce trees, a dark and shadowed place bounded by a +high fence. He had left the last skin there, an opaque but +translucent remnant caught on the sharp branches, a pale image of +himself. After all the changes, after all the mothers, he had +finally become.

+

The feeding frenzy had glutted him as he drained the two mothers +in his penultimate transformation. He belly had swelled and +distended like an insect’s abdomen and as soon as he had fed +he had felt the numbing drowsiness overtake him, but he had shaken +it off because he knew he could not wait here in the narrow +confines. He had to find somewhere dark and isolated for the next +development that already was beginning to work inexorably on him +and within him. Instinct drove him on in the darkness as he +silently followed the strand of willow that bracketed the canal +until he found the coppice of thick rhododendrons and brambles. He +stalked through them, a bloated shape on thin, stick-like legs, +moving with predatory quiet. In the sky a cloud moved slowly and +let the light of the moon shine down through the thick branches, +limning his body with its silver, making his skin gleam like exotic +metal. Things scuttled and rustled down in the undergrowth, but he +ignored them. Early bats whispered their subsonic chatter, chasing +the few insects flying at this time of the year. They avoided him +as instinctively as he headed for the centre of the coppice, +through the impenetrable mounds of bramble and hawthorn. Over in a +gnarled oak, a tawny owl opened an eye and saw hiss shape moving. +It opened the other, let out a hoot of alarm and took off on +whispering wings. He felt its fright radiate in the air, but +ignored it, his concentration fixed on his own need.

+

In the centre, he found a hollow under a toppled elm that had +fallen over an ancient stone hut that must have existed before the +trees themselves had taken root. He forced his way into the hollow +and found the shelter he needed beyond that. A family of rats +bolted out into the night, shrieking their terror. He found a +corner willed with leaves and bracken and swirled them around him +until he was covered, the way a weasel nests in the heat of the +day. The sleep was rushing on him and in the sleep he knew there +would be change again and he sensed that this would be the last. +The moonlight sent a shard of silver down through a hole in the dry +stones and that was the last thing he saw. The pressure in his +belly pulsed and his eyes closed and he sensed his organs already +begin to disintegrate.

+

It seemed no time at all. It seemed forever.

+

He awoke again, so suddenly it was like a birth. He woke trapped +in a hard case. He flexed and the case split with the sound of +snapping branches. He opened an eye. His limbs creaked into motion +and he uncurled his body. He opened the other eye, snuffled the +air. He smelled the roots and the insects. He scented birds in the +air, but they meant nothing to him at all. He snuffled and got a +far-off scent, so faint it was no more than one or two atoms and a +hunger wrenched inside him.

+

He was grown now. The last change was over, and the new hunger +was a hot pain deep inside him. He could no more deny this than he +could have refused to feed before, when he had needed the +mothers.

+

Now his needs were different.

+

He stretched his limbs and got to a crouch, squeezed himself +with some difficulty through the narrow entrance hole, which was +much smaller to him now. He moved quickly and silently, strong now +and powered by the new fierce imperative. His nerves sparked and +jumped and behind his eyes, a pulse throbbed. Whatever passed for +blood in his veins was now pumping fast within him, strong and +vital and urgent. Overhead a cloud was pushed across the sky, just +enough to let the moon shine through. It was full again, leprous +pale in the black of the sky. It pulled at him, swelled the tide +within him and it drove him on and on.

+

This emerging had not exhausted him, because his blood was +singing with the energy the final mothers had provided. All of his +senses were keyed to fever pitch and he moved silently and fast, a +thin, gaunt thing of shadows and edges. Here and there, little +points of lights would flicker on his consciousness, lives flaring +briefly. He could extinguish them if he only looked, but he had no +time. The new urgency spurred him on, dug into his being, dragged +him along. Every now and again he stopped, sniffed the air, turning +his small, domed head this way and that, before moving on.

+

The clouds swung closed and the world went dark. It was morning, +but black as pitch here. He had followed the line of the canal, +using its hedges and trees and reeds as cover as he moved east, +ever east, following the pull of the wordless demand. His whole +being was tuned to that and could not waver or deviate. Here and +there, on the locks, as the canal approached the city, there would +be lights, but he was able to cope with them now, even if the glare +seared his skin. The orange glow of the road-lights would have +melted his eyes if he stared into them, but now he had a +nictitating membrane, a secondary pair of lids that came flicking +down to dim the light. It allowed him to see as he moved.

+

The canal wended slow and sluggish towards the city, a snake of +water that had been re-developed for the new millennium, an inland +waterway that bisected the north side before it crossed over to +Blane on the east coast. It may have been coincidence that all of +the towns that had featured in his long and alien life, through all +of the changes, they had all been connected by river, lake and +waterway. It may have been coincidence.

+

The morning air was still and damp. Once or twice, it heard the +incomprehensible sounds of human voices, low and muttered from +inside an outhouse close to the canal, loud and fretful from a +house some distance away. He heard the clump of a policeman’s +feet and had to fight the instinct to strike. He heard the patter +of a fox bitch as it crossed a pipe spanning the canal. He did not +know that it had smelled him when it reached the far side and had +instantly aborted, in dreadful agony, the seven cubs she would have +laid the following week. They writhed weakly on the grass until the +cold stopped them.

+

He drew nearer where he had to be. The drive, the force inside +him, was now a singing screech of physical demand. He was complete +now and this was his hour.

+

He only had one purpose.

+
+

June Whalen had come by taxi, bearing David’s birthday +cake. She had called him at the office and discovered he +wouldn’t be home until later. She had arrived at ten and it +was now close to midnight. It was dark, but not too cold, though +there was a hint of rain in the air. She wondered if she should get +a taxi and go back home again, but she wanted to see him on his +own.

+

She had made a big mistake, she knew, and if she could only get +the chance to make him see, everything would be back to normal +again. When she had walked out, it had been in the heat of the +moment. She had rushed him, tried to force him and that had been +the wrong thing. She knew that deep in his heart, he loved her and +she knew, with the same certainty, that they would be together +again. He would come round. They would get married as she had +always planned. They would start a family and he would see she had +been right all along. It would just take time, and she had time. +She was still young.

+

There was no question of her trying to find another man. She had +been crazy about David since the day they had first gone out +together, and she still was, no matter what arguments they had had. +That was all in the past. She could make him see that, no matter +what silly mistake he had made with that other bitch. +There was no-one else for her.

+

She waited on the corner, knowing he would arrive any moment. He +would drive round the side, to the off-street car park in the +shadow of the trees that led onto the waterway park. She hummed to +herself, as she strolled round the corner where the Virginia +creeper was just bursting into a leafy tumble on the wall.

+

The air stirred. Something moved. She heard a high-pitched +buzzing in her ears. She turned.

+

“Who’s there?” She was not alarmed. There +would be no danger next to David’s house. Maybe, she thought, +he had come from round the back. She took a step forward down the +path, out of the light. A shadow moved and she stopped, saw it was +only the shade of the juniper tree ruffled by a gentle breeze. +Something moved again in the deeper shadow at the side of the +house. She stopped once more and a figure came looming out. At +first all she saw was a black silhouette, about the height of a +man.

+

“David?”

+

It came towards her and as it did, she heard the fruity little +hum get louder. The air thickened and a powerful, sickly scent +enveloped her.

+

“What...?” she began. For an instant her vision +wavered, watered. She blinked, turning to the side.

+

The shadow came forward, very quickly. It took hold of her +shoulders. It turned her round to face it and two eyes flicked open +with audible fleshy clicks. They glared into hers and she felt the +power of its will force its way into her brain, and her mouth flew +wide open. A scream formed in her throat but died there unblurted. +The world went red and then it went dark.

+
+

Helen Lamont was on her way home after a long, footslogging day. +She had walked most of the western end of the canal, as far as +Barloan Harbour, asking questions of the few boatmen who were on +the water at this time of the year.

+

Every step on the bridle path reminded her of the chase after +the girl and the gargoyle thing clutched in her arms, every swirl +in the water when a pike came rising to snatch a minnow, would +cause her to start and turn, eyes wide, alert to the potential +threat. Since she had breathed in the faint, cold trace of its +passing, she had realised that this was not over. She could not +share her fear with anyone else, here with her new team-mates. She +told herself she should be thankful that this was not the high +summertime when the waterway would be teeming with weekend +navigators and the basin filled with yachtsmen and power-boaters. +Yet it would have been better if there were more people on the +stretch of canal. In the distance the arch of the bridge showed +movement as cars and trucks passed over the wide span of the river, +but here there were few people. She felt vulnerable and exposed. At +night she would have felt in dreadful danger.

+

She also told herself that she was wasting time here. She had +seen the photographs of the two women on the barge. She had read +the report and she knew they were looking for no murderer. They +were looking for something which killed and fed. Bert Millar knew +it, but there was an unspoken agreement between them. He did not +want to get involved in this one. Murder squad could handle it.

+

She and David had talked it over and they both knew the little +beast was back again. If she hadn’t seen the evidence, she +would have known anyway. Her prescient sense itched and nagged, +telling her to beware. The thing would no doubt kill and feed +again. They would have to wait until it did, and then they would +have to kill it dead. They would make sure this time.

+

Helen steered the car round by the trees, to the little car park +behind the house. The wind was picking up, rustling the branches +that overhung the quadrangle. The light was off in the house, all +the windows dark hollows on the wall. She knew David might not be +home for some time. She was only on the periphery of the inquiry, +but David was there, unable to say what he thought, what he knew. +The night before he had woken, lacquered with sweat, gasping for +breath, just as she had done. In his dream, he later told her, +sides heaving in the aftermath, that he had been fighting with it +again, down there in the mud.

+

“It’s been a month,” Helen said, tying to +convince herself and failing. “And nothing’s +happened.”

+

“It was three months before that, and it still came +back.”

+

“You’re sure?” Stupid question. She was sure +herself. There was no mistaking it. She had sensed its +existence.

+

Now she eased herself out of the car, pulled her bag out and +slung it over her shoulder. She turned, stuck the key in the lock, +crossed the little yard under the trees, walking towards the +house.

+

Then she froze.

+

Every cell of her body lurched. She stood rigid, still as a +statue, completely motionless, mouth agape, while inside, her heart +fluttered like a trapped and desperate bird.

+

Something had touched her.

+

IT had reached out. IT had stretched to +touched her. She felt its caress, its damp, dank, slither and she +recognised it from before, but now it was different. The tendrils +of its foul touch slid over the surface of her mind and she +recoiled in utter disgust. Right on the heels of the uncontrollable +repugnance came the immediate fear, so powerful that it almost +spilled her to the ground.

+

“Oh God,” she managed to blurt out.

+

Oh God it’s here!

+

Her legs had simultaneously frozen solid and turned to jelly. +She tried to back away, and her feet refused at first to move, her +weight made them feel week and unable to support her. The breeze +carried the smell towards her, not faint now, but a harsh reek, a +foul taint, and her vision wavered. Her heart stopped fluttering +and kicked madly, painfully in her chest.

+

Something moved in the shadows, deeper black on black and for +some reason, the fright unlocked her. She turned, grabbing her bag +as she did so. She snatched the mobile phone and was keying the +number as she moved. The bag spun away and landed against the +garden fence.

+

Behind her a snuffling sound seemed so close she could feel cold +breath on her neck. She scuttered across the yard, head down, got +to the car. She tried to open it, couldn’t get the key in the +lock. Feet scrabbled behind her and she realised she’d never +make it in time.

+

The scabrous touch reached out and into her and she reeled in +horror from the appalling sense of filth in the alien contact. She +turned from the car, unable to make herself look back, knowing that +of the thing fastened its eyes on her it would sear her brain. She +jinked to the side, trying not to whimper, trying to concentrate +despite the huge eruption of fear. She got to the far side, along +where the privet hedge bordered the thicket. She was running under +the overhanging trees. The telephone beeped at her as her thumb +pressed the numbers, pressing so hard that her nail bent back in a +rip of pain which she never even felt. In her mind she could see +the gaping wounds on the dried and shrivelled bodies of Jasmine +Cook and Flora Spiers side by side on the narrowboat. She saw the +white fungus growing up the scab of dried blood between their legs +and the fear bucked madly inside her. She ran under the light, +heart kicking, breath suddenly tight and constricted as if her +lungs could not haul enough air to fuel her escape.

+

It scuttled behind her. She could hear the scrape of nails? +Claws? feet on the road, a deadly, predatory sound of +pursuit.

+

“Emergency, which service do you require?” The +operator’s voice came loud and clear, with none of the tinny +interference she would normally expect. The woman could have been +standing next to her. The sound of another human voice was somehow +miraculous.

+

“Help,” Helen managed to blurt. +“Please.”

+

All her training, all of her toughness had gone, evaporated in +the flick of an eye when she had smelled the sweet-rancid scent as +she rounded the corner and saw the shadow move in the deep shade. +It had reached and touched her, pushing into her mind and in that +moment it had changed her into a primitive, fleeing organism, +running for life, running in abject and indescribable terror.

+

“Which service please?” the woman asked again. +“Hello?”

+

Helen’s feet pounded the road. Her eyes swung ahead, +beyond the house to the left. She was in a cul-de-sac. The road +dead-ended at a picket fence. Her heart almost stopped dead. The +touch slithered on the surface of her mind, digging in at her, +trying to force its way inside. She felt the feral, supernatural +hunger, sensed the sizzling heat of its need; the mindless panic +erupted.

+

“Please,” she whimpered again. Her fingers were dug +into the plastic case, clenched so tight that the thin shell +creaked. Even as she spoke she was swerving to the right, cutting +across the road, pulling out of the dead-end. It had gained +silently on her as she turned, she sensed with quivering nerves but +she put on a mad spurt of speed, getting to the far corner under +the spread of chestnut tree branches which overhung the +pavement.

+

“Hello? Can you give me a number? Hello” The phone +was still pressed to her ear and the woman’s voice, the +wonderful, natural human voice was speaking directly to her, an +illusion of contact, of succour, while the diseased touch of the +shadow chasing her tried to clamp her down and burn her +thoughts.

+

“Get away,” Helen screamed. “Get away from me. +Oh Jees...”

+

Her foot caught the edge of the kerb, twisting her ankle +violently and throwing her off balance. A crack of pain bolted up +to her knee as she fought to compensate, still clenching the +telephone. Her shoulder hit against the upright of a trellis fence +with a crash and the thin partition vibrated with the impact. The +force of it threw her round, wheeling for balance. Behind her the +shadow snorted. She could feel its eyes on her, sense long arms and +hooked talons reaching for her and she spun through the gap in the +fence.

+

“Police,” she blurted again, almost incoherent. +“It’s hunting me it’s going to get me +its.....” her voice cut off.

+

“Hello, please, where are you?” The operator sounded +suddenly very concerned indeed.

+

Helen had crashed through the gap which gave on to the little +woodland bordering the waterway park. As soon as she was off the +pavement, she realised she had made the wrong move. The cul-de-sac +would have been better. There were houses there and lights. She +could have run to one of them and demanded sanctuary. She could +have done, but she had not thought. The primitive animal fear had +swamped her and all she had known was the need to run, to cover +distance, escape from this nightmare. Her other shoulder slammed +into a birch sapling and spun her again. She almost fell, but still +she held on to the telephone. Her feet crackled over twigs and +through burgeoning brambles.

+

Behind her, the beast-nails scraped on the road mettle again, +then went silent for an instant before it reached the grass under +the trees. A twig cracked loudly, the sound of breaking bones and +the enormity of her mistake sunk in to her. She should have kept on +the street and not come into the trees. Even then she knew to have +done so she would have had to turn and face the thing and that +would have destroyed her. Yet here, in the dark, it had the +advantage. It was a night thing, she now understood. It was a +devil. She ran, blundering through the dark of the copse, the phone +held up against her ear, one hand outstretched to push through the +undergrowth while all the time she could hear the steady, fleet +pursuit of the thing that snuffled ferociously behind her.

+

The beast reached out to her and she felt its hunger yawn. Hot +and febrile thoughts scurried and scratched over her own. It was +getting closer, she could feel that, and she could hear its +progress, quieter than her own, swift and deadly, a rustle here, a +scrape there, and all the time the fast and feral snort of its +breathing. She got down to the pathway between the trees, reaching +the flat ground, forcing her legs to move, though they threatened +to stop working and simply spill her to the ground. Helen knew she +had to put some speed on to get away from it.

+

All the while, throb the thicket and the bramblethorns the +operator’s voice was scratching out from the receiver, but +Helen had no breath to spare now no time to waste. Her breathing +came in ragged, desperate gasps. The moon stuttered its light +through trees, a pallid strobe that marked her frantic passage. Off +at the edge of the forest, something small panicked and screeched. +Close by, to her left, a shadow flickered in peripheral vision.

+

The touch squeezed at her and a bolt of shattering pain slammed +into her head.

+

“Oh,” she said. Nausea looped. The pain flared, +burned, faded a little. Sparks danced in her eyes. The moving +shadow veered towards her, hurtling in from the side. It hit +against her, surprisingly light, grabbed a hold of her neck. She +felt a sharp abrasion, a touch like sandpaper. It hauled, letting +its weight slow her.

+

She spun and hit at it, cracking the telephone against the side +of its body. The blow jarred her right up to her shoulder. It was +like hitting rough tree bark. Its skin was hard and leathery. It +grunted and twisted to the side, its grip on her momentarily +broken. It twisted, a mere blur in the dark. The eyes glared +briefly but she was turning away and missed the force of it. The +shape came at her again, reached in a flick of motion. She batted +it away again, feeling the scrape of the skin, like sharkskin, like +sandpaper and she knew this thing did not belong, should never have +existed on this world. It grunted again, leapt to the side, came +bulleting in again. A hand, a claw, whatever it was snatched for +her, crabbed her shoulder. She screamed and hit out at it, but it +gripped her hard enough to drive fingers or nails almost through +her skin. A grip like a thin, hard bird claw snagged her ankle, +tripping her forward and her feet slipped on wet leaves from the +winter’s decay.

+

A cry blurted from her. The beast snuffled, questing at her, the +sound of a beast in the shadows, the sound of a hunting predator. +The image of Jasmine Cook’s gaping bloodied neck came back to +her again and she bucked in terror, trying to shuck it away.

+

She screamed again, stumbling to the side, trying to gain her +balance, failing, tumbling. She hit the ground with a wordless +grunt as the air whooshed out of her in a rush. Her head slammed +against the soft springy loam and sparks whirled and spangled in +the darkness. She hit out, a desperate flap of her hand which +accomplished nothing. She tried to kick out and connected with air. +The thing had downed her, leapt back quickly, spidery fast. It came +rushing back in again and she got an image of a slender, disjointed +shape that was all edges and angles, like a black mantis. Its arms +moved with incredible speed and shot forward. Fingers clamped +themselves to the side of her head. Two hands gripped her +ankles.

+

She was screaming now, screaming high and clear, an ululating +blast of pure fear. The thing’s eyes opened and its glare +burned into her soul. The eyes were huge and glassy, polished stone +slabs that had no iris, no pupils, just a red surface that caught +the moonlight and looked as if poisonous blood vessels pulsed just +under the surface. Its appalling need shunted into her, a dreadful +obscene hunger.

+

She screamed and the operator pleaded tinnily, a whisper of +noise now from her outstretched hand.

+

The smell came again and invaded her. She saw the baby in the +cot and the horrible apparition that Ginny Marsden had become. She +saw the scuttering thing at the side of the canal, pulling on her +emotions and dragging her with it. She saw Kate Park’s +wizened, raddled body.

+

More than that, she saw herself in all of this, a prisoner of +the thing.

+

The smell pulsed again and infused her head and in that instant +she realised that this thing did not want to feed.

+

“No,” she bleated. “Oh God no....”

+

The eyes blared into her, connecting her with a consciousness +that was old and evil and deadly and so appallingly different from +any other that her mind twisted desperately in a futile bid to +break that awesome link. The probe reached and touched in a deadly +sharing and the hollow of other sense in her mind opened up and

+

she saw....

+

She saw Kate Park. Her face was angled up, as if seen +from below, eyes wide and staring at something in the distance, a +dribble of saliva running down her chin. Her cheeks were hollow and +gaunt and she looked as if she was damned forever.

+

She saw...Ginny Marsden, hurrying through the dark, her face a +pale oval. A grinding vibration creaked upwards and Helen felt it +inside herself, as if she was two people at once. She felt Ginny +Marsden’s pain of disintegration and dissolution, and the +desperate, mute prayers for help.

+

Ginny’s doomed expression faded and flickered and Helen +saw Heather Quigley, young and fresh, with the three moles in a +constellation pattern on her cheek, gazing down, mindlessly +obsessed. In her own breast she felt the sucking of its lips and +the drain from within.

+

The images came in rapid fire succession while the thing reached +into her own head and stole her mind.

+

Greta Simon crooning a lilting lullaby.....Harriet Dailly in her +little shack ...another face with cheerful, healthy cheeks...a thin +woman with mad eyes...they came flickering like an old +film...faces, postures, sensations, all riffling on the front of +her own mind...

+

She saw a hawk-nosed men in armour drag babies from their +mothers arms in a night of fire and screaming and impale them on +stakes and she knew she watched the hunt for vampires.

+

She saw different, darker men rampage through a dusty city +dragging new-borns into the night while the narrow streets ran with +blood and madness ran in the night.

+

She saw men in skins cast out a woman and her child into the +dark away from the fire, back in a distant, awful past.

+

Her mind catapulted back from then and Helen Lamont saw +something in the future and the force of it was so dreadful it +almost killed her. The awful realisation slammed her into the +present and she squirmed against the poison of its scan and the +pestilent scent of its flaring body. All she could hear was the +whistle of its breath and the crack and rustle of the leaves and +twigs under her writhing body.

+

It had her by the wrists. Prehensile feet on the end of skinny +shanks grasped just above her feet, clamped to tightly she felt the +bones grind together. It flexed powerfully, suddenly enormously +strong, irresistible, stretched her wide, forced her apart. It +sniffed its strange and terrifying scenting breath, a mindless +sound that was appallingly alien. She felt the pain in her joints +and muscles and knew she could not compete with its supernatural +strength. Helen tried to draw her hands back, tried to turn, but it +was futile. Panic soared.

+

“David,” she screamed. “Help me. Please. Oh. +Help me!”

+

Her desperate cry reverberated from the trunks of the trees and +vanished in the depths of the thicket.

+

She felt its heat and its hunger and smelt its rot, now +dreadfully aware from the picture that had flashed into her mind +that the hunger was truly different from before. It did not want to +feed. It had no need now. Its wants were deeper than hunger, more +powerful still. It stretched her further, making her muscles and +tendons stretch beyond their capacity. Something tore in at her +pelvis, then another thing, a dreadful thing that was rigid and +sharp and hard jabbed in at her. She felt a rip of fabric, felt a +rip of skin, felt a burning pain that at first was outside of her +and then, oh then, it was shrieking and rending inside of +her, in the very depth of her being.

+

The nightmare bucked on her spread-eagled body and its cold was +through her, the alien cold of pure badness. In the heat of her +pain she felt the dreadful, unnatural cold spear inside as it +bucked upon her, thrusting viciously again and again and again.

+

She soared on the crest of unbelievable pain.

+

Helen’s scream went on and on and on.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus32.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus32.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..de422f9 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus32.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,412 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

32

+

The screams echoed round the room, desperate and shrill and +conveying so powerful a fear that everybody visibly flinched. The +sound cut off abruptly and they could hear the crashing sound of +twigs being broken, of bracken crackling underfoot. There was a +thump and an animal grunt which could have been human, could have +been the sound a desperate woman might make when she fell heavily +to the ground. A cracking sound of branches breaking. Another thud, +like a sharp blow.

+

A snuffling noise, like a dog in the dark, like a pig rooting in +the undergrowth followed. It was a somehow unnatural whistle of +panted breathing. Something, or someone gulped. A thudding sound +came loud and clear, another hard blow landed against a rough +surface.

+

“No,” Helen’s panic bleated. “Oh God +no....”

+

“Jesus, turn it off.” David bent and put his head in +his hands. His shoulders were twitching as if he was holding tight +to prevent himself exploding into violence

+

“David,” Helen screamed and he jerked back as if +garrotted. “Help me. Please. Oh. Help me!” Her +rending cry reverberated staccato as it bounced from one tree-trunk +to another, fading all the time before dying completely. They heard +her try to say something, heard the words choke in her throat. +Something else snuffled once more like a hungry beast scenting +prey. There was a harsh cry of pain that ululated high and soared +to a crescendo, a pure and crystalline shriek of utter agony. It +climbed to an unbelievable height, sounding more animal now than +human. It continued for a stretched out minute and then it was cut +off.

+

They could hear frantic breathing and more grunting and that +could have been anything at all. After a while the sound stopped +altogether. There was a hard crack, presumably when the handset +fell, and then a silence that fell like a physical weight. Somebody +reached to put the recording off. David felt the violent shudder +inside, a combination of anger and rage and impotent distress. At +that moment every eye in the room was on him, all of them aware of +his agony, all unable to reach and touch him at that moment. It was +something he had to hear.

+

“That tells us nothing,” Donal Bulloch said. +“Nothing of any great help.” He looked at David and +managed to convey his sympathy and understanding in the same +glance.

+

“Except that she was hunted down and raped.”

+

“Oh, it tells us that all right,” Bulloch said. +“Doctor Robinson tells us the same thing, more or less. The +tape only lets us know when it happened. If her attacker had +spoken, we might have got a voice-print. If there had been any +background noise, we could have got a pattern, maybe even got a +computer analysis. But there was nothing at all. He never said a +word. The dogs found nothing at all. There’s no shoeprints, +scraps of clothing, nothing under her nails. Some blood.”

+

David winced, tried not to show it. Everybody in the room saw +it.

+

“It’s hunting me it’s going to get me +its.....” Her voice continued in his mind. She had +begged for help and no-one had known where she was.

+

“Get away. Get away from me. Oh Jees...” +Her desperate plea drilled into his head. He wanted to be sick. He +cold feel the waves of nausea build up and subside again, like +squeezes of pressure. His head was pounding in a dull, ceaseless +ache.

+

“Bruising and lacerations,” Bulloch continued. +“No sign semen at all. There’s a possibility there were +two of them, because she’s been held in a tight grip, hands +and feet. More than a possibility. There probably were two, or +more. It’s possible they were disturbed before they +finished.”

+

David kept hearing the dreadful screams. They overlaid +everything else. Every time Bulloch paused, David could hear the +frantic, demented shriek. Worse, he could hear the snuffling sound +as Helen’s legs were forced apart and something sharp and +spiked had been rammed inside her so hard it had ruptured the neck +of her uterus and punctured her bowel.

+

“I know it’s a tall order, but I’m sure +you’ll agree that we have to get a description,” The +Chief told David, keeping his voice even. “She hasn’t +spoken to anybody at all, and we have to get some response if +we’re going to find them. It’s possible you might get +some reaction.”

+

David looked at him blankly, trying to get his mind to switch +off the interminable screaming. He cursed himself for being late, +condemned himself for not picking up the signs quickly enough. He +had arrived home, tired from a long day, looking forward to a good +whisky and the chance to get the chill out of his bones. He parked +the car, began to wall round the side of the house and stopped. For +some reason, he turned. Had there been a smell on the air? He +sniffed. There was a scent of spring growth, perhaps a hint of +perfume from daffodils and primulas in the next door garden. Maybe +something else, faint and almost gone.

+

The hairs on his arms were crawling again. He could feel them +brush the fabric of his shirt sleeves. A trickle of sweat ran down +the sides of his ribs. It felt cold. His heart speeded up and a +flush of odd, anxious emotion, like a quick anger, twisted inside +him. He turned, sniffing the air again, recognising this odour yet +scenting a different smell inside it.

+

He was not alarmed, not yet, but the anxious sensation, and a +new, odd and inexplicable feeling of foreboding, made him walk back +through the gate. All of his senses, flagging and dragging only a +moment before, were now wound up instantly to sharp alertness. He +scanned the little yard, saw Helen’s car parked in the +corner. There were no lights on in the house.

+

He paused for a moment, then turned quickly and ran up to the +front door. It was locked, and that would be usual if Helen had +arrived home first. His heart gave a double beat, felt as if it +turned over inside him. The key rattled on the outside of the lock +and he cursed at the delay. Finally it slid home, clicked and the +bolt slid back. He pushed the door open and got inside. It was +cold. The heating had not been switched on. He called her name and +the feeling of foreboding swelled blackly within him. She was not +here.

+

David did not hesitate. He went straight back outside, +forgetting to close the door behind him. He ran to her car, found +it locked. A breeze shivered the topmost branches of the trees in a +whisper of sound. He turned, and the street lamp on the corner +glinted on something on the ground. He bent, found the car keys +only feet away from the door.

+

His heart stopped.

+

Two yards away, Helen’s bag was lying close to the hedge. +It was wide open and the contents had spilled out.

+

A dreadful premonition shivered through him. Without hesitation +he reached for his own handset and called the office. In ten +minutes four patrols were in the little yard, lights flashing on +the walls of the surrounding houses.

+

The tracker dogs were howling in the trees. One of the searchers +fond the telephone. It was another six hours before they found +Helen Lamont, bloody and bruised, huddling at the side of a disused +boatshed close to the waterway. She had been unable to speak.

+

The memory of her bruised and torn body hung with him, hooked +into his heart, the way the terrible screams on the +operator’s tape lanced through him. He told Bulloch, in a +slow, mumbling voice, that he would do what he could. He got up +from the room and left them, feeling their eyes on him, not caring +at all.

+

Helen was huddled on the bed. The clean white sheets showed up +the scratches on her face and the bruises under her eyes. Her hair +was jet-black against the pillow. Her eyes were open, staring at +the wall. David sat down at the side of the bed.

+

“We’ve managed to repair the damage,” Dr +Robinson had told him. David wanted to kill. Her dark eyes were +unfocussed, hollow smudges, bereft of their life and fire. +Helen’s breathing was slow and measured, but every now and +again, her chest would hitch as if she was about to burst into +tears.

+

The tears did not come. She said nothing.

+

He held her listless hand, finding it difficult to comprehend +the turmoil inside himself. She did not respond to his touch or to +his presence and that too upset him. Bandages swaddled her wrists +and her hands, badly scratched and abraded, stayed flaccid and +flopped, not returning his grip the way they had before. She had +always been a tactile woman, eager to touch, eager to hold and +caress. Her hand was cool and the skin dry. Her eyes did not so +much as flicker.

+

He spoke to her, speaking low, leaning close so his words were +private, just for the two of them. Her pupils remained fixed on +some point far beyond the wall. He told her he loved her, promised +her that everything would be fine, that they would be happy +together. She did not react.

+

Helen made no sound at all, except that when David was about to +leave, she began to hum, very faintly, almost inaudible. A trickle +of saliva drooled down from her slack lips and he thought she had +groaned. He turned round, leaned close again, willing her to +respond.

+

She was humming tunelessly. He did not recognise the notes.

+

For an instant though, her eyes flickered. She blinked slowly +and she looked at him. For that instant he thought she was trying +to reach out to him, to make some sort of contact and he took her +hand again. Then the expression changed. The eyes slid away. A +muscle twitched on her cheek, drawing her mouth into a small smile. +For another instant, for a brief flash of time, David thought he +had seen that look on someone else.

+

It was only when he was leaving the hospital that he recalled +the last time he had seen the same, almost sly expression on +another face. It had been when mad old Greta Simon had spoken to +him in Blane Hospital, when she had begun to hum the old Gaelic +tune.

+
+

Helen sat in a world of strange and numbing sensations. She was +Helen Lamont, a part of her understood, but she was more than that. +It had looked into her eyes and it had connected with her depths +and in that sharing she had touched them all, all of the past +ones.

+

Her mind had fragmented and shattered and at once she was among +them, sharing with them all, down through the years, feeling their +powerful need, needing their powerful presence. They were one. They +had all had one purpose, driven to it, unable to escape it, but +there had been a purpose and now it was different.

+

Helen had reached into her new memory and had plucked out a song +that she would sing to herself, and there were other songs, in +words that she now understood, from far, far back. She hum these +softly while these others clucked and fussed around her, seen as if +through gauze curtains, heard as if through fog, part of a +different world now. She had broken and shattered and fragmented +and then all the scattered parts had coalesced once more and she +was alive again.

+

He had come to speak to her, murmuring words that she could not +understand, trying to touch an emotion that she could no longer +posses, because there was only one emotion. He had touched her hand +and she could feel her skin crawl. He did not realise how she could +not bear to be touched any more.

+

None of them realised anything at all.

+

She blinked slowly, turning away from the light, and turned in +to herself, listening to the slow beat of her own heart and the +rhythm of her own cycle.

+
+

June’s parents both came round to David’s house the +evening after he had been to the hospital and surprised him when +they asked after their daughter. They had been surprised to learn +that she and David had split up, for she had not mentioned the +parting at all. In fact she had continued as if nothing had +changed. They had wanted to know if she was staying with him, for +they hadn’t heard from her in a few days. David was irritated +by their presence, because it reminded him of a dead relationship +while his own relationship had been shattered by Helen’s +rape. He held himself in check, because they were a nice couple and +he’d always liked them. The three of them went round to +June’s flat, found the place cold and empty, with two +day’s milk outside the door and two days mail behind it. He +took them down to the station and helped them fill out a missing +person report.

+

Within himself, however, he harboured dark and irrational +suspicions. Had June taken a revenge? Had she set Helen up in the +hope that she could win David back? A miserable, smouldering anger +started to twist inside him again and he could not quench it.

+

The rapists were never found. Neither was June Whalen.

+

David spent a couple of hours with Dr Mike Fitzgibbon, the +psychiatrist who had taken him down to see Greta Simon, what seemed +like years ago. David was hoping to get some answers.

+

“She wants to forget what happened,” Mike told him. +“It’s the brain’s way of coping with an overload +of trauma. It is not catatonia, more a withdrawal. I’m sure +she will pull out of it, with help and therapy and counselling. +Your division’s got some good rape crisis people.”

+

Mike explained David’s own feelings of panic and anger, of +complete helplessness.

+

“It’s another side effect of your own drive. You +feel the need to protect your mate, and you consider that you have +failed in that . If there was a visible threat, another human, you +would fight him, but you cannot see it, only imagine it. Your brain +is doing the fighting for you because you feel the overwhelming +need to protect what is yours.

+

“You asked me some time ago what sort of woman steals a +baby and I explained about the mothering need. It is a primitive +drive, a built-in instinct. Men sometimes have a corresponding +drive which generally manifests itself after the birth of a child. +All of these drives are linked to the great fundamental, which is +more powerful and basic than the day-to-day survival instinct. Our +whole lives, our very existence, revolves around the compulsion to +reproduce. Everything is secondary to that, yet everything is +linked to it. The reproductive urge is the most powerful force on +the planet. Yours had been threatened, in a very literal sense. +Humans suffer stress because of that. Helen is suffering enormous +stress and so are you. The problem with humans is that we can +think. We are not mindless animals. If we were, it might be +easier.”

+

David still wanted to lash out. He needed a target to hit. +Something to kill.

+

Helen Lamont came out of her fugue state after two days, but +while she seemed more aware of her surroundings, she remained +silent and unresponsive. She walked stiffly and painfully, wan and +bloodless, her eyes huge in her pale face, still focused on the far +distance. A battle weary soldier would have recognised that +hopeless look into infinity. She looked more slight, more +vulnerable than ever. A woman colleague of Mike Fitzgibbon, along +with two rape specialists, tried to coax the story out of her, but +Helen, when she spoke at all, haltingly, mumblingly, managed to +convey to them that she remembered nothing at all. After another +day, despite David’s panicked protests she signed herself out +of the hospital. Failing to persuade her, he told her he would take +her back to his place, which in recent times had become their +place. She shook her head dumbly Helen refused to go to her +mother’s house, or her sister’s place where he knew she +would get love and care. She went back to her own apartment, +sitting silent in the car as he drove her there, ignoring +everything on the way, eyes fixed ahead of her. She let herself in +with her key, easing the door closed on his hurt expression.

+
+

At the beginning of May, two small boys found something in a +dense coppice four miles along the waterway parkland. They were not +sure what it was, but they said it had skeleton hands and it might +be a body.

+

David was merely going through the motions, unable to cope with +what had happened to Helen. She was still unable to return to work +and she still refused to communicate with him, or, it seemed, +anyone else. Her mother had called on him, hoping for some help in +getting through to her daughter, but he was as powerless as she +was. Helen had simply withdrawn into a shell of her own world, into +a cocoon of solitude. On the two occasions when she let him into +her apartment, he picked up a sense of anxiety and more than a +sense of dumb hostility towards him which he found as painful as a +physical blow. Her eyes were dull and lustreless and she cocked her +head to the side, absently listening to some imagined sound. He got +the impression that she could hardly bear his closeness and only +wanted him to leave. He wanted her to get medical help, but she +told him in a flat, listless voice, that she neither wanted it or +needed it. She only wanted to be alone.

+

“What about us?” he asked, clumsily. She looked at +him as if she did not quite understand. He got no reply to his +question. In the breaks of conversation, breaks that could stretch +out into dismal, uncomfortable minutes, she would hum to herself as +if her mind was roaming elsewhere. Her hair was getting longer, but +it was losing its shine. She was developing lines at the side of +her mouth. The bags were still heavy dark curves under her eyes. +Occasionally she would smile to herself, as if harbouring a secret. +David wondered if she had simply gone insane. He felt impotent and +angry and bewildered all at the same time, and added to that was +the guilt he felt for harbouring such a selfish attitude.

+

He tried to throw himself into his work and when the call came +in that a body had been found in the woods on the parkland, he +welcomed the chance to get on a case.

+

“Over there,” the local policeman said when he +arrived on the cycle track that shadowed the waterway. +“Don’t know what the hell it is.” Two small boys, +both red haired and freckled, obviously brothers, were sitting in a +police car, looking scared yet puffed up with importance all at the +same time. David spoke to them first then went into the coppice, +pushing his way through the bramble runners and dog rose stems +which clawed and tugged at his coat. Finally he reached the shape +in the centre of the thicket.

+

It looked at first like the decomposed body of a man.

+

There was no wind here in the coppice, but the day was warm and +the smell was overpowering. No direction was upwind. A horde of +black buzzing flies crawled over the body. A long, thin hand +reached out to grasp a sapling. The other one was stretched +overhead, hooked onto a branch. The skin was purple and fluid, as +if it had been burned or melted. Bones, long and slender, strangely +gracile and oddly jointed showed through in places.

+

“What in the name of Christ is that?” a uniformed +sergeant who had followed him through the undergrowth wanted to +know. David heard the man’s harsh gagging as he tried to cope +with the smell of rot.

+

He stepped closer and saw that whatever it was, it was not a +man. It was more like a spider monkey, in a way, with those +elongated arms and grasping fingers. The lower limbs were almost +identical, slender and jointed, almost insectile. For a moment, the +image of a mantis came to him. The feet were prehensile, each of +them holding onto an upright stem. It hung there, head down on its +narrow, ridged chest, an obscene Christ from a Dali +nightmare. Flies crawled all over its flat face. David risked +getting closer, shooed them away and they buzzed up in an angry +cloud. Two wide sockets, each big as a fist, gaped in a flat +face.

+

There was no mouth at all.

+

David stood a step back, suddenly nauseated, not so much by the +smell, but by the dead thing’s hideous appearance. It defied +the senses in a monstrous assault. It was an obscenity, an +offence against the natural order of things.

+

To David, the rotting carcass was a crime against nature, though +its shape, thin and angular, was somehow familiar. But for the lack +of mouth, it was just a larger, more elongated version of the thing +that he had shoved down into the mud of the canal. Such a thing +could never exist, not in this world, but it was there, decomposing +in the shadow of the copse, suspended from the branches, a slender, +slatted horror with purpling, viscous skin which dripped onto the +brambles below it. Its proportions were all wrong, yet it looked +somehow deadly, somehow predatory. He could imagine it stalking, +like a mantis, like all other mindless creatures.

+

Between its legs curved a spike which looked like bone. It +pointed outwards and upwards, a vicious stabbing thing.

+

Donal Bulloch’s words came back to him. “Something +sharp and spiked has damaged the walls of her uterus and punctured +her bowel,” Bulloch had said after the tape had stopped +playing and the silence had echoed with screams.

+

As soon as her recalled that, the image of the mantis faded. The +deadly insects killed only to eat, even to the extent of snatching +a potential suitor and tearing it to shreds. This thing without a +mouth was different. As he stared at it, his encyclopaedic +knowledge of the natural world dredged up for him a picture of a +male octopus, in a scene captured underwater by the camera of the +now dead Flora Spiers. It had copulated with the female and after +the successful fertilisation, its role in life done, it had ceased +to live. It had completed its purpose and it simply disintegrated +and died.

+

He remembered another picture, taken by himself when he was only +ten years old, of spent mayfly bodies on the still water of a river +pool. They had metamorphosed from larvae to emerge as adults for +their final flight, the incandescence of the breeding dance on the +summer air. They had fed all their lives and now the feeding was +over. They had emerged with only one drive, to find a mate. To +breed. They had no need of mouths, not any more.

+

“Oh sweet Jesus,” David muttered. He stumbled +backwards, his mouth open, eyes fixed on the dripping shape.

+

The clawed hands gripped the branches in a death lock. The feet +were hooked round the slender saplings. David now recognised the +bruising on Helen’s wrists and ankles.

+

And death it showed its living purpose, the stabbing spike +between its scrawny limbs curved up like a horn. It was only then +that he realised the cause of the dreadful rending wounds inside of +her. He stood back, groaning, eyes suddenly blinded by the violent, +uncontrollable pounding of his heart.

+

Helen Lamont disappeared that day from her flat. She was never +seen again.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus33.xhtml b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus33.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8720cc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/incubus33.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,75 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

33

+

Down in Barloan Harbour, Old Mrs Cosgrove, peering through her +thick lenses, had not recognised her when she came knocking on the +door, keeping her face to the shadows. It was no surprise that the +old woman who offered rooms for bed and breakfast did not know her. +She had changed.

+

The nights had been filled with strange dreams and the days +filed with strange hungers. Her ears buzzed and crackled and her +sense of smell was changing too. She needed hot meat, flesh and +blood. Sweet tastes nauseated her and made her retch violently. She +had pains deep in her belly, wrenching, swelling pains, but they +did not distress her.

+

She sat in the dark now, most of the time, keeping away from the +light, huddled in the swirl of blankets.

+

It had been right to move, to get away. There was danger in +staying where she was known, danger not just to herself. Instinct +had had driven her on, tugging her wordlessly, pushing her to +somewhere safe, somewhere she could hide and wait.

+

The time was almost on her. The pressure in her belly was +intense. The skin was stretched until she felt it might rip +asunder. Inside she could feel the small movements and the hot +pains and the glow spread through her. It had not taken long and +the waiting would soon be over.

+

In the night, something stirred and she awoke with a ripple of +alarm, but she saw it was the other one turning in her sleep, the +one she had known from that distant time before. Her name was May, +she recalled. Something like May. The name of a month. The name +mattered nothing at all now. No name did. Her sister, her brood +sister, was stirring awake. The moonlight streamed through the +narrow window, fuzzed by the condensation on the glass from the +heat of their bodies and the warmth of their breath.

+

A third one was already awake and her eyes were gleaming in the +light. The fourth and fifth were starting to move. She did not know +their names. They had no names. She had almost forgotten her own. +Identity too, meant nothing now yet they all recognised her and the +difference inside her.

+

She moved too, careful of the weight in her depths, careful of +her precious burden.

+

She hunkered down, ignoring the small and distant pain as her +knee pressed on the bent frame of old Mrs Cosgrove’s glasses. +Eyes glittered impassively in the dark. Without a pause at all, she +joined the others in the moonlight and they moved slowly, giving +her preference, as was her natural right. She bent and used her +teeth to strip the plump, rich flesh from a cold, spread-eagled +thigh. She gulped it down without chewing and the blood trickled +down her chin and over the swelling curve of her breasts. The +others watched her as she fed, naked in the dark. Over the smell of +the meat, she could sense their own imminent birthings. They would +produce only males.

+

She was different. The vessel that had been Helen Lamont +nurtured a special burden. No man would ever resist her offspring. +It would live forever.

+

A drop of milk leaked out to merge with the blood and the birth +pains began to pulse deep inside.

+

THE END

+
+
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b/build/incubus/OEBPS/other.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d8d93f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/other.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,34 @@ + + + + Other books + + + + +
+
+

Other books by the author available on

+ Amazon Kindle + +

Full Proof

+ +

Shrike

+ +

Incubus

+ +

Dark Valley

+ +

All available now on the Amazon Kindle

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt b/build/incubus/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a0447b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/incubus/OEBPS/toc.ncx b/build/incubus/OEBPS/toc.ncx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a850680 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/OEBPS/toc.ncx @@ -0,0 +1,231 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + incubus + + + + + + Title Page + + + + + + Chapter 1 + + + + + + Chapter 2 + + + + + + Chapter 3 + + + + + + Chapter 4 + + + + + + Chapter 5 + + + + + + Chapter 6 + + + + + + Chapter 7 + + + + + + Chapter 8 + + + + + + Chapter 9 + + + + + + Chapter 10 + + + + + + Chapter 11 + + + + + + Chapter 12 + + + + + + Chapter 13 + + + + + + Chapter 14 + + + + + + Chapter 15 + + + + + + Chapter 16 + + + + + + Chapter 17 + + + + + + Chapter 18 + + + + + + Chapter 19 + + + + + + Chapter 20 + + + + + + Chapter 21 + + + + + + Chapter 22 + + + + + + Chapter 23 + + + + + + Chapter 24 + + + + + + Chapter 25 + + + + + + Chapter 26 + + + + + + Chapter 27 + + + + + + Chapter 28 + + + + + + Chapter 29 + + + + + + Chapter 30 + + + + + + Chapter 31 + + + + + + Chapter 32 + + + + + + Chapter 33 + + + + + + + Other Books + + + + + + diff --git a/build/incubus/mimetype b/build/incubus/mimetype new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57ef03f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/incubus/mimetype @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +application/epub+zip \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/build/mythlands/META-INF/container.xml b/build/mythlands/META-INF/container.xml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..82697bd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/META-INF/container.xml @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ + + + + + + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ak.jpg b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ak.jpg new file mode 100644 index 0000000000000000000000000000000000000000..894b4a2bcc68d08212bdaca952394b4bf98e4646 GIT binary patch literal 10612 zcmbt)WmFwa^XJ7~gZsr@E(CXX*Wm6R+$A_65FCPYfs1<}cyM=@-~@LMEP3AN|L&f% z`)zwZ^z?L9PxaK4oc`78;_EK}ro6PAGyn<;3Sjbf0bW-C5`RbkU+wQA|6dFIWq$1e zU?Bojp_pNyC;`w|P%v0fue|_L02BZk1^@#E_-{i*f=57xf`Nm5o5ug=wf~*^djkax z^STT`edB<}gu#3pcXs_d4^(?^OnwX>yzvV_Fsn~1kE~n+fEA{xZcarD+%Omv6O)^d z%n_jWy+Pa0vh7H%z2@`zW35t(C9|)6YFRAim9wtnP}H1j%s~)(qov@xVL{Vsg}WUB zUjL@q*b&QeA(2_^%WoIssE}KJ{7%^3z$kz~r6@DUW_#X9*Rr6w62zKZopEM-nzjv~ zp|-FlZX7Od!VWu&iS$y?AO7y>l&L)Wpiyh*sa({ORYy?w(R@_tYrlr_1}@r0k6O`6 zxQ34=Yt@dE|wtHnl(XhE4r__u>n0|mupP7Ujwd6p4Y zX3f;hIm~pU+;FliU!9R5S#k+ZqZ<^m4DH-F76zY5&9hu9)7YtI$E@lqh}o!_k_q!7 z_2I=ax^auU;t3=63BbUn2&6KL(sH?_<`EcLBUSl}p?y9v001$|AT86#GLT2ra-Z97 z`Jns7a|rbBhX(xB91A7@8VVK)3IPTd=0DHj5#XR=QJHl1PltglAN`dOYx*l!7s<9D;? 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+
+

About the author

+ +

Joe Donnelly was born in Glasgow, in Scotland, close to the + River Clyde, but at a very young age he came to live in Dumbarton, + which is some miles from the city and close to Loch Lomond, Ben + Lomond and the Scottish Highlands.

+ +

At the age of 18, he decided to become a journalist and found a + job in the Helensburgh Advertiser, a local paper in a neighbouring + town where he learned the first essential of writing: how to type. + Quickly.

+ +

A few years later, at the age of 22, he became editor of his + local newspaper, the Lennox Herald in Dumbarton, before moving to + the Evening Times and then the Sunday mail in Glasgow where he + became an investigative journalist.

+ +

During his career he won several awards for newspaper work + including Reporter of the Year, Campaigning Journalist and Consumer + Journalist.

+ +

It was while working in newspapers that he wrote his first + novel, Bane, an adult chiller, which was followed by eight + other novels, mostly set in and around the West of Scotland and + loosely based on Celtic Mythology.

+ +

This was followed by Stone, The Shee, + Shrike, Still Life, Havock Junction, + Incubus and Dark Valley.

+ +

Recently he decided to write for children, although he says his + books are aimed at "young people of all ages, those with some + adventure in their soul."

+ +

The Jack Flint Trilogy is his first venture at telling + stories for the young at heart.

+ +

Joe is now working on two novels: A chiller for adults, and + another rollicking adventure for young people, based on Nordic + mythology.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b298e05 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,42 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof + + + + +
+
+

Full Proof

+ +

The town is on its knees. The jobs have gone. The companies have shut or sold out.

+ +

The only distillery is about to close just after the last batch of high-octane vintage scotch is bottled and + shipped.

+ +

But that batch is 250,000 gallons of full-proof whisky. It’s worth MILLIONS.

+ +

And it’s there for the taking.

+ +

All it takes is somebody with an idea, and some friends willing to take a big risk.

+ +

It’s the only thing that can turn a ghost town into a boom-town.

+ +

As long as you can outwit the cops. And the customs men. And the hoods who want it all.

+ +

It’s a tall order, but somebody has to do it. A man with a masterplan, and some crazy friends.

+ +

And nobody said you can’t have fun when you set out to save a town from the scrap-heap!

+ +

Joe Donnelly’s Full Proof is a roistering thriller, as high-octane as the scotch.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..641b1a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch01.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,358 @@ + + + + + + Mythlands + + + + + +
+
+

1

+ +

+ The high stone wall that circled Cromwath Blackwood had drawn him with a powerful and mysterious gravity, ever since he'd been a small boy. +

+

+ Now Jack Flint was going to break all the rules, ignore all the warnings and climb the wall to see just what was in there behind the wall. +

+

+ He and his best friend Kerry Malone had planned it for weeks, curiosity and apprehension jangling in them both. The wall around those dark trees was old and high and every kid here on the Ardmore peninsula had heard the tales. Nobody really knew for sure, because nobody went in there. +

+

+ "Maybe it's caves," Jack said as they sauntered down to the bus-stop after school. A cool sea breeze mixed salt in the scent of autumn heather on the air. High above, a jet contrail split the cold blue sky. "Or old mine workings that people could fall in. Anyway, we'll find out for ourselves tomorrow." +

+

+ "No," Kerry said, shaking his head. "I think it's a haunted house. That's why they built the wall." +

+

+ "You wouldn't build a wall for that," Jack insisted. "You'd just knock it flat. Caves are the best bet. Remember that boy who went in and got lost for years?" +

+

+ "If it ever happened," Kerry countered. "That was years ago. I don't believe it." +

+

+ They were all set for tomorrow. They had ropes and flashlights ready in Kerry's rucksack, and the fishing rods as a cover story. Nobody would be any the wiser, so long as Aunt Clarice didn't keep Jack around for weekend chores, and as long as the Major's gamekeeper didn't see them scaling the ivy that grew on the south wall. There was always the chance that the Major himself would be up in the turret of the big house with his brass telescope trained on them. With luck, Jack thought, they'd be up and over before anybody noticed. The thought of it made him tingle with excitement. At last he'd find out what was the secret behind the wall. +

+

+ Cromwath Blackwood . Every place has its legends, and here on the peninsula, where the standing stones stood like ancient guards along the crest of the ridge where the edge of Scotland met the sea, the Blackwood was the focus of many a childhood story. Jack had pondered on the walled coppice since he was just a kid, living with Aunt Clarice in the lodge house on the Major's estate. In his imagination, when he was small, there were monsters there. Dragons. Caves of treasure. +

+

+ Now he was older, he knew it would be something more mundane than all of that, but still the Cromwath Blackwood tugged at him, fired up his curiosity. It was secret. Forbidden. It was something he and Kerry could share, their own secret, and in a small harbour town like Ardmore secrets were always hard to come by and even harder to keep. +

+

+ Nobody they knew had ever gone over that wall and gone inside. There were stories a plenty and the one Jack liked best was the one about Thomas Lynn, who was reckoned to be about fifteen, a few months older than Jack and Kerry Malone. Some said it happened sixty years ago, before the war and some said it was before the Great War and nobody knew for sure when it happened, if it ever really did happen. +

+

+ Thomas Lynn had ignored all the warnings, so parents would tell their children. He climbed the big wall one autumn night and went into the Blackwood…and then he vanished. +

+

+ And he'd been gone a long time, whenever it was. +

+

+ The next time anybody saw him was when he was found up beside the old stone cairn on the top of Dumbuie Hill, a good ten miles away. And when did turn up, so the story went, it looked as if he'd been sucked into to some kind of hell and it had spat him out again. +

+

+ He was in a hell of a state, one of the old hands down at the fishing quay had told them one Saturday morning when Kerry was earning some money unloading boxes of fish. +

+

+ "He was burned bad all down one side of him," the old fellow had said, "The skin on his bones melted like tar." +

+

+ He cocked an eye at them. "An' toes an' fingers gone, like they'd frozen off, or maybe chewed off. Who can tell? Worst was the stuff growin' on him. It was like a poison fungus rooted right in him, suckin' the life out. A woeful way to die, I can tell ye." +

+

+ He took a suck on his pipe, covering it against the smirr of rain coming in off the sea. Kerry sat on a box in his threadbare sweater, blue Irish eyes bright with interest. +

+

+ "Wherever it was he found himself, it musta been a place none of God's creatures should ever go," the old fellow went on. "Poor soul was slobberin' an droolin'. Mad as a hatter an' he was stone blind." +

+

+ The deckhand had knocked his pipe on the gunwale and squinted down at them against the sparkle of the rising tide. Both Jack and Kerry sat, fascinated, not quite believing the tale, but wishing the story was true. +

+

+ "The mystery was," the fisherman went on. "When they found him up on the hill, it was ten years after he disappeared. Ten whole years. Can you imagine that?" +

+

+ Both Jack and Kerry nodded. It was an old story, but it still gripped them. +

+

+ "His brain frazzled an' his eyes burned out like he'd seen a vision o' hell," the deckhand said, nodding himself, agreeing with his own story. +

+

+ "And he was not one day older than he was on the day he climbed over that wall." +

+

+ He left that hanging in the air. They hadn't heard that part of the story before. Ten years and not a day older. Story or not, that was a big one to get the mind around. +

+

+ "So where had he been?" Kerry wanted to know. +

+

+ "Somewhere nobody should ever go," the old fellow said. "Nowhere on this world, that's the truth of it." +

+

+ "How does anybody know he went in the Blackwood?" Jack finally asked. His dark hair was a contrast to Kerry's mop of brown curls. +

+

+ The deckhand shrugged. "It was afore my time, I grant ye, but folk seen him, an' the sight scared the bejasus out of them." +

+

+ He waved a finger at them. "Don't you boys be thinkin' of goin' up there in those trees, mind. Remember young Tommy Lynn, an' you pay heed." +

+

+ "You believe any of that?" Kerry Malone asked. He was almost the same height as Jack, with a smattering of sepia freckles across his nose and an Irish accent to match, even though he'd lived here on Scotland's west coast since he was six. "All those old fishers, they believe in kelpies and little people and the Loch Ness monster." +

+

+ "There has to be something in there," Jack insisted. "They put a wall round it to keep people out." +

+

+ They were almost down to Ardmore Road that snaked round the shore. They couldn't see the Blackwood from this distance, but it was there all right, dark and mysterious. +

+

+ "That wall's been there for hundreds of years," Jack said. "Nobody knows how long." He turned to face Kerry. "Maybe it wasn't built to keep folk out." +

+

+ "Why build it then?" +

+

+ "I can see it from my bedroom. Sometimes I've seen the tops of the trees whipping about when it gets dark, like something's shaking them, even when there's no wind. And when I was a kid I heard things in there. +

+

+ "Now you're winding me up." +

+

+ "No," Jack said flatly. "It was at night. I heard something. Like screaming. Real high and shuddery. And people wailing and crying. I had nightmares for weeks." +

+

+ Kerry still looked skeptical, but Jack went on. +

+

+ "I think maybe they put up the wall to keep something in." +

+

+ He let that idea float.. Kerry walked with it until they reached the corner. +

+

+ "Aye maybe. But there isn't a wall high enough to stop a Malone." +

+

+ "Sure," Jack said. "Tell that to your Dad." +

+

+ Kerry collapsed a fit of laughter and that broke the moment. Jack was his best friend, so he could make a joke about the luckless Fergal Malone, odd-job-man, drinker and poacher who was having an unplanned three-month holiday in Drumbain Jail. They'd sent him up for using dynamite from the quarry to blow a few salmon from a pool in Brander Water, and almost blowing himself up in the attempt. +

+

+ They had been best of friends since they'd been six years old, when Kerry's dyslexia slowed him up in school and Jack used to try to help him with the letters in the reading books. After that, Jack had read the kids stories to him and then, when the Major let him use the library up in the big house, he'd share the adventure stories, tales of the old Celtic heroes and the battles they fought in Scotland and Ireland in the mythical days of long ago. +

+

+ For an orphan like Jack Flint and the son of a ne'er-do-well like Kerry, it might have been an odd friendship, but as the Major told him on their long walks up on Brander Ridge, you couldn't pick your friends, not your real friends anyway. +

+

+ They were still laughing when they turned the corner of the lane, schoolbags slung from their shoulders, and almost barged into the crowd of older boys hanging around the bus-shelter. +

+

+ Both of them stopped laughing when Billy Robbins turned round and saw them. He stepped out to block the way. +

+

+ He was big and beefy, red-faced, red-haired and freckled and the bane of many a boy's existence here in Ardmore. +

+

+ The village huddled around the harbour, between the ridge and the grey Atlantic ocean and there was nowhere to hide from a bully like Billy Robbins who had thrown his weight about ever since Jack had started school. His old man owned the boatyard where Kerry's mother worked as a cleaner, aside from the sewing jobs she took to keep the house going while Kerry's dad was away. She really needed the cleaning job in the boatyard and Kerry wouldn't risk it for her. +

+

+ "Hey, here's Malone!" Billy bawled, and Jack felt his stomach tighten. "The illegiterate bogtrotter." +

+

+ Jack hated it when Billy made fun of Kerry's dyslexia. It wasn't Kerry's fault his brain managed to scramble up the letters into a jumble, but that didn't make him stupid. Far from it. But Billy Robbins thought it just the best of laughs to point it up. +

+

+ "What the hell are you doin' here?" He pulled his I-pod earpiece out and spun the thin cable around his finger. "They got a special bus for you window-lickers." +

+

+ A couple of girls in nearby sniggered that high-pitched way and Kerry's cheeks went bright red. Fiona Dunbar was one of the girls, and maybe she hadn't laughed, but she was there, watching, and Kerry was suddenly wilting on his feet with embarrassment and shame. +

+

+ "Are you hearing me? We don't want any raggy-arsed Irish tinkers stinking up the bus." +

+

+ Billy nudged one of his cronies and took a pull on his cigarette. Robbins and his pals were a year older, and while Jack was tall for his age, they were bigger yet, and heavier. And Robbins was meaner than any of them. +

+

+ "Hey Stevie," Billy asked one of the others. He wasn't finished yet. "What's DNA stand for?" +

+

+ "Dunno?" +

+

+ "National Dyslexic Association.." He pointed up at the sign on the bus shelter. "He thinks it says Sub. Am I right, bog-trotter? Can't read, can't write, backside hanging out of his pants." +

+

+ Everybody laughed this time, or most of them. Jack looked across, past Kerry's bright red ears, and saw Fiona Dunbar was turning away and she wasn't laughing. Inwardly he thought good for you, and he wished Kerry would take his eyes off the ground and see it for himself. But Kerry never moved. He kept staring at the ground, fists clenched, face burning, shoulders twitching with the need to hit out and the tension of holding it back. +

+

+ "Turn around, rag-bag," Robbins said. He shot a hand out and grabbed Kerry by the shirt. "Show us the patch on your pants." +

+

+ Robbins was wearing a pair of trainers that probably cost as much as Kerry's whole wardrobe. He grinned widely, his acne-scarred skin stretched like pink gravel. The peach fuzz on his cheeks made him look piggish and mean. +

+

+ "Real cool, tinkerboy. Your old man's got more style and he's wearing jail stripes." +

+

+ Kerry said nothing. Robbins used his bulk to pull him slowly backwards and forwards. +

+

+ Do it! Go on! Jack's back teeth were clenched and grinding. He'd seen Kerry haul fishboxes all day down at the harbour. His hands were calloused and rough from hard work. If he wanted to, he could give Robbins a run for his money. +

+

+ "What did I tell you already?" Robbins demanded. "Bogtrotters don't get the bus with us. You stink of piss and fish. Now take a hike, you an' the bookworm. The walk'll do you good. You put a foot on that bus and I'll kick your raggy arse off, hear?" +

+

+ "Go pick on somebody else, you fat bully!" +

+

+ Jack heard himself say the words as if they were coming from somebody else. As soon as they were out of his mouth, he wished he could have bitten them back and swallowed them out of sight. He'd taken two unbidden steps forward, suddenly quivering with righteous anger at Kerry's humiliation, two steps that put him just within Robbins reach. +

+

+ A beefy hand shot out and grabbed him by the school tie. The other casually shoved Kerry away. It happened so fast Jack hardly saw it coming. His heart leapt into his throat as Robbins swung piggy eyes on him. Robbins took a slow draw on his cigarette then flicked it at him. It bounced off his jacket in a flurry of sparks. +

+

+ "Oho!" he said. "We got a big mouth here." Billy didn't sound angry at all. He sounded pleased. "What was it you just called me?" +

+

+ Jack tried to pull back out of the grip. His heart was thudding so hard he could feel the pulse in his ears. Robbins flexed his arm and pulled him close enough to smell stale cigarette smoke and whatever he'd had for lunch. +

+

+ "You sayin' I'm fat?" +

+

+ "I told you to leave him alone." The words just blurted out. Jack wished he could put a brake on his tongue. "He's done nothing to you." +

+

+ "Nothing? Nothing?" Robbins worked up indignation. "His old man stole from my old man, didn't he? You call that nothing? And this low-life Irish scum-bag son of his is just as bad. +

+

+ He held Jack close, eyes almost hidden by fat cheeks. He was still grinning, but there was no joy in that grin. Jack thought he could read some disturbing expression in those eyes and felt the back of his legs begin to tremble. For the first time in his life he thought he recognized madness in another human and it really scared him. +

+

+ "Want some action, Pink Lint?" Robbins had his own rhyming name for Jack. +

+

+ Jack felt the tight anger wrestle with the swelling fear. Just because Kerry couldn't read, just because he was dyslexic, that didn't make him stupid. Just because he wouldn't fight didn't make him a coward either. Robbins pulled him very close and Jack wished that he'd kept quiet but his mouth had worked before his brain could stop it and while he was suddenly scared, he knew it would be a real mistake to show it now. +

+

+ Without any warning, Robbins suddenly shoved him away. Jack turned to run, but the rest of the bigger boys had surrounded them and hands pushed him back again towards Robbins. +

+

+ He twisted to keep his balance and swung right into the swinging fist that caught him such a thud that everything went black for a second. The force knocked his head back against the shelter and made little bright lights spiral like tinsel in watery vision. He ended up on his backside with a jolt that gnashed his teeth. +

+

+ "That's not fat, Lint-boy," Robbins grated. +

+

+ He grinned, showing small teeth. "That's pure muscle." +

+

+ Jack groggily shook his head. Robbins pulled him up by the shirt, violent enough to pop two buttons which whizzed away. He drew his fist back for another punch. Instinctively Jack raised a hand to protect his face and his palm caught Robbins, purely by accident, square on the nose. +

+

+ Billy Robbins staggered back cursing, hand to his face, eyes wide in fury and surprise. Jack was just as surprised. He'd never hit anybody in his life, even if it hadn't been intended. Robbins roared and came at him, fists cocked. +

+

+ He jabbed a hand out and grabbed Jack's shirt again, dragged him forward with such force that the collar ripped, raised his clenched fist and brought it down again on Jack's cheek. The blow rocked him back, ears ringing. Jack tried to squirm away. Another punch almost dropped him flat. +

+

+ One of the girls called out for Robbins to stop, but Jack knew there was no stopping him at all. Robbins might have had the looks of a pig, but was mean as a stoat and all his cronies were egging him on. Whatever Jack had seen in his eyes, a kind of blankness behind the mean glitter, that had sent a chill through him. +

+

+ Robbins raised the fist again. Jack cringed away from it, tears smarting in his eyes from the first blow, but couldn't twist out of the grip on his shirt. +

+

+ Then Kerry moved in fast and grabbed the clenched fist in both hands. Robbins let out a mad howl and spun like a bull, swinging Jack right off his feet. +

+

+ Kerry hung on to the fist as Robbins wheeled, dragging both smaller boys with him. Kerry's complexion had changed from red to almost pure white. It was hard to tell whether it was fear or anger. +

+

+ "I'll bloody kill you," Robbins bawled. "I'll tear both of you apart." +

+

+ Jack didn't doubt that at all. In that moment, he knew there was something broken inside Billy Robbins. Some crack in there that festered with poison. +

+

+ He pulled, hard as he could, dragged himself free of the grip and spun away, tripped and went sprawling. He heard the sound of a pulpy blow landing hard. In a second he was back on his feet. He grabbed his bag, full of schoolbooks, bit down on his fear and the panicky urge to run and save himself. +

+

+ He darted in between two of the older boys. +

+

+ Robbins had Kerry by the throat, thumbs pressed against his windpipe, his face swollen with animal fury, mouth twisted into a mad snarl. +

+

+ "Come on Billy," somebody said, worried now. +

+

+ "Sure, man. He's got the message. Let him go." +

+

+ Robbins was beyond listening. Both hands were clenched on Kerry's throat, and his big shoulders bulged with the effort. His face was warped in a strange grimace. Kerry's was purple now and his eyes were so wide Jack thought they would pop out. His knees began to sag as he hauled for a breath that just wouldn't come. +

+

+ "He's killing him!" It came out in a screech. Jack was suddenly so scared he couldn't swallow. +

+

+ Kerry grunted, tried to pull the hands away. Nobody else made a move. Nobody dared. +

+

+ Jack ran in and swung his bag, hard as he could. It caught Robbins on the back of his knees with such force that they buckled forward and suddenly he was down on the roadside, with Kerry on top of him. One hand pulled free to try to break his fall and Kerry twisted out of the other. Robbins landed with a thud, and his breath went out of him. Kerry rolled over him gasping for breath, scrambled to his feet just as Robbins was turning. A big hand tried to grab his ankle, but he was too quick. +

+

+ Jack hauled him to his knees, to his feet, kept hauling until they were out of the melee. +

+

+ "Run!" Jack bawled. Behind them Robbins was roaring incoherently. He sounded like a mad beast. +

+

+ They ran. Jack dragged Kerry by the sleeve, forcing to run with him, as fast as they could. A half-brick whizzed past Jack's ear, close enough to hear, heavy enough to crack his skull. He ducked and they ran on, round the corner, along the road, as far as they could before they had to stop for breath. +

+

+ "He tried to strangle you," Jack managed. "There's something not right with him. He's really crazy." +

+

+ Kerry was still panting, hands on his knees. Finally he got enough air into his lungs. +

+

+ "No bother." Kerry gasped. He was grinning now. "Sure, I was just lulling him into a false sense of security before I made my move." +

+

+ Jack looked at him. Big red pressure marks were clear on his throat. +

+

+ "I had him just where I wanted him," Kerry said, his eyes bright with bravado, but his voice dripping irony. +

+

+ And suddenly, despite it all, they were laughing so hard they had to hold on to each other to keep from falling. +

+

+ "Come on," Kerry said when it subsided. "We'll hitch a lift home and save the fare. And look…." He dug a hand into his threadbare jacket pocket and pulled out a crushed packet of cigarettes. "I'm having one of these, just for my nerves." +

+

+ "Where did you get them?" +

+

+ "I swiped them when he was down," Kerry said, grinning. "You can't miss your chances in life." +

+

+ He winked at Jack. "We'll need them when we go over that wall." +

+ +
+
+ + + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da3fbcc --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch02.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,406 @@ + + + + + Mythlands - Chapter + + + + +
+
+

2

+

+ The nightmare jolted him out of sleep and Jack woke, trembling in its aftermath while the images fragmented and faded. +

+

+ He hadn't had this dream for a long time. When he was small, it sometimes came every night and he would wake wailing until Clarice came bustling in to + smother him in her warm arms while the snarling, howling sounds faded in the glow of the bedside light. +

+

+ Jack shook his head, dispelling the last of it, shaken but glad he had not cried in his sleep. +

+

+ Whatever had sparked the dream, maybe talking about the sounds he'd heard long ago coming from behind the Blackwood forest wall, or maybe the tussle with + Billy Robbins after school, he didn't know, but just on the point of waking, he'd felt he'd gone back somehow to when he was small and his dreams were + fresh and so scary his heart would stop dead in his chest. +

+

+ It was dark and he was moving through a forest, + carried between the trees in strong arms, while behind, orange eyes, big as saucers, reflected moonlight and blinked ghostly in the depths. +

+

+ + Pale things flitted fast, slobbering and snarling as they came and Jack could hear the ragged, exhausted breathing of whoever carried him, sense the + desperation to keep moving.. + +

+

+ In the dream, Jack didn't know what chased them in the dark. He had no words, no comprehension. +

+

+ All he knew is that if they caught him it would be terrible. But he was so frightened that he couldn't even cry. +

+

+ And the arms carried him until they came to the tall, pale shapes…. +

+

+ In the aftermath, he could still see those sickly orange eyes and the thin, flitting forms between the trunks, and for the first time in his life he realized that the dream had to have come from somewhere. He couldn't have imagined something like that. +

+

+ It had to be a memory. What kind of memory, he just didn't know. +

+
+

+ Morning came. He was half awake, sore when he moved. +

+

+ Jack bent towards the mirror, touching the bruise high on his cheek. The strange thing was, it hadn't hurt much at the time. Billy Robbins' punch had made + his head spin, but the hurt came later, when the bruise began to swell. +

+

+ Jack couldn't fight. Never had any reason to until Billy Robbins, the school bully and a boastful bigot, had picked on Kerry, because he was Irish, because + he was dyslexic, and because, like Jack, he was near enough an orphan. +

+

+ On the way down to the bus-stop, Billy Robbins had started again, and Jack had stood up for Kerry and Robbins had swung at him and knocked him down. If you + couldn't pick your true friends, you couldn't pick enemies either. They picked you. +

+

+ He stepped back from the mirror. His first black eye, so he supposed he could count himself lucky. Some boys would fight over nothing any day of the week + but Jack wasn't cut out to be a fighter. Just what he was cut out to be was anybody's guess. +

+

+ Straight black hair fell over his brow and he hoped it was long enough to hide the bruise, but it wasn't and he knew Clarice wouldn't miss it. She had eyes + like a falcon and she knew him inside out. She could spot dirty fingernails at a hundred yards and unpolished shoes from a mile. +

+

+ How did you get that, Jack Flint? He could just hear her say. It was always the full whack, the full Jack Flint when she noticed + something out of line, which was half the time at least. +

+

+ "You and that Kerrigan Malone!" She'd say. "Have you two been fighting?" +

+

+ She'd bring Kerry into it right away, nothing surer. +

+

+ Then she'd grab him, quick as a snake and draw his face down to hers, peer over her glasses at the damage and then she'd get that worried, concerned look. + She was tough, but she loved him even if she had a funny way of showing it sometimes. +

+

+ Having somebody to love him was half the battle. That and a friend like Kerry. +

+

+ He went downstairs for cornflakes, smiling at the picture he'd conjured, prepared to bet that this would be just what happened, and sooner rather than + later. You had to get up with the milkman to get one over on old Iron Britches. His smile turned into a grin, as he thought of Kerry's name for Clarice. + Those two walked wary around each other like cat and terrier, each expecting the worst, a scratch or a bite. +

+

+ It wasn't that Kerry was bad. No way. But you give a dog a bad name and it's hard to shake. Despite her wariness, Clarice had insisted in taking Kerry into + the lodge house when his father went to jail, rather than see him put into care. She knew he'd be like a caged wolf if he couldn't roam. +

+

+ The Major wasn't in the library after breakfast, which was where he'd be found when he was home from wherever it was he went from time to time. Nobody knew + much about where he went, and he never offered an explanation or gave any warning. One day he'd be gone, and another day he'd be back again. It was a + mystery Jack had often wondered about but never asked. +

+

+ The Major owned the big estate just west of Ardmore and he was as much a father, or grandfather as Jack had ever had. +

+

+ The old man could be distant at times, spending days and nights up in the observatory in the turret of the rambling old house, but when he was home, he'd + give Jack the run of his amazing library with its treasure of books, or take him hiking the crest of Brander Ridge, telling him tales of the old days. +

+

+ Jack climbed the wide stairway, then the narrow steps to the turret which had a vantage over the whole peninsula. +

+

+ The brass telescope stood at the north window today, beside a gleaming sextant and other instruments Jack had never quite figured out. The walls between + the windows were covered with star charts and ancient weapons, and the desk was piled high with books that breathed the dry and dusty smell of age. +

+

+ He peered through the scope and Cromwath Blackwood jumped into focus. Dark branches clawed over the high wall, tangled, strangled with ivy thick as ropes. + Even with the telescope, he could see nothing inside the dense weave of twigs and thorns. +

+

+ It was dark in there. It was always dark in there. +

+

+ Jack turned the telescope to point east over the bay, hoping the Major wouldn't notice. He'd have to warn Kerry they'd need to scale the wall on the far + side, just in case the Major was up in the turret tomorrow. +

+

+ He jammed his hands in his jeans and turned to one of the charts on the wall. It was ragged, stained at the edges, and it looked so old it might crumble to + dust. The lettering on it, if it was lettering, was in a language Jack couldn't read. He turned, and that's when the bronze casket on the far side + of the desk caught his eye. +

+

+ It sat squat, glowing with smooth patina, carved with imps or pixies or demons; solid, heavy, dark with great age. He had never seen it before. +

+

+ An inexplicable buzz ran through him, like a surge of electricity. +

+

+ He felt his heart beating, an odd double-pulse, that seemed to be coming from inside and outside his chest. He couldn't say why, but the casket demanded + his full attention. +

+

+ Very tentatively, he reached his right hand out towards it, felt the silken smoothness of the metal, the undulations of the carving. His fingers splayed on + the top, as if they knew what they were searching for. +

+

+ There was an odd little snick. +

+

+ Jack almost stepped back, but the compulsion kept his fingers pressed to the surface. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. A tiny whirr sound + came, almost inaudible. His fingers peeled from the lid. He stood there in silence, waiting. +

+

+ The lid moved. +

+

+ A dark gap showed, and then slowly the top swung up on its own making the carvings shimmer and dance. +

+

+ He held his breath, heart still making that double-thump. +

+

+ The lid raised itself. He moved closer, peered into it and saw the heart, a black stone heart, small enough to hold in your hand, polished smooth as glass. + It seemed to pulse and contract with a life all its own. +

+

+ Unbidden, his hand reached for it. +

+

+ And without warning a grey shape loomed at him from the side. +

+

+ A big hand snaked towards his face as he turned, expecting a heavy blow, but instead it flashed past him and snapped the lid shut just as Jack was about to + lift the heart stone from its setting +

+

+ "Curiosity, Jack lad." The Major's eyes crinkled. "It'll get you into trouble one of these days, that's for sure." +

+

+ "It was alive." was all Jack could say. +

+

+ "Trick of the light, young feller.." +

+

+ Jack looked at him. He was sure he had seen the heart pulse, in and out, like a living thing. The Major met his gaze and brushed his hand over his short + silver hair that matched his close-cropped beard. It was hard to tell how old he was, but he hadn't changed at all for as long as Jack had known him. +

+

+ I'm sorry," he said. "I shouldn't have opened it." +

+

+ "I'm surprised you could." The major said. "A few have tried." +

+

+ The image of a black stone that pulsed stayed right up at the front of his mind. He'd never seen anything like it before. +

+

+ He felt it had called to him. +

+

+ "What is it?" He wanted another look at it. He wanted to hold it in his hand, and he couldn't say why. +

+

+ "Just an old trinket," the Major said. "Given to me a long time ago. +

+

+ He drew himself up, towering over Jack, then eased onto the desk beside the telescope. He ruffled Jack's hair, letting him know he wasn't really put out, + then turned the boy's face to one side, bent forward to inspect the bruise around his eye. +

+

+ "That's some shiner you have there. I hope you've a good story for Clarice. You want to try it on me?" +

+

+ "It was just a scrap," Jack said. "I said something and Billy Robbins shoved me around a bit. He was having a go at Kerry" +

+

+ The Major held Jack's chin in one hand, inspecting the bruise. +

+

+ "So you took a black eye?" +

+

+ "Kerry's a friend, and he won't fight. I had to stand up for him. He would do it for me if he could." +

+

+ "Good lad." The Major looked at him with a smile, but there was a sadness in it too. "Just like your father." +

+

+ As soon as he'd said it, he closed his mouth in a tight line, and Jack could see he wished he hadn't spoken. +

+

+ "Let's you and me hike up the ridge and see the lie of the land." +

+

+ The crags at the west point of Brander Ridge dropped abruptly to the sea. Beyond them the ocean stretched, grey as lead under piling clouds. Southwards, + Ardmore harbour huddled in the bay, and down the slope the slate roof of the Major's rambling stone house could just be seen through the pines. All along + the crest of the ridge, a line of standing stones hunched like weary sentinels, as far as Cromwath Blackwood in the distance. +

+

+ Jack was all questions, but with the Major, you couldn't push far. He just came and went and sometimes walked with Jack on the ridge where he would sit, + often silent, for an hour or so, watching the sea, then swinging round to gaze a long time at Cromwath Blackwood. +

+

+ "I wish I knew more about my father," Jack finally said. +

+

+ "I know. I can tell you this. He was the best man to have at your back, and an even better one to have at your side. Best friend I ever had, bravest man I + ever knew." +

+

+ "I can't remember him at all. What really happened to him?" +

+

+ The Major bent forward and placed his hands on Jack's shoulders. +

+

+ "I can't rightly say, and that's the honest truth. I know he went on a…a mission and he never came back. Where he went, I don't really know. You were + just a baby when you were brought here. All I can say for now is your father was a good man with a good heart." He touched Jack's chest with a finger, + right in the centre. "Just like his son." +

+

+ "Can you tell me about him?" +

+

+ "I can, and I will," the Major said softly. "But you've got a year or so to put on you, and a bit of his height as well. Maybe scrape a razor once or twice + over your chin." +

+

+ He smiled. "Then you and me, we'll go walking up here again, and I'll tell you all you want to know. And what you need to know. And there are + things you do need to know." +

+

+ "But…." +

+

+ "No buts Jack. Curb your curiosity and feed your patience. I know it's not easy, but nothing important ever is. All in good time." +

+

+ Jack's shoulders slumped. He sizzled with the need to know more; more about Major MacBeth, more about the strange stone heart that had tugged at him like a + tide. Most of all, he needed to know about his father, who and what kind of man he was. Because he needed to know about himself. +

+

+ "All in good time, Jack. And that's what you should be having while you're young and quick. A good time. It's Friday. What's your plan?" +

+

+ Reluctantly Jack allowed himself to be drawn into the change of subject. The Major was like a clam when he chose, and already it was clear he'd said more + than he'd intended. +

+

+ "We've got the Halloween party tonight. Tomorrow, Kerry and me are going to explore Brander Water, see if we can find the source. And then we'll fish the + tarn." +

+

+ It wasn't a complete lie, because after exploring the walled coppice, they did plan to go fishing, but even then Jack felt guilty about not telling the + whole truth. +

+

+ The Major fixed him with a look and Jack felt his face flush. It was as if he could read his mind. "Well, take care you don't get lost up there. It's wild + old country." +

+

+ Jack forced a smile. "I never get lost. I always know the way back." +

+

+ The Major looked as if he was going to say something else, but seemed to think better of it. +

+

+ "Just make sure Kerry leaves me a fish or two. He's a devil of a poacher." +

+

+ Jack laughed. "Just a couple for the pan." Kerry could catch anything that moved. +

+

+ "And take my midge spray. It's late in the season, but they'll still eat you alive." +

+

+ The Major winced as he hauled slowly to his feet. +

+

+ "What's wrong?" Jack asked. +

+

+ "A twinge is all." The Major leaned heavily on the gnarled stick, carved with two snakes that merged into one ferocious head burnished to a shine with + years of handling. +

+

+ "Winter's coming. It's the equinox tomorrow. We're crossing over to the dark nights." And you've the Samhain party?" +

+

+ "Yeah. A week early, as usual." +

+

+ "Always been that way, ever since those stones have stood on the ridge. Halloween's still new-fangled around here. You've read your books, so you know why. + Samhain is a night to watch. The old folk knew a thing or two. Full moon tonight, Jack. Keep a weather eye out." +

+

+ Jack stopped. "For what?" +

+

+ "Full moon and Samhain. A powerful conjunction. Just take care where you step, and don't be late back. It's not a night to be about." +

+

+ "I don't believe in ghosts." +

+

+ "Oh, there's worse than ghosts, believe me." +

+

+The Major allowed a smile to crease his face. "You've used the telescope. All those stars. A clever man said the universe is much stranger than we can imagine. Remember the stories you've read. You always had your nose in them." +

+

+ "Sure, but they're just legends." +

+

+ "There's a kernel of truth in all the legends. That's why they were passed down. Why they've lasted so long." +

+

+ He changed his stance, cuffed Jack a light one on the back of his head. "So what are you happy lads going as?" +

+

+ "I'm Cuchullain." He pronounced it Co-hoolin, the way the Major had told him when he was small. The great Celtic warrior hero had always been Jack's + favourite. "And Kerry's David. You know, the giant killer. He wanted to go as Samson, but his hair's too short." +

+

+ "A warped warrior and a giant killer," the Major said. "Two good men and true. Come by before you go and I'll lend you something to make you look the + part." +

+

+ He paused, as if trying to think his way inside Jack's head. "But still, mind what I said now, and get home before full dark. And another thing, you take + care up at the tarn, and remember….." +

+

+ "I remember," Jack said, knowing what was coming. "Stay away from Cromwath Blackwood." +

+

+ "Got it in one, son. No place for anybody." +

+

+ But the mystery of the walled Blackwood tugged on Jack like a fishhook. Always had, always would, until he found out for himself. +

+

+ "Have you ever been in there?" +

+

+ The Major gave him a searching look. "Like I say, Jack. It's no place for anybody. What's in there is old. Old and dangerous." +

+

+ He had such a stern look that Jack felt as if he'd been peeled open, but then the Major touched him on the shoulder. +

+

+ "Some things were always meant to stay hidden." +

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch03.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch03.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da40c65 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch03.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,751 @@ + + + + + Mythlands - Chapter 3 + + + + +
+
+

3

+ +

+ They were running in the dark, and they were running for their lives. +

+

+ It had happened so fast, so terrifyingly sudden, and now they were running, running in the tunnel with that awful chittering sound behind them, echoing + from the hard stone walls. +

+

+ Run lads! + The Major had opened the door in the wall and hustled them through before the next wave came. Run like the wind and don't turn back. +

+

+ And they had run, Jack and Kerry Malone both, with that shapeless, freezing dark oozing its way into the Major's bolt-hole, too powerful, too cold and + relentless to hold back, too utterly evil to face, and yet the Major turned to face it. +

+

+ He had faced the living darkness alone. +

+

+ Anger and fear welled up inside him. The Major had shoved them to safety, through the door into the stairway, and they had run like he said, but they had + left him alone to face that awful flowing gibbering dark. +

+

+ Now they were running away with the bag in Jack's hands and the backpack on Kerry's shoulders, running in the dark and running for their own lives, unable + to comprehend how a Halloween night could turn so quickly and turn the world so inside-out. +

+

+ The dogs had been bad enough. They had been sauntering up the steep road, past Dr Balloch's gate when the two big Doberman dogs, black as sin in the + shadows, had come racing down from the side of the house, howling like wolves, and launched themselves at the chain-link fence with such force it spanged + outwards like a net and shivered the upright posts. The first one bounced backwards, turning a complete somersault, to land, slavering on the dead leaves. +

+

+ The sudden attack gave them such a fright that Kerry had jumped backwards, crashed into Jack, and the two of them ended in a tangle on the road. +

+

+ Behind the fence the big dogs were baying in a sudden fury. Moonlight glinted in their black eyes and caught the curve of bared teeth and the foam that + flicked out between them. +

+

+ The boys found their feet, and fast. One of the dogs ran at the fence and one of the links snapped with a crack. Both of them took off up the + road, hell for leather, and behind the barrier, the dogs came haring after them, growling and snarling, crashing through the bushes. The boys scooted + across the road, down the lane while behind them the beasts scrabbled at the fence, trying to dig their way under. +

+

+ "Nearly gave me a heart attack," Kerry said when they finally slowed down. They had played with Dr Balloch's pets down on the shore, fed them biscuits in + the passing. They had always looked fierce, the way Dobermans do, but they had always been gentle, playful creatures. "What got into them?" +

+

+ "Full moon." Jack said. "Lunatic mutts." They were still charged up from the fright they'd got. Jack was sure if the dogs had managed through the fence + they wouldn't have stopped at just barking and snarling. They had looked mad and vicious in the dim light, and they had sounded worse than that. +

+

+ "It's a funny night." +

+

+ "Nothing funny about it," Jack said. +

+

+ The moon was full, silvering down on them as they walked back together, casting dark and reaching shadows from the bare birches on the narrow road above + Ardmore Harbour. Kerry had scrumped a couple of apples from Widow McLusky's garden and had tried his hand with the sling, lobbing the windfalls at the + lamp-posts on the roadside. He looked the part, in that rabbit-skin outfit he'd made up to look like the boy David, but he'd never hit a Goliath, not + without a whole lot of practice. +

+

+ The Major had lent them the sling from his collection of old arms in the library, marvelously woven from strips of fine leather. He had handed Jack the + recurve bow and a quiver of arrows that Jack had seen on the wall. +

+

+ "Two heroes, both of you. Don't go spiking folk with those barbs. And watch that Amberhorn. It's got a hard draw to it." He warned the boys not to stay out + too late and they had nodded agreement. Jack had cut the sleeves off an old leather jacket from the attic and swiped a plaid blanket for a cloak and was + passable as his hero Cuchullain, even if nobody else had ever heard of him. +

+

+ "They thought I was Robin Hood," Jack said. It had been an eventful night, and it had been hard to avoid Billy Robbins whose gang had been waiting outside + the village hall, standing at the corner, smoking and taking swigs from a six-pack of beer, just waiting for the younger ones to come out into the night. +

+

+ He had spotted Jack first and peeled away from the group who sauntered behind. The street light caught that mean look in his eye, beefy shoulders hunched + aggressively, out for trouble and expecting to find it. +

+

+ Jack dodged back into the light and found Kerry at the bottom of the stairs. +

+

+ "I knew he'd be waiting." +

+

+ "How many are there." +

+

+ "Half a dozen. We'll never get past them." +

+

+ "Come on then," Kerry said. "I know a way." He turned and they threaded through the crowd, down the narrow stairway to the basement. +

+

+ "It's not the first time," Kerry said. In a small place like Ardmore, there weren't too many places to hide, but Kerry probably knew most of them. +

+

+ They came out through the store-room window, small and high on the wall, but easily opened to let them scrape through, round the back of the hall and up + the lane. Kerry lit one of Billy's smokes and blew out. +

+

+ "He won't let it go," Jack said. +

+

+ "That one couldn't find his arse with both hands in daylight," Kerry snorted. "Don't you worry about Robbins. He's all mouth and daddy's money. He'll come + to nothing." +

+

+ "I wish he'd leave you alone." They had been friends for a long time, ever since Kerry had come over from Ireland and his Dad had got a job in the yard. + Kerry always had patches in his jeans and worn down shoes and holes frayed at the elbows, but Jack knew he was better than any of the Robbins clique could + ever know. Better than any of them would ever be. It took a whole lot to take the brunt of it and not hit back. +

+

+ "It's just one of those things. He thinks I'm a thick Irish hick. Given my Dad's track record, it's no surprise." +

+

+ Kerry grinned unexpectedly. "I mean, would you set off a quarry blast under the Stonemill Bridge? I mean, you can catch fish there with your bare + hands any day of the week. Daft Eejit. And anyway, I wasn't the only one taking Robbins' crap. You got the black eye, remember?" +

+

+ He blew out again. "You watch, I'll get my own back at the card school behind the sheds. You get dealt a bad hand, you learn to skim the shuffle. I'll + bleed him dry." +

+

+ Jack had no doubt about that. He'd watched Kerry play with the rest of the guys behind the sheds where there was always a game of pitch and toss or + three-card brag. Maybe his old man had taught him a thing or two and Jack never ever saw what he did with the cards, but he could always pull out a royal + flush against a high run any time the pot was worth the taking. +

+

+ Jack hitched the plaid on his shoulder. "Robin Hood. Can you believe that? They never even heard of Cuchullain. Only the Greatest hero ever lived." +

+

+ "Maybe," Kerry said. "But put him up against the Predator, who would win?" +

+

+ "No contest, Jack said." Kerry dug in his pocket and pulled out the little key ring with the tiny laser light on its edge. For the past couple of years + they'd signalled each other, Jack in his aunt's Lodge House and Kerry way down the hill in the sagging cottage where the fields turned to reedy bog. He + swung the beam on Jack, centering the red dot on his forehead." +

+

+ "A bow against a blaster? No chance." +

+

+ "Cuchullain would have eaten him for breakfast and then gone for the Alien." Jack countered with his own key-ring, trying to dazzle Kerry with the light. +

+

+ "How about Superman?" +

+

+ "Kryptonite gets him. Nothing could get Cuchullain." +

+

+ Kerry lobbed the last apple, managed to skim the lamp post before they turned the corner. +

+

+ "One thing I always wondered. With that skin-tight suit, how does Superman go to the bathroom?" +

+

+ Jack giggled. "At the speed of light. Maybe in a phone box." +

+

+ "That's why they always smell. Imagine if he'd a bit o' wind. It would blow the place to smithereens." +

+

+ Kerry giggled. "Hey, maybe that's what happened to Stoneymill Bridge. Maybe I'm superman's secret son." +

+

+ They were still laughing at that when they turned the corner by the thick hawthorn and Kerry pulled up so suddenly that Jack barged into him. +

+

+ Robbins and the rest of the crew were waiting for them. +

+

+ "Nice try, tinkerbell." Robbins stood square on the road, his red hair a fuzzy halo in the street-lamp glow. He jerked his arm and lobbed a bottle overarm. + It smashed into shards that spangled on the road just in front of them. The orange glow of the street-lamp reflected from his piggy eyes, making them + glitter with feral light. +

+

+ "I'm getting really fed up with this," Kerry muttered. +

+

+ The gang came sauntering towards them, Billy Robbins big and menacing in the lead. Jack and Kerry and turned and ran back to the gate on the lane, scaled + the five bars and into the field, scattering the big shapes of grazing cattle. +

+

+ "Get that Irish tramp," Jack heard Robbins snarl. "I'll teach him to lay a hand on me." +

+

+ The gang came lumbering after them, crashing through the dying nettles and burrdock on the far side. The boys vaulted the cattle-fence into the trees and + they scooted along the track beside the stream, past the little waterfall and up the hill towards Kerry's cottage. +

+

+ Behind them, they could still hear the thrashing in the undergrowth and the occasional curse as Robbins or one of the others stumbled into thorn-bushes or + barged into trees. +

+

+ "You know," Jack said when they slowed. "I'm really getting tired of running away. We're going to have to learn to fight, or it's going to get worse." +

+

+ "Fight seven of them? You're on your own, Jackie-boy. You've been reading too many books." +

+

+ Jack could still hear the rasp in Billy Robbins' voice, and see that orange light in his eyes. The Major was right. There was something wrong with Robbins, + and it wasn't going to get any better. +

+

+ They got up the path, listening hard for sounds of pursuit and when they got to Kerry's place Jack waited outside in the gathering darkness as his friend + went to gather his gear for their foray in Cromwath Blackwood. Behind them, the wind had been picking up, still warm off the sea, but the towering clouds + threatened thunder. Kerry came back with his backpack. It would be full of his rods and snares and fishing gear. Out of sight of the cottage he opened the + bag and pulled out a steel camping flask. +

+

+ "This'll be a hoot. My old man doesn't know I found his secret still. There's two pints of best moonshine here." +

+

+ "You're going to drink whisky?" +

+

+ "Are you crazy? That hooch would blow your socks off. No. We can light it. I want to try that Greek Fire stuff you told me about. And don't you go tellin' + old Iron Britches." +

+

+ Jack laughed. Aunt Clarice wasn't just as stern as Kerry made out, though she had a way of pursing her lips when Kerry was around and he knew she + disapproved, but you couldn't pick your friends, not really. Not your real friends. +

+

+ "Just don't swear," Jack said. "And no smoking either. She'll pitch a fit." +

+

+ He stopped in his tracks. "Did you hear something." +

+

+ Jack nodded. "I did." +

+

+ He was whispering and he didn't know why. The hairs on his neck started that creepy walk again. A cloud passed in front of the moon, leaving them in + darkness and a strange sense of apprehension started to roll in his belly. Something the Major had said almost came back to him and danced away as the wind + abruptly dropped to silence. They both stood still, listening. +

+

+ Without warning a purple flash sizzled in the sky, so close they could smell the bitterness of ozone, so brief and fierce it burned orange after-images in + their eyes and a screech ripped out across the night. +

+

+ "What the hell was that?" +

+

+ "Somebody let off a rocket," Kerry said. "Two weeks early. Flash-cash Billy Robbins I bet." +

+

+ Jack found he couldn't move. +

+

+ Something was wrong and he didn't know what. The wind started as quickly as it had stopped, but suddenly it was a cold wind, a winter wind that whirled + round the trunks and snatched at their clothes and Jack shivered. A deeper cloud cut off the last of the moonlight, leaving them truly in the dark. +

+

+ It could have been a rocket fired up from Ardmore Harbour. It was near enough Guy Fawkes night. +

+

+ But something in him knew it had been no rocket. He didn't know what had caused the flash, but it had been close, as if the air had ripped apart for one + brief second.. +

+

+ Al of a sudden, the hairs were standing to attention on the back of his neck. The apprehension inside him swelled. Here he was, dressed as his Celtic hero, + and he was all of a sudden scared. +

+

+ He didn't know why. +

+

+ Overhead, beyond the pine-tops, something big and dark flew in the night. Jack clearly heard the whoosh of wings and he recalled the flock of rooks that + had exploded in panic from Cromwath Blackwood. +

+

+ "….home before dark..." The Major had told him. He should have listened. +

+

+ They moved slowly out of the pines and Kerry stopped him. +

+

+ "Something's wrong." His voice was a whisper. +

+

+ "You feel it too?" +

+

+ "Man, something's funny and I don't mean ha-bleeding-ha." +

+

+ The wind moaned and it sounded the way ghosts would on a Halloween night. +

+

+ "There!" Kerry's voice was a hoarse whisper. Jack stood close. "There. Look." +

+

+ Darker than dark, a shadow covered a thick stand of firs beyond the shrubs. +

+

+ Two small animals, martens or stoats came rippling out, fast on blurring legs. A blackbird squawked, went silent. Two woodpigeons catapulted into the sky. + One of them faltered, fluttered madly, and tumbled to the ground. +

+

+ "What is that?" Jack could hear the shaky shiver in Kerry's voice. +

+

+ "They sneaked up on us," he whispered back. +

+

+ Something big and heavy moved in the shadows. The pair stood stock still, breath held tight, pulling back into the cover of the trees. +

+

+ Out there, the shrubs whipped back and forth and then a shape came stumbling out. Billy Robbins gasping breath could be heard across the distance. It + sounded like somebody choking. Jack heard it like an animal snarl. +

+

+ A shadow seemed to reach out from the trees as if Robbins was trailing it like a cloak. He turned towards them and the darkness rippled with him. +

+

+ Jack froze, heart somewhere in his throat. Kerry was gripping his arm, fingers dug in hard. +

+

+ Robbins snarled again, raised both hands to his head. He stood stock still for just a moment and then he turned towards them, even though they hadn't moved + a muscle. +

+

+ He took two steps, three, each one of them heavy and lumbering, and the dark umbra around him seemed to press down on him. He raised his fat face and the + moonlight caught his eyes, just the way the streetlamp had done. +

+

+ Jack stood transfixed as the pale light gleamed out at him. A mad light. Lifeless, yet somehow filled with empty hunger. +

+

+ "What in the name…" Kerry started. Jack couldn't even speak. Fear was willing his feet to move and he couldn't. +

+

+ Robbins took another step towards them and Jack saw that his footprints on the grass were deep and dark as if he had sunk into the ground with each step. +

+

+ The gurgling rasp came again and Robbins raised both hands, fingers splayed, the pose of a strangler about to choke the life out of a victim. +

+

+ He grunted and then stopped, hands still upraised. His body shook like tuning fork. +

+

+ There was a twist in the air, an inexplicable shift, a judder, like a tremor in the earth. Jack felt a wave of nausea loop through him. His fear + simply exploded. +

+

+ Billy Robbins screamed then, a sound of pure agony. His head arched back and he sank slowly to his knees only yards from them. The moonlight in his eyes + was pale and blind. The sound of his scream sent a shiver into Jack's core. +

+

+ The darkness, so black it almost hurt the eyes just to look at it, flowed away from the kneeling form, elongating outwards as Billy Robbins swayed on the + grass. +

+

+ Jack and Kerry stood transfixed, breath held, unable to move. The darkness seemed to slither and ripple they watched, a thick stream of night that oozed + out of Billy Robbins across the turf towards the Major's house. +

+

+ Jack wanted to run, but he couldn't draw his eyes away. +

+

+ Robbins stirred, got to his hands and knees and crawled heavily in a tight circle, like a wounded beast then pitched over, rolled and exhaled long shuddery + breath. He hit the turf with a thud, arms splayed. The inexplicable, terrifying darkness had flowed away to the gable wall. +

+

+ Jack's feet unlocked. He took a tentative step forward, breath still backed up, scared in case Billy Robbins suddenly got to his feet and grabbed them + both. +

+

+ But Billy Robbins did not move. Sparkles of silver gleamed like a halo in his frizzy hair and when they got to within two paces of the sprawled form, the + air crackled with cold and their breath plumed in freezing air. +

+

+ Robbins' face hair was covered in ice crystals. His skin was blue and shiny. +

+

+ But it was his eyes that rooted them to the spot. He lay there, arms splayed, eyes wide open with the shards of moonlight pale as death in them. +

+

+ And both eyes were filmed over with pure ice. +

+

+ A chill shuddered through Jack. A picture of the crazed and dying Thomas Lynn flickered unbidden in his mind. He grabbed Kerry's arm and pulled him away + from the grotesque stare. He didn't know what had happened to Billy Robbins. Didn't want to know. +

+

+ He just wanted to be away from here, out of the dark and into the warm. +

+

+ But when he turned, he saw the rolling darkness pool at the gable wall, and then slowly ooze its way upwards on the old stone. +

+

+ "What the hell is that?" Jack found his voice. It came out in croak from a dry throat. +

+

+ "That's impossible," Kerry whispered. But they were watching it happen. In mere seconds, the blackness was up at the window. The light in the room began to + dim, almost imperceptibly at first and Jack thought he was imagining it, but the dimming seemed to speed up, as if the light itself was being sucked out. + In less than a minute, it was just a red glow on the wing wall and then it just went dark, completely dark. In the turret room above it, the light was + beginning to fade. +

+

+ "I think we should get out of here," Kerry said. "This is getting weird." +

+

+ "No," Jack said, squeezing down on the oily fear in his belly. "We'd better go tell the Major." +

+

+ "At this time of night?" Kerry was snatching at excuses. He was badly shaken. +

+

+"It's dark, not late and he's in danger." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, towards the blind-eyed form on the grass. "Look what happened to him" +

+

+ Up on the wall, the impossible stream of pure night gathered at the gable window and then seemed to melt its way through the pane. +

+

+ This was more than crazy. +

+

+ "I'm not sure we should go in there," Kerry said. The telescope room light was now almost gone, and the next one along the wing wall was beginning to turn + red. +

+

+ "I'm sure we have to." Scared as he was - petrified as he was - Jack knew he had to warn the Major. Billy Robbins had been swallowed up by the + darkness and then his hair and eyes had turned white…and the darkness had flowed out of him. +

+

+ Jack grabbed Kerry by the wrist and pulled him along beside him, down the path through the evergreen bushes, crunching the gravel of the driveway and round + to the far side of the building, only a hundred yards from where Aunt Clarice would be doing the autumn books. The cellar door was open and made no creak + as he pushed it open, crossed by the wheezing old boiler that was beginning to toil against the coming winter, and up the stairs to the hallway. +

+

+ He sensed it again, an absolute wrongness. The air seemed to tingle with an energy all of its own and the shadows here were darker than he + remembered them. Upstairs, far on the west wing, came a low thrumming sound, like a wind in the pylon wires up on the moor, hardly a sound at all, more a + shudder that went through both of them. Despite it, despite the shivery apprehension, they went up the stairs two at a time, turned the landing and stood + facing down the long narrow corridor that spanned the whole wing. +

+

+ Darkness was growing there, a thick black that crept on the walls like a disease. The thrumming was louder here and behind it was a strange snuffling sound + that Jack could hear deep inside his head, the way he could sometimes hear the bats as they chased the moths under the trees. The sound at first seemed to + come from inside his own brain. His heart gave a lurch and wanted to climb into his throat, but he swallowed hard and made himself turn past the newel + post, hauling Kerry with him towards the east wing where the Major had his library. +

+

+ They stopped outside the big polished door and Jack willed his breathing to slow down. He put an ear to a panel and listened. All was silent in there. Out + here that pulsing vibration was getting louder and the air was colder, suddenly much colder. Jack saw his breath billow out in a frosted plume. He reached + for the brass handle and felt the sharp sting of ice on his palm, but he didn't flinch back. Instead he turned the handle, pushed the door open and they + walked into the library. +

+

+ The Major turned his head, his cropped hair and beard silver against his weather-beaten skin. His eyes widened when he saw them. +

+

+ "Lads. Lads. What on earth are you doing here?" +

+

+ "Something's happening," Jack blurted. "There's a…a…dark. It got Billy Robbins and now its in the house." +

+

+ "Oh, boys." The Major wiped a hand across a furrowed brow that suddenly made him look old. "It's the wrong time to come here." +

+

+ He was sitting at the long table, with a massive chart spread out in front of him and old brass instruments that Jack had never seen before. Jack could see + symbols on the chart but he didn't have time to look. +

+

+ "What's happening?" +

+

+ The Major closed his eyes for just a second and sat down on the edge of the big armchair where Jack had spent many an hour reading since he was small. +

+

+ "You have to go, Laddie, you and young Kerrigan. Get yourselves out of here and home. And I mean now." +

+

+ He reached behind the chair and drew out the big over-and-under shotgun that Jack hadn't noticed before. With ease of practice, he slipped two orange + shells into the breech and snapped it shut, and then Jack saw the pistols, big ivory handled revolvers jammed into the Major's waistband. +

+

+ "What is it? What's happening?" +

+

+ "Thin places," the Major said, almost absently. "And Samhain night." +

+

+ He crossed slowly to the door and put a hand on the doorknob. He drew it back, rubbed frost-rime from the tips of his fingers. +

+

+ "Something bad's going on, lads," he muttered. "Something old and bad's coming this way." +

+

+ "Where from?" The question just blurted out before Jack could stop it. +

+

+ "From the worst of places," was all the Major said. "We may be too late and you're in the wrong place at the wrong time. We'll have to buy you some." +

+

+ He shook his head, almost sadly. +

+

+ "I could send it back, but not with you two here. Far too dangerous." +

+

+ "But what's going on?" Jack's voice was almost a whisper and his breath was frosting in the air, even here. Was the light beginning to fade? It was hard to + tell. +

+

+ "Thin places between the worlds," the Major muttered. "And they get thin enough to rip through at times. Full moon and Samhain, with this conjunction, + that's a thin time. Lads, I'm afraid something's made a breach." He opened the door, just a crack, and cold, cold air squeezed into the library. He cocked + his head back at them. +

+

+ "Tonight you need a bolt-hole." +

+

+ "What's coming?" +

+

+ "That'll be the nightshades, Jack lad. Some would say the Banshee. From a very dark place, and they won't be alone. You say this feller was in the + dark?" +

+

+ Jack nodded. The Major shook his head. "They find the cracks and worm their way in. They couldn't get in here by themselves, so they use another way. + Someone flawed and broken inside." +

+

+ "I don't believe this," Kerry said. +

+

+ "Believe it, Laddie. There'll be a shadowmaster guiding them, and they should be sent right back to where they belong. But with you two here, we must try + another way." +

+

+ He reached into the big poacher's pocket of his tweed jacket and drew out a long thin thing, broke off the top with his teeth and a white light flared so + brightly both boys had to turn away. Crooking the gun in his arm, the Major swung the door open wide and held the fizzing light high. +

+

+ Out there in the corridor, darkness expanded like a living thing. +

+

+ The major pushed the fizzing light-stick outwards and the dark fell back, just a little. +

+

+ The major turned his head. "Go on now, you boys. Jack, get into the room and wait there." The major jammed the stuttering light in the door jamb, hefted + the gun up to his shoulders and stood there between the boys and the flowing dark. +

+

+ The darkness oozed towards him, coiling and roiling, shapeless and expanding until it filled the corridor. The light in the room began to dim. +

+

+ Kerry followed Jack through the door into the side-room while the Major stood in the open doorway. From the oozing dark, a gobbling, muttering sound came + louder, like a multitude of hungry voices. Jack held the door open a crack, heart hammering. +

+

+ "Where is this?" Kerry asked. Old arms and shields festooned the walls. "It's a dead end. We're stuck." +

+

+ Whatever was out there, whatever the flowing dark was, Jack couldn't think of anything that could stop it. Even as he spoke, the bright white flare began + to lose against the dark, as if the black was swallowing it up. +

+

+ The Major stepped back from the door jamb, raised the big gun and fired into it. The boom of the shotgun shook the room. +

+

+ All hell broke loose, and it seemed to be all in Jack's head. The dark fell back and the chittering sound soared so high it was a tearing sensation in the + ears, little sharp needles of sound that scratched on the brain. Still Jack couldn't turn away from the door. +

+

+The Major stepped back and a long tendril of pure night like living tar-smoke that seemed to have no real form and no substance yet carried enormous threat snaked between the door jambs, draining the light from the flare as it came. Another one followed it, and another, as if all the night in + the world had coalesced right at this point and come to some foul life. +

+

+ The Major fired again, right into the mass of black. From way beyond it, out there in the inky hallway, came a rumbling sound that shivered the stones of + the old house. +

+

+ "Shadowmaster," Jack thought. Whatever a shadowmaster was, that sound had to be it. He drew back, fear swelling inside him. He did not want to see + the thing that had made that sound, the noise of great stones grinding in a cave. Yet the Major was standing up to it and he was trying to protect both of + them. +

+

+ "We have to do something," he told Kerry, hoping his voice wasn't shaking as much as he knew it was. "We can't leave him there." +

+

+ "Any suggestions?" Out in the library, the Major had drawn the guns and leveled them through the door frame. The shots came fast, right into the darkness, + holding it at bay, but not seeming to hit anything solid at all. The dark rolled back, roiled forward towards him. +

+

+ Jack turned. He had the short bow in his hands, but the arrows in his quiver only had wooden tips, and they'd be pretty ineffective against anything. He +couldn't think what might be effective at all, but his eyes scanned the wall where the Major had chosen the bow only hours before - how long ago that seemed now - and fell on the black quiver. He crossed and snatched it from the wall. +

+

+ Jack nocked an arrow, keeping his fingers clear of the glistening tip. It had an acrid smell, and he hoped whatever it could do to humans might work on + that looping, gibbering dark. He swung the door open just as the black tide came swelling into the library, solid night on the move. The Major fired once, + twice, into the blackness, making it draw back just a little, but Jack knew that guns were not enough. Whatever the Major had been preparing for, he'd run + out of time. Jack pulled and loosed an arrow. It flew straight into the centre of the mass and kept on going, dwindling in the distance as if it had fallen + into a bottomless hole. Something moved in there, a poisonous, liquid motion that defied logic. +

+

+ Jack shook his head in dismay. The arrow hadn't hit the wall on the far side. It was as if the wall had disappeared completely leaving nothing but a vast + and empty space. And how could you fight an empty space, even if it was moving? How could you fight something you couldn't even see? +

+

+ "Get back now," The Major roared, almost as loud as the big pistol. +

+

+ His guns blared again, once, twice, another twice, fast as a gunslinger in the adventure books, each one causing brief pull-back, before the darkness + swelled again. +

+

+ "No time. No damned time." +

+

+ The Major turned again. "Back! Get back I said." Moving quickly he swept them before him into the bolt-hole room. +

+

+ "There's too many of them, boys," he said, breathing hard. "A horde of them. Took me by surprise this time." +

+

+ This time? +

+

+ "You have to get out of here, and now." +

+

+ "How do we do that?" Jack wondered. Kerry said nothing. He was breathing hard and his face was flushed with excitement and fear. +

+

+ "Why are they here?" Jack asked. Outside the bolt hole door, a big oak door that was maybe six inches thick, the muttering sound was muffled, but getting + louder yet. Already a thin ooze of the nightshade dark was beginning to leak past the jambs, and the room was turning colder. A sheen of what looked like + oily sweat glistened on the door panels and began to trickle down the grain. As it moved, grey, fungus-like growths swelled and oozed sickly at its edges. +

+

+ "There's something they want, but they can't have it." +

+

+ The Major strode to the desk, past the massive antlers that stretched from side to side, stopped in front of carved bronze box that Jack had opened up in + the turret room. Jack heard the snick and when the Major turned, he had the heart-shaped stone in his hand. It was set in a silver claw on a thick chain. + In his other he held a little satchel. He handed it to Jack and then stooped to loop the chain around his neck. +

+

+ "This is what they want Jack lad, so you take care of it and don't let them have it." +

+

+ A tumble of thoughts ran through his head. Take care of it…how….where? +

+

+ "I don't understand," he began to say. +

+

+ "I wished there was time to tell you. But time's pressing and so are those damned imps. This is where it starts." He reached for the old gnarled walking + stick that he'd always used on their walks up on the ridge He cupped both hands around the polished grip, twisted, and the stick just fell apart. When he + turned back towards them, he had a long straight sword in one hand, and a short wavery one in his left. Without a pause, he moved to the corner furthest + from the door, touched the stone high on the wall and this time a narrow doorway ground open and another darkness yawned. +

+

+ "Guard the heart and guard it well. Your father guarded it. You have to be keeper now. Too young, y'are. I'd planned to wait a while, but that's fate, + lad." +

+

+ "My father?" Jack started. Despite the need to flee, his feet wouldn't move. "What about him? What is this?" +

+

+ Jack stared at him, willing the Major to say more. +

+

+ "It's the most important thing in the worlds," he finally said. +

+

+ "But what do I do with it." +

+

+ "You run, boy." +

+

+ Then he simply shoved them both and they stumbled through onto a tight stone staircase that spiralled into shadows. +

+

+ "Trust your instincts. Trust that sense of direction. Trust your heart. You'll know when you get there." +

+

+ "But what? How…?" +

+

+ The Major tried a smile that ended in a grimace. He simply shoved them both and they stumbled through into a tight stone staircase that spiralled down into + shadows. Jack turned and the door was swinging shut on them. Before it did, he saw the major's sword flashing, fast slices of light that were suddenly + overwhelmed by the darkness and then the door slammed and the Major was gone. +

+

+ Now they were running, running for their lives. The stairway took them down, well below the level of the foundations and stopped on the flat. They ran on, + along a narrow tunnel, and the compass that existed in Jack's head told them they were running north. Behind them, the murmuring was faint but he knew it + would get louder, because with the major gone, there was nothing to hold it back, whatever it was. They'd find a way through. All he could see in his mind + was the Major, his friend, leaping at them like some Viking hero to protecting him and Kerry. Tears tried to force into his eyes, but he blinked them back. + He had to think now, and he had to think fast. Where they were going, he did not know. Jack Flint was fifteen years old, nearly sixteen and tall for his + age, but he had to think fast despite the overwhelming fear. He was just a boy still, and his adventure was just beginning. +

+

+ The tunnel curved downwards, damp and dripping with moss when they reached the curve at the bottom. It twisted west, then swung east, but all the time they + were running northwards and the air was getting colder. He could sense the oozing blackness surging down the narrow confines after them. Kerry was ahead + and while Jack was faster, he had to bite on the panic urge to overtake him and keep on running. +

+

+ When the ground started to slope upwards, he could make out the shapes of great twisted roots that poked through the masonry. Feathery tendrils brushed him + and he could feel the tug of old cobwebs snatching at his hair. +

+

+ "Move, Kerry! It's behind us." +

+

+ Kerry kept going, breathing hard, stumbling over the roots which now almost blocked their way and Jack felt a burgeoning terror that they'd soon come to a + place where the passage was completely blocked and they'd be trapped here underground forever where nobody would ever find them, down in the dark amongst + the roots. It gave his legs new speed and he almost tripped on Kerry's heels. +

+

+ Suddenly they were out into the air again, running through trees before they even knew they were out of the tunnel. Thorns snatched at their clothing and + twisted branches smacked them on the face, poking at their eyes and they hared it through piles of old dead leaves, scattering them in little whirls. + Through a stand, they came to a place where the trees were thinner. Up above them the moon was bloated, but not silver as it had been before. Now it was a + poisonous orange, sending weird toxic shadows against the gnarled boles of these trees. +

+

+ "Where are we?" +

+

+ "We're in Cromwath Blackwood." +

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2c4e164 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/ch04.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,326 @@ + + + + + Mythlands - Chapter 4 + + + + +
+
+

4

+

+ They ran and ran and the trees became thicker, crowding together to bar their way. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack saw a low sinuous shape slither into + curling ferns. A flock of birds racketed up into the air, screaming in alarm and Jack didn't recognise the sound. Big mushrooms clung to rotting trunks, + almost luminous in the moonlight, dripping with a liquid that Jack instinctively knew had to be poison. Under their feet, in the leaves and moss, small + things scuttled into root crevices. +

+

+ "Too far," Kerry said, out of breath. "Can't be Cromwath." +

+

+ "Just run." Jack could hardly get the words out. He was thinking ahead. Kerry was right, they had run too far for this to be the walled woodland, but it + could be nowhere else. +

+

+ So how could it stretch so far? They had run a mile, maybe more, and the Blackwood was never that big. And what would they do when they came to the far + wall? It was twenty feet high, maybe more. How could they scale that before the chittering darkness overtook them and swallowed them in its cold? +

+

+ Kerry tripped over a root and Jack fell over him, rolling on the crackling leaves, down a small incline with Kerry tumbling after him and suddenly he + fetched up against stone. +

+

+ The wall, + he thought. We have to get over. He hauled himself to his feet, helped Kerry up and as they turned to face the wall, he saw that he'd been wrong. +

+

+ It was a stone. A huge standing stone. On its surface intricate carved creatures from somebody's nightmare cavorted and twisted around each other. + In the poisonous moonlight, they seemed to crawl with a life of their own. +

+

+ Jack took an involuntary step back. Not one stone. A ring of stones, massive pillars of carved rock in a huge ring. There were thirteen of them, solid and + rooted into the ground. He'd never known they existed. The twelve spaces between them yawned darkly. Right in the centre was a flat slab, like a table top + on three thick basalt legs. The darkness under it was so complete it seemed solid. Jack took a step forward into the ring, suddenly aware of the old story + about the boy who disappeared here. Kerry was just behind him. +

+

+ I've seen this before! + Jack thought. I've been here. +

+

+ "Where now?" Kerry's breath was rasping in his throat. Jack pointed ahead. There was nowhere else to go. They had to keep moving. He passed right into the + ring, wishing it was another day, a daylight day with no obscene dark thing on their tail so he could have a real look as they had planned. Behind + him, the reality of pursuit was like a squeeze on his mind. +

+

+ "Come on." He crossed half-way making for the far side and then abruptly swerved towards the centre. He hadn't meant to do that at all. His feet just took + him there. +

+

+ "Where are you going?" +

+

+ Jack couldn't speak. He kept on walking, unable to stop. The dark under the table stone pulled at him with such sudden force he felt like a moth in + lamplight, though there was no light there. It tugged at him with a tidal drag he couldn't resist. His heart was thumping in his chest, a great double + thump that he felt in his ears and even as he took his next step, unable to prevent himself, he felt that second pulse, and it wasn't coming from under his + ribs at all. It was pulsing out from where the Major had hung the heart-shaped stone. +

+

+ One step. Another step. It drew him on and in towards the blackness under the slab. A third step and he could see shapes swirling in there, black on black, + and an odd, far off laughter, like the giggling of mad people. Another step and he was almost there, he tried to speak but his mouth wouldn't open. A final + step and the darkness began to swallow him. +

+

+ Then suddenly he was on his back and Kerry was dragging him across the rough ground. +

+

+ "What're you doing man?" +

+

+ "Couldn't stop," Jack gasped, mouth now suddenly working. Kerry turned towards the table slab and the dark underneath. +

+

+ "It was suckin' you in. I could feel it. We got to get out of here." +

+

+ Beyond the ring, in the direction they'd run from, the chittering was louder and here the air was beginning to freeze. They were caught. +

+

+Kerry pulled him up, kept his grip and hauled past the rock table towards the far side, through the space between two massive stones and there was a twist, a wrenching shiver that rippled through them both as if they'd been turned inside out and them twisted back again. +

+

+ Jack saw swirling colours all around him. Kerry shouted, somehow far in the distance. For an instant Jack was spinning in a vortex of light and rushing + sound. +

+

+ And then they were running in a grey mist. +

+

+ Something reached out, something so dark it scratched the eyes in this light. Jack just got a glimpse in the corner of his eye and tried to duck, slipped + and went on his back. A long black claw of pure night rippled from the space as he scrabbled away from it, heels frantic on the wet grass. +

+

+ A picture of Billy Robbins doing exactly the same thing came flashing into his mind and pure terror exploded inside him. +

+

+ He got moving just as the long wavering arm of pure black reached for him, snatched just as he thrust himself backwards. It touched him, just a scrape on + his chest near his shoulder and as soon as he felt the contact, a dreadful river of cold splashed into him, burning his skin like fire. +

+

+ He screeched, rolling backwards, and the contact was lost, leaving only a pain sizzling through skin and bone. +

+

+ "Run," he screamed. They ran from the darkness, through the grey drizzle of mist and kept on until they ran out of breath and stood, leaning together for + support, panting like horses, shivering with fright and the adrenaline rush that fright gives you, and kept holding on until they were able to breath + properly again. +

+

+ Kerry looked at him. "Got you, didn't it?" +

+

+ Jack nodded. The pain on his shoulder was like nothing he'd ever experienced before and it pulsed in rivulets of glassy hurt all the way across his chest.. +

+

+ "Let's get out of this fog and have a look at you." He got an arm round Jack's shoulders and helped him along, through thick tussock grass, moving + laboriously uphill in the gathering light as the mist swirled thick as smoke around their feet. They had run from hellish night into a misty morning. + Neither of them said anything, not yet, but despite the pain and the fear, Jack kept thinking of the boy who had disappeared in Cromwath Blackwood and come + back stone blind and stone mad. +

+

+ They walked on until they came to a mound of brittle bare branches, like tangled dead saplings on the moor, fuzzed by the mist. They skirted past them. + Jack stumbled on one, fell headlong and fetched up on his face. +

+

+ He pushed himself up on shaking arms, gagging at the sudden stench. The mist swirled, cleared and he found himself right up against the gaping, mouldering + skull of a man. A big yellow maggot twisted out of the eye socket. +

+

+ He hauled in a breath, too shocked to make a sound. Behind him Kerry was yelling. +

+

+ "Get off me. Let Go!" +

+

+ He turned away from the nightmare face to see Kerry hopping on one foot, trying to haul the other back. Bony fingers of a skeletal hand were hooked around + his ankle. +

+

+ They hadn't stumbled through bare branches. They had walked into a battlefield. All around them, all over the misty hillside, lay the bones and broken + bodies of dead men. +

+

+ Kerry was squawking in fright, hauling away, and suddenly the thin white arm pulled out of the socket with a wet sucking sound. Kerry stumbled and the arm + and hand trailed along with him. Jack snatched at it, gorge rising, fingers clutched on bare bone and mildewed skin and the clawed hand tore away from + Kerry's ankle. +

+

+ "You're okay. It just snagged you." +

+

+ "Jeez Jack. Thought it had me. Thought it grabbed me." He sunk to his knees gasping, gagging against the awesome stench. +

+

+ Jack winced against the pain in his shoulder, trying to slow his breathing. He eased himself to his feet, bracing himself against a broken lance that was + stuck into the peaty ground, stuck through the white and peeling ribs of something that might have been a man but wasn't quite. It was squat and heavy, + with a skull that narrowed above a sharp brow. Big spade-like teeth snarled in a mouth open in a hellish scream. A massive spiked club was gripped in a + gnarled hand. +

+

+ "What is that?" +

+

+ Kerry looked down. +

+

+ "And what the heck is that?" Beside them, on its side, an animal sprawled muzzle down into the turf, its bristling hide spiked with arrows, snout + curled into a perpetual snarl. Two wicked tusks curved like yellow knives on either side of it's maw. +

+

+ "I don't know what it is." +

+

+ "Jack. There's something wrong here." Kerry wasn't normally given to understatement. His voice was still shaky. +

+

+ "Where the hell are we?" +

+

+ Hell could describe this place. All around them lay the broken bones and shattered bodies of men and things that weren't quite men and horses and beasts + that looked like giant warty boars with spiked collars round their bristled necks. Whatever had happened on this moor had been awesome. It had been + desperate. +

+

+ "I don't know that either." Jack confessed. +

+

+ "It was night when those things came, and now it's morning. How did that happen?" Kerry asked the question, but Jack's head was fizzing with them and he + had no answers. +

+

+ The picture of Thomas Lynn kept pushing into his mind. Was he dreaming? Was this a nightmare? Or worse? +

+

+ When that dark had reached for him and clawed at him, the pain had been so monstrous that Jack thought he would die of it. +

+

+ Now the possibility struck him that he might well have died, and what he was seeing now was just the last sparkings of a dying brain. He just didn't know. +

+

+ The mist cleared some more, showing the extent of the battlefield. It went on up and over the hill. Rusty armour was beginning to merge with russet + bracken. Above them, dark threatening clouds raced by and the wind moaned ghostly. A movement caught Jack's eye, just as a harsh sound cut the air. Both + boys turned to see a huge crow perched on the breastbone of a half-rotted skeleton. +

+

+ "Look at the size of that thing," Kerry said. "It's a vulture for sure." +

+

+ The crow cawed again. From a tussock uphill, another one replied. It hopped into view, big as a spaniel, black as tar with a beak like a scimitar. The + first one flapped ungainly over the bones towards them. +

+

+ "This isn't looking too clever," Kerry ventured. The crow cocked its head. One eye was missing, leaving a gaping crater. Even then, Jack knew that it was + looking at him from that liquid cavity, looking right through him. +

+

+ Kerry stepped back. The bird pecked at his knee. The second one flew across, heavy in the air. It stabbed at Jack as he dodged back. Another one appeared + between the ribs of a big beast. Then another. The first one cawed again, rough as grindstone, and suddenly the sky was full of immense black birds. They + came fluttering in towards them, so close they could feel the whoosh of wings and smell the carrion breath. A sharp beak caught Kerry behind his ear and + drew blood. +

+

+ "You have to be kidding," he yelled, whirling away. He snatched up a sword stuck in a ragged throat, turned fast and hacked at the nearest bird. + Feathers flew out in a puff. He swung again and it squawked and fell to the ground, one wing flailing uselessly. +

+

+ Jack stumbled to the big beast spiked with arrows, snatched one and despite the pain in his shoulder, drew and let fly into the swarm flocking around + Kerry's head. A huge bird made a surprising thump when it hit the ground, shot right through. He nocked another, fired again, surprised to hit a second + crow. Kerry spun in a circle, slashing at the air. Feathers and what might have been blood followed the swing of the sword. +

+

+ "We got to get out of here," Jack bawled. "We have to go back." +

+

+ "I'm with you there." Kerry sounded breathless. The crows fluttered around, dodging the swinging blade. Jack grabbed Kerry's sleeve and pulled him away, + back the way they had come, running for the ring of stones, down the hill into the clearing mist. The crows followed in a fluttering cloud, pecking and + cawing. They breasted the slope and Jack almost froze. +

+

+ The ring of stones was gone. +

+

+ All he could see were two big pillars standing side by side on the open moor. +

+

+ "Where the heck are they…? +

+

+ "Trick of the light," Jack gasped, somehow sure it wasn't any trick of the light. He pulled Kerry along, limping, but still running hell for leather, + knowing they had to get back between the stones, back to where they had come from, out of this hellish place even if they had to face whatever shades were + waiting in the dark. "Come on, Kerry." +

+

+ They made it ten yards ahead of the flock, dashed through, expecting that sickening wrench they had felt when they ran from the flowing dark. +

+

+ Nothing happened. Nothing at all. They ran between the stones, tripping over dank heather, and the flock of crows flew right after them. Another reached + Kerry and he almost split it in half with a manly swipe, still running down the slope towards the shelter of a thick forest edge that loomed out of the + mist. A razor beak caught Jack on the back of his head, sharp enough to make his eyes water. A bird landed on Kerry's shoulder and went for his eyes. He + snatched at the beak, threw it off him and in ten more steps they were crashing into the undergrowth at the edge of the trees. Behind them wings beat at + the thick foliage, but they ran on, deeper in to the gloom, as the noise of pursuit faded behind them. +

+

+ They stopped in a glade where great trees branched high above them, trunks yards wide and gnarled. Kerry leaned against a root, catching his breath. Jack + slid to the thick carpet of moss. +

+

+ "We better wake up now," Kerry finally said. "This is the weirdest dream I ever had in my life, that's for sure." +

+

+ Jack felt a sudden giggle bubble up inside him, more like hysteria than laughter. The pain in his shoulder was draining him, spreading out and down his + ribs a grinding chill. He felt his vision waver in and out. +

+

+ "We can't be dreaming. Not both of us." +

+

+ "How do you mean?" +

+

+ "I'm dreaming, or you're dreaming, but not both of us at once." +

+

+ "Oh, don't say that, Jackie boy." +

+

+ "Why not?" +

+

+ Kerry looked him straight in the eye. +

+

+ "If this isn't a dream, and we're not dead, that means it's real, and I don't care for that one little bit. And I don't have a clue where on earth we are + or how we're going to get home." +

+

+ Jack met his eyes and held them with some difficulty as darkness began to cloud his vision, unable to get the image of Thomas Lynn out of his head. Into + Cromwath Blackwood and found on Drumbuie Hill ten years later. Not a day older, but blind and mad and dying. +

+

+ Maybe it hadn't been a myth after all. +

+

+ Way out in the forest, something howled, long and shivery and hungry. +

+

+ "Wherever we are, I don't think it's earth at all." +

+ +
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/content.opf b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/content.opf new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e46cfd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/content.opf @@ -0,0 +1,104 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof + en + http://www.impera-media.com/fullproof.epub + Thriller, Action + + http://www.impera-media.com/ + Joe Donnelly + Impera Media Limited + 2011-05-17 + Copyright (c) 2012, Joe Donnelly. All rights reserved + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/contents.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/contents.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..30c78e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/contents.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,48 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof : Contents + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3b89a3a --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css @@ -0,0 +1,87 @@ +/* Impera Media stylesheet v3 2012-08-15*/ + +body { color: #000; background-color: #FFF; font-family: serif; line-height: 1.4em; text-align: left; text-indent: 0; border: 0 none; margin: 0; padding: 0; } + +.edge { color: #FFF; background-color: #000; } + +#cover img { text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin: 0 auto; padding: 0; } + +#header img { border: 0 none; margin: 0; } + +#header div a, #footer div a { color: #FFF; background-color: #000; text-decoration: none; } + +#author { margin-bottom: 1.5em; } + +#licensenotice { font-size: .9em; line-height: 1.2em; } + +#abstract { text-align: justify; } + +#contents ul ul, #contents ol ol, #contents ul ol, #contents ol ul { margin-left: 2em; } + +.section { margin-bottom: 6em; text-align: justify; } + +h1 { font-size: 3.5em; line-height: 1em; font-weight: 400; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; } + +h2 { font-size: 2.5em; line-height: 1em; font-weight: 400; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: .5em; } + +h3 { font-size: 1.5em; line-height: 1.2em; font-weight: 400; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: .5em; } + +h4 { font-size: 1.2em; line-height: 1.2em; font-weight: 700; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 0; } + +h5 { font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.2em; font-weight: 700; margin: .5em 0; } + +h6 { font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.2em; font-weight: 700; float: left; margin: 0 1.5em 0 0; } + +p + p { text-indent: 1.5em; } + +p.stb { text-indent: 0; margin-top: .83em; } + +p.mtb { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 2.17em; } + +p.ltb { text-indent: 0; margin-top: 3.08em; } + +pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: .85em; line-height: 1.2em; text-align: left; white-space: pre; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border: 1px #000 solid; padding: 1.5em; } + +ol, ul { margin: .5em 2em .5em 3em; padding: 0; } + +.plainlist { list-style-type: none; } + +dl { margin: .5em 2em; } + +table { font-size: 1em; line-height: 1.4em; margin-top: 1em; } + +img { border: none; position: absolute; top: 0; left: 0; margin: 0; padding: 0; } + +#references ul li { margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; } + +code, tt { font-family: monospace; } + +.codeblock { font-family: monospace; font-size: .85em; line-height: 1.2em; text-align: left; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border: 1px #000 solid; padding: 1.5em; } + +.codeblock .codeblock { font-size: 1em; border: 0 none; padding-top: 0; 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zUCn&?*O<$^;KB)+pZj6v{_2LaSiM++Owh&|U;bg1^0R)8TM>!$yV(h-%D_IwY)Ecm Z+o+rib00r{pzjZ)RpQAz5xw(?e*rSDRFD7w literal 0 HcmV?d00001 diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/other.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/other.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9d8d93f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/other.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,34 @@ + + + + Other books + + + + +
+
+

Other books by the author available on

+ Amazon Kindle + +

Full Proof

+ +

Shrike

+ +

Incubus

+ +

Dark Valley

+ +

All available now on the Amazon Kindle

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a0447b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/title.xhtml b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/title.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f5703e0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/title.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ + + + + + + Full Proof + + + + + +
+
+

Full Proof

+
+
+

Joe Donnelly

+
+ +
books@impera-media.com
+

2012-08-15

+ + +
This work is copyright.
+
+ + diff --git a/build/mythlands/OEBPS/toc.ncx b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/toc.ncx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c8a2b70 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/OEBPS/toc.ncx @@ -0,0 +1,210 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Full Proof + + + + + + Title Page + + + + + + About the Author + + + + + + About the Book + + + + + + + Chapter 1 + + + + + + Chapter 2 + + + + + + Chapter 3 + + + + + + Chapter 4 + + + + + + Chapter 5 + + + + + + Chapter 6 + + + + + + Chapter 7 + + + + + + Chapter 8 + + + + + + Chapter 9 + + + + + + Chapter 10 + + + + + + Chapter 11 + + + + + + Chapter 12 + + + + + + Chapter 13 + + + + + + Chapter 14 + + + + + + Chapter 15 + + + + + + Chapter 16 + + + + + + Chapter 17 + + + + + + Chapter 18 + + + + + + Chapter 19 + + + + + + Chapter 20 + + + + + + Chapter 21 + + + + + + Chapter 22 + + + + + + Chapter 23 + + + + + + Chapter 24 + + + + + + Chapter 25 + + + + + + Chapter 26 + + + + + + + Chapter 27 + + + + + + + Other Books + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/mythlands/mimetype b/build/mythlands/mimetype new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57ef03f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/mythlands/mimetype @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +application/epub+zip \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/build/shrike/META-INF/container.xml b/build/shrike/META-INF/container.xml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..236dd91 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/META-INF/container.xml @@ -0,0 +1,6 @@ + + + + + + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/Shrike-contents.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/Shrike-contents.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd7efc4 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/Shrike-contents.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,62 @@ + + + + + +Shrike : Contents + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/Shrike-title.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/Shrike-title.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9eab355 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/Shrike-title.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,34 @@ + + + + Shrike + + + + + +
+
+

Shrike

+
+
+

Joe Donnelly

+
+ +
books@impera-media.com
+

2011-04-11

+ +

1.01 - 2012-10-29

+ + +
This work is copyright.
+
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+
+

About the author

+ +

Joe Donnelly was born in Glasgow, in Scotland, close to the River Clyde, but at a very young age he came to live in Dumbarton, which is some miles from the city and close to Loch Lomond, Ben Lomond and the Scottish Highlands.

+ +

At the age of 18, he decided to become a journalist and found a job in the Helensburgh Advertiser, a local paper in a neighbouring town where he learned the first essential of writing: how to type. Quickly.

+ +

A few years later, at the age of 22, he became editor of his local newspaper, the Lennox Herald in Dumbarton, before moving to the Evening Times and then the Sunday mail in Glasgow where he became an investigative journalist.

+ +

During his career he won several awards for newspaper work including Reporter of the Year, Campaigning Journalist and Consumer Journalist.

+ +

It was while working in newspapers that he wrote his first novel, + Bane, an adult chiller, which was followed by eight other novels, mostly set in and around the West of Scotland and loosely based on Celtic Mythology. +

+ +

This was followed by Stone, The Shee, Shrike, Still Life, + Havock Junction, Incubus and Dark Valley.

+ +

Recently he decided to write for children, although he says his books are aimed at "young people of all ages, those with some adventure in their soul."

+ +

The Jack Flint Trilogy is his first venture at telling stories for the young at heart.

+ +

Joe is now working on two novels: A chiller for adults, and another rollicking adventure for young people, based on Nordic mythology.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c7d58f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/blurb.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,38 @@ + + + + About the Book + + + + +
+
+

SHRIKE

+ +

Shrike: - the butcher bird. A creature with a very nasty habit.

+ +

So says the editor of the local newspaper. But neither he, nor anyone else knows what is behind the spate of brutal killings which sent a shockwave through the town.

+ +

They dont know that a séance was held one dark and stormy night. A séance that went disastrously wrong. Something evil had been summoned from a dark place. For those around the table, the clock is ticking..

+ +

And for the whole town, the nightmare is just beginning.

+ +

The only clue to its real identity, and its purpose, comes in the terrifying visions of a psychic girl….but who can believe she can see the killings before they actually happen.

+ +

It is only when the victims bodies are found impaled in steep, high places that detective Jack Fallon realises the visions are real. And that something evil, and hungry, is stalking the night.

+ +

Something that must be stopped and stopped fast.

+ +

Because Lorna Breck's latest vision makes it clear that the beast is coming for Jack Fallon, and the people he loves most.

+ +

Together, they will have to face it…in the dark.

+
+

+ Author's note: The idea for this story came to me when I saw a shrike, known as the butcher bird, impaling a live hatchling on a thorn. The image of the dying baby bird stayed with me and eventually worked its way into this tale +

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/content.opf b/build/shrike/OEBPS/content.opf new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4bc02ee --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/content.opf @@ -0,0 +1,132 @@ + + + + + + Shrike + en + http://www.impera-media.com/shrike.epub + Horror + + http://www.imperamedia.com/ + Joe Donnelly + Impera Media Limited + 2010-02-16 + Copyright (c) 2011, Joe Donnelly. All rights reserved + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/cover.css b/build/shrike/OEBPS/cover.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..411f467 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/cover.css @@ -0,0 +1 @@ + * { font-size: 1em; text-align: center; } body { margin: 0 0; } #cover img { margin: 0 auto; padding: 0; text-align: center; font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; } img { border: none; margin: 0 0 ; padding: 0 0; position:absolute; top:0; left:0; } \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css b/build/shrike/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css new file mode 100644 index 0000000..95aaa7c --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/imperaWeb.css @@ -0,0 +1,70 @@ +/* Impera Media Style */ +body { color: #000; background-color: #FFF; font-family: serif; line-height: 1.4em; 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+
+

Other books by the author available on

+ Amazon Kindle + +

Full Proof

+ +

Shrike

+ +

Incubus

+ +

Dark Valley

+ +

All available now on the Amazon Kindle

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt b/build/shrike/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3a0447b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/page-template.xpgt @@ -0,0 +1,47 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike01.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike01.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aeacba4 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike01.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,894 @@ + + + + + +1 + + + + +
+
+

1

+

The creak of old doors.

+

A murky night well into winter. The west wind had been blowing +since morning, bringing dank drizzle in from the firth in dismal +grey veils of rain. By six, the wind had strengthened, whipping the +waves up to crash against the sheer basalt of the towering rock on +the east side of the town where through the spray the lights along +the castle ramparts flickered feeble and wan.

+

In the old centre of the town, River Street, now living up to +its name, was more of an oxbow lake than the main thoroughfare, for +the high tide and the higher wind had combined to back the river +water up until it swelled over the quayside and flowed through the +cobbled vennels and alleys to puddle under the street lights.

+

Just after eight, a car came slowly ploughing along the road, +driver gunning the engine high and slacking off the clutch with a +whine. It shoved up a bow wave which washed its way into the +doorways as the car made its way slowly along to the old bridge, +turned and was gone.

+

The water seeped and slopped under shop doors. The old co-op +would be awash again, for the tenth time in two decades. Benson's +off-the-hanger suits would need to be sent to the dry cleaners. The +floorboards of the old Woolworth's shop would be warped and twisted +and Phil McColl's boys would have a hell of a job pinning them back +down on the old joists.

+

Levenford huddled against the wind and the rain. On River Street +there were few stragglers. A couple of boys on motorbikes came +ripping through the street-long puddle. They mounted the pavement +when the water got too deep on the road and they almost cut the +knees from Mickey Haggerty who was stepping unsteadily out of Mac's +bar on the corner of Kirk Street opposite the clock tower. He stood +for a moment, wet and cursing, looked down the sodden length of the +street, then shrugged his shoulders and went back inside.

+

At the far end, just as the bikers reached the old bridge across +the swollen river, the road was higher. Here, two alleys run down +to the quayside. Brewery Lane is cobbled and narrow. Boat Pend is a +covered alley, like an arched tunnel bored beneath the old facade +of Cairn House, the town's oldest building. It stands gaunt and +grey, four storeys high with a sagging, swaybacked roof covered in +worn slates, and red dragon's-back ridging. The windows are narrow, +hardly more than slits. Near-on thirty years ago the body of a +thirteen-year-old boy had been found bound and gagged and two +months dead in a back room of the old building which had been then +a disused and empty third floor surgery. According to the hushed +rumour that had scuttled round the playground at Strathleven +School, his hair had grown to his shoulders and his fingernails +were two inches long.

+

So the rumour went and more besides. What was true was that the +curious boy who broke into the old surgery and found the rotting +carcass had been so horror-stricken that he'd never been the same +again. He'd spent most of those past years in the care of Barlane +Hospital on the outskirts of the town, only one step down from the +State Mental Hospital where they kept the really crazy folk. He'd +never got over it, but the old town had moved on. There were fresh +rumours and new stories to tell in the playground and the story of +Cairn House moved into history, for a while.

+

A quarter of a century on, the wind whistled and whooped, cold +enough to keep all but the foolhardy or the determined off the +streets. The damp seeped through to chill to the bone and there was +a bite of ice too, a sign of a bad winter to come.

+

On this night a figure came across the street close to the +bridge just after the bikers had roared past, tyres hissing on the +road. The street lamp outlined the shape of a man, huddled against +the wind, staying close to the lee of the wall. He stumbled off +balance as a gust of wind came shrieking up Brewery Lane and almost +fell headlong, but recovered and staggered on.

+

He reached the dark entrance to Boat Pend, looked left and +right, almost as if he was crossing the street, then moved inside. +The darkness swallowed him in two steps.

+

At the far end of the Pend, where it gives on to a series of +tight alleys and walkways, he stopped and twisted the old brass +handle on a door set into the side of the building. There was a +short hallway with a coatstand bedraggled with wet coats now +steaming in the slight warmth. The man took off his coat and scarf +and rolled his flat cap tightly enough to squeeze it into a pocket. +He turned and made his way up the narrow spiral staircase until he +reached the third storey. He paused for breath, then lifted an +ornate knocker and rapped twice on the door. It opened almost +immediately and the man stepped inside.

+

"All here then?" The old woman sitting at the far end of the +room asked. Her small eyes squinted in the dim light of a standard +lamp in the corner of the room at the back of Cairn House.

+

There was a low murmur of assent. There were six other people in +the room, including the man who had just arrived and was now using +a white handkerchief to pat the rain from behind an ear.

+

"Could have picked a better night," one of them mumbled and +someone else agreed.

+

"Can't choose the night. Can't choose the time," the old woman +piped up in a clear voice.

+

Marta Herkik was a tiny woman, almost as big across as she was +tall. Her black hair was caught back in a bun so severe that her +pencilled eyebrows were arched high, giving her a perpetual look of +surprise. The knife-straight white line that bisected her widow's +peak showed the black was not natural.

+

She was dressed completely in black, except for a red stone in a +silver brooch pinned to her collar, reflecting the soft light like +a dying eye. She sat on a high-backed chair, small, surprisingly +young hands flat on the surface.

+

"Well. I think we should begin."

+

The six others shuffled themselves around the table, scraped +chairs back and got seated.

+

"Hands please," Marta Herkik said primly. They lifted elbows and +hands from the black cloth which draped the table and she grabbed +an end, slowly drawing it towards her across the surface. It made a +soft hissing noise, like sand in an hourglass. The little fat woman +folded it neatly and dropped the cloth to the floor beside her. +Behind her, the fire sputtered and the blare of light from the +hearth threw the shadow of the high backed chair onto the far wall +where it joined the ceiling.

+

Even in the dim light, the table shone and reflected the faces +of the people seated around it, all eyes fixed on Marta Herkik. It +was smooth as glass from years of polishing, and it was old.

+

It had six legs carved into the shape of arms, so well crafted +that the individual veins followed the grain of dark hardwood, +ending in hands clenched into knuckles. The tabletop surface was a +masterpiece of marquetry. On the border, six inches in from the end +nypmhs and fauns cavorted in writhing, sensuous tangles, then +beyond that was a circle, inlaid in white veneer cut so expertly +there was no visible seam or join, a circle of tightly packed +angular letters that almost resembled script but was not. Beyond +that, in black, a smaller circle which spelled the alphabet in odd, +slanted lettering. Between the circles, close to Marta Herkik's +edge, in similar black wood, the word YEAH was cut in the +same style. Opposite, just in front of William Simpson, the man who +was last into the room, a single word. NAY.

+

And in the centre, in a red wood almost the colour of new blood, +an inlaid star of five points gleamed.

+

Close to the woman, a large book, leather bound and faded with +age, lay closed.

+

"I think we're ready," Marta Herkik said.

+

She opened the book, using one finger to turn the pages until +she found the right one. Each of them could see one passage had +been marked off in black ink.

+

"Tonight, it is a special thing we do. We go further than we +have gone before, because this is the time. We seek the guidance of +the great one, who will open to us the future, to bring for some, a +heart's desire, to others the knowledge that is also the +power."

+

She leaned over the book and began to read, though none of the +others understood any of the words. The woman's voice came in odd +conjunctions of hard consonants, flat vowels. She intoned the +unmusical chant, turning the page when she reached the bottom and +carried on for several minutes. Finally her voice trailed away. She +lifted the book without closing it and laid it on a small table +just within arms reach. From her bag on her lap she drew a leather +wallet which she snapped open and produced a set of large cards. +Without looking she shuffled them swiftly, shaking the cards +together. Every few seconds, she leaned forward and asked one of +the group to touch the pack, each in turn, anti clockwise. They +waited until she had finished.

+

"The second part," the old woman said, sliding her eyes across +theirs. She put the pack on the centre of the table, face down.

+

"As before, each take three. They are your own keys."

+

Janet Robinson stretched out a tentative hand, used two +outspread fingers to pinch a wad of cards and with her other hand, +took three. each of them did the same. When they had all done so, +Marta Herkik spoke up again.

+

"Keep these with you now. Do not look at the faces, for they are +your hidden fortune. Put them away and hold them to you."

+

Annie Eastwood and the other woman looked at each other. This +was something different. The tarot cards were old, the writhing +black patterns on the backs worn with use. Annie almost turned hers +over to see what she had drawn, but Janet picked hers up and put +them in her own bag. Annie did the same. Each of the men put them +in an inside pocket, wondering why they'd been asked to do this. +William Simpson pulled back the lapel, made to slide the cards +inside and glanced down at the nearest face. It showed a man +suspended on a rope, and that surprised him. When Marta Herkik had +dealt his cards before, it had been a different set. Then, the man +had been dangling by one foot, the other crossed over. This one was +a black etching of the Hanged Man. But the picture showed a rotting +skeletal figure dangling from a gibbet on which perched five black +crows. Eye sockets glared blindly above grinning teeth.

+

Marta Herkik broke the small silence. "Do as I do, now," she +said and everyone leaned forward. They all had their reasons.

+

The small woman reached into a black bag on her lap and brought +out something which she raised, then placed slowly in the centre of +the pentagon forming the heart of the star. All eyes followed the +movement. She drew her hands away and a translucent stone remained, +so clear it could have been made of glass, almost perfectly round, +though not quite, showing it had been formed from natural rock +crystal. In its depths, only three inches away from the smooth +surface, yet because of the odd perspective within the curved stone +it seemed far away, a small almond-shaped flaw caught the light and +shone it back. Like the stone in the old woman's brooch, it gleamed +like an eye.

+

Marta Herkik held her fingertips on the crystal dome. The others +reached, some eagerly, some more hesitant, until they all +touched.

+

There was a long moment of complete silence, then the woman +spoke, this time very softly.

+

"We are gathered here to be granted the gift of sight and the +gift of knowledge. We seek to know the un-knowable, to see the +unseen, to go beyond the beyond. Open your minds and your hearts, +because they are the channels. Empty your minds and let the power +flow."

+

On the woman's right side, Annie Eastwood, short brown hair +still damp from the rain, felt a tremor under her hands, so soft +she thought she might have imagined it, so slight it could have +been the tiny pulse in the skin of her fingers.

+

She held her breath and waited. This was her fourth visit to +Marta Herkik's back parlour. A divorcee for fourteen years, her +seventeen-year-old daughter Angela had gone out, against her +mother's wishes, to a disco in Lochend, seven miles along the road +on the south end of Loch Corran. She hadn't come home that night. +Her boyfriend had borrowed his father's car and had taken Angela +and his friend and girlfriend for a drive up the Shore Road past +Linnvale where the scars of the summer's forest fire had left a +black carpet of desolation. Not far past the turn-off, the car had +gone out of control, hit a tree-stump and rolled. Angela had been +thrown out of the car and tumbled fifty feet through the air to hit +a solitary old oak tree a few yards in from the roadside. Almost +every bone in her body had been smashed on impact. She had died +instantly.

+

Annie Eastwood wanted to speak to her daughter. She had to know +she was safe and happy. And most of all, she wanted her to know she +was sorry.

+

To Annie's right Derek Elliot felt the shiver in the crystal and +a half-smile formed on his face. He didn't really believe in all +this hocus-pocus, he told himself. But he was curious. He was also +young and he was ambitious. He'd failed his law degree four years +before, but had talked old Harry Fitzpatrick at Levenax Estate +Agents to take him on and he'd diligently worked his way into a +junior partnership, though that meant doing all of the work while +Harry played golf. In the past few months, Derek had been doing +little private deals on the side, deals that would have made the +old man throw a fit, had he known, but he did not know and Derek +Elliot wanted to move on and up. He wanted Marta Herkik to tell him +when. All he needed was a hint. Maybe a sign.

+

Next to him, Mickey O'Day had the look of a man who wants +everyone to think he is on top. He was in his mid thirties and +sported a loud tie and a louder checked sports jacket on which he'd +pinned a carnation which clashed jarringly. Mickey was on his way +out of the dark side of a bad run of luck. He still owed a small +fortune to Carrick's bookie's shop. Mickey was a great believer in +luck and that lady had written him a dear John. Eddie Carrick had +sent his two boys along to the Castlegate Bar to leave a message . +It was blunt and to the point: The old fella wanted his money by +the weekend. Mickey didn't have it. He needed some help to get luck +back on his side, just enough to make a favourite fall, to give an +outsider a spurt, to get Eddie Carrick's big lads off his back. +That was when he'd heard about Marta Herkik, and then his luck had +started to change. Mickey felt the shiver under his fingers and +gave a small smile that nobody else noticed. Maybe tonight, just +maybe, lady luck would really smile on him and get him out from +under, once and for all, put him back on top where he belonged.

+

Almost opposite Marta Herkik, William Simpson shivered in +response to the tiny tremor under his own fingers.

+

He shouldn't be here. He knew that, and still he'd come. Exactly +why he had come, he could not say, not to anyone. He was +looking for something. Simpson was minister of Castlebank Church, +preaching to less than a hundred souls every Sunday, most of them +women, most of them old, and that part of his life was empty and +hollow and as dry as the cellar beneath the crypt. More than anyone +else in the room, he needed to believe in a life after death. And +he needed that more than anything.

+

On his right, still going round the table anti-clockwise, Janet +Robinson, a thin, nervous woman with short fair hair and nervous +eyes behind wide lensed glasses. She was apprehensive, for a reason +she could not name. She had been here before and listened to Marta +Herkik's piping voice, as she interpreted the tarot, but this was +the first time she had sat with her fingers on the polished stone. +Janet was a typist at the police station on College Way, a shy, +timid woman. Her mother, a large, big busted, big voiced woman who +had loomed like a shadow over her all her life had died suddenly of +a massive stroke in the summer of the year. Janet Robinson had been +left with nothing to fill that vacuum. She didn't know what to do. +Her mother had organised everything, every part of her life. For +most of that life Janet had been afraid of her anger, had hated her +dominance, but had succumbed until there was nothing much left of +her own self. Now she wasn't sure what she +wanted. But she knew she needed to lay her mother's memory to +rest.

+

The last man at the table was Edward Tomlin who sat with eyes +fixed on the fingers sitting lightly on top of the shining stone. +He was in his late thirties, slim and tense. He was a little bit +frightened, though he did not know why. Tomlin was the caretaker in +Castlebank shipyard which had been the biggest industry in +Levenford until the fifties when things had begun to go sour. Now +he was in charge of a shell of rusting sheds and hangars, +mouldering machinery and weed-filled slipways. His job was no job +at all, for there was nothing to repair, or clean. He spent his +time making sure the teenagers of the town were kept from using the +old sheds as drinking dens, and to make sure the younger children +stayed safely outside the wrought iron gates. The yard had died a +long time ago, though one small section, close to the distillery, +had been fenced off and it was there that the only heavy +engineering took place, a stripped-down operation building spidery +rig-sections for the North Sea oilfields. Occasionally Eddie Tomlin +would stroll past the chain-link, listening to the harsh metal +sounds, and hanker for the days when his father had been welding +foreman, and when the big gates would open on a Saturday to spill +the grimy men out into the street for Saturday football matches. +More often he'd unlock the old tool room and open the box where he +kept some of the things he'd collected over the years. In the quiet +of the afternoon, he'd strip off his overalls and dress up in +silk.

+

Marta Herkik pressed her small, smooth hand onto the glass. She +gave a small smile of satisfaction when she felt the tiny tremor, +and sensed the heightened perception of the people around the +table. The rain beat a steady rap on the window, sounding like a +backwash of sand on the shore and the wind moaned down the chimney, +flaring the coals to brightness in stuttering breaths.

+

"Here we are gathered," she said in a low voice, almost a +mutter. In in her east European accent it sounded like +gattered. "To make contact, yes? With those gone before us +beyond the beyond. We each have the reasons. I am here to guide you +and my guide will lead me through. May we bring to them peace and +may they give peace to us."

+

All eyes were fixed on the little woman's face. The stone on her +shoulder winked red.

+

"We channel ourselves, our inner selves, together and through +the crystal. A radio beam if you prefer it, sending our thoughts to +the faraway, yes?"

+

They all nodded, slowly, like infants responding to a +teacher.

+

"We begin now, please," Marta said with a little nod. Under her +fingers the tremor had become a vibration, slow and steady.

+

The woman closed her eyes and brought her eyebrows down as far +as the pull of her tightly-held hair would allow.

+

"We come to seek the help of he who holds the power," she +intoned, almost singing. It sounded to Mickey O'Day just like a bad +piece of acting in an old movie, but even Mickey could feel the odd +tension which seemed to twist from one to another in the circle +around the table. There was an odd tingle of expectancy.

+

"We seek the knowledge, and answers to our questions. We seek +the guidance from beyond to assist us," Marta crooned.

+

"We are empty vessels into which can flow the knowledge and the +power to see beyond. Come to us now, and answer our call. Bring us +the knowledge and the sign."

+

She took a deep breath.

+

Under their fingers, the smooth crystal trembled in a sudden +hard vibration, strong enough to make it rattle on the table-top. +Janet Robinson made a small noise, more an intake of breath. Edward +Tomlin felt his heart give a double-jump.

+

"I ask it now," Marta went on as if nothing had happened. Their +fingers felt the thrum of resonance through the clear stone. "We +call you now to come to us."

+

The rattle got louder, more urgent. Derek Elliot could see the +flaw inside the crystal between his fingers. The movement was +causing it to flicker and dance like a candle-flame. Without +warning, the movement stopped and a heavy silence followed. Annie +Eastwood looked at the little woman, but Marta's eyes were fixed on +the stone.

+

Then, again without warning, it moved.

+

There was no hesitation. It slid across the table to stop just +in front of Marta Herkik. It made hardly a sound as it glided +across the polished surface to plant itself right on top of the +inlaid word Yea.

+

She smiled, just a twitch of her lips.

+

"Spirit," she said. "You have chosen to be with us, to journey +from the far place. If we ask, will you answer?"

+

The crystal dome remained where it sat, right at the edge of the +inlaid word. There was another momentary silence, then it began to +shake again, just enough to drum on the polished wood.

+

"Very good. We shall now begin," the old woman piped.

+

"The spirit is with us. I feel his presence and so shall you. +Welcome him to yourselves."

+

As soon as she said that, the fire flared then dimmed +theatrically, and then, very slowly the light on the lamp on the +old dresser by the wall, faded to red. The draught from the chimney +swirled around the room. each of them felt it. The hairs on Derek +Elliot's knuckles stood on end, and Janet Robinson felt the skin +between her shoulderblades pucker and crawl. The cold wind eddied +from one to the other. William Simpson felt it waft through him, +shivering him deep inside. Annie Eastwood drew in her breath, +feeling the cold air spread into her lungs. It was as if the +atmosphere had changed, suddenly tense and frigid, as if the wind +moaning down the chimney has snaked right into their bones.

+

Marta raised her head and scanned the faces around the table. +"Which will be first."

+

They all looked at her, then at each other, none wishing to make +a move.

+

"Hurry now," Marta urged abruptly. "There is no time."

+

"Give me a number," Mickey O'Day blurted. What he really wanted +was a name. A winning name.

+

"Give me a lucky number."

+

The stone trembled again. Very slowly, it slid across the table, +hovered in front of the Nay sign, then glided silently to +stop briefly in front of Derek Elliot, sped diagonally across to +tremble before Janet Robinson and then changed direction to flit +down and stop between Marta Herkik and Annie Eastwood. As it moved +their arms reached or drew back, still with their fingers on the +stone.

+

"Six." Mickey said, spelling out the letters. "That's what it +said, unless one of you's pushing the damn thing."

+

Marta shot him a look which conveyed irritation and commanded +silence.

+

"Just checking," Mickey said with a grin. Already, in his mind, +he was leaning on the railing at Ayr racetrack. Tomorrow, he knew, +the going would be soft. There were fourteen runners. With the ease +of the habitual gambler, he ran through the numbers. Red Crystal, a +three year old untested colt was among the bar runners at 33-1 in +the day's major race. It was coming out of trap six. Mickey had +hoarded his last win, though still in well over his head in credit +bets. There were a few places who would take a ten or twenty, and +if he spread his money around, it wouldn't attract attention. He +smiled to himself, hearing in his mind the roar of the crowd at the +post as his horse came through. Number six. Red Crystal. He looked +down at the stone under his hands and saw the tiny flaw catch the +light. Another sign. Another omen. For the first time in months he +felt absolutely sure that his luck was going to dazzle him.

+

"That'll do nicely," he murmured, strangely certain. Maybe, he +thought, it would come up with a few more.

+

"Someone else with a question?" Marta asked.

+

Janet Robinson looked up, then dropped her eyes back to her +hand.

+

"Yes, dear?" Marta encouraged. "Don't be afraid. Ask what you +want to know."

+

For a moment, Janet was nonplussed. She didn't know +what she wanted to know. She was trying to formulate a +question when Annie Eastwood blurted: "My daughter. Is she safe? I +mean...." Annie looked straight at Marta.

+

"Is she happy? I have to tell her something. I didn't get the +chance. I mean..." The words came out in a tumble. Before she could +say more, the crystal moved so abruptly that Janet Robinson let out +a little gasp.

+

It slid in a series of straight-line glides halting precisely in +front of the letters, its edge on the middle ring, jerking back and +forth spasmodically. As it moved, the six people who had come to +Marta Herkik's backstairs apartment silently mouthed the letters. +Abruptly, the crystal came to a halt, in the dead centre of the +table.

+

"Angela". It was a whisper which was almost a gasp. Even in the +dimness of the room, Janet Robinson could see the slackness in +Annie Eastwood's face. The blood just seemed to drain away to below +the collarline of her blouse. "That's her name."

+

A shiver went through their fingers again. This time there was +no hesitation. The glass sped over the surface, pecking at a +letter, diving off at a tangent, stabbing at another, coming back +briefly to the centre to mark a pause...sometimes.

+

Dark. It spelled.

+

Then: Cold.

+

Then: Sore It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. cold-dark-cold-pain +o help o help oh no oh oh oh motherpleasehelpmemother.

+

Annie Eastwood squeaked, whether in fright or in pain, none of +them knew. She jerked back and her hand flew from the crystal. A +noise like a brisk handclap smacked the air and Marta Herkik's five +other visitors felt their own hands thrown from the polished stone. +The old woman's hand was the last on the surface. Another small +noise, like an electrical contact sparked under her fingers and her +own hand was thrown upwards. It looked as if she had touched +something hot.

+

"What?" she exclaimed, to no one in particular.

+

Just as the word was out, the crystal dome began to move again. +It edged, of its own volition over to the NAY sign then +back to the centre, then it was off again, flitting in a glowing +blur, collecting its letters with each instant stop before it +flicked to the next, criss-crossing the table in diagonal +flashes.

+

TREEOSH it spelled out. Then otheres then +ehorset. Between each clump of letters, it paused and +quivered. They all watched, mouths agape. Annie Eastwood's hands +were shaking, balled into fists just under her chin, as if she was +preparing to ward off the smooth polished hemisphere if it suddenly +leapt at her. Mickey O'Day was sitting right back in his seat, +staring at the stone as if it were a snake. Edward Tomlin, opposite +him had a knuckle jammed into his mouth, as if he were afraid he +might make a sound. Marta Herkik 's own face had sagged, as if even +she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

+

Then William Simpson, opposite her said: "It's our initials. +They're all anagrams."

+

As soon as he said that, the stone rattled hard on the +table top, then went completely still.

+

"It was only our initials," he said. "But how did it do +that?"

+

Without pausing, he shoved his chair back and bent to look under +the table. He disappeared from view completely. Unconsciously Janet +Robinson crossed her legs in an automatic movement as soon as his +head bowed under the edge of the table. Five seconds later, he came +back up again.

+

"There's nothing there. I don't understand this."

+

He looked across the table to where Marta Herkik still sat, +slack jawed, the hand that had been resting on the stone up close +to her face, palm outwards.

+

"What's going on here?" he demanded.

+

Annie Eastwood made another little squeaking sound. She looked +as if she might have a heart attack. Nobody else noticed.

+

"Come on. Tell me."

+

Everybody turned to Marta. The old woman's mouth opened, then, +very slowly it closed again. Just as slowly, she closed her eyes +and quite gracefully drew her head back until the tight bun was +pressed against the high back of the chair. Her small reddened lips +pursed and a frown of concentration knotted her pencilled eyebrows +into a tight cupid's bow. She drew in a long breath through her +nose, as if she was sniffing the air, expelled it the same way and +drew in again, deep and slow. The hand that had been held up close +to her face slowly dropped to her lap. The six people watched in +silence. The woman's steady breathing continued for several +moments, each breath longer than the last, each inhalation drawn +out so slowly it seemed to take an age to reach its turning +point.

+

Finally, Marta Herkik's head began to slump forward. She gave a +little moan, hardly louder than the sound of her breathing had +been, then that noise stopped dead. The rapping on the window pane +faded to nothing and the whistle of the wind down the chimney died +away and the silence expanded. There was no movement, not the blink +of an eye nor the twitch of a lip. The very air of the room seemed +to be taught with a sudden expectancy.

+

"Donuts."

+

Derek Elliot visibly jerked back in a start of surprise. Janet +Robinson's eyes blinked rapidly three times.

+

Marta Herkik's head swung up and her eyes snapped open, staring +straight into the smooth stone in the centre of the table. Her lips +had not moved, but the voice had come from her.

+

"Donuts," she said again. " Hot. Icing. +Sugar."

+

Still the woman's red lips were motionless. Her teeth seemed to +be gritted together.

+

The voice which they heard was not a woman's voice, not the +tones of an old woman, not the strong east European accent that +Marta Herkik still maintained almost forty years after she had fled +the Hungarian revolution and come to live with her brother in +Levenford, just south of the highland line.

+

"Make me some hot donuts, mummy," the voice piped up in +the clear, sing-song cadence of a small girl.

+

Beside the old woman, Annie Eastwood's face went through a +startling metamorphosis. She stiffened, as if all the muscles in +her cheeks and neck had gone into a bunching spasm, then, almost +instantaneously, as if strings holding them sight had been cut, +they sagged, giving her the vacuous look of someone in shock. Her +eyes rolled upwards, the brown irises almost disappearing behind +her eyelids. Even in the dim light of the embers it was clear that +her face had gone sickly pale.

+

"They're my favourites mummy," the child's +voice sang out.

+

Annie shuddered as if struck and the muscles of her face +unslackened themselves in a galvanic jerk. She gave a little moan, +very like the sound Marta Herkik had made. Her eyes flicked to the +left. The old woman was sitting dead still, gaze fixed emptily on +the curved crystal under her fingers.

+

"Angela?" Annie Eastwood's question was hushed. The tremble in +her breath was audible. Everyone else stared at her. No-one else +spoke.

+

"Angie?" she said again, this time louder. In her mind a cruel +playback ran its scenes in flick-flick motion. It had been Angie's +fourth birthday, six months after Crawford Eastwood had packed a +suitcase and disappeared, without leaving so much as a note on the +mantelpiece, leaving her to bring up the baby on her own, leaving +her, she later discovered, for a nineteen-year-old girl who had +babysat on the nights Annie had been kept late stocktaking, while +Crawford had been spending what little extra money they'd had down +in the County Bar. She'd had to work hard then, scraping and +scratching to keep little Angie dressed and fed. There had been no +money for birthday presents that year, not with the lawyer's fees +and all, and she'd been too busy just trying to keep the house +going at all to buy a birthday cake.

+

And little Angie had understood, even at four years old. She'd +put her arms around her mother's neck when Annie had tried, +bitterly and heart-achingly, to explain that there would be a cake +at Christmas, and presents too, but - oh god I'm sorry +honeybun - I've nothing for you now.

+

"Don't worry mummy," she'd piped up, hugging hard, trying to +make the hurt go away. She'd known, even at the age of +four, she'd known.

+

"Make me some donuts instead. Make me hot donuts with icing and +sugar. They're my favourites."

+

And Annie had got the flour and butter and moulded the donuts +into rings, woman and small girl in the old high-ceilinged kitchen +that she hadn't paid the mortgage on for four months and that was +really why there hadn't been any cake or presents for a wee girl. +They'd dropped the doughy rings into the deep fat and listened to +their spat and sizzle and she'd spooned the thick icing sugar on, +letting it drip like sweet wax while they were still hot. They'd +stuck four tiny blue candles on one of them and both of them had +sung happy birthday, little Angie singing happy birthday dear +ME while tears had clouded Annie's eyes.

+

That had been fourteen years ago. On that day, Annie had +promised her baby there would be Christmas presents under the tree, +and she'd promised herself too, that no matter what, she'd make a +home for the two of them, come what may. And thirteen years after +that, Angie had been catapulted out of a car and had broken all her +bones and Annie hadn't even been given the chance to say +goodbye.

+

The sound of the child's voice had brought that all back in one +tidal wave of remembrance that swamped Annie Eastwood and dragged +her under.

+

"Don't worry mummy. I'm a good girl," the voice cut +through to the drowning woman and dragged her back. Her fingers +tried to hook on to the smooth crystal dome, instinctively seeking +purchase.

+

"Angie!" she managed to say again.

+

"Yes mother." This time, the tone was still that of a +girl, but now a young woman rather than a child. Annie recognized +it at once.

+

"Where..." Annie started. "Where are you."

+

"I'm here mother. It's dark here. And cold. It';s very cold +and I can't get warm. I'm lost mother."

+

"But..."

+

All eyes except Marta Herkik's were now fixed on Annie Eastwood. +No-one else spoke. William Simpson's mouth was set in a circle, as +if he was sucking an invisible stick of rock. Janet Robinson's jaw +had sagged down until it was almost on her chest.

+

"I'm all alone mother," the young woman's +voice wailed. There was a panicky edge to it, a jagged ridge of +fear. Marta Herkik's lips didn't move. Her mouth was still partly +open. A pulse beat visibly in her neck under her chin, but her lips +were motionless. Yet there was no doubt that the voice was coming +from her.

+

"Angie. Angela!" Annie cried out. "What's wrong? Where +are you?"

+

"I have messages for people, mother. I have to tell +them."

+

"But Angie, wait!" the woman blurted, panicky, like a +caller expecting the phone to be hung up.

+

Then the voice changed yet again. Marta Herkik's head came down +in a slow nod. Her hands dropped equally slowly, and planted +themselves on the table, one on either side of the YEA +sign.

+

"A message. From the harbinger," this new voice said. +It had no accent at all. The words came out flat, like footfalls. +It had no gender, no age. Marta Herkik raised her head and they +could see the reflections of the small flaw in the crystal +reflected in her eyes, like two smouldering points deep inside the +wide pupils.

+

"A message for all of you. Hm? From the other whom you have +called."

+

The old woman's jaw twitched, as if she was fighting back the +words, biting back the words, but still her lips didn't +move.

+

"A small payment for the summons. A little quid-pro-quo, hm? +You all want the future, all of you, and you shall have a +future."

+

"What's the old bugger going on about," Mickey O'Day breathed. +His eyes left Marta Herkik's rictus and flicked bout the room, +looking for something that would tell him this was a recording. But +the nerves rippling under the skin of his neck, like creeping +fingers told him this was a vain hope.

+

"Ah, the gambling man. A lucky number. The number of all +luck. It is six, the number of my master's master."

+

The short sentences came out in hard bites.

+

"Yea. It is six, and so shall ye know it. It is six times +six times six. Test your luck, man of chance. Test the luck of +the game."

+

The old woman's head swivelled a fraction to the left.

+

"And you. Man of the Cloth."

+

Now the voice deepened. "Shall I sing you a song? A +hymn perhaps. Suffer little children. It would be better for +thee, that a millstone be put around thy neck than corrupt one of +these, my little ones. One of his little ones. More than +one. You wear the millstone well."

+

"What the devil?" William Simpson almost chocked on the rush of +words. "How dare you...I'll..I'll"

+

But the old woman's head had turned away from him, veering +further to the left. The burning glint flared brighter.

+

"Mother's here, my dear. Watching over you, day +and night, just as I shall guide you in the +night."

+

Janet Robinson shrank back.

+

"Oh don't fidget. And close your mouth, or the wind will +change and you'll stay like that, stupid girl. And remember. I'm +watching you, all the time. I know everything."

+

Janet's expression of fright changed immediately to a slack look +of pure horror. She gave a strangled little coughing cry and then +her mouth closed like a trap.

+

Marta's head continued its swing.

+

"Open the box," the voice came. Edward Tomlin was +locked in her gaze. "The secret box behind closed doors, the +pandora's box of all your deeds."

+

Tomlin shrank back, his eyes showing the fear of a man who knows +his secret will be told. He held up a hand to ward off the +words.

+

"If only they knew. The things that you do. With the locks. +And the box. And the doors."

+

It came out in a sing-song rhyme. A grating, sneering little +ditty.

+

Marta Herkik's blazing eyes left him speechless. Her head +snapped to the right she glared at Derek Elliot.

+

"Ah, an ambitious man. A man with plans. With other people's +money, hm? A takeover? I accept your invitation to join +the company. A welcome opening. In management no less. Too many +cooks. Of the books. Success to all."

+

The voice stopped.

+

Everybody stared at the old woman, their faces frozen in +expressions of fright or distress or outright shock.

+

There was a silence for almost a minute, while Marta Herkik +began to breath heavily again, each intake rasping, as if her +throat was constricted, as if she was fighting for air.

+

Her fingers pressed down on the polished wood of the inlaid +table, curved, and the knuckles stood white as she forced the tips +down hard until her nails were pointed straight at the shiny +surface. Then she drew her hands back, digging her nails in. There +was a faint scraping sound at first, then as the hands drew towards +her, a screech as the painted nails dug under the surface. Edward +Tomlin saw a little corkscrew of veneer spiral upwards from under +the end of her middle finger. Behind it, where her hands had moved, +eight, almost parallel lines were gouged into the wood, ploughed +furrows with jagged edges. Even as he watched he saw the long +fingernail snap backwards right from the little half-moon quick at +the base of the nail, with an audible click. Blood welled +out from where it stuck out like a bird's beak and flowed into the +lengthening groove. The old woman 's expression did not change. She +appeared to be grinning, but without humour. Her lips were drawn +back from her teeth. Her eyes caught the flicker of light from the +stone, but they looked blind.

+

Just as her fingers reached the middle circle, the stone began +to move again, following a similar stuttering pattern to the +previous zig-zag darting. Only Michael O'Day saw the movement. The +rest of them watched aghast as Marta Herkik's fingers tore at the +table.

+

"I think I've had enough," William Simpson snapped. He shoved +his chair back from the table. "I don't know what on earth is going +on here, but I'm leaving."

+

He pushed himself to his feet and took a step backwards. Edward +Tomlin's chair caught on the edge of a carpet and began to tilt. He +stood up, eyes still fixed on the little stream of blood which was +slowly oozing down its groove to the pentangle at the centre of the +table. The path of the smooth stone had crossed over the trickle +and had smeared a glistening pattern on its travels, a little thick +blob where it had stopped at a letter and spun.

+

Marta Herkik breathed out violently, a cold hiss of air, strong +as the gust of wind that had blasted out from the fireplace, but +this time much colder. Even William Simpson, standing away from the +table felt it on his face. The cold invaded him again, made him +shudder. The temperature of the room plummeted instantly. From the +wall behind the woman's twisted shape, a ripping noise, like fine +cloth torn apart, zipped down from the ceiling. A line of the heavy +brocaded wallpaper simply peeled off the wall and flopped, +snakelike to the floor. Droplets of water beaded on the bare +plaster where it had been pasted to the wall. Another rip and a +parallel section unseamed and oozed wetly to pool beside the +kerb.

+

The old woman's head was thrown back and her eyes rolled. The +stone slowly swivelled in the centre of the table. Edward Tomlin's +chair teetered, then crashed to the floor. The noise was enough to +distract Janet Robinson and Annie Eastwood. They forced themselves +back from the table, shivering with fright and the sudden glacial +cold. Derek Elliot followed with a jerky movement as if he was +afraid to be left behind. Michael O'Day was rivetted on the lines +of blood on the table. Cold fingers of revulsion and fascinated +fear were trailing up and down his spine. The short hairs on the +back of his neck were rippling in unison. they felt as if they were +trying to crawl upwards.

+

Simpson reached the door, snatched at the handle and pulled it +open. He turned to say something else and the door slammed shut +with a loud clatter. He yelled in a strangely high-pitched voice as +his hand, still on the handle, was twisted round in a sudden snap, +wrenching his wrist. At the same moment, the fire flared and the +flaw in the stone caught the light like a fanned ember. Marta +Herkik's fingers were now dug into the wood at the end of the +table. Her neck was arched back so far that her chin was pointing +to the ceiling. She gave a strangled gasp.

+

Closest to her, Edward Tomlin heard a creaking noise. It +reminded him of a branch bent to breaking point. Beads of sweat on +the old woman's brow trickled down towards her ears.

+

"Somebody help her," he shouted. "She's having a fit or +something."

+

"Help nothing," Derek Elliot. "She's nothing but an old faker. +I'm getting out of here." But the young man in the smart blue suit +did not sound as if he believed a word of what he said.

+

He reached beyond William Simpson who was still shaking his hand +and grabbed the doorhandle. He twisted it with some force and +hauled. Nothing happened.

+

"Bloody thing's stuck. Another trick," he said from behind +clenched teeth. He braced himself and heaved.

+

There was a noise of wood splintering and the door opened an +inch. Elliot grunted with effort.

+

On the table the stone started spinning, although only Michael +O'Day saw it. Marta Herkik's head was bent so far now over the back +of the seat that the bun on the top of her head was almost down at +shoulder lever. She was groaning now, rasping like an animal. Annie +Eastwood took a step toward her, paused, then took two steps back. +Her eyes moved to the old woman's fingers, stuck in the wood. Blood +was flowing from the ends of them. All the nails were twisted off +their cuticle beds.

+

"Oh, she's..." Annie began. In her head she could still hear her +daughter's pitiful plea. Her mind was a turmoil, and she could feel +her knees shudder as if they were about to give under her +weight.

+

Derek Elliot heaved on the door and swung it open, helped by +William Simpson who managed to hook his undamaged hand round the +edge of the heavy wood. There was another creak, then it slammed +back against the wall with enough force to shiver the floor.

+

"Would you look at that?" Michael O'Day said, in a voice that +held both fear and wonderment. Janet Robinson and Edward Tomlin +couldn't help but look.

+

The glowing hemisphere of polished stone was whirling on the +centre of the table. Tiny splashes of blood were flicked up and out +in a catherine-wheel spray. Marta Herkik sounded as though she was +choking, yet nobody made a move to help her. In the flick of an +eye, the whirling piece of quartz shot from the table and hit the +stone fireplace behind the twisted woman with a noise like gunfire. +Shards of crystal exploded outwards. One of them clipped Mickey +O'Day on the cheek. Another raked Janet Robinson's calf.

+

But it was Marta Herkik who took the force of it. Her whole body +stiffened, as if she'd been hit by a hammer, then her head whipped +up and forward. The whole of the top of her head was crowned with +sparkling pieces of glassy splinters. Blood simply drenched her +hair.

+

William Simpson leapt through the doorway with Derek Elliot +clawing at his jacket to get in front. Edward Tomlin almost knocked +Annie Eastwood sprawling in his rush to get out. His shoulder hit +the door-jamb and he spun, tumbled down three stairs before the +turn and almost knocked himself out when his chin connected with +the low sill of the stairwell window. Annie Eastwood's heel broke +as she tripped over the sprawled man. Janet Robinson's didn't. She +missed her footing, planted a high heel in Tomlin's groin and +didn't even hear his squeal as the little metal edge punctured the +fabric of his trousers and almost punched a hole in his left +testicle. By the time she got to the bottom of the stairs she was +almost gabbling in fright. Michael O'Day saw none of this. His eyes +were rivetted on the awful sight of Marta Herkik's head swinging up +with its hair caked in blood.

+

One of the shards that had exploded out from the fireplace when +the crystal had shattered was embedded in her forehead. that jagged +shard, the biggest of them all, had contained the flaw at the +centre of the stone.

+

Now it gleamed and sparked like a third eye in the middle of the +old woman's forehead. Her own eyes were rolled right back, still +wide open, until only the blind whites glared out blindly.

+

Her head continued to swing forward and her mouth moved in a +series of spastic jerks.

+

Michael backed away eyes wide, feeling his own breath catch in +his throat.

+

The old woman started to say something, but all that came out +was a rattle. Her hands came up from the table, dripping blood. +They flexed in front of her blind eyes, like ragged talons.

+

He started to say something, but the words wouldn't come. A +nerve jumped under his knee and he thought for a moment he was +going to fall to the floor, leaving him alone with the apparition +still seated in the chair.

+

Then Marta Herkik started to laugh, but it was not the high, +piping laugh of the old woman who had read his tarot cards only the +week before.

+

This was a gruff, barking laugh. It sounded more animal than +human. It started low, almost a growl, and quickly rose to a +stuttering bark, like foxes in a dark wood. The woman's mouth was +wide open. Her false teeth slipped out, bounced on her podgy chest +and rattled to the table. The laugh continued and Michael O'Day +couldn't move. The nightmare screech soared higher and higher, like +a laugh on a speeded-up record, until it became the chittering of +stoats in a gorse bush, then it stopped abruptly. As soon as it +did, old Marta Herkik's body arched backwards. There was a thin +snapping sound as her legs pushed out. Her back curved and her head +was thrown back in a sudden spasm.

+

Then she began to rise straight up from the chair, limbs +spreadeagled, hands drooling blood. He watched aghast, paralysed. +The woman's body reached the level of the high lintel on the +fireplace and continued straight up. A hand scraped the wall. It +moved, jittering, and smeared a line of blood on the bare piece +where the paper had unseamed itself. The other hand stretched out, +made contact with the bare plaster and scrabbled against it. +Michael O'Day saw the smears become letters, the letters become +words. Still nine, maybe ten feet in the air, and completely +horizontal, her face pointing at the ceiling, the old woman's form +began to spin slowly. It was so alien, so preposterous, that +Michael O'Day felt a cold terror grip at the base of his belly. The +spinning motion stopped and the woman coughed sickly, as if she was +choking and something crashed in the corner. His eyes flicked to +the shadows where the walls joined just as a vase came hurtling +from the gloom towards him. He didn't have time to move, but it +missed him by a whisker, the wind of its passing riffling his black +Irish curls. Beside it, a line of old books came whirring out, +propelled by an invisible force, bulleting out into the room, +slamming against the table, against the cabinet on the far side, +pages fluttering and ripping. Above, one of the lightbulbs in the +three branched light imploded and a shower of tiny glass splinters +rained down to the floor.

+

Michael's muscles unlocked. Enormous gratitude for the power of +motion flooded him. he backed away towards the door, still unable +to pull his eyes away from the woman who floated, fat legs stuck +out awkwardly from her drooping black skirt, close to the +ceiling.

+

Then she dropped. It was as if a rope had been cut. She came +straight without a sound. Her head slammed against the stone edge +with a soft crumping sound and her left arm was thrown +forward into the red embers.

+

Michael turned and ran. He took the stairs three at a time, +carooming off the walls of the staircase on the way down. He barged +out through the doorway, almost tripped on something lying on the +wet pavement and kicked it for three yards before he realised it +was his coat. Without thinking, he snatched it up and ran through +the rain across River Street and up Yard Vennel as the lightning +flickered and the thunder rolled up the firth towards +Levenford.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike02.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike02.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5d6b94a --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike02.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,127 @@ + + + + + +2 + + + + +
+
+

2

+

Down on Clydeshore Avenue, close to the shingle bank of the wide +firth estuary, the thunderclap exploded overhead just as a jagged +fork of lightning stabbed down from the black cloud, a sizzling +stutter of energy which tore the air apart and speared the fork of +a massive beech tree. The westward half of the tree simply peeled +away from the main trunk and fell forty feet, flames licking up its +entire length, to the ground below where the drenching rain +instantly doused the fire.

+

The girl woke, wide eyed, mouth agape, a cry trying to blurt +from a fright-locked throat.

+

The lightning flickered outside, sending stroboscopic patterns +through the chink in the curtain and on its heels, the thunder +growled like a hungry animal in the night.

+

Her hands were shaking, held up rigid and hooked in front of her +face. Her eyes were wide and staring in the dark, blind to the +flashes of light, seeing only the images of the dreadful dream +unreel in her mind. Trickles of sweat ran cool fingers down between +her shoulderblades and her heart was beating so fast, so hard, it +felt as if it would punch through her ribs.

+

The dream was still running, re-running, playing the scenes back +for her, and the eyes, poisonous yellow-orange in the dark, stared +through her, drilled into her very self.

+

Finally her lungs unclenched and the girl let out a moan of fear +and anguish.

+

It had been a nightmare, a terrible dream. Someplace dark, where +the very air felt as if it had been compressed by weight and heat. +A featureless plain of blackness, seen from above. She had been +floating over the desolation, knowing without seeing, that this was +no desert, that million upon million twisted and wizened and +tormented things writhed far below, crowded so close together that +they formed the surface. She could sense their suffering and their +hate as she sped on, drawn forwards to the only feature, unseen in +the distance, but sensed, somehow, the way it is in dreams, a +looming foreboding, the certain prescience of the mindscape.

+

She finally approached, silently through the oppressive ether, a +pinnacle of rock soaring up from the flat, a jagged tooth of stone, +riven with crevices and saw-toothed ridges, black as night. On the +almost vertical sides, she sensed more of the creatures, climbing +ever upwards, falling back to oblivion among the masses, heard, in +her mind, their screams and shrieks of frustration and despair.

+

She rose up the face of the rock spire until she came level with +the spiked top, and there she saw the shadow.

+

Blacker than black, deeper than night, it hunched, still as +stone. It defied vision. There were no outlines to the thing which +sat on the high vantage, yet her dream senses could perceive its +malevolence. She tried to back away, but it drew her in towards it, +an amorphous writhing shade within shadow. In the dream, she shook +her head, denying its existence, tried to tell herself that this +was a dream, but still its foul magnetism drew her on until she +could almost have touched the slime-coated rock.

+

It turned, though she saw no movement, only felt it. Two eyes +opened, enormous and sickly yellow, completely round and +featureless. A baleful light speared her, reached into her and +touched her very self. She tried to cry, to twist away from the +touch of corruption and disease, but it held her.

+

Then the sound of thunder rolled over the plain. A green light +flickered in the far horizon and the eyes closed.

+

"Now, little one," a voice like scraping rock whispered +inside her, "we are together."

+

The shadow moved, a sensation of oily limbs, jagged joints, a +spider-like, yet slithery motion, and the dark rose upwards from +the rock towards a red-purple sky, changing to a sphere, fuzzing to +a cloud. She was caught in the wake, dragged along in the +turbulence. A crack appeared in the sky as she was blown +through.

+

And she was in a strange room.

+

She was high, close to the ceiling, looking down on them as they +sat around the table. The stone was moving, whirling faster and +faster, jerking from one oddly-slanted letter to the next. It +happened in a flick-flick stop motion sequence, out of synch. A man +stood up, moved to the door. She saw, rather than felt, the black +cold wind whirl around the room, rattling the paintings on the +walls, the quaint glassware in the cabinet. Two women getting to +their feet, backing away. The old woman, bowed over the back of the +seat.

+

All the time she felt the black presence of the thing that had +dragged her from the hellscape through the crack in the sky. It was +in the wind that shivered them all, it was in the stone. She saw +it, a fuzzed and writhing cloud of darkness, narrowing down to a +spinning cone and force its way into the old woman. She heard the +grating tones as it spoke through her, sensed the sudden burgeon of +fear in the women.

+

On the table the stone blurred in its spin then flew off to +shatter against the fireplace and she heard the guttural laugh as +the shards fountained outwards.

+

Run! Get away!

+

She tried to call out to them, but she could make no sound. She +was locked in the dream, powerless to escape. The door opened, the +men spilled out, the women at their heels. One man sat still, +unable to move.

+

The old woman rose up from the chair, limbs twitching. The girl +could see the black aura of the thing within and without her, heard +its glut as it absorbed the fear and horror. Then the woman fell. +The man now moving, strobe-effect jerks as the chair toppled. The +terrible sound of broken bone and crushed flesh, and then, above it +all, the shriek of mad laughter.

+

She tried to pull away again, but the numb lethargy still held +her. On the ground, far below, the woman's dead eye flicked open +and glared at her from a mess of damage. The lips moved, just a +twitch at first, as if the nerves were finding new pathways to +travel.

+

"Now it begins," the grating voice said, so softly it +was more menacing than the laughter.

+

"Wait and watch with me," it said.

+

And she awoke sitting up in her own bed, shivering in the +aftermath.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike03.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike03.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f74dac9 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike03.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,287 @@ + + + + + +3 + + + + +
+
+

3

+

Jack Fallon stood with his back to the window, hands deep in the +pockets of his coat. Ronnie Jeffrey was down on his knees in front +of the fireplace, taking close-up pictures of what lay on the +floor, half on the carpet and half on the stone kerb. The camera +flashed twice in quick succession. When Ronnie turned, Jack could +only see his eyes. The rest of his face was covered with a +handkerchief knotted behind his neck, worn like a bank robber in an +old western movie.

+

"Right, Ronnie," Jack said. "That should do it."

+

"About time too," Ronnie said, his voice only slightly muffled +by the mask. "What a stink. She must have been here for days."

+

"Maybe. Where's Ralph? I want him to start the prints. And watch +your feet on that glass."

+

"I'll ask him in." Ronnie heaved himself to his feet and backed +away carefully, unable to avoid the smaller shards on the floor +under his heavy shoes. They crunched with a sound that grated in +Jack's ears and tingled the nerves between his shoulderblades. The +photographer got to the door and pulled the handkerchief down.

+

"Still stinks, even from here. Like a barbecue in a +cemetery."

+

"Could have been worse. Might have been summer," Jack agreed. He +hadn't moved position since he'd taken up station at the window. +His frame blocked off some of the light coming through the dusty +pane, but not much. Outside it was cold and overcast. Implacable +winter weather. If it had been summer, the stench in the +room would have been overwhelming, stomach-clenching. The place +would have been buzzing with bluebottles and the body would have +been squirming with maggots wriggling under the skin.

+

"Thank God for small mercies," Ronnie grunted as he left the +room.

+

Jack stood for a while longer, eyes drifting almost lazily +around the room, trying to shake off an oppressive feeling of +threat that had been sparked off by the grating sound.

+

The place was a shambles. Three of the chairs which would have +sat around the circular table were overturned, lying on their +sides. A fourth was upside down on a low settee on the far side by +the door. It looked as if it had been flung violently. The table +itself, set solid in the centre of the room under a drop light, was +deeply scored in grooves, fresh by the look of it, in the places +where the blood hadn't flowed. It was blood, Jack Fallon knew from +long experience - too long, he sometimes thought - though it had +blackened and caked in the runnels. He'd have known the smell +anywhere, just as he knew the smell of burned flesh and decaying +corpses. All three were here, present and correct, each clamouring +for his attention and getting it. He felt the muscles of his throat +twitch and he gulped beck the reflex. He hadn't had breakfast, and +that was definitely a bonus.

+

The old woman hadn't been covered up yet. An ambulance crew were +waiting downstairs, and they'd have to wait a little longer. She +wasn't going anywhere. Hadn't been going anywhere for a couple of +days, maybe a week, Jack estimated, thou Robbie Cattenach's +pathology lab would give him a better guess. no doubt. He looked +down at her. The sleeve and half the bodice of her black dress were +burned away, along with her arm, which was stretched out right into +the cold embers of the fire. They hadn't been cold, though. What +stretched out from the woman's body was a twisted skeletal claw on +a black, stick-like extension. The flesh had shrivelled and melted, +causing the arm to warp. At the crook of the elbow, the tendons and +muscles had bunched and torqued in the heat. On the floor just +beneath, a two-foot wide greasy splatter had hardened on the floor. +Jack knew it was the woman's body fats. They'd have sizzled out and +dripped, like a roast on a spit. The fire hadn't gone far, maybe +because there was little to burn on the woman. It hadn't made the +leap over the kerb, or the whole place would have gone up. The room +was a fire hazard. Old dry books lined the shelves on the walls, or +at least some of them. Most of them were scattered around the +floor. Some of them were ripped apart, and a few single torn pages +were strewn about the floor just at Jack's feet. On a shelf, a box +filled with newspaper clippings. Lace curtains on the window, and +dried flowers in vases. They had probably stood on every horizontal +surface, but now they too were strewn about like weeds in a cut +hayfield. It would have gone up like a torch.

+

He shifted his stance, allowing the weak light to filter through +the net curtain onto the woman's face. Only half of it was intact. +The side nearest the fire was wasted, burned almost away. The flesh +was gone, exposing the animal-like clench of the jaw right up to +behind the ear. The eye had shrunk, probably burst first, then +dissolved into the dark socket. The other side of the face was +still human, though the shrivelling of skin and muscle on the +burned side had pulled everything out of shape, drawing that side +into a strange plastic grimace. The skin on the unburned side was +blackened with bruising. Blood streaks had hardened into thick +scabs. The mouth, the half that was left, was wide open.

+

Almost on the terminator line, where the burned and puckered +skin stopped and the untouched part remained, a piece of glass was +wedged into the centre of the forehead. It glinted weakly like an +eye, giving the corpse an alien look that was oddly alive. Above +that, slender shards of glass stuck up from the wasted scalp like +shiny bristles. Slivers were strewn around the body, twinkling on +the hearth around the blackened, contorted arm. Fragments of the +flower-vases were scattered like sharp confetti all over the floor. +Down one side of the room, two lengths of the thick, old fashioned +wallpaper had been stripped from ceiling to floor and lay tangled +and crumpled. Down the pillar-like lines, three yards apart, were +two words, daubed vertically on the plain plaster in bold, dark +capitals. That more than anything else raised a question mark in +Jack Fallon's mind. It took his mind off everything else.

+

"She's been thrown all over the place. Hit with everything," he +said aloud into the dull room. The smell was overwhelming.

+

"What's that?"

+

Ralph Slater came in from the hallway. There was a streak of +powder on his cheek. He was wearing thin rubber gloves which made +his hands look artificial. All his gear was in the battered leather +case.

+

"Nothing Ralph. Just thinking."

+

"Smell would stop a clock. Want a mint?"

+

Jack shook his head. He needed a coffee, strong and black, with +three sugars. In the palpable air of the claustrophobic, ransacked +room, even the thought of coffee was nauseating. He really needed a +drink, but he'd been needing a drink for a while.

+

"No. Might as well get on. You know your bit. Ronnie's taken his +snaps. I'll need everything from here."

+

Ralph nodded. He put his case down on the old brocade settee, +after making sure there was nothing there worth checking. There +were enough smooth surfaces in the room to make the fabric of the +upholstery hardly worth dusting.

+

"What about that then? Looks like a gang slogan," Ralph said, +nodding at the scrawled words.

+

"Not any gang from around here."

+

Heteros. There was an odd slant to the letters on the +bare space next to the door.

+

Etheros. The same twist to the right on the wall where +the paper had been stripped beside the window.

+

The words, if they were words, started at the ceiling, +at twice the height of a man. Whoever had written them must have +used something to get up there, and then removed whatever he'd +used. He must also have been confident that nobody would disturb +him. Did that mean she'd known her attacker? That would make it +easier, Jack thought.

+

Still it was too early to say. He'd got the call an hour before +and had arrived ten minutes after that. A young policeman, just out +of cadet school, had been standing at the outside door, one foot in +a dirty puddle. When Jack had approached him, the youngster had +turned and retched violently, obviously not for the first time. +Jack dug into his pocket and gave him a fresh tissue. The constable +had wiped his mouth vigorously before straightening up. His eyes +were red-rimmed.

+

"They told me to wait here for you sir. It's the third floor. +neighbours were complaining about the smell. Doors weren't +locked."

+

"Touch anything?"

+

The young man - he looked no more than a boy - gave Jack a look +which declared he would have just as soon cut off his hand. He gave +another shiver and tried to gag again, shaking his head all the +time.

+

"There's a car on its way," Jack told him. "When it gets here, +get back up to division and have a cup of tea. Then when you're +feeling a bit fresher, write down everything you saw."

+

The constable nodded, still wiping at his lips. Jack by-passed +him. At the second level, he realised what the neighbours had been +complaining about. Once inside, he wondered why they hadn't noticed +sooner.

+

Ralph's two assistants came in and were going over the place, +starting at the door and working their way in. They didn't seem +badly affected by the smell. They were used to working with the +dead. Jack could have done without it.

+

Oh, he could have done without it, nothing was surer.

+

He turned away and pulled the curtain to the side. The window +faced north, across the main street up to the Barwoods behind the +town. They clouds were dark and heavy, getting set to drop two days +of clammy misery. After that, the weathermen said it was going to +be cold. it was already cold out there. Down in the street, he +could see the winking lights of the ambulance and the police cars, +bright electric-blue flashes against the background of grey. People +were walking past, heads down against the cold west wind.

+

Working with the dead.

+

Somebody had to do it. There was always somebody who +would do it. Jack Fallon did not know if he was man enough +for it any more. He wasn't sure he was man enough for +anything any more. On the window, the smirr of rain had +thickened to droplets which ran in jagged streaks, fuzzing out the +grey outside, breaking up the winking blue lights. His mind started +going back to another dismal day when he'd seen the same electric +flicker through the rain on the windscreen of the unmarked car, and +something had flickered through his mind, not like a light, but a +darkness. It had come blaring in like radio message with no source, +over and above the hubbub of sirens and lights and real radio +crackle and a sudden surge of dread had made his stomach drop like +a weight. That had been...that had...

+

He turned himself away from the window before the vision came +back to him, otherwise he would not be able to function. He shook +it away with an almost savage twist of his body, gritting his teeth +so hard he could feel them grind like stones. The memory tried to +edge in, and he knew it would come back in force later on, when the +work was done, when his mind wasn't focussed, and then it would +take him on the black dance again. But now, he had to think +clearly.

+

Ralph's scene of crimes team worked quickly and efficiently. +dabbing here, collecting pieces there. The small tools of that +trade were cutting and picking and probing around the room, watched +by the dispassionate, drily blind eye of the dead woman, and the +winking cyclopean shard set in the middle of her forehead.

+

"Any of you know her?"

+

"Name's Herkik. Polish or something," Ralph mumbled back. His +tongue was poking out between his teeth and he scraped a sample of +the blood on the table, working with delicate deliberation.

+

"Hungarian," Jack corrected. "No, I mean, does anybody know +anything about her?"

+

Ralph shook his head. the two others made no reply.

+

"Right. We'll get it door to door. How long will this take +you?"

+

"Another half an hour. Dr Cuthbert's made a prelim. The drivers +can take her away when you're done."

+

Jack crossed the room, careful not to stand on anything, which +was difficult enough in the tight confines of the demolished room. +He got to the door.

+

"Finished here?"

+

Ralph nodded, letting him know that he could touch the door. +Jack closed it behind him and made his way downstairs, ignoring the +old woman who peeked out, nose almost caught in the +burglar-chain.

+

In the street, the air was clean, but the drizzle made it a +dirty morning.

+

John McColl was standing at the back of the nearest police car, +using his big hands for emphasis as he spoke to two younger men in +long raincoats and another three uniformed policemen. Jack reached +him just as the others turned away.

+

"Bit of a mess," the big sergeant said matter-of-factly. "Got an +idea or two from the neighbours, nothing much. They've had their +heads up their arses this past week."

+

John was a couple of inches taller than Jack Fallon's six foot, +and another few inches wider. His hair had gone prematurely gray. +he looked the senior officer of the two, but Jack outranked him by +two levels.

+

"You're telling me." Jack took a deep breath of air. He could +feel the winter on the west wind.

+

He ran through the procedure. John McColl told him what the +door-to-door team were doing, and what they'd got so far. He +flipped open his notebook, turned against the rain and used a big +broad forefinger to point out the words as he spoke.

+

"Marta Herkik. Hungarian. Came to live with her brother. He's +been dead about six years. Bit of a faith healer, the old lady, +into spiritualism, that sort of thing. Fortune telling and the +like. Should have been able to see this coming if she'd been any +good, eh?"

+

Jack nodded him on. John was a straight-talking, irreverent +policeman who had little respect for authority unless it was +earned. His father ran the family's three pubs in Glasgow, and John +could have had an easy life if he'd chosen. The family wealth +perhaps allowed him to forego the obsequiousness often demanded by +superiors, but he liked Jack Fallon, and they had a mutual, +easy-going respect.

+

"Neighbour below has been on night-shift at the rig yard. Hasn't +heard a thing. The one next door said there was a bit of a rumble +on Saturday last week. Nothing much. She thought the old dear was +shifting furniture. The walls here are two feet thick and the +floors nearly the same. Built to last, this old place. Not much +noise drift."

+

McColl closed the book. "Any idea what killed her?"

+

"Just about everything in the place."

+

"There was a case like that up in Creggan a few years back. +Bastard got off on impeachment. Blamed somebody else and the jury +was pulled both ways."

+

"We'll wait for the street teams. No point in jumping in. When +Ralph's finished, let the ambulance crew go up. I'll be back at the +office."

+

"Taking the car?"

+

"No. I'll stroll it. Want to think for a bit."

+

Jack shrugged his collar up higher against the rain. A hank of +black hair had fallen down over his forehead and was trickling +water onto his brow. He wiped it away with his hand and turned +along River Street, took a left turn at Market Vennel, easing his +way through the throng of umbrellas which stabbed at his eyes in +the narrow lane, and out to College Way towards the station.

+

The sense of unease he'd felt in the house where the dead woman +sprawled on the hearth stayed with him all the way.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike04.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike04.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e65628a --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike04.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,756 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 2 + + + + +
+
+

4

+

The baby was crying in its pram. He'd been asleep most of the +afternoon, waking only twice when the teething pains had stabbed +hard in his gums, but he'd quickly fallen asleep again, wrapped up +tight against the chill. Little Timmy Doyle had been running a +temperature and his mother had decided some fresh air would do him +the world of good.

+

Cissie Doyle was in the kitchen preparing dinner for her husband +who'd be home from the foundry in an hour. She heard the +high-pitched cry as she stood peeling potatoes at the sink. The +window faced west, and she got a glimpse of the sunset, a low +streaked sky of red and gold just beyond the Cardross Hills at +Arden. The rain clouds had cleared away earlier in the afternoon +and now the darkening sky was clear as far as the eye could see. +Cissie cocked her ear, listening again. The little cry had +hiccupped to silence. She thought Timmy must have gone back to +sleep again.

+

The Doyle household was ten storeys up, fourth from the top in a +block of flats which had replaced some of the huddled tenements on +the west side of the river, across from the yard. This part of town +was still known as Wee Donegal, from the number of immigrant Irish +who had made it an enclave in this part of the world before the +turn of the century. The space between the old bridge and the rail +crossing hadn't been enough to contain them all. The council had +thrown up two cheaply built blocks to replace half the old slum and +to make sure the Irish stayed on their part of the river. They +didn't know, or cared less, that a century on, the only difference +between the old brownstone tenements with its single-ends and +narrow stairways was simply a question of age. There were people, +but there was no life in Latta Court. All Cissie Doyle +had, apart from an inside toilet and a single bedroom, was perhaps +the most spectacular view in the town. She could see as far as the +belt of crags up at Langmuir to the north east, and right down the +Clyde towards the Gantocks in the west. At that height, nobody +needed a weather forecast. You could see the squalls coming up the +river firth two hours before they hit. To the north, the Dumbuie +Hills, close to Linnvale on the banks of Loch Corran could be seen +on a clear day, and much of the Loch itself ten miles away, +impressive and peaceful, the kind of thing they wrote songs about, +the kind of scene people came the world over to see. On some days, +the view was little comfort, especially when the lift broke down. +Sean worked an extra two nights, Saturday and Sunday to put enough +by for a deposit on something closer to ground level. Something +with a garden where wee Timmy would have the space to run and play +in a couple of years time.

+

She bent to peeling potatoes, lost in thoughts about a place +with a garden, snowdrops in the spring, marigolds in summer.

+

The balcony where the baby slept was a hundred feet from the +concrete at the base of Latta Court, and another forty from the +flat roof where a single red light winked to warn low flying +aircraft of a high hazard. Up there, old Kevin O'Malley kept a +pigeon loft which was the nub of a fierce wrangle with the housing +authority. It was angled in against the lift-shaft housing and the +ventilators, on top of which the communal television aerial reached +skywards, Latta Court's lifeline to the outside world.

+

Timmy just six months and one week old came awake again some +time later, the sky now darkening above to a deep cobalt where the +three stars of Orion's belt were just winking into existence. What +woke him was a heavy knock on the side of the pram.

+

The baby made a small noise, almost a sound of surprise.

+

Something banged against the pram again, making it rock on its +springs. There was a low scraping sound and something moved, just +against the railings. Way down in the engine-yard below, a cutting +tool, amplified by the hollow metal structure of the boat-company +works, sent a shriek of tortured metal up into the air.

+

The baby gave a start and his mouth turned down, the beginning +of a wail getting ready to wind itself up and let loose.

+

Then a shadow flickered on the wall on the opposite side from +the balcony rail. The shape was almost jet black against the light +concrete. The motion caught the baby's attention enough to divert +the wail. Little Timmy turned his head, as much as the tight +wrapping of blankets would allow. The movement stopped, +disappeared. There was another scraping sound, this time from the +other side. The little head swivelled. A dark shadow danced on the +wall. The baby could only see the flickering shape. The movement +bobbed and swayed, shortening and lengthening, weaving almost +hypnotically. Little Timmy's eyes followed the movement. The shadow +flicked to the side and was gone so suddenly that the tot's head +swung back in puzzlement.

+

Then something dark loomed over the pram, blotting out all the +light. He heard a whispering rasp, words that in his baby-mind made +no sense, but made him shiver.

+

The baby felt something prod at him, and he mewled in alarm. The +shadow moved back, letting the faint light in again, then it came +swooping down. Little Timmy's eyes opened wide in sudden fright. +One of his tiny hands came free of the coverlet, wide open and +shaking in the way that babies hands do when they're crying sore. +Timmy did not start to cry just then.

+

Something dark came looming from behind the hood and the pram +was hit such a blow that it tipped over to lean against the wall. +Inside, Timmy was rocked violently from side to side. He hitched in +a breath and let out a squeal.

+

In the kitchen, Cissie Doyle used the back of her hand to wipe +her brow and move a stray slick of brown hair which had fallen over +her eyes. All four rings of her electric cooker were going at once. +The potatoes were in the big pot at the front, while beside it, +another pot, almost as large, was steaming away. Every few seconds, +the lid would rise up, let out a puff of steam and the homely tang +of minced beef, before plopping down again on the rim.

+

She'd been humming the chorus to a tune about a boxer playing on +the radio in the corner, competing with the bubbling and popping +from the stove, when Timmy had started to cry. She'd heard him give +a little squeal just about the time the noise had blared up from +the foundry, although the tinny metallic screech was the kind of +sound she hardly noticed after three years in Latta Court. He'd +whimpered a bit and gone quiet, then he'd let out a full-bodied +scream.

+

"Good timing, Tim," she gritted in annoyance. The dinner was +almost ready.

+

Timmy screeched again.

+

"All right. I'm coming," Cissie said. She turned to the far side +of the kitchen and flicked open the wall-cupboard and hooked out +the ice-cream tub where the family kept the medicines. Timmy's +teething gel was at the top, a flattened tube with hardly enough +left in it to make a smear on his gums. Below that, three baby +dispirin rattled in their bubble packs. She popped one into Timmy's +bottle and poured some water from the kettle to help it dissolve +more quickly, then added some cold water before forcing the teat +over the neck.

+

Timmy's squeals got louder and more urgent from the far side of +the other room.

+

"Oh, hang on a minute. I'm coming," Cissie called out. Poor +wee soul was what she thought. She lifted the bottle to her +mouth and sucked. The mixture was just warm enough, not too hot, +mildly bitter. Just then the mince-put lid lifted quickly and a +stream of bubbles frothed over the side to hiss on the hot +ring.

+

"Oh no," Cissie snorted. She put the bottle down and lifted the +pot from the heat. The lid settled down immediately. Beyond the +kitchen door, Timmy screeched again, loud and shivery, and the +sound of it made Cissie freeze.

+

There was something in the sound that she had never heard +before. It wasn't a cry of pain, not just teething pain. It was +high and clear and wavering and it jarred on everything that made +Cissie Doyle a mother. She was just in the act of lifting the lid +on the pot, preparing to see the minced beef burned to the bottom, +when the screech of her baby had scraped on the inside of her skull +and snatched at the nerves in her spine. Then it stopped so +abruptly that the echo of it rang in her ears. She dropped the pot +with a clatter back onto the ring, spun round and yanked the +kitchen door open.

+

Already, a big bubble of dread was inflating itself inside her. +She crossed the living room in five jittery-fast strides and almost +fell through the half-open door that led out onto the balcony.

+

It was then that the bubble burst inside her, flooding her with +cold shock.

+

Timmy's pram was angled over on two wheels, leaning against the +rail surround. It's position prevented her from seeing inside. She +snatched it back upright and bent over.

+

Her baby was gone.

+

Cissie stood there, holding onto the edge of the pram, unaware +that her fingers were gripped so tight they had punctured the +plastic inside fabric on two places. Her mind was shrieking at her +in jumbled yammering voices.

+

He's under the covers. He's rolled out. He's fallen +underneath.

+

She scrabbled with the covers, heaving them right out. They were +still warm with baby-heat. The pram was empty. Without thinking, +she dropped to the concrete floor and hunted between the wheels, +hoping against hope, hoping against the dread, that he'd slipped +out and rolled underneath.

+

And a little cold part of her brain was telling her: He was +strapped in. He couldn't have got out. That same part +of her mind was feeding the cold logic that a six month old baby +could not have toppled his own pram.

+

He'd been buckled in. She knew that for sure. She never +let him lie in the pram unless the harness was secured. Cissie +hauled herself to her feet and pulled the carriage away from the +rail. As she did so, the leather strap from the far side flipped +out from the bottom and dangled beside her. The snap-hook was still +caught around the eye on the side. But six inches from the catch, +the leather was twisted and frayed. And the rest of the harness was +gone.

+

Cissie's legs began to buckle under her as a ghastly thought +struck her.

+

He's fallen over oh my god he's dropped.

+

She managed to get both hands on the top bar of the surround and +leaned over.

+

The world swooped away from her. The sheer sides of the tower +block angled together in dizzying parallax, making it look as if +she was peering from the edge of an inverted cone. Down there, a +couple of cars sat in the off-street park. Another was coming round +the corner, headlamps swinging in an arc across the front of the +neighbouring block like spotlights, coming to rest on the paved +area a hundred feet below. Cissie's vision swam as vertigo drained +the blood from her face. Hot bile rolled up from her belly as her +frantic eyes scanned the ground in the light of the headlamps.

+

There was nothing. No scrap lying squashed to the concrete. No +smear on the slabs. The lights went out, dimming the parking area. +A door opened, slammed closed, faint in the distance. Somebody got +out of the car and came walking towards the door, right past where +anything falling from Cissie Doyle's balcony must have +landed.

+

The woman tried to cry out, tried to scream, but it was as if +she was in a nightmare. Her mouth opened and closed as she willed +herself to call out to the passer by, to tell him her baby was down +there, but her throat closed over. All she could manage was a +clicking sound behind her palate. The door below opened and a brief +light poured out then was shut off again.

+

Cissie shoved herself back from the railing, mouth still working +and now emitting a strangled rasping sound which was more like an +animal in distress than human speech. She turned to go back through +the door, knees almost unable to take the weight. A slight scraping +sound came from somewhere above her. Still moving, almost dreamlike +towards the balcony doors, Cissie's face tilted upwards +instinctively. A shadow high overhead flickered against the wall +and was gone. Cissie almost fell into the livingroom, stumbled over +a small footstool which Sean had bought for her after little Timmy +had been born. She fell heavily, landing headlong on the thin +carpet and crawled and hauled herself to her feet. She made it down +the narrow hallway, the animal rasping now a panicked stuttering +sob, threw herself out of the door and right across the landing +where she battered desperately with the heels of her hands on the +opposite door.

+

Nelly Maguire heard the thumping and the sound of a woman crying +and hesitated a few moments before approaching her own door. She +peered through the spy-hole and saw Cissie Doyle's face distorted +in the tiny lens, bloated and fishlike, her mouth opening and +closing to complete the image. The door was shivering on its +hinges. Nelly had three mortice locks and a burglar chain. It +seemed to take forever to get them all opened. Finally she pulled +the door back and Cissie Doyle fell in.

+

"Whatever's the matter?" Nelly started to say, before she was +knocked backwards by the other woman's rush.

+

Cissie was now screaming hysterically. It took five minutes +before Nelly could make out what her neighbour was talking about. +By this time, Cissie Doyle was shaking so violently that even then +she was almost incoherent. Her face was dead pale and her eyes were +staring so hard the old woman next door thought they might pop out +of their sockets and dangle on Cissie's cheeks.

+

Over and over again, the raving young woman kept repeating the +same words over and over again: My Baby. My baby's +gone.

+
+

Jack Fallon got the call just after eight o'clock, half an hour +after he'd arrived home. He'd put two slices of bread in the +toaster and slung the contents of a tin of spaghetti into a +saucepan. It wasn't much of a meal after nearly fourteen long hours +going over statements, interviewing witnesses, and getting a blow +by blow account from Robbie Cattanach who had carried out the post +mortem. He could have devoured a steak. He hadn't cooked one in +months. Rae had had a way of doing a steak. She'd cut a pocket in +the side of a slab of sirloin, making a beef purse and she'd stuff +it with blue cheese. Under the grill the juice would seep out and +drip onto the mushrooms and tomatoes below the mesh. The thought of +it made Jack's mouth water. The memory of the taste came back with +such intensity he could feel the little creeping ache under his +tongue. And hard on the heels came the other memory. Rae turning +from the oven with the meat still sizzling, bearing the meal like +an offering to a chief. Little Julie doing her Bisto-kid act, +snuffling the aroma as she sat on the tall stool with her elbows on +the breakfast bar. The scene came swooping back and hit him like a +slap from an angry woman, almost rocking him to the side.

+

He recoiled from it, shunted it away. The toaster jangled in the +corner and the two slices popped up, just overdone. Jack shook his +head, again denying the memory. He hauled a plate down from the +wall cupboard and placed the two pieces side by side, then poured +the red mess from the saucepan over them. Some of the sauce dripped +on to the table. It sparked another image in Jack's mind. There had +been a trail like that on the slate hearth of Marta Herkik's +fireplace, though that had been dark, almost black. There had been +other trails like that, too many to think about, scrawled +signatures of death.

+

He sat down and willed himself to eat, dodging memories on all +sides. The tinned spaghetti went down easily enough, but it was +hardly a man's dinner. He promised himself he'd get to the shops +soon, get some real food instead of this stuff out of tins, to be +snatched whenever time allowed, eaten in solitude. It was either +that or simply move in with his sister and nephew who were the only +family he had left.

+

He finished quickly, scraping the hot sauce from the plate with +the spare crusts, then slung the plate in the sink, along with the +coffee cup from the morning, which now seemed a lifetime away. He +shook his head again, this time more ruefully. He should get +himself together, as they said in the American films. He needed a +dishwasher too. He shrugged his shoulders, and bent to the sink, +running barely-warm water over plate and cup, knife and fork, dried +them all and slung them back in the cupboard. The kitchen was +small, and fairly neat, just enough for a single man. To Jack it +was vast and empty, like a lot of his life. All that kept his mind +focussed was his work, and the occasional day out with Davy, which +took his mind off his work.

+

Davy was five. He'd just started school in the autumn, and since +Julia's husband had left, he'd been cast into the role of permanent +uncle. Jack took Davy to school in the mornings, and the two of +them strolled up the Langmuir Hills together on good days. If +anything had kept Jack sane, pulled him back from the brink of the +abyss, from the neck of the bottle, it had been the irrepressible +five year old boy.

+

Only last week, after the storm had tired itself out, he'd had +the boy on his shoulders, down on the common ground close to the +water meadow where teams of volunteers had collected driftwood and +old logs to build an immense bonfire to celebrate the eight +hundredth anniversary of the granting of the burgh charter. It had +been a cold, crisp night, with the bite of hard frost in the air. +The flames had roared forty feet high and the firework display had +been impressive. They'd had sausages on sticks, baked potatoes from +the ash-pits, and Jack had swallowed a fair mouthful of a good malt +whisky from a flask miraculously produced by John McColl. Julia had +taken the opportunity of having the house to herself, and on that +night, tired and smelling of wood smoke, Jack had taken Davy back +to his own place and let him snuggle up beside him. It was the +first time he'd woken beside anyone else in a long time. The +feeling of his nephew's small warmth beside him brought back sudden +memories that he'd had to fight back. Now, in retrospect, he +realised that it had been good for him. The wounds were still raw, +still seeping, but the healing process might begin.

+

He went back through to the living-room and moved the bundle of +newspapers from his seat, flicked on the television. A current +affairs programme was rapid-firing news of unrest in a dozen +different parts of the world, a ten-second-at-a-time catalogue. +Jack used the remote to kill it all and reached behind him for his +old guitar, a black and battered Fender. He ran his fingers up the +strings, feeling the frets burr with the sound of a distant train, +and automatically tightened the top string which was always working +slack. He slipped in the jack plug and reached a hand to jab the +switch on the black amp. He heard the buzz of the base tone and +turned the fuzz up just a little then strummed a chord. He'd played +the old guitar since before he'd started shaving. Even now he could +dredge up the old dream of playing like Hendrix, even playing like +the Quo. There were times when the old guitar was the only thing +that held him together, an anchor to the dreamy days of childhood. +He hit a major and swooped it up the frets, fingers automatically +tickling the strings in a rock-boogie, running into an absent +twelve bars before dropping it down to fingerpick an old familiar +tune about a boxer while his thoughts drifted on by themselves.

+

The telephone jangled shrill against the rolling notes, jerking +Jack's mind back to the present. He turned the amp off and heard +the bass-note fade to nothing.

+

"Need you back in again Jack." The gruff voice broke in as soon +as he'd announced the number. "We've got an abduction by the looks. +Or a murder."

+

"That's all we need." Jack said. "Where is it?" he sighed and +pulled the notebook from the other end of the table, using his +teeth to take the cap from the ball-point lying beside it.

+

"Alright son, I know you've had a couple of days of it, but we +need a look at this one right away. You'll want to take first +shot."

+

Chief Superintendent Angus McNicol had said the same thing when +the call had come in on the killing on Marta Herkik. Jack +reluctantly took the compliment. He could have used eight hours +straight tonight. His boss gave him an address, spoke for a minute +more, then hung up. Jack let the telephone drop to the cradle and +sat for a moment. Just as well, he told himself, he'd left the +vodka bottle unopened. Another half hour and he might not have been +able to drive. Might not have been able to walk.

+

Five minutes later he was heading down the steep hill from +Cargill Farm. The old farm building had long since gone, but the +cottage was still there, the place he'd been born in and raised in, +and the place to which he'd eventually returned to lick his wounds +when the whole world caved in. As much home as anywhere in the +world.

+

On the way down the road, the car jouncing and jostling on the +hard-rut, he thought about what Angus had said and about the events +of the day.

+

The Herkik investigation was well under way. In a town the size +of Levenford, you could expect a murder inquiry to be zipped up +tight within twenty four hours. There were domestics, drunken +arguments and the odd stabbing. Most of them well witnessed and +easily documented. Marta Herkik's killing was different.

+

Nobody knew a thing. Nobody had been seen leaving the building, +nobody seen entering. All they had was a room that looked as if a +tornado had blasted through it and a dead woman, half burned, +beaten so badly she was unrecogniseable.

+

Robbie Cattanach, the pathologist had brought his report in +almost a full day after Marta Herkik's body had been discovered. +He'd come sauntering into Jack's office, wearing a distressed +leather jerkin and scuffed jeans, looking exactly like the kind of +youngster the beat men were locking up in numbers on Friday and +Saturday nights. His casual appearance was a sharp contrast to the +quick mind Jack knew ticked away behind the lazy brown eyes.

+

"Good news or bad news first?" he'd asked.

+

"She died of natural causes and we can wrap this up and walk +away."

+

"Nice try. No luck."

+

Robbie was one of the few people Jack had much time for. He +travelled, hail rain or shine on a big black Harley that Jack +openly admired, and the two of them shared a regular pint, whenever +Jack was in the mood for company, in the Waverley on the far side +of the old bridge.

+

"It's a murder all right."

+

"There's a surprise. So what killed her."

+

"You name it. It's a bit like that old case in Creggan you +mentioned. I looked up the report. She's been hit by +everything."

+

He ran his eyes down the list.

+

"Skull fractured in two places. Lesions on scalp and forehead +caused by impact of crystalline structure, common quartz as a +matter of fact. Seems to have been smashed first and then +driven into her. There was a lot of force behind it. I'm not sure +exactly how it was done."

+

Robbie scanned the page again. "Severe burns to left arm and +left of face with carbonisation of muscle and bone. Two fractures +of left femur, one on right, and a severe twist fracture of the +pelvis. Jaw broken, right mandible driven into the base of the +skull at the joint. Severe bruising to neck and upper torso. Black +and blue all over, some of them skin ruptures."

+

"So she's been beaten up. That's exactly what it looks +like."

+

"Oh yes. Beaten, hammered, burned. The lot," Robbie said. "But +there's more. The inside story is just as revealing."

+

Jack raised an eyebrow and the young doctor went on. "Usual +internal damage. Soft tissue stuff. Lesions on liver and spleen. +Ruptured kidney. The right one was almost pushed through the muscle +wall. That's the kind of thing you'd expect in a bad road smash, +but here's the interesting thing."

+

He turned the page and hesitated, scratching just above his +eyebrow. "I'll cut all the clinical stuff for the moment."

+

"Let's be thankful for small mercies."

+

"Well. The internal tends to be the qualification of the +external. What we found was severe rupturing of throat, pharynx and +trachea. Her windpipe was torn to shreds."

+

"Caused by the strangulation?"

+

"No. You'd expect it to be crushed, sometimes it will flatten, +but it's ribbed, like a vacuum hose, and it doesn't spring back. +Hers was torn apart. Like from the inside. It looked as if +something was rammed down her throat and pulled out again, very +fast. But the lungs were just the same, and the esophagus and the +stomach wall."

+

"What the hell would do that?"

+

"That's the bad news. It looks as if she was turned inside out. +I've spoken to Walker up at the Western. He wants a copy of all of +this. Nearly wet himself when I described it."

+

"But what killed her?"

+

"Any one of these things. The blows to the head. The internal +damage. Shock. All of it, except the burning. She was dead before +that happened."

+

"More thanks for small mercies I suppose."

+

"Oh and there's one more thing. Her heart. We found that in the +remains of the stomach."

+

Jack thought back to the post mortem examinations he'd +witnessed.

+

"Shouldn't be there, should it?"

+

"Up behind the ribs is where it should be. It sits in a +sling of muscle and ligament, like a very strong harness. This old +lady's heart had been wrenched out of its housing. Every artery and +vein, and I mean the big ones, had been torn out."

+

"Now what could do that?"

+

"Only one thing I've ever seen."

+

Jack raised his black eyebrows again. He was trying to picture +it and failing.

+

"You ever see the old Ridley Scott film about an alien?" Robbie +asked.

+

"The one with that good looking girl in it? Sigourney +Weaver?"

+

"The very same. There's a scene in it where something bursts out +of one of the crew. Comes out of the belly. Scared the living hell +out of me when I first saw it."

+

"Aw, come on Robbie. You telling me this was an +alien?"

+

"Don't be daft. That'll get me a holiday with the crazies in +Dalmoak. No. What I'm saying, going only by the damage inside the +old biddy, is it looks as if something was dragged out of her. I +mean right from inside and out through her throat."

+

Robbie gave him a grin.

+

"And thank the living God that it's not my job to find out who +did that, or how or why. I just report what I find."

+

"Thanks for that. Thanks a million," Jack told him.

+

"Fancy a pint?" Robbie asked, still grinning.

+

"You must have the constitution of a horse. How the hell can you +spend your day up to your arms in folks insides and still drink +beer?"

+

Robbie shrugged. "Talent I suppose."

+

"I'd love to," Jack said. "But I'm up to the eyes. Even deeper, +thanks to you. Oh, and before I search through all this, any idea +of when it happened?"

+

"Friday to Saturday, maybe even the early hours of Sunday +morning. Can't give you any closer than that.

+

Jack nodded. "That figures. She was seen on Saturday morning. +Then there were noises in the flat later that night. On Sunday, +nothing at all. That helps narrow it. We're talking about Saturday +night."

+

Robbie had left the report with Jack who had spent half an hour +reading through the catalogue of one old woman's destruction. When +he'd first joined the police, too many years ago for him to want to +count, the Creggan case had been fresh in folks minds. There, an +elderly, and wealthy woman, had been raped and then murdered. The +killer had taken off all of his clothes, which was why there was +not a speck of blood on him when he'd been arrested, ten hours +later. Most of the woman's blood had been spattered on the walls +and ceilings. She'd been hit with almost every movable object in +the room.The killer had made a special plea of impeachment, +accusing two other youths of the killing. At the end of the trial, +the jury couldn't make up their minds. All three had walked +free.

+

Jack hadn't been a policeman then, but he'd been young enough +and keen enough to have read all the murder reports when he finally +made it out of college. There was a similarity between the two +cases, twenty years apart. Jack slung Robbie Cattanach's report on +his desk and cupped his chin in his hand. Of one thing he was +determined. Whoever did this would not walk away from it.

+
+

Doctor Cuthbert had given Cissie Doyle a couple of pills. She +was still coherent, but barely lucid. She had the look of a woman +walking dreamily through a nightmare. Every now and then, she'd +give a little start as if coming awake, and then the sleepy eyes +would widen, allowing a little of the madness to come through.

+

Jack Fallon took it gently. Sean Doyle held his arm tight around +his wife's shoulders, as if one of them would fall down if he let +go. He just looked numb. The expression in his eyes told everybody +he did not believe this was happening. It had not yet sunk in to +him that he was not going to wake up from this, that he was not +imagining it, that little Timmy would not start to cry in his cot +in the next room.

+

"So then what happened?" Jack asked.

+

The young woman continued where she'd left off, her voice a flat +drone.

+

"I thought he'd fallen out. I looked under the pram. It was +pushed over on its side, just sitting on the two wheels against the +railings. I don't know how that could have happened. I mean, there +was nobody there."

+

Down below, right underneath the Doyle's window, half the night +shift were searching the vacant ground. One of the police vans +still had its blue light flashing. An open window on the +neighbouring block was angled enough to catch the light and beam it +across to the house where the Sean and Cissie Doyle sat facing +Jack. It looked like a winking blue eye in the winter darkness.

+

"I looked down to see if he'd fallen, but there was nothing at +all. He'd just..." her voice slowed down as if an internal +turntable had switched to long play. The last word came out long +and slows. Her hands started to shake then, not just the tremor +that had been running through them ever since Jack had been let +into the house by the constable on the door. Now they were like the +wings of a frightened sparrow, fluttering wildly. The woman's eyes +widened again as she relived the memory of the discovery on the +balcony. Jack reached across and took both hands in his. The +trembling did not stop. He could feel it shiver his own hands. She +didn't even notice him clench both tightly, turn them over and give +her nails and palms a very quick examination. There was a small red +mark just above the knuckle. She'd said she'd bumped the pot and +some had spilled out. If she was telling the truth, he told +himself, that would probably be a drop scald.

+

There was no reason for him to think that she might not be +telling the truth, none at all, except for the fact that he had +been in too many houses down the years, seen too many people who +claimed they'd done nothing. Already Ralph Slater and his two-man +team were working on the balcony and in the kitchen. They'd have +checked the pots, just to make sure that smell was minced beef and +not boiled baby. It sounded cruel, but it wouldn't have been the +first time, not by a long chalk. This woman, Jack told himself, was +telling the truth. He could feel it in the tremor of her hands, see +it in the blank look in her eyes. This was not a case of baby +battering, post natal depression, teething trouble snap. +Not unless Cissie Doyle was schizophrenic, and they'd soon find out +if she was.

+

He patiently asked her the questions over and over again, +checking every answer against the previous one until he knew +exactly what steps she had taken, exactly how she had acted. Her +baby had been strapped in its pram, and now it was gone. Now the +real puzzle began.

+

He left them both in the company of the young woman in uniform +who looked pretty and efficient in police blues, but hardly old +enough to have left school. She'd made tea, hot and sweet, the way +they recommended it, and was helping Cissie Doyle get her fingers +around the handle when Jack went through the doors to the +balcony.

+

Ralph Slater was leaning over the railing, dangerously far out. +Below him the blue light still winked.

+

"Anything?" Jack asked.

+

"Nothing so far. We'll be quick as we can with prints, but I'll +bet this place is clean." Ralph heaved himself back up. "I'm +buggered if I know what happened."

+

"You and me both. But the baby's gone. I don't think he +jumped."

+

"No, he didn't. The harness is ripped apart. Not cut. Somebody +snapped it, and that took some doing. I reckon that's what caused +the pram to tumble."

+

Jack turned, leaned backwards over the wrought iron balustrade, +and looked upwards. The floors above stretched up into the black +sky.

+

"You think somebody climbed?"

+

"Bet any money they did. Failing that they'd have had to come +through the house, which is possible."

+

"But not to steal a kid. Maybe to rob. She had the safety chain +on the door. You can see where she's pulled it too hard."

+

"I agree on that. So somebody's come up or down. If we get +prints to match from either balcony, we can say which it is. But I +just can't imagine why. I mean, it's a hell of a drop. You'd have +to be a rock climber to do it. They're all beards and folk songs. I +can't imagine them stealing somebody's baby. Last three we had, two +were young girls and the other a woman with a cot death. Never +heard of a fella going in for it."

+

"Always a first time," Jack said. "If somebody's crazy enough to +climb this high, who the hell knows what he could do."

+

He bent over the railing, as Ralph had done, but not quite so +far as the scene-of-crimes man. As soon as he leaned over from the +waist, the cars far below started going in and out of focus. Jack +felt the clench in his belly as vertigo flared. He was scared of +heights. He pulled himself back in again and waited for his heart +to slow down. Ralph Slater was saying something.

+

"...and there's something similar down there"

+

"Hm?" Jack asked.

+

"I wouldn't lean out too far if I were you," Ralph told him, +grinning wickedly. "Not if you've no head for heights. You're white +as a sheet, man.

+

"Anyway, I was saying, there's a set of scratch marks down there +at the sill. Right on the concrete. You probably didn't notice for +fear of falling."

+

"No. I didn't, thanks," Jack replied drily. Ralph was a good +man, but Jack did not like heights. He didn't find them funny in +the least.

+

"And up there," the other man indicated the sill of the upstairs +balcony. "There's more scrape marks. They're pretty fresh, as far +as I can tell, and they've taken off the lichen scum. Concrete's +dry underneath. I think we might have a climber sure enough."

+

"Unless the baby did fall out."

+

"That baby never snapped the harness, Jack. Neither did the +mother. You and me would have a hard enough time. No. Who-ever did +this was a strong bastard. He's probably got a head for heights. +Tell you something. If I was you, I'd check up Calderpark Zoo and +see if they're missing a gorilla."

+

Jack looked at him and began to smile.

+

"You've been reading to many Runyan books."

+

"Maybe so, but I wouldn't like to meet whoever got up here +without ropes and stole a baby."

+

It was after two in the morning when Jack got back to the +cottage, feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. He poured himself a +large vodka, added a dash of fresh orange and carried it through to +the living room. He took one swallow, put the glass on the coffee +table by the arm of the chair, leaned back, and was instantly +asleep.

+

The dream came sometime in the cold, dead hours of the morning. +It came creeping the way dreams do, the monster in child's +clothing, in a simple scene from childhood. Young Jack Fallon down +at the Garshake Stream, a wooden boat with a paper sail negotiating +the rapids at the pot holes, bobbing on the turbulence, a while +flash on the green water then down over the lip into the froth of +the deep pot. Young Jack following quickly, leaping from boulder to +boulder, chasing to keep up, skittering on the edge of the falls, +feet spread on the fork stones where the water poured in a solid +rush. Down there the flash of sodden white sail and then the +darkness of the deep water.

+

The change happened with that easy, lazy slow motion of dreams. +The young Jack teetered on the edge, arms windmilling, eyes fixed +on the deep water, the black whorls and eddies, feeling it pull and +tug at him. Then he was falling. A shock of cold, a shock of dark +around his head and in the dream he knew it was changing. +He was going over the edge.

+

The twist came with that sinking wrench inside him. He +was wet and cold. He was in a strange place. It was dark and musty, +the air dry and metallic, rust-dusted. He could hear his own feet +clanging along a metal walkway as he ran. Something was behind him. +He could hear its feet, not so much a pounding, but a scraping +scuttle sound, much faster than a running man. Whatever it was, +Jack did not want to see it. He could hear a gurgling rasp of +breath, so close behind him he could almost feel the heat of it on +the back of his neck. In the dream he imagined a hand, or something +not quite a hand reach out to snatch at his collar, to +grab him by the neck. His feet clanged on the walkway. On either +side, corroded railings whizzed past, blurred with speed, and then +he came to the end of the platform. It stopped abruptly, with no +warning. Jack skidded to a halt, one hand swinging to the side to +grab the railing. His fingers touched hard metal, tried to grip and +then he was over the edge for the second time. Behind him something +made a noise that sounded like a laugh and Jack was falling +straight down. Lights flashed on his left side, sunlight or +moonlight blinking through the holes in the sides of the shaft, and +he was plummeting out of control. Below him, old and rusted +machinery, spiked and spined, crouched at ground level, waiting to +impale him at the end of the drop. He hit with sickening force. +Instant darkness surrounded him. He was under water again, cold, +gasping for breath, swimming up through the numbness towards +daylight. He opened his eyes, and he was no longer impaled on the +spikes, he was walking down a narrow street. Ahead, sounds of +traffic, a horn blaring. He was walking out of the shadows towards +the light, about to turn a corner when the premonition hit him low, +grabbing at his belly.

+

He moved forward, knowing what would happen when he turned into +the street. The car was hammering along on the wrong side, dodging +the streams of traffic. Behind it, the blare of a siren. The lead +car was red. There was a crumpled dent along one side. The +passenger window was smashed. Behind the windscreen, two pale +faces, unrecognisable blurs. A mouth wide open. In the dream the +sound of the siren faded away and the car continued on, weaving +right and left, a tyre on the pavement then slapping down onto the +road, the whole scene slowing down in the dilated time-scape of the +dream. On the pavement, people standing, mouths slack in surprise, +in fright, as the red car rumbled towards them, its engine now a +low roar. On the far side of the street, Rae coming out of the +bookshop. He could see the bright yellow bag dangling from one +hand. At her side, Julie, hanging on to her free hand, skipping +around her mother, bright face angled up in question. Rae's head +was turning, the smile disappearing from her face. Her eyes widened +and she instinctively swung Julie off to the side.

+

The red car came swinging round, narrowly missing a delivery +van. The tyres squealed, but in the stretched time of the dream, it +was a low moan. The offside wheels came up as the driver fought for +control, slammed back down onto the road again. It leapt forward +and smacked an old lady to the side. Rae was turning, Julie only a +yard from her. The front of the car smashed Rae at knee level. She +swung upwards, tumbling, broken. The yellow bag went fluttering off +to the right. She hit the wall with a slapping sound and dropped to +the pavement. The red car, its screen starred and dented where +Rae's head had hit, came on, veering left, now slowing. It came in +at the corner of the picture window. From where he stood, +foot-rooted, paralysed in dream agony, Jack watched the edge of the +window cave in. Little Julie staggering backwards, one hand raised +for balance. Falling against the window as it crashed inwards. She +flipped back, feet in the air. The jagged plates of glass jiggled +themselves down like scales. There was a grinding sound, so low +Jack could hear it in the bones of his spine. He was running now, +running through a crowd of white-faced statues. The sound of slow +glass shards rasping against each other, a sound of reaping +scythes. Somebody screamed from the inside of the shop. The glass +came down and down and down. Jack was running towards something red +that flopped among the books.

+

His own hoarse cry woke him up.

+

He was sitting on the armchair, both arms outstretched as they +had been in the dream, reaching for his daughter. In his mind's +eye, he could still see her face, a little splatter of blood +trailed across her forehead, her eyes puzzled.

+

He hauled himself out of the chair and made it through the +kitchen door. He turned the tap on and put his head underneath the +cold jet of water, willing the memory away, using the shock of cold +as a shield. The image began to fade.

+

Jack came back through, face dripping. He reached for the drink +he'd left. It was warm and a little stale, but he drank it down in +one gulp, feeling the burn of the spirits down his throat, it made +him shiver, but that helped shuck away the picture that kept +dancing into his head. He eyed the bottle, sitting on the dresser +in the corner of the room, seriously thinking about it, then shook +his head slowly. He was hurting again, but the drink wouldn't help +him tonight. Instead he reached behind the seat for his briefcase, +snapped it open, and pulled out the copy of the preliminary report +on Marta Herkik.

+

Outside, the wind rose, sending a cold draught under the front +door. Winter had arrived. Jack Fallon would get no sleep. Instead +he decided to concentrate on another death, to keep his mind in the +present.

+

Three hours later, when the dawn was still a grey hint on the +east sky, Jack shrugged himself into his coat and let himself out +of the house. It was bitterly cold as he walked down the Cargill +Road, past the turn that would have taken him to Julia's house and +down along the curve of the hill towards to the centre of the town. +It was a miserable morning, but he hardly noticed it. Half an hour +later, he was climbing the back stairs to Marta Herkik's house.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike05.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike05.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5a2011f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike05.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,225 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 2 + + + + +
+
+

5

+

On the night Jack Fallon fell asleep in his chair and drifted +into the nightmare, William Simpson opened the side door between +the manse and the church and came quickly down the narrow alley to +the iron gate that leading to the boiler-house. The key took two +turns to slot the bolt back and the gate swung back with a groan of +protest. The cold wind was gusting up the narrow space, but William +Simpson did not feel it.

+

Inside his head, thoughts were sparking and sputtering, hot +thoughts that made him hurry down the dry stone stairs. The green +door at the bottom opened easily and he let himself into the +basement directly under the old church. His knuckle hit the switch +and a cone of light flickered down from the single bulb under the +green metal shade. He screwed his eyes up against the luminescence, +shying away from the light. In the past few days, he'd spent most +of his time in his study, keeping the blinds drawn, hardly speaking +to any but the most determined parishioners. Inside his head, the +whispering, grating thoughts had prodded him unceasingly, as they +did now.

+

Over in the corner, the boiler rumbled and sighed to itself. The +pipes pinged and close to the basement ceiling, where an air-lock +always caught at the bend, there was a knocking sound, a witchety +hammering in the cobwebbed shadow. Simpson ignored it. The bunch of +keys jangled in his hands as he made his way forward. To his left, +old pieces of the pipe organ, giant penny whistles, lay stacked +against the wall, and beyond them, boxes of hymn books which hadn't +been used in years were stacked one atop the other. Further back, a +stout door, paint peeled and cracked, stood bracketed by the red +sandstone wall. William Simpson unlocked this one, let himself in +quickly and closed the door behind him before switching the low +wattage bulb, letting its orange luminescence tussle with the +shadows.

+

The old store-room was his secret place. He had changed the lock +nineteen years ago, not long after he had come to take charge of +the Castlebank Church in the east side of Levenford. There was one +key, and that remained firmly on the ring that he kept in his +pocket at all times.

+

The room was small and clean. Against the far wall there was a +double sink on which lay several flat photographic trays. Close by, +the circular drum of a drier, connected to a wall socket by a white +cable. The light overhead shone dull casting a weak glow over +everything. Simpson sat down in the chair next to the wooden desk +and opened the bottom drawer. He drew out a box, hand shaking with +anticipation. Inside his head, the thoughts were sparking away like +an overloaded fusebox, behind them the ceaseless whispering voice +goaded him on with incomprehensible promises. He felt hot and +feverish.

+

The box had a small hasp. It opened easily on two brass hinges. +The minister reached inside and drew out a small pink object which +he placed on the rough surface of the desk. His trembling hand +dived in again and brought a tiny pair of panties, yellowed with +age. There was a rip just under the elastic at the top, and an old +stain down at the crotch. Simpson felt the texture of the flimsy +cloth between his fingers and felt the hot anticipation rise. His +breath came quicker and a slick of sweat beaded his brow. Outside +the wind howled. In the other room the boiler sighed and gurgled +and the spectral knocking came intermittently from the pipes. +Simpson noticed none of these things. His hot mind was lost in the +memory, unreeling the scene that he had played back too many times +in the early years. Eventually he had all the objects laid out +before him. The tiny briefs, and beside them a little lace +handkerchief with two initials embroidered in a corner. A pink pair +of small spectacles, the left lens starred with cracks. Next to +last, was a fine silver circlet with a simple clasp, and alongside +that the pink plastic hand and podgy-smooth arm of a child's doll. +Simpson ran his hands over these things, feeling them, recalling +the first time he had seen them, the first time his hands had +closed over them, and he felt as if his brain was on fire. It had +been a long time since he'd unlocked the drawer and opened the box, +a very long time. Yet tonight, the cajoling voice in his head had +driven him to come and touch them again.

+

His breath came quicker now, here in his secret place. Over the +years he'd made the storeroom into a darkroom where he would +develop the family photographs, scenes of church picnics, the +choir, the Sunday school. Some of the pictures he kept aside for +himself, printing them out over and over again, waiting with +trembling anticipation as the angelic face of a little girl would +appear, faint at first on the blank sheet, watching it wax stronger +until the lines were firmly caught on the page. His excitement +would be like a pressure inside him as he watched the appearance, +and then, his hand sneaking down past the waistband of his black +trousers, he would watch while the photograph would overdevelop. +The page would grow darker and darker until the child was swallowed +by the blackness, overcome by oblivion.

+

He had told himself over many years that he was an evil man, and +he knew that to be true. He'd thought of himself, at one time, as a +man of God, but he knew he could not be that, despite the collar he +wore and the sermons he preached. For inside him there was a need +that he could no nothing but try to appease, though he had become +cunning as the years went by. There were places in the church, +under the choir-loft, for instance, where he could stare between +the knees of the teenage sopranos as they sang in practise. At +Sunday School, a minister was always free to hoist a little girl on +his knee and hold her tightly, feeling the heat of the little body, +the flutter-beat of a baby heart. They trusted him of course. At +times he did not trust himself to hide the mounting pressure.

+

On this cold night, his wife was in the drawing room, with three +of the women from the guild. He had heard their voices, each +talking over the other, and the chink of fine china cups. His +youngest daughter was upstairs, doing homework. He dared not go up. +The two older ones had left as soon as they were able. They had +never said anything, perhaps they did not remember anything from +when they were so small, but they had left home with no love in +their eyes. Betty, his wife tolerated him with cold politeness, +Fiona with wary suspicion. Of course she knew nothing, but he +sensed that she sensed something. Betty had used all her power to +keep father and daughter apart. His was no longer a family of hugs +and kisses. His was hardly a family.

+

But he had his darkroom, and she was content to let him potter +around there, glad to have him out of sight. She went through the +posture of the minister's wife. Smiling as the congregation left +the church on a Sunday, taking meetings of the guild, organising +coffee mornings. But she had never forgiven him for the loss of her +two eldest daughters and lived in fear of losing the third.

+

These thoughts did not occur to him on this cold night. His mind +was strangely alive, crowded with bustling thoughts, +urgent thoughts. He felt the old hunger well up inside him, the +hunger he'd tried to deny over the years after the first terrible +time. Despite having kept the treasures - a mad risk, he knew - he +had lived with the guilt of it all. The burden had built up over +the years, adding shame on shame, and yet he had been unable to +change himself. Every time he had slipped his hand under a small +girl's buttocks, every time he had sneaked into his daughters rooms +while they slept and slipped his hand under the bedclothes, he had +been unable to deny the need. Yet afterwards, the guilt and shame +had crowded in on him, dark shadows with long accusing fingers.

+

He had gone to the spiritualist because there was something he +needed to know. He had long since lost his faith in a forgiving +God. The god he had wanted to dedicate his life to had made him a +twisted thing inside his own soul, and if he had been a good and +just God he wouldn't have done that. He had needed something to +believe in when he had first taken those steps up to Marta Herkik's +rooms. He had wanted a sign from the other side, from the dark or +from the light, just a sign that would tell him there was +another side.

+

What he wanted with that knowledge, even he did not know. It was +a forked stick, barbed on both prongs. If there was a life +hereafter, he might be consigned to a hell of his own for the +things that had been done. If there was none, he had consigned +another to oblivion in a moment of fine madness. But that thought +did not occur to him now. He only remembered opening the door of +the old woman's house, shaking his coat out in the hall. There was +no memory of what had happened after that. Since then, he had very +little memory of anything.

+

The day before he had left the manse in the late afternoon. Some +time later, when it was full dark, he had found himself on the old +chandler-yard road close to the bridge over the river. How he had +got there, or why he had come, he did not know. He had no +recollection of what had happened after he had closed the garden +gate behind him. All he was left with was a dull emptiness and a +vague feeling of fear. And added to that was this new and strange +sense of satisfaction, of unfathomable glee.

+

Now in the storeroom next to the old cellar, William Simpson's +thoughts spangled and sparked. Old memories came rushing in at him, +fresh desires welled up.

+

And again he heard the voice, scraping at first on the inside of +his skull. It came as a dry, barely audible whisper, but it +persisted, ever louder until he could finally make out the words +from the gabble. It was telling him what to do.

+

After a while, the minister sat back slowly in the seat. The +tremor of his hands had stilled. He closed his eyes and listened to +the voice inside his head.

+
+

A quarter of a mile away, in the basement of the library on +Strathleven Street, the girl was preparing to finish for the night. +The words on the stock-list page were beginning to blur in front of +her eyes and she yawned, stretching her hands up into the air, +easing her cramped muscles. In the light from the overhead tube, +her hair glowed the bright auburn of new chestnuts. She checked her +watch, debated finishing the end of the list, then with a quick +movement, snapped her folder shut.

+

From upstairs, in the main section of the library, she could +hear muffled voices. here, the basement was her own haven, a narrow +room lined with stacks holding thousands of books, a wealth of +words. The place was new to her, but she already felt at home in +the dry cosiness of the stack-room. She turned to lift her black +bag from the floor by her ankle, when a sudden wave of dizziness +washed over her. The shelves in front of her wavered and the light +seemed to dim.

+

For a second she thought she would pass out.

+

Then from nowhere a picture came into her head and the stacks of +books faded into the background, shimmered like a dusty veil and +disappeared.

+

She saw the man climb on to the stool and watched as he tied +something round his neck. His eyes were dead, though one of them +had a strange blind sparkle.

+

There was an utter silence and then, behind her ears she heard +the whispering, the abrasive rasp that she'd heard before, though +she couldn't quite remember when.

+

As soon as she heard that, a vast and overwhelming sensation of +badness swept through her.

+

Here was a bad man and he was being urged on by a +bad thing.

+

In her mind she heard a chuckle of glee. The man turned to look +at her and his eyes glowed yellow-orange, the colour of pus. She +shook her head. He was doing something with his right hand, showing +her what he was doing. She tried to look away and he took a step +forward.

+

The scene winked out. The stacks came wavering back into her +vision. Above her the white light blared. She was back again in the +library basement. The girl drew in air in a swoop, as if she had +been holding her breath a long time. A small spasm of dizziness +rocked her against the back of the swivel chair and then was gone, +leaving her feeling drained. It left her with a shuddery sense of +incomprehensible foreboding.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike06.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike06.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5c72e4a --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike06.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,534 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 2 + + + + +
+
+

6

+

Two nights after little Timmy Doyle went missing from the +balcony high up in Latta Court Jack Fallon was no further forward. +Superintendent Ronald Cowie was piling up the pressure and in one +vitriolic session Jack had almost offered Cowie advice on where he +could position the investigation with regards to his own person. He +did not know what held him back, except for the fact that he had +promised Angus McNicol he'd do his best, and he knew if Cowie was +put in practical charge, then nothing would ever be solved. he was +a politician more than a policeman, a rubber of shoulders, a shaker +of hands, and a lifter of the left trouser leg into the +bargain.

+

Cissie Doyle was by now heavily sedated. Ralph Slater had been +right about the fingerprints. There were none except those of the +family on the balcony. The scrape marks on the concrete were a +small mystery. They looked fresh enough, but could have been caused +my anything, including the swing gantry of the maintenance machine +mainly used by window cleaners, but not this week. That had been +checked. The houses upstairs and below had been searched thoroughly +by the teams organised by John McColl. Nobody had been able to +object to that. The door-to-door men had uncovered half a kilo of +cannabis, a full barrel of Ardenmill whisky - and how they had got +that up in the lift nobody knew - along with the usual mix of +stolen hi-fi equipment, televisions and video recorders. All of +that was noted for future reference. Jack told the men not to waste +time on peripherals. The baby was the object. A few folk in Latta +Court breathed a sigh of relief, although the temporary owner of +the half kilo was rushed to hospital four days later with blood +frothing from a hole in his ribs after a stabbing incident down on +Quay Street, possibly as a result of non-payment for goods +delivered.

+

On the other side of town, not half a mile from where Jack +Fallon lived in Cargill Farm Cottage, a group of women were on +their third round of drinks in a terrace house on Overtoun Lane. +Most of them were very merry by ten o'clock.

+

Lorna Breck was still red with embarrassment over some of the +things she'd seen and handled in the past hour.

+

"It's all part of your education," Gemma Conroy had said when +she'd stopped giggling. One of the other women had shrieked with +laughter. "Once you've felt one, you've felt them all."

+

"If they all feel like that, then I never want to feel another +one," Lorna replied in her soft Highland accent. This time +everybody fell about. Somebody spilled a glass of wine down the +front of her dress and went off into a fit of high pitched +hysterics.

+

"Don't worry dear. Nothing's better than the real thing," Mrs +McCluskie had said, planting a beefy hand on her knee, and that +really astounded Lorna. Mrs McCluskie, Gemma's next-door neighbour, +was nearly sixty years old, and she looked as if the thought of +such a thing would never have crossed her mind. The grey haired +woman had chuckled, sending ripples down her wobbly fat frame. She +picked the plastic object up from the table, thumbed the switch and +the peals of laughter started up again.

+

"If my Bert had something like this, maybe we wouldn't be in +separate beds," she announced.

+

"No. You'd be in a hospital bed," somebody chipped in, the +squeals started up again.

+

Lorna felt her face redden again. The party had been fun. Gemma, +her elder cousin had organised it for the neighbours, the kind of +party where men were refused admission. The girl with the case had +opened it on the table and it had started with lacy nighties and +silky briefs. Then, after a couple of glasses of wine, when +everybody was feeling fine and dandy, she'd brought out the +knick-knacks which had brought the house down as they had passed +from hand to hand.

+

Lorna was the only one of them who wasn't married. She was +twenty six years old. She'd come to live in Levenford only six +months before, and brought with her the lilting softness of the +west highlands. Living in a town this size had taken some getting +used to, and she still found herself taking a wrong turn on the +maze of alleys and vennels that radiated off River Street. It was +different from the farm where she'd grown up, different from the +small country town where she'd gone to school. She had a delicate, +oval face and a childlike pert nose smattered with freckles and +hair the colour of dark amber. The most striking thing about her +was her wide grey eyes, which, on cold winter mornings took on the +sheen of brushed steel, bright and sparkling under curved +brows.

+

"Oh, don't let them kid you, Lorny," one of the women said. +Cathy Galt had her fair hair drawn up high on her head. She was a +blowsy-looking woman who worked most nights down in Mac's Bar, a +rough and ready establishment at the end of River Street, and was +tough enough to throw any of the stragglers out through the swing +doors and into the night. She had, however, a heart of gold. Lorna +had treated her as an honorary aunt since she'd come down on the +West Highland line to take up her new job in the library.

+

"If I ever saw a man with something like that, I'd divorce +Campbell tomorrow and never let the fellow out of my sight." she +said. "For the love of God, it's twice the size of anything I ever +saw."

+

"And you've seen plenty, I suppose?" Agnes McCann, Cathy's +sister in law asked archly. As she did, Lorna gave a little start. +She'd been looking at the woman and all of a sudden, she felt a +small wave of dizziness shiver through her. For a second, the +voices faded away, leaving her alone in a cocoon of isolation. In +that moment, everything went still, except for Agnes. As Lorna +watched, the dark-haired woman's eyes opened wide and her mouth +opened wider, so wide Lorna could see the fillings in her back +teeth. The colour drained away from her face and her hands came up +and grabbed onto her own hair. In the eerie, momentary silence, +Lorna could sense that the woman was screaming. She jerked back, +and the bubble burst. The voices came babbling in again. Lorna +blinked and the expression on Agnes' face was back to normal, a +lazy smile drawn on her face.

+

"I had my share before Campbell made an honest woman of me," +Cathy shot back. "Though if I'd known then what I know now, I'd +still be having my share."

+

"I thought size didn't matter," Gemma said.

+

"Och, it's only men who say that. I never heard a woman swear on +that in all my life."

+

Lorna felt herself squirm. The odd feeling had come and gone in +the flick of an eye. Maybe it had been the wine, she told herself. +Somebody laughed raucously and next to her somebody else grabbed +the buzzing thing and flicked the off switch. Lorna gave a sigh of +relief. She was not an innocent, though she was hardly experienced +in these things. She had lost her virginity to James Blair only six +months ago, and it had been a very nice experience, but nothing to +shake the world. They'd managed it several times since then, when +his mother was out of the house, and it had still been pleasant. +Then when he'd talked about getting married, something she was +certainly willing to consider, old Maggie Blair had put her foot +firmly down. Despite the fact that James was twenty eight years +old, she was still the boss as far as his life was concerned, and +while she didn't mind him having some hanky panky with a farm-girl +from the sticks, and a catholic to boot, there was no chance of her +becoming a mother in law to one of them. Maggie Blair was a firm +believer in the protestant supremacy. She went down to Castlebank +Church every Sunday and listened to William Simpson's sermons and +then thanked God for not making her a papist.

+

The engagement was over in weeks before it had even begun. Lorna +had sensed the coldness when she had gone round to James' house on +a Friday night when they had planned to go to the cinema. Old +Maggie had been abrupt, eying the girl from her position of +authority, the big easy chair next to the fire. She'd been knitting +her boy a thick winter pullover and her needles had clicked in +staccato anger. On the way home from the film, she'd asked what was +wrong and he'd blurted out his mother's views.

+

Lorna asked him straight out what he planned to do about it. +He'd hesitated and looked blank, as if puzzled at the possibility +that there was anything he could do.

+

"Like what?" he'd asked.

+

"Like leaving home? Or even just deciding what you want in your +life."

+

He'd turned to her, eyes still blank. She'd recognised it for +what it was and immediately regretted losing her virginity to +somebody who probably still got his mother to scrub his back. She'd +turned on her heel, grey eyes flashing iron in the light of the +street lamp, and she'd never seen him again.

+

Now, as she listened to the women talk about men, their +men and just men in general, she recalled her own first time with a +small feeling of regret. Certainly, James Blair had nothing to +compare with the mechanical thing that had come out of the +demonstrator's case. That had looked as if it had come from a +horse. If she'd been presented with anything like that monster six +months ago, she'd have screamed and run.

+

The demonstrator was packing up now, with all the orders clipped +to a board. Lorna had bought a very pretty teddy, which was as bold +as she could go in front of other folk, and even then, it had only +been the cajoling of the older women that had made her do it. After +the party rep had gone, somebody opened another bottle of wine. Old +Mrs McCluskie had brought a half bottle of whisky out from her big +black handbag and poured herself and Cathy a large measure each. +She was telling her neighbour a particularly vivid joke about a +man's anatomy, which Lorna heard with only half her attention until +she realised it was not a joke. Mrs McCluskie was telling a story +about herself. Lorna blushed again and wondered how women were able +to talk so clinically about sex. She'd always believed that it was +men who did that.

+

Cathy put on a tape and began pouring drink again. Somebody +asked her what she had ordered from the rep and Cathy had given an +exaggerated wink.

+

"Can't tell you, but it should put the old sparkle back into +Sammy's eyes again."

+

"If you can get him awake, that is," Agnes put in.

+

"Oh, don't worry. I'll keep him awake all right," Cathy said, +laughing. "My horoscope tells me it's my lucky week. I'm hoping +it'll be my lucky night."

+

"Well Lorna can tell you that, can't you honey?" Gemma +announced.

+

Lorna looked up. Her glass was still half full and Gemma took it +away for a refill before she could protest.

+

"How about telling our fortunes?"

+

"Oh, I haven't brought my cards with me," Lorna said. Everybody +in the room was looking at her, and it made her feel even more +uncomfortable.

+

"What's this?" Agnes asked.

+

"Oh, Lorna reads the tarot. She's spot on."

+

"It's just a bit of fun," Lorna protested.

+

"And tea-leaves too," Gemma continued with hardly a pause.

+

"Is that right dear? " Mrs McCluskie beamed at her. "Could you +do mine? I went to that woman down at Lochend last week and it cost +a fortune, and she didn't tell me anything I didn't know +already."

+

Lorna looked at her. The fat woman was beaming over the tops of +her spectacles. Lorna remembered the phrase she'd used only a few +moments before and it came back in the clarity of total recall. +"There was me with my legs up round his neck and him going at +it like a sewing machine and then I sneezed and the wee bugger went +flying off the end of the bed. "

+

Lorna felt a laugh building up inside her as she looked at Mrs +McCluskie and tried to imagine her in that position. She +bit down on the laugh but couldn't disguise the smile. To hide it +she said: "Yes, of course I will."

+

Half an hour later she was swirling the dregs round in the +bottom of a teacup. She upended it quickly, letting the tea drain +away then brought it back again. The leaves formed a complex +pattern on the inside of the china. Mrs McCluskie drew herself +closer, using her beefy forearms to jostle her large breasts into a +comfortable position.

+

"What does it say then?"

+

Lorna took several deep slow breaths, getting herself into the +right frame. She closed her eyes and let the darkness slide over +her. Her breathing slowed a little further and then she could sense +the little bit of the feeling that came when she concentrated. It +always came with a tiny whine, like a bat squeak, just below the +threshold of true hearing. It was a little pressure noise inside +her head. The noise got only a little louder then faded out +abruptly, leaving her in a little cone of dead silence. Behind her +closed eyelids, the dark swirled around her and then it began to +clear. She opened her eyes to look into the patterns, reaching for +the vague impressions that sometimes came when she tried really +hard. The brown constellation of dark tea-leaves swirled and then +something happened that Lorna had never experienced before. A +picture came flitting unbidden into her mind and

+

she saw

+

A woman with a walking stick, the kind which has a strap to keep +it firmly attached to the forearm. The woman turned, unstrapped the +stick and threw it into the air, turned again and came walking +towards her, a big smile on her face.

+

flick

+

Two babies, a boy and a girl, side by side in a cot. Names came +from nowhere. She knew who they were.

+

flick

+

A bundle of notes, too many to count, stacked on a table.

+

flick

+

A tall, tanned man with a white smile and thick greying hair +coming through a door and into an old woman's arms. She knew his +name.

+

The picture stopped without warning. The tea-leaf galaxy swum +back into focus and Lorna blinked rapidly, bewildered, slightly +shaken by the sudden sure knowledge, unable to comprehend just what +had happened or how. Lorna took a deep breath. All of the woman sat +looking at her, waiting expectantly.

+

"Well, what's it say, my dear?" Mrs McCluskie was leaning right +over the table.

+

"You're going into hospital soon," she began. Somebody at the +far end of the room drew in a breath. "But they will give you a new +hip. You'll come out walking like a girl again."

+

"Och, nonsense dear. It's just a wee bit of arthritis. Nothing +to worry about. To many exercises when I was younger," she said, +nudging Cathy.

+

"Well, it's going to be fine. And you're going to come into some +money. Quite a lot. And your daughter Pauline's just had a wee boy +and a girl. No..." she paused and shook her head, eyes +shut, remembering. "No. She's going to have her babies +soon. Boy and a girl. That's for sure. Both of them healthy too. +One of them named after you."

+

"Probably the boy," Cathy said. "That Pauline of yours isn't the +full shilling." Everybody laughed.

+

"And your son Benny. He's coming home."

+

"What. My Benny? From Australia."

+

"Yes. He's coming home soon. He's got a tan and grey hair, Lorna +went on. "And he's got some good news for you."

+

"My Benny coming home?" Mrs McCluskie asked again. She was +snagged on that one point. "After all this time?"

+

She put her hands up to her face, nudging her glasses upwards. +She drew them down again, and her eyes were sparkling. She +glistened at Lorna.

+

"You wouldn't kid me on now, would you?"

+

Lorna raised her eyes, still puzzled. "No. I don't think +so."

+

Gemma was looking at Lorna, eyebrows arched up in silent +question. The girl fooled around with tarot cards and tea leaves +and palm reading, always in a light-hearted way. Her predictions +were always vague, never definite.

+

Old Mrs McCluskie was wiping her eyes. Beside Lorna another of +the women was clamouring to have her fortune told. Lorna took the +cup, turned it over, closed her eyes and took her breaths, trying +to get herself down to that level again, where she could +see.

+

The flickering scenes came in a rush, each a little vignette. +The woman, a neighbour of Cathy, spread out on a carpet, morning +sun streaming through the window. A shadow moving in through the +door. the woman's face twisted in fright....the same woman stepping +out of a big car, an expensive pair of high heels clicking on the +pavement. A man, the same one who had been beside her on the floor +out on the other side.... the two of them in a pool beside a white +house, two fair haired girls splashing in the shadows.

+

Lorna started talking of good fortune, love and romance, wealth +and sunshine. This time she kept it unspecified. She wasn't +completely sure of what she was seeing when the patterns +of leaves swirled out of focus. She found it just a little scary. +Patricia Farmer, whose husband worked in the iron foundry and drank +most of his wages on Friday and Saturday nights, tried to keep the +smile off her face and failed. Everybody had seen the bruises +behind the sun-glasses. They all cheered raucously.

+

It was just at that moment when Lorna gave a little shiver. She +had been reaching for Agnes McCann's cup when a strange inside-out +sensation twisted through her. It had happened only twice in her +life, when she was in her early teens, just before she'd started +bleeding. She hadn't even taken her deep breaths to concentrate. +This time it simply swept right through her and over her like a +cold wave. She felt her whole self stretched this way and +that. All sound disappeared. She was gone into the darkness.

+

Opposite her, Cathy said: "What's wrong."

+

Lorna had started to slide to the side. Her eyes were sill wide +open, almost alert. She fell against Gemma, seated next to her on +the couch. A little gurgling sound escaped her throat.

+

"Hey, you nearly spilled my drink," Gemma protested, feigning +annoyance. Lorna did not respond.

+

"What's the matter with her?" Mrs McCluskie asked, just as Lorna +slid off the couch and slumped to the floor.

+

"Oh my God, the girl's fainted." the grey haired woman said, +pushing her seat back from the table.

+

Gemma got down beside her and raised her head from the +carpet.

+

"Lorna? Come on! What's wrong?"

+

The girl's eyes were still wide, but now they were staring +blindly, like steel bearings, reflecting the light on the ceiling. +She made a little coughing sound and then her whole body went +rigid, hands clenched tight shut, ankles together, and she was +shivering, as if an electric current was sizzling through her.

+

A few seconds later the shivering stopped and Lorna's muscles +went slack. Cath and Gemma managed, between them, to get her up +onto the couch again. Cath had a hand to the girl's forehead. It +was clammy and cold. She was about to say something when Lorna's +eyes closed and then snapped open again.

+

"Timmy?" she said very softly.

+

"Has anybody seen my Timmy?"

+

"What's she saying?" old Mrs McCluskie asked.

+

"I left my baby lying here," Lorna sang in a dreamy voice. "And +went to gather blaeberries." She stopped, then began again almost +immediately, speaking in a dreamy voice. "Fairies took him. Fairies +took him away." She turned, eyes bright and sparkling, yet oddly +blind. "Not fairies. Something stole him and he'll never come back +again."

+

She close her eyes again and all of the woman around her watched +in silence, Finally one of them asked again. "What on earth's wrong +with her?"

+

"I don't know." Gemma said. "Maybe she's had too much wine. Can +somebody get a cold cloth?"

+

Agnes McCann shifted in her seat, about to fetch the cloth when +Lorna's hand shot out and grabbed her just above the elbow. Agnes +yelped. "Ow. That hurts"."

+

Lorna's eyes flicked open again, eerily wide, glaring straight +at Agnes.

+

"Ladybird, ladybird, fly away home," she began, chanting, like a +little girl in a schoolyard, skipping to the rhyme.

+

"Your house is on fire and your children are gone."

+

She blinked very slowly and a big tear formed in the corner of +one eye, bubbled over and rolled down her cheek.

+

"They're burning. They're dying. Oh my sweet Jesus Christ let +them out, let them go!" Lorna's words came out in a rising +torrent. They ended in a screech.

+

Beside her, Gemma jerked back. Her hand had been on Lorna's left +arm, while the girl's right had been straight out in front of her, +still grasping Agnes McCann's elbow.

+

All of a sudden, it had felt as if Lorna's skin was on fire. The +heat had sizzled into Gemma's fingers, as if she'd laid them on top +of a hot stove.

+

"The baby in its cot. The two wee boys in their beds. They don't +know. It's coming for them, coming in the dark. And the smoke, it's +thick and dark and they can't breathe. Oh God, it's hot. It's down +the chimney. He's lying in the flames and he's dead, and it's +coming for them and they're going to burn. Oh, please. Oh +mother of Christ! They can't wake up."

+

"Come on Lorna," Cathy snapped. She shook the girl by the +shoulder. Under the dress she too could feel the heat.

+

"The girl's gone half daft," Mrs McCluskie said, but her face +was slack and sick looking.

+

"No, it's an act," Patricia Farmer said. "Just to make us +believe she can read our tea-leaves."

+

Just then, Gemma said: "Something's burning."

+

She sat upright and sniffed, then looked down. The fine fair +hairs on Lorna's arm were beginning to curl. Her skin was a blotchy +red. A blister was beginning to appear down the length of her +forearm.

+

"Oh quick. Get a cloth," she bawled. Cathy dashed to the sink +and ran a tap over a hand towel and threw it across. Gemma slapped +the dripping cloth onto Lorna, covering her face and her arms. +There was a hissing sound, like water steaming on a hot pan, and +then steam, real steam billowed up from the towel.

+

Lorna jerked back as if she'd been slapped.

+

"What's happening?" she asked in a small voice. She looked +groggy, as if still half asleep. "What's going on."

+

She looked round at the faces, all of them staring at her.

+

"Thought you were throwing a fit girl."

+

"And you're so hot," Gemma said. She reached out a hand to take +Lorna's in her own. The heat was gone, but the blister still raised +its long mark on her arm. "You were burning up."

+

"Burning?" Lorna asked. Her eyebrows came down in a frown of +concentration. "There's something I must remember. +Something..."

+

She seemed to come completely awake. Her eyes swept across the +women in front of her, came to rest on Agnes McCann.

+

Lorna opened her mouth, tried to speak, but her voice was +snagged in her throat. She made a little hitching movement and the +words finally blurted out. "You have to go home, Agnes. Right this +minute. It might not be too late."

+

"What do you mean?" the other woman started to ask.

+

"No time, oh please, there's no time. Your babies. There's +something wrong. There's going to be a fire."

+

Agnes backed away, knocking the chair behind her.

+

"What's she on about? Is she trying to scare me or +something?"

+

She looked at the rest of the women and they all looked back +dumbly.

+

"My Pat's watching them tonight. They're all right."

+

"Oh please Agnes. Phone him now. Get him to wake up. There's +something in the...."

+

Just then, outside in the street window, a siren screamed, loud +enough to rattle the windows and so sudden they all jumped. The +sound wailed menacingly. They all heard the blare of the horn as +the fire tender rushed past, wheels throwing up chippings as it +turned down Overtoun Lane and up the hill towards Murroch Street. +The sound dopplered down as the fire tender raced away, the wail +like a demon in the night.

+

Lorna started to scream and Agnes McCann fainted.

+
+

The top of the old red sandstone building was completely gutted. +The firemen fought the blaze for three hours, as flames licked a +hundred feet into the night sky, turning the low clouds orange with +the reflected glare. The family staying below the McCann house had +managed to escape. Gordon Kennedy lowered his two sons down on a +knotted sheet to where old Bob Cuthill had managed to get a ladder +against the wall. Bob, who was seventy two, risked his life to +clamber up, despite the danger from red-hot falling slates that +were whipping from the roof and whirring down like axe-heads. He +grabbed the kids and hustled them away from the burning building. +Gordie Kennedy got himself out of the window and along a three inch +ledge to the roan-pipe which was turning pink with the heat. The +pain was unbelievable as the skin and tendons seared, but Gordie +held on for ten feet until the downpipe pulled away from the wall +and he fell a further thirty to the flagstones below where he broke +his left leg in two places and drove the ball of his femur through +the socket of his pelvis. It took thirty titanium screws to put him +back together again and he walked with a limp after that. He never +got the full use of his right hand ever again, but his sons grew up +to be men.

+

Agnes McCann arrived on the scene five minutes after the red +tender had screeched past Gemma Conroy's house. When Gemma drove +her and Cathy Galt round the corner, and they saw the flames +blasting up to the sky, now half shrouded in a tower of dirty +smoke, Agnes started to scream.

+

They helped her through the crowd gathered at the end of the +street, tripping over hoses and splashing through the mucky +leak-water and got to the second tender just as the whole of the +roof caved in. A gout of incredible heat and a meteor-storm of +sparks blasted out from the windows of the McCann house. One of the +window frames went tumbling away, whirling through the air, to +land, burning furiously, on top of a parked car fifty feet away. +Agnes screeched again, so high it disappeared beyond hearing and +her legs gave way. Cathy Galt couldn't hold her and the woman +flopped into an expanding puddle.

+

Ten minutes later, the floorboards gave way and the whole of the +inside of the tenement seemed to collapse into itself. The tall +chimney-stack, with its eight identical pots teetered like a drunk, +then fell with an amazing roar into where the McCann children had +been asleep in their beds. The pots smashed with the noise of +exploding grenades.

+

After that, it was only a matter of time as the fire ate +everything that could burn. The firemen, leaning out from the +snorkel gantries, poured thousands of gallons in a constant deluge +over the inferno and finally, just after midnight, you could see +they were beginning to win the fight. There were no prizes. There +was nothing left but ashes and rubble.

+

All morning fire inspector Sorley Fitzpatrick and his team spent +their time sifting through the rubble, dressed in their thick +protective gear. The stone and brickwork was still sizzling hot to +the touch, and in fact it would be another two days before the heat +drained out of the masonry. They discovered the remains of the +McCann family, but those remains were mere fragments. Pat McCann's +lower jaw was almost intact and he was later identified by dental +records, which was, all things considered, a piece of luck. He'd +lost all of his top teeth years before and the plastic plate had +melted to nothing. They found the complete skull of the elder boy, +Jimmy, who was eight, where it had fallen and been protected from +complete carbonisation by a pile of slates. A partial hip-bone +identified wee Brendan, just turned six. Of the baby, nine month +old Kerry, the pride of her father's eye, nothing was found in the +smouldering rubble of what had been 46 Murroch Road. Sorley +Fitzpatrick deduced that because of her size, and the fact that +she'd had no teeth to speak of, her entire body had been +consumed.

+

It was another week before the fire claimed the entire McCann +family. Six days after the fire, Agnes McCann managed, despite the +close attentions of a large tribe of sisters, aunts and cousins, to +swallow the entire contents of a bottle of paracetamol pills in the +middle of the night. By the time morning came around, her +sister-in-law found her lying half-out of the bed in her spare +room. She was in a deep coma. By the time she arrived at Lochend +General, she was dead.

+

Sorley Fitzpatrick's report came to twelve pages and at the end +of it, nobody was any the wiser. Such was the destruction of the +building, that the cause of the fire could not be determined with +any degree of accuracy. There was just nothing left intact enough +to be able to prove what sparked off the blaze. Some assumptions +could be made, however. From the initial reports, and from the +progress of the fire as it was being fought, it was likely the +ignition spot was somewhere in the family's living room and the +fire had quickly spread from there to the other rooms. Perhaps a +piece of coal had sparked a burning ember from the fire, perhaps +the old wiring behind the skirting boards had burned out and set +the dust and bone-dry timbers alight behind the lath-and-plaster +walls. The speed of the spread was a puzzle, as was the fact that +all of the occupants were overcome so quickly. In the end, the +report left as many questions as it answered. A fatal inquiry a +month later determined the cause of death of Pat McCann and his +three children was accidental. In Agnes' case it was judged that +she had committed suicide while the balance of her mind was +disturbed. But all of that was many weeks on, and there were many +things happening in Levenford as the winter nights grew longer and +the cold began to grip the town where some people were just +beginning to realise that things were not as they should be.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike07.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike07.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..04287ba --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike07.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,439 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 2 + + + + +
+
+

7

+

Jack had been back up to Marta Herkik's house again. He was +convinced he must have missed something, some tiny clue which would +give him something of a lead. His mind was tugged in two +directions, because of the Timmy Doyle abduction, and he could have +done without that. Angus McNicol had insisted on it, although Jack +had protested that it would stretch his own resources too far, but +there was no gainsaying the Chief Superintendent, who also carried +the rank of Commander in the regional force. Jack was the man for +the job, mostly because of his years of experience in the city's +murder squad, and also because he was the best qualified man on the +local force. Angus sidestepped the protests from Ronald Cowie, the +second in command who technically should have been in charge of at +least one investigation. McNicol did not rate Cowie's ability, and +he did rate Jack Fallon. That was another problem, he knew, for the +man now hunting a killer and an abductor who was also potentially a +killer. Cowie had friends inside and outside of the force. Angus +hoped he wouldn't have to slap the man down. He also knew that Jack +did not care a tuppeny damn if he made enemies or not. Everybody +knew he had very little to care about except for his work.

+

For half an hour, sitting alone beside the table that still bore +the black traces of dried blood, Jack sat, huddled in his big coat, +trying to think, trying to imagine what had happened on the night +Marta Herkik had been mutilated.

+

The clues were many and various, but their significance +obscure.

+

The killer, from all the evidence, must have had plenty of time +to operate. He'd taken down two strips of wallpaper - a bizarre act +in itself - so carefully the neighbouring strips hadn't been torn +or scratched, and he'd daubed two words, both of them obscure, in +that oddly slanted writing, smeared in now-caked blood.

+

Heteros: The Other. Straight from the Greek. Jack had +found that easily by asking the classics teacher at Castlebank +Academy. Etheros. That was more of a conundrum. There was +no such word, not in any language. He'd checked with the languages +department in the University. But there were pointers. It could, he +was told, have something to do with ether as in air, or +ethereal,like a phantom or a wraith. Or maybe, Professor +Walker had pointed out, it was simply a mis-spelling.

+

"Anagram possibly," the academic, who was a lot younger than +Jack would have expected, said from behind a plume of cigarette +smoke.

+

"Like in a crossword. I do the Times every morning on the train. +Never finished it on the journey yet, but I'm still hoping."

+

Jack smiled along with him.

+

"It's got all the same letters, so maybe they're just a jumble. +Perhaps even the first one is an anagram of something."

+

"Like what?"

+

The professor took another draw of his cigarette and scratched +his head. "I dunno. Maybe The Sore, or The Rose. +It could even be a woman's name, Hortense."

+

"That would need another letter," Jack pointed out. Walker +nodded amiably.

+

"Word blindness, that's my trouble. A real pain in a job like +mine. Anyway, I can't see too many words you could form out of it. +Just an idea. Etheros isn't quite a word, but if it's no anagram, +I'd lean towards the phantasm idea."

+

"Any reason?"

+

"Just the fact that the first word means an other, or +the other. Like in terms of something other worldly. +That's what you'd take ethereal to mean."

+

"Could it be indicating that it's an indication of being +heterosexual?"

+

"Could be anything. But if etheros means airy, it could indicate +fairy. There's a million choices, well, at least a dozen, +depending on how you look at it."

+

Jack had sat looking at the words, wondering what had been used +to write them. It could have been a finger, a very narrow finger, +but there were no prints. There was nothing left behind that had +been used to daub them. That meant the killer had taken it with +him. He'd also taken whatever he'd used to strip the wallpaper. +That was a real puzzle. Nobody yet, nobody in forensics, even at +the central lab, had any suggestions as to how it had been done. +there was no sign of commercial stripper, not even hot water or +detergent.

+

He looked at the column of writing again, cocking his head to +read them properly. Each of the letters were about equal in size, +though obviously written in haste. They were all canted over on the +right side. It looked to Jack as if the killer had started up high +on the wall, but hadn't been standing upright. It seemed as if he'd +been bent across, somehow perched horizontally to daub each letter. +Jack couldn't figure how that had been done either, not without a +ladder and a platform. If anybody had left the building with a +ladder, or some scaffolding, no matter what time of night or day it +had been, someone would have seen him, and no-one had.

+

The scratch marks on the table were an easier proposition. They +had been caused by Marta Herkik herself. The blood was hers and two +of her nails were embedded right under the thin veneer, stopped at +the ends of the grooves in the wood. She had done it alright, but +why she had done it was a mystery. Possibly her killer had come up +behind her and dragged her backwards. She could have tried to pull +away, scratching at the table, been hauled back with her nails +digging for purchase. He tried to picture it in his mind's eye, but +the image wouldn't come. It wouldn't have happened like that. The +instinctive reaction would be to pull the hands away, to twist and +turn, not to plough up the veneer of the table.

+

There were several other options for some of the damage. One was +that the killer had gripped her by the throat, which might account +for some of the damage to the windpipe, no matter what Robbie +Cattenach's report said. Perhaps she'd tried to get away, to +claw herself away from the murderer. Or maybe the pressure +on her neck had made her muscles go into a kind of spasm. Robbie +had said that was possible, not likely, but he couldn't discount +it.

+

If that had been the case, then the old woman had been slung +against the fireplace. The crystal ball, or whatever it was had +been smashed and then the splinters driven into her head by some +unknown means, and them the woman had been beaten with a very heavy +instrument, breaking several of her bones and rupturing most of her +insides. The blunt instrument had also been removed from the +scene.

+

Whoever had done this, Jack agreed with himself, had taken +plenty of time. That meant he was no ordinary killer, no +opportunist. He had been in a frenzy, of that there was no doubt, +but he hadn't been panicked. He had to be some kind of psychopath, +and there hadn't been one of them around in Levenford for a while. +It would make him even more difficult to catch.

+

Jack had spent days trying to get into the man's mind and had +failed completely. He could find no motive. The method was clear +enough, even if half the evidence was missing. Why anybody would +have wanted to kill the old Hungarian woman and then mutilate her +so obscenely, was as yet beyond him.

+

The room was still lined with books, despite the numbers that +had been torn from the shelves and shredded like confetti. Almost +all of them had something to do with the occult. There was an old +copy of Friel's Ley Lines, and a big illustrated edition, +leather-bound and well thumbed, of Crowley's Goetia lying +open on a small table next to the central one. Some of the +paragraphs in the page had been marked off in black ball-point, and +there was a long pencilled notation in the margin. The other books +gave explanations of tarot cards, instructions on the use of ouija +boards, old directories of palmistry and phrenology along with +dozens on astrology. None of the books made any sense to Jack +Fallon, though he thumbed through a few of them. Marta Herkik, he +knew, charged a few pounds for palm readings and tarot divination, +none of it declared on any in her tax return. There were a few +spey-wives around. The local newspaper even used one of them in its +weekly star-gazing column. All of the advice was ambiguous. Jack +considered them all charlatans, but harmless enough at that.

+

So she had been an old Hungarian woman reading futures. That was +hardly a reason for dying like that. And she obviously wasn't so +good at reading her own, or she might have seen this coming, Jack +thought, remembering what Ralph Slater had said.

+

There was no rhyme or reason. Nothing. Not even a feel +about the case, except for a cold, baffling sensation of +wrongness as Jack sat alone in the room where the woman +had met her death. He did not jump at shadows, he did not believe +in ghosts. In fact Jack Fallon believed in very little and hadn't +for some time when his faith in anything had fragmented in the time +it took a window to shatter. Yet there was something out of kilter +about Marta Herkik's death. He told himself there was no normality +about any killing, and he'd seen more than his share, but +it was more than that. He tried to dredge up what his intuition was +trying to tell him, the little unseen observer inside his mind that +managed to pick out seemingly random and unconnected facts and +string them together like beads on a thread until he got the spark +of an idea that would take him in the right direction.

+

Nothing came, except a cold shiver.

+

"Been sitting too long," Jack muttered to himself. The case was +going nowhere, and that angered him. He got to his feet, pulled his +collar up, and with a quick motion swept back the hank of black +hair that had flopped down over his brow. He opened the door and +let himself out of the flat. The fresh air gusting up the circular +stairwell was cold and sharp in his nose. He breathed deeply, +clearing out the death smell, and started to walk down the +stairs to the street door.

+

Jack crossed the road, feeling the bite of the west wind numb +his left ear, and went into Dickson's newsagent's shop where the +old fellow behind the stacked counter remembered him from his +younger days.

+

"Heard you were back again Jackie," he said as he counted out +the change coin by coin. "Get fed up with the big city?"

+

"Something like that."

+

Old Wattie Dickson looked him up and down. "Grown about three +feet since I last saw you. Bigger than your faither was an' +all."

+

Jack smiled. His father had been a huge man with iron-grey hair +cropped in a short spike. He'd been a sergeant for twenty years at +College Street station and had never seemed to have any ambition to +claw his way up the promotional ladder, though he'd been proud as a +peacock over his son's progress. He had looked as hard as nails, a +big craggy face on a mountain of a frame, but the looks had belied +his appearance. John Fallon had been the fairest, most gentle and +patient man Jack had ever known. He'd never once in his career used +the black truncheon, and if there was a disturbance down in Mac's +Bar or the Castlegate round at the quay where Friday night fights +were par for the course, John could joke and cajole a violent drunk +out into the street and persuade him up to the station to sleep it +off. There was hardly a need for charging a hungover man in the +morning, he always told his son. Jack had only seen his father +fight once, when some of the Buist clan had come out of the bushes +in Clydeshore Road, out for a reckoning over one of their number +who had been banged up in Drumbain jail for three months over an +aggravated assault, following an arrest by big John.

+

Jack had been seven years old at the time, on his way up the +road with a jar full of small fish he'd caught in the tidal pools +down on the foreshore. He'd turned the corner and stopped dead when +he saw the six Buist brothers with their backs to him, all standing +in an arrogant line in front of the big man in the dark +uniform.

+

His father had spotted him the moment he'd come round the bend +and had given a tiny jerk of his head, telling Jack to be off about +his business. The boy had backed away, a little scared, but more +curious and then he'd crawled behind the thick privet hedge, +peering between the branches.

+

"Right boys," John had said. "I know you're a wee bit upset, and +all, but let's keep it peacable now."

+

"You put our Billy in the jail."

+

"No Bobby, he did that to himself all right. Let his temper run +away with him, instead of taking a bit of a breath first. Now, why +don't you all just go home and take deep breaths yourselves, +eh?"

+

"Why don't you take a flying fuck to yourself!"

+

"Now, now boys. I'll ignore the language. But here I am keeping +the peace on a nice morning."

+

"You'll get no peace from us," Bobby Buist slung back.

+

"Well, I'll have to caution you against anything you might be +thinking of."

+

"What, going to sling all of us in Drumbain?"

+

"Och, I don't think it should come to that. Not if you're +sensible," big John had said in calm and measured tones. The +Buist's were well known in town. They were of farming stock, but +they'd come off the land. Now there was a squad of them, big broad +men with sandy hair and hands like hams. They operated on the +fringes on the east of town. Odd jobs, scrap cars and the +occasional pit-bull fight.

+

"It'll come to it all right," Bobby Buist said, moving two steps +closer. His two brothers and three cousins sidled out in a flanking +motion. John Fallon stood stock still, eyes still calm.

+

"So is it six to one, or are you Buist boys man enough to +shorten the odds."

+

"Like you did for Billy?" This from one of the men circling to +the policeman's left. Without warning, he swung his hips and aimed +a kick at John's crotch. The big man's hand snapped down on the +ankle six inches before the toe of the boot connected. He took one +step with his left, in towards the man, stamping down hard with the +edge of his policeman's boot to rake it down the fellow's shin. The +foot crunched the other man's toes and stayed there. In the same +movement, John Fallon raised the attacker's leg by the ankle in a +swift jerk. From his hiding place, young Jack heard a sound like a +greenwood branch twisted from the trunk. The man screamed and John +dropped him just as the others lunged in. The policeman's fist shot +out and slammed against Billy Buist's cheek and the man fell like a +sack. The punch sounded like a mallet on wood. John took two steps +forward. Gave a right and a left so quickly his immense hands were +like blurs and another two went down.

+

The final pair stood hesitantly, fists raised.

+

"Now which is first, or are we going to have a peaceful +morning?"

+

They had turned and ran, tackety boots sending sparks up from +the cobbles. On the ground around John, three of the Buist boys +were rolling or groaning. Bobby Buist was out for the count.

+

John had straightened his tunic and rubbed a palm across his +knuckles.

+

"Right boy, you can come out now," he called over to the hedge. +Young Jack, with his jar of tiny fish, came slowly out from the lee +of the hedge. He walked up to his father, admiration written all +over his face.

+

The big policeman had bent down from an immense height, hands on +his hips.

+

"Now young feller. When I give you the nod to be off about your +business, I mean it, eh?"

+

Jack had nodded.

+

"That way you don't have to see any of this nonsense." He had +stuck out a hand and clapped it on his son's shoulder and walked +him up Clydeshore Road, leaving the straggle of men on the road. +Two years later, big John had dived into the Leven after a spring +thaw when the river was in spate and had hauled out Tommy Buist, +who was then ten, and the bane of Jack's life at school, risking +his life for the son of one of the men who had ambushed him down +the Clydeshore. That was the kind of man he'd been.

+

When old Wattie Dickson had told him he was even bigger than his +father had been, the memory of that day had come back to him in a +flash of real pleasure. Nobody had ever been bigger than his +father. Despite his rank, Jack Fallon did not think he could truly +fill his old man's boots. It was not a thought that concerned him +unduly. He wouldn't even have tried.

+

"I read it in the paper," Wattie said, indicating the stack of +gazettes piled on the old wooden counter. Very little about the +shop had changed since Jack was small, except for the fact that +there were fewer home-made sweets in the sugar-dusted glass jars, +and along the top shelf, there were a selection of glossy +biological magazines positioned out of reach of the young.

+

Jack pocketed his cigarettes. He'd managed to give up a few +years before, and had started again. He knew he shouldn't have, but +the past while had not been easy. He fumbled in his pocket for +change and took one of the papers from the pile.

+

"Sounds like a lot of trouble in the old town," Wattie said. +"That poor old biddie across the road. Always came in every morning +at eight for a bag of mints. Who would ever want to kill her?"

+

"I don't know Wattie. There's a lot of bad folk around."

+

"Aye, and more and more the older I get. They're all at the drug +taking up by Overwood. Wee kiddies of school age too. World's gone +to hell if you ask me."

+

Jack didn't ask him, but he tended to agree. There had been a +time, when he was young, when the local policeman would give a boy +a boot on the arse, an experience likely to make the lad think +twice before stealing apples, or hoisting a bar of chocolate from +the counter when old Wattie had his back turned. Not any more, and +the place was worse for it in Jack's opinion.

+

"Well I hope you get the bugger who did this. He should be +hung."

+

"I'll do my best," Jack promised him as he folded his paper and +jammed it in the pocket of his coat. He crossed the road again, +walking about fifty yards along River Street and took a right turn +down Quay lane to where somebody had opened a coffee shop on the +site where the old brewery store had stood twenty years before. The +bell clanged above the door when Jack walked in. There were two old +women in hats sitting in the far corner. They looked up when jack +came in. He chose a seat next to the curtained window where a +pretty girl with a short spiky haircut took his order for a coffee, +and brought if a few minutes later. It was hot and strong and very +very good.

+

Jack unfolded the Levenford Gazette and saw himself staring out +from the front page.

+

Triple Tragedy! The black headline didn't so much blare +as shout at the top of the Gazette's voice. Jack had spoken to the +young reporter who looked as if he'd just left school and from the +questions he'd asked, probably just had.

+

He read the story:

+

Levenford was rocked this week by three separate tragedies +which claimed the lives of five people in four days.

+

On Monday, elderly Marta Herkik, a former bakery worker and +amateur astrologer was found bludgeoned to death in her third floor +home in River Street.

+

A day later, nine-month-old baby Timothy Doyle was abducted +while he slept in his pram on a tenth-floor balcony in Latta Court +on Towpath Way.

+

And last night a fire claimed a father and three children in +Murroch Street.

+

The town was in a state of shock at the death toll. Provost +Stanley Moor said: "I'm stunned. It is a tragedy."

+

Jack smiled and read on. The young reporter managed to get as +much shock, horror and drama into the story as he could. To a +certain extent, it was no exaggeration, although as yet, Jack had +seen no evidence of the townsfolk rocking and reeling. The young +reporter had attributed Jack with a couple of words he hadn't quite +said, but not enough to change the meaning. Police were +investigating. The Gazette said they were working round the clock, +which was fair enough. The picture of him had been one of the press +office send-outs when he transferred from the city back to his home +town three months before. It made him look five years older, and +his hair was shorter. The caption read: Inspector John +Fallon...leading the murder hunt.

+

The story went into the kind of detail small town newspapers +revelled in. Jack knew, before he even turned to it, that the back +page would be a solid block of births, deaths and marriages. The +police court section would be filled with dross, like drunks having +a pee in public, drunks being locked up or being incapable, and +drunks breaching the peace. Jack learned nothing new.

+

He flicked through the paper, got to the centre pages which +showed some blurry photographs of the local theatre group strutting +the boards, when his eye caught a heading and he began to read.

+

Cairn House: - A History of Violence. The by-line named +Blair Bryden, the newspaper editor. He'd been in the class above +Jack at school, and they'd played football together in their teens. +Jack had spoken to him several times since he'd come back to work. +Blair was smart, and he knew his town. Jack read on:

+

History has repeated itself in Levenford's oldest known +building, with the brutal death of Marta Herkik.

+

Older readers will remember a similar tragedy in 1965 when +the body of a young man was discovered in a back room on the third +floor of Cairn House. This was part of the apartment where Marta +Herkik had lived for the past fourteen years following the death of +her brother Sandor, the well known cobbler.

+

A mystery still surround the death of Neil Hopkirk who had +been missing for three months in the summer of '65. He was later +discovered bound and gagged under the sink. Police at the time said +he had died of starvation and thirst, although he too had been +badly beaten and also sexually assaulted.

+

But even that was not the first tragedy of Cairn House, +which records show was built in 1462, about the time of the +extension to the Burgh Charter, and partially rebuilt in the +eighteenth century, adding the upper storeys. The building was the +original Tollbooth in town, where prisoners were jailed pending and +after trial. Those guilty prisoners were hanged from a gibbet +attached to its east gable wall, and records show sixteen such +hangings in 1532 alone. After reconstruction, the house became +church property for two decades, until the minister, the Rev Andrew +Scally hanged himself from a beam...again on the third floor in +1807. Three decades later, a bolt of lightning struck the +chimney-stack which fell through the roof and crushed to death +council leader Provost Thomas Latta and a seamstress who lived in a +room in the rear of the building.

+

After World War I young officer Wallace MacNicol was found +shot to death in the same room. Gazette records show that he died +of six bullet wounds in his head. This caused intense speculation +and the mystery of how he was able to shoot himself so many times - +the gun was found in his hand, and the room was locked from the +inside - was never solved.

+

In 1948, another clergyman, the Rev Alistair Conn, who was +visiting a young sick girl in Cairn House fell to his death after +crashing through a sash window into River Street. The girl, whose +family later left Levenford, was never able to fully explain what +had happened.

+

Now, the death toll of Cairn House continues. Professor +Andrew Toye, head of the Paranormal Studies at Glasgow University +said: "These things could very well be co-incidences. Some +buildings do gather unfortunate reputations over the years. One +wouldn't like to volunteer an explanation without more +evidence. "

+

The story ran on for a few more paragraphs, and Jack smiled at +Blair Bryden's quotes from Andy Toye, whom Jack knew from his law +studies at the university. He had even considered calling on the +professor himself, to get some hint of what might have taken place +at Cairn House before the old woman died. He read on and something +else caught his attention. It was a simple ten paragraphs about a +young girl who had foretold the fire at Murroch Street.

+

Jack raised his eyebrows and sipped his coffee slowly as he read +the account of the librarian at a party who had been reading +tea-leaves. One of the guests, the paper said, claimed she had gone +into some kind of seizure and then told another woman to get home +because her house was on fire. It had turned out to be true. The +girl named in the story had refused to comment on the matter. Jack +smiled again. There was always somebody trying to make a few +pennies, even out of tragedy.

+

He closed the paper, finished his coffee and left some coins +under the saucer rim. The bell clanged again as he went out and +turned into River Street.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike08.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike08.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..78d475c --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike08.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,802 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 2 + + + + +
+
+

8

+

As Jack Fallon walked out of the coffee shop down the lane, +Lorna Breck was on her lunch break from the children's library +which stood on the corner of Strathleven Street, an old building +built at the turn of the century with money from Andrew Carnegie's +foundation. The children's section was half a landing up from the +basement stack-rooms, a dungeon of a place unlike the bright and +well-lit extension that had been built upstairs for adults. Lorna +thought they should have added something for the children, but +instead, they had to line up by the wrought iron gate at four +o'clock until she came with the big bunch of keys to unlock the +heavy old thing and let them down the narrow stone steps in single +file.

+

There was atmosphere in the old place, but it was musty and +claustrophobic. She had persuaded Keith Conran, her boss to clear +out a small store to let the children use it as a reading room. The +negotiations for that little improvement had taken months, but she +had eventually won. Her next fight was to get a fire door +somewhere. The little children's library was a death trap, with +only one narrow door in. Lorna kept a big extinguisher next to her +desk just in case.

+

It was two days since her terrifying experience at Gemma's +party. The memory of it hung around her like the big black clouds +now piling in from the west, heavy and sombre. She couldn't explain +what had happened, and that frightened her. She could recollect +nothing of what she'd said or done when she'd thrown the fit, as +Cathy had described it, or whatever it was she'd had. She'd just +opened her eyes with a terrible feeling of dread and a dreadful +feeling of certainty.

+

It was only afterwards that Gemma and Cathy had told her what +she'd said. She recalled nothing. She'd read about things like +that. It could mean anything. What scared her was that it might be +the signs of a brain tumour, and that scared her a +lot.

+

Lorna's mother had read tea-leaves at family parties and she had +picked it up as she went along. She knew there was nothing in it, +except that sometimes when she looked at the brown patterns, she +got a little tickle of feeling, nothing more than a shade. +It was fun. Or it had been. She had never, not ever had +any real sensation of prescience.

+

Under her sleeve, the strange blister itched. The swelling had +died down within hours, leaving a tea-stain mark along her forearm. +The downy hairs there were still curled, looking as though they'd +been scorched. She couldn't remember any sensation of any pain no +matter how she tried.

+

The story in the newspaper made her cringe with embarrassment. +Keith, known to all the children as Conran the librarian, had asked +her about it and she avoided a direct answer. Some of the other +girls who worked in the adult library tried to persuade her to read +their palms and she'd abruptly refused. The thought of another +episode made her recoil.

+

Lorna was outside the grocer's shop by the bakery which at one +time had been the cobbler's business run by old Hungry Sandy. She'd +put her bag down on the ground while she counted the money in her +purse. There was a skirt in Peggy Mason's shop which she'd had her +eye on for two weeks and she was hoping it had been reduced, as +much of Peggy's clothes were after they'd hung on the lines for a +while. As she bent over the opened purse the numbness flowed over +her.

+

It was as if she'd slid without a sound, without a ripple, into +a cold pool. The noise of the traffic in the street and the people +passing by, the normal busy sounds of River Street just after +noontime, faded away slowly, as if somebody had closed a door on +them, leaving her inside a little personal bubble of space.

+

A high pitched whine, like a summer insect, tickled deep inside +her ears. She could hear the faint sound of blood pounding in +there. Lorna felt her hand slowly clench. The snap-clip of her +purse closed over with the sound of a dull footfall. A bus passed +by on the street, its engine a deep almost inaudible hum. Somebody +walked in front of her and looked at her, the passer-by a pale +ghost moving with snail-like speed, like a body drifting in +water.

+

The whine in her ears became a buzz and underneath it Lorna +heard the whispering chatter. It sounded at first like starlings on +a roof, the way they gather in flocks, whirring in black +constellations in the air before settling to argue amongst +themselves. She turned to the left, so slowly it took an age. The +chattering got louder, like words which she could not make out. The +numbness spread down her arms and rippled over her ribs. She turned +and saw herself reflected back from the grocer's window. Somebody +had put up a small blackboard offering prices of apples. Lorna +could see her face, a pale imitation, wraithlike inside the glass. +Her mouth was half-open, her eyes wide. She tried to think and the +thought would not come. She felt as if she was wading through +treacle.

+

Something spoke inside her head.

+

"I see you."

+

"What?" she tried to say. All she heard was a rumble deep in her +chest.

+

"Eyes to see. Ears to hear." The voice was the scratch +of fingernails on rough stone.

+

Lorna blinked. Inside the glass, her reflection did the same, a +slow, puzzled blink that looked sleepy in shady mirroring.

+

She saw her mouth open further. It was like watching someone +from inside a dream. Something passed by on the street behind her +and she saw the movement, then it was blotted out by a shadow in +the blackboard, billowing in like a cloud. The glass wavered, or +seemed to, and her reflection winked out. The chittering had faded +inside her head, dwindled to a scratchy rustle. She dreamily felt +as though he'd stepped out of the world, out of her self +for a moment.

+

The blackboard disappeared in rippling shadow, like the surface +of a river pool deep in a forest. The oscillations jarred, hardened +and then with a weird, dizzying twist they stopped and +Lorna saw

+

a street lamp. Orange light fuzzed by a hard frost. She +shivered, felt the cold. Someone was walking down a narrow alley. +The sound of heels on flagstones. She recognised the place, or +thought she did. At least it looked familiar. As she turned her +head, the scene swung with the movement, a cinematic pan. The +orange light faded away. Up above a window opened and a faint +voice, unintelligible behind a clatter of pots and pans, called +out. The footsteps came closer. Lorna heard the whimper of a baby +crying, and in the waking dream, she turned, though she knew no +muscle on her body moved. She was seeing this with her +mind. A figure came walking towards her, passed by, hidden +by shadows. A pale face turned to look curiously at her. It was a +girl, a young woman. In her arms, a baby held tight, close to her +shoulder. Lorna saw a look of surprise, maybe curiosity, then the +woman was gone.

+

A feeling of apprehension welled up inside her, bubbling like +tar.

+

Something was going to happen. She knew it. Something +bad.

+

The woman moved off along the alley, away from the light, turned +beyond the hard stone corner of a building. From up above, Lorna +heard a harsh scraping sound, a scuttling noise, like stones being +rubbed together. She raised her head and the scene swung dizzily. +Up on the wall, a shadow flicked with spidery speed, disappeared +into a deeper shadow. The noise continued, an abrasive scrabble +that continued into the shadow. It reached the corner, elongated +and then wriggled round and out of sight.

+

The anxiety twisted, tightened to sudden dread.

+

Lorna went down the alley, seeing the buildings tilt with the +odd mental movement, reached the corner, turned it...

+

And the shadow came down from the wall.

+

She heard herself scream, yet there was no sound. The woman was +knocked to the ground by something that shot out from the shadow +and struck her such a blow that she simply flopped. A dark shape +reached and grabbed. There was a jumble of movement and then a +piercing cry, mirrored by an even higher screech. The woman +scrambled to her feet, her screech of terror and anger +reverberating from the narrow walls of the alley. She ran at the +shadow. Something reached out again and smashed into the side of +her face. She dropped like a stone, but this time she did not get +up again. A dark pool quickly spread out from under her head, +casting no reflection. The shadow shrank back into the wall, oozed +into deeper shade and seemed to flow upwards in a liquid +wriggle.

+

In a flickering moment, Lorna heard the sound of a baby crying, +far above her head. She tried to look but she could see nothing. +her eyes were drawn back down to the alley. The black bundle +huddled on the ground. Just beyond it, the pool was widening on the +frosted ground, oozing far enough now to catch the orange light of +the next street lamp. In the numb bubble of observation, Lorna's +eyes looked up again. The shadow was climbing quickly, again with +that spidery speed. It swerved away from the edge of a window from +which light described a solid rectangle, then moved upwards. It +turned and Lorna got the impression of eyes looking at her from +within the oily darkness. She felt her whole being shrink back and +as she did, the thick, gloomy shape simply peeled off the wall +above her. Something that looked like a head turned and two eyes +caught the orange light. They whirled, altering the colour to +something that looked sick and suppurating. Lorna's fear screeched +inside her, a wire wound up to breaking point. The scuttling sound +came louder. Something small and white flopped inside the shade, +like a broken doll. Another something else, wet and warm, +splattered close by her with a small smacking sound. She felt a big +scream try to force itself out of her throat, then realised with +utter panic that no sound would come.

+

The thing, the shade, shadow, whatever it was came down the +wall, impossibly fast, jointed yet liquid. It hit the ground, +bounced and leapt towards her. A face from a nightmare, worse than +any nightmare came looming up at her. A mouth opened and +black spiked teeth glistened wetly.

+

Such was Lorna's terror that the scream building up behind her +locked throat broke through in a sudden explosion of noise. The +bubble of numb horror burst around her and the shadowed thing +winked out in an instant. The scream went on and on and on.

+

The noise came from so close that Jack almost stumbled off the +pavement as he walked quickly towards the street corner. It was +high-pitched enough to vibrate the thick glass of the grocer's +display window.

+

It happened just as he was walking past the fruit shop, like an +air-raid siren let off only inches from his ear, but higher than +that, the sound of a stone saw cutting brick. As he jerked round, a +slight girl came wheeling towards him, her face drained so white +she looked like a corpse, except for the wide open mouth and the +incredible noise that came out of it. She barged into him, half +falling, eyes gaping and so startling grey they seemed blind. Her +mouth was stretched wide enough for him to have counted her teeth +if there had been time. She stumbled and began to fall. Jack +reflexively reached and caught her, twisting himself to make sure +she didn't sprawl to the ground, and in the same moment knocked an +old woman's trolley to the pavement.

+

The girl's scream stopped abruptly. Her face went completely +slack and she sagged into him like a puppet with cut strings. All +the strength just went from her and her knees buckled. Jack got a +hand under her armpit and kept her upright, head swinging this way +and that, looking for a place to let the girl sit, or lie down. The +old woman whose trolley had been kicked to the far edge of the +pavement retrieved a fallen turnip and a cabbage which had been +inadvertently dribbled twenty feet down the road and then back +again by passing feet, came up to him and squinted through rheumy +eyes.

+

"You want to watch where you're going son," she said +indignantly, then added: "I hope your girl gets better."

+

Jack nodded, putting an apology into the short movement.

+

"Take her into the shop, son. They'll give her a glass of +water."

+

The girl was shivering against him, as if she was racked by a +fever, but against him she felt cold. He braced himself, swung her +up with an easy movement and elbowed his way past the gawpers into +the shop. The door swung back and he carried her straight past the +queue of people waiting with baskets of fruit and vegetables, all +staring with the blank curiosity of people who know something has +happened that they've missed.

+

A woman behind the counter asked if she could help him. Jack +said he needed a glass of water and a phone. He didn't stop, but +continued through to the back of the shop. As expected, he found a +sink cluttered with several cups. One or two of them were +clean.

+

There was a seat in the corner. Jack was considering whether to +try to balance the girl on it when the blonde woman came through +the narrow door.

+

"What's the matter?" she asked brusquely.

+

"I don't know. Something wrong with this girl."

+

"What? She faint or something?"

+

"Looks like it. Can you get a cup of water?"

+

The woman bustled to the sink, letting the door swing behind +her. It was her busy hour and it looked as if she could have done +without the interruption, but she rinsed a glass quickly, let the +water run for a while to let it get cold and turned towards +Jack.

+

"Well, put the wee thing down then," she said, her voice +softening down. "Oh my, would you look at her colour. Is she +expecting?"

+

Jack shrugged. "Damned if I know. I never met her before."

+

The shopkeeper gave him a quizzical look and Jack eased the girl +down to the seat. She was beginning to come round a little, but her +eyes still looked blind and dreamy, as if she was coming out of an +anaesthetic.

+

She gave a little hiccup and some colour same back into her +cheeks. The woman handed Jack the cup and he held it up to the +girl's lips.

+

"Here," he said, "Take a drop."

+

He tilted the glass and let some water dribble between her slack +lips. Some dripped onto the girl's lap, but enough got into her +mouth. The lips twitched and the girl's throat worked spasmodically +as she swallowed, then coughed. She came awake almost immediately, +yes blinking and watery, looking around, obviously completely +bewildered.

+

"Where....?" she started to say.

+

"It's alright dear. You've just taken a bad turn. You'll be +fine," the shopkeeper said. Satisfied that this was not a life and +death emergency, she gave the girl a smile, turned, and pushed her +way back into the shop.

+

Jack held up the cup and the girl took another drink, this time +deliberately. He kept tilting it as she demanded more and continued +until she'd finished the lot. Her colour was coming back +rapidly.

+

"What happened?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.

+

"I don't know. You let out a scream that would wake the dead and +started to fall. I managed to catch you before you took a dive for +the pavement. I had to carry you in here. Are you on any kind of +pills?"

+

"No," the girl said. She was looking down, eyebrows knotted in +concentration. She still hadn't looked at Jack.

+

"I don't know..." she started to say, paused, then changed +direction. "Something happened. I saw something."

+

"Like what?" Jack didn't have a clue what she was talking +about.

+

"It was in the dark. Something coming." Her brows knit further, +then she shook her head. "Oh I don't know. I can't remember. I +thought I saw an awful thing and it gave me a fright."

+

"You sure you're not on something?"

+

"No I'm sure," she said quickly and for the first time she +raised her eyes. They were still as startling metallic grey as they +had been outside the shop, but now they held expression. As soon as +she looked at Jack she flinched back and let out a small gasp. Her +hand jerked up towards her face.

+

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

+

The girl was staring at him. Her eyes were huge, winter pools in +a stormy sea. Her mouth opened slowly. She looked terrified.

+

"Are you going to faint again?" he asked.

+

She shook her head dumbly, and her mouth closed again. Her eyes +were scanning him as if searching for something. She looked +absolutely horrified, or terrified, though he couldn't decide +which. For a second he returned her gaze. Then she seemed to snap +out of it.

+

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought I..." she stopped again. Jack +wondered if she ever finished a sentence. "I don't know what I +thought. Oh Christ, I don't know what's happening."

+

"Do you want me to call a doctor? I can take you to the health +centre if you like."

+

"No thanks. I'll be fine."

+

"You don't look that fine to me. Where do you stay?"

+

"Clydeshore Avenue, across the bridge," Lorna said. "But I have +to get back to work."

+

"And where's that?" he insisted.

+

"The library. Just round at Strathleven."

+

"You sure you'll be alright?"

+

The girl nodded. She brought both hands up in front of her face +and breathed in deeply, still looking at Jack over the tips of her +fingers. He didn't know whether it was him or not, but the way +she'd looked at him at first made him feel he must have developed +some gross disfigurement, like leprosy. Now she looked at him with +something that looked very like fear.

+

"Don't worry, he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm a +policeman."

+

Lorna nodded. "I know. It's not that. Its..." she left another +sentence hanging, then completed another. "Look. I have to go +now."

+

She got to her feet, stumbled a little. Jack reached out a hand +and grabbed hers. As he did she jerked as if she'd been given a +heavy jolt and her face snapped round towards him. Her big eyes had +gone blind again, but this time they looked as if they were staring +right inside him. She made another strangled little sound in her +throat and pulled her hand away. As the contact broke, Jack felt a +tiny physical wrench.

+

She brushed past him, murmuring her thanks, pushed her way out +through the door, then past the crowd of people waiting to buy +vegetables and out into the street. Jack stood for a moment, slack +jawed, wondering what on earth that had all been about. He followed +her through, more slowly, his face a picture of puzzlement. By the +time he got to the pavement she was gone. He looked over the heads +of the passers by, quite easily because of his height, but there +was no sign of her. He hadn't even asked the girl's name. All he +could really recall about her were those fathomless grey eyes and +the look of fear in them when she'd glanced up at him. Jack was +sure he didn't look that scary. He shrugged and walked along River +Street.

+
+

Robbie Cattanach had said he'd met him in Mac's bar, which was a +hole of a place as far as comfort was concerned and rough and ready +as far as the regulars went, but it was close by and warm enough +and the Guinness was poured slowly and allowed to stand awhile +before Peter Hollinger, whose brother used to run the bar in Arden +a few miles down the road, would set it down before a paying +customer.

+

The young pathologist was not in sight when Jack pushed his way +through the crowd of lunchtime drinkers. There were a couple of +teenagers playing darts in the corner. Jack recognised the set of +their shoulders and their shocks of sandy hair as members of the +ever expanding Buist clan. One of them nodded to Jack, and the big +man gave him a wink. The younger generations were settling down, he +thought, remembering his father with a warm and slightly painful +glow.

+

He ordered a pint and leaned his elbow on the bar, making sure +he missed a puddle of beer. Hollinger, a bear of a man who ran a +civilised, if occasionally boisterous bar - aided by his old +shillelagh which hung beside the bottles on the gantry - let the +black stout pour slow as tar.

+

Somebody came up behind Jack and clapped him on the shoulder. He +turned, expecting to see Robbie Cattenach.

+

"Well fan my brow if it isn't Black Jack Shelack."

+

Mickey Haggerty made an exaggerated brow-fanning motion. He +stuck his hand out and gave Jack a crushing handshake that was in +complete contrast to the small man's wiry frame.

+

"How's it hanging Jake? Long time gone blind."

+

Jack remembered from childhood, and broke into a delighted grin. +"Yeah. Long time no see right enough Mickey. How's yourself?"

+

"Fair to bloody awful, but we've not died a winter yet. Here," +he said, indicating the pint Peter Hollinger was laying down with +magnificent reverence on the bar. "Let me get that."

+

"Best offer I've had in a wheen of days," Jack said, reverting +back to his childhood slang. "So, Apache Mick. You're getting more +like Jack Palance every time I see you."

+

"That's because I've had a hard life. I've a face that's worn +out three bodies. Not like you fellas who get cushy jobs and get +your names in the papers. The last time I got that I was up for +drunk and incapable. I admitted I was drunk, but I've never been +incapable. There's a dozen women of this fair town would swear to +that, but they huckled me for it anyway. You wouldn't do that Jake, +would you?"

+

"Not if I was drinking with you. I carried you home often enough +as I recall."

+

"That's 'cause I'm just a wee toaty fella," Mickey +agreed amiably. Jack took a deep swallow of his beer, knowing he +shouldn't but not caring much of a damn and felt a warm glow from +his chance meeting with an old friend from the old days.

+

"Must be a couple of years since you were last in here," Mickey +ventured.

+

"Yeah. About that." Jack agreed. "It hasn't changed much."

+

Mickey winked. He'd a cheerful, well used face with prominent +cheeks and a shock of boyish fair hair.

+

"Listen, I was sorry to hear about your wife, and all that. And +your girl. Fucking awful."

+

Jack nodded, keeping his face straight. He was getting used to +this by now. "Aye, sure was."

+

The two of them studied their pints for a moment of awkward +silence, then Mickey, irrepressible at any time, chimed in.

+

"Anyway, it's good to see you, Commanche, no matter what. Life +goes on, eh?"

+

Jack looked at him and felt a reluctant grin force its way +across his face. Life goes on. Yes, he thought, sometimes it does. +Sometimes it stops dead and sometimes going on is the hardest thing +to do.

+

"So you're looking for the nutter that killed the old +biddy?"

+

"Yea. Not an easy one."

+

"Well, I hope you catch the bastard. Nice old soul she was. My +mother used to go to her a few years back. She was spot on. Told +her she was coming in to money, and the next week she took the +roll-up at the bingo and came out with two grand. Bought me a new +suit, in case I did something stupid and got married, but I pawned +it and lost the money on a horse."

+

Jack laughed for the first time that day. It was typical of +Mickey. He'd been an engineer on merchant navy boats for years, +travelling round the world, bringing home exotic tales to tell in +Mac's bar and then he'd quit travelling. Now he drove a rubbish +dump truck, a position he claimed was ideally suited to him because +it came with absolutely no authority whatsoever, allowed him to +take a day off fishing whenever he liked, and paid enough to get +him from one weekend to the other most times. He was the most +irresponsible, but probably the most genuine fellow Jack knew. He +had two real hobbies. He played snooker to almost professional +level, but not seriously enough to want to make the big time, with +the added responsibility that would bring, and an abiding interest, +for some reason, in American Indian culture. he'd been like that +ever since he was a kid in Castlebank School, and nothing had +changed.

+

"So what's the score with old Marta then. They say she was dead +for a few days."

+

"Yes. A week past Saturday."

+

Mickey frowned.

+

"That was a bummer of a night. I nearly got drowned on River +Street coming out of here. Tide was backed up and coming up the +pends from Quay Street. You could have moored boats on the +pavement. I'd a fair drink in me, 'cause I'd just won a double on +two horses at Ayr. Blew the lot. It was too heavy to carry +home."

+

"You didn't see anything on your way home," Jack asked +casually.

+

"What's this, the third degree?"

+

"Save me taking you in for questioning," Jack shot back, and +Mickey laughed.

+

"Well, I saw two young fellas on bikes come up on the pavement. +Graham Friel's boy was one of them. I remember he nearly couped me +off my feet. The water was too deep round at the corner to get +through. Looked as if they were on powerboats by the wash they were +setting up."

+

Mickey closed his eyes, thinking. "I got a light off a bloke. +Shuggy Thomson. He'd a fair skinful in him. Could hardly walk. The +buses were diverted up College Street, so I had to go along to the +bridge, and it was bloody freezing."

+

He paused for a moment, frowning.

+

"Oh, here. Now I remember. Somebody passed be just by the old +shoe shop. I can't remember the man's name, but he's a good punter. +He was in the bookie's putting bets on the same day as me. Irish, I +think. He's had a bad couple of hits on the horses, I can tell you +that, but he keeps on putting the money down."

+

Mickey stopped again. "I crossed the road. Amazing what you can +remember when you try hard. I went down Brewery lane for a pee. +That was murder, I can tell you. The wind was blowing a gale, and +if you pee into the wind, you only get your own back."

+

Jack looked at him, puzzled, and a second later he caught +Mickey's drift and laughed again.

+

"That doesn't make me a suspect, does it?" Mickey asked, trying +to keep his face straight, but unable to conceal the mischief in +his eyes.

+

"Not yet. But I'll need a witness who saw you at home."

+

"That might be difficult, for I never got home. I stayed with a +lady. Her man's working on the rigs and isn't due back for two +months, and I'm sure as hell not giving her name, and don't you be +telling my sister either."

+

Jack grinned again, but stopped when Mickey's brow drew down +again in that furrow of concentration.

+

"Wait a minute. When I came up the lane I bumped into somebody. +he was coming in the opposite direction, heading down River Street. +Who was it now," he said, taking his chin between finger and +thumb.

+

"I know. It was yon minister, Simpson. You know the man. Big in +the masons. His mug is never out of the papers. Always looks as if +he's eating shit, he's that torn-faced."

+

"Can't say I do," Jack said.

+

"Aye. He was scooting along the road in a big rush." Mickey +stopped again. "Hold on. I stood and watched him. He never even +said sorry for nearly knocking me on the face. He went down River +Street and turned into Boat Pend."

+

Suddenly Jack was all attention.

+

"You sure? That was on the Saturday night?"

+

"Dead sure. I was pissed, but I never forget. You never know +when you'll need an alibi. It was definitely him. I remember +thinking what a toffee nosed bastard he was, and a bigot besides, +but he never even looked the road I was on. Man of God? He would +have left me lying in the gutter unless I was showing my left +leg."

+

"And this other man. The one from the betting shop. Did he go +anywhere near there?"

+

"He was heading that way, but I couldn't be sure. I'll remember +his name in a while."

+

He took a big swallow of his drink, finished his beer and set +the empty glass down on the bar. Jack offered him a refill, but +Mickey shook his head.

+

"Driving all day. But if you're back in tonight, I'll take all +you're prepared to buy."

+

He reached up and clapped Jack on the shoulder. "Hope you catch +the bastard Jake. Kick the shite out of them when you do."

+

Jack said he'd think about it. He'd been thinking about it for +the past few days. By the time he finished his own beer, Robbie +Cattanach hadn't appeared. Jack toyed with the idea of another, +then decided against it. What Mickey had told him was worth +following up. He left mac's bar, turned the corner at Market +Street, and headed up to the station.

+

Superintendent Ronald Cowie had left a message for him to come +straight up to his office. The senior officer was sitting behind +his desk and did not look up as Jack came in. Jack ignored the lack +of welcome and sat himself down on a chair on the near side of the +desk.

+

"I was hoping for a progress report," Cowie said.

+

"No progress so far," Jack replied. "You've got everything I +have."

+

"And that's not very much."

+

"You're right," Jack agreed, keeping his voice steady, refusing +to rise to it.

+

Cowie turned in his swivel seat and swung back again with a +handful of newspaper clippings.

+

"One killing and one abduction. It's all over the front pages. +It's been nearly a week and we've nothing to show for it."

+

"These things take time," Jack said. "What we have are two +separate incidents in different parts of the town. One a murder, +and the other a possible murder. We have no serious witnesses. +We've rounded up every peeping Tom and flasher. We've taken two +hundred fingerprints. We've had TV and newspaper appeals, and we've +been round a thousand doors asking questions. We just have to keep +on going. Something will show and then we can move."

+

"I don't see any sign of progress," Cowie said, running a paper +knife between his fingers, trying to look like a hard man, which +Jack knew he wasn't.

+

"There's not much, but I have a couple of things I have to check +out."

+

"And what's that?"

+

"Well, I've got one name of somebody seen in the area on the +night in question, and I'm hoping for another. They don't sound +like likely suspects, but if they were close to the scene, they +might have something to tell me."

+

"Who's the name?"

+

"A man called Simpson. He's a minister."

+

"What Bill Simpson?" From Castlebank Church?"

+

"That's the man."

+

"He's a friend of mine. A very good friend."

+

Jack didn't doubt it. As soon as Mickey Haggerty had mentioned +the masons, that connection had been an odds-on-certainty.

+

"He's also a church representative on the council. He's very +close to the police committee. Do you really think we should bother +him?"

+

Jack waved to the pile of press cuttings.

+

"I'll bother anybody if it gets me a result."

+

"Well, I want you to take it very easy with Bill Simpson."

+

"I'll try to get the handshake right," Jack said wearily.

+

"What's that?"

+

"You heard."

+

"I heard insubordination, that's what I heard."

+

"No you didn't. You asked for a progress report. I gave you what +I have. I'm keeping you abreast of the situation, which isn't very +much at the moment."

+

"I could have you taken off both of these cases, Fallon. Just +like that," he said, snapping his fingers.

+

Jack stood up, and put his hands on the table. His black hair +had fallen down over his brow. He towered over the seated man.

+

"Listen, Superintendent. You've not got your arse in Angus +McNicol's seat just yet. I don't give a flying fuck if you can take +me off this or not, but I don't think our boss would like it."

+

"I should have been in charge right from the start," Cowie said, +angrily.

+

"And have you wondered why you weren't?"

+

"You...." Cowie started to raise his voice. "Get out of +my office, or I'll put you on report."

+

"Yes. You do that. And let me get on with my job," Jack said, +giving the man a hard, black, and utterly contemptuous look. he +turned and stalked through the doorway, slamming the door behind +him.

+

Despite what he'd said to his immediate superior, Jack had +already decided to take it easy with Simpson. He went back down to +Cairn House with John McColl and they knocked on all the doors +again, asking the neighbours more questions. The young couple who +lived directly below Marta Herkik's flat were quite definite. There +had been noises on the Saturday night, around ten o'clock. They'd +been watching a video at the time, a space movie about an alien. +Jack recalled what Robbie Cattanach had said, and thought it was +appropriate. It was definitely the Saturday night, because that's +the only day either of them, both working in offices in Glasgow, +ever got the chance to hire movie cassettes from the video shop. +The girl, a plump, but pleasant faced young woman - they'd been +married for only three months - had gone to bed halfway through the +film because she'd found it too scary and too gruesome. She had +first heard the bumping noises from upstairs, but they'd soon +stopped. There had been people on the outside stairs earlier on in +the night, but that wasn't unusual. Marta Herkik often had visitors +who came to get their fortunes told, but nobody had seen anyone on +the stairs.

+

All of the neighbours told the same story, except for the lower +dwellers who hadn't heard the noises in Marta's rooms. None of them +had had any visitors themselves that night. Only one had gone out, +to pick up a Chinese meal from the take-away on the far side of the +bridge, but that was just after seven in the evening.

+

Jack left the building again, thinking. If the minister +had gone down Boat Pend, there were few other places he +could have been heading for. The alley went right down to the old +quayside, but it was unlikely he'd be going there, for the whole of +the harbour had been under a foot of water, thanks to the high tide +and the backing gale sweeping up the firth. There were no other +houses easily accessible from the covered alley. There was a +chandler's business attached to a fishing tackle shop, and the old +bakery further along the quayside which was still operating, but +wouldn't have opened until five in the morning. There was also the +Castlegate Bar, a water-rat dive where no minister would have been +seen dead.

+

No, he thought, it was possible, that Simpson had been heading +up the stairs to the old woman's flat.

+

And if he had, why had he, a man of god, been visiting a +medium?

+

Despite the possibility, it didn't seem likely.

+

Jack picked up his car from behind the newsagent's shop and +drove to the east side of town where the old buildings, sandstone +tenements and a few detached houses, gave on to a more modern +housing estate. The basalt rock where Levenford's castle fort had +perched since before the pyramids were built, loomed against the +darkening skyline as evening fell swiftly. The lights up on the +ramparts were haloed yellow in the hard frost thickening the +air.

+

William Simpson's wife Betty was small and silver-haired, though +Jack guessed she was a few years younger than she looked. When he +had introduced himself an odd tight expression flickered on her +face and then was gone. She invited him in and led him to the +living room at the back of the manse. She poured him tea from a +small china pot, a bird-like woman making fluttering motions. The +cup rattled a little on the saucer when she handed it over to him. +She did not appear overly nervous, but she gave Jack the impression +of a woman with something on her mind.

+

"It's just routine," Jack said encouragingly. "I was hoping to +speak to your husband."

+

"What about?"

+

"Oh, I'm hoping he can help me. In fact I'm rather counting on +the fact that he's got a good memory. I'm in charge of the +investigation into the death of Mrs Herkik. You'll probably have +read about it."

+

The minister's wife turned her lips down. "The psychic. I don't +agree with dabbling in that kind of thing," she said.

+

"Me neither," Jack agreed, quite untruthfully. He had no +thoughts one way or the other on the issue. Spiritualism and +fortune telling was all mumbo-jumbo to him, even established +churches fell into that category. "But I have to investigate, and +I'm hoping your husband can help me there."

+

"You think he had something to do with it?"

+

"Oh, no. It's just that somebody mentioned he might have been in +the vicinity at the time."

+

The woman frowned and shook her head, as if any connection +between a minister and a medium was out of the question.

+

"When was that?"

+

"A week past Saturday."

+

"No. Not possible," Mrs Simpson said immediately. "William +always does his sermon after dinner, then he works in his darkroom +most of the evening. Never comes out until late."

+

"You mean he wasn't even out of the house?"

+

"Not the house. His dark-room's in the church basement."

+

"I see," Jack said agreeably.

+

"But you can ask him yourself," the woman said, taking a small +sip of tea. "He's there now. He'll be in for his dinner any +minute."

+

Jack said that would be fine. Betty Simpson poured another cup +for each of them into small china cups and sipped delicately, +looking at the policeman over the rim. Upstairs, Jack heard +footsteps, then louder ones on the stairs he'd passed on his way to +the living room. The door opened. He'd expected the minister, but +it was a girl of seventeen or so, taller than her mother. She had +dark, plain glasses and frizzy hair. She looked at Jack +curiously.

+

"When's dinner," he asked. "I've got a study group tonight."

+

"Another half hour, Fiona. We're just waiting for your +father."

+

The girl nodded, non committally and went out of the room again. +He could hear her moving about in what he took to be the kitchen. +Betty Simpson looked at the clock on the wall, checked the time +against her watch, then called for her daughter again. The girl +leaned into the room a few moments later.

+

"Could you give your father a knock? He's in his darkroom."

+

Fiona pulled a face. Jack caught the expression and it struck +him this was not a completely loving household, but that could have +been said for half the homes he visited in the course of his +work.

+

"Always pottering about down there. He's in the camera club," +she said, then added with a hint of dryness in her voice: "as well +as a few other things. He could have used the basement here, but he +said the boiler room was much better for developing. I suppose it +keeps him out from under my feet."

+

They talked on for a few minutes more when a piercing scream +launched Jack out of his seat. It wad the second one he'd heard +that day. This one was just as shattering as the first. He was at +the door before he even turned to look at the woman.

+

Her face had gone ashen. She was sitting stock still, with both +hands clenched in front of her. Her eyes were fixed and glittering +behind the half-moon glasses that had slid half-way down her nose, +and they gave her the look of someone who knew something she had +feared had just become a reality.

+

"Oh my God, what's he done to her," she said through gritted +teeth. Jack went through the doorway, almost knocking a coatstand +over in the hallway. The scream continued, sharp as glass. He was +round the side of the house when it stopped suddenly, then came +back in a series of high-pitched barks, the kind of noise a fox +makes when it is trapped in a den while the terriers growl and snap +outside.

+

He ran past the wrought iron gate before he realised where the +sound was coming from, stopped himself in mid stride by grabbing +one of the bars and swung himself around. Betty Simpson was coming +out of the house, her small frame outlined by the light in the +hallway. Both hands were now clamped up at her face. Jack skittered +down the stairs, shouldered the door open and found himself in the +basement under the church. The boiler threw off a lot of heat as it +rumbled and gurgled in the corner. Off to the left, beyond the +stack of organ pipes, a door in the wall lay open. The screeching +cries came from there. He made it in three steps, went straight in +and saw William Simpson hanging from a beam, his toes only six +inches from the floor.

+

Fiona Simpson was backed up against the wall. Her eyes were +bulging and pale behind the thick glasses. Her mouth was open so +wide her jaw looked as if it had sprung out of the hinges. Jack +moved forward, reached a head up to the man's swollen face and felt +under the chin for a pulse. There was nothing. The eyes were +staring and the tongue lolled, almost black. The body was quite +warm. He turned to the girl, blocking off the sight of her father +dangling from the low ceiling. He tried to take a hold of her hand, +but she snatched it away and then, quite surprisingly, started +beating at him with both fists. The blows were flabby and +ineffectual. Jack ignored them, and simply enfolded her in his +arms, and all the jerking life went out of her. She sagged against +him, her whole body shaking and then her knees gave way. Again, for +the second time that day, Jack lifted a girl off her feet and +walked. He managed to get both of them out of the room, hooking the +door shut with a foot, and then to the outside door and up the +stairs. Betty Simpson was hovering at the gate.

+

"What's happened. What has he done."

+

"Back to the house," Jack said, brushing past her, the girl +still flopped in his arms.

+

"But..." the woman started to say.

+

"Come on now. Do as I say. Get back to the house. Now!" +he shouted, more loudly and harshly than he should have. He carried +the girl to the manse, shouldered the door open again, walked +straight into the living room and laid her down on the chintzy +sofa. She flopped awkwardly, skirt rucked up over heavy +hockey-playing thighs. He didn't notice. Instead, he turned to the +girl's mother.

+

"Make sure she's alright. I have to use the phone."

+

"But what's happened?" the woman protested again.

+

"I don't know yet. Just tend to the girl. I'll get the +rest."

+

He gently eased her back into the living room. Found the phone +in the hallway and made two calls. In five minutes the first police +car arrived in the driveway of Castlebank Church Manse.

+

Within an hour the body of William Simpson had been cut down and +taken away, after all the photographs had been taken and the cellar +checked out by Ralph Slater and his team who were certainly earning +their pay over the past week or so. Jack Fallon had already been +summoned to Superintendent Cowie's office, and he knew why, but he +decided to let the man kick his heels for a while. What they'd +found in the cellar under the church gave him too much work to +do.

+

Jack spent another two hours talking to Simpson's widow. His +daughter was unfit for any questioning. She had remained hysterical +for half an hour before lapsing into a state of almost catatonic +shock. An hour after that, she'd come out of the stasis and started +screaming again. By this time Doctor Bell had arrived. he rolled up +the girl's sleeve and gave her something which took about forty +seconds to work and the girl's eyes rolled upwards and she fell +asleep. Betty Simpson said she needed no pills or potions.

+

After Jack had phoned the office and then the ambulance service, +he'd gone back own to the cellar to double check the man hanging +from the beam. His first assessment had been right. Simpson was as +dead as a door-post. Jack was badly disappointed that he hadn't +been able to question the man. He'd had a quick glimpse around the +cluttered room and his eyes immediately lighted on a number of +things that he knew would demand a lot of attention. This, he knew +in those few minutes, was no ordinary suicide. He'd gone back into +the house and told the woman to sit down beside her now silent and +shivering daughter, then he'd told her that her husband was +dead.

+

She'd gone stock still and then lowered herself very slowly onto +the chair.

+

It was hard to tell, but to Jack, the expression that had +flickered on her face was not one of shock, as he'd have expected, +but of relief.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike09.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike09.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dffde35 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike09.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,562 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 9 + + + + +
+
+

9

+

"I don't have to tell you that I don't want a word of this +getting out yet," Jack said to the assembled men in the room just +down the corridor from his own small office.

+

"And that tape stays in the safe. Any bootleg copies and you'll +have me to answer to, as well as the Court of Session."

+

There was a general muttering. Some of them men turned to look +at their colleagues as if protesting their innocence, protesting at +the suggestion that they might even consider such a thing.

+

"We don't know if there is a connection, except that +we're fairly sure he was seen near the scene of Marta Herkik's +murder on the night in question, so I want you to get back round +the doors and ask some more questions."

+

Ralph Slater was sitting at the back of the room, his doleful +face in his hands.

+

"Right lads, back out in to the night, and see if you can bring +me something."

+

There was more general muttering as they moved out. Jack had +managed to borrow four other officers, two men and two women from a +neighbouring division, all of whom had worked or lived in Levenford +at some time. It made it easier when the police knew the ground. It +helped when you were looking for connections.

+

Jack motioned to Ralph Slater who was at the tail end of the +group leaving the room, then beckoned to John McColl..

+

"You wait on.There's a couple of things you might want a look +at."

+

Both men nodded agreeably and followed Jack back to the office +on the corner. On the way, John paused. "The superintendent's +looking for you."

+

"I know that. I'm busy."

+

"I'd watch him. He's a real bad bastard."

+

"Not as bad as me when I make my mind up to it," Jack responded +with a tight smile.

+

"He could break you, you know. Just a word of warning."

+

"I could give a damn. He's as useless as tits on a bull."

+

"Just thought I'd put my spoke in," John said. "The boys think +you're okay, despite the degree."

+

John was referring to Jack's accelerated promotion, something +that had come almost automatically after he'd gained honours in +criminology. The degree had helped in other ways. He'd made a very +helpful range of contacts at the university.

+

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. Tell them I appreciate it. +I'll tell them myself when I get the chance."

+

He opened the door and let them in before him, then crossed to +the television in the corner. A video recorder sat on top of the +set.

+

"Looks like another bummer as far as immediate forensics are +concerned," Ralph said. "I don't think there's ever been anybody in +that room but him. We've not checked the prints, but the ones we +have lifted seem to be from the same pair of hands."

+

"You can tell that just by looking?"

+

"Been in the game a long time," Ralph replied, taking the +compliment.

+

"What did you think of the set-up?"

+

"Bloody weird. Looks like a right nutter."

+

Jack went along with that, but there was more.

+

When he'd gone back down the narrow staircase to Simpson's +cellar, he'd had the same sense of wrongness that he'd +felt in the Herkik house. It was nothing that he could put his +finger on, just a feeling that prickled the hairs on the back of +his neck and scraped on his nerves like nails on a blackboard. +Maybe it was the sum total of many things.

+

The place had smelled like the Herkik murder scene. A +mixture of blood and dust. The only difference was, there was no +scent of charred flesh. The odour of faeces and urine had hung in +the air like a dirty mist, an assault on the nose, and underlying +that, a whiff of something rotten.

+

Simpson was turning slowly on the rope, his head to the side, +swollen and turning black, jaw jutting to the left, making his lip +pout like a man who's had a stroke. He was naked, apart from a pair +of Argyll socks and plain black shoes. His clothes were neatly +folded on the desk. Below him, saturated with blood, a pair of +small plain panties lay crumpled on the floor beside an equally +soaked handkerchief. The man's eyes bulged out from behind a small, +pink pair of glasses that looked incongruously childish on the +bloated face. One of the lenses was completely gone and through the +empty frame, Jack could see the dead man's eye socket was a mass of +blood. At first glance it looked as if there was no eye at all.

+

Jack walked slowly around the slowly turning cadaver. The stench +was overpowering. There was a mess on the upturned chair and on the +threadbare carpet on which it lay. The thick electrical flex had +been tied with a simple knot to a screw-in hook which had been +driven into the solid wood of the beam above. The noose was a +simple hitch loop, not the kind a hangman would have used. As he +moved around, Jack saw something pink lying on the floor. He +hunkered down, careful to touch nothing.

+

He peered closer and saw the little fingers splayed out and his +heart sank, his mind immediately conjuring up the baby picture +Cissie Doyle had given him of her missing baby. He breathed a sigh +of relief when he edged closer and saw that it was not a baby's +hand. The light above glinted on the smooth plastic of a doll's +arm, baby pudgy, its shoulder end red with congealing blood. He +drew a deep breath, thankful it had not been little Timmy +Doyle, though after five days, the hopes of finding the baby alive +in any case were fading to zero.

+

After a moment, he stood up again and continued his slow walk +around the hanging man. The desk, apart from the clothes, was +completely covered in ten by eight black and white photographs, all +of them showing children, some taken from odd angles. Over against +the wall, there was sink and a draining board bearing flat oblong +containers. These two held pictures. Jack could smell the fixer +fluid. One glance at the photographs floating in the discoloured +liquid told him there was something else very odd about the +Reverend William Simpson. He leaned over to have another look. The +first picture was very clear, a little girl lying on grass. The +second was, at first glimpse, a confusing jumble of lines and +shades. He shifted, cocking his head to the side, and then the +picture snapped into clarity. It was the same child, taken from a +different angle, much closer in. Jack could tell by the position of +the left knee which was slightly raised out from the body. The +close up shot angled between the pale thighs to a glistening dark +patch. As soon as the picture flicked into focus, Jack knew the +dark patch was blood.

+

An instant flash of memory hit him like a kick in the belly, and +on its heels a sudden surge of almost uncontrollable anger. He +turned away from the developing containers, feeling hot bile rise +in his throat and the muscles of his stomach clench and unclench. +Simpson's one eye glared at him from behind the child's glasses. +For an incandescent second he wanted to rip the corpse down and +kick it and not stop until there was nothing left. His fists balled +his knuckles white, but he pressed down on his anger, turning away, +continuing the round.

+

It was then that he heard the whispering whirr from the filing +cabinet directly opposite the hanged man. He moved forward +carefully, making sure he stood on nothing and leaned to the right. +The lens of the video camera was like a black eye inside the hood. +On the side of the camera, a small red light winked in the dark of +the corner.

+

"Jesus," Jack breathed. He was about to say something else, but +then he realised that if the tape was running, everything that +happened in the room would be evidence, faithfully recorded on +tape. He thought back to his anger bubbling up and a sick feeling +of relief welled up from the pit of his belly that he hadn't hauled +the dead man down and kicked the shit out of him. That would have +looked very bad in court.

+

He walked quickly past the blind eye of the lens, a blind eye +that was taking everything in, then turned to Simpson. He was now +facing straight at the policeman, head jerked to the side, face +black, chest matted with blood which had streaked down a protruding +belly and tangled in the grey pubic hairs. Between the legs, penis +and testicles were grossly swollen, as black as the face was. +Tightly wrapped around them was a black electrical cable.

+

And from the cable dangled the weight of an old pressing iron. +It knocked like a pendulum against the dead man's shins, pointing +to the ground like a ponderous arrowhead.

+

As Jack stood staring, footsteps thudded down he stone steps +outside the basement. The door banged open and the footfalls, now +louder, clattered towards the store-room. John McColl lowered his +head to save banging it on the lintel, came squeezing through the +narrow door, then raised himself up to almost his full height.

+

"Came as quickly as I..." he started to say, then saw the naked +and bloody apparition dangling from the beam.

+

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jack," he said before Jack could stop +him. "What the hell's going on here?"

+

Jack held a finger up to his lips. He was standing off to the +side, away from where the lens was pointing. He jerked a finger in +the direction of the camcorder and then made a sliding motion with +one finger across his neck.

+

"What's that?" Big John asked. His eye took in what Jack was +pointing at.

+

"Oh shite," the policeman said.

+

Two hours later Jack sat beside Ralph Slater facing the +television in the office.

+

He used a remote control to switch it on, selected a spare +channel, then used a forefinger to push the play button on the +camera which sat beside it, an umbilical cable connecting it to the +set.

+

"I've already had a look at some of this, but we'll take it +right from the start. We'll probably need batteries before the +night's out."

+

"We've got a cassette adaptor. It lets you use these things in a +recorder," Ralph offered,

+

"That would help," Jack agreed. "Now, are you sitting +comfortably?"

+

It was a poor attempt at levity, but the other two went along +with it. For the next hour, they sat, horribly fascinated, as they +watched the death of William Simpson in all its detail again and +again.

+
+

It was the most appalling, most fascinating thing either of them +had even seen, and the most horrific Ralph Slater had ever +witnessed, chiefly because he was always on the scene after a +death, using his skills to work out what had happened. Now his +abilities, he thought, were redundant. There was no doubt about +what had happened to William Simpson.

+

It was not the worst thing Jack had ever seen, not by a long +chalk, because what was unfolding on the television screen was +happening to somebody he did not know, or particularly care about. +He cared even less after what he'd seen in the developing trays on +the draining board.

+

The screen ran blank for less than a second, then flickered to +life. Something blurred, casting a shadow, then pulled back, +focussing in to become the hand that had been used to press the +record button. The scene jiggled a little as the camera was moved +slightly, then went still. The focus was clear and distinct and +there was enough light from the overhead bulb to throw everything +into sharp detail.

+

Simpson leaned back, staring into the lens. His face held no +expression whatsoever. He stood like that, staring with dead eyes +right at the two policemen, and raised his hands up to pull his +dog-collar away from his neck. The sound came crisp and sharp. They +could even hear the rustle of the material. He turned and laid the +collar and the black front bib down on the table, then removed his +jacket and his trousers. He swivelled to face the camera again, +standing in his shirt and a pair of oddly bright boxer shorts. He +started removing buttons then slipped the shirt from his shoulders. +They were beefy and covered in hair. He laid it down with the rest +of his clothes, taking his time to fold it neatly, bent, grunting a +little, and removed the shorts before taking the belt from his +trousers and cinching it around his paunchy waist then turned to +stare once again, into the lens.

+

"Are you all sitting comfortably" he said. It gave Jack a +shiver. He hadn't watched the complete re-run. Simpson had said +exactly what he himself had asked Ralph Slater. It was almost like +deja-vu.

+

"Then I'll begin," Simpson continued. He had a strong, quite +deep voice, one used to preaching from the pulpit.

+

Just then, he smiled at the camera. The movement only +encompassed his mouth. His eyes did not smile at all. They looked +completely and utterly lifeless. It was like watching a rictus +develop on a corpse.

+

The man turned to the desk, opened a drawer and pulled out a +small box. He reached for his jacket, fished out a ring of keys, +slotted one into the lock and snapped it open. The lid rose with a +tiny squeal of protest. Jack thought it was like watching someone +perform a religious ceremony. It reminded him of catholic priests +he'd seen at the occasional funeral or wedding. They always seemed +to open something and bring out sacred objects. Simpson was +handling each of the articles and lay them down with a certain +decree of reverence. Jack recognised the little panties he'd seen +lying wet on the floor. The white square of handkerchief followed, +then the small pair of pink spectacles, then the doll's arm.

+

The minister lifted them all and placed them on a chair in front +of the camera, laying the cloth objects over the back. The +spectacles he slid over his nose, hooking the short, pliable legs +behind his ears with some difficulty, then stuck the doll's arm +under his belt, where it remained like a twisted pink handgun.

+

He moved away then returned, filling the screen. At first, none +of them could make out what he had in his hands, then the man moved +and they could see it clearly. The light glanced off the flat-iron +and beamed coldly into the screen. Simpson carefully mounted the +chair. They saw him first take the flex and loop it slowly around +his testicles. The erection started immediately. Another loop spun +round the rising penis, then three more, before, with a quick +movement, the man tied a quick knot and jerked hard. They all heard +the sudden groan of pain. The iron lowered slowly from his hands +and jarred to a stop when it reached the end of its travel. The +three of them groaned aloud, as Simpson had done, and +simultaneously crossed their legs, imagining the excruciating pain +they would have felt. The minister's mouth only twisted downwards a +little, but his eyes remained expressionless, and that was the most +awful thing about it. He looked like a man in a complete trance, +like a walking automaton.

+

Everything at the man's crotch swelled hugely, until both +observers thought they might burst, although they knew that had not +happened.

+

"For the love of God," Ralph muttered. It was the first word +either of them had spoken since the machine had started to +turn.

+

On screen the minister took the other piece of flex and tied it +carefully, near the middle of its length, on the hook close to his +head. The short end he roped twice around his own neck, then tied +the loose piece to the short length reaching to the hook, thus +securing the noose. It was pulled so tightly he was hauled up on to +the balls of his feet.

+

The back of the chair was just high enough for him to reach for +the little panties. He picked them up and ran them over his face, +snuffling at them like a pig rooting for acorns, like a dog +checking a bitch. When he drew it down again, they watched as he +slid his tongue over his bottom lip.

+

"Ha ha," he said. It was not a laugh. It was a statement. Jack +felt his hackles rise again. Beside him, John pulled himself back +slightly. The flat sound the man had made was cold as ice. His eyes +glared from the screen.

+

He rubbed the panties over his chest, then down his belly and +finally to his groin. He held the material over his swollen organ +and started to rub it slowly up and down.

+

"Suffer little children," he said, in a voice that was a dreamy +moan. "Better for thee that they put a millstone round thy neck and +cast thyself into the sea, than thou corrupt any of these, my +little ones."

+

Simpson grinned, though his eyes still glared, then the grin +faded. The man started out from the flat screen and the eyes lost +their hard, mad look. He reached out a hand towards the +camera, still holding the little panties. His face sagged, like a +child about to cry. They saw his lips move, trying to articulate +again. He mumbled something.

+

"What was that?" John asked.

+

Jack held up a hand and leaned forward to the screen, head half- +turned to listen.

+

The minister whispered again.

+

"Help me". Both of them heard the words. The man's eyes +rolled, as if he'd just awoken and discovered himself in danger. +Ralph looked at Jack, eyebrows raised.

+

Then in a flick, the expression changed again. The eyes went +stony and flat, as if a film of ice had frosted them over.

+

"No help. No help. None for the wicked." the hard voice, so +different from the pained whisper, snapped out.

+

"To be, or not to be. That is the question." Despite the +constriction of the rope, the words came out clearly +enunciated.

+

"That is the choice. Look at this vessel. This vassal. A man of +calling. He has been called, and he knows not what he does."

+

"What's that, the bible?"

+

Jack hushed him again.

+

Simpson snickered. There was no other way to describe the noise +that came from behind his teeth. His lips stretched back in a +grimace, but the eyes remained flat and dead.

+

He reached with he left hand and plucked the little doll's arm +from where it stuck out from the belt and held it up just in front +of his face. Both policemen could see that his cheeks were dark +red, dangerously purple. His temples looked swollen.

+

With a sudden jerk, he drew the arm down, shoulder end towards +him. A little spike of metal, what had probably been a hook to hold +the arm on to the rest of the doll's body, drove into the flesh on +the side of his chest, just above the flabby man-breast. With a +quick sideways movement which puckered the pale skin, he drew the +thing across for a couple of inches. Blood immediately welled from +the tear and flowed down in lines.

+

It happened so quickly that Jack had to replay the scene a +couple of times. As he rewound, he could see the hand jitter and +jerk, spasmodically as the man used the spike to tear at his own +flesh.

+

The cuts were not random. At the third viewing of that little +splice of the scene which unfolded before their eyes, Jack was able +to make out what was happening. Simpson was using the jagged metal +to write on his own flesh.

+

Two words, now obscured by blood. Jack hadn't noticed them when +he'd gone down to the cellar a second time. All he had seen was the +sheen of red that covered the man's entire chest and belly.

+

Two words. The rose.

+

Jack stared. He remembered what Walker had said about the two +words written on Marta Herkik's walls. They could have been an +anagram. He'd plucked two out from the mix of the letters. One of +them had been just the words Simpson was scrawling on his own skin +as the blood blurted, gouging the letters with quick rips and pulls +in living colour, in dying playback.

+

When the man had finished, he reached behind him and plucked up +the tiny handkerchief. He slapped it to his chest and immediately +it turned dark red as it mopped up the fresh blood. He brought it +away from his chest and held it up, squeezing it in his hand so +that little scarlet drops dribbled from it sluggishly.

+

"And this is my blood, of the old and everlasting covenant, the +mystery of faith which has been be shared by many. I will take this +and I will drink it, all of it so that sins may be revealed."

+

"That's not right," McColl said. "That's not the words." John +McColl was a Catholic who attended St Rowan's Church every Sunday +and even now still ate fish on a Friday.

+

Jack ignored him, fascinated, though repelled, by the action on +the small screen.

+

Simpson held the bloody cloth up to his face and rammed it into +his mouth. Gurgling, sucking noises issued out of the speaker. It +had an eerie quality, like a ravenous dog wolfing food. The man +drew the cloth away, showing his face, bloodied and smeared from +nose to chin. He held the scrap up again, like a prize, then +dropped it to the floor, where it flopped wetly.

+

"Let the contest now begin," he said, then grinned again in that +dead cold rictus. Even his teeth were stained red. "The summons is +made, the vessel is empty. The challenge is thrown."

+

McColl squirmed in his seat. "Is this man a loony or what?"

+

On screen Simpson glared blankly at the camera, the deadly smile +fading. He opened his mouth, his face now swollen and purpling like +a beetroot.

+

"If I should die before I wake, I pray to hell my soul to +take."

+

Just at that instant, the flat expression left the man's face. +The eyes rolled wildly. He shook his head, left and right, as if +denying the words that had come out of his mouth. He raised a hand +to try to grasp the cable that suspended him from the hook on the +joist.

+

Then the chair flew away.

+

They replayed that few seconds over and over again, and neither +of them was able to say what had happened. The man was shaking his +head, reaching for the noose, face turning black, when the chair +simply kicked backwards and tumbled to the floor.

+

Simpson made a grunting sound, the kind of noise a man will make +when he slips on ice, taken by surprise. The hand, which was still +rising, up close to his face, jerked out spastically, almost rigid +in a grotesque salute. The eyes bulged behind the little kiddie's +lenses, then the hand came swinging back. Jack and McColl were +never able to work out whether it had happened deliberately, or if +it was just the flailing action of a dying man's hand. Whatever it +was, the arm snapped back and a thumb stabbed through the left lens +and right into the eye. There was a faint crackle sound and a +rubbery thud and blood blurted, forced by the pressure built up in +the man's swollen head.

+

Simpson coughed. The hand came flying out again, leaving a +ruined crater where the eye had been, then the whole body went into +a paroxysm of violent shivers. The taut cable squeaked in protest. +Just as that happened, the room went suddenly dark, not as if the +lights had failed, but as if a cloud of dense black smoke had +billowed from nowhere. The image fuzzed out on the screen, fading +to grey and then to black. The squeal of the cable noose was like a +mouse in the darkness, then, from the set on the filing cabinet, +came a roar which at first sounded like static, then sounded +nothing at all like electronic interference. Jack had heard it the +first time he'd played back the latter half of the scene, but +McColl rocked back in his seat.

+

The noise filled the room, a huge and utterly unnerving roaring +sound. It was the noise of a vast and irresistible wind, the sound +of an avalanche of rocks tumbling in a defile. It was the roar of +an immense, hungry and maddened animal. It went on for several +seconds, so deafening that Jack reached a hand to turn down the +volume. Just as his fingers touched the control, the noise stopped +and a dead silence rang in their ears. The screen began to lighten +as the darkness, whatever that darkness was, cleared away like a +mist driven by wind. As it dissipated, the shape hanging right in +front of the lens became clearer until they could again see William +Simpson hanging. The body was still trembling in tight little +spasms as the nerves twitched and jumped. His right eye, still pale +and bulging, was staring right at them.

+

The twitches continued for two minutes and then stopped. The +feet, now dangling straight down, several inches from the floor, +trembled a little for a while after that, then everything went +still. The minister hung, slowly revolving, his head cocked to the +side, while the blood began to congeal on his chest and face.

+

The video camera ran for another fifteen minutes. They sat and +stared in fascination at the dead man suspended from the hook until +a new noise came from the speaker, the light thud of feet somewhere +in the distance, then the tap of heels on the floor beyond the door +which was just out of sight until it swung open.

+

Young Fiona Simpson came slowly into the room. They could see +the edge of the door when it reached its full swing.

+

"Daddy?" she said, almost hesitantly. She repeated it again, and +came fully into the room, moving forward slowly.

+

For some reason, the dangling body did not seem to register with +her. She moved behind it, glanced at the pictures in the trays, +curiously at first, then her shoulders stiffened. She backed away, +hands held up un front of her, pushing at air. She bumped into her +suspended and bloodied father, turned round and her eyes registered +it then.

+

Her mouth opened in an instant wide circle which showed every +one of her top teeth. The scream went on and on and on.

+

It was the third time Jack Fallon had heard it. It didn't get +any easier to listen to.

+

More sounds, thumping of heavier feet. Jack coming into the +room, taking in everything with a sweep of his eyes. McColl watched +his superior officer swing his head round, for the first few +seconds, ignoring the piercing squeal after the first glance at the +girl. His eyes registered the body, the blood, the bloodied scraps +on the floor. He moved with an economy of motion, raising his hand +as he passed the chair, automatically avoiding laying any prints on +anything, his foot rising over the fallen chair lest he disturb it. +His right arm came up and looped round the girl's shoulders just as +the strength drained from her legs. He leaned her back, scooped her +with his other hand, then backed out of the door, his gaze fixed on +the hanged man.

+

Two minutes after that, the tape reached its end. The screen +flickered, went black, then hissed with electronic snow. Jack +reached forward and switched the machine off. John McColl let out a +long, slow sigh.

+

"Excuse me, boss, but what the fuck was that?"

+

Jack flipped open his cigarettes, offered one to the other man, +who took it in fingers that seemed to have been infected with the +tremor that had afflicted Simpson in his last dying seconds. Both +of them lit up and inhaled deeply. Ralph stoked up his pipe and +sucked heavily as he left the room, shaking his head.

+

"That's the original snuff movie," John said.

+

"That's why I don't want it out of the safe," Jack told him. +"Make sure the guys get the message. Anybody making copies of that +will be up for interfering with evidence. I don't want anybody else +even watching it."

+

"Can't blame you. I never want to see it again. Fair turned my +stomach."

+

Jack nodded. "Shame about the girl. At least it's a step in the +right direction." He rewound the tape and let John watch it +again.

+

Ralph came back some time later, still puffing on his pipe.

+

"I've got news for you. We can put Simpson at both +locations."

+

"Both?"

+

"Yes. Got dozens of them at the Herkik woman's. We got another +partial from the hundreds at Latta Court. Would have missed it if I +didn't run through them again and got a match. Palm print, no +fingers. From the inside of the broken lift."

+

"You think it was him?"

+

"Sure it was him, though how he got up to the Doyle level I'll +never know. He must have climbed somewhere. Maybe wore gloves."

+

"He could never have come from the bottom. Not the shape he was +in," Jack stated.

+

"I agree, boss. But there's more. I got a fax from Jim Jackson +at Lanark. Their files were all transferred to Regional HQ, but +they dug them out for me. Simpson's prints match that case I was +telling you about. The wee girl. Goes back a long time, but they +still have the evidence in storage. They wired me the photographs +and bingo. They've come up with the goods."

+

Ralph lit up his pipe while the others leaned forward +impatiently.

+

"We got a match on his prints from there. Plus the doll's arm. +It's a match for the missing one from the doll they found. But more +than that, the scene of death pictures are almost identical to the +ones in Simpson's developing tray. The only difference is that the +body had been moved. Can't say how far yet. But his happy snaps +were taken some time before the body was found."

+

He sucked hard on the stem and blew out a plume of blue +smoke.

+

"I think that wraps it up, and it gets Cowie off your back." He +looked at Jack. "I'd like to know one thing. What put you on to him +in the first place?"

+

Jack tapped his nose.

+

"Contacts. Old friends."

+

The two men left Jack's room. He rewound the video and forced +himself to watch it again before he switched everything off and sat +thinking. The unnerving scenes got no more pleasant with +familiarity.

+

He should have been pleased, but he was not happy. They had +enough to place Simpson at the two scenes. They had evidence to +show he'd been at the scene of another, years ago, and that one had +involved a small child who had been reported missing before being +found raped and dead in a patch of scrub-land fifteen miles south +of the city.

+

Yet something nagged insistently at him. It was too pat, too cut +and dry, and Jack had the experience to know that nothing was ever +so easy.

+

And there were other things. The words that Simpson had gouged +into his own chest. That had sent a deja-vu shiver right through +Jack. The man had stared, grinning into the camera, as he'd done +that. It was as if he was trying to tell Jack something, having a +joke at the policeman's expense. There was too much of a +coincidence with what the crossword-playing professor of languages +had said.

+

And there were the words written on Marta Herkik's walls, daubed +in those two paperless strips in the dead woman's viscid and +congealing blood. There had been no sign of how Simpson had managed +to do that, and Jack did not like that at all.

+

That Simpson had been a man with a terrible secret, he had no +doubt, but what he did have doubts about was how he could +have killed Marta Herkik so brutally, strip the paper from her +walls, rip up dozens of her books and all without leaving any +prints except on the table, on the fallen seat and on the +doorhandle.

+

He had doubts about how the man, in his sixties, corpulent and +unfit, had managed to get to the Doyle's balcony on a cold winter's +night, and without alerting anyone.

+

He flipped open Ralph Slater's scene of crime report, opened a +folder which contained his own paperwork, and started to write. All +they needed now was Timmy Doyle's body and they could close this +case. Close it officially anyway.

+

Jack Fallon told himself it was all over bar the shouting as he +wrote in his tight longhand. But the doubts crowded in like +mourners at a funeral. He hoped it was all over bar the +shouting.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike10.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike10.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d0a6f81 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike10.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,468 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 10 + + + + +
+
+

10

+

Night fell abruptly and early. Thick clouds had piled in from +the north west, swept in on cold winds that had driven down from +the north of Greenland, threatening snow and dismal hail. They had +blown by after an hour of darkness and the wind died. Overhead the +sky was black, frosted with the stars, clear enough to make out the +twinkling jewels of the seven sisters high over the Langmuir crags. +There was no moon.

+

The hard frost crystalised out of the cold air to rime the +windows and lay mirror-sheets of black ice on the roads out of +Levenford.

+

Jack Fallon was still in College Street station, going over the +evidence reports again, still trying to knit together a the puzzle +which was growing in his mind.

+

Mickey Haggerty was on his third pint of beer in Mac's Bar, and +enjoying every mouthful.

+

Robbie Cattanach was putting the finishing touches to his report +on the post mortem he'd carried out on William Simpson, the late +minister of Castlebank church. He hadn't needed a video cassette to +tell him what he needed to know. Death was by strangulation. The +other injuries were mere curiosities as far as he was +concerned.

+

Lorna Breck sat with her feet curled up underneath her on the +soft sofa in her small living-room down by the estuary, trying to +read a book, and making heavy weather of it. A small log fire +flickered in the corner, the embers glowing red and sending out +enough heat to make her feel comfortable on a cold night, yet she +felt chilled inside. A sense of apprehension had been +building up inside her since she'd left the library and crossed the +old bridge, heading for home. It was vague, but getting stronger +all the time, and Lorna couldn't shake the sensation of foreboding. +She turned the page and her eyes followed the words right down to +the bottom before she realised she hadn't read a word of the story. +The image of what she'd seen when she'd looked into the shop window +kept coming back to her, faded not one whit by the passage of three +days.

+

Just after nine o'clock, down on Quay Street, a shape moved +along the pavement, indistinct at first in the frosty mist floating +in from the river. In this old part of the town, the council had +built a small walkway along the edge of the harbour, where an +ancient boat repair shed had stood for generations until it had +burned down three years before. During the day, in summertime, the +clerks from the distillery and mothers with small children, spent a +sunny hour throwing pieces of bread to the swans on the water, and +losing most of it to the squadrons of screaming gulls who competed +for the crumbs. Now, in winter, the swans were gone. The water was +dark, the sound of its passage along the harbour wall was liquid +and urgent. It slapped against the small boats moored out in the +deeper-water midstream and made sucking, burbling noises as it +swirled, out of sight, round the moorings and the old pier +stanchions.

+

Shona Campbell needed the money. She was twenty one years old +and had a year-old baby girl. Eighteen months ago she'd had a good +job in Cameron and Dunn's lawyer's office. Old Cameron had died +twenty years ago and the practise was run by Roger Dunn, who +handled most of the criminal work at Levenford Sheriff Court. In +the old days, anybody banged up on a weekend drunk and disorderly +would demand of the station sergeant: "Get me Cameron."

+

Now they got Dunn, so the joke went, done good and proper.

+

That was the position Shona Campbell found herself in, done good +and proper. Two years before this cold Friday night, she'd had +another interesting Friday night at a party out by Eastmains, on +the far edge of town, where she'd met Craig Campbell known for some +forgotten reason as Bunnet. He had looked good in his leathers, and +better on the back of his big black Yamaha, and she'd agreed to let +him take her home on the back of the purring machine. He was a +barrel-pusher in Castlebank distillery, the immense four-square +building that loomed beside the curve of the river. She should have +known better when he'd taken the half bottle of crystal-clear +overproof spirit out of his inside pocket and taken a large +swallow. She'd tried some, just a sip, and had shivered with +distaste. He'd laughed, his fair hair falling over his brow, and +his strong teeth white in the night, and he'd slipped a casual arm +around her shoulder to kiss her goodnight. She'd gone out with him +four times, once to the pictures and three times roaring round the +back roads on the big bike, and then he'd let the bike idle +silently down the hill to Fetter Farm where he'd sneaked her into +the hayloft. She'd gone along with it, apprehensively at first, but +when his cold hand had slid against the skin under her brassiere, +she'd been unable to say no. He'd laid her down, taken off most of +her clothes and some of his and then she'd come with such intensity +that she gouged two stuttering furrows in the back of his leather +Jacket.

+

Six months later, they were married in a small ceremony +conducted by the same Rev William Simpson whose filleted and +eviscerated remains were now glacial and blue in a cold storage +drawer in the old mortuary. A few months after little Kelly was +born, Shona came quickly to the conclusion that Bunnet Campbell was +a drunk and a waster, and by that time it was too late. They'd got +a small, dingy apartment three up in a huddle of old tenements just +off Quay Street and Shona settled down to watch the rest of her +life drift by in a dismal haze of need and faded dreams.

+

She came round the corner onto the walkway. Ahead of her, a +globe of light was haloed by the frosted mist. She could feel the +icy air catch in the back of her throat, clean and sharp, and she +drew the shawl tightly around the sleeping baby at her +shoulder.

+

Here the walkway passed two low bench seats which had been there +since the promenade was built and were already cross-hatched by +initials and gang slogans. To the right, there was a high wall, +punctuated by gateways which led into the alleys and back courts of +the River Street shops. She passed the light, walking on quickly, +her shoes clacking on the cold paving stones. About fifty yards on, +Rock Lane pulled off up towards the main street, bisected by Barley +Cobble, an ancient pathway which had once been the route of the old +grain barrows when the distillery had been a family enterprise. At +the end of this long, twisting and narrow alley, the Castlegate +Bar, the oldest, and the dingiest drinking house in town, would be +alive with noise and laughter and the occasional sound of snarling +drunk men. This was a Friday night and that's where Shona was +headed. Bunnet Campbell would be up against the bar, most likely +sprawled across it. Friday night was still pay night in the +distillery. The men had threatened to walk out when the company +suggested paying their wages direct into bank accounts, for two +reasons. Firstly, few of them had bank accounts. But the main +reason was that few of them, under any circumstances, wanted any +evidence of how much they were paid for their week's work. The +difference between their take-home pay and what actually +got home was immense.

+

It had become a Friday night ritual, a race against the drink +and the devil, a bid to get some of the money before Tam Finch, the +Castlegate's beefy owner, got the lot. Already, they were five +weeks behind with the rent. Shona owed another two months on the +hired television set, and there was a mountain of debt piling up, +most of it to the Housemarket catalogue collector.

+

As Shona scurried quickly past the long wall, she thought about +the good job she'd had in the lawyer's office and once again +thought she'd been done. Good and proper.

+

Her shadow lengthened in front of her as she hurried, eyes +smarting from the cold, until she got midway to the next street +lamp. Beside her, an open gateway yawned, a dark blot of +lightlessness. She was about to move on when a low moan came +soughing out of the dark. The girl stopped and turned +simultaneously, clutching her baby tightly against herself, feeling +the child give a start at the sudden jar. The moan came again and +Shona peered in to the blank space, nervous lest something should +leap out from the shadows. A shape moved, and the girl took a step +back with a little intake of breath, but nothing leapt out. The +gloom diminished a little as her eyes grew accustomed to it and +finally Shona could make out the huddle against the swung-back +gate. The low noise came again. A man moaning.

+

Shona took two steps forward and peered again. The man was lying +in the shadows, back against the wall, beside a tumbled clutter of +super-strength lager cans, the kind that were left there by the +handful of drunks who hung around the quayside during the day.

+

"Are you alright?" she asked.

+

The shape stirred and a pale face swung upwards. Shona couldn't +make out the features. She leaned closer and saw a thin man, one +leg sprawled out in front of his, both hands up to the side of his +face.

+

"Do you need some help?" the girl asked again. On her shoulder, +the baby made a little mewling sound and she automatically patted +it to silence.

+

The man looked drunk. There was a rip in his trousers, a pale +stripe against the rest of his leg. The young mother leaned forward +down and the man looked at her, or through her. He made the moaning +noise again and some saliva dribbled down from slack lips.

+

His eyes were wide and vacant, mouth slack. Shona wondered +whether to call an ambulance or a doctor or something. It was +freezing down here and the sprawled, slumped man was only wearing +trousers and jacket, no heavy winter coat. She began to straighten +up, torn between her need to get round to try to snatch some of her +husband's wages and her inability to let someone lie and die in the +cold. Just then, the man gave a little jolt, as if she'd +awoken.

+

"Go," he said, very clearly.

+

"What?"

+

"Go. Gone. Go. Get." The words came in a slobbery jumble, as if +the man had little control over her mouth.

+

He raised herself up from the wall and stretched out a hand, so +quickly Shona thought she had tried to strike at her. The girl +pulled back, holding her baby even tighter.

+

"Go." the man said, her face looming pale up from the shadows. +"Get out. Out of here. Go. Get you!"

+

He tried to heave himself to her feet, the one hand still +outstretched towards Shona. He looked more than drunk. He looked +mad, the girl thought. She backed away out of the gate. +The shape loomed, then fell back with a crumping sound, a flaccid +weight hitting the wall.

+

Shona hesitated again, wondering what to do, then the voice came +out from the shadows, now more a shout than a moan.

+

"Get you!" This time it sounded like a threat.

+

That was enough for the girl. She turned quickly and clattered +up the narrow end of Quay Street, turned at River Lane and then +jinked to the left along the alley that would take her to Barley +Cobble.

+

Here the mist from the river had no breeze at all to dissipate +its thick pallid tendrils. They curled around the corners and +scraped against the crumbling sandstone walls looming in on either +side. High on the stonework, old fashioned lamps glowed dimly from +within their orange halos. On her shoulder, the baby whimpered +again and Shona clapped it lightly, drawing it in close to her body +heat. The man in the yard had scared her. She shouldn't have +stopped, she told herself, not to be threatened by some disgusting +drunk.

+

She reached the cobbled alley and turned along it, through the +swirling mist. Past a doorway she caught a glimpse of someone +standing in the shadows and she jerked around, staring, breath +caught. There was a dim shape there. At first she thought it was a +girl of her own height, but then she twisted her head and the +shadows resolved themselves into the shape of the old peeling door. +There was no-one there. She walked on for ten paces, not quite +scared, but wanting to be out of the mist and home in her own +little house, which, no matter how dingy and ill kept, was warm on +a winter's night.

+

There was a noise above her. Still walking, she looked +upwards.

+

A shadow came swooping out of the mist curling above her head +and slammed her to the ground.

+

The blow was such a stunner that Shona Campbell's arm snapped +just above the elbow. She hit the cobbled alley with a thud. Out of +the corner of her eye, something black whipped backwards, lunged at +her again. A searing pain screamed in her neck as her head was +smacked to the side and above her, the orange light becamea two +whirling fuzzy globes as her vision doubled. She rolled with the +force of the blow, scraped her knee on a stone kerb, then fetched +against the wall with a thump which socked her breath out in one +loud, bewildered grunt.

+

Despite the pain and the shock, Shona kept little Kelly clasped +tight against her with her left arm. She turned, gasping for +breath, still unable to comprehend what had happened. Her vision +was still swimming and she blinked back tears. Darkness wavered in +front of her and she twisted away from it. The dark stretched out +and grabbed the baby in one vicious snatch. The child wailed and +Shona screamed. Her hand flew out and caught on to the trailing +edge of the shawl, fingers hooked in the wide crochet stitching and +she was dragged, wailing like a banshee for several yards.

+

The tugging stopped and Shona managed to get to one knee, just +at the corner of the alley where it gave into a small unlit back +yard.

+

"My baby," she screamed. "Give her back!"

+

She crawled, lurching to her feet. Just ahead of her, in the +dark, she could make out the pale fluttering of the shawl and +reached out.

+

Her fingers touched something cold and hard and rough. It moved +under her fingers. She blinked again and her eyes cleared. Just +above her head height, a snorting, rasping sound grated, like +crumbling stone and a foul stench of rot came wafting towards +her.

+

"You bastard," she bawled. "Give her back to me. "

+

Under her fingers, something gave a wrench.

+

"Oh help! Somebody help me. It's got my baby." Shona +screamed. Off to the right, a lamp blinked on, sending a long +rhombus of light through the mist.

+

"What in the name's going on down there," a querulous old voice +demanded to know.

+

"Oh help me mister. It's my baby," Shona screeched incoherently. +She grabbed at the movement, still unable to see anything in the +darkness. She was wailing and screaming, scratching and scrabbling +at the shadowy shape when the black expanded again. Her arm was +flung off with almost enough force to dislocate her shoulder. +Something loomed in at her and she got a glimpse of two orange +globes as a head swivelled towards her. There was a movement just +above her. Her head snapped up, turning and then the dark flicked +out and hit her right down the side of her temple.

+

Her cry was cut off instantly. She smacked the ground with a wet +crump.

+

There was a pain in her right elbow and a tight, ripping throb +in her neck, but they started to fade almost immediately. There was +no feeling down the left side of her face which was now pressed +against the cold cobbles. She tried to move, but her hands were +shivering and she couldn't get them to stop. There was a wet +feeling on her neck and a thick coppery smell. Her eye swivelled. +automatically following a shadowy movement that scuttled and +flowed, liquid yet spidery, up the wall close to her head. Her +other eye wouldn't move at all and that gave her an odd doubling of +vision which was confusing.

+

Shona's mouth opened and she managed a small croak. There was a +warm smell of butcher shops and Shona didn't know why she was lying +in Barley Cobble. Very vaguely she thought she might have left the +potato pot still bubbling on the old cooker and wondered if dinner +would be burned before she got back again. She hoped little Kelly +would be alright until then and she hoped the man lying in the dark +behind the gate hadn't sneaked up to her flat and crept up beside +Kelly's little cot. She wondered mistily about the darkness that +had climbed up the wall with the fluttering white thing trailing +behind it.

+

Her hands and arms and legs would not stop shaking. She tried to +turn her head and managed to make it move. There was a wet, sucking +sound as her face came away from the cobbles and the metal smell +came warm again, clogging her throat.

+

The mist was getting thicker, crowding in on twists of gauzy +white and everything began to get cold. Her one good eye rolled and +she saw a girl standing there in the alley, watching her. The girl +was trying to say something and Shona tried to say something back, +but she forgot what she was going to say and the girl started to +fade away into the mist.

+

The corner of River Lane and Barley Cobble was silent for some +time. Round the corner, less than fifty yards away, Bunnet Campbell +was flopped over the bar, mumbling to Doug Mitchell who was equally +drunk, about the fact that his stupid wife couldn't run a piss-up +in a brewery. It was another half an hour before Shona Campbell was +found lying in a pool of blood, limbs already frozen stiff, her +face a ruin of sinew and bone. Of little Kelly Campbell, there was +no sign, and it was not until the following morning that the baby's +father sobered up enough to report her missing.

+

On that same Friday night, Jack Fallon was huddled over his +kitchen table which was littered with books and scraps of paper. He +had cooked two pork chops, burned both of them but ignored the +blackened bits and wolfed the lot, then he had made a pot of coffee +and sat down at the table. He was on his fourth cup, which he knew +was probably a mistake, because it guaranteed him little sleep that +night. He almost smiled at the thought. Nothing guaranteed much +sleep these days.

+

He'd got through a lot of work since he'd finished at the +office. Robbie Cattanach's post mortem on Simpson would arrive on +his desk in the morning and he expected no surprises. It was +possible, he told himself, that the autopsy might reveal an exotic +substance, like LSD or crack, or magic mushrooms or any other +hallucinogenic substance, but Jack didn't think the minister was a +likely candidate for turning on and dropping out.

+

He shook his head wryly. He had to stop pigeonholing people. +Simpson did not seem a likely candidate for attending seances. He +hadn't seemed the kind of man who would make a video recording of +his own gruesome death.

+

There was no pigeon hole for that kind of thing, and that caused +Jack more problems.

+

Oh, Angus McNicol had been pleased, not only at getting a name +for Marta Herkik's murderer, but he also delighted in +Superintendent Cowie's embarrassed fury. Cowie had been an elder of +Castlebank Church. He'd been a lodge-fellow of the dead and +dangling man who was now a twitching star of the small screen. Now +the policeman was trying to dissociate himself from the +minister.

+

"There was always something odd about him," he declared to Jack +and Angus. "I could never put my finger on it."

+

"That's why I went very carefully," Jack said, trying to keep +his face straight. Angus winked at him over the top of his whisky +glass.

+

Cowie glared at him.

+

The big chief superintendent offered Jack another drink. He +shook his head.

+

"No thanks. I've stacks of paperwork to get through."

+

"No urgency now, is there?"

+

"I don't know."

+

"What do you mean?" Cowie asked. "I've released the name to the +press. Told them our inquiries are at an end."

+

"Yes, I saw that on the news," Angus said gruffly.

+

"Might be a bit premature," Jack said evenly.

+

"Nonsense. We've tied him in to the Herkik place and +Latta Court. What more do we need."

+

"I don't know about you, but I need just a little bit +more than circumstantial evidence."

+

"Come on, Fallon. Simpson did it, and that's an end to it."

+

"Well, I hope you're right. But so far, we haven't got a body +for the Doyle kid. And we've no motive for either. And the one +person I would like to speak to is in the middle of a post mortem. +On the receiving end, as we speak."

+

"Well, that's hardly here nor there. We've got Simpson's prints +from the Lanark case, and those photographs. That shows he was a +killer in the first place."

+

"It does tend to point that way. But I have to consider the near +certainty that there were several people at Marta Herkik's house on +the night she died. I don't know how many. I'd like to speak to +them all."

+

"To what end?" Angus asked.

+

"To make sure this wasn't a group effort. I don't mind nailing +this to Simpson's door. The man was a walking shit-house. But if he +wasn't the only one involved, then we could have a problem. Just +think what the headlines will say if we close the file and then +something else happens? I'd just like to make sure."

+

Cowie turned to Angus McNicol, his eyebrows arched.

+

"Seems a waste of time, effort and public money to me," he said +stiffly."

+

Angus sat back, steepled his fingers, looking thoughtful.

+

"Oh, I don't see any harm in Jack here tying up loose ends if he +can. I mean, it could have taken a long time to get Simpson anyway, +so I think we're ahead on points. For the time being."

+

He finished his whisky and leaned over the desk.

+

"Another couple of days Jack. Just so we're sure."

+

"Thanks," Jack said. Cowie left in an indignant bustle. When the +door had closed, Angus asked him what he'd been getting at.

+

"Just what I said. There's something about this that doesn't sit +square with me."

+

"It would be better all round, propaganda wise and from an admin +point of view if we could leave it all with Simpson. It's neat +enough for me."

+

"But if it wasn't just Simpson, it could happen again. I don't +think anybody wants that. We'll get egg all over."

+

Jack had spend a full morning talking to the dead minister's +wife. She did not know about the video and he had no plans to tell +her just yet.

+

Her daughter Fiona was lying sedated in an upstairs bedroom of +the handsome red-sandstone manse. Betty Simpson had refused all +medication.

+

She offered Jack a sherry in a tiny cut-crystal glass, which he +accepted. It was very bitter.

+

"I suppose you want to ask me some questions," she'd said as +soon as she'd poured a glass for herself.

+

"Yes," Jack agreed. "I do have a few questions."

+

"About him. My husband." The corners of her mouth turned down as +she said it. It made her look as if she'd smelled something rotting +in a corner.

+

"I've known for years," she said. Jack stopped in the act of +raising the glass to his mouth. He put it slowly down on the +table.

+

"Known what?"

+

"About him. About what he does."

+

"And what does he do. Or did do," he corrected.

+

"Girls. Young ones. He couldn't keep himself away from them. +That's why my other daughters don't live here. Now he'd dead I can +say it. He interfered.

+

"What, with your daughters?"

+

"With anybody's daughters. He was sick. But I couldn't +stop him. I had to stay, to protect Fiona. To make sure he didn't +go near her. He was sick, you know, and I hated him for +it. I didn't know when we got married, but then I found +things." Again she made the disgusted twist of her +mouth.

+

"Things?"

+

"Pictures. He'd taken them himself. Little girls, sometimes +boys, but mostly girls. Disgusting pictures. And there were others. +They must have come in the post. He never let me open any of his +letters. Filthy pictures, but not as bad as the ones he'd taken by +himself."

+

"And did you ever tell him you knew?"

+

"I didn't have to. He knew I did. When that little girl was +found in Lanark, I knew."

+

"So why didn't you say anything?"

+

The minister's widow gave a little laugh. "And who would have +believed me? And if they had I would have brought shame on +my daughters. No. I said nothing for their sake, but now it's over, +and he can't hurt them any more. He can't touch them any more, and +I'm glad."

+

She raised her head and looked at Jack, pale blue eyes +glittering like ice. "I hope he burns in hell."

+

The final word came out like a spit. The grey-haired woman +smacked her hand down on the polished coffee-table and the thin +stem of the sherry glass broke. Blood immediately dripped from the +centre of her palm where the jagged edge had dug into the skin, but +she hardly seemed to notice the pain. She wrapped a small +handkerchief around her hand and continued to talk as if nothing +had happened.

+

"I'd told him that if he touched me or the girls ever again, +then I'd kill him. He never touched any of us after that. That was +good enough for me. I just didn't think he'd go so far again, now +that he was older."

+

Jack said back, listening to the stream of loathing from the +small woman.

+

"Tell me. Why would he go to a seance?"

+

She looked at him, failing to understand.

+

"He was at a spiritualist meeting last week. A medium."

+

"I don't know. He never said, but he never told me +anything."

+

"Did he keep a diary?"

+

"You can check his desk if you like. I couldn't say. Take +everything away if you want. I never want to see any of it ever +again."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike11.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike11.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e884831 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike11.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,336 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 11 + + + + +
+
+

11

+

A biting north wind whistled round the straight edge of Loch +View, which stood with three other high-rise blocks on the edge of +town. The low pressure which had brought rain and sleet had moved +off slowly into the North Sea and behind it, a ridge of clear high +pressure dragged the freezing air down from the edge of Greenland, +frosting the night sky as temperatures plummeted. The wind made the +wires of the gantry moan as it plucked the steel braids with icy +fingers and rocked the platform slowly back and forth half-way up +the sheer side of the building.

+

Under normal circumstances, Jock Toner would have been mightily +peeved that he was still up in the rig on a dark and freezing +night. But the circumstances had changed. He'd been one of the team +of bricklayers repairing the worn concrete on the side of the +building which had weathered away like hard peeling scabs under the +weight of the winds. The gantry was suspended from a winch on rails +on the flat top of the block which allowed the men to be lowered +and raised at the touch of a button on the winding motor.

+

It had been cold work all day. The wind hadn't stopped and even +in the clear air, tiny ice crystals had whipped around the corner +of the building, whirling in the turbulence, to sting the men's +ears raw.

+

Ordinarily, Jock would have been home by now, probably dozing in +front of the television, or maybe down in the County Bar for a +couple of straight whiskies. He'd been last man to leave the hut, +and was just about to start up his old battered Ford when the +council's clerk of works had shown up unexpectedly. He'd pointed +out that the gantry had been lowered to the ground.

+

"What do you want me to do about it?" Jock had asked +truculently.

+

"Basically, I want you to get it right back up the top again, +where nobody can mess about with it."

+

"My shift finished half an hour ago," Jock argued.

+

"Well, you've got a choice. You can go home now and I can call +the works manager and get him out in the middle of the night," the +fellow had responded easily.

+

"It's six of one to me. I'll let him know you insisted he got a +call out. Either way, there's no way that thing can sit out for the +rest of the night. Any kid could climb on and start the motor."

+

He looked at Jock levelly, with a small smile.

+

"So, should I call the boss out?"

+

Jock let out a sigh of annoyance.

+

"No. I'll get the bloody thing," he grated. To himself he swore +he'd get Des Coleman, the rigger who should have stowed the +gear.

+

The management man waited by his van until Jock was half-way up +the side of the building before he walked to his car. Over the +whistling wind, he could hear the whine of the motor as it reeled +in the braided cables and the gantry slowly hoisted up and out of +site on the dark face of the blocks. Jock saw the headlamps stab +out and waited until the red tail lights had disappeared round the +corner. The ice crystals, condensed out of the frozen air, were +needling into his left ear and he cursed aloud. The gantry rose up +slowly and steadily.

+

He was nine floors up, just rising past a lighted window when +the wind swung the platform to the right, and a movement inside the +room caught his eye.

+

He had risen another nine feet before the image really +registered and he hit the stop switch with a stab of his finger, +then, with another jab, he thumbed the green button which reversed +the gantry. He lowered it the nine feet, hoping the wind would hide +the noise, then stood for a moment, holding on tight to the safety +bars.

+

The rig swung gently away from the lit window then back again +and Jock was able to confirm what he'd seen. His face broke into a +wide grin. It took three swings of the galley to identify the woman +on the floor as he hung out as far as he could, one hand gripping +the hawser, then about ten seconds to figure out why she was doing +what she was doing with such obvious vigour.

+

Isobel McIntyre was spreadeagled under the collector from the +Housemarket Supply Company. Both of them were exhibiting great +enthusiasm. The rep was fat and balding. Sweat was glistening +between his shoulderblades and he had the hairiest arse Jock Toner +had ever seen. His head was down on her shoulder and he was +thrusting away as if his life depended on it. Isobel's eyes were +screwed tight shut and her mouth was drawn back in a rictus of +concentration. Even through the double glazing and above the +whistling of the wind in the wires, Jock could hear the man's base +grunt and the woman's high, animal snarl. He'd worked on the +outside of buildings long enough to know that even if they had +looked, the reflection of the light on the glass would hide him +from the people inside the room.

+

He grinned again. Isobel was a distant relative of Jock's wife. +She'd be shocked if she knew her second cousin's wife was doing it +to a fine tune on the floor of her living-room with the man from +the HSC. Jock wondered just how much the woman owed on her weekly +payments, for the supply company interest was extortionate. He also +wondered just how many other women were paying their bills on their +backs. As that thought struck him, he made a mental note to find +out when the fat and hairy little man made his regular visits to +his own house.

+

It was an hour after he clerk of works had disappeared in his +van and Jock was still up on the gantry, halfway between the top of +the building and the ground, enjoying every vicarious moment from +his vantage point.

+

The wind had dropped and the spindrift crystals were no longer +needling his ear. Up above the sky was velvet dark. There was no +moon to light the thin snow-clouds that had built up to hide the +stars.

+

Inside the room, the woman and the man had rolled on the floor +for a while then he had pulled her up onto the couch and after that +he'd even tried to lean her over the ironing table, though their +combined weight rocked it to much they gave up quickly. Jock was +surprised the spindly board had taken the weight and he thought to +himself, one hand now working slowly deep in the crotch of his +baggy overalls, that even if she was paying off debt, she was +thoroughly enjoying the instalment terms. The grunting noises +continued from the room as the rig swung silently, like a weighty +pendulum, back and forth on the long cables, while Jack held on +with his free hand.

+

The action changed and Isobel McIntyre crawled round to face in +the opposite direction. Her fair hair was lank with perspiration +and her whole body glistened. Jock knew she'd always been a looker, +and now he could see that the reality was even better than he'd +imagined. She had a long, slim body and pert little breasts that +were lacquered with sweat. He watched her head bob up and down and +his own hand started to move quickly. He couldn't remember ever +being so turned on before. It was almost better, he told himself, +than the real thing. He heard his own breath coming faster and +faster as the woman worked away on the man, taking her own pleasure +as she did, and in the cold night air, Jock's heavy breath fogged +the window.

+

He leaned out, taking a risk by letting go his anchor hand for a +moment, to rub the window with his elbow, when the gantry gave a +sudden, violent jolt at the apex of its swing.

+

Jock Toner's heart lurched just as violently as he was thrown +out over the railing.

+

"Oh Chri...." he squawked, in that instant not caring if the +people inside the house heard him or not. By pure reflex, his hand +shot out and hooked the cable just as his balance reached the point +of no return, and hauled him back. The rig shook with the sudden +movement. One edge scraped on the concrete facade with a metallic +grinding noise. Jock's breath swooped in and he felt the blood +drain from his face.

+

"What in the name..." he blurted aloud. For a moment he'd +completely lost interest in the action through the pane. He held on +tight to the railings while his heartbeat knocked on his ribs. His +belly was quaking with the surge of adrenalin and his knees were +jittering out of synch with each other. The gantry swung again, +still oscillating back and forth, but now slowing down. Jock took +several breaths to clear his head. He'd almost fallen straight off +the edge, and he was still stunned by how close, how +instantaneous it had been. His knuckles stood out white on +the railing top.

+

The scene in the house momentarily forgotten, he leaned over the +edge, peering down into the darkness below. A thin, ice-laden fog +was swirling around the building, punctuated here and there by the +dim lights behind curtained windows. Below the gantry, the braided +nylon guide rope dropped away out of sight. There was nothing +there, though Jock knew something had hit the rope. He +checked at his feet, where the braid was wound onto the plastic +spindle. One end trailed away down into the mist and then looped +back up again to where it was draped over the balustrade. At this +height, Jock knew it couldn't reach to the ground, so that ruled +out mischievous kids down there. He pondered the possibility that +someone had opened a window and tugged at the guide, but it was +hanging down from the far edge. Somebody would have to have long +arms to reach that far.

+

The wind tugged the hawser again and made it sing a weird. +mournful note. Jock leaned over again, peering downwards to see if +there was anything that could have jolted the platform so heavily, +but there was nothing at all. The cold mist was getting thicker. +Down in the distance, away to the left, the orange street-lamps +were getting dimmer, haloed by fuzzy rings of luminescence.

+

He turned back and touched the wall to stop the to-and-fro +motion of the gantry and then shifted his weight outwards, careful +to keep a grip on the bar. The fright was gone, and his heart was +already was steadying down to a normal beat. The danger over, Jock +Toner remembered the scene in the house. He leaned out as far as he +could until his head was just beyond the window edge. Isobel +McIntyre was facing in the opposite direction, astraddle the +hirsute debt collector. She had a small tattoo on the right cheek, +just above what Jock estimated would be the panty line. He watched +the pink curves move slowly and felt the pressure rise again. +Isobel had a superior way about her. He knew she would die +if she thought she'd been watched doing it to a band playing with +the man from HSC. His hand stole back inside his overalls again and +the mist swirled thicker around him. His attention was nailed on +the scene beyond the window.

+

Then something dripped on his shoulder just at the same time as +he heard the scraping noise a little way above his head.

+

At first he thought it was a bird-dropping. Sometimes the +starlings would flock in their thousands on winter nights, roosting +on the high edges of the tall buildings. It was an occupational +hazard for anyone who worked at a height, but Jock knew there were +no starlings flying in the winter mist. He'd have heard their +chattering, and up here, the night was silent apart from the +moaning of the wind in the wires and the muffled, guttural noises +emanating from Isobel McIntyre's living room. He looked up into the +darkness overhead. The pulley wires were taut parallel lines which +soared upwards but disappeared from view only a few yards higher +than the level where he stood.

+

Something spattered again, catching him on the side of his head +and dripping down his cheek.

+

At once he smelled the thick scent and his nose wrinkled in +disgust.

+

"What the..." he grunted, again failing to finish a +sentence.

+

Then something hit the wires with such force that it sounded +like a base-string plucked hard. The gantry jumped about a foot +into the air and bounced. Jock felt himself thrown against the +balustrade again, but this time he was holding tight with his free +hand.

+

He swung back while the platform was still moving and peered up +again. A misty shape moved overhead, close in to the building, +though the movement was obscured by the thickening mist.

+

Jock moved away from the window.

+

"Who's there?" he called up softly, not wishing to disturb the +man and woman inside the house.

+

The scraping noise came again. It sounded like stone on stone, +muffled by the night.

+

He was about to call out again when something white flickered +wanly in the darkness. Beyond it, a black shadow elongated. Jock +pulled himself up to his full height, eyes trying to make it out +when the shadow came suddenly racing down the side of the +wall. It happened so fast that Jock Toner never had the chance to +even open him mouth.

+

The shape, blacker than night, moved with astonishing speed. It +came lunging with a liquid, pistoning motion, the white thing +flapping alongside it. He got a glimpse of a jointed arm. Two huge +orange eyes flicked open, and then something hit him so hard on the +side of the neck he heard the harsh rip of muscles tearing above +his shoulder. His grip was torn from the railing and he flopped +against the outer edge.

+

The shadow came looming right at him. The eyes blazed again. +Something cold and hard gripped him by the head. He could feel the +clench of massive fingers on each temple and the bones felt as if +they were simply caving in under the pressure. His arms shot out to +ward the thing off. His knuckle hit blindly against the electric +motor housing and accidentally jammed the yellow button. The engine +whined into life as the gantry took a lurch and started to +climb.

+

Even then, Jack Toner was aware of the foul stench which +suddenly assaulted his nostrils. It smelled like rotting flesh.

+

Then he was falling. There was an abrupt twist and a searing +pain as he was lifted in one jerking heave and thrown over the +railing.

+

He screamed then, very loud and very clear as he plummeted +through the mist. The force of the throw had sent him out from the +building, much further than a man could have jumped. In that +supercharged moment, jumbled thoughts and pictures flashed and +fizzed in the man's brain. He was falling and he was going to die. +He saw himself swoop down to the concrete flagstones below and saw +himself splatter and bounce.

+

Then the nylon guide rope which had snagged around his calf as +he went over the edge snapped him to a halt in mid-air as he +reached the end of its drop. The force of the stall snatched his +thigh-bone out of his hip socket and pain exploded inside him in a +white flare. There was no time, or breath for a sigh of relief, but +in that instant Jock Toner realised what had happened. The pain was +washed away in the realisation that he was not falling any longer, +that he was not going to splatter and bounce wetly on the concrete +below. Relief swamped him.

+

If Jock Toner had not been thrown out twenty feet from the side +of Lock View, then he would have probably survived. But when he hit +the end of the rope and felt his leg wrench out of its socket, he +bounced like a weight on the end of a piece of string and came +hurtling back in towards the building. He was spinning wildly as he +tumbled back from the far end of the pendulum arc, yelling all the +while, unable to control his position. The gantry was still making +its automatic ascent of the building. Jock came flying inwards and +spun just at the moment his head was below the top edge of Isobel +McIntyre's window. The upward pull on the hawsers coupled with his +swing ensured that his forehead connected with the sharp concrete +edge with a muted crunching sound. A huge flash of white light +seared through his mind as the circuits sparked and fizzled +instantaneously in his brain just at the moment the concrete edge +smashed a deep chiselled line into his forehead. Isobel McIntyre's +window went red and opaque. A piece of Jock's skull lifted like a +flap and went spiralling down through the mist to land with a crack +on the concrete.

+

High up on the edge of the building, Jock Toner's body twitched +and danced as it was drawn upwards, spraying his blood. The whole +forefront of his brain was completely gone, but the brain stem just +carried on as if nothing had happened. His heart still pumped and +his nerves shook and shivered as he was hauled slowly skywards into +the night. From the gaping hole in the front of his head, the blood +came gouting out in a series of pulses.

+

Finally the engine reached the top and the automatic cut-out +kicked in. The gantry whined to a stop. Thirty feet below it, Jock +Toner's body quivered and spasmed, unseen by any human eye while +his blood ran in rivers down the rough edge of the building where +it froze in long, dribbling streaks. Down below, on the concrete on +the north edge of the building, it formed a thin slick which iced +over in less than an hour.

+

Inside the house where he'd watched the two people grunting on +the floor, Isobel McIntyre sat up.

+

"Did you hear something?" she asked.

+

"What?" the man asked, out of breath.

+

"I thought I heard a noise."

+

"Probably me," the hairy man said. He reached over to the seat +where his clothes were crumpled in a heap and dragged his shirt +across to wipe the sweat from his brow.

+

"What time is it?"

+

"Getting late. You'd better get out of here before my Kenny gets +in." Isobel got to her feet, and came acros to the window. She +could see nothing out there. The was no light outside to show her +the red coating on the window. She'd see it in the morning, along +with the congealing scrap of flesh stuck to the roughcast edge just +above her window and she would flee to the bathroom where she would +be immediately and violently sick. The sickness would come upon her +again one morning before the week was out, but there was another +reason for that and it's another story.

+

Jock Toner's frozen and bloodless cadaver was not found until +late the following morning by the team who came back to work to +finish off the concreting. In fact, it was Neil Gunn, an +eighteen-year-old apprentice who noticed the shape dangling from +the gantry an hour after he'd started work. He got such a fright +that all he could do was hang on to the safety rail on the top of +the block and scream for help from the foreman who was down in the +hut. The ganger called the police and the fir brigade who had to +take one of the clattering lifts up to the roof and manually wind +the gantry down to ground level where Jack Toner's body hit the +ground like a log, frozen stiff.

+

At that time, everybody believed it had been an accident. All +except one person who knew it was not.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike12.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike12.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc11a75 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike12.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,691 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 12 + + + + +
+
+

12

+

The last thing Jock Toner saw as he spun on the rope before his +head hit the concrete edge was a shadow rippling up the side of the +building and into the mist. He had no time to wonder about the +black shape.

+

On the other side of town, Lorna Breck saw the same shadow in a +vision so terrifying she felt her heart freeze.

+

It was so vivid she could feel the sting of ice on her face and +the bite of the wind which spun the crystals in flurries over the +top edge of the building.

+

She'd been standing on a high place, watching the lights of the +town twinkle dimly through the mist. Beside her a heavy metal frame +hung out like a gallows and thin steel wires curved round the +pulleys to disappear into the murk below.

+

"What's happening?" she heard herself ask in a voice that was +more an echo. "What's here?"

+

The words were swallowed up in the fog.

+

Lorna turned from the north-west edge, towards the pulley. Far +across town a train lumbered out of the station, a slow beat at +first, then getting faster as it picked up speed, unseen in the +distance. From a little further west, a tortured squeal like an +animal in distress came wavering over the rooftops as the crucible +of iron in the foundry tipped its white-hot load into the pan and +the strip wheels started their roll. This sound too was oddly +echoed, as if it came from within a vast chamber.

+

Something drew her feet towards the edge, close to the pulley +scaffold. She tried to pull back, unwilling to walk to the barrier +that surrounded the flat top of the building like a small +battlement wall, but the imperative over-rode her own will. A sense +of fear kindled inside her, an uneasy twist of foreboding. In her +mind she could hear the scraping sound, like whispers in the dark, +grating on the inside of her skull. It was like the sound of +scrabbling nails; hard, chitinous claws in the distance.

+

She took another step forward, then another, until she reached +the barrier. It was a small wall, on top of which was a thick low +tubular railing. Lorna shook her head, trying to deny the internal +push and failed. She reached both hands out and clasped +the metal. it burned cold into her palms.

+

"A dream," she finally told herself, whispering against the +wind. "This is a dream."

+

She knew it, but could not break free of it. Behind her, the +wind whistled across the prongs of the tall television aerial, +making it sing mournfully and the thin steel hawsers took up the +dirge, moaning against the winter night. It was freezing cold. The +chill stole through the skin of her hands and spread up her arms +like a frost in her blood, like sluggish river ice. She shivered +and the cold flowed across her shoulders and down into her chest. +She could feel her heart labour against it, but the cold invaded +relentlessly. Her skin felt brittle, as if it would shatter at a +touch. Her bones were like glass.

+

She leaned over the edge, willing herself not to do it, unable +to resist. She felt the creak of frozen muscles and her hands felt +as if they had become part of the frigid metal. She bent her head +and looked down.

+

The mist swirled in lethargic turbulence, tendrils of opaque +white, limned by the streetlights to a dirty orange ochre. The +hawser lines narrowed together in diminishing perspective as they +disappeared from view into the haze.

+

The shifting, amorphous form moved on the wall in a flicker of +black and raced down the face of the building, a squat, spidery +shade. The hawser twanged again, this time even more violently and +the pulley roller squealed in protest. Lorna's eyes were locked on +the turbulence below. The black reached the dim cradle. Something +shot out from its squat bulk and he heard a meaty thud and a low, +involuntary grunt.

+

Something cracked and then a shape flew off and away from the +building.

+

"No, please," Lorna tried to say. The words came out in a little +croak.

+

Then she heard the scream.

+

It came braying up the side of the building as the flailing +figure launched out from the platform. Behind him a rope whipped +like a tail. Beside her the pulleys squealed as they began to turn +and the galley began to rise. Ahead of it the black mass came +whizzing up the sheer face of the wall towards her. Ice flowed into +her brain and the whole scene assaulted her senses in a series of +stop-go frames. There was a deep, booming thud, the sound of a +bowstring, and the man's flight stopped abruptly. Even in the +distance, she heard the crack of muscle and tendon ripping. The +scream died abruptly. The flailing form came catapulting back in +towards the building. It tumbled and spun, obscured by the mist, +then disappeared underneath the metal platform. A sickening wet +noise crunched in the cold air.

+

And all the time, the black mass came flickering up towards +her.

+

"Oh," she heard her own voice gasp. Her nerves jittered in +panic. She tried to back away but her muscles would not unlock.

+

She could hear the hard scrabble of claws on the stone and now a +low, panting growl so deep she could feel it vibrate the bones of +her skull.

+

It came rocketing upwards, incredibly fast, as if gravity had no +effect on it. Its shape writhed and pistoned. She could not tell +how many arms or legs the thing had. It seemed to possess no true +shape at all, but it moved with frightening speed.

+

It reached the lip, just beside her. Something dark shot out and +a hooked hand, or what might conceivably have been a hand, +reached for the bar. It grasped it with a hard, clanging sound. The +limb, or whatever it was flexed and bunched, and the whole shape +was hauled up to squat on the edge. It was like looking into a +hole in the universe. There was only blackness. No sense +of solidity, nothing to break up the shape and give it depth or +real form. Even in the dream, in the terror that constricted her +throat and made her cold blood feel like ice in her veins, Lorna +knew that what she was looking at was wrong. Waves of +complete and utter badness radiated out from the nightmare +silhouette. Beside it, something white fluttered, but its lightness +cast no reflection on the thing which squatted, its foul breath +like grinding rocks in whatever it had for a throat. Something +knobbly and shapeless turned just above what could have been +hunched shoulders and two orange eyes opened, spearing her in +baleful light, the only feature on the terrifying form.

+

Lorna heard herself gasp as the eyes lunged towards her, two +malignant orbs. They were completely featureless at first, seemed +blind and mindless, then, in the centre of each, two yellow +vertical slits in the orange, opened with rasping clicks. It looked +as if the eyes were burning with hideous flame. She could feel the +heat of them and the hunger in them. She tried to loosen her hands +from the rail and run. One palm ripped free with a pain that felt +as if she'd left skin sticking to the cold metal.

+

The thing glared at her, still growling like a rabid animal. +Then it moved. There was no fluidity then. A many-jointed limb +suddenly reached out in the flick of an eye and held something +aloft. It fluttered whitely. Lorna's eyes were drawn away from the +sickening, hypnotic orbs and she saw what it held.

+

A tiny child dangled caught up in a shawl which flapped in the +wind. It made no sound at all. Its eyes were wide open and they +were dead. Lorna could feel her vision waver in shock, but even as +her knees started to give way, the thing moved again. The eyes +blinked with another strange click sound. It did not even +move its position.

+

Yet something black whipped out from its shapeless mass. It +grabbed her by the shoulder with ferocious strength and flipped her +off the edge of the building.

+

She tumbled over the lip, cartwheeling as she flew. Lights +flickered as she passed the windows. She hurtled beyond something +which hung below the gantry and fell in a nightmare swoop. The wind +whistled past her and forced her breath back into her lungs and she +fell and fell and fell and it seemed as if she fell forever.

+

Lorna woke with a thudding shock, incoherent with fright, +gasping for air.

+

She was still whimpering fifteen minutes later as she sat on the +overstuffed armchair close to the fire, sipping on hot tea held in +a shaky hand.

+

"What's happening to me?" she asked aloud. Her voice trailed off +into a sniffle. She reached for a paper tissue and blew her nose. +The dream was still with her, vivid in her mind, as vivid as any of +the dreams that had catapulted her out of sleep in the middle of +the night, gasping for breath and damp with the sweat of night +chills. And it had not just been at night either.

+

The visions had assaulted her at random, awake or asleep. It +made her feel as if she was at the centre of some malefic +whirlpool, at the mercy of dark undercurrents she could not +control. In the past few days, her whole life had been turned +upside down. She was scared to go to sleep, scared to stay awake. +Down at the library, she'd find herself jumping at imagined +shadows. Even during the day, the narrow aisles between the old +victorian bookshelves were dim, claustrophobic and threatening +alleys where the narrow cones from the overhead lights could not +banish the gloom. She would find herself looking over her own +shoulder, jumping at every rustle in the silence, and since the day +she'd seen the shape in the reflection of the shop window, she +hadn't dared to go down to the basement. A pile of books which +still had to be catalogued and covered in dust-proof plastic were +still piled up behind her desk. Keith Conran, the head librarian +had asked her several times when she was planning to get the work +done and Lorna had made excuses. The library basement, two levels +below the adult section, and cluttered with old newspaper files and +even narrower walkways between metal shelving was dusty and dry and +lightless. Every time Lorna thought of going down there, she +pictured the slam of the door at the top of the narrow wooden +stairway and the sudden blackness as the light clicked off. And in +that imaginary scene, she would hear the scuttling claws of +something even blacker than the blind dark snuffling and grunting +its way towards her, getting ready to focus those appalling eyes on +her.

+

It was only just after seven at night. Lorna hadn't meant to +fall asleep on the couch, but she'd been exhausted. Her body was +aching and her joints protesting. It felt as if she was picking up +a virus, but she knew it was just lack of sleep, lack of +real sleep.

+

The aftershock of the dreams jittered through her, making her +hands shake so much she needed both of them to hold the cup. +Finally she gave up and put it down on the kerb by the fireplace +then held herself there, arms around her knees, holding herself +tight, rocking slowly, as if the movement would ease the fear and +bring her comfort. It did not help.

+

It had been almost two weeks since the first episode. That was +how she had begun to think of them. Episodes. They were +happenings. Occurrences.

+

They were visitations.

+

She hadn't written the first one down, though she could remember +exactly when it had happened. It was before the night Gemma had +asked her to come to the party.

+

There had been another episide, before the hellish vision of the +fire. They had been in the old Bridge Hotel with some of Gemma's +friends. They were all older than Lorna, but her cousin had been +looking out for her during the past couple of months since she'd +come down to start her job in the library, not long after she'd +finished with James Blair. Working in the library didn't give a +girl much of a chance to meet new people, and Gemma had made sure +she at least got out into company.

+

It was that night, after she'd come home and had her shower, +that she'd had the next dream. She hadn't seen it then. +Not the way she'd seen the shape since.

+

But in the dream she'd felt the presence and it had frightened +her so badly she'd woken up unable even to breathe. She hadn't +known what was happening. All she'd seen were the seven people +around the table and then things had started to move and +inside her head she'd heard the voice, scrapy as the claws on the +side of the building in the other vision, telling her to +behold. She had seen the old woman rise into the air, +while the walls had sweated and the books had slammed from their +shelves, sensed the terror in the other people who had fled from +something they could not understand, but could sense with a +primitive instinct.

+

The next time - and she had written this one in her +diary - had been three days later when she was working down in the +basement, sorting out the files. Keith had gone out for lunch while +she had stayed to finish off.

+

The vision had hit her so hard that she'd fallen backwards +against a stack of newspapers and had slid to the floor, blind to +everything in the cellar while the dust had swirled up in a cloud +and she was outside.

+

The baby had been in its pram. The door to the veranda was +almost closed. Just one chink of light escaped the heavy curtains. +She had heard the child's light snuffling breath. Overhead stars +twinkled in the night air. Down to the left, the shriek of the +forge was loud and she could see the glow heat through the holes on +the side of the metal-framed building. Across town, where the +night-shift worked on the rig-construction, in the shipyard's +engine room, something clanked several times, ringing flatly across +the river. Three swans had come flying downstream, all in line, +only feet above their reflections, ghostly images whooping through +the air to disappear quickly from view.

+

The baby had coughed, then let out a little cry.

+

And the shadow had come racing down the wall with astonishing +speed. It hit the pram with a thump which would have capsized it +but for the close confines of the veranda balcony. It seemed to +flow over it, almost hiding it from sight, then drew back. +She heard clearly the ripping sound as the harness parted. The baby +screeched, high and wavering and it was gone, its thin little cry +disappearing upwards, as the black shape scuttled in a diagonal to +the far corner while she had stood watching from some vantage point +- and she had no idea where she'd been standing - watching +soundlessly, unable to scream a warning, unable to call for +help.

+

Then, two days later, she'd seen the fire, and that was most +shocking of all.

+

Because when that vision had assailed her she had known +it was true.

+

She'd been staring into the tea-leaves, and she'd focussed +herself as she'd done before and suddenly she had seen the +whole thing. It hadn't been like a memory, or a mental picture. +She'd been there. That had been the worst of it. She had +been able to see it, to hear it. And to smell it.

+

The voices around her had faded. The last thing she'd heard was +Gemma telling Mrs McCluskie to hush and then there had been a +click inside her head, as if some little bubble had popped +in a vein and the picture had come rushing up at her and she had +gone swooping into it.

+

She had been standing in the corner of the room.

+

The man was slouched in a corner seat, feet stuck out in front +of him, one crossed over the other. She could even see the hole in +his carpet slipper. A newspaper was tented over his face as if he'd +fallen asleep reading it. Beside him, a coal shifted in the grate +and sent a small glow out from the hearth. As she watched, the side +light beside the man's chair flickered then went dim. It was as if +it was being lacquered with some filmy substance, layer upon layer +which just caused the light to fade. It happened so smoothly and +swiftly that at first Lorna was not aware of it. For a second she +could see the orange glow of the filament then it winked out. The +gentle radiance in the hearth was swallowed up in the darkness and +then she heard the scraping sound coming from where the fireglow +had been. There was the smell of smoke and soot and suddenly she +was aware of something else in the room. It was pitch +dark, but she could sense the presence of a shape.

+

The scene flicked again and she was in a small bedroom. From the +other room there was a thudding sound. A man coughed or gagged and +the sound stopped instantly. Tendrils of smoke came crawling in +under the door. Two small boys were sleeping in bunks. The +tousle-headed one on the top had his arm hanging down, fingers +slack. In the cot, the baby was stirring. It rolled over and +clumsily got to its feet, eyes closed, dummy hanging from the +corner of its mouth. Sleepily the tiny girl struggled for balance +as its feet sank down into the mattress. She had fair, downy hair. +The smoke was coming thicker under the door. The baby coughed. The +dummy flew out of its mouth and her eyes opened. The little girl +looked straight into Lorna's eyes and held both hands up, mutely +appealing to be carried.

+

Lorna couldn't move. Behind her, the door grew hot and the smoke +filled the room. The baby coughed again. One of the boys turned in +his sleep as the fumes thickened. Fire was roaring next door. Lorna +tried to call to the babies to wake up, but again, she was +dumb.

+

Then the door splintered open. Sizzling sparks exploded inwards. +Something came past her so quickly the eye couldn't follow it. +There was a high baby cry and then the window crashed outwards. One +of the boys awoke with a start, screamed, and then a huge gout of +flame, sucked in by the draught from the open window blasted into +the room. The boy's scream rose glassily. The smell of burning +flesh assaulted her nose and then Lorna was elsewhere. She was on +some dark place all alone and she could hear a small voice singing +a song from childhood. The words were very familiar. They kept +repeating themselves and then Lorna had been back in Gemma's house. +Agnes McCann had been staring at her and Lorna realised the voice +had been her own. Agnes McCann had a blank look on her face and +suddenly Lorna knew. The smell of sizzling fat and +scorched skin and hair was thick at the back of her throat and she +was looking at a women whose children were dead and she was more +frightened than she had ever been in her life.

+

Now she was still scared, but she was scared for herself.

+

"There's something wrong," she mumbled, chin still on her knees, +body drawn in tight. "I think I'm going mad."

+

But she knew she was not going mad.

+

She had read the reports. She had seen the news on television. +The old woman dead in Cairn House; the baby missing from it's pram +in Latta Court. The babies and their father dead in the fire.

+

One of these things she'd seen as it was happening, as if it +were being shown to her for her disgust and someone else's +pleasure. It was as if something was able to look into her mind and +show her the most terrifying, most sickening scenes it could +find.

+

Yet two of these things had happened days after Lorna +had dreamed them. She did not know what to do about that.

+

And worse. She'd seen the other baby, the one torn from its +mother's arms in the alley down by the river. And this time she'd +seen again the moving shadow which scuttled up and down walls and +turned sickening orange eyes upon her, drowning her in their +malevolent focus.

+

She'd seen the same thing on top of the high building where +she'd never been, not physically, not in real life. She'd +seen it clamber and flow up the sheer concrete side and pause only +to snatch at a man and throw him to his death and then it had +paused again to show her something, to take pleasure out of +displaying what it held in a hand that was blacker than night.

+

Lorna Breck by now did not truly think she was going mad, but +she knew that if the dreadful visions continued, then she surely +would.

+

She had stumbled into something. Some part of her mind, some +tiny crack somewhere, had opened up and was giving her glimpses of +such monstrous malignancy, such shocking malevolence that she was +unable to comprehend them.

+

Something inside her had opened a door into the future. Whether +or not the shadowed, scuttling thing she could see in her dreams +was real, she did not know, though something told her that despite +the impossibility of it, there was something that +scuttered and climbed and snatched and killed. She had seen three +things, three terrible things, and they had all happened. They had +all come to pass.

+

Now she had seen two more things.

+

Lorna Breck was frightened to go to sleep, scared to stay awake. +And she dreaded what she might hear if she turned on her radio, or +opened a newspaper.

+

She did not want to hear of another death. She did not want to +learn of a man hanging from a rope on the side of a tower block. +She did not want to be appraised of yet another baby missing.

+

But she knew she would. In one or two or three days, she would +learn it and she would be sickened by the horror of it and the +sheer helplessness she felt.

+

She felt as if she wanted to lock her doors and play music so +loud it blotted out every thought, but even then, she knew, that +would do no good at all.

+

As she sat there, still trembling, feeling the heat of the fire +on her arms and legs and a terrible chill in her heart, Lorna Breck +came to a decision. She would wait until she knew for certain that +what she'd seen had actually happened, though she prayed +to God that they would not. And if they did, she would have to +speak to someone about it. She'd read the name in the newspaper. +Lorna eased herself to her feet and took the phone book from the +drawer on the sideboard and riffled through it until she found the +number she wanted.

+
+

Jack Fallon picked David up just before nine and drove him to +school. Julia was blocked up with the cold which had been building +up for the past couple of days, and greeted him, still in her +dressing gown, bleary eyed and raw-nosed. Davy was ready with his +schoolbag slung from a shoulder and a Thunderbirds lunch box. He +was as chirpy as a robin, in stark contrast to his mother.

+

The heater was on full blast and the boy helped wipe the +condensation from the screen, talking the whole time.

+

"Can we go up the hills again, Uncle Jack?"

+

"If I can get away."

+

"If it snows, can we take the sledge up?"

+

"Sure."

+

"You fell off last time. You hurt your head."

+

"And it was sore. I scraped my face in the snow, 'cause I was +holding on to you with both hands. Next time we'll find a place +where the snow's thicker and there are no stones underneath."

+

At the school, he promised the boy he'd try to get off at the +weekend, though he knew it was far from likely. Taking the Davy up +beyond the trees and over the hills to the rugged Langmuir rock +face would do everybody some good. It gave the boy fresh air and +time to scamper and explore. It gave Julia a break from looking +after him on her own and it gave Jack some time to be with the only +family he had left. He would have loved to say he would be +able to take Davy out on the Saturday, but the previous night, Jack +had got the call and all hell had broken loose. He'd been out until +four in the morning and had managed less than four hours sleep when +he'd got home and was feeling blasted. It was going to be another +long day and the weekend was going to be wall-to-wall +heartache.

+

Davy waved from the gate at Crossburn School, a little figure in +a pom-pom hat pulled way down over his ears and a woolly scarf +wound round his neck a couple of times then tucked into the front +of a padded jacket. He turned and disappeared into a melee of small +bodies. Jack did a five point reverse turn on the narrow avenue and +headed down to the station, eyes grainy and feeling as if he could +have used another ten hours sleep.

+

Blair Bryden, who edited the Gazette, a tall, thin man with +thick glasses and close cropped hair, apprehended him on the +steps.

+

"Hold on Jack," he called, catching up with him and taking him +by the arm.

+

"You don't want to go in there."

+

"You're right, I don't." Jack said wearily, "But that's what +they pay me for."

+

"No. What I meant is that everybody and his auntie from the +dailies is waiting for you. Cowie won't say a dickie bird. He's +going to feed you to the vultures."

+

"I've been there before. There's not a bone they haven't +picked," Jack countered amiably.

+

"Also, it's my press day," Blair added with a deprecating +grin.

+

"Oh, I get it. Alright. Come on."

+

He took him by the arm and led him round to the van park behind +the station and led him in through the back door. One of the young +constables nodded to both of them, a quizzical look in his eye.

+

"Mr Cowie wants to see you right away sir," he announced.

+

"Soon as I can Gordon," Jack said and hustled the local editor +along the corridor into an interview room.

+

"Right. Ten minutes, then I have to go and talk to them all. +I'll give you another fifteen minutes start and you can fax their +offices and make a bob or two."

+

Blair winked. The two men had known each other a long time. He +drew out a spiral notebook, put it flat on the table, clicked his +pen and looked up at Jack, his eyes pale and magnified behind the +lenses.

+

"Is it a serial thing?"

+

"Don't know."

+

"Opinion?"

+

"Not attributable, but it looks that way. Two kids gone. We have +to believe the worst, either that or it's somebody with an +overblown maternal instinct who wants to adopt in bulk, but I don't +subscribe to that theory. Not when the second mother is up in +intensive care. It wasn't looking good at five this morning. I'm +not expecting miracles."

+

"You'll have to rule Simpson out on this one," Blair stated.

+

"Best alibi in the world. He's on a marble slab."

+

"And how about the Doyle baby?"

+

"Two ways. Either it was Simpson, and he was a right +evil bastard if there ever was one, and there's something to link +him with Latta Court." Jack paused. "That is definitely off the +record. I mean it."

+

"Don't worry. We never spoke."

+

"Good man. As I say, it's a fifty-fifty at the moment. My +instinct is that Simpson was not involved."

+

"Which means we have a serial snatcher."

+

"I reckon so. No serious violence in the first, but a lot on the +second. I don't think it's a copy-cat."

+

"Are you looking for a woman?"

+

"Possible, but not probable. Maybe somebody who's just lost a +baby. Maybe a nutter who can't have any. Or maybe just a +nutter."

+

"This Campbell woman? Where is she."

+

"Intensive care in Lochend. She won't make it."

+

"The father?"

+

"Sedated himself to the gills last night. We only got word on +the baby this morning when he finally remembered. Useless +bastard."

+

Blair nodded. "I know the family."

+

He looked at his neat shorthand notes.

+

"Any connection with the Herkik killing?"

+

"God, I hope not. I'm still up to the armpits on that one. +Simpson was my best shot and I missed him by a hair."

+

"So what else can you tell me?"

+

"That's about it. All we have at the moment are some screams in +Cobble Walk. One of the old fellows upstairs heard a woman +shouting, but there's plenty of that after a rough night in the +Castlegate. She was found an hour later, close to ten o'clock, +nearly frozen stiff. Bad head injuries. No sign of the baby."

+

He put a hand up to his forehead. "We've had door to door all +night. Neighbours, relatives. I'm hoping for a lead today. Nobody +can steal two kids and not leave some trail," he said.

+

There was a small pause, then Jack looked at the other man. "Can +they?" he asked.

+

"How about the other hanging?" Blair asked.

+

"You've got me there," Jack admitted. "What other hanging?"

+

"Up at Loch view. I just heard it on police band. Somebody found +dangling from the side of the building."

+

"Christ," Jack breathed. "That's all I need. You sure?"

+

"Course. I got a call two minutes later from a cousin of mine. +She lives in the next block. Got a bird's eye view. I thought you'd +have heard."

+

Blair snapped his notebook shut.

+

"I'm glad I got you then. Thanks for the few minutes grace."

+

"Any time," Jack added. "By the way, I thought you did a fair +piece last week. I never knew all that about Cairn House."

+

"It's amazing what you find when you look back the old numbers. +I've got nearly two hundred years of history gathering dust in the +back office. I thought I'd write a book on it some day. Like a +ghost story."

+

"Stick to facts Blair. They're much scarier. Anyway, I've got to +run. Better brief myself on this other matter before I meet your +friends."

+

"No friends of mine," Blair said with a wide grin. "They're the +opposition. And by the way, you look like hell."

+

"Thanks a million," Jack said without rancour. Blair left the +way he had come in and Jack went in the opposite direction, +pondering whether to see Cowie first, or get a briefing from +CID.

+

In the event, the Superintendent waylaid him on the way to the +muster room and held his own office door open, inviting Jack +inside. There was no way he could avoid it.

+

"Another fine mess," he started.

+

"So I believe."

+

"And what are we going to tell that pack at the front +office."

+

"The truth basically," Jack suggested. "Either that or we could +field them to headquarters, but that would get their backs up, and +we might want them on our side."

+

"I thought you might have been in earlier," Cowie snorted, +changing tack.

+

"If I thought you wanted a zombie, then I would have. But I +thought it would be better if I got a couple of hours sleep. I +worked out a rota for inquiries. Slater and McColl have been +co-ordinating through the night."

+

"What about the other matter?"

+

Jack saw the look on the other man's face. It told him the +Superintendent thought he had a card to play.

+

"You mean up at Loch View?"

+

Cowie couldn't conceal his surprise and annoyance. He nodded +abruptly.

+

"Have to wait for the full works on that one." He took a stab in +the dark. "I think it's an accident."

+

"Too many accidents. Too many co-incidences."

+

"Oh, I think we have to separate the co-incidences out."

+

"Well, I think there's enough going on for us to handle. We're +going to need better co-ordination on this."

+

"You'll want to handle the press statement then?"

+

Cowie looked as if he'd rather kiss a snake. He was not backward +about spouting to the media whenever there was good personal public +relations to be harvested, but when, as they say in Levenford, the +ball is on the slates, when there were two babies missing, a +minister with a history hanged in glorious multichrome, a mother +dying in intensive care, and a Hungarian medium battered to death +in her own home, there was little to say except the usual police +standby: Enquiries are continuing.

+

That would not be good for the image. Cowie declined the +offer.

+

"No. You're the man leading the operation," he said coolly. "For +the time being."

+

Jack did not miss the nuance.

+

"Right, I'd better get a quick briefing and then get about the +business."

+

He found John McColl in the room adjacent to his office. Craig +Campbell was sitting opposite. Smoking a cigarette, looking +ashen-faced and red eyed. He gave the impression of a man who still +had a way to go before he sobered up. Jack beckoned the sergeant +into the office.

+

"How's it going with him?"

+

"He hasn't much of a clue. He's a drunk and a waster. I knew the +girl. Friend of my daughter. Nice wee thing."

+

"And what about the Loch View situation?"

+

"Oh, you heard?" Jack nodded.

+

"Early word is that it's an accident. A scaffolder fell off a +gantry."

+

"Fell or jumped?"

+

"Looks like a fall. It's not a hanging. The rope was snagged +around his leg. Hit his head off the side of the building. The +place is a mess. I've two men knocking doors, but so far nobody's +any the wiser. I called the fire brigade and Sorley Fitzpatrick's +men got him down half an hour ago. Robbie Cattenach is doing the +post mortem."

+

"OK. Any other news?"

+

"Levenford General tell me the girl's in a bad way. They don't +expect her to last the hour."

+

"Oh, great," Jack said. "Now two murders. Two abductions. A +suicide and an accident."

+

"Not forgetting the fire up at Murroch Road."

+

"Oh yes. We can't forget that. Life is one big picnic."

+

Jack spent twenty minutes fielding questions in the conference +room. The boys from the press were an unruly bunch, but they didn't +give him as hard a time as he'd had in the past. There was little +he could tell them to help them speculate. He stuck to the facts +and refused to let himself be drawn to conclusions. There were +enough simple facts anyway to let them go off feeling satisfied. +Jack wondered how they'd feel when their newsdesks told them the +local man had beaten them to the punch.

+

Robbie Cattenach did not take long to pronounce Jock Toner dead. +For a start, his body was frozen stone hard as it twirled in the +slight breeze, like a trussed fly on a spider's web. His eyes were +open and iced over and his body was almost completely devoid of +blood. The slick down the side of the building and the red +ice-slide on the concrete paving testified to what had happened. At +the slab, the young pathologist hardly needed the cutters to +determine the cause of death. The crater on the top of the dead +man's head was enough to give him the picture. He estimated the +force which Toner's skull had connected with the top edge of the +window and came to a conclusion after he'd gone through a series of +exhaustive tests which showed there had been no sudden stroke, no +heart attack.

+

Later in the afternoon, he by-passed the normal channels.

+

"I thought you'd like to know," Robbie's voice blared tinnily +from the earpiece, "in my view it wasn't an accident. Ralph Slater +gave me a rough description of how the body was positioned, though +I'll have a clearer idea once I see the pictures."

+

"An idea of what?"

+

"If it wasn't an accident, we've got a jumper or he was pushed. +I think he was pushed, and that gives you another murder."

+

Jack's heart sank. He let the words sink in, then the questions +marshalled themselves.

+

"That's the last thing I need. I'm hoping you're wrong. What +gives you the idea."

+

"Angle of concussion strike. If he'd fallen straight down, he +might just have hit the lower edge of the window sill, but probably +not. There was some wind, but not enough to have much effect on +fifteen stone dropping forty feet."

+

"Go on," Jack urged.

+

"And he hit the top edge, probably at more than thirty miles an +hour coming in at an angle with a last minute jerk. I believe he +must have gone right out from the building and come back again in +an arc, travelling fast. The gantry must have been moving at the +time, so the swing and the upward motion combined when he hit. Took +the top of his head off. I've got almost total frontal damage, but +nothing on brain-stem. It's rare, but not impossible. His body +functions continued for some time."

+

"Explain that."

+

"His heart kept beating, at least for a while. He was upside +down, unconscious, certainly brain-dead to all intents and +purposes, and gravity would have combined to account for the loss +of blood. I estimate he'd lost nearly eight pints. That's almost +the total body supply."

+

"If the lift was going up at the time," Jack began.

+

"Somebody started the motor," Robbie finished. "I don't think he +would have started it himself. Pointless really. No," he added +emphatically. "I think the fellow was thrown off."

+

Jack thought about that for a moment. He had no reason to doubt +Robbie Cattanach. The man was straight as a die, and certainly as +good as any pathologist Jack had dealt with in the past. If it was +murder, then there had to be a reason for it. Something else nagged +at him and he chased it for a moment before catching the thought. +It was a pattern. Not a clear one, not even a logical one. But if +it was murder, then it was the second case involving a block of +high flats. That might have been the only connection, but it was +there. Even then, in Jack's mind, the separate incidents were not +all conjoined. The only two which were almost certainly part of the +one case were the missing babies, but the feeling that there was a +connection, something important about the two incidents involving +high places, struck a discordant note.

+

"Oh and another thing," Robbie said, diverting Jack's mind. +"There were traces of blood on him."

+

"And all over the ground as far as I've heard."

+

"Yes. But there were drops of congealed blood on his cheek and +his shoulder. I've done a cross match. They weren't his. Toner was +0 positive. This blood was Rhesus negative. It came from somebody +else."

+

"His killer?"

+

"You're the detective," Robbie said and Jack laughed. "I'll be +doing further tests. Maybe I can give you more of a clue later +on."

+

"I'd appreciate any clue right now," Jack said with a drawn out +sigh.

+

Two abductions. Possibly three murders. A suicide.

+

Not a bad score, Jack thought, for just over a week. So far the +only clue had led to one suspect who he'd found bloated and hanging +in the cellar under the church. The rest of the inquiries had drawn +nothing but more questions. There were no answers.

+

What Jack Fallon did not know was that there was another suicide +in Levenford that day.

+

And the strange thing about it was that the man who had taken +his own life, was not dead.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike13.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike13.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb0f179 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike13.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,217 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 13 + + + + +
+
+

13

+

Edward Tomlin stunned his family to silence when he told them he +was going to die.

+

It happened on the Friday night, one day after Shona Campbell's +baby had been torn from her arms by something which had leapt down +at her from the shadows, and only six hours after the girl herself +died from the terrible injuries. She never regained consciousness +which was a blow to Jack Fallon who had posted a policewoman to sit +by her bed in the hope she might, despite the devastating wound on +her head, have been able to give them some answers.

+

Tomlin was sitting at the head of the table in the kitchen in +the semi-detached house in Eastmains, out on the far edge of town. +When he sluggishly pushed his plate away from him, the sausage and +egg was untouched.

+

"Are you not hungry?" Margaret Tomlin asked him. Between them, +their two girls were feeding with obvious relish.

+

"I'm going to die," he said. The words came out without a trace +of emotion. Margaret picked up the tone immediately though the +girls missed it entirely.

+

"We're all going to die," Christine piped up. She was fourteen +and always in the top three in her class. She spread butter on a +slice of bread as she spoke. "It's a fact of life."

+

"Oh, don't talk like that," Trisha protested. "I hate that."

+

Margaret cut across them. "What did you say?"

+

"I'm going to die." He looked at her across the table, his face +completely and utterly blank. Margaret Tomlin, who was a pleasant, +plump woman with her faded fair hair pulled back in a pony-tail, +felt a slow coldness in her stomach. For the past week Eddie had +been very withdrawn. He'd stayed out late, and as soon as he was +home, he'd gone straight up to the loft where he kept with the +train set he'd owned since before they were married. The night +before, it had been well past midnight late and he hadn't said a +word, though in the morning she'd found his trousers were scuffed a +scraped and covered in mud from the knee to the ankle. When she'd +asked him what had happened, he'd given her a blank look and had +said nothing.

+

In all the years she'd known him, since both of them were at the +school the girls now attended, Edward Tomlin had been a dependable +man. Even boring, some might have said, and Margaret herself might +have said it if she'd been pressed. Certainly, they led dull enough +lives. The girls were quite well behaved and bookish. She worked as +a clerkess in Castlebank. He patrolled the empty Castlebank +shipyard. She knew nothing at all of the clothes he'd stolen from +washing lines at night, the panties and stockings which he kept +locked in the box behind the toolroom door, and which he wore in +the hollow silence of the hull-shed.

+

He never forgot their anniversary and they always wen out on +that day for an Italian meal in Glasgow. He belonged to no club and +rarely went out drinking.

+

In the past week or so, he'd been out without saying where he +was going and when he clambered in to bed beside her, she could +smell drink on his breath. A couple of times she'd asked him if +anything was wrong and he'd mumbled that there was nothing on his +mind.

+

She thought about the possibility that he might have another +woman and hated herself when she'd sniffed at the collar of his +jacket for traces of perfume. On the Wednesday, when he'd gone out +at night - Just out, nowhere special, he'd said vaguely - +she'd gone up to the loft and checked through the desk he had +there. There was nothing, no letters, no odd little gifts. She'd +gone through his pockets while he was up with his trains and had +come up with nothing. There were no receipts, no notes, no +telephone numbers. Nothing except for the tarot cards. Two of them. +The six of cups and the king of pentacles, old fashioned cards with +victorian-style artwork back and front, and the name of each +scrolled on the bottom. Both of the cards were bent, as if they'd +been stuffed in the pocket in haste. She knew next to nothing of +tarot, didn't have a clue where he could have picked them up. She +had put them back in his pocket and said nothing.

+

Now, on the Friday night. Edward turned round and told his +family he was going to die.

+

"I've done something," he said.

+

"Done what?" Margaret asked. She could hear the chill in her own +voice, almost echoing the dead coldness in his. Both girls looked +from father to mother, like spectators at tennis.

+

"Something. I don't know. It's too dark to see."

+

"What are you talking about it?" Margaret asked. She could feel +a little tremor start in her left hand. She put down the fork and +it rattled against the plate.

+

"I took something. I had to."

+

"What's wrong daddy?" Trisha piped up plaintively.

+

"I took weedkiller. Paraquat. I drank it."

+

Margaret opened her mouth, closed it again, fighting the +giddiness as the blood drained from her face.

+

"You did what?"

+

"Paraquat," he repeated. "I had to. It said so."

+

"Who said so?"

+

So far his voice had been dead flat. No inflection, no cadence. +The words came out and landed like cuts of meat on a butcher's +board. Eddie Tomlin's eyebrows arched upwards, and a look of +bewilderment came across his face.

+

"I...I don't know. Him. It. It said to."

+

"Edward Tomlin. Stop it this minute."

+

The puzzled expression faded, and the man's face went blank +again.

+

"Too late. Can't stop it now."

+

"I don't believe you," She shot back, clutching at the +straw.

+

He got up slowly and went to the back door. She heard the +outside door, beyond the pantry, open with a clatter. He went +outside and came back with a plastic bottle. She'd seen it before. +He'd used it in summer to clear the weeds from the stone chippings +on the narrow driveway.

+

"This is it. I drank it."

+

For a moment he sounded like a little boy boasting.

+

"And I'm going to die."

+

Trisha burst into tears. "Stop it daddy. I hate you +speaking like that," she bawled.

+

He turned to her and looked at her as if he'd never seen her +before.

+

"Can't stop it. Not now. The clock is running," Tomlin said, and +then he smiled a ghastly smile which only moved his mouth, while +the rest of his face remained expressionless.

+

"Time to go," he added. He got slowly to his feet and turned +away from the table.

+

The three of them watched him as he took four steps and then +started to slump when he reached the sink. His knees buckled and +Margaret heard the thud as his ribs caught the rounded edge. He +gave a little gasp and then she heard him retch violently. Liquid +splashed into the basin and Trisha was promptly vomited her eggs +onto her plate.

+

"Eddie?" Margaret asked in a voice that was more of a gasp. +"Eddie? Tell me it's a joke?"

+

He retched again. She could see his sides heave with the +violence of it. This time nothing came jetting out of his mouth. He +gagged twice then coughed, before bringing his head up. He turned +and as he did, he began to sink slowly to the floor.

+

"No joke," he said breathlessly. "All over. All over now." He +hiccupped. His face had gone greenish white. "Time to go now."

+

He slid down against the cupboard door and sprawled on the +vinyl. He tried to raise himself up on one elbow but failed. He +turned to his stricken wife, his eyes now wide and staring. A +trickle of saliva dribbled down his chin.

+

"Got to go now. Only good thing for me."

+

Christine was crying in a high-pitched continuous howl. Trisha +was still trying to get her breath back. There was a hot smell of +bile in the air.

+

Margaret Tomlin got herself up from her knees, her face as white +as her husband's and almost knocked herself out on the door in her +rush to get to the phone. Within fifteen minutes an ambulance +arrived to take Edward Tomlin to Lochend general where Shona +Campbell's body lay in one of the long, cold drawers.

+

A team of doctors began the hopeless fight to save his life. It +took him six days to die as inch by inch, the poison invaded his +organs and one by one they began to close themselves down.

+

By the time Jack Fallon got home that Friday, it was nearly +midnight and the cottage was cold. He slung his coat on the hook by +the front door and poured himself a drink first, before putting the +coffee on to heat. He was tired, cold and hungry, but didn't think +he could eat.

+

It had not been a good day.

+

Shona Campbell had died, as the doctors had predicted, from +blood-loss, exposure and the massive trauma. She had not regained +consciousness.

+

Jack had spoken to Robbie Cattenach on the phone.

+

"A heavy instrument. Not quite blunt. Like a log with nails in +it," Robbie had told him. "Tremendous damage to the left side of +her head. It's a wonder she survived as long as she did."

+

Jack urged him to go on. He knew he'd get the full report, but +it wouldn't be until Monday.

+

"She put up a fight, that's for sure."

+

"It was definitely a man then?"

+

"Probably. I'd put money on it. Someone very strong. I gave some +of the scrapings to your forensic people. She'd had a go alright, +but that didn't do her any good at all."

+

Ralph Slater and his team had gone over the scene for three +hours and came up with very little.

+

"Whoever hit her was a fair size," Ralph conjectured. "It's +definitely a downward blow. Caved in the side of her face. Not a +pretty sight. There was a lot under the nails of her left hand. +That's being analysed just now."

+

"Footprints?" Jack asked.

+

"Cold night, boss. Freezing. Any prints are two days old."

+

"What are the neighbours saying?"

+

Ralph handed over a manilla folder.

+

"It's all in there and not worth a damn. One old fellow heard +someone yelling late on, but that's just normal for the area at +that time of night. In fact, I get the impression it was quieter +than normal."

+

Jack had interviewed Craig Campbell, who had sobered up but made +just as little sense in the cold light of day. He was no help.

+

Blair Bryden had managed to get the snatch on the front page of +the Gazette and had a wing column devoted to Jock Toner's demise. +It was quick work. He must, Jack knew, have written it all within +an hour of leaving by the back door of the station to get it out on +time. It was a fair enough piece, and Blair had the advantage of +being a Levenford man born and bred. He knew just about +everybody.

+

The story spilled on to the centre spread where the local editor +had compiled wrap-up on the action over the past fortnight. Anybody +could read the question between the lines. Two possible suicides, +two child snatches. A woman killed. A father and his three children +dead in a fire. While the Gazette did not say, in so many words +that there was a connection between all these events, its tone did +suggest that misfortune had stamped into town and set up home.

+

Jack Fallon had to agree. It was a few weeks until the end of +the year, and already a bad winter had settled on Levenford.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike14.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike14.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bd0ea83 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike14.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,707 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 14 + + + + +
+
+

14

+

Over the weekend, the temperature plummeted. Saturday brought +the first flurries of snow hitting in from the north west, and by +morning, Langmuir crags were blanketed in white. Jack awoke at +nine, later than he'd intended and had a quick plate of bacon and +eggs before shrugging on his padded jacket and stepping out into a +world that had changed overnight. The snow was blinding under a +clear, hard sky, and all the sharp outlines of winter, the bare +black branches and the rocky outcrops at the edge of the muir +cliffs were fuzzed in white. Everything looked soft and peaceful. +The wind had died and had drifted the virgin snow to soften the +jagged edges. Jack walked carefully round to the back of the house +where the land at the far end of the garden fell away steeply to +the little stream that used to turn the wheel of Cargill farm mill +before Jack had been born. The water which normally tumbled down +through the narrow gorge was now almost silent, just a musical +tinkle. Icicles hung down from the lip of the falls, slender +jewelled stalactites reflecting the low light of the rising sun. A +robin whistled robustly close by and blurred red as it came to land +on the fence post almost within arm's reach. It cocked its head to +the side and fixed him with a sparkling black eye.

+

"And good morning to you," Jack said.

+

The little bird, a bright red contrast against the snow hopped +onto the strand of wire, bobbed jauntily at him and piped a +warbling challenge. If Jack had reached his hand, he could have +touched the robin. It sat and glared at him defiantly, feathers +puffed out, its beak a little dagger, spindly legs apart.

+

"Alright," Jack said, with a laugh. "I'm going." The bird sang +after him as he walked, feet padding silently in the soft snow back +to the house. He called the office to say he was going out to speak +to someone and would be in later. It was a minor lie. He went back +into the kitchen, took a handful of stale slices from the bread-bin +and went back into the garden. The robin was now perched like a +lookout on the garden fork that had been stabbed into the soil +since October, when the last of the turnips were lifted. Jack +ripped the dry bread into small pieces and scattered them onto the +flat place where the short grass waited for spring. The robin flew +down immediately and pecked. By the time Jack reached the house, +the garden was teeming with sparrows and starlings. They were +feeding hungrily, and the image took him back to the years when +he'd sat at the back door, binoculars hard up against his eyes, +identifying all the birds as they fluttered and squabbled over +whatever he'd left for them. Here at Cargill Cottage, right out on +the far side of town, there were still plenty of birds. Twenty +years on, Jack remembered them all.

+

He walked to his car, brushed the snow from the windscreen and +got in. He eased the car out through the gap in the hedge and +started downhill, keeping in high gear, careful not to skid on the +slope. A hundred yards down the farm road, he turned left onto +Berry Avenue, which hadn't been there when he was a boy. Then it +had been a jumble of old bramble thickets where mothers and kids +spent September and October collecting enough to make jam and jelly +to last the winter.

+

Julia lived at the far end, where the road came to an abrupt +halt. Beyond that, a pair of sycamore trees stood like bare +sentries to the path which led down the long slope to Langmuir +Burn, a wide stream which drained from the bog way up in the hills +and meandered down to skirt the town and empty itself into the +Clyde near the Castle Rock.

+

Davy leapt about like an excited puppy when he opened the door +to find Jack stamping the snow from his cleated boots.

+

"Can we take the sledge? Eh, uncle Jack. Can we go down the +hill?"

+

Jack ruffled his hair. Julia came out of the kitchen, still in +her dressing gown, as she had been the day before. She was tall, +and had the same jet black hair Jack had. She was five years +younger than her brother and under normal circumstances, she was a +pretty level-headed and easygoing woman. She looked better than she +had on the Friday morning, but as she leaned forward to kiss Jack +on the cheek and say hello, he could hear she was still choked with +the cold.

+

"Shouldn't you be in your bed?"

+

"Not with that wee tornado," she replied with a watery smile. +"I've got no energy at all, and he's been given an extra helping. +Whatever he's on, I could use some of it."

+

"Well, get back upstairs and I'll bring you some tea."

+

"Oh, I'll be alright."

+

"Do what you're told girl," he ordered with feigned severity. +"I'll take him out for an hour or so. I have to get to the office +later, but I need some fresh air."

+

"You want to get back to your childhood again," she said and +laughed weakly, then whipped out a tissue just in time to catch a +sudden sneeze. Jack shoo-ed her upstairs and put the kettle on. +Davy danced around him until Jack confirmed they would go sledging, +then raced off to get his snowsuit and boots. Ten minutes later, +Julia was in bed with tea and a magazine. Jack and the small boy +went out, dragging the old iron sledge behind them. It bumped over +the roots between the old sycamores and beech trees of the bar-wood +which separated cargill farm land from the small line of houses on +Berry Avenue, then, when they were through the barrier, it glided +smoothly on the virgin snow of the field.

+

The air was clear and nippy and the sun, now higher, sent +slanting rays onto the hillside which bounced them back in millions +of coruscating sparkles.

+

They reached the lip of the hill and Jack angled the sledge to +aim it along the natural curve of a dip which swung as it descended +to the flat pasture beside the stream. He had an old, battered, +Russian soldier's hat with a stiff brim and flaps which covered his +ears. He pulled it tight down onto his head, partially to shade his +eyes from the glare and also to prevent a repeat of last winter's +accident.Wee Davy snuggled between his legs, both hands gripping +Jack's knees and then they were off.

+

The sledge moved slowly at first. They could hear the runners +whisper on the dry snow as Jack pushed with both hands to get them +moving and then they were down over the lip and accelerating. Davy +squealed with excitement as they hurtled down the gulley, following +the natural track. On either side, the snow was a blur and the +runners sent up a fine spray of crystals as they shot along. Jack +could feel the boy's fingers dig into the skin of his legs as the +slope dropped away from them for the final swoop down into the +flat.

+

"Yee-hah!" Davy yelled, and Jack bawled along with him. They +were hammering along, just hitting the level field. Here the cows +had grazed the grass flat and only a few brown dockens and thistles +punctuated the pasture. By luck, they passed them all without +obstruction and were heading straight for the pool in the stream +when Jack leaned his weight to the right and the sledge started to +curve in its headlong flight. They veered parallel to the edge, +slowing down now, when the left runner hit a mole-hill frozen hard +as rock. The sledge bounced. Jack made a grab for Davy, missed, and +the boy flipped up and over and landed in a drift with hardly a +sound. The sledge bounced on, riderless as Jack was thrown to the +left, landed on his hip with such a jar his breath was socked right +out, tumbled over the edge and slid down on his backside onto the +ice on the pool, spinning as he skittered like a curling stone. He +ground to a halt halfway out from the bank, head spinning.

+

He clambered to his knees, backside aching from slamming it +against something hard on his slide down the steep bank.

+

"Great, uncle Jack," Davy pealed. "That was magic."

+

The boy appeared round the side of a gorse bush, snow clinging +like thick icing to his one-piece winter suit. His face was red +with excitement and he was grinning from ear to ear. "Can we do it +again?" He was certainly none the worse for his fall.

+

"Come on, Uncle Jack. can we go up to the top again?"

+

"Yeah," Jack said. "Just let me get my breath back."

+

"How did you get out there? Did you slide all that way."

+

"Sure I did."

+

"Is the ice safe?"

+

"I think..." Jack started to say, just as an ominous metallic +creak shocked the still air.

+

Jack felt the ice tremble under his feet.

+

"Uncle Jack. I think..." Davy shouted.

+

There was one monumental crack, and Jack dropped like a +stone. The ice had opened up and swallowed him. One second Jack was +standing on the flat ice and the next he was foundering in the +freezing stream, gasping for breath, snatching for something to +grab hold of. Fortunately, by the time he realised what had +happened, he was only standing in three feet of water. The ice had +broken in the shallow end of the pool. It took him several minutes +of splashing and spluttering to get to the bank, as every step of +the way, the fractured ice kept giving way and he couldn't get his +feet on anything solid.

+

All the time, he was cursing under his breath, and with every +farcical step he could hear wee Davy break out into another burst +of hysterics. When he finally made it to the bank and clambered up +to the flat, his nephew was lying belly up in the snow, holding the +said belly and laughing so hard he almost choked.

+

Jack walked towards him, feet squelching and jeans flapping wet +and cold against his legs.

+

"Oh, so you think that was funny, do you?"

+

Davy continued laughing uncontrollably. Every time he tried to +speak, he pointed at Jack, then pointed at the water where the +broken segments of ice were now bobbing and clattering against each +other, scraping and tinkling like plates of glass. When he did that +he'd immediately double over so far his face was almost in the +snow. Jack's feet were beginning to freeze.

+

He strode across to the boy, leaving big footprints in the +snow.

+

"Laugh at your uncle, would you?" he demanded. He grabbed the +small boy by one ankle and one wrist and swung him round, pivoting +on his heels as he did.

+

"One...two...three..." he yelled when, for the third time, the +lad was whirling towards the stream, still screaming with +laughter.

+

And just at that moment, Jack's foot slipped. He went down on +his backside again. Davy, who was at the apex of the swing, crashed +down on top of him and the pair of them went slipping and sliding +down toward the stream again. Jack managed to grab the boy before +he disappeared under the ice, but Jack went in again, feet first, +backside next. When he ground to a halt, he was sitting in six +inches of water and Davy was high and dry and still laughing hard +enough to break a rib.

+

They spent another exhausting hour - exhausting for Jack whose +job it was to haul the sledge to the top of the hill after every +run - until the cold water in his boots froze his feet to such en +extent they began to hurt. Finally he had to insist, against Davy's +protestations, on going home again. Ten minutes later, he was +sitting with his feet in a basin of warm water, feeling his skin +itch and burn as the circulation came back into them. Neither Julia +nor her son could keep a straight face. In all, it was the best +hour Jack had spent since the night of the bonfire +celebrations.

+

An hour later he was down in the station. John McColl met him +halfway up the stairs.

+

"Been trying to get you for ages. Superintendent's looking for +you," he greeted in a low voice. "Looks as happy as a pig with +piles."

+

"So what else is new?"

+

"The boys think he wants you off."

+

"He's always wanted me off. Want to work for him?"

+

"No fear. You're the devil we know. And he couldn't find his +arse in the dark with both hands."

+

Jack had, yet again, to caution John on respect for his +superiors, which he knew was a futile excercise, but he couldn't +keep the smile from his face. McColl wouldn't change, didn't care. +What he said, however, was as as much of a vote of confidence as +Jack could expect.

+

"Got a few things you'll be interested in," John went on. +Ralph's in with the rest of them."

+

Jack steered the sergeant into his own office and sat down on +the chair by the window. Big flakes of snow were feathering down +against the glass to pile up on the sill.

+

"Could have used this on Barley Cobble the other night. At least +we might have had a footprint."

+

John nodded as he handed over a sheaf of papers.

+

"What've we got?" Jack asked, flicking through them quickly, +taking in just the headings.

+

"Initial forensic on the Campbell girl. Nothing great. A few +nail scrapings that won't get us much further. Oh, and there's +something from Dr Cattanach on the Toner case. You'll see that +further down."

+

"Yeah, I'll come to it later. What've we got that I can't get in +the reports?"

+

"Good question. Ralph debriefed the night-shift on door-to-door. +Absolutely nothing. I think we've got a psycho."

+

"It's always been a psycho, no matter what," Jack asserted. +"There's a connection between the two kids, but the difference is +that the second one occasioned violence. That mean's we've most +likely got a shooting star..."

+

"A what?"

+

"Somebody on burnout. Most psychopaths are very careful. They're +not like your common or garden maniac. They're lucid and thoughtful +and they tend to experiment with new things as they wreak their way +along. You don't get sudden changes in method and style, more a +gradual evolution. Then you get the shooting stars who get a taste +for it and flare up out of control. I reckon that's what we have +here. It's just a feeling."

+

"Is that good or bad?"

+

"Good and bad," Jack said after a while. "Good +because they don't plan too much. They become opportunistic and +they make mistakes and we catch them a little quicker. Bad +because they can do an awful lot of damage before they burn out. +Remember the case back in the sixties?"

+

"Before my time," John claimed.

+

"And mine. But I read up on the paperwork. Place was in an +uproar then. Five kids killed. I was at school at the time, just a +nipper. But I never forget the feeling in town. Everybody was +scared. That was a slow mover. He didn't burn out, at least not so +far as anybody knew. He just disappeared. Everybody said he'd +killed himself out of remorse. But I've had a look at the old +pictures. That was a psychopath."

+

"And?"

+

"With a psycho, there's no such thing as remorse."

+

"You don't think it's the same one?"

+

"No. I don't. The kids called him Twitchy Eyes. I +remember it clearly. One of the beat men went round all the classes +telling the kids to watch out for a man with a twitch in his eye. +That's going back more than thirty years. He'd be an old man by +now, and I don't think an old man could have taken Shona Campbell's +face off with a swipe, do you?"

+

"So what do you think?"

+

"We keep going round the doors. We have to find somebody who saw +something. Anything at all. Unless we get one hint, then it's going +to happen again, and then the shit's going to hit the fan."

+

"I've got a feeling it has already," John said. Jack nodded +reluctant agreement.

+

The day shift were waiting in the muster room. Jack went over +what they had. He hadn't had the time to go through the reports in +the folder, but on first glance there wasn't anything +earth-shattering that the team had to be told of.

+

In fifteen minutes, they were back out again, stamping the snow +from their feet as they knocked on doors asking the same questions +again and again.

+

Jack went back to the folder.

+

The forensic evidence provided more questions that answers. He +brought out Robbie Cattanach's preliminary report from the autopsy. +Robbie's few sentences were clear. The girl had suffered massive +trauma to the left side of her face. Most of the flesh had been +stripped from the crown of her head to her cheek and her occipital +orb and cheekbone had been crushed inwards. Several small shards of +bone had lodged in the brain and there was massive damage to brain +tissue. Had she survived, Robbie said, she would have certainly +have been paralysed down the right side of her body and she would +have been profoundly mentally disabled. What puzzled the doctor was +the nature of the blow.

+

"Three deep indentations," his report continued +"Descend from the temple to the chin. The parallel striations +appear not just in skin and muscle tissue, but continue as grooves +on the bone itself. The only similar groovings of this nature, as +far as I recall, have come from injuries caused by large +bears."

+

As the bottom, in a personal note, Robbie asked: "Have you +checked the zoo in case they've lost one? "

+

Jack pulled his lips back from his teeth and sucked in air. He +remembered only the previous week - though it seemed much further +in the past than that - Ralph Slater asking him a similar question +when they were going through the house in Latta Court. That time, +because of the height of the verandah, Ralph had suggested they +should be looking for a gorilla.

+

A gorilla and a bear. Both trained to steal babies. And one +trained to kill a young mother with a cataclysmic swipe. Jack would +have preferred it to have been either. An animal could be caught +and captured quickly. It couldn't plan and it couldn't cover its +tracks.

+

But Jack knew that was too much to hope for. He was looking for +a human. A sick human, maybe. But a dangerous one who would try it +again. What concerned him, much more than anything else, was the +certainty that the killer would strike again, and soon. He was not +concerned about the bayings of the press. A double abduction made +national news any day of the week. He couldn't care less about the +backbitings of the likes of Ronald Cowie who saw every event as an +opportunity for advancement or apportioning of blame. He only saw +his job from the point of view of one who had to catch the killer +before he took another life. He had to catch him and put him away. +Somewhere in Levenford there were, he was sure enough to bet his +life on it, two small bodies lying hidden. In this town there were +too many nooks and crannies, too many sheds and huts and outhouses, +a warren of derelict buildings out by Slaughterhouse Road where the +land gave way on to the marshes, and old crumbling factories from +the bad old days huddled round the west edge of Rough Drain, the +local name for the extent of tangled wasteland at the east end of +town.

+

There were places aplenty to hide two tiny bodies. There were +places a killer could huddle and wait. All Jack Fallon and his +overworked men could do was wait for a sliver of evidence that +could act as a lodestone to point them in the right direction.

+

His own view had changed since the theft of little Timmy Doyle. +Then, it could have been anyone, although there was nothing to show +exactly how it had been done. The surmise was that someone +had climbed up or down from balcony to balcony on the sheer face of +Latta Court to snatch a baby from its pram. Yet there were no +prints, no hairs or scraps of clothing to give any pointers. Worse, +Jack Fallon could figure out no motive. This was beyond the range +of anything he had dealt with in the past, and in the past he had +dealt with many a baffling and confusing crime.

+

In his own mind, he had ruled out a woman. At first, there had +been a tenuous connection - after a fashion - between both the baby +snatch and Marta Herkik's brutal killing. But then Shona Campbell's +baby had been wrested from her arms on a cold night and she had +been hit so hard she'd died of it. This one could not be laid at +Sipmson's door, because he had taken his own gruesome way the day +before the abduction.

+

Jack was opening the folder from Ralph Slater as he eyed the +sequence graph on the wall. It displayed names and dates in his +plain capitals, with arrows joining one set of words to another. +There was as yet no clear pattern. Jack knew a pattern would help, +but if one did develop, it would mean another killing, +another theft of a child. That worried him more than anything.

+

Ralph Slater's report was badly typed, but clear enough. The dog +handlers had come up with nothing. There was no scent trail to +follow. From the position of the body - and the photographs in +stark black and white under the glare of the flashgun left nothing +to the imagination - it was clear that the woman had been felled by +one tremendous blow to the head. She had dropped like a sack and +she had stayed where she'd fallen. The pool of blood showed that +beyond doubt. There had been some material under her nails, but it +was not skin and it was not hair, as might have been expected from +a mother fighting for her baby. Ralph had rushed this through the +forensic lab at headquarters and came back with a riddle.

+

The preliminary report described the scrapings as +keratin. Jack knew enough not to have to look the word up. +He knew it was the substance which made up fingernails and horses +hooves and the scales of lizard skin. The stark and brief report +came to no conclusions as to the source. Ralph's men had taken +samples of a wet patch which had frozen on the shoulder of Shona +Campbell's leather Jacket. This too had only raised a conundrum. It +was neither human nor mammal saliva. Whoever had analysed the +substance - and there was only a scrawled signature at the bottom +which Jack couldn't make out - said there had been some +similarities between the sample and amphibian saliva, though the +resemblance was remote. Also, he added, there were no antibodies +nor bacteria, at least none identifiable or that he could culture, +which was unlike any other known secretions. Another puzzle within +the puzzle. There was nothing else to be gleaned from the report. +Jack stuck it back into the folder and laid it down on the +desk.

+

Craig Campbell's story stood up and walked. He'd been hanging +over the bar in the Castlegate until close to midnight and could +remember virtually nothing about it, but there were enough people +who had some brain cells that were not numbed with drink who +remembered him. Big Tam Finch confirmed that he'd escorted Campbell +to the door.

+

"Legs like rubber, the daft bastard," was what Tam Finch +actually said. "Seen it before with him. Getting set to boak all +over the floor. Better he does it outside than have the cleaners +scrape it up in the morning. He couldn't have put a nut in a +monkey's mouth, but that's just the usual for Bunnet Campbell. His +missus was down here regular every paynight to take his wages off +him before he gave it all to me. Race against time every week. The +man drinks at the gallop. Different story getting him out the door, +I can tell you."

+

Tam Finch could tell plenty. He ran the roughest, toughest bar +on the riverside and kept a big, gnarled harry Lauder walking stick +hanging up by the gantry to keep order. What he said put Craig +Campbell in the clear, though in Jack's mind, there was never any +serious question that he'd murdered his wife. Jack had spoken to +him only hours after the girl had been found and the man was too +befuddled to realise what was happening. He didn't sober up +properly until after she'd died and when he was given the bad news +he took another dive right into a bottle to blot it out again.

+

The neighbours, as in the Timmy Doyle case, were next to no +help. Apart from the one isolated scream in the shadows of Barley +Cobble, nobody had seen a thing. In both cases, there had been a +quick strike and a fast and silent getaway. There were few +clues.

+

By mid-day, the snow was blizzarding from the north again and +Jack was up to his armpits in paperwork, collating the reports. It +wasn't until then that he reached the note on Jock Toner. Robbie +Cattanach had put it in a separate envelope.

+

As he scanned the few short lines, his eyebrows drew together, +creating a furrow between them.

+

"Did a check on the blood on Toner's jacket. It is NOT his. +Your forensic people will be able to tell, maybe. The sample was +Rhesus negative. Hope it helps. "

+

Rhesus negative. Jack sat still and thought about that. +Robbie had already told him that he believed Jock Toner had not +fallen from the gantry, because of the force with which his head +had met the upper edge of Isobel McIntyre's window. The pathologist +had suggested that he had jumped or been thrown. Jack thought some +more. There was a different type of blood on the man's +clothing, and that meant there had to have been someone else there, +unless of course, the man had had a fight with somebody on the +ground first, and then hoisted himself up on the cradle. That did +not ring true. Jack checked the notes on the interview with the +clerk of works. Toner had grumbled about having to stow the gear at +the end of his shift, but apart from that, he had seemed perfectly +normal. That had been just after five at night. The body wasn't +discovered until morning, and the preliminary investigation put his +death at two hours after he'd last been seen, although that was +merely a guess. It was hard to tell if the stiffness in his frozen +body had anything to do with rigor mortis. A woman living in the +second top storey told Ralph Slater that she'd heard the gantry +winder go past her window just after seven, and that tended to back +up the findings.

+

"So, what kept him up there for two hours?" Jack asked the empty +room.

+

He stared at the snow flurries as they wheeled past his +window.

+

Either he was with someone, and they'd had a fight, Jack +thought, but he shook his head. Jock Toner was used to heights but +he'd have to be crazy to fight someone on a swinging pulley-gantry +a hundred feet up the side of a building. Jack had been on the roof +less than an hour after the body had been found, slowly turning on +the rope in the freezing air. He'd looked over the side and he'd +felt his stomach give that old familiar lurch of vertigo. It was a +long way down. Mentally, he ruled out a fight, though stranger +things had happened. There was something else in Robbie's note. +Jack looked it over again, frowning all the while.

+

Rhesus Negative. The blood type. As had happened many +times before, something clicked inside Jack's head and he +made a small connection.

+

He rummaged through the pile of manilla folders, scattering them +across his desk until he fond the one he was looking for. He opened +it and riffled through the few pages and discovered the sheets +stapled together. John McColl had pulled the baby's medical files +from the health centre. There was little to read. Forceps delivery. +Seven pounds, slight jaundice. Blood type Rhesus negative. Slight +factor eight deficiency. Two months after the birth, a bout of +scarlet fever and a bad cough which turned out not to be whooping +cough. It was all there, what little there was of a baby's life +catalogued in weights and illnesses.

+

Jack hooked the phone and called a number from memory.

+

A telephonist paged Dr Cattanach and he took a minute to come on +the phone.

+

"I'm up to my neck at the moment," he told Jack.

+

"Just a second," Jack insisted. "A quick question. I got your +note on the blood traces."

+

"Yes. definitely not his."

+

"I got that. Can you give me any pointers?"

+

"Narrows the field, Jack. Rhesus negative is not common."

+

"How uncommon?"

+

"Very low percentage, if I remember my haematology."

+

"That's a start. I just have to scan nearly thirty thousand to +come up with likely suspects. Anything else?"

+

"Well, whoever it is. He's a bleeder?"

+

"Come again?"

+

"A haemophiliac. Didn't I mention that? There was enough blood +to put it through the works. It's not surprising there was a fair +amount of it. There's a lack of blood clotting agent which means +any cut continues to bleed. In severe cases, it just doesn't +stop."

+

"That should narrow it gain. Hang on, Robbie."

+

Jack put the phone down and crossed the room to open the door. +John McColl came out when he heard his name bawled down the +corridor.

+

"I need lists of local haemophiliacs," Jack told him.

+

"Right away?"

+

"Day before yesterday."

+

John rolled his eyes and went back into the operations room.

+

Jack lifted the phone. He was still frowning. Something else +tugged at the back of his mind.

+

"Listen Jack, I've really got to go..." Robbie began.

+

"One more thing. What's factor eight?"

+

"That's what I was telling you. It's the clotting agent in human +blood. Without it a paper cut will make you bleed to death.;"

+

"Shit." Jack barked.

+

"What?" Robbie's voice came tinnily from the earpiece.

+

"Nothing. Last thing. How many people with that type of blood +and none of the clotter?"

+

"Damn few. One in umpteen thousand, I suppose."

+

"Just what I thought. I'll talk to you later Robbie. And +thanks."

+

Jack slammed the receiver down and sat for the space of several +seconds, staring at the roiling snow as the turbulence cartwheeled +them past the window. A picture developed in his mind. He held it +there while he shoved his chair back and bounded for the door +again, calling for John McColl as soon as he snatched it open.

+

The sergeant came out of the other room, eyebrows raised.

+

"Just getting on to it chief," he said.

+

"Hold that result," Jack said quickly. "Get Ralph and tell him +to meet me up at Loch View.

+

John looked at him blankly.

+

"And I mean now." Jack said.

+
+

The door opened and swung back with such force that it slammed +against the wall. Janet Robinson saw her mother's bulk come ramming +past the jamb, her cane in one hand, held up like a sword. In her +other hand, a crumpled piece of paper crushed in a fierce, white +knuckled grip.

+

"You slut," the old woman hissed, and Janet realised that her +mother was not old. She was a big-boned woman, heavy +breasted and wide hipped, and she carried all the weight of +authority that had dominated Janet's life since she could remember. +Her eyes were slits between the clenched brows and screwed cheeks, +but they glittered with that righteous anger.

+

"You dirty little slutter. You whore that you are." her +mother came striding towards where Janet had been sprawled on the +bed, but was now cringing against the head. The cane jerked with +every word.

+

"Mother, I..." Janet squawked.

+

"Don't you dare call me mother," the old woman +said. Her short-cut frizzy hair seemed to stand up a grizzled halo. +"I found what you've been hiding, and I've read it."

+

She advanced two more steps, oddly bull-like for a woman.

+

"I've read it and it is filth."

+

She raised the sheet of paper up and waved it with triumph and +disgust.

+

"It's my letter," Janet managed to say. "You opened my +letter."

+

"And good thing I did girl. Just in time to save your immortal +soul." She held the letter out from her and her knuckles whitened +further as she crushed it to a tattered ball, then, with a little +flick of her hand, as if she were ridding her hand of slime, she +shucked it to the floor.

+

"I know what you've been doing. It's all there in black and +white. You've been seeing a boy. And worse, you've been +doing things."

+

"No mother, I didn't do anything."

+

"Don't lie to me girl. Don't you dare lie to me. I read +what he said. You've been doing things behind my back. You've been +doing things with a boy, you dirty little whore slut."

+

Janet pushed herself back against the headboard. It creaked with +her slight weight.

+

The big woman advanced, silhouetted by the light in the hallway, +towering over the bed.

+

"I'll teach you to let a boy touch you."

+

"But he didn't," Janet protested in a voice that was almost a +whimper.

+

"Did so. Did so. I read it. He wrote it. He touched +you."

+

"He only held my hand, mother. We were just walking. We were +only talking."

+

"And where were you walking? Out by the marshes where nobody +could see. Out without telling me, eh? Where he could put his hand +up your skirt."

+

Janet tried to reply, faltered, then cringed shrank back from +the onslaught, but there was nowhere left to retreat. She was +jammed up against the old wooden board, one hand drawn up to her +mouth, the other held out in mute appeal, in dumb protection.

+

Her mother's shadow blocked out the light. The cane went up in +the air, making a moaning sound through the air, followed +immediately by a whistle as it came down again.

+

Pain sizzled on Janet's thigh and she jumped as if a jolt of +high voltage had shot through her. Her squeal of pain bounced back +from the ceiling. She twisted away and the thin whipping stick +caught her on the upraised hand, driving down between her knuckles +into the soft web of skin. It made a noise like a nutcracker and an +unbelievable hurt lurched from her hand to her elbow.

+

"No mother," she shrieked. "Oh please!"

+

The dark outline of her mother's arm rose quickly and came down +in a blurred strike. The banshee whoop as it cut the still air +ended in the crack of the bamboo on her back. Janet leaped in an +involuntary spasm as silver pain cascaded from her shoulder to her +hip. Her legs kicked out and she could hear herself screaming, +though the sound seemed to be coming from far away, from someone +else. Her mother's bulk leaned over her and her arm went up and +came down again and again and all the time she was bawling at her +daughter that she would never see the boy again, she would never +ever see any boy again. With every blow the pain expanded +exponentially until she felt her vision turn grey and clouded and +the dark came and swallowed her mother first and then she herself +fell into it and...

+

Janet Robinson woke with a cry strangled in her throat. She was +shivering with cold and with fright, and face was beaded in sweat. +The blinds were pulled and the curtains drawn over them, darkening +the room to a gloomy grey. She groped her way to the side of the +bed and fumbled for the clock, pictures still whirling up to the +fore front of her mind, images of her mother's towering bulk +leaning over her in righteous wrath, in holy hatred, punishing +again for something the old woman had imagined she'd done. It was +not the first time she been wakened by her own screams and her own +fear. It had happened every night since she had fled, +panic-stricken from Marta Herkik's room in Cairn house.

+

She shivered again, still able to feel the heat-strokes and the +burning lines from where her mother had sliced at her with her +cane, still quaking in the aftermath of the abject terror under the +onslaught of her mother's anger. She held the clock in her hands, +shaking her head to try to will the visions away.

+

It was one o'clock in the afternoon. She'd slept all the +morning. Groggily, almost timidly, she eased herself out from the +damp sheets. Her hands were trembling as if she had a fever, but +she knew it was just the kick-back from the dream.

+

Her mother's image still shadowed the back of her mind. A big, +domineering and hateful woman who had done everything in her power +to cage her daughter and mould and meld her to her own use. She had +succeeded. In her teens, the few boys who had expressed an interest +never came back after the first secret meeting. Her mother had +always found out and her rage had been apocalyptic. Since +Janet had been old enough to remember, there had been only the two +of them. The old woman never ever spoke of Janet's father. +There had been the two of them, mother and daughter, the one +determined to crush whatever individuality and whatever spirit the +girl possessed, the other desperate to flee, frightened to make a +move. And so it had gone on, into her lacklustre twenties, into +grey thirties, while the old woman's bulk shrivelled in inverse +proportion to the poison of her tongue, and finally she had died of +a cancer that ate away at her belly and withered her down to a +whispering rickle of bones and yellow skin, too weak to whimper, +and Janet had been racked with guilt that she was glad her +mother was finally suffering the pain she'd suffered as a child, as +a girl, and as a woman. When finally the old woman had rattled her +last, Janet, now forty five and conditioned to be completely +dependent on the woman who had moulded her life in cruel hands, +felt vast relief and terrible fear. Approaching an early +middle-age, she ached for the chance to do things she wanted +(although she wasn't really sure what they actually were). She had +long since given up hope of forming a relationship with a man, and +in actual fact, such was the enormous pavlovian force of +conditioning that she was almost overcome by nerves if she happened +to speak to any man. But there were other things. She +could buy the clothes she chose, instead of the shapeless and grey +and hideously out-of-fashion old woman's garments her +mother would buy and insist she wore. She could go to the cinema, +might even buy a television. And most of all, there were women in +the offices where she worked who she thought she could become +friends with. Real people whom she could maybe, one day, invite +back to her own house, without the old vulture scaring them away +with her razor tongue and her poison words.

+

That had been the hope, but the weight of her mother's memory +had been so heavy that it still ground Janet Robinson down. It was +as if the old woman lurked in every corner of her mind, scolding +her whenever she had a rogue thought or any faint idea of self +improvement. She heard her mother's rasping voice, unrelentingly +critical of her every move.

+

Then someone had told her about Marta Herkik and she had gone +along with two of the women from the office to have their tarot +cards read and the idea had come to her that she wanted to know +that the old woman was really dead, really gone. She'd +gone back, not just once, but four times, for consultations with +the tiny Hungarian woman, and then she'd gone to the seance because +by this time she believed that the little foreign woman could +really confer with the departed. Janet Robinson hadn't wanted to +confer. She just wanted to snap the bonds and to break free.

+

She'd gone to Marta herkik's house, with the five other people +and she had sensed their needs.

+

And then the terrible thing had happened in the apartment three +floors up in Cairn House and they had run, hearts thumping in +fright, while the nightmare noises in the room had followed them +down the narrow spiral staircase.

+

Since then, Janet Robinson had heard her mother's voice every +night in her dreams. There were days when she would again feel the +glacial cold steal through her, emptying the warmth from +her bones, and she would feel the presence of the old +woman.

+

The awful, terrifying realisation was that she could sense her +mother's presence, and it was as if the old woman was +inside her, taking control of her own body, taking control +again of her mind.

+

When Janet woke into the dark of the room on the Saturday +afternoon, she waited until the fright and the shock of the dream +had passed on, and paused until the trembling had ceased. Yet all +the waiting in the world could not rid her of the growing sense +that she was losing herself in her mother, that the old woman was +taking her over from within.

+

She groaned softly and turned to the clock, still clenched in +her left hand. The luminous dial blurred as she looked into the +face and the dim light of the room faded to black.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike15.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike15.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9ebc74e --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike15.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,771 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 15 + + + + +
+
+

15

+

On the Saturday night, Jack Fallon was stamping the cold from +his feet on the flat roof of Loch View. Beside him Ralph Slater was +down on hands and knees, lightly scraping the powdery snow from the +gritted surface with what looked like a shaving brush. Around the +perimeter, his team had set up three floodlights on tripod stands, +blaring white light onto the frosted roof. Off to the right, the +elevator housing and the maintenance shafts stood black against the +orange light from the main road in the distance. Above it, the red +hazard light winked a warning to low-flying aircraft.

+

"There's more here," Ralph said, angling his own heavy duty +flashlight onto the scraped surface.

+

He squinted up to Jack.

+

"We didn't even look here," he said, with a trace of +embarrassment.

+

"No reason at the time," Jack let him off his hook. He wasn't +really in the mood for talking. Since the morning, when he'd fallen +into the stream, his throat had tightened. It felt raw and made it +difficult to swallow. "Not for an accident," he added.

+

"But what made you think of it?"

+

"Just a hunch," Jack said with a tight grin. The snow had +lessened, but the wind was whipping up little particles from the +balustrade wall and sending them into his left ear.

+

"Aye, pull the other one. Any idea why there's blood here?" +Ralph asked, while he delicately lifted samples of the dark and +frozen stain to drop it into a fresh plastic sample bag.

+

"Another hunch."

+

"And you'll be able to cross match it then?"

+

"Rhesus negative. Low on factor eight."

+

"Sure it is," Ralph said with heavy sarcasm.

+

"If it isn't, I'll buy you a bottle of Talisker. Believe me, I +wish it wasn't."

+

After the call to Robbie Cattanach, Jack had left the station, +ignoring the message that the chief superintendent wanted a word +with him, and had driven straight to Loch View. The gantry was +still swinging from the high edge, frosted with snow. The rope from +which Jock Toner had dangled, frozen and bloodless, was gone.

+

He'd waited at the top while Ralph's men unloaded the equipment. +There was only an hour of daylight left. From his vantage point he +could see the lights coming on in the town below. The Langmuir +Crags were completely white, apart from the big fan-shaped cliff +which overhung the scree below. Even in the deepest winter, snow +never stuck to the face. As the lift whined, bringing the scene of +crime team up to the top, Jack had made the mistake of wandering to +the edge again, to where the metal gallows that held the gantry +stuck out over the edge like lifeboat davits. He'd looked down +through the light snow and felt the pull of the ground tug +mesmerically at him. It happened every time he looked down from a +height, very time since the last climb on Ben Nevis in his teens +when a piton had pulled out and he'd watched the black shape +plummet silently, without a scream, without a cry, and then, at the +far end of the drop, with no thud in the distance. Yet he +remembered the stomach-freezing red stain that scraped across the +ice for thirty feet and he knew what had happened. Every time he +looked down from a height like this, he got a flash of that +cramping shock. The ground down there wanted to pull everything +towards it. It dragged and tugged and hauled, not just on the body, +but on the mind. Jack shoved himself back from the rail and turned +away, waiting for his heart to slow down to a canter and for his +breath to moderate. By the time Ralph's boys arrived, he was +breathing almost normally.

+

He'd told Ralph what he was looking for. The other man looked at +him askance, then shrugged and got on with the job. Jack couldn't +blame the team for not looking last time. It had been a cursory +job. A body bundled into a shiny bag and a long ride down to ground +level.

+

It was seven, and without the lights and the hazard beacon it +would have been pitch black by the time the roof of Loch View had +been scoured. Jack put a rush on the lab order and the men packed +up. He waited behind until he was once again alone on the roof.

+

"Must have been about this time," he said to himself. He +swallowed and grimaced as his throat clenched, and thought he +really might be catching Julia's cold.

+

He walked slowly towards the edge. Little flurries of crystals +were billowing from the edge of the wall, catching the orange of +the street lights, taking on a noxious glint.

+

Jack knew what the lab would tell him. The blood would be the +same type as that of the missing baby, and that would make it a +certainty that it came from little Kelly Campbell. But who, he +wondered, had brought her up here, and even more baffling, why?

+

Down to the left, heading due south, Barley Cobble by the +riverside was a fair walk away. Off to the right, the two matching +blocks of flats reared into the night, though Loch View was set on +higher ground. This was the uppermost point on Levenford's north +side. It gave a view right over the whole town under a darkly +leaden sky.

+

Someone had either come up, or climbed down to where Jock Toner +had been on the gantry, more than an hour after his shift had +ended. Nobody knew yet why the man had spent so long up there on +his own. All the doors in the building were now being knocked to +find out. Jack considered the possibility that he might have had a +woman here and had used the gantry as a surreptitious exit. It was +a possibility, nothing more. It was also a possibility that they +would find some irate and vengeful husband who had caught Jock +using the exit. Jack would have ben delighted if it turned out that +way, but within himself, he knew it would not. Because an irate +husband would not splash Jock Toner with the blood of a baby who +had been snatched from its mother's arms unless by sheer chance, +the said husband happened to be the abductor and killer. That would +be too much to hope for.

+

He stood stock still, with the warning light blinking +monotonously to his right, and tried again to visualise the scene. +Images vied for prominence in the forefront of his mind, but none +would settle. He needed more evidence, more of a hint. He wanted to +know why a killer would bring a baby up to this height and then +kill a man and then disappear.

+

Disappear he certainly had. The blood trail showed drips down +the wall on the side where Jock Toner had cracked open his skull. +They continued across the roof, away from the blinking light, and +across to the other side, and then they stopped.

+

There were no marks across the balustrade to show that the man +had jumped over, certainly nothing down there to show where he +would have landed, and if he'd dropped from this height, there +would have been plenty of evidence of that, spread for ten yards on +the concrete slab. It was possible - and Jack was beginning to +detest that word - that he had stuffed the baby into a bag +or a sheet or inside a jacket. Ralph had found scrape marks on the +concrete walls just below the lip on the gantry side and similar +indentations on the east wall, but it was impossible to say what +had caused the three straight and parallel lines. Possibly, he'd +ventured, it was some tool the workmen used. In any case, it was +unlikely, according to Ralph, that they had anything to do with +this. When Ralph had mentioned them, something had tried to form a +pattern in Jack's mind, but it had danced away elusively.

+

"Who are you?" he asked aloud. The wind whipped his voice +away.

+

The picture tried to form itself, but though he concentrated +hard, it refused to materialise properly. He did not have enough to +go on, though there was more now than he'd had before. There was no +doubt at all in his mind that little Kelly Campbell was dead, and +that meant that Timmy Doyle was dead too. Six deaths. One suicide +associated with the killing of Marta Herkik and a tenuous +connection to Timmy Doyle. A suicide that turned out to have been a +murder, at least almost certainly, and a connection with the +one-hit killing of Shona Campbell and her baby. Two of them +involving high places. All the deaths except for Simpson's suicide +had happened at night.

+

The pattern was emerging, but it wasn't much of a pattern. +Nobody had seen anything, not a thing.

+

Jack looked down at the lights spreading out below him.

+

"Where are you?" he asked aloud, gritting his teeth in the +stinging ice crystals. His throat was burning.

+

In that moment, Jack made up his mind. There was a thread +connecting all the killings. If he found one end of the thread, he +would follow it to the other end. He was now certain that he was +dealing with a single killer, and eventually that killer would make +the mistake he needed to catch him. Inside his pockets his hands +clenched into fists as he walked towards the stairwell. He closed +the door behind him and the winking hazard light was cut off.

+

Once in the car he called down to the station and ordered a +house to house inquiry in Loch View and the two adjacent blocks. It +would take a lot of manpower, but that was the way things had to +go.

+

Ten minutes later, he was back in his office. He slung his coat +on the hook and hunkered against the radiator to take the chill out +of his back, thinking about the two phone calls he had to make. His +feet were cold and his throat ached and he wondered if he had any +paracetamol in his drawer. He was also wondering whether he'd been +wise to take Davy on the sledge down by the stream at Cargill Farm. +He was about to haul himself to his feet when there was a brief rap +on the door, it swung open instantly and Ronald Cowie stepped in. +At first he didn't see Jack hunched against the radiator, then the +other man's presence registered.

+

"What the hell are you doing down there?" he demanded.

+

"Trying to get some heat into my bones."

+

"I've been looking for you all day," Cowie snorted.

+

"Have you? I didn't get the message. I've been out."

+

"Yes. I heard. Complete waste of time."

+

"You think so?"

+

"We're in the middle of a murder investigation, man. We don't +have time or the manpower to have a whole shift out working on +accidents or suicides. I suggest you get them back onto the +priority work."

+

"That's what they're doing," Jack replied, then added: +"Sir."

+

"That's not the way I see it," the Superintendent said. "Anyway, +as of this afternoon, I'm in charge. Mr McNicol's laid up with +'flu. Some sort of virus anyway. So as of today, we do it my +way."

+

Jack made no response. Gradually he eased himself away from the +radiator and got to his feet. He stared down at Cowie who glared +back at him.

+

"Congratulations," Jack said.

+

"You won't be saying that shortly. I want all the men pulled out +of Loch View. That's obviously the wrong area. I want a complete +ground search of every building on the south of River Street. Two +killings and an abduction in one area. I think that narrows the +field, don't you think?"

+

"It would, if the field had not expanded to suit," Jack said +calmly. "We've already done a search, and a very thorough search, +of the whole area, leaving aside domestic property. We'd never get +warrants for all of them, not without good cause."

+

"But every warehouse and every hole in the wall shack down that +side of the town should be gone over with a tooth comb."

+

"And they have," Jack retorted. "You'll have read the reports. +There's a file two inches thick."

+

Cowie blinked. His thin grey moustache twitched. "Then do it +again. It has to be painstaking."

+

"Oh, it will be. But I'd advise against it. If we pull the men +out of Loch View, then we could miss something vital."

+

"On an accident?"

+

"It was no accident. We found the baby's blood."

+

"You what?" Cowie's face registered consternation. "Why +didn't you tell me?"

+

"Because I'm just back in. We found traces of blood up on the +roof. The same type as was found on Toner. I believe it will match +Kelly Campbell's blood."

+

"Has it been analysed yet?"

+

"No. But there's a rush on it. The lab have promised it by +morning."

+

Cowie glared at Jack again. His moustache quivered again and his +eyes seemed to bulge in his face. Jack could tell he was not happy. +He seemed about to speak when he abruptly spun on his heel and +strode to the door, snatched it open and walked out, turning back +only when he was right outside the room.

+

"This time I don't want to wait. I want to hear everything +immediately. You hear me? Everything."

+

Jack nodded. The door thudded shut and he smiled to himself, +though he did not really feel like smiling. Under Angus McNicol, he +would be allowed to work on this his own way. With Cowie in charge, +he didn't know what spokes would be put in the wheel.

+

Mickey Haggerty, his friend from schooldays, was out when Jack +called. His sister said he'd been up north for a week, staying with +someone in Oban. From the tone of her voice, it sounded as though +she thought it might be a woman, and that wouldn't have surprised +Jack in the slightest. It was only on the way down from Loch View +that he'd remembered the other part of the conversation with Mickey +in Mac's Bar. He had cursed himself under his breath. Mickey had +seen William Simpson the night Marta Herkik was murdered. He'd seen +someone else near or at Cairn House, some Irish fellow whose name +he'd forgotten. He'd promised to get back to Jack who had made a +mental note to give him a call, but then other things had happened +and he'd simply forgotten. Netta Heggarty said her brother would be +back in a day or so. She didn't know where he was staying. Jack +thanked her and then put a call into the Oban Station. He knew a +sergeant there who he'd worked with in the city. By luck, Ian +Nicholson was on duty. He took Mickey's description, a shock of +fair hair and a lived-in face not unlike a young Kirk Douglas, and +he promised to have a couple of men check the bars. That was the +best he could do, and that was good enough for Jack. If Mickey was +in Oban - and he could have spun his sister any old yarn - then +he'd be in a bar and easy to find.

+

"Do I lock him up or what?" Ian Nicholson had asked.

+

"No. He's a friend of mine. Drunk or sober, get him to phone me +back."

+

He had better luck with the third call. Andrew Toye answered at +the third ring.

+
+

Night fell on Levenford at four o'clock. It was bitterly cold. +The lights along the quayside were fuzzed to orange haloes by the +creeping mist from the river. The water, feeding into the Firth was +tidal for a mile upstream the town and the river was low. There was +no moon. The haar condensed in the cold air and the mist +floated over the quayside walls and crept along the alleys, fogging +the hard edges of the old buildings. For half an hour, the old +bridge thronged with children hurrying home from Kirkhill School on +the west side. They hurried because of the cold and the dark and +because of the sense of unease that had crept into Levenford since +the killing of Shona Campbell and the taking of her baby. Until +then, the townsfolk had not really been aware that something was +happening. When little Timmy Doyle was snatched from his pram high +up in Latta Court, there was shock. But it was one incident. Marta +Herkik's killing was another shock, but the papers were full of +such things. Old women got mugged, and old women got raped and +killed. It happened. It was terrible, but it happened.

+

Now, a second baby had been stolen and it's mother killed, and +while the killer seemed to be after babies, the community +policemen had toured the schools warning children of all ages to be +careful. Mothers reinforced the warning. Most children hurried +home. There were few stragglers and the bridge cleared of its +passing throng. An hour later, the bridge was busy again, this time +with cars and a leavening of pedestrians hurrying home from work as +the shops and offices closed. Up river, the engine works was still +clanging and clanking and across the water, the high windows of the +foundry glowed read and from time to time the spitting harsh cough +of hot metal would tear at the still air, though by the time it +crossed the river, the cat-screech was muffled by the mist. The +foundry's massive brick chimneys towered over the old building, +their bases flickering pink in the flashes from the furnaces. In +the old days, both would have belched smoke and sparks long into +the night, but the new electric furnace had made one chimney +obsolete. They towered into the darkness, a Victorian monument to +the bad old days of hard labour and low pay and full +employment.

+

Between Swan Street and Denny Road, in the old heart of +Levenford, maybe two hundred yards from the river, there is a +warren of old tenement buildings faced with dirty brown sandstone. +They form a rectangle, dingy houses with narrow close mouths. +Inside the rectangle, behind the facades, the back courts are a +maze of old dustbin shelters and cluttered outhouses. Iron +railings, peel-rusted and spiked, separated each individual +tenement's territory. In the summer, the boys would climb the brick +walls and race across the top of the shelters and leap from one +flat roof to the other, bounding over the blank spaces, hurdling +the lethal spikes. Ever since the blocks were built before the turn +of the century, mothers had warned their children, on pain of dire +punishment, not to climb the roofs and never to jump over the +railings, and every generation of boys since then had risked life +and limb and impalement, completely ignoring their mother's +threats.

+

The cold night air brought the river mist swirling through the +closes. It oozed into the back courts and crept between the +wrought-iron uprights.

+

Neil Kennedy was kicking a ball against one of the crumbly +walls. He was eight years old, with a faceful of freckles and curly +Celtic-red hair hidden under a knitted wooden hat. Upstairs, two +floors up, his mother was cooking dinner. Neil felt his belly +rumble and guessed the family meal might be ready in an hour. He +didn't know if he could wait that long. The cold air carried the +smell of the river, a wet and wintry smell of decaying reeds and +bullrushes floating down from the upstream marshes. The distillery +on the other side of town had done a malting that day, as everyone +could tell by the cloying damp-towel odour that permeated +everything. This was mixed with the smells of sausages sizzling, +chips frying, and, as ever, the unappetising whiff of cabbage +boiled beyond edibility.

+

Up above, the light from uncurtained windows sent solid shafts +of luminescence into the fog, occasionally flickering colour from +the television sets behind the panes. Neil had wanted to watch +cartoons, but at this time on a Monday night, his mother's +favourite soap series was showing. She'd have the kitchen door open +and the sound turned up and she'd occasionally lean back from the +cooker to watch the latest, if thoroughly predictable act.

+

Neil kicked his ball against the wall, watching it bounce and +then trapping it with casual deftness under his foot to repeat the +action again and again. Over in the corner, a door slammed open and +a corridor of light funnelled into the dim. Children's voices +bounced from shelter to wall. Neil kept kicking the ball, +communicating his presence by the dull thuds it made on the +rebound.

+

"Hey Neilly," a high voice called out. "That you?"

+

"Aye."

+

Three shapes flitted closer, resolving only yards away into +three small boys, heavily muffled against the cold, squeezing +themselves through a gap in the railings.

+

"Cold innit?"

+

"Freezing," Neil agreed.

+

"Had your tea yet?"

+

"No. I got sent out. The old man's not in yet."

+

"Us too." Gerry Murphy said. His twin, Patrick nodded agreement. +With them Phil Toner, six years old, whose uncle Jock had been +found hanging from the rope at Loch View, shivered. He lived across +the landing from the Murphy boys.

+

"Want a kick-about?" Neil asked.

+

"Naw. Too dark."

+

"And the ground's too icy. You could break your neck," Phil +said. Everybody had heard what happened to his uncle, but from the +perspective of small boys, it was a distant happening, not a thing +to dwell on, nothing to spoil the immediate.

+

"Alright. What'll we do?"

+

"We could jump the dykes," Phil suggested and everybody laughed. +At the age of six, he couldn't have leapt the gaps on a summer +afternoon.

+

"Aye, very good Phil. What's your next joke?"

+

"No really," he protested and Pat gave him a shove.

+

"You'd never get to the top of the wall, never mind jump."

+

"Kick the can?" Neil suggested.

+

"No," Gerry said. "The old man's on night-shift. If we wake him +up he'll lose the rag."

+

It took five minutes of negotiations on the short list of +options of things to do on a winter's night, without much result. +Somebody suggested going round to the old railyard two streets away +where the spur line to the engine works had long since been +disused. There was a ramp there, a concrete slope which led from +the shunting point to street level. Earlier in the week it had been +covered with frost. By now, Gerry suggested, it should be a sheet +of ice.

+

"I'd better not," Neil said. "I'll get called up in half an +hour."

+

"Oh come on," Pat said, giving him a nudge. You've got stacks of +time."

+

Neil let himself be persuaded with no further difficulty. The +four of them went through the common close and into the street. +Each end of Swan Street was fuzzed out by the mist. It was as if +the world they lived in had shrunk to fifteen yards on either side. +They moved along Swan, past Arden Lane before crossing Artisan Road +to the old railyard entrance. The tall double gate was closed and +padlocked. To the side, the gaunt facade of the crumbling warehouse +and offices of the yard loomed upwards. Ferns, crumpled and brittle +since the first frosts, clung to the damp patches behind cracked +roan pipes and icicles formed fringes on the window ledges below +the gaping blind eyes of the smashed frames. Here closer to the +river, the fog was thicker. It caught in the throat and curled and +coiled around the weave of the rusty chain-link fence where it had +been pulled back in a tangled dog-ear by previous forays of small +boys. They scrambled through the gap and walked four abreast along +the disused tracks, avoiding the slippery sleepers, to the far side +of the warehouse block. Set on the side of the crumbly brick +building was a lone electric bulb protected by a wire mesh. It +glowed feebly.

+

The sloping ramp was completely iced over. In the weak light it +glinted like black glass. Gerry Murphy tested it with a foot and +almost fell on his backside, saving himself only with a flurry of +windmilling arms.

+

"Like the cresta run," he pronounced. They all stood at the top +of the slope looking down at the straight swoop.

+

"Who's first?" Gerry asked.

+

"I want to try it," Phil Toner piped up.

+

Pat and Neil laughed.

+

"Go ahead then," Gerry challenged. Little Phil shoved his way to +the edge where the flat surface leading to the old weighbridge +turned downwards towards the high green gate at the entrance. He +stood at the top of the slope, arms spread like a wrestler, one +foot in front of the other. He swivelled his hips and launched +himself, leaning backwards to prevent a headlong tumble. Behind +him, the three boys watched as his arms waved out on either side. +His scarf, turned inside out to form a hat, trailed behind him. +Little Phil let out a wavering whoop and went scudding down the +incline.

+

"Look at him go!" Neil yelled.

+

The small boy whizzed into the mist below. One moment a dark, +teetering shape, then quickly greying to a blur before it was +swallowed completely by the haar. They heard his shrill +cry diminish with the distance until it stopped abruptly. A muffled +thud came floating out of the mist followed immediately by a shrill +cry.

+

"Hey Phil?" Neil shouted. There was no reply.

+

"Phil. Are you alright?" Gerry bawled. His voice, ghostly and +faint replied in a double echo as it bounced from the walls.

+

There was a silence for several moments, then from down below, +Phil's voice floated up.

+

"I hurt my knee." They heard him make the kind of noise boys +make when they are hurt but not injured and want to ward off tears. +A minute later, the small boy came crunching towards them on the +edge of the slope where piles of hard-core quarry stones gave +enough grip to walk without falling.

+

"Banged it on the door. Didn't even stop 'til the bottom."

+

"What's it like."

+

"Really scary. Dead fast and you can't see where you're +going."

+

"I want to try," Pat said. He braced himself and went off down +the slope. Gerry followed, identical in size and clothing. Neil +watched them disappear, hooting all the way, before he steeled +himself, took a breath and launched himself down the slant and into +the fog. Ahead of him the twins were yelling at the tops of their +voices. There were two thumps, almost instantaneous howls of +exhilarated alarm them peals of laughter before Neil cannoned into +the brothers and knocked both of them back against the door. Pat +squealed while Gerry's breath was knocked out of him and he leaned +against the high gate gasping for air. Just then, little Phil came +careening out of the dark, sliding on his backside and crashed into +them, knocking their feet from under. They all collapsed in a +giggling heap.

+

After the first slide into the unknown, the next was less scary +and the third even easier. Pat found an old rusted coal-shovel +without a handle and went skittering off, seated on the blade, +using the pitted shaft as a grip. They could hear the metal rasp +against the ice as he whizzed out of sight, then an almighty +clatter as the shovel caroomed against the door. They all tried it, +picking up more speed as the ice was smoothed out by their passage. +Gerry found some cardboard boxes which they stacked against the +door as a shock absorber to prevent real injury and they spent the +next half-hour glissading down and trudging back up the hill, +laughing all the while.

+

It was nearly seven when Neil realised he'd done it again. Since +they'd found the ice-slide, his hunger had disappeared, but when he +was under the single lit bulb by the side of the warehouse, he +glanced at the plastic watch he'd got for his birthday and +immediately the pangs returned, along with the sinking feeling he +always got when he knew he was in trouble.

+

Pat and Gerry were preparing to skid down the hill together, +with one twin on the shovel and the other sitting on his lap when +Neil told them he had to go back.

+

"I'll catch it if I don't get a move on," he explained when they +protested. He knew he'd catch it anyway. His mother had a habit of +fetching him a skite on the ear and asking questions later. What +was worse, she'd know he hadn't stayed in the back court kicking +his ball as she'd told him to do, and that would earn him another +skelp. His mother was small and thin, but when it came to open +handed slaps, she could strike like a snake and, according to Neil, +she didn't know her own strength. Reluctantly he watched the twins +skitter off downslope, whirling out of control as they picked up +speed. He clapped little Phil on the shoulder and went back along +the disused track towards the gap in the fence. Away from the light +and away from his friends, it was darker and felt colder. He barked +his shin on an old piece of railway track that angled out of the +dead stalks of willowherb which clumped on either side of the old +line, rimed with frost. Neil's feet crunched on the hardpack. His +stomach rumbled again and suddenly he was really hungry. Ahead, one +of the street lights gradually became visible as he approached the +break in the fence. He crawled through, making sure his winter +jacket didn't get snagged on the wires and came out on the other +side at the junction of Artisan Road and Station Street. He walked +back the way they'd come, heading past the old warehouse. As he got +to the front of the gate, he could hear the delighted yells of his +friends on the other side as they crashed into the piles of boxes +and for a moment he wished he could have stayed and had more fun +with them. He passed the gate and along the decaying warehouse +front when he came to the door in the wall. As he walked past, he +heard a low voice and he turned, startled. The door was open.

+

Neil stood stock still. The door was open. That itself was +enough to spark off an eight-year-old boy's dilemma. He knew he +should be getting home, but the door had never been open before and +any warehouse is a magnet to small boys.

+

The voice came again.

+

"You. Boy."

+

A woman's voice. Quite soft.

+

"Hullo?" Neil asked into the darkness.

+

"Can you help me?"

+

"Who is it?" he called out.

+

"Can you help me, please?" the woman's voice came from the +darkness inside the building.

+

"What's wrong?" he heard himself ask.

+

"I need help. If you help me I'll give you something."

+

Neil took a hesitant step forward and his foot crossed the +doorstep. As soon as he took that step, a powerful feeling of +foreboding quivered through him. It came so unexpectedly that the +boy felt himself shudder and the hairs on the back of his neck +tingled as they crawled against the wool of his hat.

+

He took the step back. Out from under the lintel, the feeling +shrank away.

+

"Don't be afraid," the unseen woman called out to him.

+

"I can't see you."

+

"I need help. I've fallen and hurt myself."

+

Neil leaned a hand against the brickwork at the side of the +door. From inside he could smell mouldy wood and dampness and +something else he couldn't identify. It reminded him of the pit out +on Slaughterhouse Road where the flies would buzz around the +discarded jawbones in summertime, but it was a wetter, colder +smell.

+

"I'll get somebody," he called out timorously.

+

"No, please. Just come and help me up. I'll give you money for +sweets. I've got lots of money."

+

Neil hesitated, still on the horns of his dilemma, but then, +with simple childlike honesty, he realised that he could save +himself a clip on the ear, get some money for sweets and +earn some praise for helping somebody. His mother had always warned +him about talking to strangers, especially strangers on dark wintry +nights, but he had always taken that to mean men. Women +did not carry the same threat, the same potential for hurt and +badness, even if mothers could deal out swift and stinging justice. +Women were safe. It took three seconds for this +calculation to reach its conclusion in his eight-year-old mind. He +took a step forward, pausing between the door-jambs.

+

The feeling of threat quivered through him when he took +the next step into the gloom of the warehouse. Somewhere off to the +right something dripped steadily, rapping damply on the wooden +floor. Glass crunched under his feet as he went along by the wall, +close to the open-treaded metal stairway that zig-zagged above him. +It was dark, but some light from the street managed to invade +through the high windows. He could just make out a series of +doorways leading off the one wall, while to the right, where the +dripping sound came from, there was a wide space, punctuated by +narrow pillars that stretched up to the dark ceiling.

+

"Where are you?" Neil called out.

+

"Here," the voice, now weak and muffled, came from overhead. +Neil stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He looked up to the turn +at the top of the first flight. The treads were littered with +scraps of paper and bottled and squashed and rusting beer cans.

+

"Up the stairs, and please hurry," the woman called.

+

Neil went upwards, holding onto the corroded bannister with +every step until he reached the top. Cold air and tendrils of +frosted mist crept in the smashed window. He could see nothing. He +turned at the landing. Above him, some distance away, he could hear +the woman sob softly. It did not occur to him to wonder what a +woman was doing in a derelict warehouse at night. He moved on and +up, and with every step of the way, he felt the tight fingers of +alarm squeeze at him.

+

"Hurry, please hurry," the broken voice called down urgently. +Neil forced himself to move more quickly. He reached the second +landing, where the light was even dimmer and continued to the +next.

+

Then suddenly, in the gloom ahead of him, he heard a rasping +cough.

+

"Hello?" he asked into the dark.

+

There was no reply. Only a watery, choking sound. He inched +forward, still holding on to the bannister, heart now racing. A +dark shape was huddled against the railings at the turn of the +stairs. A faint light managed to push through the layers of grime +on the window which was still intact by dint of being just out of +range of small boys stones. Neil approached cautiously, his breath +now speeded up and coming out in quick plumes. He reached the +huddled form and stood there, tense with apprehension, wondering +what to do.

+

The thing moved, twisting towards him and suddenly Neil's heart +was in his throat, punching away as if it was trying to escape. A +pale face lolled forward and the boy got a look at the woman. Even +in the faint light, he could see her eyes rolling. Her tongue +protruded, wet and slack from between flaccid lips and a rope of +saliva gleamed wetly.

+

She was sprawled across the steps, one leg angled out, her skirt +rucked up. A pale moon showed where her tights had ripped at the +thigh. There was a sour flat smell that again reminded the boy of +the pit on Slaughterhouse Road, but here it was thicker, cloying +and cold.

+

"What's the matter?" Neil asked tremulously, legs bent, prepared +to run.

+

"Mother," the woman moaned. Through the thick saliva, it sounded +like mudda.

+

"What?"

+

"Oh..." another long moan, almost like a sigh, then the woman's +head flopped. The smell grew stronger.

+

"Go. Now," she said, though the words were hardly recognisable. +Her face twisted towards the boy and her eyes seemed to come into +focus. Her mouth opened again and just then, on the landing above, +there was a small grating noise. The woman coughed, gagging, and +her flaccid body convulsed. Just overhead something whimpered. At +first Neil though it was a cat, maybe a kitten, but the sound came +again.

+

It was a baby.

+

The whimpering cry came clear from just above in the darkness. +Neil knew all about babies. One of the reasons he'd been out +kicking the ball against the wall was because his little sister, +only three months old, and almost as much of a surprise to his +parents as she had been to Neil, always needed fed when his mother +was making the dinner. She made the same wheedling cry when she was +hungry.

+

"Up there," the woman's strangled words came from beside him. +She reached out a pallid hand towards him. Neil thought she was +directing him upwards. The sense of apprehension diminished when +the baby mewled again. He passed the sprawled woman, not noticing +her shaking her head like a maudlin drunk. He came to the fourth +turn, tripping over cans and boxes, heading upwards to where the +darkness was almost complete.

+

There was a snuffling cry dead ahead. He scrambled up the final +six steps, almost losing his balance, eyes wide to try to see. +Something whispered in his ear and he stopped dead.

+

"Get you, " it said. "Catch you. "

+

The words scraped and tickled, just loud enough to be heard. +Sudden fear ballooned in the boy. The shadows seemed to close in on +him, while the whispering voice, in his ears, in his head, +chittered fast. Panicked, Neil turned, preparing to run back down +the stairway when the dark above came reaching down at him.

+

In that minute fraction of a second, that's exactly what it +looked like to Neil Kennedy. He did not even have a chance to think +about it. The dark simply rippled towards him, blacker than the +gloom at the head of the stairs. He saw it rush towards him and +then it slammed him against the wall, knocking his breath out and +smashing his nose with the ferocity of the strike.

+

Neil grunted in surprise and pain and fright. As he bounced, +whirling from the wall, something whipped out towards him so fast +it was just a blur. He felt a sharp, jagged pain under his collar- +bone and a corresponding stab at the top of his shoulderblade and +then he was jerked off his feet with such violence that his head +snapped back with a flare of pain which felt as through the muscles +in his neck had been pulled apart.

+

The boy screeched as terror exploded inside him.

+

Beside him, the wall blurred as he was hauled upwards at +shocking speed, pinioned by an enormous grip on his shoulder. He +screamed again, a high and wavering sound that spanked back and +forth from the walls of the stairwell as whatever had grabbed him +and had him clenched in a ferocious grip raced upwards. The boy's +heel hit off the bannister and his shoe flew into space, tumbling +down the dark well, but he didn't even notice. The dark shape held +him in a grip of such crushing intensity that he could feel the +bones crack. Hot blood gushed across his cheek. He heard his own +scream soar higher and higher and beyond it he could hear the +rumbling grunt of the black thing that had him in its grip. He was +jerked up in a stuttering series of lurches towards the roof where +old beams criss-crossed one another. The thing paused momentarily. +It snuffled and growled like a hungry animal, like a huge +and ravenous beast, mindless and ferocious. By the time they had +reached the rafters, Neil Kennedy was almost unconscious from pain +and loss of blood and sheer terror. He twisted spasmodically and +felt the white fire rip through his neck. The black thing squeezed +harder. There was a slight pop as something burst inside the +monstrous grip. The boy felt himself flung round, legs whipping +like a floppy doll, and his knee hit the edge of a beam. A loud +crack clapped the air and a jolt of agony flamed in the boy's leg. +The whipping motion snapped his teeth together, slicing through the +edge of his tongue. The black thing drew him upwards in one jerking +movement and held him up. The boy's vision was fading fast. He saw +two orange-yellow eyes open. A discoloured membrane flicked across +them. The thing growled like a monstrous cat and brought its victim +right up to its eyes. A mouth opened.

+

Neil Kennedy's heart stopped beating and he died, with those +sulphur eyes drilling into his soul. The drips and splashes of his +blood on the walls of the staircase began to congeal and solidify +in the dark shadowed place just under the roof of the old +warehouse.

+

Only fifty yards away, behind the big double gate of the +shunting yard, the three small boys played on, sliding down the +ramp and crashing into the now shapeless pile of cardboard boxes. +Their laughter and squeals of hilarity pierced the fog. Up in the +roof-space, where dust-coated cobwebs festooned the narrow corners, +a black shape with a smaller lighter shape dangling in its grasp +turned its head towards the sound, snuffling at the air. It moved +in that direction in a liquid, insectile creep, then stopped and +turned back. The sound had sparked off a barren hunger that could +not be sated. Its eyes widened, glowing febrile and feral in the +gloom. Wet drool dripped from the corner of a shadowed mouth. It +began to move, away from the sounds, to the far end of the roof +where a hoisting window gaped on the gable wall. Across the river, +the foundry shrieked its night noises and a warm glow flickered on +the base of the massive cylinder of chimney that jutted to the sky. +The black thing growled again, so low the dusty windows rattled in +their frames and turned away from the light. After a moment, it +moved on and out into the thickening fog.

+

The Murphy twins and their small friend lived to play another +day. After almost an hour of excitement they trundled along the +disused track, laughing amongst themselves, each aware that Neilly +Kennedy had missed some great fun. They agreed to meet the next day +after school with anything they could use to slide down the +ramp.

+

When Gerry and Pat Murphy got home, Neil Kennedy senior, a big +angular man with the same Irish red hair as his son, was sitting on +the arm of the chair in the livingroom.

+

"Where have you boys been?" Meg Murphy demanded to know. The +twins looked at each other, one trying to read the other's +expression, wondering what to say.

+

"Och, never mind," their mother went on. "Have you seen +Neilly?"

+

The big man looked from one boy to the other.

+

"Yes Mr Kennedy," Pat said. "He was playing with us across at +the slide."

+

"But he came home for his tea an hour ago," Gerry +interjected.

+

"Well, he's not home yet," Neil Kennedy said slowly. Already the +look of a parent whose child is late on a winter's night was +beginning to shade his face.

+

Half an hour after that, Gerry and Neil were standing side by +side, answering all the questions the policeman asked them. They +admitted being across in the old railyard. They were certain that +Neil had gone home. Constable Bill McGurk took notes and then went +outside to speak into his radio and within fifteen minutes, two +police cars were parked at the junction of Artisan Road and Station +Street. Neil Kennedy, too worried to have muffled himself up +against the freezing fog went with the policemen when the search +started. They hunted all over the railyard, down the alleys that +led to the river before it took its bend at the bridge, and in +every back court between Station Street and the quayside. They did +not find little Neilly Kennedy that night.

+

Jack Fallon was woken out of a terrible dream at six in the +morning and told the news.

+

For an instant, while his heart slowed down to a canter, he was +glad to get the reprieve from the nightmare of flying glass and +dripping blood, until he heard that another child was missing, and +this time not a baby.

+

He was in his office on a freezing, dark and misty morning half +an hour after the call.

+

Later that day, they found the body of a woman, frozen in rigor +mortis and with the cold, caught on the anchor chain of one of the +little tattered boats moored in the river. She was wearing one +shoe, a brown lacing brogue, when they finally hauled her out of +the icy water just below the weir downstream from the old bridge. +When they got her to the quayside, her body, bent by the flow of +water, could not be laid flat. When the diver placed her on her +back, she rocked like an ungainly grey toy. They laid her on her +side on the stretcher and she was taken to Lochend Hospital where +Robbie Cattanach carried out yet another post mortem. Apart from +the lack of identification, and the circumstance of her being found +floating in the river, there were no suspicious circumstances. The +presence of dirty river water in her lungs showed beyond doubt that +she had died from drowning.

+

The only odd thing, Robbie noted, was that both lungs were +filled with water, which, in an ordinary drowning, is very rare, as +the lungs normally react violently to cold water.

+

It looked as if she had walked into the river, taken a deep +breath and held it in. The fatal accident inquiry might decide on +it later, but Robbie Cattanach decided there and then that this was +a case of suicide. As to the motive, he couldn't say.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike16.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike16.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b0739ff --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike16.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,623 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 16 + + + + +
+
+

16

+

Jack's throat ached every time he tried to swallow. It was raw +and inflamed and felt as if it had been rasped with burr file. He +was in no mood for work, but of no mind to quit. Early in the +morning he'd expanded the search and called in the dogs. The big +Alsatians had hauled at their leashes, encouraged by the +dog-handlers and by the unwashed school shirt that Neil Kennedy had +worn the day before. Where the kids had played the previous night, +the footprints were obscured by the tracks of boys and men from the +search the night before. The late fall of snow in the evening had +covered the scent and made it difficult for the big panting dogs. +Their broad pads made crisp pug-marks in the virgin snow on the old +railway lines as they quartered back and forth, trying to pick up +the trail of the missing boy.

+

It was late in the morning, while Jack was drinking hot +blackcurrant to ease his throat and going over the interview +reports, trying to pick out some tiny fact from them that would +help in the hunt for the baby-killer, when John McColl came +stamping into the office. His feet left a trail of slushy droplets +on the worn carpet.

+

"Got another body for you," he announced. He looked cold. +"They've just fished a woman out of the river. Looks like a +swimmer."

+

"Great," Jack said, his voice sounded hard and gritty. "Just +what I need. Looks like the whole town wants to kill itself or get +itself killed. Got a name?"

+

"Nothing so far. She's covered in all sorts of shite from the +water. Nothing immediately visible. Looks to be in her forties. She +was hanging over a mooring rope twenty feet out from the quayside, +just up from the grain silo. Probably been there all night from the +state she was in."

+

"Suspicious?"

+

"Doesn't look like it," John said, angling himself closer to the +two-bar heater, still stamping his big feet.

+

"That'll make a change."

+

"Anything on the kid?"

+

"Nothing from the search last night. Christ John, we've had folk +in every school and warnings in every paper telling folk to keep +their kids in off the streets, and they never listen. Stupid woman +sent her son out to play so she could watch television. We should +lock the bitch up." Jack put down his cup, then grabbed it up again +as his throat reacted to the violence of his speech. He went into a +fit of coughing.

+

"Aye. maybe we should. But we'd have to lock up a thousand +others. And I dare say she won't be feeling too happy this +morning."

+

Jack waited until the coughing abated and took another sip of +the warm juice, letting it trickle down over the raw patches on the +lining of his throat.

+

"Oh, I suppose you're right. But it's a bloody tough lesson to +learn. See if we can get another bulletin on the radio this +afternoon, just to drive the message home. I don't want to see any +kids out of doors after dark."

+

"You reckon we'll get away with a curfew?"

+

"It's not a curfew John. Just scare the shit out of the +mothers."

+

"I don't reckon the Super will like it. He's getting a bit +paranoid about the coverage."

+

"Only because we're still in the dark. Once we get results, +he'll be elbowing folk out of the way to get in front of the +cameras."

+

Jack started coughing again. John McColl looked over at him. +"You should see the Doc about that. The last thing we need is you +laid up. With the boss off, that would leave us at the tender +mercies of Mr Cowie, and that..."

+

John's words trailed off as the door opened.

+

"Did I hear my name used in vain?" Ronald Cowie asked. He was +tooled up in his best uniform, the buttons gleaming on his +shoulder.

+

"Just saying I'm getting the paperwork ready for you on the +body."

+

"Oh? Which one's that?"

+

"Seems they fished a woman from the river this morning," Jack +said. "Suspected suicide. John's on it."

+

"I'd put that on the back burner. There's more important things +to worry about. I've been out to lunch with the Provost and +Councillor Graham. He's on the police committee. They're getting +very concerned over our lack of progress. The Chief Constable is +showing a similar concern. It was a source of great embarrassment +that I had very little to tell them."

+

"That's because there is very little," Jack said. John +shuffled from foot to foot, clearly wanting to be out of the +crossfire, but unwilling to get between his two superiors on the +way to the door.

+

"Yes. Quite. You don't seem to have made any progress. And in +view of Mr McNicol's absence, I've a mind to take over the handling +of this case. Personally."

+

Jack sat where he was, trying to keep his face straight. In +peripheral vision, he saw John McColl's jaw drop.

+

"Anything to say?" Cowie asked, one eyebrow raised.

+

"No," Jack said. "But it could set us back a day or two. Mr +McNicol's view was that I should have a few days more. There are +some lines of inquiry we are following up, and in view of the +Kennedy boy's disappearance I think it's only fair to suggest a +press and radio warning to parents. No doubt you'll want to make +that yourself."

+

He let that sink in, watching the obvious calculations going on +behind the man's eyes. Jack decided to help him with the +arithmetic.

+

"Naturally, the press will be keen to know what progress we are +making, and we'll have to assure them that every effort will be +made. As the man in charge, you can be sure of every assistance +from me, of course."

+

John McColl turned his body towards the fire, but not quickly +enough for Jack to miss the wide smile creasing his face.

+

Cowie coughed into his hand. His eyes swung right and left. +Talking to reporters was fine and dandy, as long as there was +capital to be made from it. But if the only news was no news, he +certainly didn't want to be the one associated with police +failure.

+

"No. I don't think that will be necessary. At this juncture," he +said. It was all he could do to keep from spluttering. "I had +already decided to give you another few days. But I have to warn +you that you'd better come up with something. I'll review the +situation as and when necessary. But believe me, I'll have no +hesitation in taking control if there's no progress. None +whatsoever."

+

"Understood," Jack said, nodding curtly. Cowie stared at him and +Jack let it simmer for a moment before he added very softly: +"Sir."

+

Again, his superior looked as if his face was about to explode. +Jack couldn't have cared less. The man had tried to cut him down in +front of John McColl, and he'd been forced to back down himself. He +deserved all he got. As he watched the retreating figure, Jack +thought back to something his father had told him when he was just +starting at the police college:

+

"Remember, there's always some jumped up arse promoted +beyond his capability. He's the one to watch, because he'll stand +on you to keep his head above water. Never give him anything to +hold on to."

+

Jack thought his old man's advice fitted this moment precisely. +He knew he'd have to step carefully or Cowie would move in +and take over, and that, he knew, would be the worst possible +scenario.

+

"You haven't made a friend there," John McColl said, trying to +keep the smile off his face.

+

"I don't make friends easily," Jack replied. "I've better things +to worry about. Or worse."

+

He looked down at the papers on his desk, brown furrowed in +thought. After a few moments he looked up, raised a hand to sweep +back the comma of black hair that had fallen down over his +brow.

+

"This woman in the river."

+

"Yes?"

+

"Dig a bit. Get me what you can, soon as you can."

+

"Sure. But I think it's just a suicide."

+

"Yes. So was Simpson, and we thought the Toner incident was a +suicide too. But there was plenty more to them than met the eye. As +of today, I want to hear about every death, when it happens, and +the full works on each."

+

John McColl looked at him, both eyebrows raised. Jack could read +his expression easily.

+

"Yes, I know. It sounds like clutching at straws and jumping at +shadows. But we can't afford to miss anything. Since the Herkik +killing, there's been something not right about this town. I don't +believe Simpson was the only one there. I've a feeling there was a +riot of a party that night. I'm trying to find someone who might +have been in the vicinity. We've got a tenuous connection between +Simpson and the Doyle baby. Another serious connection between +Toner and the Campbell child."

+

"You think there's a link?"

+

"I'm coming round to that feeling, though I don't want it +broadcast. Not yet." He stabbed at the thickening file with his +finger.

+

"Now we have a boy missing. Think about it. He was last seen +across at the stockyard on the other side of Station Street. The +yard carries on as far as the railway bridge over the river. And +today we fish a woman out on the same side five hundred yards +downstream."

+

Jack spoke in short bursts, taking a break between them to ease +the rasp in his throat. He took another sip of juice. It had gone +cold, but it helped.

+

"We can't afford to overlook anything. I've got a hunch, nothing +more, but the hairs on the back of my neck are beginning to crawl. +The connections are only loose threads, but any correlation, +anything at all, could be vital. That's why I want an ID on the +woman toot-sweet. Match her prints with those from the Herkik +place, Latta Court and Loch View, just in case."

+

"We're not looking for a woman, Chief," John stated. "That's for +certain, not unless she's an east German shot-putter."

+

"Not directly. I agree with you on that. I just want to see +where all the broken edges fit in. There's more going on in this +town than anybody would believe, probably including me. I want to +find out what was going on at the old woman's house, who was there, +and why. And I want to know where they've been since."

+

"What about Toner?"

+

"He wasn't there. The prints have been run through. But he was +up to something and he was covered in the Campbell kid's +blood."

+

"Can I ask why you're so sure that the old woman's case has +something to do with the others?"

+

"I'm not. That's the truth. I've just got a feeling about it. If +I'm wrong, I'll admit it, but until I know for sure, I don't want +to take anything for granted."

+

John nodded. He moved away from the heater. A faint smell of +damp clothes and singed cloth followed him to the door.

+

"I'll get you a name for the swimmer, hopefully by the end of +the day."

+

"I'd appreciate that," Jack said. His voice had gone hoarse. +"Oh, and another thing. See if Sorley Fitzpatrick will lend us a +Bronto today. The earlier the better."

+

"A what?"

+

"One of their snorkel trucks. They can lift a couple of men up +to roof level. If he can't spare it, check with the lighting +department."

+

"What for?"

+

"Yours is not to reason why, John," Jack said, but he said it +with a smile, even though the speaking was beginning to make his +throat really ache. "But I'll tell you." He motioned the Sergeant +across to the wall where a large-scale map of Levenford covered +most of the space.

+

He indicated the points marked by red pins.

+

"Herkik. Doyle. Toner."

+

"Yes?"

+

Four storeys. Ten storeys. Eleven storeys at least." Jack used +his forefinger to punctuate each sentence.

+

"Whoever he is, he likes high places."

+

"But Shona Campbell was killed on the ground," John +protested.

+

"Yes. I've been wondering about that. That's why I need the +snorkel. I want the whole roof area of Barley Cobble gone over. We +didn't find anything on the ground, and I just want to be sure. Can +you fix it?"

+

"Sure. I'll get on to it right away."

+

John closed the door behind him and Jack stood, staring at the +map for a few minutes. When he'd been speaking to McColl, something +had sparked in his mind, a connection half formed, that had +wriggled away even as he'd tried to grasp it.

+

"Must be working too hard," he said to himself. He swallowed and +felt as if a marble had lodged in his throat. Jack put a hand under +his jaw. The glands were swollen and tender and he knew they'd be +grape-sized by nightfall. He took an immediate decision, crossed to +his desk and picked up the phone. The woman at the health centre +told him she'd squeeze him in just before five.

+

Jack went back to the map, trying to resurrect the elusive +thought that had died before it had been properly conceived. It +wouldn't come, so he gave up. Instead, he went back to the phone +and requested a sub-aqua team from headquarters. He knew Cowie +would hate that, because of the attention it would bring, not to +mention the expense and the divers would hate it too, for the +river, at this time of the year would be freezing, filthy and +dangerous.

+

Some hours later, and several streets away, in the basement +store-room of the old library on Strathleven Street, Lorna Breck +sat hunched in a chair with her elbows on the table and her head in +her hands. In front of her, the words on a catalogue file swam in +and out of focus, and she had to concentrate hard to keep her +eyelids open. She was desperate for sleep yet terrified to give up +being awake because of the dreams that shunted in horrific +procession, nightmare locomotives roaring and screaming through the +dark.

+

They were coming constantly now, visions, dreams, illusions, +apparitions, hallucinations. Lorna did not know what to call them. +Like the terrible vision that had attacked and invaded her on River +Street when she'd looked into the grocer's window, they came, even +in sleep, preceded by the flat, oily smell of tomcats and a juicy +electrical hum in the bones of her head behind her ears. As always, +even in her sleep, she'd be aware of the dizzy numbness that stole +through her, making her feel leaden and strengthless.

+

She could not evade them, could not avoid them, until the fear +grew so great she would wake up, finding herself sitting bolt +upright with the bedclothes knotted around her, damp with her own +sweat, and she'd be gasping for a breath of clean air, black images +of creeping shadows and scuttering blackness dancing in front of +her eyes.

+

As she sat, trying to focus on the wavering print, she debated +what to do. Keith Conran, had taken her into his office and asked +if anything was wrong. She'd shaken her head, telling him she had +some sort of bug which she thought might work itself off. She +wasn't ready to tell anybody about the things she saw in +the night, and more frightening, in the daytime. He'd suggested she +should go and see Doctor Bell, but she'd told him she didn't feel +that bad. In fact she felt worse than she'd ever felt in her life, +but she couldn't explain to a doctor why she felt that way.

+

Lorna propped herself up and rubbed her eyes. They were red and +grittily sour. She'd been up since five in the morning, launched +from sleep by an image so terrible she'd rolled over and retched +helplessly and drily over the side of the bed, feeling the +convulsions twist and jerk the muscles of her belly.

+

She'd known it was coming. She'd sensed it and smelled it and +heard the sizzling hum in her head and the cold lethargy had stolen +into her muscles in a creeping paralysis and then, with a +bewildering wrench she was flipped out of a dream from +childhood where she'd been picking brambles with her mother on a +clear autumn day and slammed into darkness.

+

The cat smell faded and another scent, dry and musky and +slightly rancid came drifting over her. Birds. It was the smell of +birds, like chickens, cooped up in an old timber shed. She +remembered that smell from childhood and the days when she'd be out +every morning for the eggs, shooing the fluttering birds from their +boxes and rummaging in the half-light among the musty straw and +feathers and half-dried droppings. Similar, but not the same, maybe +another type of bird. The air also held the odour of dry-rot. She +was in a high place, looking down from an odd angle. She did not +know where it was.

+

Off to the left, in a dark corner, dim shafts of light speared +through holes - in the wall? the roof? - and showed a thick mist +oozing creepily like grey searching fingers round oddly slanted +beams. Something moaned nearby, off to the left. Close to the +sound, something fluttered, a grey ghost in the grey swirl.

+

Pigeons, Lorna realised. Already she was in the grip of the +dream and her heart was beginning to churn as the apprehension +mounted. The thought of the pigeons, moaning and burbling in the +dark, was somehow enormously frightening, though she did not know +why. The place she was in was cold and dark, criss-crossed by the +thick, mouldering beams.

+

Off in the distance, far below, she heard a squeak, mouse-like +in the dark, then a creak, as if a door had been opened. A small +silence followed, filling the hollows, then another sound, a +woman's voice, muffled by the distance. A higher response, +unintelligible, but obviously a question, a child's tones.

+

The apprehension changed, expanded and became fear. Lorna could +not move. She could not speak and inside the numbness that gripped +her muscles, she could feel nerves jitter and jump, screaming out +with her own need to scream a warning. It was a child. +Another child.

+

Her mind yammered. Getawaygetaway. GO!.

+

Down below, there was another murmur and a second high response. +Footsteps on broken glass, hollow treads on old stairs. More +voices, the child's hesitant sounds getting closer.

+

Up the stairs and please hurry. This time the woman's +voice, rising in urgency, came clearly. At least the words were +clear, but in Lorna's ears, there was an odd double phasing sound, +a strange harshness underneath the words. It was as if someone +else had spoken at the same time. The words rang up the +deep stairwell towards her, reverberating from the peeling walls. +Lorna's heart kicked twice. The echoes seemed to separate the +woman's words from the underlying sound, and Lorna heard the other +voice, a deep guttural sound that was as much a snarl as anything, +but was still able to form words.

+

Her heart kicked again then seemed to stop dead in her chest. +Lorna gasped for air, but could not catch her breath.

+

Down below, the child said something. There was another sound, +like someone choking, a burbling, liquid tearing sound. +Inside her head, but seeming to come from a great distance, she +heard the scrapy whisper, almost unintelligible, jagged with +threat, and her mind recoiled.

+

From her vantage point high in the rafters, Lorna saw the gloom +of the stairwell instantly become black as night. Something slammed +against a wall and all light was blotted out.

+

There was a sudden thumping sound, a series of raps, like +someone knocking on the wall, followed by a savage slavering growl +and a small cry of surprise and fright. Right on its heels came a +scream of pain and terror, ricocheting up, soaring higher and +higher until it was almost beyond the range of hearing, before it +was abruptly cut off.

+

Lorna's eyes were still wide and her mouth wider as she panicked +for air. Down below, the blackness expanded, billowing up towards +her and the liquid snarl grew louder. She couldn't move. The shadow +rocketed upwards, jerking from wall to wall in a series of lurching +zig-zags, incredibly fast, appallingly menacing. It spurted up the +stairwell, a rippling piece of pure night, until it reached the +lower cross beams. Something small tumbled within the blackness. +She heard the crack as the small thing smacked against the bar with +the sound of a green twig breaking. A foul, foetid stink assailed +her and even in the dream she would have gagged if she'd been able +to breathe. As the darkness drew towards her, pistoning from one +perch to the other, she sensed the terrible wrongness of +it. Behind her, the pigeons huddling together for warmth in the +tight space where the roof beams slanted down to the wall, exploded +in a panic of fluttering. The black thing scuttered past her and +over the stench she got a hot metal whiff of blood. Something shot +out from the moving shape and a bird detonated in a whirling puff +of feathers and blood. Another came tumbling through the air +towards her and hit the rafter with a dead thud. The dark shape +turned towards her. It had no definition, but it emanated force and +badness and dreadful power. It sucked away all the faint light, +like a living black hole. Even though she could not see its shape, +she knew it had turned to face her, as she had in the +other dream on top of the building. Two eyes flicked open, +yellow-orange and poisonous as before, huge, protruberant, +alien, and utterly repugnant eyes, as blinkless as a +snake. They turned towards her, malignant and engulfing and looked +right into her. She felt the touch of that glance scrape across her +like a bane, and in that touch she felt the derision of baleful +glee.

+

The hunched shape sat there, glaring its malice, its breath a +gurgling rattle, then it moved slowly. The limp thing that hung +from it swung up and in the light of those poison eyes, she saw +what it held.

+

The little boy's head lolled. There was blood on his nose and +his cheek. Something dark dripped from his neck to splatter on the +beam where the thing crouched. A white feather tumbled lazily in +the air and settled on a splash where it stuck, trembling. The +boy's legs hung downwards, one of them queerly twisted. He had one +black shoe on one small foot. The other wore only a sock which had +been almost pulled off.

+

The shape shifted, rippled and held the broken child out towards +her, as if making an offering, a hunter displaying his kill. The +orange eyes expanded and Lorna was filled with a shivering sick +loathing. She tried to back away, but she was hemmed in by one of +the angled beams and her foot slipped from the timber. The thing +turned, moving like oil, rippling its way across the roof-void in a +series of undulations, so fast it was hard to follow. At the far +end of the space, grey mist was billowing in through rectangular +gap in the gable wall. The thing flicked towards it, an impossible +outline in the miasma, then it was gone. Lorna started to fall. She +twisted and the stairwell opened up to swallow her. She plummetted +downwards, unable to scream and the hard stone floor at the bottom +raced up as if to catch her half-way. Just before she hit she had +an image of her broken and bloodied body lying unfound during the +depths of winter.

+

And then she woke up, lungs screaming for breath, so scared, so +dreadfully overwhelmed with fear that her whole body was trembling +like a tuning fork. Then the nausea had thrown her to the edge of +her bed and her stomach had tried to turn itself inside out, as if +it could void her of the nightmare image by voiding itself. Nothing +had come out except a trickle of sour bile.

+

Now, in the silent basement of the library, Lorna still felt +sick, from lack of sleep, from the numb horror of the constant +dreams, and from the dreadful fear of what the dreams were showing +her. She shifted in her seat and brought her hands up to her eyes +and knuckled both of them, trying to wipe away the sourness under +her lids and failing. She bent to the figures on the register, +making an effort to concentrate, and failing at that too.

+

The stacked storeroom was almost silent. Keith Conran had been +working on the catalogues earlier in the afternoon, but he had gone +upstairs to the adult section for the monthly meeting. In another +hour, the schools would be coming out and the first trickle of +youngsters, less now that the nights were dark so early and because +of the warnings the police had spread throughout the classes, would +come clattering down the old stone steps to hand in their books and +have them stamped.

+

The old radiator on the wall, a heavy, cast-iron ribbed +monstrosity pinged and gurgled to itself as the antique heating +system pumped water that was not quite warm enough through the maze +of pipes that fed down through the ceiling. The faint hum of cars +and lorries passing on Strathleven Street occasionally punctuated +the wheeze of the heating system. On the far wall, the old clock +with its fat black hands ticked sonorously, one second at a time, a +sound that was so pervasive and so constant that Lorna had ceased +to hear it. Apart from these sounds and Lorna's own light +breathing, the basement was quiet.

+

She shook her head, feeling the short waves of chestnut hair +feather lightly against her cheeks, and drew her eyes down the +list, trying to match the delivery invoices against the books which +had been ordered months before from the catalogues. It was far from +easy. The words wriggled and wavered on the paper as she made the +effort to focus tired eyes and tried to ward off the memory of the +dreams. It was proving almost impossible, but she stuck with it, +doing her best to concentrate. It was the only thing that kept the +images at bay. She worked on for half an hour, making heavy weather +of a routine job which should have taken minutes.

+

The seconds ticked by, like slowly dripping water, counted by +the old wooden clock. It was half past three in the afternoon and +outside a heavy dusk was gathering under low clouds when Lorna +suddenly came completely awake.

+

Hear head came up with a jerk and her eyes flicked wide open. +She felt her breath catch in her throat. A pulse tapped just under +the curve of her jaw.

+

The voice came again. A faint gurgling rattle.

+

The girl stiffened. She could feel the fine hairs on the back of +her neck creep in unison. Her skin felt tight and tingly.

+

"Who's there?" she called out softly. Her eyes were fixed on the +gloomy corner at the far end of the racks where the heating pipes +angled up the wall towards the roof. The faint sound had come from +there and as soon as it had impinged on her consciousness, Lorna +heard the rattling breath of the black thing in her dreams.

+

The sound came again, a little louder than before. Lorna shoved +herself back from the desk, fighting off the paralysis of instant +fright, eyes taking in the distance between the desk and the door +on the opposite side of the stacks. She had her back to the one +wall and would have to squeeze past the old storage heater to come +round the front and get to the heavy door which hung slightly ajar +on its brass hinges.

+

The sound came again, this time louder and a palpable sense of +presence locked into Lorna's perception. There was someone +in the shadows. Some thing in the gloom at the far end of +the narrow passage between the shelves and the dirty wall. She felt +her hands shake as adrenalin kicked into her bloodstream, knotting +her stomach and making every outline stand out in sharp +definition.

+

Just then,the old clock clicked on the half hour and a harsh +grinding noise of rusty gears and springs jarred the air.

+

Lorna's throat closed with an audible click and she started back +at the sound. The clock had never made a sound before, apart from +the monotonous tick. It was as if it had chosen that precise moment +to come awake.

+

The girl pushed herself back against the chair. The fine hairs +on her arms were now standing erect and the skin below them was +puckered into gooseflesh.

+

From down in the shadows, the guttural rattle sounded like an +animal in a den.

+

The clock chimed once and Lorna almost screamed. It was a low, +flat note that hung in the air for what seemed like seconds. It was +only the chime of an old wooden clock, but the sound, an ordinary, +almost commonplace sound (although she had never heard the +clock chime before) filled her with an intense and +inexplicable terror. The rubber grommets on the chair-legs juddered +as they scraped against the vinyl floor squares, caught, and the +seat toppled backwards. Hysteria fought for control as Lorna forced +herself past the heater, feeling the seam of her jeans catch on the +rough edge of the table. She crossed in front of the stack of books +when the door creaked loudly and slowly swung shut. The latch +clicked home. Lorna stopped, frozen in the act of taking a step. +Behind her ears, hot blood wheezed under increased pressure. Her +throat clicked again as she gasped drily for air.

+

Then the light dimmed. It happened so smoothly that at first +nothing seemed to be happening, then the bulb underneath the old +green shade seemed to bleed power away. The yellow light dopplered +down through orange to blood red in a sliding graduation. It took +less than two seconds, while Lorna's mind was still trying to take +in the enormous fact of the door slowly closing by itself.

+

In those two seconds, gloom engulfed the basement.

+

On the ceiling, the filament of the bare bulb was still clearly +visible, a red worm dangling in the dark, throwing off a weak +effulgence.

+

Lorna hiccupped. It made a strange little noise in the thick +air. Her legs felt as if they would give way under her flopping +weight and that thought was what made her manage to keep her feet. +The idea of lying down here in the dark, behind the closed door, +with something lying in wait in the now pitch-black corner was +enough to kick another jolt of adrenalin into her shaking muscles, +giving them just enough strength to stop her from sinking in a daze +to the hard floor.

+

Her hand found the desk and her nails scrabbled on the wooden +surface as she instinctively sought for purchase. The opaque glass +of the door let in a wan glow from the outer office. It seemed a +million miles away to the frozen girl who stood, terror-stricken, +mouth slackly agape, holding on to the desk for balance.

+

Off to the left, where the shadows jostled at the end of the +stacks, came another noise. This time it was not a rattle or a +growl, but a whimper. Lorna turned, eyes wide, and in the act of +turning, the narrow space between shelves and wall spun in her +vision, suddenly wheeling in a spiral. Vertigo flooded her with +sick nausea. For an instant, she could not feel her feet on the +floor. The looping sensation of falling lurched in her belly and +then Lorna was looking down into a black hole.

+

The darkness was absolute for several stretched out seconds, +then Lorna saw shape, and when she did, her heart scudded against +her ribs.

+

The boy she had seen in her dream was looking up at her. His +eyes were rolled up so far that she could only make out the whites. +There was a black splash on one cheek and a terrible gash on the +other. Something poked through the skin, peeling it back in wet +scraps. Even in her terror, Lorna felt herself lean forward, over +the black pit, trying to make out what she was seeing. Something +clicked inside her head and the thing sprang into focus. The little +boy was dangling from a curved spike which had pierced the flesh +under his jaw and come out through the side of his face. He was +suspended in the pit like an animal in a butcher's shop, mouth +forced into a wide gape by the drag of his own weight.

+

For another long second, Lorna was frozen by the horror of what +she was seeing. Beside the small boy, other shapes, even smaller, +dangled in the shaft, pathetic forlorn and limp. She tried to drag +her eyes away but could not make them negate what she was +seeing.

+

Then the boy's white eyes rolled down in their sockets. There +was an audible creak as his head turned two inches to the right so +that he was looking directly at her.

+

"Elf ee, ".

+

She heard the high strangled sound which gasped from the boy's +twisted mouth as it worked to form speech. The words were +unintelligible, but Lorna knew what they were saying.

+

"..op it." An incoherent, yet eloquent appeal from a +small dead boy impaled and dangling in a black pit.

+

Help me! Stop it!

+

The sense was unmistakeable. In the midst of her fear, Lorna was +swamped with pity for the thin little thing and those helpless dead +things beside it. In the dark, despite the vertigo, she felt +herself take a step towards the pallid face which was looking up at +her, holding her with its dead eyes.

+

Then she heard the feral growl come rattling up from the depths. +Beyond and below the dangling figures, she sensed movement, eager +furtive motion in the black depths. Something was powering up +towards her. She sensed it with every cell in her body. The thing +was coming up the well, moving with that blurred speed. Her eyes +widened and in the distance, two yellow eyes flicked open and +glared, expanding like headlamps as they soared up to her.

+

Lorna snapped back from the edge. Panic burst inside her. Her +throat unlocked and she screamed so loudly the glass panel on the +door vibrated in sympathy. As soon as she screamed, the lights +abruptly came back on. Without conscious thought, Lorna sprang to +the door. Behind her, though the pit had popped out of existence +when the light flicked on, she could hear the scrabble of nails on +stone and the heavy, stuttered breathing of the thing in her +nightmares. The muscles down the length of her backbone twisted and +shrank in anticipation of a black, clawed hand reaching out to grab +and rend. She made it to the door. The handle slipped, twisted, +caught and opened. She threw herself out into the other room. A +dark shape came looming in front of her and Lorna shrieked again. +Two hands came up and grabbed her by both shoulders. She felt +herself turn as enormous fear erupted and everything started to +fade as her nerves finally gave up the fight. The blood drained +from her head and Lorna collapsed to the floor in a dead faint.

+

Five minutes later, she gradually came dizzily awake sitting in +Keith Conran's comfortable swivel seat. The librarian was patting +her face with a damp cloth. Beside him, Nelly Coyle, who was in her +late fifties and ran the reference section, clucked and fluttered +like a mother hen. They gave Lorna a Hedex tablet and a +drink of cold water, and a while later, though she maintained she +was feeling fine (which was as far from the truth as Lorna could +imagine) Keith insisted on driving her round to the health centre. +Between himself and Nelly, they suspected that she might be +pregnant, although neither mentioned their view. Lorna wouldn't +hear of her boss waiting until the receptionist could fit her in +and he left her seated, pale and shivering, in the waiting room +where she had nothing to do but think about what she had seen in +the darkness of the library basement.

+

In the other waiting room, Jack Fallon was flicking through a +tattered copy of Readers Digest, trying with difficulty to swallow, +and wondering who on earth was interested in what somebody's spleen +did.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike17.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike17.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..96208c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike17.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,1021 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 17 + + + + +
+
+

17

+

Annie Eastwood saw her dead daughter again, and the familiar +wrench of barren guilt and delusive hope twisted inside her. Since +the night in Marta Herkik's house, since she had heard Angela's +voice coming from the wrinkled mouth of the old woman, she had seen +her daughter's face in glimpses and flashes, in reflections in shop +windows, in faces in the lunchtime crowds on River Street, in the +shadows behind the flaking gaunt tombstones in old Clydeshore +Cemetery.

+

She'd gone there many times since the bleak burial, but after +the dreadful night in the old woman's apartment, when the walls had +frosted and run with stone-sweat and the flawed crystal had spun on +its own on the polished table, she'd come to the graveyard every +day, dreading to see her girl's name etched on the new polished +granite, the words gleaming in the lights from the street just over +the wall.

+

Angela Eastwood. Aged sixteen.

+

Her girl's life in four words cut on stone.

+

Make me some hot donuts mummy. The high clear voice of +a little girl. It had frozen Annie's heart, chilled her soul. And +the words the stone had spelled out, nudging each letter with dread +certainty. Cold. Dark. Hurt. They had riven her like +shards of ice.

+

Clydeshore Cemetery was cold and dark. Annie could recall the +funeral, though she'd been so deadened by the drugs it had been +days before the memory had risen to the surface of conscious +thought. She'd been moving in a dream, in a nightmare. Since the +seance at Marta Herkik's, when the cold breath had shivered through +her, filling the empty place in her soul, she felt she'd been +thrown back into that nightmare.

+

The dreams had started that first night, and they had tormented +her every night since. Fearful dreams of dark and shadows, familiar +places seen from unfamiliar perspectives. She awoke hands shaking, +mouth agape, with the feeling she'd been seeing her dreams though +the eyes of someone else. In the daytime, slugged with +sleeplessness, she'd find herself staring at some object for +minutes on end, while the memory of her daughter's plaintive voice +would be ringing in her ears. Annie Eastwood had not slept in the +dark for more than a week. She kept on the bedside light every +night. But still, in the small hours of the morning, the dreams +still stole up on her, stole through her.

+

The cemetery was old and cold and dark. Even the place where +Angie was buried had been reclaimed from a cleared section close to +the river where a bar of old hoary trees had been excised after +they'd died of dutch elm disease. The small secluded patch of +ground was punctuated by a handful of small, modern stone slabs +which had been milled in Kirkland Quarry. To an extent, they were +less eerie, less ominous, than the old Victorian monoliths which +stood ponderous around the perimeter, half-hidden behind dark +juniper and yew. The new-style stones, the kind decreed tasteful by +the council, were typically bland and featureless, epitaphs more to +the junk-food, tupperware era than to a human being's life. Hoar +frost sheened the north sides of the old tombstones. Great grey +blocks, mottled with lichen, names scoured almost flat by the +decades of wind and rain; etched endorsements from days when +god-fearing meant just that.

+

Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust. The Lord Taketh. Yeah +tho' I walk in the valley of the shadow of death.

+

Old stones bore urns draped with heavy stone-carved cloth, +Celtic crosses from a bygone day, carven angels, blind eyes glaring +forever behind snail-trail fungus. In this ancient part of the +graveyard, death stood bare and cold and final.

+

And yet as Annie Eastwood walked, shivering, through the +wrought-iron gate, she could still hear the echo of her dead +daughter's voice, clamouring for life in her memory. She slowly +made her way up Keelyard Road and over the bridge. Below the stone +arches the river tumbled black over the weir and already the +haar-mist was beginning to creep ghostly over the lip of the +harbour. The town was still busy, but most of the shops were +preparing to close, and most of the passers-by were heading home +from day-shift at the distillery or from the oil-rig yard. She +turned on College Street corner, up past the maze of vennels and +alleys and came out by the little park where the cenotaph to the +hundreds of dead in both wars and a few other skirmishes pointed at +the cobalt sky. Here, the old bandstand sheltered in the lee of a +thick patch of rhododendrons which had trapped most of the fallen +leaves from the weeping ash trees. They rustled and whispered in +the night breeze.

+

Annie's breath plumed in front of her as she walked past the +bushes, heading into a small rectangle of darkness where the stand +and the thick foliage cut off the street lamp.

+

It was there, in that little dead area, that she heard the dry +whisper.

+

"I'm cold, mummy."

+

She stopped abruptly, freezing as motionless as one of the +dead-eyed angels. The thin nebula of breath dissipated like a +wraith. Annie turned slightly, still without breathing, ears +suddenly straining against the rubbery sound of the rhododendron +foliage and the far-off traffic. Her eyes had instantly widened and +she stared straight ahead at the black shadow in front. In the +corner of her vision, the bushes shivered with a life of their own, +as if something flitted through them.

+

"Cold mummy."

+

The whisper was like the rustle of dead leaves. It came from the +gloom where the bush pushed forward onto the path, leaving a slight +hollow where no light pierced. Annie's breath heaved and she felt +the dream-like panic begin to swell inside her.

+

"I'm here mummy. I need you. "

+

The voice was no longer a whisper. It had gained in intensity, +an echoing childlike sound which seemed to come from a distance, as +if it were down a well, or in a cave. The wretched appeal was +overlaid by that dry, rustling susuration of wind through a +thicket.

+

Annie said nothing. There were no words to say, none that she +was able to speak. Fright lurched inside her. She tried to pull +herself away, to get towards the light. She had heard her +daughter's voice only moments before she'd fled in abject terror +from the suddenly menacing room in Cairn House. She had gone there +in hope, wanting to find peace. And since that night, she'd had no +peace of mind, only a gaping and cold emptiness in her soul and +fear in her heart.

+

She tried to turn, tried to catch her breath properly, when +something came out of the shadows. Annie reacted as if a black dog +had leapt for her throat. She gave a strangled gasp and threw one +hand out in front of her.

+

"Mummy. I need you." Her daughter's echoing voice came +clearly across the three yards of darkness. A small shape came +walking soundlessly towards her. Annie's vision swam as hear heart +fought to cope with the sudden pressure of the surge of dread. In +that watery vision she got a glimpse of a pale face and fair hair +streaming out. Two small hands reached for her. Despite her fear, +she reached reflexively for them. Something cold touched her skin, +moved towards her, came into her embrace. She smelled the scent of +soap, felt the silk of hair, and the wild need soared in +her heart. Her daughter's face wavered in the shadows as Annie +brought her in to hug her tightly, to cuddle the dead cold from the +thin form. Yearning mother-love smothered her confusion and fear. +Then the scent of soap and familiar girl-scent turned sour, became +a septic stench which flooded her nose and mouth and the freezing +cold flowed onto her, penetrating her pores, filling the empty +space that had creaked open the night of Marta Herkik's seance. The +abysmal chill invaded her. For a fleeting second, Annie Eastwood +was overwhelmed by a ghastly sensation of violation and then the +cold numbed her, froze her, stole the hurt and the sense and the +self.

+

A short while later, Annie Eastwood emerged from the dark space +behind the rhododendron patch, and moved on the path beside the +bandstand, avoiding the light as much as she could, keeping to the +shadowed places. On the strips of lane and alley where she had to +come close to a street light, she twitched and averted her face. +Down on College Path, a woman she'd been at school with and +sometimes chatted to if they met while shopping, said hello and +asked her how she was keeping. Annie Eastwood seemed not to have +noticed, although, the woman thought, she couldn't have failed to +hear her. The woman watched her wander off until she was lost to +sight.

+
+

Jack met Lorna Breck in the chemist's shop just opposite the +health centre. He'd been given, as he'd expected, a prescription +for antibiotics. He'd had tonsilitis once, as a teenager and he +remembered the scary moment when, after the pain had built to an +extent that swallowing even water was impossible, he'd stood in +front of a mirror, opened his mouth, and saw the fungus-like +growths almost completely blocking his throat. As he stood, hands +in pockets, waiting for the pretty assistant to measure out the +pills, he grinned wryly at the memory. He'd thought, with rising +panic, that he'd had a tumour. Those grey-green mottled swellings +were just how he'd imagined a malignant carcinoma would appear. The +penicillin had shrunk them to nubbins in one short night. He knew +now he'd feel better in the morning and he was grateful he was not +allergic to antibiotics, otherwise the ache in his throat would +continue for weeks.

+

He looked around, nostalgically appreciating the fact that +Burnett's apothecary had changed little since his childhood, +defying the trend to become one of the plastic shopping mall +drug-stores where drugs were the least available commodity. The +walls were lined with crafted display cases crowded with +oddly-shaped bottles and jars filled with mysterious, tantalising +liquids and powders. Most of them looked as if they'd been there +since the beginning of the century, and possibly had. Most of them, +Jack thought, were probably deadly poison.

+

Just then the door opened and the little bell over the lintel +jangled tunelessly. Jack turned and saw the girl come in. He +recognised her immediately. Her face was pale enough to make the +smattering of freckles stand out like sepia ink-spots, framed by +chestnut hair cut in a neat bob which curled like parenthesis on +her cheeks. She was looking down at the slip of paper when she +walked in, absently letting the door swing closed. The other girl +behind the counter reached for the prescription and took it from +her without a word. It was only then that she realised she was not +alone in the shop. She turned, looked up, saw Jack, and gave a +visible start, as if she'd seen something grotesque.

+

"Something I said?" Jack asked lightly, though his voice had +taken on a hoarse, hardened quality.

+

The girl looked up at him, eyes widening for a brief moment, +then looked away. She gave a tiny shake of her head, and very +quickly glanced over the counter to where the assistant was +counting out Jack's capsules onto a scale. She looked scared and +worried and uncomfortable all at once. Both hands fidgeted with the +large black shoulder bag. Jack got the impression she would rather +be anywhere than standing close to him.

+

"I hope you're keeping a bit better," he tried again, just as +gently.

+

The girl nodded, a jerky, mouse-like motion that was almost a +tremble, but she kept her eyes down. There was something wrong with +her, Jack could see that plainly enough. She looked as if she was +held in so tight she was vibrating with the tension. He'd seen that +often enough, sat with too many ravished women, bereaved mothers of +newly dead children, the casual victims of an increasingly callous +and careless society. He took in the contours of her face with the +ease of long practise. She wasn't as small as she looked at first, +nor as thin. It was just the clenched, nervous stance, shoulders +drawn in, knuckles standing out white that made her look frail, +even gaunt. She was, he gauged, nineteen or so, had the elfin face +of a Renoir model, an innocent look which would have been unlined +but for the worried frown and the way she had clamped her lips +together in a tight line. Jack wondered what she would look like in +repose. He imagined she might be quite lovely if she relaxed. With +the dark rings under her eyes, she looked bloodless and ill.

+

The teenager in the white coat called out his name and he moved +across to the desk, handing over enough for the antibiotics and a +box of throat pastilles. The assistant smiled as she gave him +change and a quick measuring look, taking in his height and his +hair and the presence of a ring on his finger in one sweep. Jack +returned the smile and took his medicine, turned from the desk and +almost bumped into the slight girl.

+

"Sorry," he said automatically, and equally reflexively taking +her elbow in his hand. Again she made that startled motion. He +could feel the tenseness sing under his fingers.

+

"Who's done what to you?" he wondered, letting go +almost as quickly as he had taken her arm.

+

The other assistant, this one older, fatter, and myopic called +the girl's name just as Jack moved away, heading for the door.

+

"Lorna Breck."

+

Something clicked in Jack's mind. He'd heard the name before. He +pulled on the handle, wincing from the clang of the bell just above +his ear, and let it swing back on its pneumatic absorber. Outside, +in the cold, he scanned his mental file, trying to dredge up the +memory. There was a familiarity that danced away as he reached for +it, but he knew it would come if he gave it time. The years of +police work had honed his memory. The name would be in there +somewhere. He pocketed the pills, opened the pastilles and stuck +one in his mouth. The fruity juices watered under his tongue and +eased the back of his throat. He sucked gratefully and walked along +the edge of the small open space to where the car was parked under +a winter-stark alder.

+

Behind him the bell clanged again. He didn't turn round, but +kept walking. Footsteps tapped behind him, faster than his own. He +was only yards from the car when he heard her speak.

+

"Excuse me."

+

Jack took another couple of steps.

+

"Excuse me. Please."

+

He stopped, turned. She came walking quickly towards him.

+

Jack raised his eyebrows, still saying nothing. She looked as if +she would take off like a roe fawn in the gorse at the merest hint +of reproof.

+

"You're Mr Fallon. The policeman?" She had a light, lilted way +of speaking, every word clearly enunciated. She wasn't from around +Levenford. From the highlands or islands, going by the accent.

+

"That's me."

+

The girl looked left and right. She took a step forward, then +another step back, as if considering an escape.

+

"You're in charge of..." she stopped, bringing the bag close up +to her body like a shield. "In charge of what's happening +here."

+

"The very same. And you're Lorna Breck, am I right?"

+

"How did you know that?" A guilty look opened her face up. She +had great grey eyes that widened appealingly.

+

Jack laughed, though it cost him a scrape of pain in his +gullet.

+

"I heard the girl call it out in there," he said, nodding back +towards the chemists. "Don't worry. You're not on my files."

+

But she was, he knew. He was still riffling through his mental +notebook, trying to place the name. It still wouldn't come.

+

"Oh," the girl said. She dropped her eyes again, then just as +quickly looked up at him, spearing him with the intensity of her +gaze.

+

"I," she said, and stopped abruptly. "What I mean is..."

+

"Take it easy," Jack said. "I've got plenty of time."

+

"It's what's happening. I mean in this place." The girl swept +her eyes around the car park.

+

"This place?"

+

"The town. Levenford."

+

He raised his eyebrows again, willing her on.

+

"I need to talk to you. I have to talk to someone. I know...I +mean I see things."

+

Jack took a step towards her, hands in his pockets.

+

"See things?"

+

She clenched the bag even tighter, hands pure white against the +black, opened her mouth as if trying to speak, and then she burst +into tears. It happened so quickly Jack was taken aback. She hardly +made a sound, but huge droplets filled her eyes and spilled over +and down her cheeks while her shoulders hitched up and down +spasmodically. Her face was a picture of pure misery.

+

"Hey. Hold on," Jack said uselessly. He went towards her, put +his arm round her shoulder. She was shivering like a trapped bird. +As soon as he touched her, she fell against him and all he could do +was hold on to her while she quivered. He felt as awkward and +gauche.

+

It took a couple of minutes for the spasm of silent sobbing to +subside. When it did, she tried to pull away, sniffing wetly, but +he kept his arm around her shoulder until he was sure she wouldn't +fall. Finally, he eased his grip. She snapped open the bag and drew +out a wad of tissues and jabbed them in her eyes.

+

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, snuffling all the while, looking more +than ever like a schoolgirl. "It's just I need to talk to somebody. +I need to talk to you." She looked up at him and her big +grey eyes were wide with mute appeal.

+

"I need help."

+

"That's what I'm here for," Jack said, keeping his voice level. +He didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but there was +something about the girl that made him want to listen. Maybe she +had transmitted her sense of urgency, or maybe it was because she +looked as if she was in serious trouble, but he thought if he said +the wrong thing she'd be off and running.

+

"Hey. Come on and I'll buy you a coffee."

+

She nodded, then looked up at him.

+

"There's nowhere open."

+

"There's always someplace open."

+

Just two streets away, the two women who ran Hobnobs coffee +shop, a cluttered little place filled with mis-matched tables and +chairs were cleaning up when Jack opened the door.

+

"Time for a quick coffee?" he asked. They were both friends of +his sister, so he knew they'd let him sit for a while. One of them +took in the girl by his side and gave a half-smile. Jack led Lorna +Breck to a corner table. The coffees arrived, hot and steaming. +Jack spooned three sugars into hers and smoothed cream onto the +surface before shoving it across the table.

+

"Get this down," he ordered, then started fixing his own, adding +more cream in deference to his tender throat.

+

He raised the cup to his lips, savoured the heavy roast aroma, +and took a sip. Just then the file in his head spat out the +information.

+

"Lorna Breck," he said. "You were in the Gazette a couple of +weeks back."

+

She nodded slowly, face reddening a little. It did wonders for +her.

+

"I remember now. It was something about the fire."

+

"Agnes McCann's babies," she said softly. "They all died."

+

"Terrible thing. The paper said you had a premonition or +something."

+

"Something like that."

+

"Are you a what's-it-called? A clairvoyant?"

+

"A speywife? No. I don't think so. I read tea-leaves now and +again. My grandmother showed me. At parties and things. Just for +the fun of it. It was only a little gift until now."

+

"And now?"

+

"Now I see things."

+

The words came out flat, like heavy slabs. Beyond the counter, +the door leading to the kitchen was a clatter of noise and +chattering women, but it hardly penetrated the little circle of +silence that enveloped Jack Fallon and Lorna Breck at the corner +table.

+

"You see things?"

+

She nodded again, keeping her eyes down.

+

"What kind of things?"

+

She lifted her cup and sipped through the cream, put it back on +the saucer with a small chink sound, then raised her eyes +again.

+

"There's something terrible happening here. I've seen it."

+

Jack held her gaze. "Seen what?"

+

"The babies. They've been taken. I saw them."

+

"What? You saw them?"

+

"I did."

+

"Where?"

+

"And there's more. There's a boy who's dead now. And the man who +was thrown down from a height. I saw him. It's been in the +papers."

+

"And you saw it?" Jack repeated himself.

+

"Yes."

+

"Where were you?"

+

"You don't understand. I saw them happen." She tapped +her temple. "In my head."

+

"You mean you imagined them."

+

"No. I saw them. And I'm scared. It's terrible. It came and took +the baby from it's pram. It was crying awfully sore. And then the +next time, it came down and hit the other baby's mother. It hit her +so hard and she fell and even then she fought for her baby and it +hit her again and all the blood. Oh the blood, it came +running out of her and her eye was still open and she could see it +carry her baby away."

+

The girl's voice was rising with every word. Jack reached out +and put a hand on her shoulder. She stopped talking +immediately.

+

"Wait. Take it easy. I don't understand this."

+

She looked at him, suddenly placid.

+

"What is it you don't understand?"

+

"Well, any of it. Where did these things happen?"

+

"I don't know. I've only been here since the summer. I'm not +sure of the places."

+

"Right. So how did you see them?"

+

"I don't know. Honestly I don't. It just started the night of +the fire, or maybe before that. I've been getting bad dreams. But I +saw the fire. I was looking into the tea-leaves and then it came. I +saw the smoke and something moving in the dark and I heard the +babies in their beds and oh it was terrible."

+

All the words came out in a rush. She kept her eyes glued on his +as she spoke.

+

"So you see all these things in the tea-leaves?"

+

Lorna sat back, her eyebrows knitting down in an instant +frown.

+

"No. They come all the time. Ever since the night of the fire. +When I fell in the street, that's when I saw it again. It came down +from the dark and took the baby away."

+

"What did?"

+

"I don't know! It comes from the dark and I can feel +its hunger. It's an evil thing."

+

"Isn't that the truth," Jack said. He didn't know what to make +if what the girl was telling him. He re-adjusted his first +impressions. Maybe she wasn't scared. Maybe she was downright +loony.

+

"Why were you at the doctor today?"

+

"They sent me from work. I had another fright. In the library. I +saw the boy."

+

"What boy?"

+

"The one who's missing. He's dead."

+

Jack put the coffee cup down very slowly. It made a clink sound +as it rattled in the saucer.

+

"Say that again," he said, slowly and softly.

+

"The boy you are looking for. I read it in the paper. It's the +same one, and he's dead."

+

"And where is he?"

+

"I don't know."

+

Jack nodded, unable to conceal the dry sarcasm. The word +loony flashed back into his head. It was a shame. In other +circumstances the girl would have been attractive enough, even +stunning. She looked clean and well groomed and despite the +pinched, harried expression, she seemed, at first glance, to be +intelligent. He lifted up the cup and swallowed the lot in one +gulp. The interview, as far as he was concerned, was over.

+

"You don't believe me," she said flatly.

+

"No," he replied, equally direct. "I don't play mind games" This +was not the entire truth. He'd had to play games with many people +hauled into the cells after the cut and slash of a Friday night in +Glasgow.

+

"It's not a game," she shot back. He could almost +visualise her stamping her foot in petulant emphasis. "I saw it, +and you have to believe me. I need your help. Somebody has got to +stop this."

+

"Alright," Jack conceded. He sat back and stared at the girl. +"Tell me about the boy. "

+

"He's dead. It came down from above in the dark and just lifted +him up. I could hear it breathing. It's like an animal."

+

"What is?"

+

"I don't know what it is. You can't see it properly. It +moves so fast, and it climbs."

+

Jack started to say something, but she held up her hand. Her +eyes were closed, screwed up in concentration, as if she was +fighting to recall.

+

"He heard the woman. There was a woman there. She was in the +shadows. I couldn't see her properly, not her face. Her leg was +sticking out, and she had lost one of her shoes. Her bag was lying +on the stairs."

+

She paused and her frown deepened, making a furrow between her +eyebrows.

+

"It was in an old place. Broken glass and a smell of something. +Birds. Yes. There were birds, fluttering in the dark. The boy +called out and then it came down and took him. He didn't have time +to cry out. It carried him up onto the rafters and the birds were +fluttering about. His shoe came off too. I heard it. Something +broke. I think it was his leg, and there was blood coming from his +neck. The thing climbed up to the rafters and it was horrible."

+

"And where did all this happen?"

+

"I don't know. It was an old place. Empty. Like an old factory +or something. I remember pigeons and the rafters, and there were +shutters on the windows and a door on the wall at the far side, +like a hayloft door on the farm. For loading things."

+

She stopped and looked at Jack.

+

"I saw it, but I don't know where it is."

+

"Tell me about the woman."

+

"She was on the stairs. It was dark, but there was light coming +in. I could see her legs and her bag. There was something on the +glass. Stew or something. Old letters on the glass. The +woman called out to the boy and he came in and I couldn't tell him +to run away, because it had already happened. He's dead."

+

As she said that, her eyes filled up with tears again. They +glistened, huge and moist, before she dived her hand back into the +bag and hauled out a wad of tissues.

+

"And this thing. What is it? A man?"

+

"I don't know what it is. The woman brought it."

+

"How?"

+

"I think they called it here."

+

Jack was about to ask what she was talking about when one of the +women came from behind the counter and lifted up both cups.

+

"We have to close now," she said, balancing cups on saucers in +one hand and brusquely wiping the table with a cloth in the +other.

+

"Sure," Jack said. He fished out more coins from his pocket and +laid them on the table. She took the money and went back behind the +counter.

+

"Where do you live?" he asked the girl. When she told him, he +said he'd take her home. They walked back to the car in silence, +and she didn't say a word all the way over the old bridge and down +Clydeshore Avenue. She lived in a small converted cottage, not +unlike Jack's own place, though more compact, down close to the +tidal flats of the firth. The road stopped right on the shoreline +walkway. Ahead of them, the estuary was slate grey in the cold +night air, lit by the flickering lights from the towns on the far +side. A sea mist trickled around the rocks lapped by the incoming +tide.

+

When the car stopped, she made no move to get out. Jack didn't +have much to say. There were always cranks. He wasn't yet ready to +give any credence to a girl who dreamed of murders days after they +happened.

+

"You don't believe me," she said, as if reading his mind.

+

"Well, let's just say I've been a policeman too long. My +incredulity has had a tough apprenticeship."

+

"But it will happen again."

+

"Oh, I dare say it will." The thought crossed his mind that he +should take her in for serious questioning, but he quickly +dispelled the notion. There was no way she could have been +involved in any of what happened. He'd heard stories of +clairvoyants before, but had never met one in the flesh. There were +even tales of murder squads calling them in to help with difficult +cases, but Jack had never considered that a possibility. He was a +healthy sceptic. Facts did him fine. Recently, facts had been hard +enough to come by, but he'd keep working until they turned up.

+

"It might happen again," Jack conceded, "though I sure to God +hope it doesn't."

+

"It will. It's an evil thing." She didn't face him as she spoke. +Her head was bowed and she stared at her pale hands. Jack turned +round in the car seat. Her face was mostly in shadow, although some +of the light of the street lamp sent a band of illumination across +her eyes. They were glistening again.

+

"Listen, don't get yourself upset," he started to say.

+

"It's too late for that," she retorted, though her voice carried +more sadness and despair than anger.

+

She reached and opened the car door, quickly stepping outside. +She swung it back, paused, then leaned inside.

+

"You won't find the boy. It took him away. But it will come back +again."

+

The door closed with a click. He watched her cross in front of +the car and push open an old wrought iron gate. It squealed in +protest, then clanged shut behind her as she disappeared into the +shadows behind the hedge. Jack sat for a moment, thinking on what +she'd said, before starting the car. He reversed up until the next +driveway, turned in and drove back the way he'd come.

+

She was right in one thing, he thought. Whoever had snatched +Timmy Doyle and little Kelly Campbell, and whoever had abducted +young Neil Kennedy was rolling right along. He would most certainly +try again.

+

Yet there was something else nagging at him as the headlamps +drove twin cones through the pale mist on the way down to the +bridge, and past the heavy Victorian gates of the cemetery.

+

There was something in what the girl had said. +Disturbed she might be, needing treatment almost certainly. But she +had said the killer had come down from the dark to smash +Shona Campbell to the ground. Jack had asked Jock McColl to get +somebody up on the roof at Barley Cobble because there had been no +evidence on the ground. That tied in with Jack's thinking, +especially in view of the coincidences of Jock Toner's death and +the Doyle snatch.

+

It came down from above. That's what she'd said, not +just about the Campbell killing, but about Neil Kennedy's +disappearance. There was something in that. Jack pondered on it for +a moment as he waited for a van to pass before getting onto the +bridge and crossing back to the centre of town. There was something +he should be remembering, but, like the girl's name, it stayed just +out of arm's reach.

+

When he got back to the office, there were a stack of messages +waiting for him. He called on John McColl and Ralph Slater first. +Both of them appeared almost immediately at his door.

+

"Feeling better Chief?" John asked.

+

"Not yet," Jack said. He felt a bit guilty over spending the +past half hour or so with the girl. Despite the nagging, unsummoned +memory that she'd almost sparked off, he thought it had been a +complete waste of time. He unscrewed the cap of the little brown +bottle and dropped a couple of capsules into his palm.

+

"Thanks for reminding me," he said. He swallowed both of the +antibiotics with some difficulty. They seemed to expand to block +his throat. There was a mouthful of cold juice in the bottom of the +cup on his desk. He used it to ease the pills down.

+

"Right. Who's first?"

+

"Sorley gave us the lifter you wanted," Ralph started. "Came up +with two things. Traces of cloth on the guttering and some scrape +marks on the north side of the roof-slope. Plenty of moss-sheen. +I've sent the material to the lab for fibre comparison and a +pic-man out to Latta Court to get snaps of the scrapes above the +balcony at the Doyle place. I remember seeing something then. +Didn't look significant, but if they match the roof down at the +river, then we can be sure we've got a climber."

+

"Good work. John?"

+

"Divers found nothing," the sergeant said. "But we got prints +from the woman. She was definitely at the Herkik house. Robbie +Cattanach gave us another preliminary. She drowned alright. Lungs +filled with river water. Aged forty to fifty, no identification +marks. No sign of violence. I'm getting dental records to see if we +can get an ID."

+

"How long had she been in the water?"

+

"Robbie says about twelve hours, give or take six. Harder to +tell in the winter." John leaned across the desk and laid down the +buff folder.

+

"It's all in here. More to come later."

+

"Fine. Keep working on it," Jack said. "And those marks could be +very helpful. Once we find who the lady is, maybe we can find what +happened to Marta Herkik. And once we find that out, I reckon we've +got our man."

+

The two policemen nodded and turned to go when Jack halted +them.

+

"Hold on a minute. Anybody know anything about the second +sight?"

+

"You mean mediums, that sort of thing?"

+

Jack nodded. The two others looked at each other.

+

"My wife does," Ralph volunteered. She gets her cards read every +other month. Says it really works, but then most women do. It's all +hogwash to me."

+

"No," John countered. "There's a lot of folk believe it. They +use them to hunt for missing folk in the States. Why do you +ask?"

+

"I just spoke to a girl who claims she sees things in dreams. +Says she saw the Campbell snatch."

+

"I'd haul her in for a going over," Ralph said. "We need every +witness."

+

"No. She saw it in a dream as well. Or so she says."

+

"I'd bring her in on the team," Ralph advised, trying to keep +the smile off his face. "But don't let Mr Cowie hear it, or he'll +put you on sick leave."

+

Jack shrugged and returned the grin. Both men left the office, +and when the door was closed Jack bent to the notes on his desk. +There was a lot of technical data on the woman from the river. +Still no identification though, which was a disappointment. Jack +knew John McColl would get a name for her and quickly, but it might +not be quickly enough.

+

He marshalled what was known. Things were beginning to piece +themselves together, slowly, but surely. Simpson had been at the +Herkik house. So had the woman. The dead minister had also been at +or near the Doyle place. Now both of them were dead, both suicides. +The Campbell baby had been taken some distance, up to the top of +Loch View, one of the highest parts of Levenford, which mirrored +the Doyle abduction.

+

There was a connection running through everything. Jack knew if +he worked at it for long enough, he'd come up with the answer, but +for the moment he felt he was wallowing in a welter of hints and +near-facts. To himself, he was becoming more and more convinced +there was more than one person, and that thought worried him. One +lunatic, one psychopath was bad enough, hard to find. Two, or more +meant some sort of organisation, a group of perverted and malignant +people who were killing for a purpose. He put the folder down, +unopened and picked up the white sheets of the various messages. +Robbie Cattanach had called an hour ago. Andrew Toye from the +University had returned his call only minutes after he'd left. At +the bottom was a call from Oban police. Jack reached to pick up the +phone. It rang under his fingers and he jerked his hand back in +surprise before snatching it up.

+

"Hey boss, what's happening?" Mickey Haggerty bawled into his +ear.

+

"I've been looking for you," Jack retorted.

+

"You and half the police in the highlands." Mickey sounded more +aggrieved than worried. "You have to help me. I'm a wanted man. +They've got search parties all over Oban looking for me. I just got +out ahead of the sheriff."

+

"You're a popular man Mickey."

+

"It's no bloody joke. They've been asking after me in every pub. +I don't know what the hell they want. I haven't been up to +anything, except hustle these yokels for their wages."

+

"Oh, calm down, Mickey. They were doing me a favour. I was +trying to get a hold of you."

+

"You?"

+

"Yes. Netta didn't know where you were staying."

+

"Jesus Christ Jack. You could have let me know. I've been +ducking and diving up here." Mickey's voice trailed off.

+

"Well I'll call off the dogs and you can get back to playing +snooker as soon as you give me what I need on that fellow you +mentioned, the Irishman."

+

"Him? But you've got that. I came in to see you last week, but +you were out. I'd fixed up to come up here, so I left a note. Gave +it to that boss of yours. The one with the face like a torn +loaf."

+

Jack cursed aloud.

+

"Oh come on, Jake. Don't blame me. I told you I'd get back to +you."

+

"No, it wasn't you Mickey. Somebody just forgot to pass on the +message, and that's why I've had the Oban busy-boys combing the +hills for you."

+

"They'd never find me anyway. I'm shacked up with a pal of mine +here. You'd like her."

+

"So that's why Netta didn't have an address," Jack ventured. +"She'll skin you."

+

"Only if you tell her," Mickey shot back, laughing. "Anyway, +you're looking for Michael O'Day. Lives out on Cross Road. He's +Irish, from somewhere up north. Talks with an accent thicker than +shit in the neck of a bottle."

+

"What does he do?"

+

"Sells cars somewhere up in the city. Nobody knows where. But +he's a heavy punter. Puts down a lot of dough on the horses. I hear +he was down a lot of money to Eddie Carrick. Not a lucky man."

+

Jack took notes while Mickey spoke, writing down everything in a +tight hand. There might have been nothing in it, but he wanted to +talk to everybody, hell anybody who had been near Marta +Herkik's on the night of the storm. Mickey seemed quite relieved +that the Oban police were not hounding him for anything he might +have done. He told Jack he'd expect a few beers for his trouble and +Jack promised to call off the search.

+

The phone rang again as soon as it was on the cradle. This time +it was Andrew Toye.

+

"Third time lucky," the professor said drily.

+

"Been a busy man, Andrew."

+

"So I gather. You're having more problems, so I hear on TV."

+

"Too many," Jack agreed wearily.

+

"Well, I've had a look at the material. The tarot cards are +straightforward. Almost a full set of major and minor arcana. You +can buy them in half a dozen shops, though these ones look very +old. I could get an estimate on their age, I suppose."

+

"No. I don't think I'll need that."

+

"As for the other stuff. The photographs are very good. The +table is a rather elaborate ouija board, as you'll know already. +That looks quite old too, possibly made for a professional medium. +It's for telling the future. They use a crystal class to spell out +the messages from the other side."

+

Jack thought back to the scene in the shattered room. The old +woman had been lying with her head on the kerb of the fireplace. +Shards of crystal had been embedded in the top of her head.

+

"The other side?"

+

"Yes. The dear departed. Most mediums claim to have a spirit +guide who takes messages and passes them across the great +divide."

+

"So this was a seance?"

+

"Sure it was. The whole room was full of spiritualist +paraphernalia, and from different cultures. The old woman must have +known her stuff."

+

"Do they take it seriously?"

+

"Believe me, thousands of folk do. Everybody who reads a star +chart in a newspaper has some level of belief."

+

"And does it work?"

+

"There again. People think it works."

+

"How about you," Jack asked.

+

"Well, until a year or so, I was a healthy sceptic. Now I'm +coming down on the other side."

+

"You mean the other side, like in ouija boards?"

+

"No, the side of the believers. There's been a great deal of +research into it. Automatic writing, poltergeists, that kind of +thing."

+

"And you believe in all that?"

+

"After what happened in Linnvale, I don't have much choice, +because I believe the man who told me about it. That was real +witchcraft, and it had real results."

+

Jack diverted Andy, who ran the department of parapsychology and +paranormal studies at the university. "What about the book?" He +remembered the blood-soaked pages crumpled and scattered all around +the body.

+

"Same again. It's occult. It took me a while to identify it, but +we're a growing band, us paranorms. I've a friend in Winchester who +identified it for me. He's got a first edition of the Goetia."

+

"Now you've got me."

+

"It's Crowley's book. One of his major works. The Goetia was his +treatise on summoning spirits. It's a mite arcane and more than a +little speculative, if you ask me. He claimed every spirit had its +own name and that could be used in raising it up."

+

"What sort of spirits are we talking about?"

+

"Oh, demons. Imps. That sort of character. Crowley's generally +considered to have been the biggest charlatan of them all, but +there's some folk believe he raised the Beast itself at Bolsekine +House and again at Torbeck Estate way back just after the war. The +Goetia was translated for him from allegedly ancient texts. It +means necromancy. Crowley's own definition was +howling."

+

"Sounds like a horror movie."

+

"Well, you did ask," Andy said, but without rancour.

+

"So, this book. What would it be used for?"

+

"I told you. It's a guide on how to bring spirits into this +world."

+

"And folk actually believe it?"

+

"Don't knock it until you've tried it."

+

"You think there was some sort of seance where they were trying +to conjure up ghosts?"

+

"I can't say for certain. But it looks as if they were going +beyond reading palms. It can be dangerous too."

+

"It was dangerous for the old lady. Fatal."

+

"Yes. But there's a lot of psychological danger in this kind of +thing. You can't even buy a ouija board here any more. There's been +too many documented cases of schizophrenia and psychosis relating +to the use of the paraphernalia. I wouldn't recommend it."

+

Jack thanked Andy and was about to hang up when another thought +struck him.

+

"Oh, before you go, maybe you could help with something +else."

+

"Go on," Andy encouraged.

+

"I was talking to a girl today. She says she's had visions or +nightmares or whatnot about what's been happening down here. Tells +me she's seen the events actually happen."

+

"That's not beyond the bounds of probability. It's happened in +hundreds of cases."

+

"You mean you believe in this too?"

+

"I can't speak for the lady, because I haven't met her. But +there's no reason to be a complete sceptic. I've had first hand +experience of telempathy. When you get violent acts, murders, +accidents and the like, you often hear stories of people who've had +some prescience of the event. It's far from uncommon."

+

"So she might not have been spinning me a line?"

+

"Possibly. If you want me to have a chat to her, I'd be +delighted."

+

Jack said he would let him know.

+

"Well, you could look at it this way. If she is telling +the truth, then she'd be the best source you could hope for. I'd +hire her if I were you."

+

Jack put the phone down and thought about it, but not for long. +It rang for the third time.

+

Robbie Cattanach was in ebullient mood, despite his +occupation.

+

"Up to the armpits in gore, as usual," he said when Jack asked +him how things were going. "Definitely a dead end job." Jack +winced.

+

"So. Fancy a beer?"

+

Jack told him he was on antibiotics and couldn't drink.

+

"An old wife's tale. The new ones don't react with alcohol." +Jack allowed himself to be persuaded to meet Robbie in Mac's bar in +half an hour. The place was busy when he arrived some time after +seven, just minutes before Robbie himself came in, buttoned up in +his leathers, and with his black helmet under his arm. He accepted +a pint and drank half of it in one gulp.

+

"Needed that," he said breathlessly, putting the glass down. +"Clears the smell of formalin and worse. I did your lady +today."

+

"I know. Quick work. I've got the report to read up tonight. No +surprises?"

+

"No. She killed herself. Only odd thing is the amount of water +in the lungs. I reckon she walked in and breathed in hard. Normally +there's still some air and carbon dioxide, but she was well and +truly flooded. No other visible signs of trauma inside or out."

+

Jack sipped his own beer slowly. His throat was easing slightly, +though he didn't believe a word about modern antibiotics and +alcohol.

+

"John McColl tells me you want to know about suicides," Robbie +volunteered.

+

Jack nodded.

+

"Well, There's another one," Robbie went on. "He's up in Lochend +at the moment. And the remarkable thing is, he's not dead yet."

+

"Okay," Jack said, patiently. "What's the punchline."

+

Robbie looked at him with an expression of injured +innocence.

+

"No kidding. He drank paraquat. Definitely a goner. I should get +him in the next day or two. Insides will be like a septic tank. +He's been unable to tell the doctors a thing, but the toxics man +tells me he's been raving about devils, poor soul."

+

Jack's glass stopped halfway to his mouth.

+

"Have you got a name?"

+

"No, but he's in ward eight. At least, he was when I left. He +could be down in the cellar by now."

+

"Sorry, Robbie. I have to go. Thanks for the tip."

+

Jack pushed his way past the startled pathologist, leaving his +drink almost untouched. He reached the payphone at the far end of +the bar next to the door and dialled the number. When it was picked +up at the other end, John McColl sounded breathless.

+

Jack told him to stay in the office until he got there. It took +him only a few minutes to get the car from the tight space at the +back of the pub and scoot round to the station. John was waiting at +the door and came across to where Jack had stopped, engine still +running.

+

"Mr Cowie's looking for you," he said. "He's like a bear with a +sore arse."

+

"He'll have to wait."

+

"What's the rush?"

+

"Another suicide," Jack said. "I want to catch him before he +dies."

+

He pulled out into the traffic and did not see the look on John +McColl's face. If he had he might have laughed.

+

"This is the third dinner I've missed three nights in a row," +John said heavily. "I was halfway out of the office when the phone +rang. And now I've to see a dead man who isn't dead yet."

+

The man in Ward Eight looked as if he was caught in a surreal +science fiction scene. Clear plastic tubes, filled with different +coloured liquids snaked from hissing, pumping machinery and wormed +their way into the various orifices of the shape on the bed. The +man was naked, apart from a small cloth over his groin from which +three separate catheters looped their way into the harsh light from +the overhead tubes. A plastic mask hid most of the man's face. An +accordionated tracheotomy line plunged into a scabbed hole in the +man's throat. Electrodes suckered on to the bare chest and the +wires fed off into an electronic monitor. The oscilloscope showed a +very slow heartbeat.

+

"Impossible," the toxicologist told Jack when asked if the man +could be interviewed. He was a tall, angular man, with thick grey +hair which looked as if it had been cleanly parted with an axe. +He'd introduced himself as Charles Collins.

+

"It could be important," Jack insisted.

+

The doctor looked at him levelly, then gave a disarming +smile.

+

"Oh, I've nothing against it. I don't mind at all. It's just +that he won't be talking to anybody any more."

+

"You couldn't give him something?"

+

"I'd love to, but I've tried everything. There's nothing in this +world that will keep him from the next. He won't wake up again. I +estimate he's got between three and six hours. Damn fool."

+

"What happened," Jack asked. John McColl was standing off to the +side, eyes fixed on the shape on the bed. The skin around the man's +eyes was brown-tinged and flaking. The eyelids were bruised almost +black. Down the length of the chest and the sides, the skin was a +yellow, almost orange colour, obvious signs of liver failure. But +for the faint hitching of the chest, he might have already been +dead.

+

"He drank paraquat. Dimenthyl-bipyridium."

+

"The weedkiller?"

+

"Yes. It's a non selective herbicide. It doesn't choose what it +kills. You could call it a bio-cide. His body has been +shutting itself down since the first swallow."

+

"Any idea when?"

+

"According to his wife, it was Friday night. He's lasted a lot +longer than most. But it seems it was quite deliberate. I don't +think he quite realised the consequences. He's been in intense pain +for most of the past four days."

+

"And there's no cure?"

+

"Never has been one. They invented this stuff for chemical +warfare, as a nerve gas and now sell it in every garden store, but +they forgot to develop an antidote. It's amazing how few folk +actually die from it considering its availability, but once +swallowed death is a certainty."

+

"Like taxes and nurses," John McColl murmured absently, eyes +still fixed on the wasting man on the bed.

+

"Quite," Dr Collins said drily. "Must use that at the next +rotary dinner."

+

He turned back to Jack. "Paraquat is completely anti-life. The +perfect final solution. We've had him on a ventilator since Friday. +The lungs are the first to go. They'll be like soap suds in there. +There's hardly any tissue left to absorb oxygen. Kidneys are next. +They've failed, so he's been on continual dialysis. Then there's +the liver. That's packed up. He's jaundiced, of course, and his +blood production has been disrupted. Marrow's going too, but that's +a secondary issue. He's most likely got irreversible brain damage, +both from lack of oxygen in the blood, and also because of the +nerve tissue damage. I would say that by now he's beyond feeling +any pain, though we've loaded him to the eyes with morphine."

+

"So he won't talk?"

+

"As they say in the movies," Dr Collins said, returning Jack's +exasperated look with a smile.

+

"Any idea why he did it?"

+

"No. He was conscious for the first day. In a lot of pain and +babbling when the painkillers wore off. After ten hours the lungs +were too far gone for him to talk. He whispered a lot."

+

"Can you remember anything he said?"

+

"Talked about the devil mostly. Said it was coming to get him. +Maybe he was religious, what do you think?"

+

Jack shrugged. The shape on the bed was as still as death.

+

"His wife said he came in and told her what he'd done. He told +her it was all over and then quite calmly said he'd drunk the +paraquat. I would have chosen something easier myself, maybe a +bottle of brandy and some valium. That would give the devil a run +for his money, and there's always a chance of a reprieve."

+

Jack could tell the doctor had seen death in many of its forms. +He was not making light of it. The best practitioners he knew were +all as drily ironic. It helped them cope with the fact of it, let +them make it a business and get on with the job, just like a +policeman on a murder squad. Death was something you didn't get +used to, but you learned to face it and not look away.

+

"Do you mind if we print him?"

+

The doctor raised his eyebrows.

+

"Fingerprints," Jack explained.

+

"Be my guest. What's he done?"

+

"I don't know. I'm checking on all suicides, or attempted ones. +I wish I'd heard of this earlier."

+

"Wouldn't have done him any good."

+

"Might not have helped me either, but at least I'd know."

+

John McColl took only minutes to take the dabs, using a +date-stamp pad from a secretary's office, carefully pressing each +finger and both thumbs onto a clean page of his notebook. It was a +strange experience, taking prints from a man who was completely +helpless. As he reached for the wrist, he could feel the heat under +the skin. The dying man was burning up inside, and John thought it +was no wonder he was scared of the devil. He was already in +hell.

+

It was after nine when they left, and closer to ten when Jack +dropped the sergeant off at his house on the east end of town after +depositing the fingerprints in the station where he picked up the +reports he'd planned to read that night. John invited him in for a +bite to eat, but he declined. He was tired and his throat was still +sore and he knew he'd be up early in the morning to interview +Edward Tomlin's wife. He wanted to get home, have a long, hot bath, +take another couple of capsules, and get to bed.

+

That's exactly what he did except that first of all he dropped +in at his sister's house. Julia was looking much better than she +had on Saturday, although her voice was still a bit husky.

+

Davy was in bed and Jack was reluctant to go up and wake him up. +Julia subjected him to some sisterly reproof over the escapade in +the stream, told him he deserved his tonsilitis for being an +overgrown schoolboy, then told him how much her son had enjoyed his +day out.

+

"Just wish I had more time," Jack told her. "It does me a lot +more good than it does him, I can tell you."

+

She came up beside him, a tall woman, though her head only came +up to his chin, and nudged him with her hip, putting an arm around +his waist. The way she did it, reminded him of Rae, and as soon as +that image came, he shied away from it. He was too busy to get +maudlin. Julia gave him a hug and asked him how the investigation +was going.

+

"Not great. It's going to take a lot more work, so tell Davy +I'll drop by him and see him when I can, but tell him not to hold +his breath."

+

"He'll understand," she said.

+

"Hope so. He's a good wee fellow."

+

"Shame about his father," Julia said without malice. She'd been +bitter when Malcolm had left, but time had smoothed the rough +edges. It had been one of those things.

+

"Oh, and keep an eye on him Jules."

+

"I always do."

+

"No," Jack said. "A close eye. There's something going on. I'd +keep him in for the duration. And never let him out in the dark +under any circumstances."

+

"Fine Jack. You just tell me how to raise my own boy," Julia +shot back, then instantly regretted it. Since he'd lost his wife +and daughter, Jack and Davy had used each other for therapy, and +that was a good thing. Each went a little way to replacing what was +gone.

+

"Sorry," she said, and dropped her eyes.

+

Jack shucked her under the chin.

+

"No offence kid. Just humour me, eh?"

+

"Sure," she said. He let himself out.

+

Up at the cottage he had a quick glance at the post mortem +report on the woman who'd been fished from the river that morning. +It seemed as if it had happened days ago. The words began to blur +in front of his eyes after only ten minutes and Jack started to +doze off. The report slid from his fingers and landed on the floor +with a slap.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike18.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike18.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce4343b --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike18.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,551 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 18 + + + + +
+
+

18

+

Castlebank Distillery is one of the few places in Levenford +which has night-shift working in winter. The demand for the export +scotch whisky blend always soared before Christmas. There were +orders to be shunted out and stacked onto the big containers that +came and went at all hours heading for the docks in Glasgow for +worldwide distribution.

+

Latta's yard just south along the bank was still noisy with the +eerie buzz of the welders and sapphire lightning flashes sparked +and flared along the length of the growing pyramid and steel which +would be towed out of the estuary and up to the north sea before +the summer, all things going to plan.

+

The distillery is a square set, brick built eyesore of a +building which towers over the south of the town, next to the tidal +basin on the river. What it lacks in grace and style and visual +appeal is more than made up for by the fact that it pays the wages +of one in every four families and that alone helps generate most of +the other business in the town. For that, the Levenford folk could +put up with the stale-towel smell of the maltings and the cloud of +steam which rose in a plume day and night. They could put up with +the fact that ten percent of the men had a drink problem because +when the business involves millions of gallons of high-voltage +amber liquid it is impossible to account for every drop. Without +the distillery, Levenford could have rolled up its pavements and +turned off the lights like many a similar sized town in Scotland +had done in previous years.

+

It wasn't until much later that Elsa Quinn remembered seeing the +woman in the corridor when she'd taken a break from the bottling +line to get a drink of water from the fountain. She hadn't been +paying much attention, mainly due to the fact that she needed the +water to swallow the tablets for the headache which had been +building up for the past hour. Elsa was prone to migraines and when +one of them started screwing its way in behind her eyes, her vision +would waver and her tongue would feel thick and numb. She only +recalled the woman in a vague way and couldn't put a name to +her.

+

"I wasn't paying much attention," she was to tell Jack Fallon. +"I had a splitting headache, but we don't get much time off the +bottling lines, because they go too fast. I had to wait until a +supervisor stepped in."

+

The incident she was a witness to happened two hours after Jack +had left Lochend Hospital and less than an hour before he'd woken +up with a sudden and certain knowledge clanging alarm bells in his +head. Then the phone had rung, two calls, one after the other.

+

Down in Castlebank Distillery the tea-break bell had rung, a +harsh jangle of sound that grated on everybody's nerves. In the +staff canteen, the plastic chairs were scraped back from tables, +cigarettes stubbed out into overflowing ashtrays. The dregs of +strong tea were quickly swallowed or left to go cold as the +lineworkers made for the exits and back to work. In seconds, the +hubbub of noise had faded to the relative silence of the canteen +girls clattering cups and saucers and sweeping the floor tiles.

+

Sixteen-year-old Carol Howard had worked in the building since +August when she'd left school with a diploma in typing and cookery. +She was a pleasant girl with long dark hair which hung down her +back in a tidy and quite elegant plait. She worked on the floor +above the bottling plant, in the store-room where the pallets of +cardboard whisky cases were laid flat in library-stack lines and +where boxes of bottle-tops and labels lined the walls, almost +twenty feet high. Normally the store-room workers and the bottling +women had staggered work-breaks, but on the night shift the stores +department operated on an emergency basis. If a box of labels was +needed somewhere, or a fresh carton of tops, Carol would take the +call, mark in the request on her terminal, and get one of the men +to carry the delivery down to the floor below.

+

She'd spent the twenty minutes in the canteen with a crowd of +girls her own age, three of whom had been in the same class at +school. The talk was all of discos and boyfriends and how they all +hated the job already, although Carol was quietly pleased about the +fact that she'd landed an office job and didn't have to wear the +sky-blue overalls which marked the rest of the girls as bottlers. +Her nails were never broken, nor her hands scadded from the +constant use of the washers and the incessant drip of whisky. The +girls on the lines might have been paid more for their manual +labour, but to Carol, working in an office give her the edge.

+

When the bell had jangled, they'd all moved to the corridor, +surrounded by the raucous laughter of the older women as they +trailed back up to the third floor by the west stairs. Carol stood +for a moment at the turn of the stairs, talking to two of the +girls, making tentative arrangements for Friday night, when one of +the supervisors called down to the two others, telling them to get +a move on. One of them shrugged and both of them turned to follow +the rest along the upper passage. Carol continued up the stairs and +was about to enter the store-room when she realised she'd left her +bag slung over the back of her chair in the canteen.

+

"Damn," she said under her breath, turned, and headed back along +the corridor. As she passed the service elevator, she saw the woman +leaning against the wall and continued past for several steps, +before she turned. There was something about the woman's posture +that caught her attention. She seemed to be sagging, as if she'd +taken ill. Her face was familiar, but Carol couldn't place it. The +girl came back towards the junction. The light on the ceiling +beside the broad grey door had gone out. This part of the +passageway was in shadow.

+

"Can I help you?" Carol asked the woman. There was no response. +The woman turned her body a little, facing away into the shadow. +The girl noticed there was a rip on her tights and scuff marks on +what looked like sensible walking shows. There was also a dark +smear on the back of the woman's coat, as if she'd leaned against a +wall.

+

"Are you alright?" she persisted, but still there was no +response. The woman mumbled something, but it was too soft and low +to make out.

+

The girl took another two steps forward, about to ask again, +when the door at the far end of the corridor, round the bend from +the elevator, swung open. One of the storemen popped his head +out.

+

"Hey Carol. They need some export labels on line six."

+

"Right Jim," she called back. "I'll be with you in a +minute."

+

The woman hadn't moved at all. Carol hesitated a moment, torn +between concern for the stranger and the need to get down to the +canteen for her bag before it disappeared. She also had to get back +up and make sure the lines got their labels or she would get the +blame for a break in production. She turned away and went down the +stairs two at a time. As she did so, all the lights in the corridor +went out.

+

She hurried to the canteen and opened the door. One of the +cleaners was sweeping up close to where she'd been sitting at the +far end. The woman was just reaching out for the small bag on the +chair when Carol got there.

+

"Oh thanks. I knew I'd left it somewhere," the girl said. A look +of disappointment flitted across the cleaner's face. She shrugged +and handed the bag over. Carol thanked her again, slung it over her +shoulder and walked quickly back to the door, her heels clicking +staccato on the tiles. She started to take the stairs again, then +remembered the lights had gone out up on the fourth floor. The +corridor up there was long and narrow, and at this time of night, +there was little activity, Carol was not scared of the dark, but +she had a healthy regard for it. Instead of taking the stairs, she +walked the ten yards to the service lift, hit the up button and +listened to the whine and clank as the carriage lowered iself to +the second floor.

+

There was a metallic thump and the doors accordioned open with a +breathless hiss. Carol stepped inside, pressed button four and +watched as the wall on the other side of the passageway shrank to a +rectangle, a slit, then disappeared. The lift kicked under her feet +and rose, rumbling upwards. She opened her bag to make a quick +inventory, just to make sure nothing was missing.

+

Then the lights went out and the lift juddered to a halt so +suddenly that Carol lurched off-balance. Her bag dropped to the +floor and her knuckle rapped painfully against the side of the +cabin, causing her to let out a little high squeal of hurt and +surprise. Her voice echoed tinnily on the inside of the cage.

+

She was alone in the dark.

+

For a second, the fact of it failed to register as her mind +tried to understand what had happened. Then the impact of it +swooped in on her. The lift had stopped and the lights had gone out +and she was in the dark. There was not a sliver of light. Her eyes +widened automatically as apprehension swelled to fright and then +soared up to panic.

+

At the age of three Carol had crawled into the cellar under the +house in Whiteford Road and got stuck behind a jammed door in the +dark cobwebby darkness. She'd been there for two hours until her +mother had finally heard her panicked screams, and the nightmares +had gone on for weeks after. Time had eventually healed the trauma. +Yet the memory had lain dormant.

+

Thirteen years and five months after the childhood scare, +something in Carol Howard's mind unlocked and the memory woke up +and came racing like a black express train out of a tunnel, +shrieking all the while.

+

Her heart did a jittery dance inside her, all out of step and +her breathing was suddenly all too fast, backed up as her lungs +gasped for more air than they could hold.

+

The darkness was complete. The lights on the buttons had failed +along with the overhead panel. She could hear her own breathing +bounced back at her from the bare metal walls of the cage. Inside +her ears, the fast pulse was a dizzying throb. Carol stepped +forward and her foot snagged on the strap of her bag. She gasped as +she tripped forward. For the second time her knuckle hit something +solid, sending a shard of pain up to her elbow. She twisted and a +long fingernail caught on the head of a rivet and ripped off to the +quick. Underfoot something crunched. It sounded as though she'd +trampled on a large insect.

+

Fear swamped her. Carol's mouth opened in an automatic scream +but no sound came out. In her mind, she could hear herself +screaming, but her ears heard nothing, and that made the terror +balloon. She was stuck in the dark and she couldn't call for +help.

+

With no visual point of reference she was completely +disorientated. She took one step and something else crackled under +her shoe. She lurched to the left and slammed against the wall of +the hoist, sending a bolt of pain across her shoulder. The force of +it unlocked her breathing and the girl screeched as she had done in +the cellar. Her outstretched fingers found the buttons and she +stabbed and scrabbled at them, hitting none out of the ten.

+

Nothing happened.

+

Carol shrieked as loud as she could, hearing her cry shatter and +fragment as it spanged between the walls and roof. She groped until +she found the slit between the two sliding doors and hooked her +nails in and tried to prise the edges apart. Another nail gave, +pulling backwards with a burning twist of pain. The door remained +shut.

+

The girl's scream played itself out, leaving her breathless and +panting, both hands planted against the wall. In her mind she saw +the women leave at the end of the shift. If the lift was slow in +coming, they would just walk down the stairs. She didn't know if +anyone could hear her from the outside of the double safety doors. +There was no window on to the corridor.

+

The thought that she could be stuck in the dark all night, all +alone in the lift shaft of an empty ten-storey building sent +another jolt of panic through her and galvanised her into another +fit of hysterical shouting. She battered at the door with the palms +of both hands, a rapid urgent timpani which shook the metal cage +and sent it clanking against the guide rails. The noise boomed up +the shaft. The darkness squeezed at her. It felt tangible and +thick. She couldn't see the walls, only feel the doors in front of +her. The sides of the cabin could have been yards away, miles away, +but in her fright, Carol could sense them close and getting closer, +shrinking down to squash her in the dark. Her dread inflated, +gripping her stomach, making her heart pound uncontrollably.

+

Then, miraculously, somebody shouted.

+

"Anybody in there?" The voice was muted, coming from some +distance, or though several layers, but it was enough.

+

"Oh yes!" Carol squawked, suddenly flooded with gratitude. She +still couldn't see a thing. She was still trapped in a metal box +eight feet by eight feet, all on her own, but the very fact that +somebody knew where she was enough to swamp her with +relief.

+

"Down here. I'm stuck. Please help."

+

"Where are you?" the thin voice called out.

+

"I'm in the lift," she yelled.

+

"Which floor?"

+

Carol stopped to think. Her heart was still beating fast. She'd +come in on the second floor. She'd pressed for four and the lift +had risen. How far? She couldn't recall. People had faith +in modern lifts. They pressed the button and waited for the bumpy +stop and the swish of doors, trusting the machinery. Now it had +failed and Carol realised she did not know whether she had gone up +one or two floors. Or six.

+

"I don't know. Just get me out of here," she called out in a +jittery voice.

+

The instant balm was fading fast. It was still dark and it still +crowded in on her as if it had weight.

+

Then up above, there was a thump and a heavy ringing vibration +which shivered the floor of the cab and sent it rocking again.

+

"What?" Carol cried. The floor lurched under her feet and she +tripped forward again, arms out groping for the wall.

+

"....the hell was that?" the unseen man shouted. It sounded as +if he was above her.

+

"What's happening?" Carol yelped.

+

Another booming vibration resonated down to the cage. It +shivered as if it had been struck a heavy blow, and the cables +thrummed like deep bass strings. Carol slipped to the floor and +landed on her handbag. Something sharp dug into the back of her +thigh and her teeth clicked together with a snap.

+

"Who's in there?" the man called out.

+

"Me. Carol Howard. Can you get somebody to get me out of +here?"

+

"Alright love, we'll get the serviceman."

+

She sat in the dark, hoping the engineer would come quickly. +There was always one or two men working on the lifts. She didn't +know if there was anybody on standby at night. The thought of +spending much longer in the narrow dark squeezed her panic +tight.

+

Then right overhead, something hit the top of the cabin. The +whole cage jerked and shuddered, rocking Carol on to her back. The +sound was like a huge hammer blow. Carol squealed in fright.

+

"What's going on?" the man called.

+

Carol didn't reply. Above her, on top of the cage, she could +hear movement.

+

"Must be the engineer," she thought, grateful for the speed of +the rescue. She knew there was a trapdoor somewhere on the top of +the lift. That's how they'd get her out. She wondered if they would +put a ladder down or just reach down and haul her up. She hoped the +shaft wouldn't be too dirty or filled with spiders and cobwebs. +They made her shudder, but she could bear the sight of them as long +as she could get out of the dark.

+

The lift quivered violently again. Overhead there was a scraping +sound on the cabin roof, then a screech of protesting metal.

+

"Hello?" she called out. "I'm down here."

+

There was no response.

+

Something moved. There was another metallic squeal and a thump. +A splinter snapped off and clanged to the floor, followed by +droplets of dust.

+

"Can you put the light on?" she asked.

+

The cables thrummed again and the lift lurched. Close by, she +heard a grunt, then all of a sudden, the cage was filled with a +foul, choking smell. Carol coughed, shuddering, and then for some +reason her panic expanded on a bubble of dread. She felt the hairs +on the back of her neck twist and shrivel as the skin puckered. A +truly cold sweat soaked out of the pores under her arms and on her +back. She felt her bladder give.

+

Above her, something snuffled like an animal scenting the air +and then let out a low growl.

+

"Who's there?" Carol whimpered. She crawled backwards until her +shoulder blades were against the door.

+

Something came down from the roof.

+

In the tight claustrophobia of the service lift, she could sense +its presence. It forced its way through the hole in the roof, +scraping against the metal sides. She could hear the grating sound +as it reached against the metal sides. Something metal whirred in +the air and tinkled on the floor.

+

She could see nothing, but her fear-heightened senses could pick +out the presence like a biological radar. The putrid stench +engulfed her, making her gag.

+

Something rasped again on the wall. She got a mental picture of +a big scaly spider, then without warning she was hauled from the +ground.

+

Just in front of her, whatever it was snarled, so low and +menacing she felt the vibrations shiver through her.

+

Carol tried to scream. She tried to shout and holler, but as +before, no sound came out. Something had lifted her with shocking +force from the ground and she could not make a sound.

+

Dimly, far off, she heard the voice: "It's alright love. The +engineer's on his way."

+

The unseen thing wrenched her upwards. Her shoulder hit off the +edge of the trapdoor and she heard something crack under the skin. +There was no pain, but there was an enormous pressure on her other +shoulder. It felt as though it was trapped in a huge vice. +Everything had happened so quickly that she didn't even have time +to think, to consider what had come down in the dark and snatched +her from the floor. The tremendous fear had driven her mind into +shock overload. Dimly she was aware of her blouse snagging on a +jagged piece of metal, then, even more dimly realised it was not +her blouse, but the skin of her left breast. Warm wetness flowed to +her waist.

+

The shape snuffled and grunted, the sound of a bloodhound, or a +pig in a trough. It heaved her through the narrow opening with a +violent jerk. She felt the skin of her leg peel off right down the +outside of her thigh to her ankle. The sensation seemed very far +away, as if it could have been happening to someone else.

+

The girl felt herself dragged upwards, swinging like a rag doll. +Whatever held her leaped from one side of the well to the other. +Her feet banged against the brickwork, sending off clouds of dust +and pieces of loose concrete to rain on the roof of the elevator. +For a second the motion stopped. Carol hung suspended in the void, +her feet pointing down. She was lifted up slowly and something +turned towards her. Two eyes opened and flared a poisonous +yellow.

+

At that moment, Carol plunged through the other side of the +shock paralysis. She saw the great eyes glare at her and suddenly +she could see and feel and breathe. Enormous pain rampaged through +her shoulder where the thing held her in an incredibly powerful +grip. Her leg felt as if it was on fire and the side of her breast +was a sunburst of agony.

+

The eyes glared at her with such hunger and hate and malevolence +that Carol simply screamed.

+

Her ear-splitting screech cascaded and resonated all the way +down the lift shaft, on and on and on.

+

Out on the corridor on level four, Peter Cullen shrank back from +the door.

+

"What in the name of Christ was that?" Beside him, a crowd of +women in their overalls instinctively reached for each other, +moving close together.

+

The terrified screams came reverberating down the holeshaft, +magnified and amplified in the enclosed space.

+

Outside the door on the fourth floor, everybody heard the sound. +It was more than a girl afraid of the dark. The shattering wails +came crashing down from above, an incessant torrent of pure +terror.

+

In the lift shaft, the thing moved and flexed. The girl felt the +grip on her shoulder abruptly loosen. There was a popping sound as +her skin puckered outwards and whatever had been holding her pulled +out. Warmth drenched her back in a stream and under the noxious +stink that filled the gallery, she could smell her own blood.

+

Suddenly, she felt herself fall, and just as instantly, she was +jerked back. This time, the grip was on one thigh. She felt hard +points drive into the thick muscle and a fresh pain detonated in +her hip. The darkness swooped alarmingly. One second she was +dangling feet down, and the next she was upside down in the shaft. +The thing stated to climb again, jerking from side to side on the +walls of the duct, moving with ferocious speed. Carol's piercing +screams followed it up into the dark heights.

+

Down by the lift door, they heard the ululating, echoing cries +diminish. One of the women crossed herself.

+

"What's going on out here?" somebody barked from along the +corridor. The stores supervisor, a stout man with thick bottle-end +glasses came waddling briskly towards the group.

+

"It's wee Carol. She's stuck in the lift," Peter Cullen told +him.

+

"So call for service and get her out, for goodness sake," his +boss said impatiently. Despite his officious appearance, George +Hill was a kind enough soul.

+

"But she's not there any more," Peter continued as if he hadn't +heard.

+

"What do you mean?"

+

"Something happened in there, one of the women said in a +tremulous voice. "We heard her screaming. It was +awful."

+

Hill pushed his way through the crowd, leaned forward to put an +ear at the line where the door edges met. He banged the flat of his +hand on the panel.

+

"Carol. Are you in there? Are you hurt?"

+

A faint noise vibrated the door, a distant bang. The lift +clanked against the rails.

+

"I can't hear anything," he said.

+

"She was in the lift alright," Peter Cullen declared. "We could +all hear her. Then there was a lot of noise. I thought it must have +been the engineer going down the shaft. Then she started to scream. +I think something's happened."

+

"Right. Get some of the men out here and get these doors open," +George Hill snapped.

+

"Shouldn't we wait for the engineers?"

+

The portly little man turned towards the storeman and glared at +him, magnified eyes widening impossibly.

+

"I don't care about the damned door. I'll take the +responsibility. Just get in there and get that girl out."

+

Peter Cullen and two of his workmates arrived with packing case +crowbar just as the engineer came panting up the stairs. The four +men wedged their way through the throng of women and George Hill +had to tell the bottling line workers to clear a space. The +serviceman used a punch-key to trip the door mechanism and he and +another of the men managed to force one side open. The lift well +gaped blackly. The engineer directed his flashlight into the void. +Hawsers and cables dangled past the open door and disappeared into +the murk. He swung himself carefully out, and shone the beam +upwards.

+

"I see it," he announced. "It's between floors. I'll have to go +upstairs and in through the top." he turned to George Hill. "Keep +everybody away from here. It's a fifty foot drop."

+

Everybody stood back to let the man get upstairs. About fifteen +minutes later, the serviceman was easing himself down to the top of +the cabin, five feet below the fifth floor. In the beam of the +flashlight, he could see the hatch was missing. There was some +damage around the edges of the rectangular hole, but he didn't +consider that then. His feet boomed on top of the cage and it swung +under his weight, but that was normal. He squatted down then dipped +his head in through the opening, angling the light inside.

+

The box was empty.

+

He let himself through the hatch and hung by his hands before +dropping the few inches to the floor.

+

The place stank. Later he remembered the smell and described it +to the police.

+

"It was like something had been dead a long time. It was pretty +bloody awful. I could feel it at the back of my throat. It made me +want to boak."

+

It was only once he'd cranked the elevator down to the fourth +floor, and he stepped out into the corridor that he realised what +the other smell had been, the warm and metallic scent that had +thickened the air in the shaft. Both his knees were dripping with +rapidly congealing blood from where he'd knelt on the top of the +lift.

+

There was no sign at all of Carol Howard.

+

Somebody called for an ambulance. Somebody else called the +police.

+

Jack Fallon had dozed off. He was tangled under the eiderdown +when something snapped him completely awake, his mind suddenly +alert.

+

"Shit," he said.

+

He put both hands to his head, trying to hold the thought before +it faded and fragmented. He'd been dreaming, or half dreaming, and +something had come to him. He kept his eyes tight closed and tried +to recreate the dream.

+

It had started quite normally. He'd been down at the quayside, +at the stairs on the river end of Rock Lane, watching as they +hauled the body of the woman out of the river. It didn't matter +that he hadn't actually been there when it happened. He'd seen +grey, clay-featured cadavers raised from the water before. It was +not unusual for him to flesh out events in his dreams. He'd done +that with little Julie, picturing her over and over again in the +shop window in nightmares so vivid he could see every minute detail +in clear focus, though he hadn't seen his daughter die. The dreams +had come on the back of guilt and horror and shock and despair and +whatever else lurked inside his head to spawn the black +nightmares.

+

This dream had seemed real. The mist was spiraling off the +surface as if it was heated by underwater pipes. Upriver, the +rigging of a small boat's mast clanged against crossbeam. Cold +water slapped against a hull and up in the clear air, early +seagulls wheeled and wheedled. The body was hauled out on two ropes +which had been fed underneath. The woman was bent and rigid. One +leg was sticking out, granite coloured, grotesque. Jack walked +away, thinking about the grey foot without a shoe. He walked into +the mist of the lane and came out round on Bankside Road, a +geographical impossibility, but exactly the way things happen in +dreams. Bankside Road was on the far side of the town centre, +beyond the maze of alleys and vennels. Here the old shunting yards +were hidden behind the green doors where Neil Kennedy had played. +Though the snow had turned to ice on the pavements and crackled +underfoot, in the dream, the snow was fresh and unmarked.

+

Two pairs of footprints led away from the green door.

+

There was something odd about them, though in the rationality of +the illusion, Jack did not question them. The larger set, both left +and right narrow like a woman's foot, were different in one +respect. The left gave an imprint with wavy lines of a walking +shoe. The right was a clear shape of a naked foot.

+

Alongside them, a small trail of a child's footprints were +embedded. The left one bore the tyre-track marks of wellington +boots. The right was a child's bare foot, each toe clearly +delineated.

+

He followed the lines, his own feet making no noise. The air was +suddenly quiet. The wind had stopped. No seagulls shrieked. It was +as if he was in a cocoon of his own consciousness. He walked +on.

+

The prints halted maybe three hundred yards along the curve +where Bankside Street joined Artizan Road, close to the old engine +works. There was an old building here. The red-brick Victorian +railway style construction of the warehouses.

+

They'd been closed even when Jack was a small boy. He remembered +exploring every inch of them with Tom Neeson and Paul Hamilton when +he was eight or nine. They'd been littered with broken glass then. +The old shutters had been locked and barred, but there was always a +way in through a window at the back, or the old cellar at the +basement where a coal-hole gave access. They used to climb the +stairs then scale up to the rafters where the pigeons had their +nests. Tom Neeson's father had been a pigeon fancier and Tom +himself had started his own loft with the young birds they'd stolen +from the line of dirty shit-ridden scoops along where the ceiling +sloped down to the rafters.

+

In the dream Jack walked inside, still on silent feet. He went +along the narrow passage, turned and looked up.

+

There it was.

+

Bold letters in the old fashioned fonts.

+

STEW.

+

Despite the dust on the glass and the rime and grime of decades, +the letters still stood out clear. Seen from inside, that's how +they read, although the S was turned backwards.

+

He'd seen it before, all those years ago, and now it had come +back to him.

+

He took the stairs slowly, one at a time, though the glass did +not crackle and crunch under his feet. He scanned the whole +lettering from just underneath, mouthing the words right to left, +like a child.

+

West Highland Railway Company.

+

He stood staring at the antiquated window sign for some time, +then turned slowly, retraced his steps, and walked to the rear of +the building where the stock-room ran the length of the warehouse. +From here, almost the whole of the gable wall was visible. At the +far west end, heading towards the river where it curved on its way +down to the estuary, there was a gaping rectangular hole in the +wall.

+

The day they'd stolen the pigeons, they'd clambered down the +rope which hung from the block-and-tackle pulley. As Jack stood in +the echoing silence, the mist billowed in through the space on the +wall.

+

Something moved in the mist, just out of sight, a dark outline +obscured and hazy. Jack felt his breath start to back up in his +throat.

+

And he woke up hauling for breath, with the image of the +swirling mist still reeling in the front of his mind.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike19.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike19.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2b0c887 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike19.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,685 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 19 + + + + +
+
+

19

+

Jack reached for the notebook under the pile of coins and keys +on the table beside the bed. He flipped the pages until he found a +clear one, still concentrating on the dream, holding it together +before it broke up. He flicked the top off the pen, ignored it when +it bounced on the table and rolled to the floor, and wrote quickly. +When he had finished, he picked up the report from Robbie Cattanach +on the drowned woman and scanned the lines until he found what he +was looking for. One of her shoes had been missing when she was +fished from the river.

+

He'd scanned the sentence just before he'd fallen asleep and had +seen no significance there. Dead people in rivers were often +missing shoes and boots. The current of the river sucked them +away.

+

But in the dreamscape, the fact of the missing shoe had gained +importance. He did not know what that importance was, but a piece +of a complicated jigsaw had, as if by magic, fitted into another +part. Now he knew where to look, though he wasn't sure exactly +why.

+

Jack clambered out of bed, now completely awake. He shrugged +into his old dressing gown and tied the cord tight around his +waist. In the kitchen, he stabbed the switch on the coffee maker +and sat down, his mind a tumult of half-asked questions, +half-answered responses.

+

The girl. Lorna Breck.

+

"He heard the woman," she'd said."There was a woman +there. She was in the shadows. I couldn't see her properly, not her +face. Her leg was sticking out, and she had lost one of her shoes. +Her bag was lying on the stairs. "

+

The words came back to him with surprising clarity. The girl had +scrutinized him with her glistening grey eyes, staring intently +into his own. There had been something more than odd about her.

+

Despite the fact that Jack had seen her collapse in hysterics on +River Street, and the implausible tale she'd told about seeing the +attacks on the children, she was still a conundrum. He remembered +thinking of her as a loony. Yet there was something he realised +only now that he'd missed.

+

In all the years he'd been a policeman, he'd seen hundreds, +maybe thousands of cranks and crazy folk. Eventually, the trained +eye was able to spot them. An odd walk, a twitch in the eye, +something that set them aside from normal people.

+

Lorna Breck had looked worried and she'd looked sick, and the +tale she'd told was preposterous.

+

But there was strangely reasonable quality to her.

+

And yet she'd said something which sparked off a train of +thought in Jack's mind when he'd dozed, and come up with a picture +that might be truly significant.

+

The warehouse. Jack recalled the sergeant on the dog +team outlining the area they'd searched. The snow had made it +difficult for the alsatians. They hadn't found a trail to follow. +The hunt had spread wider, but the police only examined those empty +buildings which had been open, or had an obvious entry. And they +had been looking for a boy, nothing else.

+

Jack waited until the red light on the coffee-maker went out, +sifting few connected facts he had, weaving the scant threads +togethe ther. He poured a cup, spooned three heaps of demerara into +the brew and started to sip. It tasted wonderful, strong and thick, +and in addition, the pain in his throat had subsided +significantly.

+

He turned in his chair and reached for the phone, when it rang +loudly. That, he thought, was happening too often. He picked it up, +brusquely gave his surname, and a woman's voice said hello in a +voice that was more a question than a greeting.

+

"Jack Fallon," he said, unable to place the voice.

+

"It's me. Lorna Breck. We spoke today."

+

For a second Jack was completely wrong-footed. He'd just been +thinking about the girl, had decided he'd have to speak to her +again, when she'd called him.

+

"Yes. We did," he said, non-commitally.

+

"I had to call," she said. Her voice sounded different on the +phone, but despite the distortion, he could hear the tightness of +distress.

+

"It's going to happen again. Or it has happened, and I +don't know what to do."

+

"Hold on. back up. Start from the beginning," Jack said almost +gruffly.

+

"I saw it Mr Fallon. I saw it again. Tonight."

+

"Saw it again?" he repeated.

+

"It was killing somebody. A girl."

+

"Where?"

+

"I don't know. In a room. In a tunnel. Something like that. The +girl was screaming. Oh.."

+

Her voice broke off abruptly.

+

"Now wait a minute," Jack said, gently as he could. "Calm down a +little and just tell me."

+

There was a snuffling on the line. It sounded as if she was +blowing her nose. When she started talking again her voice was +cracked with strain.

+

"I wasn't asleep. It just came to me. It was in the dark. There +was a lot of noise. Like drums, clanging sounds. The girl was +screaming and it came down on the ropes and opened up the roof. She +was terrified. I could feel it. And then it reached down +and took her."

+

"And you saw this?"

+

"Yes," she said. She sniffled again, catching her breath.

+

"And then what?"

+

"I don't know. It lifted her up and she was crying all the time. +It was just like the boy. It carried her up into the dark +and..and.."

+

"And what?" he asked again.

+

"And she'd dead."

+

The words came out with heavy finality.

+

"You don't know where?"

+

"No."

+

"Or when?"

+

"No."

+

Jack sighed. He'd been right a few minutes ago. There was +something more than odd about the girl. He didn't know whether to +be suspicious, or dismissive. He had other things on his mind, but +he was already on the horns of his dilemma. The girl had told him +something earlier which he'd discounted and then a possible answer +to part of it had come when he'd fallen asleep. He had to check +that out before he did anything else.

+

"Listen," he finally said. "There's not much I can do about it +at this time of night. But I'll speak to you first thing in the +morning. Are you going to work?"

+

She said she'd been told to stay at home.

+

"Fine. I'll take your number," Jack said. She gave it, and he +said he'd call in the morning. There was a silence on the other end +which went on for several seconds, when finally she said.

+

"Please. I can't take much more of this."

+

The telephone couldn't disguise the plaintive, almost despairing +appeal in her voice.

+

"Leave it to me," Jack said blandly.

+

He slung the receiver and let it hang on the phone for a minute +or two while he considered what she'd said. Another killing, but +she didn't know where or when. That was a big help. It was no help +at all. First he had to investigate the warehouse.

+

The phone rang again and he snatched it from the cradle, +expecting to hear her voice again.

+

"Mr Fallon?" A man's voice this time.

+

"Sergeant Thomson here."

+

"Hello Bobby," Jack responded. "What's up?"

+

"We need you down here. There's been another one."

+

The words landed like thuds on Jack's consciousness. He didn't +even have to ask, though for a vertiginous moment he experienced a +strange rush of unnerving trepidation, as if he'd stepped out of +reality for a moment and was floundering in a place where +everything was out of true and out of step.

+

"Where?" he finally asked.

+

"The distillery," Bobby responded matter of factly. "We got a +call half an hour ago, A girl's just gone missing."

+

The weird deja-vu sensation washed through him +again.

+

"What happened?"

+

"Christ knows," Bobby said. "Sorry sir."

+

"Don't worry Bobby, just tell me."

+

"She was in a lift. It got stuck between floors. When the +engineer went in, she was gone. But there's blood all over the +place. There's a few of the women taken to hospital."

+

"Were they hurt?"

+

"No. They fainted."

+

"Right," Jack said. "I'll be down in ten minutes." He was about +to hang up again when he told Bobby to hold on.

+

"Listen. While I'm here. Get Ralph Slater and John McColl in and +then get a couple of men round to the old railhead warehouse on +Artizan Street. The one next to the engine works. I want the whole +place searched."

+

"What are we looking for, sir?"

+

"Anything at all. Possible evidence of the Kennedy boy. I need +it done now."

+

He hung up this time and sat staring at the wall, feeling numb +and disorientated. The second call, right on the back of the first +had thrown him off balance, leaving him with a weird sense of +helplessness and scary confusion.

+

After a moment, he got up from the table and ran his cup under +the tap, then bent and scooped cold water on to his face. The icy +shock helped slow down his jumbled thoughts. It took him a few +minutes to get dressed. He hadn't had time for a shower and as he +ran his hand across his chin, he knew he was in dire need of a +shave, but there was no time for it. He hauled his coat on, flicked +his hair back from his forehead with an abrupt sweep of his hand, +and went out into the cold night.

+

Ralph Slater was just arriving at the main gate of the +distillery when Jack pulled up. A crowd of women stood at the door, +huddled against the cold, with their heavy winter coats slung on +top of their overalls. An ambulance light was winking in the +covered area where the lorries normally loaded their goods. A +patrol car was parked beside it, and just beyond, the bulk of a +fire engine loomed against the brick wall. Already the mist coming +off the river was thick and opaque, giving the buildings a +dreamscape fuzzy quality.

+

"What's the word Jack?" somebody called from the corner. Blair +Bryden started walking towards the car.

+

"Haven't a clue yet," Jack told him. "Give me a chance."

+

"Her name's Carol Howard and she's sixteen. She went into a lift +and never came out again."

+

"Well, you know more than me."

+

"My aunt works with her," Blair said. "She gave me a call."

+

"Well, I'll have a word with her later. Give me some time to see +what's happening and I'll have a chat when I come down." Blair +nodded. He was a conscientious editor.

+

Inside, Jack and Ralph took the stairs two at a time until they +got to the fourth floor. The place was crowded with firemen. The +elevator doors had been wedged open. Ropes trailed out through the +space, disappearing up through the hole in the roof. Smears of +blood had been trampled over the floor, leaving red treadmarks +inside and out of the cabin.

+

One of the policemen came over as soon as Jack arrived.

+

"Nobody knows what happened yet," he said. "Apparently she went +down to the canteen, two floors below to get her handbag. This was +about an hour ago, just after the tea-break. One of the storemen," +the constable flipped a page on his notebook, "Peter Cullen. He +said he heard a noise coming from the lift. The girl was calling +for help. She seemed to be stuck in the jammed lift. A few minutes +later, there was a great deal of noise inside the lift and the girl +started screaming. There was nothing else until the engineer got +the thing open. The girl was not inside."

+

He closed his notebook.

+

"I'm afraid they haven't located her yet."

+

Sorley Fitzpatrick, the chief fire officer came bulling across, +stepping over the lines of ropes.

+

"We've been right up to the top of the shaft. There's an +air-vent on the housing which the boys say has been forced open. No +sign of anything, Jack. If that girl was in the lift, then she's +gone."

+

"Have you checked down below?"

+

"Nothing there. Up above the cage there's a lot of blood. Smells +like a slaughterhouse in there. I wouldn't recommend a visit."

+

"Neither me, I suppose, but I'll have to take a look."

+

He went across to the lift with Sorley and followed the man up +the ladder set at an angle, reaching up into the space above. +Somebody had rigged up a series of lights which clung to the rails +on rat-trap crocodile clips. The lift rattled under their feet as +Sorley pointed upwards. The shaft soared into the distance, getting +narrower in distant perspective. Two firemen were lowering +themselves down on the ropes. Ralph Slater eased his way through +the gap to stand beside them, aiming his own flashlight here and +there on the shaft walls.

+

"Christ, what a mess," he finally said, then, without another +word, he started scooping samples into the plastic wallets he took +from his bag.

+

"There's more traces of blood, or what seems to be blood, +further up on the guide-rail. Nothing on the roof, as far as I can +tell, but I expect you'll want a look yourself."

+

"Yes," Jack agreed gloomily, knowing he would have to inspect +the whole area. The idea of going up the shaft appalled him. He +clambered down and into the building again. By this time, John +McColl had arrived, looking a bit bleary eyed, but clean shaven. +With him were two young detective constables. Jack asked the +manager for a room and was shown to a tidy office. Inside, he +started laying out instructions for the rest of the team.

+

An hour later, he found himself on top of the building, bracing +himself against the cold west wind, as he had done on the top of +Lomond View after the strange death of Jock Toner. The parallel was +not lost on him. As he stood in the centre of the flat expanse of +roughcast he experienced another flashback.

+

"He's dead." the girl had said. "It came down from +above in the dark and just lifted him up. I could hear it +breathing. It's like an animal."

+

Like an animal. Whoever had taken the girl from the lift, +leaving her blood to drip in a clotted pool had to be an animal. A +maniac. A psychopath.

+

"I don't know what it is. You can't see it +properly. It moves so fast, and it climbs. "

+

It climbs. It climbs.

+

There was no doubt about that. He climbed alright. Nearly to the +top of Latta Court. And to the roof of Loch View, two of the +highest buildings in the town. Now Jack was standing on the flat +roof of the distillery, a towering block which overlooked the whole +of the centre of Levenford. He turned to face south and could see +right across the river, beyond the old cemetery on its promontory +at the confluence of river and estuary. Across the firth, nearly +eight miles away as the crow flies, the tiny lights of the south +bank towns glittered in the fog like distant stars.

+

High places. Jack recalled his own words. The pattern had struck +him before. There had been nothing but frozen blood on the ground +on Barley Cobble where the battered body of Shona Campbell had been +found, yet on a hunch Jack had ordered a search of the roof and +they'd found traces of thread. Of a sudden he was certain they +would match the fibres taken that day from the baby's cot.

+

High places. Why?

+

He did not have the answer to that question, but now he was just +as certain he was getting there, slowly and surely, and for some +reason, a weird shiver ran through him. He did not know what he +would find when he got to the end of the line, to the end of the +questions. For a strange, almost panicky second, Jack Fallon did +not want to get there.

+

He turned back from the south, sweeping his eyes across the +town's night horizon. From where he stood, his view to the ground +was restricted by the safety wall that lined the edge of the +building, more than three feet high. Almost directly to the north, +the ornate roof of the town hall, corbie-step gables and dragon's +back ridging, nosed up behind the stand of elms on Memorial Avenue. +Off to the right, the cranes and gantries of Latta Marineyard stood +gaunt and prehistoric, ribbed and articulated. Someone had left a +light on in the cabin of the giant lifting derrick. It glowed like +a monster's eye. Beyond them, the black, towering sheds of the old +shipyard with its own gaunt cranes, a conglomeration of metal, +great slipway doors and winching gear, lying dormant until the need +for boats came back again.

+

Then, just north of them, hardly visible, pointed the steeple of +Castlebank Church, where William Simpson had preached to a +congregation while hiding a dark and disgusting secret.

+

Swinging his gaze back, Jack followed the sightline. The tall +poplars, mere shadows in the mist, along Slaughterhouse Road. The +tower of the crumbling provost's hall, built two hundred years +before by the ship-owning power barons who had ruled the town with +god-fearing strictness backed by the oppression of vast wealth. To +the far left, the dreary concrete blocks of Latta Court and its two +neighbours huddled together, the winking red hazard light on the +highest roof like an ember in a bed of coals. To the north west, +the black twin stacks of the old forge chimneys, rearing like gun +barrels aiming at the sky, barely visible in the gloom. Out in the +dark, the bells of St Rowan's Church plaintively tolled the +hour.

+

High places.

+

Places above the sightlines, only truly seen from another high +place.

+

"It climbs," she had said. He could hear her voice, +tight with distress.

+

"It climbs alright," he said aloud. The wind whipped his words +away beyond the safety barrier.

+

But how did she know? Jack had dismissed the visions, +or dreams, or whatever she cared to call them. He didn't believe in +mumbo-jumbo. That was for cranks and crazies and loonies, and thank +christ the majority of them were harmless. Despite what Andy Toye +had said, that kind of thing was strictly out of the picture as far +as police business was concerned. Facts, facts and more facts, they +were what counted.

+

Yet what she had said nagged and tugged at him.

+

What did she know? That was more to the point. As he +stood in the cold, he cast his mind back. She'd told him he'd seen +someone - though she called it something - come down from +above and smash Shona Campbell to the ground. Now they'd found the +fibres snagged on the guttering.

+

She'd told him the boy was dead. There had been nothing in the +papers about that, just that he was missing.

+

And tonight she had phoned him, in a blind panic, or so it +sounded, to tell him that a girl had been killed.

+

She'd been right about that. There was no doubt in Jack's mind; +no doubt in the minds of the firemen or the women who had stood +outside the lift while the booming noises had echoed down the shaft +and the screams had reverberated from above. The girl was dead.

+

So how did she know? And what did she know?

+

Jack turned and walked slowly back to the stairway which led +back into the building. For some reason his feet had wanted to +carry him to the edge of the roof, and he'd had to fight against +the urge to look down. It was an odd compulsion and he'd felt it +before, but he knew if he stood on the edge, he'd feel the tug of +gravity, the insistent drag of the ground and its implicit +invitation. The elevator housing, a squat, square construction, one +of four which grew from the roof, was just beside the stairway. At +its nearest side, the thick aluminium grid lay buckled and twisted. +Jack hunkered down to have another look at it. Ralph Slater's boys +had already taken pictures from all angles and it had been dusted +for prints. Nonetheless, Jack lifted it carefully using his finger +and thumb on a corner. It wasn't heavy. The thick mesh had been +ripped and torn. He placed it against the hole where it had stood, +and something peculiar caught his attention. The grille had been +pushed inward, not forced out. He could see where it had +bellied from the frame as if a considerable weight had been forced +against it. The gridwork had snapped in several places. He took it +out of the frame and held it up close to his face, peering at the +broken ends of thick wire latticework. The edges were rough. They +hadn't been cut. Furthermore, they were out of true, bent in +towards each other as if they had been gripped by a powerful hand. +He held his own hand up, but despite his own size, his fingers +could not reach the span that would have been required to grasp the +twisted pieces of metal.

+

He laid the grille down where it had been lying, and +thoughtfully got to his feet. Somebody called his name from down +below and he walked slowly to the stairs and back into the main +party of the distillery.

+

"Absolutely nothing," John McColl said. "They're all saying the +same thing. Plenty of noise and screams, then nothing. Scared the +hell out of them."

+

"Scares the hell out of me," Jack admitted.

+

"Oh, by the way," John interjected. "There's been half a dozen +calls for you. Everybody and their granny wants you to call +back."

+

"At this time of night?"

+

"Bobby Thomson wants you urgently."

+

As soon as he heard that, Jack felt the familiar jolt as +adrenalin kicked into his blood.

+

"What's he want?"

+

"You to call back. Yesterday."

+

Jack took the steps three at a time. Nobody was using any of the +lifts in the building. Sorley Fitzpatrick and the engineers were +checking the other three, just in case. The distillery manager had +sent the whole night-shift home. Jack got to his car. Somebody had +left a message tucked under the wiper. He snatched it out as he +opened the door and eased himself in. It bore five digits. Jack +recognised Blair Bryden's number and gave a wry grin. He made a +mental note to call the Gazette office in the morning, then reached +for the receiver and called in. Somebody put him through the desk +sergeant and Bobby Thomson came on, his voice fighting through the +static.

+

"The dog men are in, sir. I thought you ought to know."

+

"And?"

+

"They found traces. A shoe. No two shoes. A handbag. +And there's possible traces of dried blood."

+

"Shit," Jack said vehemently.

+

"Sir?" Bobby's voice crackled. He'd heard that alright.

+

"Sorry Bob. Expletive deleted." Jack's mind was racing. There +were too many options on what to do next. He closed his eyes and +concentrated for a minute, ignoring the hiss of static in his +ear.

+

"I'll get Ralph along soon as I can. In the meantime, seal the +area. Not a thing to be touched. No announcement."

+

"Oh and Mr Cowie's looking for you," Bobby came back.

+

"What's new?" Jack said to himself. Bobby chuckled and Jack +realised he'd spoken aloud.

+

"Tell him I'll be along in twenty minutes." Bobby acknowledged +and Jack thumbed the off button. He debated sending the women +patrollers up to Clydeshore Avenue to pick up Lorna Breck and bring +her to the office, but then he dismissed the notion. He knew where +she was. If he brought her in to the station, the superintendent +would only ask awkward questions for which Jack, at the moment had +no answers. He got out of the car and back into the distillery. The +crowds had dispersed in the cold, damp air. The ambulance light +still twinkled blue starlight. There was an odd air of stillness +about the place.

+

Jack got Ralph and hauled him down from the upper floors.

+

"We need another scene of crime operation," he explained without +any preamble.

+

"What, again?"

+

"Not a fresh scene. At least I don't think so."

+

He gave Ralph directions, told him he'd meet him at the old +warehouse in under an hour, then went back to the car and pulled +out of the covered driveway and went back to the station.

+

At the desk, Bobby Thomson handed him a sheaf of messages which +he snatched in passing and read as he strode along to his own +office, pausing only to waylay young Gordon Pirie, the fresh-faced +recruit and ask him to make a cup of tea. The boy looked over at +Bobby Thomson who just nodded wisely.

+

There were two messages from headquarters, one from Criminal +Records Office, the other from the forensic lab. He called CRO +first, asked for an inspector he knew from the old days, and waited +while the extension rang. Finally somebody picked it up. Jack gave +his name and the inspector said hello.

+

"What've you got Fergus?"

+

"Bingo on two counts. John McColl said this was a priority job. +You've come up on both sets of prints. Tomlin was at scene of crime +in the Herkik operation. We've twenty clear fingers and several +palms, all with nine-point matching. It was him alright."

+

"And?"

+

"The drownee. She was there too. We've got confirmation on all +points. Nothing on the register on either of them, though, no +previous. Unknown to the police on any list. If you can get me an +ID on the woman, it will help."

+

"I don't think that'll be long," Jack said confidently. "You'll +get it as soon as I know it."

+

"Okay. Best of luck," the inspector said. "By the way. What the +hell's going on in your patch?"

+

"Damned if I know," Jack wearily. A sudden wave of tiredness +swept through him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a +full night's sleep. He ran his hand over his chin again and felt +the rasp of an extra day's growth. "But I'm working on it."

+

"Your old pals are rooting for you."

+

"And I'm rooting about down here," Jack said. He thanked his +fellow officer and went back to the messages.

+

At the lab, the sergeant who had left the message was off duty, +but Jack was put straight through to the textiles and fabrics +section. The young woman who answered was unfamiliar, but helpful. +The threads of material snagged on the gutter on the roof at Barley +Cobble, she confirmed, had been successfully matched up with fibres +taken from the sheets of baby Kelly Campbell's cot, and +corresponded to others taken from the shoulder of her mother's +coat. They were pure wool, dyed pink. The young chemist went into +some detail about the composition of the dye and the cross-section +thickness of the fibres, and Jack let her run on for a while, +though he didn't need the technical information right at that +moment.

+

It did confirm again however, the conclusion Jack had reached +earlier.

+

The killer was a climber. He liked high places.

+

Now he had a few other things to do. He had to find out why, and +he needed to know how Lorna Breck knew. Did she know him? Was she +involved?

+

Was her story just an act to put him off the trail, or even a +callous act of mishief-making? He decided she could wait, though +not for much longer. The baby-faced recruit came in with a pot of +tea and placed the tray on the table. Jack gave him an appreciative +wink and the youngster blushed. As soon as he left, Jack dunked two +of the biscuits until they were soft and swallowed them whole. He +had just stuffed a third into his mouth when there was a knock on +the door. Before he could speak the door opened and his immediate +superior strode in. Jack swallowed too hastily and burned his +throat.

+

"Didn't you get my message?" Superintendent Cowie asked.

+

"Yes. I was a bit tied up. I just had a couple of calls to +make."

+

"What's going on?"

+

"Another youngster. Seems to have been snatched."

+

"Yes I know all that, although I should have heard it from +you."

+

"No time. I went straight there."

+

"Alright. But there's more. I didn't authorise extra men for +another search. There's been three dog handlers brought back on +duty. That's on top of the SOC's men. Can you enlighten me?"

+

"Well, acting on information received, I thought it best to +enlarge the search area."

+

"What information. From whom?"

+

"It's a bit vague at the moment sir. I'd rather leave it until +we have something more concrete. In fact it's more of a hunch +really."

+

"A hunch? We can't afford overtime on the strength of some vague +intuition."

+

"No. It was a bit more than that. But you did say you wanted +immediate action, and that's what I'm trying for. I don't think +headquarters will object to a couple of extra men on a night. It +happens all the time in Glasgow."

+

"That may be. But this is not Glasgow. We don't have the budget +or the manpower."

+

"We could put in a request some more. I'm sure the divisional +commander would look on it favourably."

+

Jack knew what the reaction to that would be. Cowie would rather +cut off his leg than put in such a request to head office. It would +be an admission that he couldn't run his own patch. Jack himself +knew there would be no shame on it. He'd been working on murders +too long to care about who thought what. From his own point of +view, he knew there was nothing to be gained from calling in the +cavalry, at least not at the moment, despite the media pressure +which featured the bizarre kidnappings on almost every teatime +bulletin, and were certain to have a picnic and barbecue in the +morning when news of the latest abduction hit the streets. There +was nothing to be gained, and a possibility that an influx of +officers who did not know the area might only muddy the waters. +Jack needed just a little more time before he yelled for help, but +he was pragmatist enough to know that when the time came, he would +bawl his head off.

+

"Absolutely not," Cowie said. "The whole force is overworked and +undermanned. We won't get any thanks for it."

+

Nor the glory, Jack thought.

+

"So what do we know about the girl?"

+

"Nothing much. Bare details. I've sent a WPC round with John +McColl to speak to the family."

+

"Preposterous!" Cowie spat. His face was taking on that familiar +red tinge. He looked like a man who wanted to be running things but +didn't quite know how, which, in Jack's view, he was.

+

"You mean we think we shouldn't speak to her?"

+

"Not that. Of course we should. I want detailed statements from +every one involved. And I want duplicates of all reports."

+

"Naturally," Jack said, lying with a straight face.

+

"No. It's preposterous that girl should be snatched like that in +a building full of people. Whoever is doing this is thumbing his +nose right at us. The press will have a field day."

+

"Probably. But at least you can tell them there are one or two +developments."

+

"I hope there are," Cowie retorted. "I sincerely hope there +are." He turned away from Jack and walked briskly to the door.

+

"Full reports, understand?" he barked, without turning +round.

+

Despite himself, Jack grinned. He poured another cup of tea and +drank it quickly. He wasn't sure when he'd manage to get another, +for he felt a long night coming on.

+

It was almost two in the morning and he was now feeling utterly +fatigued when he went down to the operations room and put out a +call for Ralph Slater. When he came on the phone, he sounded just +as weary.

+

"Just coming in," Ralph said. "No body, but plenty of +circumstantial. Oh, I think I can ID the swimmer for you."

+

"Bring it all in," Jack said. "I'll be here."

+

Ralph took less than ten minutes to get round to the station. He +looked blue and cold and his shoes and trousers were streaked with +dust. Two of his team were carrying black plastic bags. The scene +of crimes boss told them to lay the material on the table and he +gratefully nodded when Jack offered him a cup of tea from the huge +pot the new recruit had brought up from the canteen. The small +gathering stood around, trying to get some heat into their +bodies.

+

When the other two had left, Jack and Ralph went over what +they'd found.

+

It was a pitiful collection. Two shoes. One a woman's, the other +a child's training shoe.

+

Jack got a fleeting flashback to the dream.The prints had been +clear. One bare foot and the clear marks of gumboots. It hadn't +been accurate, but that hardly mattered any more.

+

"Definitely the boy's. We got a full description. It matches," +Ralph said over the rim of his cup. The other one's from the woman +in the river. I can guarantee it. I could get the effects from +downstairs, or even show you a print, but take my word for it."

+

"Naturally," Jack agreed. "You're scene of crimes."

+

"Now the handbag is more interesting," Ralph went on, now +speaking through a mouthful of biscuit. "We found that on the +stairs. Some blood drops on it. Much more on the upper levels and a +fair puddle on the rafter boards, and I'll give ten to one it's the +Kennedy kid."

+

"No bets."

+

The contents of the bag were in a separate wallet. There was a +small purse with a few notes and change, a pen. Two combs and a +lipstick.

+

Jack poked through it with a pencil.

+

"What's this?" he asked, looking over at Ralph. The two cards +were face up, printed in fading pastel colours. The six of wands +and the queen of wands, both of them old-fashioned, printed on +linen board.

+

"I thought you'd find that interesting. They're the same kind as +we found on Simpson. I think there's a tie-in."

+

"Oh there is. She was at Cairn House. Records have confirmed the +prints."

+

"But there's more."

+

Jack raised an eyebrow. Ralph indicated the small pile of +effects.

+

Jack nudged the cards out of the way, then he saw what Ralph had +meant. It was a lapel clip, with a name on it beside a photograph +of a woman with short greying hair.

+

"It can't be," he said through his teeth.

+

"But it is. She was covered in shit when they took her out of +the river. Her own mother wouldn't have recognised her, but I'll +take any bets that's who it is."

+

"Janet?"

+

Ralph nodded. "And Christ alone knows how she figures in all of +this. She would never say boo to a goose."

+

Jack scratched his head, perplexed. Janet Robinson had been one +of the girls in the typing office. She was as quiet as a mouse, a +young-old woman who kept herself to herself, but she was an +excellent worker. She'd churned out dozens of reports for Jack in +the past couple of months.

+

"That's all we need," he said to Ralph, dropping the plastic +card back into the pile.

+

He went back to the seat and eased himself down. "Right. John +McColl's out talking to Tomlin's wife after he speaks to the girl's +mother," he said. "We might get something there, though I doubt it. +I need somebody out to Cross Road to pick up a man."

+

"Tonight?"

+

"Yes, Tonight. I'll send two of the uniforms along. And there's +a girl I have to speak to."

+

"You and me both."

+

"No this one's got something to tell me. Ever heard of Lorna +Breck?"

+

Ralph shook his head. "Rings no bell."

+

"She tells me she's been seeing the killings. Called me tonight +just before Bobby Thomson phoned. She said it had happened again, +to a girl this time."

+

"Think she's involved?"

+

"I don't know. There's something weird about her. Under normal +circumstances I'd say she was telling the truth, but I've been +wrong before. I'll have another talk with her in the morning, but +keep that to yourself. I'll have enough trouble explaining what was +going on at Cairn House."

+

"Having a seance, wasn't it?"

+

"Trying to raise devils," Jack said.

+

Ralph gave him a nakedly skeptical look.

+

"You don't believe any of that crap, do you?"

+

"No, but they probably did. I think we're dealing with a bunch +of weirdos. Some sort of sect, maybe devil worshippers or +something. You've read the Orkney case, and the Yorkshire stuff. I +think we might have a group of nutters who're taking it one step +further than dancing naked round a fire and screwing goats."

+

"You think they're killing folk?"

+

"I think," Jack said, looking Ralph straight in the eye. "I +think they're sacrificing babies."

+

Ralph Slater was in the act of swallowing a mouthful of tea. He +choked as it went down and sprayed himself as he spluttered to get +his breath. His eyes were watering and he snatched a tissue from +his pocket and dabbed at them. Finally he turned back to Jack.

+

"Are you kidding?"

+

"No. I wish I was."

+

"Cowie is going to love you. Are you going to tell him?"

+

"Not yet. Lets see what we can drag in. I can't keep him off my +back for much longer."

+

Later that night John McColl came back from Edward Tomlin's +house with something Margaret Tomlin had found in her husband's +jacket. It was a tarot card crumpled and lined, but there was no +mistaking the pattern on the back. It was identical to the others +that had turned up. On the face, it bore the picture of a heart +impaled by three swords.

+

Edward Tomlin died in the early hours of the morning, when Jack +was heading for home, almost stupefied with fatigue. His body was +taken down to the mortuary where Robbie Cattanach would open him up +the following morning. Some months later, both Robbie and Dr +Collins would collaborate on a paper for the Lancet on the +remarkable physiological effects of paraquat poisoning.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike20.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike20.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c052767 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike20.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,772 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 20 + + + + +
+
+

20

+

They found the body of Annie Eastwood in the morning while Jack +was taking his nephew to school. He'd had five hours sleep and had +needed a blistering hot shower to get him completely awake. He'd +dreamed most of the night, and when he'd awoken with a start when +the alarm had buzzed, he'd been sitting upright on the bed, arms +and shoulders goosepimpled, hands curled into tight fists. The +substance of the dream had broken up when his eyes opened but he'd +been left with a heavy aftersense of lingering gloom.

+

Julia offered him breakfast and when he told her he'd no time, +she ordered him to wait for two minutes while she put the bacon +she'd grilled for herself onto two slices of bread, wrapped them in +tin-foil and jammed them into the pocket of his long coat.

+

"You look ghastly," she said, concerned.

+

"Thanks a million," he said, unable to keep the smile from his +face. "You're great for a guy's ego."

+

"Look, you don't have to take Davy to school. I can manage."

+

"No bother. It makes sure I get out of bed."

+

"You need looking after," she said, reaching a hand up to cup +his cheek with affectionate gentleness.

+

"I'm doing fine, but now I've got to go," Jack said quickly, +breaking the moment, pulling away. Her concern was written all over +her face, and he backed away from it. He would only begin to feel +maudlin.

+

When he stopped outside the school gate, Davy leaned over from +the back seat and gave him a kiss. Jack stopped him before he got +out of the car.

+

"Did your mum tell you about staying in school all day?"

+

"Yes, uncle Jack," the boy replied gravely.

+

"And you wait for her or me to come and get you at home +time?"

+

Davy nodded again.

+

"Well you make sure you do," Jack said, keeping his voice low +and serious.

+

"I will. I'll stay in school."

+

Jack ruffled his hair and let him go. He watched as the wee boy +disappeared into a crowd of youngsters milling around in the +playground. The school had doubled the supervision at intervals and +lunch breaks. So far all the abductions - all the killings +-had taken place at night, in the dark. But that did not mean the +situation wouldn't change.

+

There was no problem in identifying Annie Eastwood, at least not +from the effects she'd had on her person when she died. The +difficulty in ensuring she was who her credit and library cards +said she was, lay in the fact that there was nothing left of her +face, and so much damage to the rest of her body that it wasn't +easy to determine at first glance that the mess on the rocks at the +confluence of river and estuary were in fact human.

+

Ian Ramage, the full-time custodian of the old monument on top +of the Castle Rock had been woken in the early hours of the morning +while it was still dark and damply cold, by the barking of his +scots terriers. He had the tied house by the entrance gates, one of +the oldest buildings in Levenford, older even than Cairn House. It +was said that Mary Queen of Scots had been imprisoned there, as had +William Wallace, the guerilla leader of the fourteenth century, +before he was dragged down beyond the border and hung, drawn and +quartered. The castle ramparts bordered the shoulders of the +two-hundred foot high basalt rock, which, like Ardmhor Rock further +down the firth, is the nubbin of a dead volcano, worn down by the +ice and winds and rain of millions of years.

+

The rock towers over the east end of Levenford, black and +massive, a hunched and looming presence which dominates the flat +land where the river flowed into the tidal salts.

+

The ill-tempered yipping of the terriers roused an equally irate +keeper from his bed in the upstairs room of the old stone house. +The dogs were shoulder to shoulder at the window, feet on the sill, +noses smearing the glass. They were barking furiously, ears +pointing forward.

+

"Right, you two, hush up," Ian snapped. The bitches stopped +immediately, heads turned round towards him before swinging back to +stare out of the glass into the dark.

+

At this early hour of a freezing morning, it was unlikely that +any youngster had sneaked in through the gates, but Ian Ramage took +his job seriously, though with more than a little ill will that +day. He pulled on trousers and sweater over his thick pyjamas, +wrapped himself in a worn duffel coat, grabbed his flashlight and +then snapped his fingers at the dogs. They bounded from the window +and followed him out onto the flagstone paths, their nails +scrabbling on the cold slate.

+

Ian Ramage went down to the gate at the arched entrance. It was +ajar, though only by an inch or so. Normally the keeper locked it +at night, but in the winter, he usually relaxed the rule because so +few people visited the ancient monument in bad weather. The dogs +snuffled around the posts, then , moving together, went back +towards the house, passed by the corner, still shoulder to +shoulder, and scrambled up the first flight of stairs, yapping +angrily. The keeper followed on, grumbling all the while.

+

There is exactly one stone step cut into the rock for every day +in the year. It took Ian fifteen minutes to get to the top where +the basalt rose to a rounded dome topped by a flagpole and four +ancient cannon facing outwards to the points of the compass. The +balustrade wall snaked over the shoulder, twenty feet down from the +summit. The dogs scampered down towards the dyke and simultaneously +leapt up onto the flat top, each aggressively barking down into the +dark below. Breathless, Ian followed them down and leaned on the +wall, his eyes following the direction of their noses. Below him, +down in the distance, he could hear the gurgle and splash of the +water on the stones, like far off conversation. He angled the +powerful torch below the wall, but the beam was diffracted by the +rising mist. There was nothing to be seen and no point in going all +the way down to the rocky shoreline in the dark. He went back to +his bed.

+

Four hours later he was explaining to a uniformed policeman what +had happened.

+

The body was discovered by Geordie Buist. Though it was well out +of season, he'd taken his spinning rod round the dark pathway at +the base of the rock to haul out a few sea-trout which were +starting their spawning run up-river. He'd lifted a two pounder +from the water after his third cast and had scrambled up the rocks +to hide it in the lea of one of the forty-foot boulders which had +calved from the cliff. The silver fish, dead from a blow to the +head, but still shivering and twitching, he stashed in a corner +where the rock butted up against another. He turned, reached up to +the stone side for balance, and his searching fingers grasped hold +of a cold hand.

+

The sheer fright sent him staggering backwards to crack his head +against the basalt with a sickening thud and he landed in a dazed +heap where he lay for fully five minutes before his head cleared +enough to let him get to his feet again. Very cautiously he felt +his way in the dark until he came to the spot where he'd stood +before. He fished his cigarette lighter out of his pocket, and with +a shaky hand, flicked it alight and held it up.

+

The claw-like hand hooked down from above his head. The yellow +light reflected back from trails of liquid running down the flat +side of the stone. Two thick and shiny braids of what looked like +twisted rope dangled from further up. Geordie held the lighter up +higher and saw an eye staring at him from a pulpy mass above him. +At first he thought it was an animal, because he could see a row of +clenched teeth, more than a human ever showed, stretching back into +the mass. Then he saw the thin string of pearls around the bloodied +neck and he realised what he'd found.

+

Geordie Buist was a tough young man. He'd had his share of fist +fights. He could gut and clean a rabbit or a fish or gralloch a +poached deer with hardly a thought. But when the dead and broken +face of the woman, her one impossibly protruding eye glaring from +the red mess registered on his consciousness, Geordie got such a +fright that his bladder simply opened and hot piss gushed down the +inside of his thigh. He stood there, frozen, hand up-raised, for +several stunned minutes, unaware of the warm flow down his jeans, +until an eddy of wind snuffed out the flame of the lighter. The +darkness which descended was complete. Geordie gave a gasp of +alarm. The thought of being stuck in the dark with the grotesque, +broken thing, was too much for him to cope with. Whimpering all the +way, he bolted out of the space between the big rocks, scrambled up +to the path, and ran, non stop round the track at the base of the +cliff until he came to the road. It took him twenty minutes to get +to the police station and a further fifteen before the desk +sergeant could get him to calm down enough to piece together +sufficient information from the incoherent, almost hysterical +babbling to realise what the ashen-faced young man was trying to +say.

+

The police patrol who were sent to investigate found Geordie's +rod and line along with the poached sea-trout, but they were too +busy that night to do more than give him a verbal warning. The +following day, Sergeant Bobby Thomson enjoyed the fish grilled and +smothered in a fine hollandaise sauce. One of the policemen at the +scene was Gordon Pirie, the young recruit who had made tea for Jack +Fallon the night before. When he'd shone his beam on what lay on +the rocks, he staggered back, slipped on the rocks and retched so +violently and painfully that he thought he was going to pass out, +and once he'd finished, he began to cry like a baby and couldn't +stop.

+

Annie Eastwood was formally identified by Dr Bell, her own +general practitioner who recognised her appendectomy and +hysterectomy scars and the small port-wine birthmark close to her +hip.

+

But for these distinguishing marks, identification could have +taken several days, because the fall from the castle ramparts, +almost two hundred feet straight down, had broken almost every bone +in the woman's body. The left side of her face had been stoved +right in, crushing both cheek-bone and jaw. On the right, all of +the skin and muscle had been torn back to the ear, giving the face +a dog-like gape. As she'd bounced from one rock to another, her +scalp had been torn off from forehead to crown and flung, like a +bloody wig, ten feet from where the body sprawled upside down. +Robbie Cattanach found four fractures of the spine and three +compounded breaks in the left thigh alone. Her pelvis had sheared +off three inches in from the hip-joint and a sharp edge of rock had +opened her belly like a zip fastener and spilled everything in +glistening ropes down into the void between the two huge +stones.

+

One eye was missing and was never found. Somebody surmised that +one of the rats that inhabited the nooks and crannies and fed on +carrion from the shoreline must have eaten it. Two fingers and a +thumb of the dead woman's left hand were later found further up on +the rock, jammed in a small crevice, ripped off in the violence of +her passing. One of them bore a ring set with amethyst stones.

+

The missing fingers were collected and used for prints. Later in +the afternoon, Jack Fallon learned that Annie Eastwood had also +been in Cairn House on the night that Marta Herkik had died.

+

Elsa Quinn, the only one of the women in the distillery who +remembered seeing a stranger in the building the night before, was +questioned again. The vague description of the woman's green coat +was helpful. When shown a picture taken from Annie Eastwood's +house, it jogged Elsa's memory just enough.

+

"That's who it was," she told John McColl. "I never recognised +her at the time. It's Angie Eastwood's mother. Angie used to work +on the same line as me. But she died. It was a car crash about a +year ago. It was terrible. We all went to the funeral, and that's +where I saw her mother."

+

"You're sure?"

+

"I am now. I had a terrible headache last night, so I didn't +really look. I remembered thinking there was something familiar +about her, but I couldn't place the face."

+

"And where was she standing?"

+

"Beside the lift on the fourth floor," Elsa said.

+

Jack brought John McColl and Ralph Slater into his office and +closed the door.

+

"I want her house turned over," he said when they were both +seated. "This is the first real tie-in we have to everything."

+

"You don't think she killed the girl?" John asked.

+

"Christ knows!" Jack said sharply. "No. Probably not. But she +was there at the same time, and she was in the Herkik place. She's +topped herself, or been thrown off the top of the castle. One way +or another, she's in the middle of the whole mess. Get round there +and give her place a spin, and send a squad round to Janet +Robinson's place. I'm looking for anything at all. Books, diaries, +letters, the lot. We have to know why she was at Cairn House and +what was going on there. That's the crux of the matter."

+

"Anything else?"

+

"Yes. Have you found this O'Day yet?"

+

"No. He's been gone for the last few days, according to his +landlady."

+

"Keep looking. Get a warrant and turn him over as well. I'm fed +up pussyfooting about."

+

John went out and Jack turned to Ralph.

+

"This is getting out of hand. What can you tell me?"

+

"Nothing you don't already know. Looks like Eastwood jumped. She +could have been pushed. According to the keeper there was some +disturbance between four and five this morning. His dogs started +barking. He had a check around, but didn't see a thing. If she'd +been taken up there and thrown off, there would probably have been +a lot of noise. Ramage says he didn't hear anything."

+

Jack brought his hands up and ran his fingers backwards through +his hair.

+

"I just don't understand it. You get a killing or an abduction - +and these kids are dead believe me - and then a suicide. Everybody +so far, except Jock Toner, was at the seance in Herkik's room."

+

"You reckon that's what it was?"

+

"Sure. I've got it on good authority. The Eastwood woman is the +only one we can definitely place at the scene of one snatch when it +happened. We don't know who she was with, if she was with anybody, +but I don't think she could have taken that girl out of the lift on +her own and hauled her up the shaft. No. We're looking for a strong +bastard. A crazy strong bastard."

+

"So we've got a tie-in Jack. But I don't see where that gets us. +We still haven't found any of the bodies yet. Not any of the +kids."

+

"We will."

+

There were too many things to do at once. Around noon, Jack was +tempted to capitulate and call in for some extra help, despite his +superior's objections. He couldn't put off reporting to +Superintendent Cowie.

+

"I've had the press baying at my heels all morning," his +superior barked as soon as Jack opened the office door. Cowie was +sitting back in a high-backed swivel chair, both hands drumming on +his empty blotter.

+

Jack held up a thick folder. "I've got everything so far. So far +all the suicides can be traced to the Herkik killing. I believe +they are also involved in the abductions."

+

"Nonsense," Cowie snorted. "You think this is some sort of +kidnap ring? In Levenford?"

+

"Stranger things have happened. Everything is pointing that +way."

+

"Why?"

+

"Because they're all involved in some kind of devil +worship."

+

Cowie's eyebrows almost disappeared over the top of his thinning +scalp.

+

"And you want me to announce that to the press?"

+

"Not necessarily, but they're going to want something."

+

"I have to tell you, Chief Inspector, this is not looking good +and I'm losing patience."

+

Jack said nothing.

+

"So what do you intend to do about it? I don't see any real +progress. You're making us look like fools"

+

"Actually I'm hoping to pick up someone who may be +involved."

+

"Oh?"

+

"Yes. His name is Michael O'Day. You'll have heard of him."

+

Cowie shook his head.

+

"That's a surprise. An informant of mine said he gave you the +information four days ago. O'Day was seen leaving Cairn House at +the estimated time of Marta Herkik's death."

+

The superintendent gave another small shake of his head. His +face was beginning to colour.

+

"Yes. He's been missing from his home for two days. Shame. Maybe +we could have wrapped this up before wee Carol Howard was +killed."

+

"What are you trying to suggest?"

+

"I'm not trying to suggest anything. I'm just pointing out that +I'm not making anybody look a fool," Jack said, unable to keep the +weary contempt from his tone. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a +murder investigation to run."

+

He stood up and left, closing the door behind him before the +superintendent burst a blood vessel.

+

Just as he got to his office, the phone gave a single ring. Jack +lifted the receiver, listened for a moment, then answered +briefly.

+

He went down the two flights of stairs to the front office. As +soon as he got there, the waiting pressmen pounced. He held up his +hands and told them to back off for a second while he spoke to the +desk sergeant. Andy Toye was sitting in the waiting room. Jack told +one of the uniformed men to take him upstairs. Just as he did so, +Lorna Breck came walking in through the front door, between a woman +and a man in uniform.

+

"Damn," Jack said under his breath. He leaned across to the desk +sergeant and told him to get the girl into the interview room as +quickly and as quietly as possible. He turned back to the gaggle of +reporters, using his hands to usher them away from the desk. The +police officers walked right past them, and nobody seemed to notice +the girl. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack got a brief impression +of Lorna Breck's pale face turned towards him and then she was +gone.

+

"Come on Chief," the thin man from the Express entreated. "We've +had nothing since this morning." Somebody flashed a camera and Jack +pointed a finger at the photographer.

+

"If that thing goes off once more in here, you're all out. No +kidding."

+

The cameraman shrugged apologetically.

+

"Okay, follow me," he said, resignedly. He led them through a +corridor and into one of the larger rooms near the cells which was +used for briefings. There were a few plastic chairs set in uneven +rows. The group of pressmen jostled for a seat. Jack stood with his +back against the wall and took out a notebook.

+

"Statement first. Questions next," he announced brusquely, then +checked his notes before beginning.

+

"We are investigating the disappearance of a teenage girl. It +happened late last night in Castlebank Distillery. Witnesses say +she became trapped in an elevator. By the time rescue services +arrived, she could not be found. We are treating the case as +abduction, possibly murder."

+

"That's the fourth in two weeks," somebody bawled from the +back.

+

"I'm afraid it is. Our investigations are continuing."

+

"Is there a link."

+

Jack paused. "That's a possibility we are looking into. I can't +say anything further than that."

+

"And you've got another suicide today?" the same voice +asked.

+

"Possible suicide. The body of a middle aged woman was +discovered on the rocks on the west side of the castle in the early +hours of the morning. She had injuries consistent with a fall. A +post mortem is taking place at the moment. A report will be made to +the fiscal and there's a possibility of a fatal accident inquiry +later. We should have more details sometime today."

+

"So what's happening here?"

+

"What's happening is that we are very concerned at recent +events." Jack did not enjoy using bland public relations speech, +but he knew that one wrong word would catch the headlines. What was +happening in Levenford was hitting the front pages of the national +press too often. "If I can use this opportunity to re-issue our +earlier warnings to parents to ensure that their children are not +left unaccompanied after dark. I would also recommend that for the +time being, no woman should be out on her own."

+

Blair Bryden from the Gazette was sitting quietly close to the +wall, writing in his notebook. Beside him another reporter piped +up.

+

"None of the abductees have been found. All of them so far have +been children, if you include the girl. Looks like there's some +sort of pattern, wouldn't you agree?"

+

"We are investigating the possibility," Jack said. A pattern was +building up inside Jack's mind, It was becoming clearer - and yet +also more confused - by the minute.

+

"You mean a serial killer?"

+

Jack paused and took a breath. He could see the headlines +already.

+

"You know we don't like to speculate. I'm sure you will draw +your own conclusions, but yes, that is one line of inquiry."

+

He swept his eyes across the group of reporters. The +photographer at the back flashed his camera blindingly. Jack +blinked.

+

"Right, that's it," he snapped.

+

"Sorry chief. It was an accident," The cameraman piped up.

+

"Apology accepted. Press statement over," Jack said bluntly. +Somebody protested, but Jack turned towards the door. Most of the +gang followed him out, still firing off questions, but he ignored +them. He turned right, went through the swing doors and headed +along the corridor when a voice came from behind him.

+

"Thanks for the call Jack."

+

He turned. Blair Bryden, a slim figure in a long raincoat, had +followed him through. Every policeman in the station knew the local +editor. He was the only one who would have got beyond the door.

+

"Oh, damn," Jack breathed. He stopped and leaned against the +wall."

+

"Sorry Blair. I forgot, pure and simple. I didn't get finished +'til very late, or very early. I can't even remember what time it +was. My eyes were falling out."

+

Blair shrugged.

+

"No problem. I managed to get plenty last night. Local knowledge +helps. But there are one or two things that stick in my mind, +thanks to my local knowledge."

+

Jack raised his eyebrows.

+

"Like why you've hauled a spey-wife in on the act?"

+

"Eh?" Jack asked blankly.

+

"Lorna Breck. Two of your uniforms brought her in. You had her +hustled away before anybody could see her. You must have forgotten +I did a story on her only three weeks ago. The fire on Murroch +Road, remember?"

+

"Oh. Right."

+

"And Professor Toye was sitting out there this morning."

+

"You know him?"

+

"Sure I know him. He was involved in the Linnvale affair. I'm +just surprised that none of the others did."

+

"Well, that gives me a problem, Blair. I can't tell you at the +moment."

+

"But I can make a couple of guesses on my own."

+

"Go ahead."

+

"Andrew Toye is head of paranormal studies. That's the tie in to +old Marta Herkik. She was some sort of psychic, which everybody +knows. It's the professor's line of work."

+

"Go on."

+

"Lorna Breck. Five or six people heard her make some sort of +prediction on the night of the fire. And it turned out she was bang +on the money. So my guess is that she's been called in because you +haven't a clue."

+

"It's not quite that," Jack said. "I'd prefer if you kept this +to yourself, at least for the moment."

+

"You know you'll have to do better than that," Blair said. +"They're both fair game, because I saw them, and as you said, we +can draw our own conclusions. Furthermore, I don't think anything I +could write about either of them would jeopardise the +investigation."

+

"But it could be wrong," Jack stated.

+

Blair laughed.

+

"There's always that possibility. Now you, on the other hand, +could put me right."

+

Jack let out a long sigh. Blair was still smiling agreeably, and +Jack couldn't help but return it.

+

"Alright. You want a deal."

+

"That I do, chief."

+

"Fine. I'll give you a couple of things right now, which you can +feed to the nationals. You keep the professor and Lorna Breck out +of print until Friday, and then you get first refusal on anything I +can tell you."

+

Blair cocked his head to the side, weighing the options. There +were no options. He could write a speculative piece and wire it up +to the daily papers and have nothing but hear-say on Friday when +the Gazette hit the streets.

+

"Done," he said quickly.

+

Jack hauled his notebook out again.

+

"Names," he said briskly. "I'll have them confirmed later today, +so don't send them out until then. Ann Eastwood. You'll have +something on her already. Her daughter was killed in that accident +up on the Corran Shore Road about a year back."

+

Blair nodded, filing it away. He'd written that story as +well.

+

Jack gave her address. He threw in Edward Tomlin. There was +nothing to lose.

+

"So what's the connection?"

+

"Consider the fact that Tomlin poisoned himself last Friday. Now +look at the dates of recent suicides and then check out what else +has been happening on or around those dates."

+

Blair closed his eyes for a few moments, then the smile came +back to his face.

+

"You mean they're tied in to this?"

+

"That's a possibility we are considering at the moment," Jack +said, using the same tone he'd had at the press call. Blair laughed +out loud.

+

"And you think there might be a connection then to Marta +Herkik."

+

"This is under investigation," Jack responded blandly.

+

"That's why you've got Andy Toye. What the hell's going on here? +Blood sacrifice?"

+

Blair was surprisingly quick on the uptake.

+

"No comment. And I don't want to read a word of speculation +about that, or the deal's off."

+

"Don't worry," Blair promised. He scribbled something in his +notebook, then looked up at Jack. "Jesus," he breathed.

+

Blair Bryden must have spent the whole day bobbing and weaving +around Levenford that day. Every paper from broadsheet to tabloid +splashed his story on the front pages on the following morning.

+

The operations room was empty when Jack brought Andy Toye along. +The professor, a slight figure in glasses looked around the walls +which were plastered with blow-up street maps of the town and +cross-hatched diagrams with names handwritten in bold capitals +beside photographs of the deceased.

+

"This is where it all happens?" Andrew asked.

+

"All, or nothing. We do a lot of talking in here. The rest of +the time is spent knocking doors, or knocking our heads against +brick walls."

+

"I'm not sure I can really help you," Andy admitted. He'd +managed to find a cup of coffee from somewhere and had brought it +along from the side room where he'd waited. He sipped it +noisily.

+

"Neither me," Jack agreed, "But we'll never know until we try. +John McColl will take you round to the Herkik place. It'll still be +in a bit of a mess, but there might me something you'll notice that +we've overlooked. I'm going on the assumption that there was a +group of people there that night and they've got themselves +involved in something. I don't know what it is, but if we can find +out, then it'll be a great help."

+

He looked down at Andy, who was finishing the last of his +coffee. "At least, that's what I hope."

+

The professor walked across to a wall chart and scanned the +names and dates.

+

"The first child went missing almost a week after this alleged +seance. Then the minister commits suicide. After that, the other +baby is taken and his mother killed, followed by the attempted +suicide of Mr Tomlin."

+

"Actual suicide now. He's dead."

+

"Then the boy goes missing, followed immediately by the woman in +the river. Almost immediately, you have the girl taken from the +distillery and another suicide within hours."

+

"All of them connected to the Herkik incident, according to +forensics."

+

"For the life of me I can't see what's been going on. There's no +occult sect I know of who've been involved in serial killings. Not +in this country anyway."

+

"All I want is for you to have a look around. We've found tarot +cards in the possession of all the suicides so far. They match the +ones in Cairn House. That can't be a coincidence."

+

"No, but the abductions could be. Close involvement with the +occult has been known to cause psychotic or schizophrenic symptoms +in clearly documented cases. It's possible there was some sort of +mass hysteria that is not linked to any of the abductions."

+

"But Janet Robinson's bag was found at the place we believe Neil +Kennedy went missing, and Ann Eastwood was seen, as near as we can +tell, in Castlebank Distillery only minutes before Carol Howard was +taken. That's no coincidence."

+

Andy nodded in agreement.

+

"Well, I don't mind having a look, as long as you don't expect +too much. He pulled out a small leather-bound pad and began to copy +some of the information from the chart. Just then, John McColl came +into the operations room.

+

"We can stroll round now, if you like," he said. Andy snapped +the book closed. He gave Jack a little smile and went off with the +sergeant.

+

Jack had called Ralph Slater in for the interview with Lorna +Breck. She was sitting in the bare room, pale and slight, hands +gripped on her black bag. A woman constable who was with her rose +when the two men went in and closed the door behind her when she +left.

+

The girl's eyes widened in recognition when Jack sat in front of +her.

+

"I don't know why I've been brought here," she blurted out.

+

"We'll try to make it as quick as possible," Jack said. He had +told Ralph nothing in detail about the girl. "We just want to ask a +few questions. Some of the things you told me yesterday are a bit +puzzling."

+

"Am I under arrest?"

+

"No. Not at all," Jack replied, as lightly as he could. To +himself he thought that she very well might be later on, depending +on how the interview went.

+

He slotted a cartridge into the recorder, gave his, Ralph's and +Lorna's name, stated the time, and left it running.

+

"What's that for?" she asked.

+

"Just to make sure we don't miss anything," Ralph said, +following Jack's lead.

+

"Right. Just relax," Jack told her. "I'll ask one or two +questions, and you answer them as fully as possible."

+

"What do you know about Marta Herkik?"

+

"Who?"

+

"You don't know her?"

+

"I hardly know anybody," the girl said, eyes wide, slightly +puzzled. "I've only lived here since August."

+

"And you've never met her?"

+

"No," she said. "I don't know who she is."

+

"Don't you read the local papers?" Ralph interrupted.

+

"Sometimes, but it's not my town yet. I don't know who's who, +and Levenford's a lot bigger than what I'm used to."

+

"Do any of these names mean anything to you? Jack ran down his +mental list, reeling off the names of the four suicides. The girl +reacted to Simpson's name. She'd heard it or read it, then she +recalled the story about the minister's bizarre hanging.

+

"But you never met him. Never spoke to him?"

+

"No."

+

He gave her the names of the three children and the teenager who +had gone missing. She recognised the first three, having read of +them and heard their names on television. The fourth drew a +blank.

+

"Now you told me that you see things."

+

"That's right. I don't know why, and it's making me ill. I saw +those babies and the wee boy, but I didn't know who they were until +I heard their names on the news."

+

Can you tell me when this first happened?"

+

"It was the night of the fire, I think,"she said in a small +voice "though I'd been getting bad dreams before that." Clearly +even thinking about it caused her some distress. Her big grey eyes +opened wide, and both men could see she was putting herself back, +remembering what had happened. She ran through the whole story for +them.

+

"And this was the first time?" Ralph asked. The girl nodded, but +then she stopped.

+

"Yes. No." Her brow creased into a frown. "It was the first time +when I was awake. But before that, I told you, I'd been +having terrible nightmares."

+

Jack didn't really want to know about nightmares. He'd had +plenty of his own. They were not the kind of things people wanted +to share, but he decided to go along with it in the hope that she +might let something slip.

+

"Before the fire, I kept waking up. I didn't think about it +until now." She closed her eyes and the could see her trying to +concentrate.

+

"They started before the fire. I couldn't understand them. I +just felt there was something after me all the time. I couldn't +really see it, but it was always there."

+

She opened her eyes.

+

"And there was another one. Weeks ago. I don't know what it was. +But there was a room of people, all sitting round a table. I +couldn't hear what they were saying, but then the room went dark +and there was a lot of screaming, people running, chairs being +knocked over. I don't know what was happening, but it felt as if +something awful was there in the room. The old woman was lifted +into the air and then she was smashed down onto the floor. There +was a terrible smell. I've smelt it again."

+

Jack recalled the throat-catching stench on the inside of the +lift shaft.

+

"Smell?"

+

"Yes, like something rotten," she said, mouth turned down in +distaste. "Like sickness. Just awful, I think."

+

Jack eased her away from the dreams. They were getting them +nowhere, and Ralph was fidgeting, wondering what this was all +about.

+

"Now you told me you'd seen something when I first met +you on River Street."

+

"Yes. I don't know what happened. I looked into the shop window +and everything went hazy. I saw the thing coming out of the dark. +You can't see it properly. It moves too fast and the light doesn't +show it. It came down and hit the woman and stole her baby."

+

"And that was definitely on the day in River Street?" Jack asked +carefully.

+

"Yes. It was dreadful."

+

"That causes me a problem," Jack said. "Because that happened on +the Tuesday afternoon."

+

Lorna looked at him, puzzled.

+

"And the abduction of Kelly Campbell didn't take place until the +following day."

+

"I know that," Lorna said, suddenly quite definite, almost +defiant.

+

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, but you won't +listen."

+

She looked straight at Jack. "I don't know if I see the things +before they happen or afterwards."

+

"And last night, when you phoned?"

+

"It was happening then. I could feel it. The thing came +down from the dark. It was banging on the roof and then it was +inside and she couldn't see it, but she could sense it, and then +the smell came and it scared her. Then it reached down and took her +by the hair and pulled her up. It had her by the shoulder and there +was blood coming down. The pain was terrible. She couldn't bear +it." The girl's voice got higher and louder as she went on at +speed.

+

"How do you know she couldn't bear it?"

+

"Because when I see it, I'm in two places at once. I can see it +happening, but I can see it from inside too. When it was +happening to the girl. It was happening to me."

+

She shrugged her shoulder quickly, letting the edge of her coat +slide off. Underneath she was wearing a woollen sweater with a neat +turtle neck. She pulled it down to the left, exposing a pale +shoulder.

+

"Jesus," Ralph mouthed.

+

There was no mistaking the bruises on the back and front. It +looked as if the girl had been grabbed violently and squeezed +brutally.

+

"Who did that to you?" Ralph asked.

+

"It's not a who. It's something I don't know. But if it doesn't +stop, I think it's going to kill me." When she said that, Lorna +looked once again straight into Jack's eyes. There was no mistaking +that what she was saying, as far as she was concerned, was the real +truth.

+

It took the two policemen another hour to get the rest of the +story. On each of the nights in question, Lorna had not been alone. +She had a small diary in her bag which she brought out and referred +to. Twice she'd been out with a friend from the library. Jack asked +her where she'd been the night before and she told them she'd been +baby-sitting for her cousin Gemma. He didn't bother taking notes. +It was all on tape. He's check out her alibis as a matter of course +but something told him they'd stand up.

+

Ralph arranged a car to take the girl home and when she'd gone, +both men went back to the operations room.

+

"We should have brought her in here," Ralph said. "If she's +telling the truth, she should be running this show. We could do +with a psychic on this one."

+

Andy Toye was still in the flat in Cairn House when Jack got +there. He'd pulled up a chair and was hunched over the round table +which was still scarred and still scabbed with dried blood. In +front of him was a large book with dull leather bindings. Beside it +was the little notebook he'd used at the station.

+

He looked up when Jack came in and pointed to a seat, without +saying a word. Jack sat beside him.

+

"This is the Goetia. Crowley's publication," he said. +"Fascinating stuff."

+

"I'll take your word for it. That was lying on the floor beside +the kerb. Some of the pages were torn out.."

+

"Yes. I saw them." Andy shoved his glasses up on top of his head +and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

+

"I don't think they were trying to raise ghosts," he said. "The +Goetia is quite well known. I've spent the last hour +trying to find a match for the names on the wall." He looked up and +pointed with his pen. The blood had dried to a brown ochre, the +letters smeared on the old plaster.

+

"I was told they could have two meanings."

+

"Yes," Andy said. "Heteros from the Greek. It means an other, or +the other. And Etheros suggests ethereal, or intangible. Or it +could mean something else. I only noticed it a moment ago when I +was looking at my notes. It could simply be the initials of the +people who've been involved."

+

He went down the list, reading them off. "Herkik. Simpson. +Tomlin. Robinson. Eastwood. If that's the case, there are two +missing."

+

"We're looking for somebody called O'Day. He was seen in the +vicinity on the night."

+

Andy grinned. "Then all you need is someone whose name begins +with an E."

+

"You reckon?"

+

The professor shrugged. "I don't know. It's only an idea, and it +could be completely wrong. On the other hand, anything could be +possible. I really don't know what was happening here. From the +tarot cards and the ouija board, it could simply have been a +fortune-telling session, but it may be that they went beyond that. +The Goetia gives detailed instructions on how to raise +spirits. It could have been some half-baked idea like that, and it +could have gone wrong."

+

"Like how?"

+

"Like mass hysteria. Psychosis. Something like that."

+

"And the spirit angle?"

+

"Crowley believed it. Plenty of others have believed it too. But +there's no real up-to-date documentation."

+

"And what do you think?"

+

"In this world, anything's possible."

+

Jack shook his head. " I'd rather it was ghosts than some +human."

+

"Easier to catch a human," Andy ventured. He snapped the book +shut, and rose from the table.

+

"Where next?"

+

"There's a girl I'd like you to meet."

+

Lorna Breck showed the bruises. She was sitting in the small +front room of her house on Clydeshore Avenue. The road had been +slick with ice on the way and Andy had held, white-knuckled, to the +dashboard as the car slithered and waltzed down the hill.

+

"It happened before," she said in her soft voice. "When I saw +the boy. They faded next day, but I remembered the pain."

+

"And this happens when you're asleep?" Andy was examining the +dull marks on the girl's skin.

+

"Sometimes. But also during the day. I can't tell whether it's +before or after."

+

"Has this ever happened before?:"

+

She shook her head. "Never. I used to read tea-leaves, but just +for fun. Sometimes I would get a feeling about somebody. Just a +tingly sensation. But then, on the night of the fire, I could +see it happen. It was terrible."

+

She pulled her sweater back over her bare shoulder. To Jack, she +looked even younger than she had when he'd met her at the chemist's +shop. It had come as a surprise when she'd told him she was twenty +seven years old.

+

"I've seen pictures of stigmata before," Andy said. +"It's believed to happen in cases of trauma, mind over matter, if +you like. The power of the mind is sufficiently strong to create +the haematoma marks on the skin."

+

"But I don't want any of this," the girl said, eyes wide and +suddenly glistening. "I just want it to stop."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike21.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike21.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..10676dd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike21.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,1076 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 20 + + + + +
+
+

21

+

Out on East Mains, a small, modern housing estate not half a +mile from where Jack Fallon lived, Derek Elliot had woken before +dawn with a pounding headache. He was numbed from sleeplessness for +the night had been riven with the grim and morbid dreams that had +assailed him for the past fortnight. In those two weeks, the +heavy-set man had lost three stones in weight. The girls in the +estate agency had noticed the sudden weight loss, but had said +nothing to his face. Elliot simply looked emaciated and ill. His +annoyingly vapid moon-face had become gaunt and hollowed, his +hail-fellow-well-met bonhomie had evaporated completely.

+

The dreams had begun after the night in Cairn House, when the +cold wind had shrieked around the room scattering books and +ornaments, blowing, it seemed, right through him, shivering his +bones. He'd fled, like the others, down the narrow staircase and +into the rain.

+

What had happened in there, he did not fully comprehend. He'd +gone to Marta Herkik's house to have his fortune told, something +he'd done several times now, every two months for the past year, +ever since somebody had told him the old lady had a real gift for +seeing the future. He hadn't believed it at first, though he'd +wanted to. The first time he'd handed her two ten pound notes, +thinking it to be a waste of money, and then she'd sat him down on +the other side of the round table and had looked into the glass and +then she'd told him things about himself which had badly unnerved +him.

+

Derek Elliot was twenty six years old and, like many people, he +was mildly superstitious. The first time he'd gone to Cairn House, +he was on the horns of a dilemma. He was junior partner in Levenax +Estate Agents, and for the past year he'd been incensed with +ambition and anger, because old Harry Fitzpatrick, uncle of the +fire station chief, spent most of his time on the golf course, +letting him do all of the work, for a fraction of the pay the old +man took home. The Porsche, with its personalised number plates, +looked like a rich-boy's toy. Few people knew that it was leased +and the monthly costs were like a millstone around his neck. Marta +Herkik had told him there were good signs as far as money and +business was concerned. She told him he'd be successful in a plan +he was making, and that someone close to him in business would take +ill, opening the door for his enterprise.

+

He'd formulated the plan a months before that. It was not +complicated, but he couldn't put it into operation under old +Harry's nose. Then the old man had suffered a mild stroke - making +part of the old woman's prediction come true - and had been away +from the office for a month and it was clear to everyone that it +would be several more before he returned, if ever. That was enough +to tip him over the edge. Derek Elliot spent the first few weeks +cultivating Harry's contacts in the banks and building societies +and then the right property had come up on the market. It was an +old villa owned by a ninety-year-old woman who had died in an +upstairs bedroom and hadn't been found for six days. Their niece, +who lived in London, had no intention of living there. She +contacted the estate agent by telephone and asked him to sell it +immediately. Derek Elliot did the survey himself, wrote down +detailed report on structural faults, dampness and dry-rot, all of +which reduced the selling price by a huge margin and all of it a +complete fabrication. He opened a bank account in another name, +transferred some funds to it, put an offer in for the property, +having forged half a dozen offers much lower than his own price, +then, on the seller's authority, accepted his bid. The simple +transaction netted him more than a year's wages when he immediately +transferred the deeds to the next buyer. With this money, he bought +up two houses on the east side of town under his assumed name, then +arranged finance from building societies on hugely inflated +surveys. When the money came in, he paid the mortgages for three +months to allay suspicion, and then defaulted. The lenders sent +agents down to Levenford to re-possess the properties. Derek Elliot +sympathised with them, said this kind of thing was happening too +often, and went home to check his bank balance. In six months the +deals had pushed his take to almost a quarter of a million.

+

Since then, he'd visited Marta Herkik's house every eight weeks +or so. Each time she told him his planned venture would be a +success, and each time he believed her. He'd come to rely on what +she said as an omen for the future. If she ever warned him of +danger, he'd rifle his account and take a plane to somewhere +warm.

+

When she invited him to a special sitting, he was in no mood to +refuse.

+

"Something different," the old woman had told him in her sharp, +crackling voice. "Something that will show everything in the +future."

+

Since then, the dreams had come every night. Dreams of darkness +and shadows. Unknown places where black things moved and the gloom +was filled with the sound of screaming and the air thick with the +foul stench that had wafted over him at Cairn House. He could see +eyes in the dark, glaring eyes swivelling right and left, hunting +for him and he spent his nights fleeing through alleys and runnels +he'd never seen before with the snuffling of the black pursuer +close at his heels, chasing him through the night.

+

On the morning that Jack Fallon took Andy Toye to Lorna's house, +Elliot woke up from such a dream, shivering in fear, still hearing +the guttural snarl of the thing that harried his heels. His back +was lathered with sweat, and the cold perspiration only made him +shiver more. The chill seemed to have got under his skin, making +the blood sluggish in his veins. He dressed slowly and awkwardly, +as if his co-ordination was failing, denying him the full control +of his movements. The shirt collar hung down from his neck, made +for someone much brawnier than he was now. He reached to put the +kettle on, saw the blue veins like a raised road map on the back of +a skinny hand, and instead, lifted the half-empty bottle of whisky. +He twisted off the top, raised the bottle to his mouth and took a +long swallow. The spirit burned all the way down to his stomach, +but the glow faded almost immediately. He shook his head and +grimaced. The drink, always his favourite, tasted foul. He felt his +gorge rise, swallowed quickly and the roll of nausea subsided.

+

There was something wrong. He knew that now. Every time he +closed his eyes he could feel the cold, rancid breath of the black +beast and he wondered if he was going completely mad. He didn't +have the old woman to help him now. She was dead. He'd read about +it in the paper and he'd been badly shaken, though, in himself, +he'd known it all along.

+

Since that night, he'd struggled in to the office, but he +couldn't focus his mind on the deals. With old Harry Fitzpatrick +still out of the way, he'd started going in late and leaving early. +Instead of drinking with the crowd of young turks, the lawyers and +accountants round in the Horse Bar on Station Street, he'd begun to +take a bottle home with him at night, sometimes two. The drink did +nothing to keep the dreams at bay, or the black thing in the dreams +that got close and closer until he could now feel it scrabbling at +his heels in the night.

+

Things were going badly wrong. In the last few days he'd had a +visit from one of the building societies who wanted all the details +on one of the properties he'd got the loan on. It was normal +practise, but alarm bells had begun to go off in his head. He'd +fumbled with the papers and stammered like a schoolboy. The rep had +looked at him with a calculating expression, or so it seemed. +Paranoia swept in like a vulture. Every time the phone rang, he +jumped, startled. During the day, he'd begun avoiding places where +people knew him. When he made it to the office, he went in and +closed the door, sitting in the shade, away from the window. He put +it down to lack of sleep, but the light was beginning to hurt his +eyes.

+

On the morning Jack and Andy Toye went to Lorna Breck's house, +Derek Elliot drank his whisky and nearly vomited. He put the bottle +back on the ledge below the curtained window and walked slowly, +like an old man, into the darkened living room. Outside, a passing +milk-float jarred on his ears as the bottles rattled in their +crates. He winced and crossed to the seat beside the fire. The +embers were still warm from the night before. He stoked them with +the poker and they flared red, but the radiance did nothing to warm +him. He felt as if he'd been invaded by a cold that would never +heat up. Quite remotely, as if someone else was thinking for him, +he considered the possibility that he might be dying. He was too +tired to worry about it. There were enough things to worry +about.

+

It was just then that he noticed the cupboard door open. That +was where he kept his fireproof box and the special bankbooks with +the money he'd embezzled. He was sure the door had been closed when +he went to bed. Alarm flared inside him, possibly the strongest +emotion he'd felt for days. He crossed to the door and yanked it +open.

+

The strong-box gaped. The papers and books he'd stuffed inside +were lying scattered on the floor.

+

Derek Elliot's heart thudded painfully. He stood, slack jawed, +one hand on his chest, trying to comprehend what had happened. He'd +heard nothing in his sleep, except for the fearful snarl of the +unseen thing behind him. Immediately he thought he'd been burgled, +then his jittery mind recalled the rep from the building +society.

+

Had he been a detective? An investigator? His jumbled thoughts +leapt this way and that, but his mind seemed to have no cohesion. +He knelt and swept up the sheafs of paper and the passbooks, +counting them out quickly. They were all there.

+

He opened the first. He'd made two deposits, using the name of +someone he'd been at school with. It had been easy to get a +travel-card with his picture as identity. The bank accepted that +without a second thought.

+

The two tranches of money were written out on the left column, +totalling forty thousand. There was a smaller amount in the same +column showing the interest he'd been paid in the last six months. +He let out his breath slowly. If anyone had seen these, then he was +finished. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and his whole body +shuddered.

+

Something was scrawled in red ink across the page, below the +printed deposit amounts.

+

Debit. All sums forfeit. Account now closed.

+

The skinny young man lurched backwards and crashed against the +chair. He snatched at the second passbook.

+

This time there was no writing, but as he stared at the page, +the print began to fade from the bottom up. His total vanished as +if it had evaporated from the paper, then, in moments, the figures +above followed suit until the whole page was blank. He snapped it +closed. Up the front, just under Bank's logo, the name he had +chosen had been written in ink. One by one the letters changed, +right in front of his eyes. Raymond Caldwell, the boy he'd +been at school with, was erased in seconds. In its place, in bold +black letters appeared two words: Dead Account.

+

Derek Elliot began to whimper. The third book was completely +empty when he opened it, except for an old-fashioned block stamp, +again in red. It slanted across both pages, just one word: +Debit.

+

Now speechless, almost fainting from the shock, Derek Elliot +jerked back and let the books drop to the floor. His eyes were +glazed and staring. His weight seemed too heavy for his skinny legs +and he slowly subsided to the floor in at the corner close to the +cupboard. He drew himself into a ball, his mind now so benumbed, +that he could think of nothing at all. Some time later, the postman +came up the path and the letterbox clattered loudly as something +was posted through the door. By this time, Derek Elliot's sanity +had completely fragmented and he heard nothing. He crouched in the +shadows in the corner, oblivious to everything except a whispered +voice inside his head that he couldn't make out, but struggled to +comprehend. Some time much later, when it was dark, the huddled +figure uncurled and slowly got to its feet. The front door opened +and Derek Elliot walked out into the cold night, heedless of the +bitter cold wind blowing down from the snow on top of the Langmuir +Crags. The whispering voice, now completely comprehensible, guided +his feet.

+
+

Out beyond the town hall on Strathleven Street stand a couple +modern stores built of concrete and red corrugated iron in what +somebody had described recession-aiscance style. The +biggest is a do-it-yourself business which is always busy on +Sundays, packed with hordes of women choosing wallpaper, followed +by doleful looking men who are faced with the fun prospect of +hanging it. Beside it, there was a carpet store, since closed, that +was doing badly, and next to that a car-parts business which sold +everything from trailers and alarm systems to mountain bikes. A +large car-park dominates the yard and beyond that there's a stand +of trees which borders a path beside Jinty Jackson's allotments +where keen gardeners had a series of tight, well tended plots +crammed with vegetables in the summer months. In the winter, the +little rickety greenhouses looked empty and forlorn. Each plot on +Jackson's ground butted on to the Rough Drain, a mess of willow and +reeds and tangled brambles, where every boy in Levenford was +forbidden to play but where almost every lad on the east side of +town used as an adventure playground. It stretched for almost a +mile out towards Dumbreck Hill, another volcanic plug which marked +the eastern border of the parish.

+

Jed Galt, whose mother Cathy worked nights in the County Bar, +and who was one of the women who witnessed Lorna Breck's strange +seizure on the night of the fire, was leaning against a lightning- +shattered trunk which had fallen over one of the water-filled +runnels in the Rough. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his +mouth. The three other boys sat on stones they'd rolled out from +the brambles in a rough circle around the fire they'd made. Nobody +came down to this part of town at night. It was truly rough and it +was where the run-off water from the hills behind town finally +drained before seeping down in a series of oily rivulets to the +estuary on the east side of the Castle Rock. Thick, greasy smoke +rose up from the flickering flames, and filtered through the bare +branches of a nearby tree, but there was nobody else around to see +it.

+

Jed's father would be down at the Castlegate Bar with the rest +of the drunks. What his mother made in one bar, Campbell Galt drank +in the other. It had always been that way as far back as Jed could +recall. His old man couldn't give a toss what his son got up to on +winter evenings. The house could burn down and he'd never be the +wiser until morning. Jed was seventeen. He was a tall, good looking +boy with an air of studied nonchalance about him. Inside, he +bitterly resented his father because of the very fact that he, Jed, +was down in the rough drain with the guys. At the age of ten, Jed +had shown considerable promise in art. He could draw horses and +stags and peregrine falcons from memory. One of the teachers had +shown him the basics of perspective and that had changed his whole +outlook on his drawing. He'd spend hours, huddled over the kitchen +table with a set of charcoal pencils his aunt Tricia had bought +him, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, drawing the +street scenes he'd seen on his way home. He'd shown promise, but +his old man, in a drunken rage one night after an argument in the +bar had come home and swept the whole lot off the table and as an +afterthought he'd mashed all the carefully stacked sheets together +in his two big fists and thrust the lot into the fire. The charcoal +pencils had followed and then he'd sent the young Jed sprawling +across the room with a quick and mean backhander.

+

"Bloody nancy boy," he'd roared, eyes glittering and mean. +"Waste of fucking time. I catch you doodling about in here and I'll +break your fucking arms."

+

It was the last art lesson Jed Galt ever had and one of the most +unforgettable lessons he got in life. Campbell Galt had reached +base line. His wife struggled at a job which paid just enough to +keep the house going with what she managed to hide away from her +husband's romance with the bottle. From then on, Jed stayed out +striking distance of the old man's fists and boots and out of his +way. He contrived to be out of the house when his father was in and +he ended up out of the house for most of the time. He lost interest +in art, and in schoolwork and at the age of seventeen, he was out +of school, out of work and had no prospect of getting a job. He +knew he'd end up just like his father and that thought brought up a +bile of bitterness over what might have been if he'd just been +given a chance.

+

"We could go up the allotments," Chalky Black ventured. "See +what's in the greenhouses."

+

"No point," Jed said derisively. "It's friggin' winter." It had +been different in the autumn when the nights were just drawing in +with that mellow tartness that reminded folk of stolen apples and +big shiny horse-chestnuts. Then, some of the greenhouses had been +bulging with black grapes hanging in great fists from the vines. +Jed and his mates had jemmied one of the doors open and made off +with their sweaters cradled out in front of them, loaded with the +swollen bunches. They'd scoffed the grapes until the juices +dribbled down their chins, feasting on them until they were +sick.

+

"How about the school again?" Votek Visotsky piped up. He was a +tall, pale faced boy with light eyes and delicate skin. His +grandfather had been Polish and Votek had inherited much of his +looks. Unfortunately he was heir to less of the old man's brains. +His father was manager of a car dealership in Kirkland. Votek could +hardly manage to tie his high toe-tector boots.

+

"Not me," Chalkie Black chipped in. His name was as much a +contradiction as his appearance. Black he was not. His shock of +pure white hair sat in tangles on top of his head, above a long +pale brow and equally white eyebrows almost hidden behind lenses +through which his eyes looked tiny in the centre of concentric +rings of corrective glass. He blinked in the light of the fire.

+

"It scared the living shite out of me last time," Chalky said +vehemently. "I'm not going back in there again."

+

Eddie Redford nodded in agreement. It had been weird, going back +to the place they had spent seven years of childhood. Even Jed Galt +had been unnerved by the foray into their old school on Braeside +Drive.

+

They had gone in on the day of the big bonfire on the common +meadow out by Slaughterhouse Road. Votek had wanted to go see the +firework display, but the others said that was kid's stuff and +outvoted him. There was a space fiction film on at the Regal Cinema +that they had all wanted to see, but between them they didn't have +enough money for even one seat in the front row and since the last +time, when old Henry McLeish had shone his torch down the stairwell +and caught Eddie pushing the bar to open the fire door to let the +others in, there was no chance of a free night. The grouchy old +bastard had put a chain on the bar to make sure nobody could get +in. It also made sure nobody could get out and in the course of +time that would prove to be a mistake of disastrous proportions, +but that story is for another time.

+

The four of them had been strolling out by Cross Road, noisily +kicking an empty beer can between them. Votek had taken a +long-limbed boot at the can and sent it tumbling into the air over +the old school wall. They'd scrambled over and into the low bushes, +searching for the can, but in the dark, it was lost in the foliage. +Jed had crossed the small playground and peered in the window of +the cloakroom. It was too dark to see, but from memory he could +conjure up a picture of the lines of coat-hooks and little benches. +In the winter, there had always been a smell of damp from steaming +coats and sodden shoes. The cloakroom was an extension built onto +the ancient structure of the building, and more recently, it had +been further extended to take in a toilet block which had replaced +the old and filthy urinals along the far high wall of the yard +where the boys used to climb on top of the roof and peer into the +girls section and occasionally pelt them with water bombs.

+

"Let's go in," Jed had said, testing the downpipe for +stability.

+

"What for?" somebody asked.

+

"Just for the hell of it. There's always something to lift. +Maybe dinner money."

+

Without another word, he shinned up the roanpipe and onto the +flat felted roof and moved easily onto the equally flat tarred +surface above the cloakrooms. There were three translucent glass +domes here, each more than a yard wide, which served as skylights +to the long changing area. They were held in place by lead brackets +and it took them two minutes to work the clips off one of them. The +dome slid away from its mount with little effort, making a grainy, +bell-like sound.

+

Jed knelt at the edge of the circular hole. Down below, it was +pitch dark.

+

"Who's first?" He asked the others, but nobody said anything. He +eased himself over, sitting on the lip, then turned onto his +stomach and lowered himself down. It was about ten feet above the +ground, which meant that with his arms outstretched as he dangled, +Jed would have nearly four feet to drop.

+

As he hung suspended in the darkness, with the three faces above +him pale in the dim moonlight, a strange and scary apprehension +shivered through him with no warning. He couldn't see below him. +Already he could hear the quiet school sounds; the +dripping of water in the toilets, the hiss of a cistern with a worn +washer. The eerie chink of pipes.

+

In his mind's eye he saw something come out of the darkness to +reach and grab his dangling feet in scaly hands. Right at that +moment, a ten-year-old memory came zooming into the forefront of +his mind. Old Miss Walker. She'd collapsed and died in the +class next door when he and the others were six years old. Just +like that, the other kids told him, snapping their fingers for +emphasis. She'd clamped a hand to her chest and made a little +moaning noise, and then crashed right across the table, stone dead. +And after that, the older kids teased the younger ones with tales +of how old Miss Walker's ghost, as white as a sheet, used to stand +in front of the blackboard in the class at the end of the corridor. +Jed's heart did a double beat as the imaginary picture, last +thought of all those years ago, came flashing back, a long, bony +white hand pointing out the ghostly columns of figures on the +board. A long white bony hand down there in the shadows, reaching +for him.

+

He could do nothing, hanging helplessly into a void. Abrupt +panic flared and without thinking he started to haul himself back +up out of the hole. It was too late. His arms were too straight +against the raised lip of the skylight. They couldn't bend properly +to gain leverage. One hand slipped from the edge and he hung +suspended for several seconds, every nerve cringing against the +sudden lunge of the unseen thing that waited in the dark of the +deserted night school. The fingers of his other hand slid slowly +towards the edge. He hooked them frantically, trying to maintain +his grip.

+

Then he was falling into the dark, no way out. His feet hit +before he expected them to and the shock jarred up into his hips, +toppling him sideways to crash against the wall. He spun round, +cat-like, eyes wide, trying to see into the dark. From off to the +right came a rythmic liquid and echoing plink sound. +Breathing hard, he swung his eyes left and right as the gloom +resolved itself into the rows of coat-hangers separated by lines of +mesh. In peripheral vision, shadows moved and danced, vanishing +when he swivelled his eyes towards them. It was as if the place was +crowded with half-seen, shadowy people waiting in ambush. He put +both hands out in front of him and carefully stepped away from the +wall.

+

And something came down out of the dark and crashed into his +shoulder. Jed let out a whoop of pure fright and instinctively hit +out at the thing.

+

"Ow. Watch it," Chalkie Black bawled. His dangling feet were +swaying back and forth.

+

"Stupid bastard, nearly killed me," Jed yelled, trying to +disguise the huge relief. All his childhood fears of the shadowy +Old Miss Walker and things crouching under the bed or lying in wait +in darkened cupboards had come shooting to the surface of his mind +while he'd hung helpless over the well of darkness. Chalky dropped +to the ground, his white hair a weird, disembodied oblong in the +dark. Votek followed seconds later, his heavy boots clattering on +the floor. Eddie came last, rolling as he hit the ground, then the +four of them stood in silence in the old cloakroom.

+

"Creepy, isn't it?" Chalky said.

+

"It's only a school," Jed retorted disdainfully. "We spent years +in here."

+

"Aye, but in the daylight," Eddie muttered. "Now what?"

+

"Come on," Jed said. "Let's see what they've got."

+

The corridors and stairwells had an empty and creepy echo. The +sound of their footsteps boomed loud, no matter how softly they +tried to walk. The headmaster's office, where on many an occasion, +each of them had stood, stony faced and eyes downcast under the +furious glare of Sister Bernadette, was locked. The secretary's +room was not. The door creaked open and they crept in. The third +drawer from the top held an old flat tobacco tin which rattled +metallically. Jed slipped it into his pocket, then they went to +explore the other rooms. After a while, they found themselves in +the classroom where Jed had learned to draw. Votek found some chalk +and drew a highly stylised and disproportionate nude on the board +and they all giggled. Eddie found a teacher's drawer open and a +hoard of sweets she'd obviously confiscated. He filled his pockets. +Chalkie picked up a good penknife. Votek kept the board duster +after he'd rubbed out his masterpiece.

+

In a cupboard, Jed found a box of charcoal pencils. He drew them +out and opened the carton. There were five of them, all different +thicknesses, unused, their points new-sharp. A surge of nostalgia +swept through him, followed by a sour bitterness. He almost threw +them back on the shelf, but then, for some reason, he slipped them, +before any of the others saw him, into the inside pocket of his +scuffed leather jerkin. He was about to turn away when he saw the +face.

+

"Hey look," he hissed. "It's Old Blackie."

+

They all laughed. The little metal toy had sat on the teacher's +desk for years. Its face was a parody of a black child, rolling +eyes, wide, grinning lips, a hand outstretched. The children would +put pennies into the hand, press a lever that jutted from the back +and the arm would raise to flip the coin into the mouth. Money for +black babies. Jed had often wondered, when he was still in the +primary school, why the black babies would want to eat the +money.

+

Chalky reached for it. None of them really knew what happened +next. It could have been that he nudged the little figure forcing +it against the back of the cupboard, making the lever move. +Whatever happened, Old Blackie's hand moved up with a loud +clink. The eyes rolled back in the head. Chalkie's hand +came jerking back. The thing moved again and the hand dropped down, +white and empty. The eyes swivelled back to where they'd been.

+

Chalkie stumbled back, coming down hard on Eddie's foot.

+

Then they were all scrambling for the door. Behind them, from +the cupboard, the chink sound came loudly. Jed grabbed +Votek by the collar and hauled him backwards, eager to be first. +Votek sprawled, Chalkie ran right over him and then Eddie landed on +top of him.

+

Somebody yelled in sheer panic. Jed got to the top of the stairs +and ran down them, one hand sliding on the banister. Behind him the +thud of heavy boots told him the rest were behind him. He reached +the ground floor and ran along the corridor with his palls behind +him. Votek was whimpering because he was last. Jed slammed open the +door on the bottom passageway that led to the cloakrooms. On each +side, the massive doors of the old classrooms stood in opposite +pairs. The boys slowed down here, getting their breath back.

+

"That wasn't fuckin' funny," Votek complained. "I nearly got +trampled to death."

+

"Just as long as Old Blackie didn't get you," Chalkie snorted +nervously. They had all seen the hand move on its own.

+

"Come on, you eejits," Jed said. He just wanted out of the +school. It had taken on a different, unnerving character at +night.

+

They slowly crept along the final corridor. At the far end, the +last classroom door was open. As they passed it, Chalkie peered in. +The tall sash windows, the kind that needed a hooked pole to open, +let in some light from the street beyond. They were crossing past +the door-space when Chalkie's breath hissed in a sharp intake. They +all turned, and they all saw it.

+

Just in front of the blackboard, motes of chalk-dust had +billowed upwards in a faint cloud, maybe caused by a draught from +the old ventilator grille beneath the board. Whatever had caused +it, the pale haze swirled as they watched. The street-lamp outside +caught the dust motes as they floated.

+

"That's room seventeen," Eddie hissed. They were all frozen in +the act of passing the open door.

+

"Old Miss Walker's room," Chalkie whispered back.

+

The cloud of dust eddied upwards and the light limned the edges +and for a split second, something seemed to writhe there in front +of the blackboard. For that brief instant, the boys stared, eyes +wide, mouths open. The shadow of the window bars rippled across the +apparition and in the pattern of light and shade they saw the pale +face, hollow eyes and a long dusty trail reaching out, pointing not +at the blackboard, but at them.

+

"Oh my Aunty Jean," Votek breathed. He backed away, bumped into +Eddie who stumbled right across the corridor and slammed against +the opposite wall. Upstairs, far up in the gloom of the empty +school, a door crashed shut with a resounding boom which +reverberated down the stairs and along the corridor in a jarring +shockwave of sound.

+

Eddie bounced off the wall, slipped to one knee and came +bounding up. By this time the other three were haring down the +corridor, Votek whimpering non-stop. Jed hit the door at the far +end and it flew against the side wall with a hammer-blow crack. It +was swinging back by the time Eddie straight-armed it and he almost +dislocated his shoulder with the force of his passing. They +scrambled, panic-stricken through the cloakroom. Jed did not stop +under the round skylight they had shifted an hour before. He headed +straight for the far end, clambered up onto the window-sill, +slipped the latch, swung the pane right out and dived headlong into +the playground. He landed on the line of aluminium dustbins which +broke his fall surprisingly well, but the clatter of the trashcans +as they scattered and rolled would have woken the dead. The others +piled out after him, kicking the bins out of the way and they all +raced across the yard, scrabbled and scuttled over the wall and +into the bushes at the far side. They did not stop until they had +got to the edge of the Rough Drain, doubled over, hauling for +breath.

+

"Bet that scared you," Jed finally spluttered. He straightened +up spun Votek around and did a perfect imitation.

+

"Oh my fuckin' aunty Jean!" he whooped and they all +dissolved into hysterical laughter.

+
+

Five bizarre abductions and four equally grotesque suicides +have rocked the town of Levenford.

+

The latest shock came with the disappearance of 16-year-old +carol Howard from Castlebank Distillery late last night. The young +office clerk disappeared from a service elevator after it became +jammed between floors.

+

Distraught fellow workers heard Carol screaming for help and +made a desperate effort top prise open the doors to free her. But +when engineers and rescue services arrived, she had disappeared, +leaving a trail of blood inside the lift-shaft.

+

Police are treating the case as murder, the fifth murder, or +suspected killing to have stunned the town in the past three +weeks.

+

Carol Howard, who had worked in the distillery for only a +few months, was the eldest of four children. Her mother was being +comforted by relatives, while police, led by Chief Inspector Jack +Fallon, were organising a massive search of the building and +surrounding area.

+

Only hours after the tragedy, the body of 45-year-old Mrs +Anne Eastwood was found at the base of a cliff below the parapet of +Levenford Rock, the site of one of Scotland's oldest and most +historic castles. The grotesque find was made by an angler in the +early hours of the morning. From Mrs Eastwood's injuries, police +assume that she fell two hundred feet from the castle ramparts. It +is the second tragic incident suffered by the family. A year ago, +Mrs Eastwood's daughter Angela was killed in a horrific car +accident on the Loch Corran Road. Like Carol Howard, she was only +16 when she died.

+

The story appeared in very national paper. Blair Bryden must +have burned the midnight oil, quartering his area, collecting +photographs and snapshots from friends and family, speaking to +everybody at the scenes.

+

It went into detail on the missing Neil Kennedy, including a +picture of the boy at a cub camp, looking bright and mischievous +and without a care in the world. From somewhere, Blair had managed +to get a christening picture of little Timmy Doyle and his parents +and another snap of baby Kelly Campbell in her cot. A cousin had +turned up a likeness of Shona Campbell when she was in fourth year +in school. A black and white portrait of William Simpson, wearing +his minister's collar and a long black gown, glared severely from +the page. Edward Tomlin peeked out from his greenhouse in a grainy +shot. From deep in the files, Blair had managed to find the snap of +Marta Herkik taken only weeks after she'd arrived in Levenford +after the Hungarian uprising. The picture showed a strong faced, +not unattractive woman, with piercing black eyes and dark hair.

+

The story quoted Jack Fallon accurately, though it did raise the +question that the police were undermanned and had insufficient +resources to bring to bear on what increasingly looked like the +hunt for a mass murderer.

+

Blair Bryden had cleverly written a step-by step account of the +how the murder of Marta Herkik had preceded the other abductions +and suicides. He went into great detail about her reputed +clairvoyant powers and managed to convey, between the lines, that +some sort of sect might be responsible.

+

The tabloids carried five pages apiece, while the loftier +broadsheets were more thrifty, but there was no doubt about it. +What was happening in Levenford was now the top item on national +news.

+

Jack read them all. It was fair coverage, though he thought it +would probably do the investigation more harm than good. The only +benefit, he decided, was that it would re-inforce the warnings the +community involvement boys had been giving round the schools and at +every mother-and-toddler group in the area. Ronald Cowie was far +from pleased. He stormed into Jack's office, waving a copy of the +Daily Record demanding to know who had released all the +information. Jack told him it was just a matter of a good local man +digging deep.

+

"I want that man arrested!" Cowie ranted. "All of this is +sub-judice."

+

"As a matter of fact, it isn't. Everything there is in the +public domain. There's nothing we can do about it, and if we arrest +him, the press will come down on us like a ton of bricks. They'll +think we have something to hide."

+

Cowie spluttered, and Jack made good use of the chance. "And the +crown office would have our guts. We can't arrest a man for stating +fact or giving opinion. That's still not against the law."

+

"Well," the superintendent said when he'd calmed down to a mere +boil. "We need results. Any result."

+

"We're doing our best," Jack said levelly. "But I don't think +that's good enough. I think this is getting too big for us. We need +more bodies."

+

"We've got enough bloody bodies. They're turning up under every +stone."

+

"I mean more officers to help with inquiries."

+

"No," Cowie said. "Under no circumstances. It would make us even +more of a laughing stock."

+

"But it might save another life," Jack protested, hearing his +own voice rise. "I want to make a formal request to +headquarters."

+

"Request denied," his superior barked.

+

"If you insist, sir," Jack said, forcing his voice back on an +even keel. When he spoke, the words came out flat and cold. "But as +it is my judgement that such a request is not unreasonable, I shall +put it in writing for you to make a formal decision. In writing of +course."

+

Cowie froze. His eyes widened in anger and his cheeks began to +quiver.

+

"Don't you dare defy me, Chief Inspector. I was a policeman when +you were still shitting your pants, d'you hear me?"

+

"With all due respect to your length of service," Jack said +calmly, "I am still obliged to follow regulations. I'm sure you +would not want me to be involved in a breach."

+

The Superintendent's hands clenched into fists. He looked as if +he was about to step forward and throw a punch. Jack hoped he would +not, if only for the fact that it would cause a mess which would be +difficult to clear up. He stood head and shoulders taller than his +superior, and he had almost twenty years advantage. If it came to a +scrap, there would only be one outcome. Cowie glared and quivered +some more, then turned and walked out of the office, slamming the +door behind him. Immediately Jack wrote his request for an extra +team of men and passed it through normal channels. Cowie would have +to make a decision, then back it up with his signature. When he'd +finished, Jack wished the man had taken a swing at him, just for +the sheer satisfaction of knocking him to the ground.

+

It was a day for brutal slog-work, going over the statements +gleaned by the teams who were out door-stepping. John McColl had +got enough from Edward Tomlin's wife, including the tarot card, to +show that the man had been acting strangely in the last week or +so.

+

"He'd always been backward at coming forward. Hardly went out of +the house," John said. "He'd a train set up in his loft. But +Margaret Thomlin said he'd recently started going out to meetings +every so often. He said they were train-spotters, or some sort, but +she got suspicious. Went through his pockets, though she never came +up with anything.

+

"Then the week before last, he came home late at night and went +to his bed. She says he was ill with some kind of fever and kept +yelling all night. The next day the fever was gone, but she says he +was acting really weird. She heard him talking to himself when he +thought he was on his own. Looks like he'd a change of character. +Kept nagging at the girls to put the lights off all the time and +during the day he'd sit in his room with the blinds drawn. She says +she kept asking him what was wrong, but he'd just shake his head. +Hardly said a word to her in the last week. Never spoke to anybody +else as far as we know."

+

A search of Janet Robinson's house brought nothing of note.

+

Apart from William Simpson, the suicides had all been normal +people. Quiet, even solitary people who minded their own business. +Nobody knew too much about them. On the surface they did not seem +to be the stuff of strange sects. There was no history of violence, +no rumour or speculation about odd habits.

+

Jack went through the list. Aside from the fingerprints on Marta +Herkik's table and the added confirmation of the tarot cards, there +was nothing to link them to each other. The only central connection +was the old Hungarian woman herself and she was saying nothing.

+

Had a seance gone wrong? Had there been a sudden overwhelming +surge of hysteria that had made them all turn on the little old +lady? Jack had to consider the possibility, though while Ralph +Slater's team had shown quite clearly, and the lab had confirmed, +there was every sign of a struggle, there was nothing to show that +any person in the room had been involved. There was no +blood under Marta Herkik's broken nails but her own. No hairs or +traces of fibres or skin flakes from anybody else. It could have +been that one of the group had stayed behind and brutally battered +the woman to death.

+

But that left another conundrum. Robinson, Eastwood and Tomlin. +They had all been there, and they had all died - or started to die +in Tomlin's case - just after an abduction. At first it had seemed +simple enough. William Simpson had been bang to rights. He'd taken +his own life and made a production of it, a theatrical, if +grotesque confession. Or so it had seemed. That Simpson had been +involved right up to his recently stretched neck, Jack had no +doubt. He had been an abuser of children, a pornographer, most +certainly a killer of long standing, a sociopath or a psychopath +among other things.

+

Jack had had the feeling, on the day he'd watched the video of +Simpson's death, that there was something too pat, too easy, about +it. And he'd been right. The very next day, little Kelly Campbell +had been dragged from her mother's arms and had disappeared into +the cold night on Barley Cobble. Somebody had come out of the dark +and had smashed the young mother to the ground with enough force to +shatter the bones in her face. It had not been Simpson, not unless +he'd come back from the dead to do it.

+

When that thought struck him, Jack gave an involuntary +shiver.

+

Back from the dead.

+

That's what happened at seances. They tried to contact the +spirits of dead people, to learn the future. Marta Herkik had died +at a sitting, or just after one, from the scattering of tarot cards +around her blasted room.

+

He shook his head wearily. Too much listening to crazy +folk, he told himself. And if that included Andy Toye and +Lorna Breck, then he couldn't help it. He did not have the time to +go believing in goblins and ghosts. He was convinced he was looking +for a crazed human, a clever and calculating human, but a crazy one +nonetheless. And that human was bound to make a mistake sooner or +later. He picked up the cup from the desk and threw the contents +down his throat. The coffee was cold and tasted foul.

+
+

On the night they sat around the fire, Eddie Redford was adamant +that it had only been a trick of the light.

+

"I'm not going back in there again," Votek said +uncompromisingly.

+

"Pissed his trousers," Eddie said, and everybody laughed.

+

Nobody took the decision to break into Rolling Stock, the +car-parts business close to the allotments. It just seemed to +happen. They'd come through a break in the chain link fence at the +edge of the garden plots and rummaged through the dump-skips behind +the DIY store. There was a box of old lightbulbs which imploded +with a satisfactory pop when thrown against the wall, and Jed and +Eddie found two long fluorescent tubes Votek said looked like light +sabres but when the two of them swordfenced, they shattered at +first contact, showering each of them with fine glass dust.

+

Ten minutes later, they were round by the corner of the +auto-parts store. Another developer was building an extension to +the line of the trading units, this one higher than the rest and +corralled in scaffolding. Bricklayers had left a wooden barrow-ramp +up to the first level. The four teenagers climbed this, then, +without any spoken decision, ascended to the third story. A big +sign on the wall announced the planned opening of the town's first +leisure centre and bowling rink. From there, the gently sloping +roof of Rolling Stock was only a short climb. The four of them +clambered up on the metal surface, feet ringing on the corrugated +incline as they made their way to the peak. From there they could +see across the hedge at the end of the allotments. Further in the +distance, in at the dark unlit mass of the Rough Drain, Jed could +see the tiny red twinkle of the fire they'd made.

+

"I thought you'd put that out," he accused Votek.

+

"I did. I pissed in it."

+

"You couldn't have pissed hard enough. It's still going."

+

Eddie was walking the ridge, arms out for balance. He stopped at +the sloping glass skylight and levered it up.

+

"That'll be alarmed," Chalky said. "You'll have the busies after +us."

+

Eddie kept hauling, swinging the frame upright, then laying it +gently on its back where it stood up slightly against the ridge. +Nothing happened. He leaned in and felt for the wires. They were +still connected to the socket.

+

"Must have forgot to switch it on," he said. They all crowded +round the hole. Directly beneath them, there was a cats-cradle of +rounded girders, like a kid's climbing frame.

+

"Whatdja think?" Eddie asked Jed.

+

The dark-haired boy looked around. There was only one entrance +into the car park. Once inside, they could see any car approach +through the big display glass doors.

+

"Aye. Lets go in."

+

As before, Jed went first, easing himself onto the cross-braces. +There was some light from a quarter moon glimmering through the +rest of the skylights, making some shapes visible below. It was not +as scary as the school had been, and here, there were greater +prizes. The others followed him along the spars until they got to +the far wall where they butted into the breeze-block. From there, +it was an easy climb of thirty feet down the gantry of metal +shelves in the store room. Jed got to the ground and waited for the +others to join them. He could feel the delicious tension twist +inside him.

+

The place was a paradise, an Aladdin's cave of all the things +they wanted but couldn't buy. A whole wall of car stereos, black +and expensive, sat waiting to be hoisted. There were trailers and +socket sets and shelves lined with expensive tools. And up at the +far end, there were bikes in all shapes and sizes.

+

"I want one of them," Eddie said in a quiet covetous voice.

+

"We'll need to get a rope to hoist them up there," Chalky made a +practical observation.

+

"There's tow-ropes all over the place. We could do it," Eddie +told him. He walked forward and ran his hand over the saddle of a +sturdy looking mountain-bike with thick treaded tyres. In the +gloom, he couldn't say what colour it was. It didn't matter, +already in his mind's eye he could see himself coming down the side +slope on Langmuir Hill.

+

Votek had moved off down the aisles. Chalkie followed him while +Jed fingered the precision tools.

+

He hefted a power-drill and held it up like a gun when without +warning a loud noise blared only inches from his ear. Jed jumped +like a scalded cat, ears ringing, heart pounding.

+

Votek burst into hoots of laughter. He had reached across the +low shelves and let off a car-horn right next to Jed's head.

+

"Stupid bastard," he hissed at him. "You'll get us all +hung."

+

Votek giggled again and let the horn drop to the floor. He found +a row of spray paints and popped the lid on one, crossed to the +bare wall close to the door and with two quick sweeps of his hand, +drew a V shape on the rough surface.

+

"Great thinking moron," Chalkie rasped. "Just write your name +and address and they'll come for you in the morning." Votek +shrugged, then filled in the space of the letter, made it it a +circle, then scribbled fuzzy lines all over it.

+

Up at the far end. Eddie had lashed two tow ropes together and +wheeled the bike across to the gantry. He was tying the rope round +the cross-bar when the others found him.

+

"You really taking one?" Chalky asked.

+

"Sure. They've got plenty."

+

"Me too then."

+

They all selected bikes, hauled them out of their stands and +brought them to the wall. Jed clambered up, with end of the rope +between his teeth. Carefully the threaded his way though the +girders, making sure he looped the rope under them when he crossed, +so that it dangled down to the group below. Chalky followed him +through the wide skylight and then they braced themselves and began +to haul. There was a rattle from down below and the rope rasped +against the lip as he pulled, but once the bike left the floor, it +came up smoothly. The handlebars banged against the edge and the +two of them manhandled it through the gap

+

Jed threw the rope back down, watching it snake like a pale worm +into the gloom below. There was a tug, some jiggling, then another +two jerks. They hauled this one up even quicker than before then +repeated the manoeuvre until there were four new bikes lying on +their sides on the slope.

+

"I'm going back in," Jed said.

+

"What for?"

+

"They might have left money in the tills."

+

"They'll all be locked."

+

"No problem to a man of my caliper," Jed told him, walking +towards the skylight with an exaggerated limp. It was an old joke, +but Chalky laughed anyway. Jed climbed back inside and rather than +wait out on the roof alone, Chalky followed him through. They got +to the ground and found Votek and Eddie both wearing bikers helmets +and giggling hysterically as they goose-stepped up the aisle. Jed +went down the line and picked out a cordless drill. There were +dozens of bits hanging from pegs. He slotted one in, tightened the +mouth then squeezed the trigger. The tool was fully charged. It +whined in his hand and he could feel the torsion bend his wrist to +the right. He strolled down towards the cash-points and sat on the +service shelf. The till-drawer was locked, as he'd expected. Jed +aimed the bit at the key-hole on the side. The drill screeched and +jumped in his hand as the point rasped at the metal.

+

Then the whole place went suddenly dark.

+

"What was that?" Votek called out.

+

"Wheesht, man. Just a cloud over the moon, or something."

+

The dim light through the skylights had faded to nothing. Jed +slid off the desk, jammed the drill down the front of his jacket +and zipped up the front. He had just reached Chalkie at the bike +stands when a huge booming noise thundered down from the roof. +Jed's hand jerked away from the wall as a shock of vibration jolted +up his arm.

+

"What in the name of..." he started to say and another +ear-splitting crash followed on the first. It felt as if they were +on the inside of a vast drum. The noise was so loud it made their +ears ring.

+

"Oh Jesus, it's the cops," Votek blurted.

+

"Shut up, wanker," Eddie hissed at him.

+

The noise came again, like giant footfalls on the roof. There +was a grating sound, like stone on metal, then everything went +quiet.

+

"What's happening," Chalkie whispered in Jed's ear. They were +standing elbow to elbow, with the other two backed right up against +them.

+

"Just wait," Jed murmured.

+

There was a silence for several minutes, and finally they began +to relax a little, letting their breath out slowly.

+

"Probably kids throwing bricks up on the roof," Jed said. It +sounded reasonable enough. "Is there another way out of here?" he +moved away from the stack of shelves and crossed quickly in the +dark to the far wall. The others followed him. There was a door +there, but it was locked.

+

"We'll have to go back up," he said, turning back to walk across +the floor again, when just above them, there was a scuttering noise +on the wall. Something growled, low and guttural. Jed pulled back, +and a dark shadow peeled itself off the wall and snatched Chalky +right into the air. The boy gave a gasp of surprise as he rose +straight up above them. The others stood gaping upwards, in +attitudes of complete bewilderment. Chalky's white hair floated +above them in the dark.

+

"Did you see..." Votek asked, incredulity plain in his +voice.

+

Up on the wall, above their heads, the low rumbling growl +stuttered again. Chalky said "Oh," in a very small voice. There was +a crunching, tearing sound, a squeal of pain and then silence. +Something splashed on Jed's shoulder.

+

"What is it?" Votek demanded in a shaky voice, then, +uncharacteristically, he bawled out: "Chalky? Are you up +there."

+

Jed and Eddie were too stunned to move. It was as if time had +suddenly stopped dead. The warm smell of blood was thick in the +air. Votek took two steps forward, the rounded hat still strapped +to his head.

+

"Hey Chalkie. Quit messing about, eh?" He stood, looking up into +the shadows where there was some indistinct movement. "How did you +get up there."

+

Above him, the growling sound rolled out from the dark corner +again. Jed lunged forward, started to call a warning, when a shadow +moved down the wall with flickering speed. It elongated, stretched +as it surged out from the surface. It hit Votek such a blow that +the shiny plastic helmet was swiped clean off his head. It landed +ten yards away with a heavy thump.

+

Jed stood frozen. Everything happening too quickly, much too +quickly. His mind was trying to sort out the different messages his +senses were yelling at him. Votek was swaying on his feet. There +was something wrong with him, though in the gloom, Jed couldn't +make out what it was. Something blurted out from his friend and +splashed to the floor. In those shattering moments, he could hear +his own voice inside his head, repeating over and over again: +"Shouldn't have thumped. Shouldn't have thumped!"

+

Then it came to him with such a shock of realisation he nearly +dropped into a dead faint. The plastic hat would have clattered and +rattled. It wouldn't have landed with that heavy thud.

+

Adrenalin jolted through Jed's veins. Up above, the shadow +struck again, leaping off the wall. Votek was snatched forward +soundlessly.

+

Jed jumped back. He grabbed Eddie by the collar and hauled him +away, pulling him desperately towards the stack of shelves. Behind +them, he could hear the snuffling, grunting sound the shadow was +making. He didn't want to hear it, didn't want so see what could be +making such a noise. He did not want to know what kind of thing was +that looked like a shadow on the wall, but could reach out and +knock the head completely off Votek's shoulders and leave him +standing there in the aisles in his big toe-tector boots.

+

They made it to the far side. Jed started to scramble upwards, +arms and legs snatching for hand-holds, feeling the terror scream +though him. Below him, Eddie was standing, head down, both hands on +the first shelf. Despite his horror, Jed clambered down to the +floor.

+

"Come on, Eddie, it'll get us."

+

His pal turned to look at him, his face just a blur in the +dark.

+

"But..." he murmured. "But I don't see.."

+

Jed slapped his face with a resounding clap. Eddie's head +snapped backwards and hit off the angular upright.

+

"Come on, you stupid bastard," he hissed. "Get up there. Fuckin' +move!"

+

Eddie turned and began to climb like an automaton. Jed chivied +and shoved at him, forcing him up further, all the while expecting +something black to come snaking up from below to smash them off the +shelves like flies. They made it to the cross-beams and again Jed +had to keep pushing at Eddie to make him move. They reached the +skylight and Jed clambered out first, kicking the nearest bike out +of the way. He turned and reached for Eddie's hand, bent his legs +and heaved backwards. The other boy came on his belly over the +ledge. He got one leg out onto the roof, shoved with his elbows and +was bringing the other one out when his arms seemed to give way and +he flopped down onto the sloping surface with a thump.

+

"Oh," he said, just as Chalkie had done when he'd disappeared +into the dark.

+

"Come on Eddie, come on!" Jed bawled, not caring who +heard him. Every nerve in his body was singing with utter +dread.

+

Eddie tried to shove himself up. His face contorted with +exertion. It lifted up from the roof and faced towards Jed. His +eyes were opened so wide they looked as if they would roll out and +dangle on his cheeks. Even in the cold night air, Jed could see the +sudden and complete realisation in his friend's face.

+

"Oh, Jed. Oh Christ Jed, it's got me."

+

Jed stepped forward and grabbed Eddie's hand in both of his. His +panic was telling him to run, to get off the roof and away from +here and never stop running, but for some reason, he managed to +squash the instinct down. His friend was hanging over the lip and +it had got him.

+

"Come on Eddie," he cried, voice cracking. "Oh, please man. Come +on, son."

+

He heaved as hard as he could on Eddie's arm and something +heaved in the opposite direction with such sudden force that Jed +was almost catapulted right into the hole.

+

Eddie wailed.

+

"Oh Jed. Oh please. For fuck sake, Jed." All the words +came out in a liquid gurgle. Jed made a superhuman effort and his +friend came up six inches. Eddie's free hand scrabbled on the +corrugated metal of the roof, scratching like cat's claws. Then he +screamed.

+

The sound shattered the night. A huge, high and piercing +screech. like the night mail train going through the junction at +Bankside Road.

+

Jed almost let go.

+

There was a cracking sound from inside the lip of the skylight +and Eddie screeched again. Jed started crying, fingers hooked into +his pal's arm. Eddie looked up at him again and his face had gone a +sickly white.

+

"My fucking leg," he said, very dreamily. Then, without any +warning, there was an enormous jolt. Eddie's wrist slipped from +Jed's grasp and the boy went slithering back into the skylight.

+

The lone boy on the roof stood frozen, his mind unable to +comprehend what had happened. His hands and legs were shaking +uncontrollably and his breath was coming so fast his vision began +to swim.

+

He stood there, silent, shocked rigid, eyes wide, hair standing +on end.

+

And a dark shape hauled itself out of the skylight, scraping the +metal, growling so low it made the roof-plates shiver.

+

Suddenly something snapped inside the dark haired teenager. His +mind broke through on the other side of his terror. His hand +flashed up and hauled on the zipper of his jacket. He reached +inside and dragged out the drill.

+

"Right, you bastard. Come on."

+

He dived at the gaping hole on the roof just as something heavy +and oily black came scuttling out, limbs blurring fast. Jed jammed +his hand forward, squeezed the trigger and aimed the whirling bit +at shoulder height. Just as he did so, two enormous orange eyes +opened with a snap that was audible over the shriek of the drill. +His hand plunged forward and the whirling metal went straight into +the poisonous orb. Something popped. A foul stench belched out. +Liquid splashed onto Jed's hand and burned like acid, though he did +not feel it then. The black thing grunted, recoiled. A piece of +itself shot out and tried to grab at him, but the boy kept his arm +rigid and his finger hooked on the trigger.

+

The shape roared like a vast beast in a den, almost knocking the +boy off his feet with the ear-splitting blast of sound. It shook as +if it had been jolted with a million volts, almost breaking Jed's +arm. The drill whined and the foul mess splattered onto the front +of his jacket. The drill kept on shrieking and the thing snarled +and gurlgled and roared, now backing off, heaving itself away from +the biting metal. Filthy vapour had started to billow out from the +obsidian surface, as if it was evaporating in the night air. It +gave an almighty jerk. There was another pop as the twist of steel +came out from the eye and then the thing twisted, still roaring, +and disappeared back into the hole. Jed stood there, unable to move +for some seconds. Under his feet he could feel the whole building +vibrate like a bell as the thing, whatever it was, crashed along +the girders and battered against the walls. Down there in the dark, +it sounded as if the whole store was being wrecked.

+

Jed dropped the drill. Something was searing into the skin of +his hand. He turned and ran across the roof to the scaffolding on +the uncompleted building, scrambled down to ground level, then +raced for the road at the far end of the car park.

+

Halfway along Castlebank Street, he collapsed in the middle of +the road and was almost killed by old Wattie Dickson the newsagent +who was weaving his way home from Eastmains Bowling club. The old +fellow saw the blood all over the boy's jerkin and bundled him into +the back of the car. He reached Lochend Hospital in a commendable +twenty minutes, much faster than he'd ever believed his ancient +Wolseley car was capable of.

+

By the time Jed Galt was rushed into a cubicle on the casualty +ward, he was incoherent with shock. A young registrar gave him a +shot which should have put him to sleep in twenty seconds, but +seemed to have no effect whatsoever.

+

The boy with the badly burned hand and face and the blood-soaked +jacket kept screaming about a monster who had killed his friends. +The registrar suspected he'd taken one of the designer pills all +the youngsters were swallowing at discos these days. He gave him +another injection which did what the first was supposed to do and +then he began working on the burns. An hour later, while Jed Galt +was still unconscious, he was transferred to the plastic surgery +unit of a hospital on the north side of Glasgow where some of the +best medical men wondered just what had caused an acid burn that +had taken almost all the skin and muscle from the boy's hand, +leaving white and pitted bones exposed to the air.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike22.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike22.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98f6a46 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike22.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,639 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 22 + + + + +
+
+

22

+

"It's happening again."

+

"Eh?" Jack mumbled. "What time is it?"

+

He was half-way out of the seat, one arm stretched, fingers +fiddling for his watch on the side table. Papers were scattered on +his knees and at his feet. The room had gone cold since he'd dozed +off.

+

"I saw it." Lorna Breck's voice, all shaky and urgent. "It's +hunting again."

+

"Wait, hold on a minute. Slow down." He brought the watch up, +peered at the dial. It was nearly eleven. He'd only been asleep for +half an hour, sprawled in the chair, but he'd been down deep. The +jangling of the telephone had jarred him out of it, but he still +felt as though he was swimming for the surface of wakefulness. He +shook his head, tried to speak, but a yawn stretched out the first +word and made in incoherent. When it was spent, he tried again.

+

"Yeah. Go ahead."

+

"I saw it again." Lorna Breck blurted. "I wasn't asleep this +time and I saw it. It's killing people. Or it's going to +kill them."

+

Jack broke through the surface and came completely awake. Oddly +enough, his mind took a lateral step. And we'll find O'Day +tomorrow, was the first thing he thought. There was no point +in taking any chances, despite his scepticism of what Andy Toye +called the supra-normal. Lorna Breck was clean. He'd had +her checked out. Maybe, Jack thought, maybe she did get a buzz or a +twitch, or some sort of second sight, and if she did, he would use +it no matter what anybody said.

+

"Where?" he asked.

+

"I don't know," she said, talking fast. "In a big place. There +were echoes. It came down through a hole and got them. I can still +see it."

+

"What do you see?"

+

"A big square hole on the ground. There's something lying there. +Like a bike. Yes. It is a bike. It went down through +there. I can hear it, like an animal in a cave."

+

"What else can you see?" he asked, not taking the time to be +surprised at his own question.

+

"A cellar. Somewhere big and dark. There's shelves. It has one +of them. Two of them. Oh, there's blood all over, and the smell is +choking." She broke off and he heard a strangled cough, harsh and +metallic in the line."I can feel it's hunger. It hates them all. It +wants them all."

+

"What else?"

+

"There are two others. They're running away. Climbing back up on +the shelves. I can feel their fear. Oh, they're terrified. They +know it will get them. They're going up towards the hole. One of +them is crying and the other is pushing him. Oh, Mr Fallon, they're +only boys."

+

There was a dead silence. Jack was about to urge her on. Lorna +sounded as if she was talking in her sleep, or giving a scene by +scene account of a war atrocity. He could hear the emotion squeeze +at her voice.

+

"Now, he's outside. I can hear his feet. Like drums. The other +one is coming. It's right behind him. Oh my. Oh no. He +can't get out."

+

She broke off again, but her breathing continued, rasping and +panicky.

+

"Lorna, keep talking," Jack ordered.

+

"It has him. The other one is trying to pull him out. But it has +him. I can see his face. His eyes are looking at me. He +knows."

+

Then she wailed right into Jack's ear.

+

"Oh, please no. Oh god. It's pulling him down. He can't hold on. +He's crying. The pain in his leg. It's tearing him apart."

+

Jack was struck silent with the intensity of her running +commentary. There was no doubt in his mind that she believed what +she was seeing. On the other end of the line, the girl whimpered. +He could picture her, eyes tight closed as she held on to the +vision no matter what the cost.

+

"It's coming now for the other one," she said softly, almost +eerily slow. "I can see it coming out."

+

"What does he look like?"

+

"It's black. You can't see it properly. Just a shadow, but it +moves. Like a spider. It's reaching for the boy. He is stepping +towards it. Oh, please!" Her cry soared up an octave and almost +deafened Jack. "Get back. Get away! Its eyes. Don't look in +its eyes." This came out in a screech.

+

Another pause, then she started again. "There's something in his +hand. Like a gun. It makes a noise. It's..."

+

Another silence. "..in its eye. He's hurt it. It's snarling. The +boy, he hurt it. And it's hurt him. On his hand."

+

Jack heard the sharp intake of breath. "Now it's going back. +He's beat it and it's getting away. He's got to go. It will come +back. It will come for him. I can feel it."

+

Then she screamed at the top of her voice: "Run. Run +away. For God's sake run!"

+

The cry was long and drawn out and rang in Jack's ears so loudly +his hand jerked the receiver away from the side of his head. When +he pulled it back, there was nothing but silence.

+

"Lorna?"

+

The silence continued for a while, then he heard her +breathing.

+

"Lorna? Are you all right?" It was a stupid question and he knew +it.

+

"Hold on. I'll come over. I'll be there in ten minutes."

+

He clattered the receiver down on the cradle, brushed the rest +of the papers onto the floor and shoved himself out of the seat. He +was still wearing the clothes he'd had on all day and his hair was +standing up in corkscrews, but he had no time to notice or care. He +hauled his shoes on then reached for his coat which was still slung +over the back of the other chair and shrugged his arms into the +sleeves. A minute later he was easing out of the narrow drive and +down Cargill Farm Road, heading for the other side of town. A harsh +rime of frost had opaqued his windscreen and the wipers at full +strength fought a game but futile battle to scrape it away, though +there was just enough of a clear space above the wheel to let him +see out. He shot a red light at the bottom of the hill where the +road crossed over the through-town carriageway and gunned down +towards Strathleven Street.

+

He had to knock on the door several times before Lorna Breck +replied, asking tremulously who was there. The locks clicked and +she opened the door a fraction. He saw one eye peer out then she +opened the door fully. Her face was so white the smattering of +freckles looked as if they were painted on, and she held a dressing +gown tight round her as if huddled for warmth. He stepped into the +house and as he went past her, the girl swayed and she started to +droop as if the last of he strength had gone. He turned quickly, +got an arm around her waist and held her upright. Against him he +could feel the shivery vibration of her body, like a top guitar +string wound up close to snapping point.

+

He eased her into the room, sat her down, then without a word, +went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. In the two +minutes it took for it to boil, she said nothing at all. He made +two cups of instant, spooned plenty of sugar in both, then took +them through and made her drink one of them, holding the cup for +her because her hands were shaking so violently she would have +scalded herself. He waited patiently, sitting in the opposite +armchair that he'd pulled across until their knees were almost +touching, until she'd finished the drink, sipping his own coffee in +alternate shifts. It did him some good and seemed to be helping +her.

+

Finally, he put both cups down and leaned forward.

+

"You're alright now," he said, wondering where to start. "You're +safe."

+

"Nobody's safe," she said flatly. Her grey eyes swivelled up +towards him, glistening in the light of the side lamp. "Not until +they kill it. I don't know if anybody can."

+

He took her through what she'd said she'd seen, and despite her +reluctance, her repugnance, she went over it, again and again. One +thing he knew for certain. If the killer had struck tonight, she +had the perfect alibi.

+

"I don't know when, and I don't know where," she said.

+

"I saw it on the top of the roof with something in its hands. It +happened on the night before they found the dead man hanging from +the rope. It threw him off. It just hit him and hurled him away. I +now think I saw it when it happened."

+

She drew in her breath in a stutter, the way small children do +when they've been crying. "But when I saw it on River Street, that +was before it took the baby. I just don't understand it. +There's no reason why it's me who sees these things, and I +don't want any of this."

+

"Take it easy," Jack said as soothingly as he could.

+

"I can't," she snapped back. "It's killing me too." She looked +up at him again, wide eyes brimming, and toughed her hand to the +centre of her chest. "Killing me in here."

+

He leaned forward and took both of her hands into his, kneading +them gently. They were soft, and despite her shivering, +surprisingly warm. But as soon as he touched her, she jerked back +as if she'd handled a live wire. Her eyes snapped wide open and she +drew in her breath in a sharp gasp.

+

"What's the matter now?" he asked, alarmed, wondering if he'd +hurt her.

+

The girl's mouth opened and closed dumbly. No sound came out. +She looked as though she was taking some kind of seizure. She held +that pose for several seconds, looking like somebody kicked in the +belly, before her breath came back. She let it out in a long, slow +exhalation.

+

"Are you alright?" he asked again. She shook her head, very +slowly, then raised her eyes up to him. They were huge and the +swimming tears spilled out and onto her cheeks.

+

"She felt no pain," Lorna said softly. Her hands clasped tightly +on Jack's fingers.

+

"Pardon?" he asked, perplexed.

+

"The little girl. There was no hurt, no pain. There was no +time."

+

"What do you mean?"

+

"I saw it. I don't know why and I don't know how." The whole +tone of her voice had changed. Now there was no fear there, only a +gentle compassion. "It was your daughter, wasn't it?"

+

Jack's heart dropped into his belly. He could feel the skin +crawl eerily on his back.

+

"I don't understand," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral. +The girl kept her eyes fixed on his, face placid behind the +sparkling lines of her tears.

+

"You've blamed yourself for not being there. You keep seeing her +over and over again. But it was not your fault. It was too quick +for her and she felt no pain. Your wife and your daughter, they are +at peace. I know it. You can let them rest."

+

"How on earth..." he blurted, but she squeezed his hands in a +strange reversal of roles.

+

"I don't know how. When I touched you, I could see it. +I saw what you see, but there was more. I could feel them. I +can feel them."

+

She smiled at him, very gently and the pinched, harried look was +gone. In that brief second, she was beautiful.

+

"They are with you, and forever. Not in pain and anguish, but in +love. I can see them smiling at you."

+

It was her turn to lean forward.

+

"They want you to forgive yourself. I can feel the heat of their +love and the strength of their peace."

+

Jack tried to pull away, horrified at the emotions which were +twisting inside him, but she held onto him with surprising +strength.

+

"I don't know how, and I don't know why," she said softly, but +insistently. "Something has happened to me, something terrible. I +see all these dreadful things and they frighten me because I know +they are true and they are happening. But now I can see other +things as well."

+

She leaned back and drowned him with her eyes.

+

"If there is a bad, then there must also be a good, I +think."

+

"But it can't be possible," Jack said. He felt as if he'd been +hit a dull blow to the side of his head.

+

"I don't know what is possible. I've got this curse, but maybe +part of it is a miracle. Maybe, if you help me to be brave, I can +help you."

+

Jack sat there, transfixed by the small slim girl with the +lilting voice, completely thrown off balance. He didn't know what +to think. She was either completely crazy or he was. And the crazy +thing about it was, he wanted to believe she was completely sane. +Because that would mean that everything she said was true.

+
+

The last train pulled in from the city at eleven thirty. Kenny +McIntyre, the one-man stationmaster, ticket-collector and +occasionally porter, was down in the Horse Bar having a drink to +drown his woes. His wife Isobel had told him she was three months +pregnant and that was the last thing he'd wanted to hear. The odd +thing about it was that he could not remember having done it with +her for a while. She'd had a severe case of leg-lock for months as +far as he could recall, and he'd wondered about the possibility +that she might have found another man. Kenny, bull-necked, red +haired and pot-bellied, had dismissed the notion. She was stuck up +in the flat in Loch View all day. There was no opportunity for her +to be getting a leg under anybody else, and anyway, she had never +been that adventurous in bed. He eventually assumed that he'd +knocked her up one night after a couple of hours and several beers +in the pub. Maybe he couldn't remember, but he wished he had. He +wondered how it had been for him. He also wondered how he was going +to cope with a squawling kid in the tiny flat. That was going to +make life hell, and it was just as well he was on the night shift. +His late hours also meant that he missed the violence of Isobel's +morning sickness, which was a blessing. Of the hirsute and +surprisingly athletic man from Housemarket Supplies, he knew +nothing, even though she was still inviting him into the house and +into her body every week.

+

The train came in, but Kenny stayed in the bar. At this time on +a Wednesday night, there would be few passengers, not enough to +worry about the odd one or two who might have skipped on a train +without a ticket. There would be no inspectors to wonder about why +he wasn't at his stall. The floor of the bar vibrated as the train +pulled away. A few minutes later, two young men with wearing +football colours came staggering in, happy as larks, each holding +the other upright. Obviously their team had won a midweek fixture. +Despite their condition, the barman let them have a drink. Kenny +McIntyre ordered another whisky and sat alone at the end of the +bar, cursing his luck.

+

Up at the station, raised thirty feet above the road, Sandra +Mitchell and Walter Dickson, whose grandfather ran the newsagents +shop on River Street sat in the waiting room, entwined in each +other's arms.They'd been kissing non-stop during the thirty-minute +journey and had failed to notice the prim and elderly woman sitting +opposite who had glared at them in reproof the whole time. They +only came up for air when the train had stopped at Levenford and +they had only just made it onto the platform before the doors +scissored shut. It was a freezing night and in the cold air, their +breath clouded out in front of them. Walter guided the girl into +the waiting room, an old, red-brick building with a dirty fireplace +which hadn't been lit in years and a stained wall the colour of +bile which was hieroglyphed with graffiti. He pulled her down onto +a slatted seat and jammed his mouth on hers, sliding his hand +inside her coat and cupping his palm round the yielding warmth of +her breast. She gave a little moan, squirmed in half-hearted +protest, then pushed herself against the pressure. The Lochend +train came in ten minutes later, a clatter of sound and a flicker +of passing lights as it headed, empty, back to the terminus.

+

Walter's hand eased out from the warmth and sneaked down to her +knee. Without hesitation he brought it up the inside of her thigh, +feeling he smooth nylon slide under his fingers. The girl +stiffened, closed her legs and trapped his fingers. She pulled +away.

+

"No, Wattie. Not here."

+

"But there's nowhere else to go," he protested. She had three +brothers and a sister and parents who would kick up a stink if they +thought she'd let Walter Dickson near her. He was an only child of +parents who went to church every Sunday and would bring hell and +damnation down on his head at the merest hint of anything +pre-marital, and anyway, they did not approve of young Walter's +choice of girlfriend.

+

"But we're still not doing it," she said sharply.

+

"I've got something," Walter responded earnestly.

+

"I don't care. Somebody might come." She wriggled away from him +and stood up to adjust her clothes. Inside she could feel the need +begin to burgeon, but if she did it with Walter, then she wanted it +to be nice, not on a slatted bench in a filthy waiting room which +smelled of stale piss and smoke, and for some reason, freshly +peeled oranges. He got to his feet and pulled her against him. She +could feel him hard against her belly and the desire flared.

+

"No. Not here," she protested, but it came out weakly, almost a +whine."

+

"Where then? We could go to Billy's."

+

Billy was Walter's cousin, who lived in Miller Road, only two +down from where young Neil Kennedy's family were existing in miasma +of grief and fading hope. He had a flat with a little box room. +There was a possibility he'd let them in there for an hour.

+

"I don't know. I'd be embarrassed."

+

"Don't worry. He'd never say anything. Billy's always got girls +in there."

+

She needed some more persuasion, so he kissed her again and slid +his hand inside the coat again, fumbling for the nipple. She +stiffened against him, making little undulating motions with her +hips. When he thought he'd worked at it enough he pulled back, +still kneading with his right hand.

+

"How about it," he said thickly.

+

"Alright," she whispered back, voice now hitching with the +rising urge. He have her a quick hug that told her she'd made the +right decision and they walked out of the waiting room onto the +deserted stand. They made their way to where the exit ramp dived +down in the centre of the raised area, between the two tracks. Out +in the dark in the west, a train clattered in the distance. The +couple were about to walk down the slope when a shadowy figure came +towards them along the platform. Sandra heard the scrape of +footfalls and twisted round, still holding on to Walter.

+

"What's that?"

+

Walter turned. A man was walking slowly, dragging his feet on +the concrete close to the edge. He stumbled, caught his balance and +came on.

+

"Just a drunk," Walter said. "Couldn't bite his finger by the +look of him."

+

The stranger came closer, lurching from side to side. They could +hear him muttering to himself. Behind them the train rumbled louder +as it crossed the bridge.

+

The man came staggering towards them and Sandra shrank back. +Walter eased her to the side, leading her towards the exit.

+

"Nowhere else," the stranger mumbled, weaving awkwardly. He +looked as if he was blind. His coat flapped behind him and his +clothes looked several sizes too large. His face was gaunt and +haggard. "Can't stop it. Nowhere else to go. Bastard."

+

He lunged up towards the boy and girl, pale face agape.

+

"Bastard was in me." The words came out in a blurt. +"Dirty now. Nothing left."

+

"Get away," Walter said. He held a hand up and pushed the weird +stranger away. The man didn't even seem to notice. It was as if he +hadn't even seen them.

+

"Don't want to," he slobbered. "Don't want to do it." He +stopped, swayed.

+

"Can't stop it. Nowhere else to go. Bastard."

+

The train came roaring across the bridge with a rythmic clatter +of wheels, the night mail from Mallaig away up in the north, +nearing the end of its run down through mountains and moors on the +West Highland Line.

+

In the cab of the diesel, Tom Middleton was leaned against the +window, peering ahead through the viewhole, one brawny hand curled +on the dead man's handle. The lights of the station hove into view. +It was close to midnight and the lights were all on green as they +should be. On the mid-day run, if he was driving, he'd hit the +whistle to let the train scream through, but at night, it was +against the rules, unless he spotted something on the track. The +first lights of the platform flickered past, then something black +fluttered right in front of the train. There was a very muffled +flump and something flew past the window. A high scream +sounded mutely then dopplered away as the train thundered past the +station. The engine was well beyond the east slope of the platform +by the time Tom reacted. He lifted his hand from the lever and the +brakes bit. He could feel the wheels grind against the track, his +whole body thrown forward against the plate and the cabin was +filled by the screeching sound of distressed metal. The train +shuddered on, the carriages slamming against the buffers and +careered in ever slowing progression as far as the automated signal +box, almost a quarter of a mile along the track.

+

The scarecrow man had reeled away when Walter had pushed him, +oblivious to his surroundings. He turned and they got a look at his +face. It was completely devoid of expression, the slack, sagged +face of a dead man. The night train had come thundering into the +light behind him and an odd grimace had contorted the man's +face.

+

His eyes opened wide and his wet mouth had closed. He turned +away from them and took two faltering steps forward. The noise of +the train was almost deafening, but Sandra clearly heard the man +shout.

+

"No. I don't want... "

+

And then he was running forward on the edge, too close to the +lip. He leapt out over the track, both hands stretched out at his +sides like a figure on a crucifix and the train smashed into him +with a sickening sound.

+

Walter's hot desire collapsed. Sandra's urge evaporated in that +single second.

+

Everything happened in slow motion. The man was in the act of +leaping, coat flapping behind him, his white hands out as if to +embrace a lover. The train caught him full on the body. Something +flew off and tumbled into the air, whirling over their heads. The +stranger was thrown forward right into the air. They followed his +progress in the fragment of time it took for the train to rocket +past. He was up over the platform, tumbling and twisting like +nothing human, like a bunch of rags, then he was down. The huge +wheels whirred on and over. They couldn't possibly have heard +anything, but both of them later swore that when the wheels ran +over him, there was a crunching sound. They heard it in their +dreams for weeks after that.

+

The train crashed onwards with a rumble-and-thump as the wheels +racketted on the joins.

+

"Jesus fu..." Walter said. He took a step forward, another two +steps back, then went round in a complete circle, still holding on +to the girl who was completely rigid, both hands up at her face. +Above them, something thumped onto the sloping roof. He looked up +in time to see an object strike the old gutter then tumble to the +ground. It hit the concrete with a solid thud.

+

"Did you see..." Walter began again. He turned to Sandra who was +still standing motionless, mouth open, eyes bugging out. "He just +jumped. Jeez... He bloody well..."

+

Sandra slowly started to move, like a sleepwalker coming out of +a dream. Her hands turned, thumbs out, palms up and she swivelled +her head towards Walter. He was still doing his weird little dance +of complete and utter indecision when he finally spoke.

+

"Blood. It's his blood," she whispered incredulously.

+

Walter took a step towards her. Her hands were still out, but +they were shaking violently as if she had a severe case of palsy. +She slowly brought them down and showed them to Walter. They were +red with blood. Then she looked at her sleeves and the front of her +coat. There were huge splatters all down one side. On her shoulder, +there was a thick red gobbet of something the same colour, but +which didn't look like blood at all.

+

"Walter," she whimpered. "Oh, Walter, I'm covered in +blood."

+

He seemed to snap out of his indecision. He reached out and took +her by the arm, not wanting to get too close to all the blood, not +realising that the side of his coat was also saturated. He pulled +her away from the platform, turning her round to go down the ramp +to the exit, feeling the nerves kick and jitter behind his knees. +He just wanted away from there. She allowed herself to be led +meekly, still holding her hands out. They went round the pillar at +the end of the barrier. The thing that had fallen from the roof was +lying at their feet. He looked down and looked away before it +registered, but Sandra's senses were tuned right up to perfect +pitch. She stopped dead, mumbled something, then fainted clean +away. He caught her just before she hit the ground, bending down to +scoop her flopping weight up into his arms. When he was still +crouched, his face was only two feet from the pale hand which lay +palm up, fingers half-curled, still inside the torn sleeve of coat. +In that instant of time, when the whole world had taken on the +peculiar sluggishness and everything had gained the sharpness of +supernatural clarity, he noticed the little bird on the end of the +second hand, walking round the rim of the watch still strapped to +the bony wrist.

+

"Woodstock," he said, very clearly, though he could not remember +the name of the dog in the baseball cap whose face was printed on +the flat dial. He lifted the girl into a carry-hold and walked down +the ramp, through the tunnel and out into the street. He made it +across to the Horse Bar, shouldered the door open, put the girl +down on the bench seat nearest the door, turned round to speak, and +vomited the pizza with anchovies she'd paid for after the +cinema.

+

The two drunks at the bar turned round and gawped stupidly.

+

"He's had enough," one said to the other, and they both +dissolved into a helpless fit of giggling.

+
+

Jack Fallon was in a state of complete confusion when he left +Lorna Breck's house an hour after midnight. He was nonplussed, +baffled, bamboozled. His mind was reeling from conviction to +uncertainty and back to convinced certainty. He had to go and sit +in the car for five minutes before he felt clear-headed enough to +drive.

+

Their roles had reversed without any warning. She had been in a +state of complete panic, bordering on collapse. Her whole body had +been trembling and her face was slack and drained. Then he'd held +her hands and it was if something had jolted between then and sent +a shock wave through her nerves. When she'd started to speak, her +voice had lost its brittle edge and she'd spoken to him like a +mother comforting a child.

+

"I knew there was something when I first saw you," she said. I +didn't realise what it was. When you helped me in the street, I +sensed something, but it felt like danger, like death. That's why I +couldn't speak. I was so scared. I thought you were a part of +it."

+

"Part of what?"

+

"Of what's happening in this town," Lorna said, still holding +his hands tightly.

+

"But I am part of it," he said wearily. There were too many +things going in. He felt like a circuit that was in danger of +overloading. Thoughts were sparking and jumping, half formed, hard +to catch. "I want to stop it."

+

"I know. I know now. But then I sensed something terrible from +you, just for a second, but when you helped me into the shop, you +were so gentle that I knew it couldn't be you."

+

"I don't understand any of this," he admitted.

+

"Me neither, but I'm trying to," Lorna said earnestly. "I really +am. I can't help any of this. My granny said I had a better gift +than her because I was a seventh child."

+

"You've got family?"

+

"Four brothers. There were two more, twins, but they died at +birth."

+

"I've heard all that about seventh children. I don't believe +it."

+

"And neither do I. But I have to believe in this, because I +can't escape from it. It's as if something is locked in to my head, +like a radar or something. I didn't realise until the fire that I'd +been seeing it before."

+

"Before what?"

+

"Before the fire. Those terrible dreams, really awful ones. I +kept seeing those people in a room, all of them around a table. Not +good people, sick folk. They were doing something and I +didn't know what it was, but I knew it was wrong. Then the room +went dark and something came."

+

"Something came?" Jack realised he was repeating the last words +of her sentences too often.

+

"That's the only way I can describe it. Something came into the +room in the dark. They brought it. They called it up. I don't know +what they did, or how they did it, but they called it up and it was +inside them. It was cold, terribly cold, like ice inside them, +because they had opened themselves up and called it."

+

"And then what happened?"

+

"It's a bad thing. Evil. They didn't know what it was, and I +don't either. But it came out and I could feel the bad in it. It +was like sin. It was dark and the thing came and everybody started +screaming and it was coming to get me and I was screaming too and +we fled down the stairs."

+

"Can you describe this place?"

+

"An old room. There were lots of ornaments and there was an old +woman. She was small, with a funny accent, like German or +something. They all took the cards off the table first and then +they put their hands on a stone and the wind came blowing through +them all and they brought the thing in to them."

+

In his mind's eye, Jack saw a group of people round the table at +Marta Herkik's home. Was that how it started. As soon as he thought +that, he realised he was starting to believe what the girl said, +then realised he'd already started to believe it before now.

+

"And what you said before, about me. Where does that come +from?"

+

"I don't know. It was like when I held hands with poor Agnes. It +was like part of her came in to me and then I could see it. Her +children were dying and I could feel the fear and pain. I could see +it there too."

+

"You're saying this thing was there?"

+

She nodded placidly, eyes still fixed intently on his. "I didn't +know then, but I'm sure now. That was one of the first times I'd +seen it. It was just a shadow, but it was moving among the smoke. +The baby saw it and she started to scream."

+

"So why didn't you mention this before?"

+

"I thought I was dreaming. I didn't know what I was seeing. And +anyway, who would have believed me? I didn't even believe it +myself."

+

"And what you said, about my girl?"

+

"I don't know how that happens either, but it happens. It's from +you. It's like you've got this big charge stored up inside you, +like a battery. That's what it felt like, what it feels like +now."

+

She squeezed his hands in hers. The touch was warm and +gentle.

+

"There's a big dam in your heart. You know it too. All the +pressure has built up because you can't let the sorrow out. You've +a good heart Mr Fallon."

+

"Jack," he said, almost automatically. It was impossible to sit +in front of this girl with her rumpled dressing gown, holding his +hand, and having her call him mister.

+

"I know," she said, with a hint of a smile. "You've a good +heart, Jack. It's the only good thing I've felt for a long time. +But you have to let the pain go, and let them be at peace."

+

"Tell me, then," he said slowly. He suddenly felt very +vulnerable, like a child faced with shadows in the night.

+

She closed her eyes, and stroked her thumbs down the space +between his own thumbs and fingers. Her brow furrowed in +concentration.

+

"Guilt," she finally said in a whisper. "Guilt and pain. The +pain is yours. Jewellery. I see jewellery."

+

"Jewellery?" he repeated automatically.

+

"Yes. No jewels. Sparkly jewels, all bright."

+

Jack's heart kicked over slowly.

+

"Jules. Sparkly jewels. I wrote that on her birthday card," he +said, voice catching. "Her name was Julie."

+

"And your wife. I see sunshine. You called her that?"

+

"Her name was Rae."

+

She frowned harder. "You have a picture in your head. You've +carried it around with you all the time and you take it out and +show it to yourself. But it's a trick. It's not real."

+

Lorna's voice rose. "It's not true. You could not have helped +them. Nobody could. They didn't see it coming. And then there was +nothing at all, only peace. They are at peace now, and you can let +them go."

+

Jack's heart did another lazy lurch inside his chest, as if it +had held itself still and then did a double beat at once.

+

"They want you to be happy," Lorna said. "It's true. I trust you +Jack Fallon. You trust me."

+

Close on to one o'clock in a bitterly cold night, Jack gunned +the car up the hill the whole the length of Clydeshore Avenue, +heading under the bare, spreading sycamores. He reached the top, +changed gear and sped down the slope, past the old cemetery. The +river mist lay in layers, like the set of an old horror film, +oozing round the ancient tombstones on the other side of the wall. +Jack was going too fast. On the turn, his back tyre slithered on +black ice and he felt the rear swing out. He drove into it, headed +for the brick wall on the river side of Keelyard Road, then the +tyres bit and he fishtailed the car back on to the straight before +he slowed down on the dark road and stopped the engine. His heart +was beating much too fast.

+

"Christ," he breathed. His stomach had gone all shivery in the +aftermath of the adrenalin hit. "I must be off my head," he said to +himself.

+

He sat for a moment, started the engine, drove for twenty yards +and a picture of little Julie's face came swimming out of the dark +and danced in front of his eyes. She was smiling at him. The memory +was hop-skipping on a sunny street, far from this chill winter, +holding her mother's hand. He'd last seen them like that down on +the shore, picking up shells. The vision was so strong that he +almost waved to them. They were not lying in pools of blood, +writhing in agony, cursing him for not being there, for not helping +them.

+

They were smiling at him on a sunny day.

+

It was the first time since they'd gone that he's seen them like +that in his mind.

+

He stamped on the brake and switched the engine off. The picture +faded from the forefront of his mind and Jack Fallon leaned his +head down on his arms. He screwed his eyes up against the smarting +of sudden tears, holding himself tight. He sat there for a long +time, seeing the street-lights through a wavery film as the pain +and anguish and sorrow he'd held back, dammed up for all those +years suddenly breached the walls, and flooded out.

+

Some time after that, the headlamps of his car came on again, +picking out the filigree of the winter mist and his car came slowly +over the old bridge and back into the centre of the town.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike23.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike23.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f90466c --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike23.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,263 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 23 + + + + +
+
+

23

+

The station was awash with light when Jack got there. One of the +patrol cars shot out of the exit, blue light flashing, though its +siren was switched off. Jack parked quickly, went in the back door, +and headed straight for the washroom where he splashed cold water +on his face until he felt as if he could face people again.

+

"You look as if you've got flu," Bobby Thomson said when he +leaned over the desk. "Your eyes are all red."

+

"Must be an allergy," Jack replied, forcing a grin. "Pollen or +something." Policemen didn't cry, and if they ever did, other +policemen were the last folk to understand. "What's happening +now?"

+

"I was about to call you. You must be a mind-reader or +something."

+

"What?" Bobby Thomson's words immediately brought back a picture +of Lorna Breck's earnest and gentle face.

+

"You coming in tonight. There's been another one"

+

"What a snatch?"

+

"No. Some nutter's been smeared by the mail train. Looks like a +suicide. There's an ambulance heading round to the station, but the +word is it's a hamburger job."

+

"Bobby," Jack said, with mock severity. "A bit of decorum." The +sergeant grinned. He'd seen it all in thirty years.

+

The station was two minutes away, and it was quicker to walk +than drive. As he turned out of the rear entrance of the station, +Jack could see the electric wink of the emergency cars. He crossed +the road, walked quickly to the old tunnel entrance and headed up +the ramp.

+

Bobby Thomson had been right. It was indeed a hamburger job. +Jack hoped that there was enough left of the body on the line to +make identification possible, though it did not look as if it would +be easy.

+

The ambulance teams were down on the tracks. One policeman was +retching drily over the bannister of the exit-slope. He turned +round and Jack recognised young Gordon Pirie who'd thrown up down +at the Castle when they'd found Annie Eastwood's corpse and had to +be given a day off duty. He wasn't having a pleasant introduction +to policing.

+

"Two witnesses," the rookie's partner said. "Sandra Mitchell and +Walter Dickson. They said the man jumped in front of the train. +They're still in the Horse Bar. Somebody's coming to take them +round to the station for statements. Driver didn't see a thing. +They're sending down a replacement to take the engine away when +we're finished. Looks like it'll need a good hose down."

+

Jack strode to the edge of the platform. Somebody had rigged a +light and the white beam picked out everything in detail. The +broken, slumped figure did not look like a man. The coat was spread +out on either side, with a wide rip from hem to shoulder, and it +glistened wetly under the lights. What Jack assumed to be a leg was +pointed in the wrong direction, slanted over the man's chest, one +shoeless foot resting on his shoulder. The face was a ruin of white +bone and dark blood.

+

"Bet his name's O'Day," Jack said. One of the men on the track +turned up from the body.

+

"Don't think so sir. We've got his wallet. Says he's a Derek +Elliot. He's that bloke who runs the estate agents, according to +his cards."

+

Instantly Jack recalled what Andy Toye had said. The words on +the wall could have been an anagram. Andy had that kind of +lateral-thinking mind. He'd suggested he should be looking for +people whose names began with the two missing letters, although the +professor had been quick to point out it was only an idea.

+

"Elliot," Jack said through clenched teeth.

+

If Andy Toye was right, the next man had to be +O'Day.

+

The policemen on the track, helped by the ambulance team, +managed get the mess of the body into a bag, and hauled it onto the +platform just as Ralph Slater came running breathlessly up the +subway ramp.

+

"Sorry, chief. Just got the call." he said, gasping. He was +toting his black scene-of-crimes equipment case.

+

"I think we got the sixth one?"

+

"Huh?"

+

"From the Herkik case," Jack said softly, keeping it between +them. "Looks like he took a dive in front of the Mallaig +express."

+

"Did a human Garfield?" Ralph asked. Jack grimaced.

+

"Got that one from John McColl," Ralph said, grinning. "He's got +a way with words. Despite himself, Jack felt a smile struggle +through at the visual image the phrase conjured up.

+

"I'll speak to the driver. You confirm the I.D. and get prints." +he turned away then came back to Ralph. "That might help," he said, +pointing down at the dirty concrete close to the station wall. The +young policeman was just levering himself upright when he turned +and saw where Jack was pointing. Immediately he doubled over the +safety barrier, sides convulsing in spastic heaves.

+

"He'll turn himself inside out," Ralph said. He walked forward +and picked up the hand which still lay palm up.

+

"Remarkable," Ralph called over. "His watch is still going."

+

The young policeman moaned sickly.

+

Tom Middleton had nothing helpful to say. His face had lost all +its colour and he'd the look of a man who's woken up to find a +corpse and a bloodstained knife lying beside him. Anybody would +have thought he'd made the train jump the tracks and had gone, +hauling on the steam whistle, chasing after the man to grind him +under the wheels. He kept shaking his head as if denying what had +happened. One of the ambulancemen gave him something to drink and +the engine driver spilled most of it on the way to his mouth.

+

"I saw him before he hit but I didn't know what it was," the man +said. "It was only something black. Honest, I couldn't have stopped +it. Damned thing takes three hundred yards at only thirty."

+

"Did he jump?" on the policeman was asking.

+

"Must have. Never saw anybody else. The whole train's in a mess. +I thought he might have still been stuck there, but he must have +gone under."

+

The driver kept shaking his head in disbelief while the +policeman took notes, then he seemed to come round a little and he +grabbed the other man by the sleeve of his tunic.

+

"I've only got three weeks to go before I retire. I never had an +accident in forty year, not one. I got certificates to prove +it."

+

"Yes sir," the policeman said patiently, easing his arm away, +but Tom grabbed it and pulled it close, unaware of what he was +doing.

+

"So why did the bastard pick my train?"

+

"I can't honestly say," the constable said civilly. He didn't +take offence, at least not while his superiors were watching.

+

Jack pulled his coat tight against the cold and went down the +subway, crossed the road and into to the Horse Bar where a young +woman constable sat with her arm round a younger girl who was +snuffling into a crumpled tissue. Beside her, a boy of eighteen or +so with short cut hair slicked back with gel, was staring into the +far distance just above the table.

+

He sat down and introduced himself. The boy nodded dumbly. The +girl sobbed steadily, and for a second he was reminded of Lorna +Breck, only an hour before. "Give us some coffees across here," he +called out to the barman who was leaning against the gantry, +boredly cleaning a glass.

+

"We're shut," the skinny fellow called back. His hair was as +black as Jack's, but it hung down in lank strings over his +forehead.

+

Jack got up and walked to the bar. He put both hands on the +surface and leaned across, towering over the man.

+

"I've got no time for any lip, and I'm in no mood for backchat," +he said, staring down into the barman's eyes. "Get some coffees. +Now. And make it snappy." The man nodded. Jack went back to the +seated group. The small man man shrugged and hit the button on the +coffee maker.

+

The boy was quite lucid when he spoke, but his voice had the +shaky hesitation which is quite normal in people who are in +shock.

+

"I thought he was drunk," he said. "He came along the platform, +mumbling away. He looked as if he was on drugs. All starey-eyed and +that. He came right up to us and I pushed him away. He was scaring +Sandra."

+

"You pushed him?"

+

"Yes. But not hard. He was saying something."

+

"Like what?"

+

"He kept swearing. Saying 'bastard'."

+

"At you?"

+

"I don't think so. I think he was talking to himself. Then he +said he didn't want to do it."

+

"That was exactly it?" Jack asked. The boy nodded.

+

" 'Bastard was in me,' that's what he said an' all. Said he was +dirty now."

+

Jack took a note of that. It didn't make much sense, but it +seemed important.

+

"Than what?"

+

"Then he shoved past us. The train was just coming into the +station. He didn't even stop, he ran out and jumped right in front +of it. Jeez-o, you should have seen it. He went right up in the air +and a bit of him came off. His hand. I saw it. Then he went down +and the wheels went right over him. Sandra here just fainted. I had +to carry her down."

+

The barman brought the coffee across and set them down with a +surly clatter. Jack spooned sugar into the four cups and shoved two +of them across to the girl and the woman constable who nodded her +head and gave him a grateful smile. Walter picked up and started to +sip.

+

"What's that wee dog called in Charley Brown?" he asked +vaguely.

+

"Snoopy," the policewoman said.

+

"That was it. He was wearing a Snoopy watch, with the wee bird +walking round the edges. It was still going. Even when his hand was +off, it was still going."

+

Big tears welled up in the boy's eyes and the girl started to +cry again, great racking sobs that looked as if they would take a +while to subside. The woman pulled her close, letting her lean +against her uniform and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

+

The mangled and eviscerated body was finally carried own to the +ambulance. The ticket collector asked Ralph what he should do about +the mess on the lines.

+

"Put some sand down," was the only advice he could offer.

+

Back at the station mortuary, Ralph had the grizzly job of +taking prints from the fingers of the dead man, including the five +on the hand, now a pale grey, still in its sleeve. By the time Jack +came back, it was getting on to two in the morning, and by then +Ralph could confirm that yes, the suicide had laid prints all over +Marta Herkik's table.

+

"So now we have to find O'Day," Jack said. Send a team of people +round to this guy's place. Usual statements from relatives and +search the house for anything that will give us another +connection."

+

"Do you know what's going on?"

+

"I'm getting close," Jack admitted.

+

"Want to let me in on it?"

+

Jack looked down at Ralph, who, at six feet was a few inches +shorter, though in his old tweed jacket and thick herringbone coat +he looked almost as broad.

+

"I do, but I can't. You'd never believe me."

+

Ralph gave him a searching look. "I suppose it's got something +to do with the Breck girl? Is she starting to talk sense?"

+

"She might be, but whether it really makes sense is anybody's +guess."

+

Jack walked off and went to his office where he stood staring at +a map of the town. After a while, he picked up the internal phone +and dialled Bobby Thomson's number. There were sixteen men on night +duty, plus the ones who were still out on the beat, and Jack +realised, that wasn't enough. He'd get operations to call them with +instructions, and in the morning he'd fax a request to headquarters +in for extra men. The policemen trooped in to the operations room +and after a scuffling of chairs, sat attentively.

+

"I've a feeling it might strike tonight," he said. He did have a +feeling that it would, though he had an even nastier feeling, +worse, a near-certainly, that it had already struck, after +listening to Lorna Breck's anguished voice on the telephone.

+

"I need extra work on specific areas tonight," he told the +group. "Forget about padlock rattling on River Street and the rest +of the shops. If there's anybody breaking in to places, then it's +their lucky night. We'll catch them another time."

+

He approached the large-scale map, showing the streets and +vennels and alleys of the old centre of town.

+

"Concentrate on these areas," he said, ringing them one by +one.

+

"Latta Court and the nearby blocks. The Town Hall. Castlebank +Church. The Distillery." each of the spots was punctuated by a +quick, almost savage circling motion of his hand. "Places where +people come and go at night. Anywhere high. This bastard +climbs."

+

He turned round to face the men. They all gazed back.

+

"He doesn't like to leave traces, so he climbs up things. That's +where we'll catch him. I don't want you guys racing around with the +lights and sirens on. We'll have to do this softly-softly."

+

When he'd finished, the men stood up and shuffled out and onto +the streets.

+

Jack sat for another half an hour, trying to puzzle out, from +the description Lorna Breck had given him, where the next killings +would be, or had been. It would have been much better, despite her +lilting highland accent which softened out her words, if she'd been +a local girl. Then she'd know.

+

At the moment, nobody knew.

+

Jack cleared his desk and went home to bed, almost too tired to +think.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike24.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike24.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3835450 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike24.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,861 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 24 + + + + +
+
+

24

+

The alarm woke him from a deep sleep while it was still dark. +Jack crawled out of bed groping for his dressing gown, feeling +drugged and dopy. The kitchen was cold and the glass on the window +to the back garden was glittering with a latticework of frost. A +faint sliver of moon on the horizon sent a glimmer of silver light +onto the snow which had stacked up against the fence. The garden +fork was still stuck into the ground, though only the haft was now +showing. No birds sang.

+

Tea and toast was all he could face. Jack felt he could have +done with another six hours sleep, but at least he had +slept some, and amazingly, the night had not been riven by the +dreams for the first time in a long time. While he took a hot +shower he thought about what he'd have to do today. The patrols had +picked up nothing, or he'd have got a call within the last six +hours. As he soaped himself down, he was thinking about the +suicides.

+

There was a pattern to them. They were all linked so far, +tenuously, but definitely. They were connected to the murder in +Cairn House that seemed to have taken place months ago, instead of +mere weeks. They had all been there, which meant they were +involved, to some extent, in the killing. Whether they had done it, +either singly or in a group, was another matter. So far the deaths +had come within days, even hours of abductions, strange deaths +following the bizarre, incomprehensible taking of children, if +young Carol Howard could be included as a child.

+

There were conundrums within riddles. Puzzles inside a maze.

+

The possibility of post-hypnotic suggestion crossed his mind. It +had been the stuff of a thousand detective novels. The evil doctor +and the mesmerised puppet ordered to do the evil bidding then +instructed to negate themselves after the event.

+

But if that was the case, who was giving the instructions? And +why?

+

And why had it all started with Marta Herkik? Jack decided he'd +give Andy Toye another call. There must be something missing from +the puzzle. Some piece that would fit with everything else and +connect all the other pieces and point the finger.

+

He came out of the shower and scrubbed himself dry with a crisp +towel. The kettle had boiled and the toast was standing to +attention in the toaster. He buttered some, made a cup of tea and +discovered he'd developed a surprising appetite. He made another +two slices, wolfed them down, and felt able to face the day.

+

"You're looking a lot better," Julia told him.

+

"I managed to get some sleep. It works wonders."

+

"You're overdoing things as usual," she said with sisterly, +almost motherly concern.

+

"That's because I've got plenty to overdo. It keeps me +awake."

+

"You should give yourself a break," she chided.

+

"I will. I've promised Davy I'll take him up Langmuir Hills at +the weekend. See if we can spot some mountain hares in the +snow."

+

"He'd love that. I hate keeping him cooped up all week."

+

"Just so long a you do keep him inside. This thing will stop +eventually, and then we'll only have the normal bunch of flashers +and peeping toms to worry about."

+

"Do you think you'll get him?"

+

Jack put his arm around her shoulder and gave her an encouraging +hug.

+

"Course I will. That's what I'm overdoing."

+

Down at the school, Davy went through his litany. Yes, he'd stay +in school. Yes, he'd wait for his mother. No, he wouldn't talk to +strange people. As he ran off past the pinch-faced mothers who were +reluctant to leave the school gates, Jack felt a warm surge of love +for the boy. He and Julia were the only family he had left.

+

Down at the station on Thursday morning, there were no urgent +messages. The sky in the east was showing a glimmer of dawn, and +there was a slough of dampness in the air.

+

Both Ralph and John were in the operations room adding to the +mass of information on the computers. Jack accepted a plastic cup +of coffee, sat down and the phone rang. The day got worse from that +moment.

+

Rolling Stock was supposed to open at nine, but Jim Deakin, the +manager, who lived in Lochend, had a job getting his car started in +the cold. It had finally coughed into life after he'd run the +battery flat and had to push it forty yards to a slope on the road +where it kick-started at the third attempt. When he got to the +parts store, the rest of the staff were standing in a huddle +outside the locked doors, swinging their hands under their armpits +in energetic self-hugs, trying to keep warm.

+

"Sorry guys, car problems," he said, forcing his way through the +small group of teenage girls and boys, jangling his bunch of keys. +He slipped the lock, pushed the outer door, scooped up a small pile +of mail and walked through to where an inner door kept the cold +out. Everybody followed him through.

+

"Hey, it's freezing in here," one of the lads who serviced the +bikes piped up.

+

"Put the heating on, Doreen," the manager told one of the girls. +He opened the door to his own office and slid out of his heavy +sheepskin car coat. He unlocked the safe and took out the rolls of +change for the tills. The lights on the main store came on with a +stuttering fluorescent flicker. One of the girls stuck a tape in +the deck and loud music started blaring out of the speakers.

+

Jim Deakin brought the tray of cash round and started filling +the register drawer. Doreen came back from the switch room, slid +into her swivel seat and started putting on enough lipstick to last +a week. She pouted into a small compact mirror and Jim thought she +looked as if she'd eaten raw liver.

+

Just at that moment there was a shout from up at the back of the +store. One of the lads, now in his sky-blue overalls came pounding +down between the aisles of oil cans and de-icer sprays.

+

"Hey, Jim. There's some bikes missing."

+

"So find them," the manager said, rattling coins into their +doo-cots.

+

"No. They're gone. Three Raleighs and an Apollo."

+

"How can they have gone? Are you taking the mickey?

+

"Course not." Donny Craig had left school at the same time as +young Carol Howard. They'd even sat next to each other in maths, +though she'd showed more aptitude than he had. His interest was +bikes. He could repair and service them, change tyres and refit +drive sprockets from dawn until dusk, which was what he was paid +for. He was also very good at it, because he knew his bikes. "They +were there last night in their stands, and now they're away."

+

He went back up the passage between the shelves. Deakin followed +him, and after a few seconds, Doreen finished her morning make-up, +slid off her seat, and came up behind them.

+

"Look," the boy was pointing to the empty brackets. "That's +where they were."

+

Doreen came up to stand beside the manager. She made a shivering +sound.

+

"It's really cold in here. Where's that draught coming +from?"

+

The manager turned round, about to tell her to go back to her +post at the till, when the fuzzy daub of day-glo paint on the wall +caught his eye.

+

"What the hell is that?" he barked, striding across past the +spaces where the bikes had stood. Then he noticed something else +further to the left, closer to the back of the shop.

+

"And that?" he said pointing. Doreen followed his pointing +finger.

+

"Somebody's painted the bloody wall."

+

Some distance from the yellow smudge of spray paint, the +breeze-block facing was smeared and smattered in dark red. It +looked as if someone had thrown several cans of primer right at the +wall.

+

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Jim said, standing hands on hips.

+

"Look up there," Doreen said. Everybody turned, raised their +eyes and saw the gaping skylight. A rope dangled down and looped +itself round the cross-spars.

+

"Bloody hell," Jim mouthed. "We've been turned over."

+

He strode briskly and officiously towards the wall where the +paint had been splattered, taking small, annoyed steps when his +heel skidded on a splash that stained the tiled flooring. His legs +went up in the air and the manager came down with a thump, one hand +sweeping a dozen aerosol cans from the nearest shelf.

+

Doreen tittered and Donny Craig was diplomatic enough to turn +away to hide his grin. Jim Deakin got to his feet. There was a damp +stain on his trousers from backside to heel. He glared at Donny +then rounded on Doreen.

+

"What the hell are you laughing at?" he blazed. "Go and call the +police."

+

Just beside him, one of the round children's helmets, as +stridently yellow as the paint on the wall, lay on its side a few +feet away. In a temper, the manager took a swing at it with his +foot. Instead of the light plastic dome flying off like a football +into the air, his toe connected with a solid crack. The helmet +rolled a few yards towards Doreen. Deakin yelled out in surprise +and the sudden pain flaring in his toes. He started to do a little +hopping dance, cursing vehemently. He slipped again on the slithery +patch of red and went down again with a clatter. His thick, heavy +rimmed glasses flew off and skittered away.

+

Donny Craig burst into helpless laughter. Doreen was holding her +sides and bent double.

+

Then she let out a piercing scream which soared up to the roof +and completely drowned out the noise the manager was making.

+

For a second the boy thought she was hysterical with laughter. +He was holding his knees with both hands. He looked up at her and +saw, not mirth, but utter shock stretched across the girl's +face.

+

Still giggling, he came across to her, reached out to touch her +shoulder and she jumped back from him as if she'd been scalded. All +the time, her squeal went on, an uncontrollable and incoherent +babble of sound. She was doing a jittery little dance as if she was +standing in a nest of ants and trying to stamp them all to death. +All the time she was pointing down at the floor.

+

Donny looked down and in that moment he felt the blood +physically drain out of his head. There was a ringing in his ears +and the whole store seemed to wobble around him.

+

A pair of light blue eyes stared up at him from inside the +biker's helmet. The strap was snugged tight under the chin, keeping +the mouth closed. There was not a mark on the face, but underneath +it there was a stringy congealed patch of red from which a thin, +ribbed tube protruded. It looked not unlike the plastic pipes which +fitted on the little hand-pumps Rolling Stock sold for syphoning +petrol, but instinctively Donny Craig realised it was not. Although +he had never seen a human windpipe in his life, he knew exactly +what it was.

+

He backed away, his face now paler than the gray one which +stared at him with dead eyes on the floor.

+

"Ung," he managed to say after several seconds. Jim Deakin was +standing on one foot, holding his other ankle in both hands, +weaving for balance and still swearing comprehensively.

+

"Suppose you think it's bloody funny," he said when the swearing +stopped.

+

"Ung," Donny repeated. His stomach was now going into spasms, +trying to squeeze its contents upwards. The boy swallowed hard, +took another two steps backwards and bumped into Doreen who was now +sliding sideways against a fortuitously positioned pile of car +mats.

+

"And what's up with that silly cow?" the manager demanded to +know. He came limping across to them. "Look at the state of me. And +I've probably broken my toes."

+

"Jim," the boy finally managed to say. "Look."

+

"What a bloody mess," the manager was saying. "Come on Doreen. +Get on the phone and get the police round here. Damned vandals, +they should all be hung."

+

"No, Jim. You have to come and see," Donny said. His voice had +gone very soft, every word slow and dreamy.

+

"What is it now?" Deakin demanded. He hobbled across, Donny +pointed, and the manager shoved his glasses on to his face with an +irritated jerk. He peered down.

+

"What on earth?" he said incredulously. "Is this some sort of +a...?" he turned to Donny, looked at him strangely, bent down again +as if to confirm what his eyes had shown him and came back up +again.

+

Without looking back, he pointed at the helmet and the face +inside it, wagging his finger in a strange little emphasis.

+

"Its..."

+

Donny nodded blankly.

+

His boss turned and walked slowly down the aisle, shaking his +head as if by denying it he could make the thing go away. When he +got to the and of the aisle he turned and looked again. The helmet +was still there. Donny was standing stock still, hands at his +sides. Doreen slowly slid the last few inches as the car mats gave +way under her weight and they flopped to the floor with the girl on +top of them.

+

Sadie McLean, a middle aged woman with blue-grey hair in tight +permed curls came walking briskly out of the staff room. "What's +all the noise about," she called out. "I've just made the tea."

+

Jim Deakin came walking slowly towards her.

+

"Want a cup Jim?" Sadie asked brightly. He shook his head and +continued to shake it as he walked past her. She watched him turn, +shake his head again.

+

"You sure?"

+

"No." he came slowly towards her. "Sadie, there's been a wee +accident. Could you call the police?"

+

"Accident? What? Where?" The woman turned around and saw Doreen +lying on the pile of mats.

+

"What's happened to her?"

+

"Nothing. Just call the police, would you. Tell them there's +been a break-in and an accident. Tell them it's very urgent."

+

The squad car took fifteen minutes to arrive. Young Gordon +Pirie, Levenford's newest recruit, should have gone off duty at +eight, but he was grateful of the fact that there seemed to be an +unlimited amount of overtime available in the last week or so, even +if it meant being out at all hours of the night and attending +gruesome scenes where the bodies were in pieces, not like he'd ever +seen in all the real police movies. He was still a bit embarrassed +about the night before, but in the cold light of day, he knew he +could face anything. Policemen, he'd convinced himself got hardened +to that sort of thing. He drove into the spacious, almost +completely empty car park, pulled up beside Rolling Stock and +adjusted his helmet as he manfully shoved on the door.

+

The manager was leaning against the cash register, whey faced. +Close by, a woman was fussing around a young girl who was sitting +on the floor, her shoulders heaving in violent, but strangely +silent sobs.

+

"Good morning sir," Gordon said with brisk efficiency. "What +appears to be the problem."

+

"There's been a break in and a burglary," Jim Deakin said +lethargically.

+

"I see sir. And when did you discover it?" Gordon pulled out his +notebook and began writing.

+

"This morning."

+

"Oh tell him about the thing," Sadie snapped.

+

"Oh yes," Deakin said, nodding. "I'll have to show you."

+

Gordon put his notebook in his pocket and followed the small, +portly manager up the space between the shelves. His eager +policeman's eye noticed the daub of paint on the wall and the long +vertical splashes above it.

+

"Wonder how they got up there," he mused.

+

"Here it is," Jim Deakin said, pointing down.

+

For a second, Gordon Pirie thought it was a plastic model, a +mannequin's head, used to display the helmets. He lowered himself +slowly to hunker down, stopped when he had almost got there, then +jumped back up to his feet with a gasp of alarm. His foot slipped +and his toe nudged the helmet which rocked slowly back and forth, +the dead eyes scanning the ceiling in an eternal stare.

+

Across from them, there was a door with a small stylised figure +of a man stuck to the surface.

+

Gordon made it there in six big strides. He strong-armed it +open, crashed through to the washroom and donated his breakfast to +the sink.

+

Beside him a young man in dungarees was just rising from a +leaning position, as if he'd been washing his hair. He heard +Gordon's heaving splatter and sickly moan, and promptly dived his +own head back into the sink and retched explosively.

+

Five minutes after that, Jack Fallon got the call. In ten +minutes Rolling Stock was busier than it had ever been at that time +of a winter's morning.

+

Ralph Slater was directing Ronnie Jeffrey's camera. There were +two detectives up on ladders, taking samples of the splashes on the +wall. A third was up on the cross-spars close to the roof.

+

"Looks like they came in here, sir?" he called down. "That's a +tow rope. Two of them tied together."

+

A wheaten-faced Gordon Pirie was taking statements from the +staff. Somebody had put an empty cardboard box over the head in the +helmet.

+

"What a mess," Jack said."Maybe we should have done some padlock +rattling last night."

+

"I don't think we could have stopped this. The doors were +locked. Nobody would have seen a thing."

+

"And our men were looking in all the wrong places," Jack said, +feeling disgusted with himself.

+

From above, a voice called down.

+

"Sir, I think you should come up here and have a look."

+

Jack went to the ladder they'd borrowed from the do-it-yourself +store. It was a three-section affair, stretching up to the beams. +He started up reluctantly and when he got half-way there, he felt +the nauseous vertigo loop inside him. The ground was a long way +down. For a few seconds he paused to settle his breathing, holding +on white-knuckled to the uprights, then continued his ascent. It +was difficult for him to scramble through the tangle of struts. +From this height, the floor seemed impossibly far away and he tried +not to look down.

+

"Over here sir," the detective said. He was standing on a beam +with his head sticking out of the top of the roof. Jack reached him +cautiously, held onto the lip and craned out. The roof sloped away +gently. A few yards from the opening, where the window was lying +back on its hinges, four bikes lay in a sprawl, wheels shiny and +handlebars gleaming in the dawn light.

+

A big square hole on the ground. There's something lying +there. Like a bike. Yes. It is a bike. It went down +through there. I can hear it, like an animal.

+

Lorna's voice, sizzling with panic, came back to him with utter +clarity.

+

A big square hole in the ground. It was a big square hole in a +roof. No wonder she couldn't recognise it. Somehow, in +that weird second sight she had, that sixth sense, she had +seen this.

+

And she had seen more.

+

A cellar. Somewhere big and dark. There's shelves. It has +one of them. Two of them. Oh, there's blood all over, and the smell +is choking.

+

In the light of the early day, it was big but not dark. But +there were shelves, going from floor to dizzying roof height. Jack +closed his eyes and tried to picture this from the outside, and at +night. It would look like a cellar. And oh, there was +blood all over. Not paint, not car primer for old rusty jalopies, +but thick congealing blood which had dribbled in runnels down the +walls. The smell now was bad enough. It must have been +throat-gagging.

+

The bikes in their forlorn heap angled their wheels up to the +sky, thick tyres for bouncing along forest tracks and for whizzing +along with the wind in your hair on sunny Sunday afternoons. Boys +things.

+

Oh, Mr Fallon, they're only boys.

+

While he stared out at the sky, Jack envisaged the nightmare +scene. Four boys Lorna had said. Whoever he was, whatever +it was, had come in, probably through the open skylight, the way +the boys had done.

+

Who were they? He'd find out soon enough, no doubt.

+

He, it, the killer had caught one of them, the one with the +helmet on? Then the next. The others had seen it. They'd +panicked. In his mind's eye, he could see their frantic scramble up +the sides of the shelves, no ladders, just angled metal bars to +hold on onto. One pushing the other, crying, screaming, bawling for +their mothers in the dark of the big gloomy store, while someone, +some thing came at their backs, still wet and slimy from +the blood of the others. Their feet would have slipped on the edges +of the shelves, their fingers scrabbled for purchase, fear freezing +their blood, freezing their muscles to turbid slowness. They'd have +crawled and clambered, whimpering, struggling to breathe over the +pounding of their hearts. Out through the window, one turning to +help the other, with their pursuer hot at their backs. He could +imagine the feeling of the boy inside, desperately hauling himself +upwards, the other one dragging at his jacket, imagining the killer +coming for him, close behind, maybe clattering across the +rails.

+

Had it been like that?

+

He could hear her words loud, desperate, in the telephone, as if +she were calling him now.

+

It has him. The other one is trying to pull him out. But it +has him. I can see his face. His eyes are looking at me. He +knows.

+

The running commentary of a nightmare.

+

Oh god. It's pulling him down. He can't hold on. He's +crying. The pain in his leg. It's tearing him apart.

+

She'd seen it, that was for sure. There could be no other +explanation. Four boys she'd said, down in a cellar, through a hole +in the ground which was a skylight in the roof. The bikes were +lying there as she'd told him. Who would think of mountain bikes on +a roof? Nobody. Not even Chief Inspector Jack Fallon. He'd sent the +men out last night to probe into high places, knowing within +himself that there would have been another disappearance. But they +hadn't checked this high place. As elevations went, it was +so low as to be negligible, probably not even visible from the spot +he'd stood on up on the roof of Castlebank Distillery. But it had +been high enough.

+

"Something here," the policeman said. Jack pulled his head in +from the fresh air. He could smell the blood again. Down below, the +ground seemed to sway and he had to hold on tightly as he +turned.

+

"Blood here," the man muttered, "And here and here." He gestured +with a finger.

+

"And what's this?" He held on with his left which he reached out +over a space with what Jack considered casual foolhardiness and +drew up a dark piece of cloth which had been draped over a +spar.

+

"Saturated," the detective said.

+

"What have you got?"

+

"Denim. Looks like a pair of jeans. Or the leg of one. It's been +ripped off."

+

He turned round, letting go his grip as he did, as if he was +only two feet from the ground instead of nearer forty. Jack's +stomach tried to do a quick somersault then steadied itself.

+

"Blood all over the place," the constable said.

+

The two of them headed back across the girders. One of Ralph's +men met them at the edge of the spars where the ladder leaned and +there was a moment of lurching vertigo as Jack squeezed past the +man who had his forensics equipment case slung over his shoulder. +Jack made it slowly to the ground. Ralph was just rising from his +haunches beside the head in the plastic helmet.

+

"What do you think?"

+

"Damned if I know," Ralph said honestly.

+

"This took a lot of strength. It's not a clean cut, not like an +axe or a machete, but it's near enough. Something hit this laddie +one hell of a blow. Probably a single swipe. It came from the +left."

+

Ralph carefully turned the helmet round. The glazed, drying eyes +panned Jack with their infinity stare. The face was strangely +peaceful, in repose. On the left side, just above the ear, the +plastic was caved in. There were three deep indentations. Ralph +pointed them out with the tip of his pencil. At the base of each +little valley, the plastic was scored right through to the skull +beneath.

+

"I've seen these before," he said.

+

"On Shona Campbell." Jack said. Ralph nodded.

+

"Robbie Cattanach said it looked as if she'd been hit by a +bear."

+

"I'd like to see the bear that could have done this," Ralph said +drily.

+

"So how did it happen?" Jack asked. Out near the door, the two +women were hugging each other and sobbing loudly.

+

"Beats me. Probably came in the same way as the young fellow, +then hit him with something heavy and hooked. End of story."

+

"There was more than one," Jack said. "Maybe as many as four." +He explained about the mountain bikes up on the roof. Ralph's +assistant came forward with the soaked leg of denim now in a clear +plastic bag.

+

"We've got a name for him," the young man said. "He'd a card +inside his pocket." He handed it to Ralph who flipped the little +plastic folder open, then gave a dry chuckle which held no humour. +He passed it to Jack.

+

It was a little red wallet. Inside was a tin picture of St +Christopher stamped in relief and beside it a small card.

+

"In case of accident, please call Mrs Ena Redford, 52 Strowans +Crescent, Levenford." The card was signed: Edward J. Redford.

+

Tucked into the plastic was a photobooth picture of a +round-faced boy with freckles, grinning at the world.

+

"At least we can ID this one," the CID man said.

+

"Not this one. This isn't the same lad." Jack showed Ralph the +photo. He held it beside the staring face.

+

"Not the same boy," he agreed.

+

He got up and shook his head.

+

"So who's this?" he asked nobody in particular. "And what in the +name of Christ is going on?"

+

Jack left the scene of crimes team and the rest of the officers +in the hardware store and headed back for the car. He'd intended to +go straight to Clydeshore Avenue, get Lorna Breck and bring her +down here, no matter who saw them, but when he opened the car door, +the radio was squawking. He thumbed the button and Bobby Thomson's +gruff voice crackled out loudly. Jack got to the station in ten +minutes.

+

The front office looked busy. Bobby Thomson was talking to a man +and a woman and an elderly gentleman with a white moustache. +Another woman sat alone and pale-faced while another couple sat +together, holding hands, expressionless.

+

"This is Mr and Mrs Visotsky," Bobby introduced. "They've come +to report their son missing."

+

Jack's heart sank.

+

"Yes, it's our Votek," the man said. He was tall and dressed in +a smart blazer and slacks. His wife was slender, with mousy brown +hair. She kept biting her bottom lip, and kept a firm grip on the +crook of her husband's arm. The man said: "I'm Karl Visotsky, and +this is wife Jean and my father, also Votek. Our son didn't come +home last night."

+

Bobby leaned over the desk. "The others are with them too," he +said. "same problem."

+

He lifted the flap and came round and brought the women and the +other two people towards the desk.

+

"This is Mr Fallon," he said, offering no explanation. There +were few, if any in Levenford who did not know by now who was +leading the hunt.

+

Mr Visotsky's light blue eyes scanned Jack's face, and right at +that moment, Jack intuitively knew who the dead boy was. His father +had the same pale stare.

+

"Come with me," he said, leading them all into the interview +room, keeping his face impassive.

+

They filed in, staying close, but keeping a distance from each +other, as if they each of the parents was afraid to be contaminated +by what the others might have.

+

"I thought he was with Eddie," the fair haired woman with pallid +skin said before Jack was able to say something.

+

"And Eddie told me he was meeting your Charles," the other woman +with the silent husband replied, her voice shaking with +tension.

+

Jack held his hand up.

+

"We'd best hear it one at a time. Now, if you just give me your +names, I'm sure I can help." Jack said that automatically, though +he wasn't at all sure he'd be any help to these people. He was even +more sure that at the end of the day he'd be no assistance at all. +The man with the Polish name and the east-European eyes kept +staring at him and a visual recollection transposed the dead eyes +onto the worried father's face.

+

"I'm Ruby Black. This is my husband Angus," the pale woman said. +"It's our Charles. He didn't come home this morning. We didn't +worry last night, because he often stays out with his friends, but +when I called Ena here," she pointed at a plump woman with short +hair that had been grey but was now a faded red, "she said he +wasn't there."

+

"And Votek was supposed to be with the both of them," the +smartly dressed father said. "They're just boys. They have nothing +else to do but listen to records, and that sort of thing."

+

Between them, they got the story out. They'd all of them called +each other, and a woman called Galt in East Mains, but her husband, +who had answered the door, unshaven and still in his rumpled boxer +shorts, said he didn't know where his boy was, nor his wife, and at +that time in the morning, he couldn't give a damn where they were. +Jack took a note of the name and address. He picked up the internal +phone and called through to the front office, asked Bobby Thomson +to get a squad car out. He gave them the information and hung up. +He turned back to the group again and the phone rang.

+

"That name you've asked for," the desk sergeant said. "I thought +it rang a bell. There was a lad hurt on Castlebank Street. Old +Wattie Dickson picked him up. They took him up to Lochend, injured, +but not thought to be too serious."

+

"Get on to them pronto. I'll want somebody to speak to him. let +me know the minute you've got anything."

+

He turned back to the group. Mrs Redford was sitting off to the +side wringing her hands nervously.

+

According to the parents, their sons had been pals since they'd +been at infant school. They had all left school together, none of +them greatly qualified and because of the lack of jobs, none of +them was in work, although Votek Visotsky went along at weekends to +clean the cars in the dealership his father managed. They stayed at +each other's houses most nights, played football at weekends, and +did nothing much of anything else. Just boys.

+

None of the parents knew where their sons had been the previous +night.

+

"They just go out," Ruby Black said. "They never say where +they're going. You know what boys are like."

+

Jack did. He'd been one. Even though he'd been fond of his old +man, seventeen and eighteen had been the years of minimal +information, one word replies, great secrecy even when there was +nothing to keep secret. He'd stolen his share of apples and he'd +scaled the battlements down on the Castle Rock and braved the +undertow to swim across the river down at keelyard Lane. He'd done +a lot more besides.

+

"Haven't you heard the warnings? Read them in the papers?" he +asked brusquely, a little unkindly. He regretted it as soon as the +words were out of his mouth. There was one dead boy, two almost +certainly, and if Lorna Breck was right, a third. There was a wall +splattered with blood and a pool of the stuff on the floor, and a +head in a silly day-glo yellow bike-bandit helmet rolling around on +a tiled floor. Each and any of these parents might have lost a son +that night. From the cheap plastic wallet in the sodden +trouser-leg, Ena Redford had lost hers. What were warnings +worth?

+

In case of accident please call the police and the scene of +crimes team, and then Robbie Cattanach down at the slab.

+

"But that's just for wee kiddies," Angus Black spoke for the +first time. "Charles is a big boy." Beside him his wife began to +sniffle.

+

The phone rang again. Bobby Thomson told him the boy had been +taken up to Keltyburn Hospital suffering from some kind of +acid-burn. The hospital was famed the world over for plastic +surgery.

+

Jack asked Bobby to get John McColl in as soon as he could, and +turned back to the parents.

+

"We have had word of an incident," he said, keeping his voice +light. "A boy slightly injured, possibly in a road accident. He's +suffered some burns."

+

They all sat up straight. Slightly injured. That was better than +injured, and a whole lot better than the other words they +used on the bulletins, like serious and badly and critical. Jack +could see the hope in each of their eyes.

+

"Is it Charlie?" Ruby Black asked haltingly.

+

"No. I don't have details yet, but it seems to be Gerald +Galt."

+

The women visibly wilted.

+

"But this morning, we were called to another incident, a +possible break in. It is possible that two of the boys, at least +two of them, were involved."

+

"What? Are they under arrest?" This from the man with the polish +eyes.

+

"I'm afraid not, Mr Visotsky. I'm afraid one boy has been badly +injured. He has not been identified yet."

+

"Well, when will we know?"

+

"As soon as we do. Rest assured, we will be doing everything we +can to locate the others."

+

They all sat, none of them looking at each other, taking in what +Jack had said.

+

Badly injured. He has not been identified.

+

Did that mean he was dead? The stark question was evident in all +of their faces.

+

My boy? My Eddie? My Charlie? My Votek?

+

Jack hauled his eyes away from theirs, shoved his seat back and +stood. "If you could all wait here for a moment, I'll have somebody +bring you a cup of tea. I'll be back as soon as I can. In the +meantime," he beckoned over to Karl Visotsky, "could you come with +me for a moment sir?"

+

The man leaned sideways and patted his wife on the hand. The old +man with them reached across to touch his son in a poignant moment +of contact. Then Karl Visotsky followed Jack from the room.

+

"What is it Superintendent?"

+

Jack let the mis-rank go.

+

"I'd like you to help me here. I've a difficult thing for you to +do, and I can't be sure until you tell me. When I said in there +that the boy had been badly injured, I wanted to spare the women's +feelings, however briefly. In point of fact, one of the boys is +dead."

+

The man took a step backwards as if an invisible hand had pushed +him on the chest.

+

"Is it Votek?"

+

"That's where I need your help. At the moment, no positive +identification is possible."

+

"Why? Has he been burned too?"

+

"Well, sir," Jack put his hand on the man's shoulder and gripped +firmly, the way a man does when he's telling another man to get +strong and take it on the chin. "No he's not been burned. But there +is another problem. Not all of the body has been found."

+

"Oh my god," the man said, jamming the words together in a rush. +"What's happened?"

+

"We don't know yet. I've got a whole team of people working on +that just now."

+

"Can I see him?"

+

"Yes," Jack said, hating this even more. "But you will have to +prepare yourself Mr Visotsky."

+

The man nodded dumbly. Jack took him by the elbow, led him +through the swing doors and down beyond the cells to the police +mortuary. It was a small room with two Victorian tiled slabs and a +harsh smell of disinfectant. There were three little arched windows +close to the ceiling which let in little light. Somebody had pulled +the old fashioned cord mechanism which screwed the windows open on +ratcheted iron curves, but the ventilation did nothing to clear the +smell.

+

Along the walls, two filing-cabinets of long drawers stood side +by side. An antique freezer pump hissed and sighed.

+

"Is he?" the dazed father said, pointing at the rack, just as +Robbie Cattanach came through the far door in a flap of white. He +looked at Jack, who nodded, then introduced the man.

+

"As yet we don't know who this is. No matter what, it will be a +shock," Robbie said, keeping his voice low. " I have to tell you, +Mr Visotsky, we only have a part of a body here. You may recognise +it and you may not."

+

The man nodded quickly. His hands had started to shake. Robbie +opened a drawer which rumbled on its travel, with a sound of the +night-mail train clattering over the joins. Karl Visotsky moved +forward with glacial slowness as if the air in front of him had +become glutinous and thick. He put his hands on the edge of the +drawer. Just as slowly, his head turned, though his eyes were still +fixed on Robbie's face. Finally, with a dreadful roll, they swung +down. His son stared up at him with those pale blue-green eyes.

+

He stood staring in utter silence for several minutes, a father +carved in stone. Finally Jack reached forward and touched him on +the elbow and the man jumped as if he'd been bitten by a snake.

+

He swung round and Jack saw the knowledge in his eyes. He +himself had gone through that door to infinite understanding.

+

"Votek," The man whispered, his head dropping in confirmation. +"This is my Votek."

+

He turned away from the drawer, moving with senile deliberation. +Robbie closed it quickly and as silently as he could and watched as +the man reached the wooden chair beside one of the slabs.

+

"They took his body," the boy's father said. "They took my son's +body away."

+

He turned suddenly and glared at the two men.

+

"Who would do that to a boy? Eh? Tell me who would do that to a +big soft boy like my son?"

+

Jack had no answer to that. He was starting not to think in +terms of who, but of what.

+

And what would do a thing like that to a big soft boy like Votek +Visotsky, or to little Kerry Campbell, or to Carol Howard, +screaming for mercy and her life in a black lift shaft, he had no +idea at all.

+

He led the man away. Mr Visotsky moved like an automaton, as if +he was battery powered and the cells had just run flat. In the +space of the three yards from the freezer drawer and the door, the +son of the old Polish man who had seen, and lived through, terrible +things in the extermination camps of Auchswitz-Birkenau, aged +visibly. Give him a moustache and white hair and he would have +looked just like the man upstairs.

+

Ralph Slater was bustling in through the front door as Jack +reached the ground floor level. He had another set of plastic bags +with his samples and scrapings. He came across with his eyebrows +raised. Jack just nodded. He motioned to Ralph to wait there while +he went back to the interview room. Over at the desk, the duty +sergeant was taking notes while he answered the telephone. Jack +heard him say something about a church. He walked through the doors +behind the dead boy's father. Karl Visotsky shuffled forward as if +his feet were encased in cement and his wife read it all in his +eyes. She came towards him and they met like slow motion ballerinas +in a tragedy. The other two women in the room looked at them, +turned to each other, and Jack could see the dread begin to write +itself on their faces. He crossed to Ena Redford and eased her from +the seat. She pulled back as if he was a hangman, come to lead her +away, but he gently drew her to her feet.

+

Ralph had put all the bags in the operations room, ready for the +run to the lab. He came forward with a small bag in his hands.

+

"Mrs Redford," Jack asked as gently as he could.

+

"You've found him." she said blankly. "Is he?"

+

"No. I'm afraid we haven't found him, but I want you to take a +look at this." Ralph handed over the bag and Jack pulled out the +little wallet. He opened it and handed it to the woman. She took it +in trembling fingers, stared at it for a long time, breath hitching +hard.

+

"For his confirmation," she said. "That's when he got that. He +always had it in his pocket. It should have said somebody should +call a priest, but he put my name there."

+

"And is that Edward?" Jack said, taking the thing from her hand +and easing out the little photograph. Eddie grinned dumbly out from +the flat surface.

+

"Yes. That's Eddie," he said, voice cracking. "Where did +you...?"

+

"That was found this morning, at the scene of a break-in. We +don't know what has happened yet, but I'm trying to find out."

+

"A break in? When? Where? My Eddie wouldn't break in anywhere. +He's not like that."

+

Jack put his hand on her shoulder. There was nothing else to say +at a time like this. As far as he was concerned, the boy was dead, +but until he found a body, she would continue to hope.

+

"No. We're doing our best to find out what happened. I'll get a +car to take you home."

+

Mrs Visotsky was wailing when her husband and father-in-law led +her out. Ruby Black and Ena Redford were silent, grey, and holding +on to each other as if they might fall. Angus Black walked behind +them, his face set and grim.

+

John McColl was in the operations room. He followed Jack out to +the car and got in the passenger seat.

+

"Where to now?"

+

"Keltyburn," Jack said. "We might have a witness."

+

He took the back road, avoiding the city traffic, hurling the +car round the ends, straddling the centre line. John McColl looked +at him uneasily.

+

"Are we in a rush?"

+

"We missed Tomlin."

+

"By about four days," John said. "You'll never make that up no +matter how fast you drive." He checked his seat belt, just to be +sure. They pulled in through the ornate wrought iron gates of the +hospital in twenty minutes.

+

Jed Galt was awake. His mother, a tall woman with big breasts +and blonde hair piled up in a tangle was leaning over the bed +holding her boy's free hand. The other was held away from his body +on a pulley. It was covered in slimy gel and had the colour and +sheen of frog skin.

+

"He's had an anaesthetic," the ward sister told Jack. "He might +not be much help at the moment."

+

The two men sat down on the other side of the bed. Jack made the +introductions and the woman let go her grip on her son's hand to +shake theirs.

+

"We don't know what happened," she said. " I got a call from the +hospital last night. I had to get a taxi."

+

"Has he said anything?"

+

"No, he's been sleeping most of the time. He was talking in his +sleep, but it was just gibberish. The nurse said he might be +delirious." She reached forward and felt her son's forehead. He was +a good-looking youngster, with jet black hair not unlike like +Jack's. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be asleep. On his +cheek, there were two angry spots, shiny with gel.

+

At his mother's touch the boy stirred, and then drowsily opened +his eyes. They rolled dopily for a moment, then seemed to come to +focus.

+

"What's happening?" he asked tiredly. "What's this place?"

+

"It's alright Gerald, " Cathy Galt said. "You've had an +accident, but they're looking after you."

+

The boy's dark eyes swivelled around and saw Jack sitting +opposite his mother.

+

"Do you feel well enough to tell us what happened?"

+

He gave a little nod, then winced when it sent a vibration down +his arm.

+

"I had a terrible dream," he said, voice barely above a whisper. +His eyes darted left and right. "Where's Chalky and Eddie? And +Votek. Are they here?"

+

"No. They're not. You were found on Castlebank Street last +night. It looked as if you'd been in an accident."

+

"Accident?" The boy turned to Jack. "No. I was...we were..."

+

Then his eyes flicked wide open and he came completely awake. He +jerked back against the pillow and his mouth opened as if he was +going to scream, but he just started gasping for air, like someone +who had run just a marathon. His mother patted his hand and told +him it was alright.

+

"No," the boy moaned. He gave a little shudder and didn't seem +to notice the vibration this time. His eyes were now staring up at +the ceiling and his face had gone rigid. His left hand went into a +spasm and gripped his mother's fingers so hard Jack could hear the +knuckles pop.

+

"It was...it was chasing us," he finally blurted through +clenched teeth. "It hit Chalky. Hit him right off the ground."

+

John McColl leaned forward to ask something, but Jack stayed him +with a motion of his hand.

+

"It came down the wall. I thought it was a shadow. It went all +dark and it came down the wall. It got Chalky, but Votek didn't see +it. He was asking Chalky what he was playing at and the thing came +down. It was like the night moving. So fast, Jesus. It +reached out and hit Votek and his hat came off but it wasn't his +hat, and Votek was standing there and the blood went all over the +place."

+

The words were getting faster and faster and the boy pushed +himself back against the pillow, as if backing away from what he +was remembering.

+

"It was coming after us. We climbed up the shelves. Me and +Eddie. He couldn't move and I had to shove him and it was coming. I +could hear it behind me, and oh god it was catching up on +us. We got up to the roof and I got through first and Eddie was +climbing up after me. He could have made it. I had him by the arm +and pulled him and then it came behind him and pulled him back. Oh +man I could hear it. He was looking at me and I could hear it break +him and I couldn't hold him any longer."

+

The woman on the other side of the bed looked at the two +policemen in a state of confusion. Jack said nothing. The boy had +revved up to full speed. There was no stopping him.

+

"He went down inside and it got him and then it came out after +me. It was black and it moved so fast. It reached out and +I got the drill. I couldn't stop. It got Chalky and Eddie and Votek +and it was coming for me and I stuck it in the eye. I got that +fucker right in the fuckin' eye. I thought it was a dream, but it +wasn't. It was real, and it was going to kill me, so I drilled the +bastard, and all this stuff came out of its eye and on my hand. I +didn't even feel it until I came down. The drill was all bust. It +was screaming at me. I could hear it inside my head, roaring and +screaming."

+

"Who was it?" Cathy Galt blurted. "Who did this to you?"

+

The boy seemed to jerk back to the present.

+

"What?"

+

"What was it? Who did it?"

+

"I don't know Ma. It was too dark. It was black. It looked like +a shadow on the wall, but you could hear it and it smelled like +something had died. But I got it. I drilled it right in its +eye."

+

"You didn't get a good look?" John McColl asked.

+

The boy shook his head.

+

"It was black, and then it opened its eyes. Man, they were big. +Yellow. That was all. When it looked at me, I could hear it, inside +my head. It wanted to eat me."

+

"So this man killed the others?"

+

"No. It wasn't a man. I don't know what it was, but it wasn't a +man. It was a fuckin' monster."

+

The boy twisted his head and started to cry. Big tears came +rolling down his cheeks and dribbled down his face. He turned his +face in to the pillow, away from the two men.

+

"I'm sorry Ma. We were just having a bit of fun."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike25.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike25.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..23c3f02 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike25.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,290 @@ + + + + + +25 + + + + +
+
+

25

+

Jack called in on Angus McNicol on the way back from the +hospital, and got a shock when he saw the superintendent lying in +his bed, drawn and grey and showing three days growth of white +stubble. He told him everything that had developed so far, leaving +out only Lorna Breck and the boy's description of the thing that +had come into Rolling Stock when they were stealing bikes.

+

"So what next?" Angus asked hoarsely. He had lost a lot of +weight. His wife brought in a hot drink and offered Jack a whisky, +but he shook his head. He hadn't drunk whisky in a couple of +years.

+

"Bloody ticker," Angus had explained. "I thought it was the +'flu. Buggered up the arteries. The doc tells me I need a bypass, +and I'll probably get an early pension."

+

"Surely not," Jack said, dismayed.

+

"Nothing for it, so they tell me. Still, I'm told it's just a +bit of plumbing. They do them every day of the week." Angus gave +him a half-smile. "Oh, don't worry. They haven't written me off +yet, but it'll be a while before I'm back on the size elevens. +Should give me a chance to get the rose border in shape."

+

Jack didn't know what to say to that.

+

"Oh, come on Jack, it's not the end of the world," Angus said. +"The only problem you've got is that arse Cowie. There's no way +he's going any further, so you don't have to concern yourself that +he'll get my job. But he'll put the knife in your back as soon as +look at you."

+

"That's what I wanted to ask about. I need more men on +this."

+

"I'll bet you do. I've been watching the news."

+

"It's getting out of hand. But when I put in a request, Cowie +turned it down."

+

"You get that in writing?"

+

"Sure."

+

"Good man. You cover your back. If there's reasonable cause, a +concern for the community or a threat to it, you can repeat your +request to headquarters. And I'll make a couple of calls to let +them know what's going on. You'll get your men."

+

Jack thanked him and left Angus propped up in bed with his book +and a hot drink. He told him to get better.

+

"Better? Believe me I'll be running rings around you in a couple +of months. You just get in there and get the job done and keep the +place looking ship-shape until I get back. And remember, watch out +for Gridlock."

+

"For what?"

+

"Gridlock. That's what they used to call your friend Cowie when +he was in traffic. I got that from yon daft bugger John McColl. Now +there's a man you can trust."

+

Angus was as good as his word. In the early afternoon, Jack +faxed his request to the central office and within half an hour he +got confirmation that there would be another twenty officers at his +disposal immediately. He got John McColl to work out rosters so +that the incomers were paired with local men who knew the area. +Despite the re-inforcements, he didn't know how many men it would +take to stop what was happening in Levenford.

+

If what Lorna Breck said was true, and if young Jed Galt, hands +burned right into the bone, was not raving about what had happened +in Rolling Stock, then what he was hunting was something he did not +comprehend.

+

A monster? A spirit? How did you stop one of them?

+

Jed Galt had said he'd stopped it with a drill. Jack had ordered +an immediate search of the grounds around the hardware store, and +within an hour of his arrival back at the station, they turned up a +Black and Decker power drill lying under the scaffolding nearby. It +was blistered and scored as if it had been sprayed with +concentrated acid and the twist bit at the front was contorted and +bent. Jack hefted it in his hands and called Andy Toye.

+

"You read my mind," the professor said brightly. "I was just +about to call. I've been speaking to a few folk."

+

"I've spoken to dozens," Jack told him. He gave him a quick +run-down on what had happened so far, including his talk with Lorna +Breck in the late hours of the night.

+

"Oh, there's no question about her," Andy said. "I'd like to get +her in here some time and do some real tests. She does seem to have +some sort of gift, but it appears to be random."

+

"It also appears to be plugged in to what's happening down +here," Jack interrupted. "She saw it last night and she called me. +She was in a right state. I haven't got any estimates on the time, +so I don't know whether it was before or during or after the +event."

+

"I'd use her if I were you," Andy advised. "But on the other +matters, I showed the photographs of the writing on the walls to a +friend of mine in Leicester. He agrees that they are probably +anagrams."

+

"Certainly anagrams," Jack said. "We've found one of the other +people. He jumped in front of a train. And his name starts with the +letter you predicted, so now we're searching for this O'Day."

+

"But not just an anagram of the names," Andy said. "That's why +Crowley's Goetia puzzled me. It gives a list of what are +allegedly the major netherworld princes, what you might call +Satan's right hand men, and it purports to show how they can be +called up, although the details are very skimpy. Basically it's a +potted biography of each, how they appear, and how to address them +when they do."

+

"And?" Jack asked.

+

"It's the rest of the paraphernalia. The tarot cards, the +ouja-table and crystal. Carlsson at Leicester is more of an expert +on the history of the occult. He's a palaeo-etymologist."

+

"That's going to need some explanation."

+

"Studies ancient languages, most of them extinct. Came up with +an interesting idea from the Magyar cultures of eastern Europe. +Apparently they thought they could raise demons to tell the future, +or do favours. It was a fairly complicated ceremony involving +several stages and the final use of a crystal globe. The demon +would appear within the crystal, trapped within it for safety +reasons and it would make the stone move to spell out the fortunes +of those at the sitting. But it had to be called by name, because +according to the lore, and also going by Crowley's book, each of +the demons has a specific talent. Some of them are better for +curses or bringing good luck, that sort of thing. In the first book +of the Lemegeton, taken from the Hebrew, and supposed to be where +Solomon got all his wisdom, there were four great princes of the +underworld, and about seventy earls. Beneath them there were +supposed to be legions of other assorted demons and the like. Once +invoked by name, they had to stay and do the bidding of the +summoner until another rite sent them back.

+

"To hell?"

+

"Yes," Andrew said brightly. "To the netherworld. Hades. +Whatever you like."

+

"You think that's what they were trying to do?"

+

"I believe so. Something like that. Each of the people would +have to bring the talismans from the previous telling. That's +where, I imagine, the tarot cards come in. That's in the Magyar +custom, related to some of the Sanskrit rites from the far east. +But I think, and Carlsson agrees with me, that this particular +invocation might have gone wrong."

+

"How do you mean?"

+

"As part of the summoning, I told you that the particular entity +had to be called by name. It is possible that first of all the +special bindings had not been put in place, the ceremony needed to +ensure the spirit or demon would be kept within certain parameters, +to keep it from actually appearing in the real world."

+

"Like in a pentangle or something? From the movies."

+

"Quite, though that's an old wives tale."

+

"It all sounds like old wives tales."

+

"Well, you did ask," Andrew said, not taking offence. "The clue +was in the anagrams. Almost certainly the words were made up of the +initials of each surname. Carlsson feels that possibly, they were +open at the time. By that, I mean that they had opened themselves +up and invited the spirit, not into the room, but into +them. If you recall the Goetia. There was a mark on the +margin on one page."

+

Jack hadn't noticed, but he said nothing.

+

"I wondered about that." Andy started to quote, as if he was +reading. Jack assumed he was.

+

"The twenty ninth spirit is Astaroth. He is a mighty, strong +Duke and appeareth in the form of an avenging angel, riding on a +beast like a dragon. Thou must in no wise let him approach too +near, lest he do thee damage by his noisome breath. Wherefore, the +magician must hold the ring in his face, of pure iron or fine gold, +or talisman blessed by consecrated hands and that will defend him. +He can make men wonderfully knowing in all things."

+

Andy paused and drew breath. "Seems like a delightful +character."

+

"And that's what they were trying to raise?"

+

"Possibly, but I think it went wrong. It is possible they got +part of the rite, but did not complete it. I don't believe it was +Astaroth."

+

"So what then?"

+

"That's where Carlsson was a help. He has an old text, an +addendum to the Lemegeton, which purports to list the +houses of the seventy two princes. He checked on Astoroth, and +discovered his lieutenant, right hand devil of you will, was called +Eseroth. Not a nice fellow. Let me read this to you."

+

"For none may escape the hunger of Eseroth, the other one, the +ravener of the night. Guard your children well in the dark shadows, +and lock them away after sunset. For high nor low places will not +hide them from the beast. He cometh in the shadow."

+

Andy finished. There was a silence on the line which dragged on +for several moments before Jack asked. "That's it?"

+

"That's it. Etheros, a spirit of the air; Heteros, the other; +and Eseroth."

+

"Sounds like a devil with dyslexia."

+

"But all the same letters, and the only one which fits the +Lemegeton appendix. It fits with the mark on the book we found, or +at least there's a close association. A ravener in the dark. Likes +high places. Is known, among everything else as The Other. +And so far it has killed children."

+

"And you think this can be done?"

+

"Believe me, there are more things possible than you'd +imagine."

+

"But what about this Magyar thing. Does it say how to get rid of +it, supposing it actually exists?"

+

"Oh, it can be dismissed and returned, according to the +addendum. Apparently that's not too difficult. But there would be +one problem in this case."

+

"And that is?"

+

"There's nothing to show that there were any bonds," Andrew +said.

+

Jack thought about that for a moment. It was all too much to +take in. He asked a final question.

+

"This Magyar thing. Is that some kind of religion?"

+

Andrew laughed. "Oh ye of little erudition, or even a +certificate in geography. Did you never collect stamps as a +youngster?

+

Jack admitted that he had not.

+

"You would have known then. The Magyars are quite an ancient +people. Originally they were part of the indo-European migrations +who settled in Eastern Europe. The word Magyar is what they call +their country and themselves. We call it Hungary."

+

When Andy hung up, Jack sat at his desk in complete silence. +Devils and demons, things called up from the underworld. Despite +how he was beginning to feel about what Lorna Breck had said, and +from the description, garbled and hysterical, given by the boy in +Keltyburn Hospital, he still wasn't ready to believe in ghosts and +sprites and things that materialised in the night. Some form of ESP +he could comprehend, but all of his work, every murder that he'd +ever worked on, had been caused by people. Bad people, warped folk, +but human beings. He'd wondered about child sacrifices, but only in +the context of deranged, demented and sick people, not from the +standpoint that there actually was a devil.

+

But then Andrew had said one little magic word that somehow +changed his viewpoint.

+

Hungary.

+

The professor hadn't known anything about the old woman, except +that she was dead. Andrew had made no reference to her nationality, +and certainly Jack hadn't thought it relevant to tell him. But now +he'd described some sort of ancient fortune-telling, devil-raising +rite that had come from that strange and obscure country. Contrary +to what his friend had said, Jack did have a certificate in +geography, and though all the boundaries had changed beyond +recognition since the iron curtain had rusted, he still knew where +was where. He closed his eyes and pictured the globe. Hungary. East +of Germany. North of Yugoslavia. Transylvania had once been part of +the Hungarian empire. Tales of Vlad the Impaler, true stories from +the dark ages that had spawned the legends of Dracula and the +vampires. People had believed them, said they had been true. Could +they not also be true of the old travellers who had come through +the Khyber pass from India with their strange gods and cults and +settled in the plains of Hungary?

+

Could they have raised devils? Could an old Hungarian woman have +called up something from a dark place and let it out to steal +children in the middle of the night.

+

Jack thought of Andrew quoting from an old text. The other +one, the ravener of the night. Guard your children well in the dark +shadows, and lock them away after sunset. For high nor low places +will not hide them from the beast. He cometh in the +shadow.

+

It was stilted and pedantic. But, Jack thought with a sudden +realisation, it fit his bill. He was hunting a killer who came in +the night and took children. A night hunter who climbed the high +places. Was it all possible? And how did you get rid of a killer +some old woman had brought up from wherever it was that devils +lived?

+

Even more to the point, who the hell would believe him?

+

He put his elbows on the desk and laid his chin on his palms, +trying to get his thoughts in order.In the later morning +Superintendent Ronald Cowie arrived in the station, saw the fax +from headquarters confirming the extra officers to help with the +investigation, and almost burst a blood vessel. Jack listened to +him rant for half an hour, without taking in a word of it. He had +other things on his mind.

+

He was still thinking about it when Bobby Thomson called up and +told him there was a problem at St Rowan's Church. A man had locked +himself up in the belltower and was refusing to come down.

+

"Just send a squad car, Bobby," Jack said, irritated, wondering +why the duty sergeant was bothering him with a nuisance. "I'm up to +my eyes."

+

"We did. They've had no luck. The man says he won't speak to +anybody but yourself."

+

"Dammit, Bob. The world's full of eccentrics. He can stay up +there until new year for all I care."

+

"Well, he won't come down and he insists he's claiming +sanctuary. I don't know what our rights are, but he's demanding to +talk to you. Says his name is O'Day."

+

Jack's mouth was open to stop Bobby in his tracks with a curt +dismissal and it promptly shut with a snap.

+

"I think it's the bloke you've been looking for," the sergeant +added. By this time he was talking to a dead telephone. Jack had +slammed the receiver down, turned, grabbed his coat and gone flying +out of his office.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike26.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike26.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5504f4d --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike26.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,327 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 26 + + + + +
+
+

26

+

Just after the bodyless head of Votek Visotsky had been +painfully kicked by Jim Deakin, Fergus Milby and Danny Cullen were +nearing the top of the towering chimney next to the old forge just +across the river from the old railway warehouses.

+

The twin stacks, a feature of the town's skyline, had been the +subject of acrimonious letters in the Gazette for years. In the +sixties, when the forge had shut down the primary furnace, it had +planned to dismantle the big stack which stood shoulder to shoulder +with its twin, great shotgun barrels of brick aiming for the +heavens. The outcry had been considerable. The Levenax Society had +protested in lengthy denunciation of the vandalism to the +industrial history of the town. It would destroy a landmark, they +thundered. There was no concern for the tons of hot fumes that had +spilled from the great stacks for years, not only polluting the +atmosphere and covering the town in thick flaky sulphurous ash +whenever the wind blew the wrong way, but also befouling the clean +white bedsheets on drying greens all across town and as far as +Barloan Harbour eight miles up the firth. There was also little +said, landmark-wise, about the demolition of the tenements in Wee +Donegal and the subsequent building of the gaunt and towering +housing blocks, or the blast of smoke and steam from the vents in +the distillery with their greasy overlay of malting barley.

+

The opposing faction who agreed with the demolition said it was +an ugly old brick thing, an eyesore remnant of the sweated labour +of the industrial revolution which made the Levenford look like a +dirty old mill town. The sooner it was gone, they countered, the +better. At the end of the day, the town fathers, whose gift for +planning was such that they would to blight the whole town and the +surrounding area within the decade, decided to keep the stacks for +their historic value. The forge owner, William Thomson, a second +cousin of the desk sergeant in Levenford Police Station, shrugged +his shoulders, happy enough that he would not have to pay a fortune +to have the stack removed brick by brick. Explosive demolition was +out of the question because of the close proximity of the other +chimney which was still venting charcoal fumes from the secondary +furnace. Ten years after that, Thomson had sold out, just before +the bottom dropped out of the foundry industry. The business had +kept going for another twenty years or so, hammering out great +girders and beams for the rig yard and the diminishing building +industry.

+

In the last couple of weeks, there had been some concern over +the state of the north chimney. In the winter gales, a crumbling +half-brick had come sailing down and punctured a neat hole not only +through the corrugated iron shed which served as a shithouse for +the dozen or so foundrymen, but had punched its way right through +the vitreous china pan, sending shards of jagged porcelain +scattering like shrapnel in every direction. In the third trap +along, old Bernie Maguire, who operated the charcoal hopper, was +doing a crossword, hunkered over like a dying junkie, dungarees at +his knees. Bernie should have been back at the hopper ten minutes +before, but, being prone to constipation, he was trying, with some +effort to work out more than just the difficult crossword clues. +The fact that his trousers were puddled around his ankles saved him +from serious injury from the kniving porcelain flack. When the +brick hit, travelling at enormous speed after a fall of nearly two +hundred feet, it exploded like cannon-shot. Shards of china blasted +out under the spaces of the door and the side walls. It tore +Bernie's trousers to shreds and punched neat pin-holes through the +thin cabin sides of the neighbouring traps. One small sliver sliced +through a vein on Bernie's skinny calf and the resultant fine spray +of blood was fifteen minutes in the staunching. The other men had +come running out at the deafening noise and hauled the door open to +find Bernie lying in a heap across the newspaper, pencil still in +hand, the air pink from his spraying blood. They also discovered, +to their disgust, that the falling brick had done the old fellow +one favour. It had miraculously cured his constipation.

+

Two weeks later, another brick had come down, though it had +blasted itself to powder, forming a quite spectacular sunburst +pattern in Pompeiian red on the concrete a few feet away from the +chimney. The manager of the English conglomerate which had taken +over the forge finally got authority to bring in the steeplejacks +to find out whether the stack needed a repair, or whether its time +had finally come.

+

It had taken Fergus Milby and his apprentice Danny Cullen a week +to get the ladders close to the top. It was dangerous, arduous and +quite exhausting work, but the two-man team were the only +steeplejacks in Levenford or any of the nearby towns. There was +always work for them somewhere, and in the current jobs climate, +the danger was worth it. To the untrained eye, the ladders looked +flimsy, a delicate spidertrack up the side of the brick cylinder. +In fact the light aluminium frames which locked one to the other, +could easily take the weight of six men. The major difficulty lay +in the tedious task of raising one length to fit it in place, using +the wire bands which travelled the girth of the chimney. It would +have been less exhausting and less dangerous, to hire a crane for +the job, but it would have taken twice as long and three times the +cost to erect one of the spindly jack-up jobs.

+

The original builders had placed metal slots between the bricks, +which made the job easier, but still, it took them eight days to +get up to the top. Some time on the Thursday afternoon, while +Superintendent Cowie was haranguing Jack Fallon in his office, +attempting to browbeat him with dire but meaningless threats, they +were putting the last section in place. Danny Cullen, eager to be +first to the top, hooked his rope into one of the stanchions, +making sure his safety harness was still attached with its +anti-slip grip to the guide. He eased himself onto the flat +surface, eight brick-widths thick because of the tapering of the +construction, and carefully raised himself to his feet, sliding the +guide over the edge with practised proficiency. He used the +contraction hooks to hold the ladder in place, twisting the handles +on the threads to bring the aluminium spars hard against the +brickwork. Fergus Milby had told him there were two kinds of +steeplejack, the slow or the dead, or as Fergus himself had put it, +the careful ones or the stupid splattered bastards on the deck. +Danny didn't want to join the ranks of the splattered. He stood up, +avoiding a space where a brick had worked free and fallen off, and +looked across the town from the top of the chimney. The view was +quite spectacular. He could see the top of the blocks of Latta +Court and its neighbours. Across on the other side of town, the +great square red hulk of the distillery belched its perpetual plume +of steam, like a slumbering volcano.

+

Up here there was almost dead silence, apart from the mewling of +a seagull passing below, a grey kite far down, a bird seen from the +wrong angle. Sound travels, but for some reason, it does not easily +travel upwards. There was no sound of traffic, except for +the very muted, toytown clatter of a train heading out from the +station. Little model cars were silently crossing the old bridge in +twos and threes, followed by a dinky little bus. Almost directly +below, just out in the river, the boats looked neat and clean, like +yachts at a classy marina, though Danny knew these boats were all +paint-peeled and slimed with dirt and bird crap, half of them +unpainted and the others only half-painted by weekend watermen. The +distance gave a cleanliness and neatness to everything. He strolled +casually around the edge, a twenty-year-old boy gifted with a sense +of balance and a natural affinity for heights. He looked down and +saw Fergy Milby climb slowly towards him, unconsciously adjusting +his safety clip with every two steps. His flat cap was on +backwards, to keep the peak away from the steps of the ladder. +Fergus was a careful mover who had instilled the slow-motion +moon-mountain climb into his apprentice. Danny stepped to the side. +Steeplejacks did not give each other a hand. There were too many +ways to lose your balance that way. The tradesman had regaled his +assistant, ever since he had started three years before, with tales +of men who'd taken a tumble down a chimney, or gone sailing off to +convert themselves into the ranks of the splattered. Fergus was +graphic if nothing else.

+

"Not bad, Danny-boy," he said when he got to the top and sat, +feet dangling over the drop. It was Fergus's joke on the younger +man's Irish catholic heritage. The steeplejack wasn't of the faith +himself, but unlike many of his persuasion in the town, to whom +religion meant little more than the colour of jersey a football +team wore, it didn't matter a damn to him. He didn't watch football +anyway.

+

He opened his tobacco tin and rolled himself a customary +crumpled cigarette, tamped the end on the nearest brick, lit up and +drew in a deep breath.

+

"Haven't been up here since I was your age," he said, gazing out +over the toytown panorama.

+

"You helped build it then?" Danny asked, grinning at his own +joke.

+

"Watch it," the boss said gruffly, although he was used to the +boy's comments. They worked well together, and in fact, the best +compliment the steeplejack could make was that he felt safe with +Danny Cullen. "You want to become a splatteree?" he shot +back.

+

The younger man sauntered around the rim of the chimney as if it +were a wide path through a park. He automatically raised his feet +to avoid the copper straps which snaked up over the sides and +crossed the flat, each of them corresponding to the points of the +compass. He was looking north, towards the mountains looming over +Loch Corran in the distance, when something jarred him as being out +of place. He turned back to Fergus who was contentedly puffing on +his cigarette.

+

"What's happened to the conductors," he asked.

+

"Eh, what's that?" Fergus asked, turning round with a casual, +yet careful movement. He'd twisted his cap round so the peak +shadowed his eyes.

+

"The lightning spikes, they're gone."

+

Fergus followed the curve of the chimney. On the top flat, it +was eight feet across the inner edges, and about three times that +in circumference. The copper ribbons were stappled to the bricks +with lead fold-over flaps. They travelled to the inner edge where +the four-pronged steel aerials should have been, a precaution +against bolts of lightning striking the inner surface and possibly +travelling down to the furnaces below. From where Fergus was +sitting, he could see the furthest one had been twisted right down +inside the funnel of the chimney.

+

"I'll be damned," he said, getting to his feet. "There's +something stuck there."

+

"And here," Danny boy said. "What is it?"

+

He got to his knees and looked down the black hole. Something +was snagged on the spike which had been bent right down inside the +shaft and then curled back up on itself. It looked like a bundle of +rags, dirty and withered.

+

"Probably blown up and snagged in the gales," he said. He +reached down and hauled at the tattered bundle. It was stuck on the +upcurved hooks of metal. He worried at it, holding on to the far +edge of the chimney for leverage. The material ripped and the thing +came free with a muted tearing sound. He drew it upwards and as he +did, a foetid smell of rot came wafting up the funnel.

+

"Jesus, that stinks!" he said, face screwed up with disgust. He +could feel the stench clog thickly in the back of his throat. He +heaved the tattered mess up and onto the flat. A piece of dirty, +mouldering cloth flapped back in the light breeze and a small brown +round thing lolled out and clonked against the bricks.

+

"What in the name of.." he said, then let out a long breath of +relief.

+

"It's a doll," he said. "For a moment I thought it was a kid. By +god it smells to high heaven."

+

"How the hell did it get up here?" Fergus asked. "We must have +ben the first folk up this height in twenty year."

+

"I don't know. Must have been up here for ages." He turned round +and shoved the bundle towards Fergus. Just below him, another +tangled mass hung from the spike nearest him, this one not much +bigger. He stretched his hand down and worried at the cloth until +it came free and drew this one out of the hole. If anything this +one smelt worse.

+

As he laid it down, something flopped stiffly onto the +brickwork. It was dark and stick-like. It looked like a monkey's +paw.

+

"It's another one," Danny said. Fergus could hear his gullet +work to try to keep the stench out of his throat. The apprentice +was poking at a small torn hood. "I think somebody's been playing +a..."

+

He never finished his sentence. Fergus was sitting casually, +with one hand behind him and a foot cocked on the edge while the +other dangled over the drop. Unexpectedly Danny jerked backwards as +if he'd been bitten by an adder. Fergus saw him scramble to his +feet with alarming speed, the kind of speed people who work in high +places have nightmares about. His boot snicked the inner rim of the +chimney. A piece of brick crumbled off and tumbled into the dark +well. Danny tilted to the side, suddenly off balance, arms +windmilling. One foot was out over the shaft, while the rest of his +body was teetering on the edge of the chimney.

+

Fergus moved faster than he believed possible. Danny began to +fall, and a cry of surprise and fright blurted out. His boss +whirled, got to one knee and his hand shot out. He grabbed Danny by +the belt, inadvertently knocking the wind right out of him with the +force of the strike and with a powerful heave, he swung him back +from the edge and down onto the flat. Danny's backside hit the hard +surface with a solid thud and he yelped again, this time in pain. +He twisted to the side, almost went over the edge again, caught +himself and then froze.

+

"Are you off your head?" Fergus bawled. "Bloody idiot, you were +nearly a goner there. What in the name of Christ's the matter with +you."

+

"It's that," Danny bleated, pounting into the chimney. +The mangy truss of cloth had slipped into the well, but had snagged +again on one of the upturned hooks beside an even larger flaking +bundle.

+

"What?"

+

"It's not a doll," Danny murmured. "It's a baby."

+

"What are you playing at?" Fergus said. "What would a baby be +doing up here."

+

"But look," Danny insisted. "It's a baby, and it's +dead."

+

Fergus' hands were still shaking from the sudden exertion and +the terrible fright he'd got when he thought his apprentice was +about to topple into the chimney. He lit another cigarette, with +some difficulty, and took another long draw before letting his +breath out in a stuttering sigh.

+

He got to one knee again and came close to where Danny sat, both +hands firmly gripped on the brickwork. He followed the young man's +eyes and stared at the small dirty pile. He reached a hand forward +carefully and drew back a piece of mildewed fabric. Despite the +care, the material tore in his hand with a whispering rip.

+

The small wizened face gazed up at him from blind crumpled +sockets. Its lips were stretched back tight and dry, exposing gums +which were bare except for two tiny teeth which protruded in the +centre of the bottom of the jaw. The skull was shiny and brown and +both little ears were like shrivelled autumn leaves. Fergus pulled +the cloth back further and the foetid, sickly sweet stench +blossomed like the scent of a poisonous flower.

+

"Dear god," he breathed. With great gentleness, he pulled back +the ragged cloth. Just below the neck, the small, fragile ribs were +like wires pushing through a thin, tight membrane, and below them, +there was a gaping hole. With the movement, something black and +slimy dribbled inside the cavity and the stink was suddenly so bad +the steeplejack found his own throat try to clamp itself shut.

+

He pulled himself back in revulsion and sat, staring at the dead +face. Danny watched him white faced. Without a word, Fergus reached +down and unhooked the other shape and hefted it out onto the +surface. It came up easily, like a little pile of rags. He laid it +gently down and unwrapped it from a dirty grey shawl. Danny heard +his intake of breath.

+

The dead child had the wizened face of a mummy. He could see, +under the parchment-like ochre skin the zig-zag suture lines where +the skull-plates joined and in the centre, a deep depression as if +it had been struck a vicious blow with a club, but was where the +soft membrane of the fontanelle, where the bones had yet to form +and knit, had sagged. The baby was so young its bones hadn't even +had time to form. Below the little chin there was nothing at all of +the throat. The skin puckered and curled on each side of a gaping +wound in which Fergus could see the neck-bones push through dried +muscle.

+

He laid the thing down, almost reverently and turned away. His +eye had caught the other things hanging from the lightning +conductors, an arm's span below the lip of the chimney. He did not +want to see any more.

+

"I'd better go back down and tell somebody," he said numbly.

+

"I'll come with you," Danny said. He edged away from the +mouldering corpses and clipped his safety rig onto the cable which +was suspended from the clamp.

+

"No," Fergus told him. "You'd better stay here. You're in no fit +state to climb. Look at you, shaking like a leaf."

+

"You can't leave me up here," Danny protested, his voice rising. +"I'm not staying with these."

+

"Och, don't be daft," Fergie retorted.

+

"I don't care," whined. "You're not leaving me up here with dead +bodies. No bloody way."

+

Fergus shrugged. He clipped his own lead onto the braided cable +and started making the long climb down. Danny followed so close he +almost stepped in his boss's fingers.

+

Five minutes later they were in the forge manager's office. +Almost before Fergy Milby put the phone down, the wail of sirens +started up on the other side of the river.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike27.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike27.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8a8bd29 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike27.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,394 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 27 + + + + +
+
+

27

+

"Up there, sir," the young policeman said, pointing to the +hollow arched entrance of the belltower.

+

They were standing in the nave of the ornate church building +which had been built at the turn of the century by a fiery +monsignor from old Donegal for the greater glory of God. The +Irish-Catholic families of the parish had been cajoled and +co-erced, with threats of damnation, excommunication or years in +purgatory, into donating money they could ill-afford because of the +lack of work and their burgeoning families to pay for the Italian +marble altar, whinstone buttresses and beautifully masoned +arches.

+

A monstrous crucifix with an appallingly bloody Christ nailed to +a rococco cross hung suspended forty feet over the devout and +worshipful congregation. The tough old monsignor, who saw himself +cut from archbishop's cloth, and who wheeled and dealed without +shame to have the parish promoted to diocesan status, had dreamed +of building the most magnificent cathedral money could dictate. +Certainly he succeeded in building a church worthy of the name, but +all his vanity and ambition were in vain. The good lord called him +to a greater and everlasting position of worship within a year of +the consecration of the building. The bells of St Rowan's church +tolled for the solemn high mass of the monsignor's funeral and he +was given pride of place in the new graveyard in the spreading +grounds, after which everybody forgot about cathedrals and went +back to church.

+

Father Liam Boyle, the incumbent parish priest was a thin, grey- +haired man with turned down lips who looked as if the milk of human +kindness would go sour in his mouth.

+

He wore a long black soutane, faded at the cuffs and shiny with +wear everywhere else, stained with grey blobs of candlewax down the +length of the innumerable cloth buttons. He rubbed his hands +together in a worried, nervous way, making them rasp against each +other in a constant dry whisper.

+

"Must have been up there for days," he said to Jack. "There was +a fault in the tintinnabula, or so we thought, but he must have +done something to the mechanism up in the tower. The clock hasn't +struck the half-hour for days. Our parish horologist couldn't get +up there to check it out. He opened the trap and somebody stamped +it down on his head. He's lucky he didn't fall down the steps and +break his neck."

+

"So what's the position?" Jack asked the uniformed +policeman.

+

"There's a man up in the belfry. He says his name is O'Day and +he's claiming the ancient right of sanctuary."

+

"Sanctuary, is it?" the priest snapped. "After the vandalism +that's taken place in this church, he'll have no sanctuary here. +Sacrilege is what I call it. Only last week we had the altar broken +into and a chalice stolen, full of consecrated hosts, and a rosary +blessed by the pope himself. No doubt our visitor can explain that +to us all."

+

"Yes, I heard about that," Jack said. "I'm sure the officers are +doing all they can."

+

"So what are you going to do now about this...this +invasion?"

+

"Just leave it to me sir," Jack started to say.

+

"Father," the priest corrected irritably. Jack acknowledged the +correction with a dry nod.

+

He went across to the base of the tower which was built, quite +spectacularly, over the altar, resting on four arched buttresses +which merged into the flanks of the walls. A narrow entrance cut +into the fine-grained sandstone blocks, led to an equally cramped +staircase which spiralled upwards for three turns before arriving +at a wide wooden floor. Here, another uniformed policeman was +leaning on a bannister. He straightened up when Jack appeared.

+

"Where is he?" Jack asked. The constable jerked his thumb +upwards. Jack tilted his head. The narrow stairway, this made of +old wood, continued upwards. There was a smell of dust and +bird-droppings.

+

"He refuses to come down." the officer volunteered. "We tried a +bit of persuasion, but he's jammed something over the trap. He +insists he'll only speak to you."

+

Jack gave a weary sigh and started up the stairs after telling +the constable to wait there until he came down. He wanted to take +this one on his own. The treads had no risers and sank a fraction +with every step. Almost every one of them creaked and the whole +stairway looked too old and flimsy to take a man's weight. It +turned, rose, turned again and continued upwards. The narrow +lead-hatched slit windows gave little light. Jack kept a tight grip +of the dusty bannister and wished he knew some prayers. He did not +look down.

+

Finally the stairs stopped abruptly at a wooden ceiling +festooned with the grey triangles of ancient cobwebs. Here, the +smell of pigeons was much stronger and immediately Jack recalled +the days out raiding the nests in the old warehouse where young +Neil Kennedy had been snatched in the dark. It gave him a shiver. +Something fluttered noisily off to the left where the spars +supported the wooden floor above, hiding shadows in the corner. +Jack took the last few steps slowly, paused for breath, then rapped +on the wood above his head.

+

A muffled thumping sound came in instant reply. Jack banged +again with his fist.

+

"Mr O'Day?"

+

"Who is it," a voice replied, also damped by the wooden boards, +but sounding only a foot or so away from Jack's head.

+

"Jack Fallon. You wanted to speak to me."

+

"How do I know it's you?"

+

"What do you want me to do?" Jack asked impatiently. "I've +climbed up so far my nose is starting to bleed."

+

"Get back from the door," the man's voice ordered him. "And no +funny business, or I'll brain you, I swear to God."

+

Jack took several steps backward, making sure his feet stamped +hard on the stairs, though that caused a vibration that made him +think they could give way any second. Above him, footsteps pounded +the floorboards. The trapdoor at the head of the stairs opened a +fraction, showing a thin line of wan light before a shadow blocked +it off. Jack screwed his eyes up, trying to make it out, but could +see nothing.

+

"Is that you, Mr O'Day?"

+

"Aye, it's me alright."

+

"I've been looking for you."

+

"That's no surprise. I've been waiting for you. You took your +time."

+

"Do you want to come down and talk about it?"

+

"Not on your mother's life," the voice said. There was more than +a hint of a southern Irish accent there. "If I move out of here, +I'm a dead man, sure as you're born."

+

"Oh, and why's that?"

+

"It's a long story, Mr Fallon, and I don't think you're about to +believe it. I have to tell you it though, but I'm not moving from +here. It's the only safe place left."

+

"Well, I want to hear what you have to say, but I don't fancy +standing down here all day getting a crick in my neck. Can I come +up?"

+

"No, stay there," the man barked nervously.

+

"Oh, come on man," Jack said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I just +want to find out what's going on."

+

There was a silence while the man considered it. Jack waited it +out.

+

"Would you have a set of those handcuff things?"

+

Jack agreed that he did. He fumbled in his jacket pocket, drew +them out and held them up for display. They jingled in his hand. +The trapdoor opened wider. A pale face peered down.

+

"Right, you can come up. There's a post just inside the door. +Put those things on your wrist and when you get to the top, put the +other end round the post."

+

Jack sighed again, but nodded in agreement.

+

"And I'm telling you. If you don't do what I say, I'll cave your +head in."

+

The door opened to its full extent, then slammed back to the +floor with a gunshot boom which reverberated down the hollow length +of the Gothic tower. Jack walked slowly up the stairs, snapping the +cuff on his wrist as he did so. Warily, he clambered through the +space until he could reach the bannister on the top side. He could +see nothing, but sensed the man behind him. He reached forward and +clicked the other ring around the upright and stopped.

+

"Right, I'm your prisoner. Now what?"

+

"You can sit down now," the voice said from behind him. Jack +turned and saw a scrawny man with a scraggy grizzle-grey beard that +looked ten days from its last shave. He was emaciated and haggard. +Jack recalled the dead man they'd found on the railway line. He too +had been just a rickle of bones like the man who said he was O'Day. +Without a word he turned and sat himself on the bannister. It felt +solid enough.

+

The man came towards him, blue eyes rimmed with red. In both +hands he hefted a metal bar. On the other side of the dusty room +there was a set of levers and pulleys. The spar looked as if it had +come from there. That probably solved the mystery of why St Rowan's +bells had stopped clanging the half-hour. He wasn't concerned about +the weapon. The man looked as if he would blow away on a breezy +day, and though there was a frantic, wildly haunted look in his +eyes, Jack knew he could get the weapon off him even with one hand +tied behind his back.

+

"Nice to see you at last, Mr O'Day. I've been concerned about +you," Jack started.

+

"Not near as concerned as I've been," O'Day said. He stole a +quick glance to check Jack's handcuffs, then seemed to relax a +little, although his whole body looked tight as a banjo string.

+

"You're on the murder hunt, aren't you? The boss?"

+

Jack nodded.

+

"That's what I have to talk to you about. I don't want to kill +anybody, and I don't want it to get me."

+

Far downstairs, something dropped with a clatter and the noise +boomed up the hollow. O'Day jerked round like a cat, raising his +lever like a club.

+

"Don't worry. They won't come up unless I tell them, and I'm not +going to tell them. You've got a promise on that."

+

Michael O'Day's shoulders slumped. He was wearing what had been, +until now, a smart and probably well-cut suit with a light blue +shirt. Now, suit and shirt looked filthy and creased, as if they'd +been slept in for a week, and they hung on him like drapes. His +neck was thin and scrawny and his face was so wasted his cheek +bones stuck out like knuckles and the skin was drawn in as if he +was sucking on something bitter. Very slowly, he lowered himself +down to the floor where he'd spread a dark blue winter coat that +had also seen better days, some of them recent. On the coat, a +silver chalice with an ornate lid topped by a small cross stood +gleaming in a stray shaft of light. At its base was a set of +prayer-beads with a crucifix that seemed to be worked in gold.

+

"Can't eat, can't sleep," he said in a voice that sounded close +to exhaustion. The dark rings under his eyes deepened as he lowered +his head.

+

"It comes for you in your dreams."

+

"What does?"

+

"Whatever it is the old woman called up. Honest to God, I never +meant anything like that to happen. She only said it was a special +night. I don't know about the others, but I just wanted my fortune +told. I needed the luck, for it's been out this past couple of +months. Big Eddie Carrick's boys have been hunting me for weeks. +Ha! That's a big worry. He's Mother Theresa compared to what's been +after me."

+

"You know about the killings," Jack said levelly.

+

"I know about them alright. I was there when the old woman died. +I was the last one in the room and I thought I was going to die as +well. After that I locked myself up for a while. I heard about the +kiddies, on the news, but I didn't connect it, even when that +bigoted bastard Simpson topped himself. He deserved all he got. +There was something slimy about that one, I can tell you."

+

O'Day's voice was beginning to rise. Jack held out his free hand +and made a calming gesture. The man stopped and took a breath.

+

"When the other baby went missing, and you found the woman, I +started to suspect, because by then I was getting the dreams. +Terrible nightmares. By the third one, when you got that woman in +the river - did you know she worked at the police station?"

+

Jack said he did. "I thought you would," the man went on with +hardly a pause. "Quiet girl, wouldn't have harmed a fly, but I'll +bet you all that's changed. I don't know what she was doing at old +Marta's place. It was after she topped herself that it came to me, +clear as day. I never read anything about the Tomlin fella, or Mrs +Eastwood, but I've got a feeling they've gone too."

+

"And Derek Elliot," Jack interjected. O'Day gave a start.

+

"Him an'all? That makes me the last. And that's why I'm staying +here." He reached and grabbed the chalice.

+

"This is all I've got. It can't get me as long as I've the +sacrament with me. Are you of the faith?"

+

Jack shook his head. "Not any," he said.

+

"Well you should be, because it'll protect you from what you're +after."

+

"And what is that?"

+

"I'll tell you in a minute. But first of all I have to tell you +about the night in Cairn House. Did you know they found a boy there +way back in the sixties? Dead for months and murdered?"

+

"Yes. I was just a kid at the time, but we all heard about +it."

+

"Before my time an' all. But she told me, the old woman did. It +gave the house a special power, she said. I thought that was a +whole heap of shite myself, but she believed it, and she knew her +stuff I suppose. She said the forces gathered where something +terrible had happened, like it was a crack between here and +wherever, and she was right about that. You have to know what +you're up against, and then god help you. Look at me. How old would +you say I was?"

+

From the look of the man, Jack would have guessed fifty, but he +said nothing.

+

"I'm thirty six years old, for Christ sake. Last week my hair +was as black as yours. And now look at what's happened to me all +because of that old Hungarian witch."

+

"So what happened?" Jack asked softly.

+

Michael O'Day's shoulders slumped. He sat there on the dirty +coat, one hand on top of the chalice. He looked dazed and ill. +Finally, after a few minutes, he began to speak and Jack Fallon +listened to the most bizarre story he had ever heard.

+

When Michael O'Day stopped talking and the silence that followed +was almost deafening. He sat and stared at the floor for a while, +then he reached out and lifted the lid of the chalice. From where +he sat, Jack could see it was half-filled with white discs. O'Day +dipped his hand in and lifted one out, very carefully, despite the +tremor of his fingers. He lifted the wafer and placed it on his +tongue. His mouth worked drily and then he made an exaggerated +swallowing motion.

+

"The difference," he said, "between heaven and hell is that +nobody believes in hell. Look at me. I'm between both of them and +headed for one. It's all mumbo jumbo, isn't it? Except that it +works. It can't get me in here, you know. This is the only place I +can be and not hear that voice in my head. Now I know what it +meant."

+

He looked up at Jack, a wasted, unkempt figure sitting on a +dirty coat.

+

"The whispering started a few nights later. I thought I'd left +the television on, or maybe the radio, but it wasn't that. It was +as if somebody was talking in another room, just out of hearing. +But it got louder and I could make out the words. I kept having +these dreams. You know what happened at the race? It came in, that +horse. A big grey out of trap six. I was still dead scared, but I +put my money on and I cleaned up. I took six grand from bookies all +over Glasgow, and I tell you, I should have stayed there. Maybe if +I hadn't come back, everything would have been all right, but I was +pretty much mixed up at the time.

+

"Then I started having the dreams. Terrible dreams, and I was +cold all the time, as if that wind was still blowing through me. I +couldn't eat and I couldn't sleep. I felt as if I'd stepped right +out of the world. The voice would whisper at me at night, but it +was coming from inside me. It got that I was scared to lie down at +night, just in case it came when my eyes were closed, but I knew it +was coming when I read about the others. It said it would use us. I +don't know how it does it, but it used them, and they're dead, all +of them."

+

"And what is it?"

+

"It's nothing on earth. Nothing from this earth. It was +blacker than pitch and it was moving. That's all I saw in that +room, but I could feel it." O'Day tapped the side of his +head. "And I can hear it, in here. It wants me, you know, it wants +me to do things, to come out in the night. I think it needs us +during the day, maybe somewhere warm to live, I don't know. It +whispers at me and tells me things. It shows me things. It sits up +in high places, where it's dark and I can see what it sees. It eats +at night. I see it, but it's like it's showing me what it +sees. It goes back up there at night to feed. But it won't have me. +It can't come in here."

+

"Why not?"

+

"Because it's a church, consecrated ground. The old woman, I +don't know how she did it, but she raised a ghost, or a devil or +something. It's used the others to take those wee babies. Now it +wants me to do the same, and when it's finished with me, I'll go +the same way. That's why I have to stay here."

+

He sat up straight. "I'm claiming sanctuary."

+

"You can't stay here forever," Jack said quietly.

+

"I'm telling you," the man said with surprising strength. "If +you take me out of here, then it'll get me. You can't stop this +thing. If it gets me, then it'll make me do the things it wants. It +just wants to kill."

+

Jack spent two hours up in the belltower with Michael O'Day, +going over the story again and again. O'Day was consistent, telling +it the way he remembered it. Finally, feeling drained and a little +numb, he told the man that he could stay in the belltower, though +he told him he'd probably be back to ask some more questions. O'Day +agreed with that. He got to his feet, moving like an old man. With +a quick motion he snatched up the prayer beads and held them up. +The carved gold cross gleamed in the dim light. "Here," he said. +"you should take this. If you're looking for that thing, then +you'll need it. I don't think there's anything else can stop +it."

+

He slung it across and Jack caught it with his free hand and +stuffed it into his pocket. O'Day watched warily, holding the rusty +lever up in front of him while Jack unlocked the cuffs and put them +in his pocket, but Jack merely turned and backed down the +stairs.

+

At the bottom, the two policemen were standing with the +priest.

+

"Is he coming down then?"

+

"Not for the moment," Jack told him. He wanted out of the +church, into the fresh air, somewhere he could think. "He's got the +chalice. It's not damaged."

+

"Well, aren't you going to bring him down?"

+

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Jack said. "He's claiming +sanctuary."

+

"Sanctuary?" the priest asked angrily. "I want him out of my +church."

+

"Unfortunately, the law still stands," Jack told him, making it +up as he went along. He hadn't a clue whether there was still a +law, or if there had ever been one outside of films.

+

"A citizen claiming sanctuary cannot be forced out of a church +against his will."

+

He turned and left the priest standing open-mouthed in the +aisle.

+

There was little time to do any thinking. Jack went back to the +station and straight into Superintendent Cowie's room, unannounced. +Ron Cowie was dunking small biscuits in a cup of coffee, though he +sniffily made no move to offer one to Jack.

+

"You must have plenty of time to spare," he said with heavy +sarcasm, "if you can afford to waste it on trespassers."

+

"Just the one trespasser, and, co-incidentally, the very man +I've been looking for."

+

There was nothing for it but to tell Cowie exactly what O'Day +had told him. The response was entirely predictable. The +superintendent told him it was both claptrap and balderdash and +that he was derelict in his duties by wasting so much valuable +time.

+

"So where is this idiot?"

+

"He's still up there. He's claiming sanctuary. I told him he +could stay there for the time being. He's going nowhere."

+

"Nonsense, you can't have people stealing religious relics and +then disturbing the peace, even if it's only the Catholics they're +disturbing. Just send somebody over there and get him out."

+

"I think that would be a mistake. I promised him he could stay. +It's the best way to get co-operation. Whether anybody believes +what he says, it's obvious that O'Day believes it. He's as secure +up there as anywhere."

+

Cowie opened his mouth to say something, but just at that moment +there was a knock on the door. A young policewoman popped he head +through.

+

"It's a call for you Mr Fallon. Sergeant Thomson say's it's +urgent."

+

Jack left Cowie spluttering over his coffee.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike28.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike28.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e8bf49 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike28.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,396 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 28 + + + + +
+
+

28

+

Young Danny Cullen was sitting on the ground just outside the +gate when Jack and Ralph Slater got to the forge. His face was +ash-grey and he was puffing continuously on an unaccustomed +cigarette. Fergus Milby was talking to a man in a tweed jacket and +a loud tie who was wearing a bright yellow hard had that made both +policeman think of Votek Visotsky's head rolling along the bloodied +tiles on the floor of the car accessory store.

+

"It's the bodies," Fergus told him. "Me and Danny found them. +Just wee babies, and the smell would kill you." The words came +tumbling out. He did not look quite so ashen as his apprentice, but +you could tell he'd had a shock.

+

Jack took it a step at a time, he got the men's names first of +all and then he asked what he'd seen and where.

+

"Up there," Fergus pointed. "They're in the chimney. Four of +them at least. It gave young Danny a right turn. Nearly pitched him +off."

+

Jack looked up and his heart sank. High places. There +couldn't be anywhere higher than that in the whole town.

+

"Shit," he said, not quite under his breath. "How the hell do we +get up there?"

+

"Oh, it's all right. We've got ladders up the side." He pointed +out through the gate and Jack took a few steps outside to see where +he was indicating. The spindly aluminium steps hugged the bricks +all the way to the top, narrowing ever closer in diminishing +parallax of distance.

+

"Oh great," he muttered. "Bloody terrific. You'll have to come +up with us."

+

The man nodded. Jack took off his coat and slung it in the back +seat of the car. Fergus Milby have him a webbing belt harness, +showed Jack how to clip on the safety catch and explained that it +would move up along with him, but would lock if he dropped. Jack +remembered it all from his teenage days, the last time he had +climbed with a rope. A jittery nerve danced behind his knees and +for a second he felt physically sick.

+

"Don't worry," the other man tried to reassure him. "That cable +can hold three tons. You'll be safe as houses."

+

Fergus went on up the ladder, taking light, easy and confident +steps. Jack stood at the bottom, took several deep breaths and +began to follow him, keeping his eyes fixed on the brickwork inches +in front of his eyes, not daring to look elsewhere. About forty +steps up, he was sweating so badly his shirt was soaked and beads +of salt water were dripping into his eyes. Despite that he slowly +climbed upwards, unable to force his hand off the rung and wipe his +eyes, risking only the quick movement needed to grasp the next one +up. At just over a hundred feet, though as far as Jack was +concerned it could have been two miles, all noise below faded away +to a faint hum. There was a slight wind and the metal treads, +chilled by the breeze were cold on his hands. Beneath him he could +hear Ralph Slater's laboured breathing. At that moment, Jack knew +that even if he decided to quit, he couldn't get back down beyond +the scene-of-crimes man. There was nothing for it but to continue +upwards towards the top of the chimney.

+

Finally, without any warning, the brickwork in front of his eyes +disappeared and a fresh cold breeze blew into Jack's eyes, causing +them to spark with tears. He blinked them back, still gripping +tight to the rungs of the ladder. Out of the corner of his eye, he +could see the river snake away to the north, a silver band between +the grey banks and for a second the world zoomed in and out of +focus while he rose the crest of a rush of vertigo.

+

"No bother," Fergus Milby said. He had unclipped his safety line +and was standing, with incredible casualness, halfway round the +chimney. "Come on up."

+

Jack heaved himself onto the top edge. For a second his hand +refused to relinquish its grip on the rung, and it took a great +effort of will to make it move. Finally he reached and grasped the +edge of the bricks, feeling the tips of his fingers try to dig +right into the hard surface. With infinite care and with enormous, +gut-wrenching trepidation, he eased himself on to the top and sat, +holding on with both hands, one leg inside the chimney, the other +out, each heel jammed against the sides for extra purchase.

+

Then the smell hit him and took his mind off the appalling +height.

+

"That's the first one we found," Fergus said. He hunkered down +beside the little tatter of cloth and pulled a piece back. The +baby's parchment-like face seemed to be screwed up against the +cold. Jack knew it was just dessication. The fluids had leached out +of the body and the wind had done the rest.

+

He risked a sideways turn and looked down the shaft. The +afternoon sunlight only illuminated about ten feet then faded to +blackness. It looked like a huge well. On the opposite side, he +could see a piece of metal which had been bent down then pulled up +again to form what looked like a butcher's hook. Something larger +than the two bundles was suspended from one of the spikes. Even +from where he sat, Jack could see the matted hair and the outline +of a chin. A grey hand hung down there just in the twilight between +daylight and shadow. Below it, he was not sure, but he thought he +could make out a leg.

+

Ralph clambered up beside him and patted him on the +shoulder.

+

"What a view, eh?"

+

Jack nearly fell off.

+

"Bloody hell, Ralph. Take it easy," he bawled.

+

"Okay, chief," Ralph replied cheerily. "You'll have us both off +if you don't relax."

+

Jack did not reply. He merely pointed at the thing hanging down +from the spike.

+

"Oh dear Lord," Ralph said softly, but with great feeling. "How +in hell did they get up here?"

+

Jack sat motionless, looking at the body on the far side and the +smaller one close by, hanging next to a small thing that looked +like a shrivelled skinned rabbit, but which he knew was not. The +sickening dread of falling had been replaced by an entirely +different emotion. For a while he forgot that he was perched nearly +two hundred feet above the town on the huge chimney stack.

+

Five pitiful bodies. Three babies and a young boy and a teenage +girl.

+

High places. Lorna Breck had been right. Michael O'Day +with his mad eyes and his stuttering voice and shaking hands had +not been wrong. This was one of the high places. This is where it +had brought them. As he sat there on high, with the wind now +blowing across his face, Jack Fallon stopped thinking of +who. There was no face to be put on this killer, no +prints, no previous convictions, at least none that were on any +police computer. Whatever had scaled this tower with no ladders, +hauling the dead and bleeding bodies of these babies and children, +could not, surely, have been human.

+

Jack slowly eased himself round on the flat. Across the roof of +the forge was the green open space on this side of the river where +the three housing blocks stood shoulder to shoulder. Latta Court +had been the first. Little Timmy Doyle had gone missing from there. +Whatever had scaled the wall of the flat, climbing up from the +ground or down from the darkened roof, had brought the little baby +down from that height and come scrambling up here with its victim +to impale it on an old lightning spike. Out beyond the flats, where +the river took its turn past the tidal basin and swung into the +saltwater estuary, the bulk of Castlebank Distillery loomed close +to the rock where the castle sat. Carol Howard had gone up in the +lift shaft, dragged up by something that had made her screams echo +up to her workmates outside in the corridor, terrible screams that +had made women burst into tears and grown men shiver. Just beyond +it hunched the Castle Rock, where Annie Eastwood had walked the +parapet and dived to spread herself on the butcher's blocks of the +basalt rocks below.

+

Just across the river, beside the railways bridge, the old +warehouses huddled, derelict and shabby. Jack could see the square +opening on the gable wall where the hoist had still worked when he +and his pals had stolen pigeons. The jig still jutted out, though +the pulley rope had long since rotted to tatters. Lorna Breck had +seen it, the night Neil Kennedy had gone missing. She'd seen +something come down from the dark and snatch him up like a rag. In +that nightmare vision, she watched the thing scuttle in a black +blur towards the opening in the wall. Jack tried to visualise the +scene at night. Had it clambered across the railway bridge? Swung +on the electricity gantries? It had brought them here, the five of +them.

+

Something jarred at his memory. He closed his eyes to +concentrate, and it came right to him. The three boys who had gone +missing from the parts store were not here. He did a quick count. +Five bodies. Three babies, a child with matted and dirty red hair +peeling in strips from a dented skull, a girl hanging from a spike +that had impaled her under the jaw and come out at the temple.

+

Jack rhymed them off in his head. Carol Howard, Neil Kennedy, +Timmy Doyle. Little Kelly Campbell. All present and correct, +battered bloodied, torn, but all here. And one other. One more +little scrap, dangling down into the maw of the chimney, spiked +through its skinny little chest so that it was hunched and +contorted.

+

There hadn't been another child. Nobody had reported one +missing, and in the last two weeks, every mother whose boy was five +minutes late in coming home from school or who dawdled on the way +back from the corner shop was on the phone to the station, half +hysterical with worry. A fourth baby meant another huge problem +among all the rest of the troubles which crowded in on him like +melancholy mourners at a funeral.

+

As he sat and stared at the suspended shapes, Jack suddenly got +a picture of Julie, lying among the shards of glass in the shop +window, blood pooling out underneath her, eyes glazing over, +moveless, lifeless. He saw in his mind's eye the spike of glass +she'd landed on, driven through her back, through her heart and out +in the centre of her chest, just under her breastbone. She'd been +impaled, just like these dead and mouldering children.

+

No pain, Lorna had said, and of a sudden, Jack Fallon believed +her completely. She'd seen it, seen it through him when she'd taken +his hand in hers.

+

And what would she say now? Had these babies felt no pain?

+

He thought not. Little Timmy Doyle, wrenched form his pram so +violently that the leather straps had snapped. Tiny Kelly Campbell, +snatched from her mother's arms by something that had come down a +wall and hit her so hard it had smashed the bones of her face. And +she'd fought for her child, fought with the desperate ferocity and +courage of a mother against something so powerful it had killed her +with a blow. Neil Kennedy, whose blood had been found in congealing +puddles, slowly soaking into the dry wooden beams of the old +warehouse. It had come down and taken him like a spider does with a +fly on the web. It had plucked him from the stairs and +climbed. Had the boy felt no pain? And Carol +Howard, screaming in the lift, her shrieks of anguish and terror +diminishing as she was hauled up the shaft while her blood had +sprayed over the cables. Pain and devastating terror were what she +had felt. There was no doubt in his mind.

+

And there was also no doubt, right in that instant of clarity, +that he would find it. No matter what it was, man, beast or goblin +or whatever, he would catch it and he would stop it. He would catch +it as an offering to these babies, these children, who were hung up +like sacrifices in the well of the old forge chimney.

+

Then it came to him in a flash, the mental picture he'd formed +when she'd described where the thing went. Looking down into a +well, with the fires below. This was the place, this was the well. +Down there, even in the gloomy winter-afternoon daylight, he could +see the flares of the forge glowing red through the windows. No +wonder she didn't recognise this place. At night, looking down, it +would be like a vision of hell.

+

Fergus Miller went back down the ladder for a length of rope and +some bags. It took him half an hour to get back, and the light was +beginning to fade quickly. Ralph took as many pictures as he could, +crouching on the lip of the chimney with a casual ease that alarmed +Jack.

+

"I don't understand it, Chief," he admitted. "How the hell did +they get up here?"

+

It climbs. The words seemed to echo in Jack's mind, +repeating themselves over and over again.

+

"And why here? What's the point?"

+

It feeds. That's what Michael O'Day had said. It had +brought these bodies up here and hung them up, like tidbits in a +hellish larder. The little form lying on the flat had been savaged. +Something had ripped it from the neck, and below the jagged gash, +there was little left but strips of torn flesh. The other one, a +very cursory appraisal had shown him, had been gutted. Strips of +skin peeled back from a gaping space where the belly had been.

+

Jack did not want to tell Ralph any of what he was thinking. He +regretted telling Cowie about O'Day. That had been a tactical +error, because it had taken him long enough, too long, to begin to +come round to believing that what he was hunting was not human, but +something conjured up, however it had been done, however +preposterous it sounded, on the night that Marta Herkik had held +the seance in Cairn House. Cowie had gaped at him as if he was mad. +Even a reasonable man would have shied away from the notion.

+

Now Jack's problem was in deciding what to do about it. His +choices were limited to one.

+

Fergus Milby popped his head over the edge. "They had to get +this rope from the post office," he said, slightly out of breath. +"The engineers use them for pulling cables through the pipes," he +explained. He clambered onto the lip, unslung a big haversack and +started pulling a plastic bag out. For the next half an hour, the +three men wrapped the bodies, the babies first, into the bags and +lowered them down the side of the chimney. Jack watched as the +black trussed shapes diminished from view to the waiting people who +milled like ants at the base, beside the winking blue lights. +Finally, with some effort, they freed the body of Carol Howard. It +was a hideous task. Both Jack and Ralph had to work to free the +head from the spike, twisting it this way and that until they could +draw with limp weight upwards. The smell was thick and poisonous. +Finally the metal hook drew out with a wet, scraping sound and they +laid the girl down on the bricks. One of her legs was gone. A +ragged mess of blood, gristle and bone shards lay in the crater +where the girl's hip had once been.

+

The two of them quickly wrapped her in a plastic sheet, tied the +ends and looped the sling of rope around her. They dropped her over +the edge. It took a long time for her to reach the ground.

+

The journey from the top of the chimney stack was less nerve +wracking than the ascent. The hot anger twisted inside Jack and +cauterised his fear of heights. He'd seen murder victims aplenty. +He'd been there on the moors when they'd dug up the bodies of drug +dealers, and he'd been to many a low-life tenement in the city to +find a glare-eyed corpse in a pool of blood and vomit or trussed +like a chicken in a bath. The anger had come on him then, many a +time, but not the way he felt it as he slowly lowered himself, rung +by rung down the spindly ladder on the great forge chimney while +the winter wind snatched at his jacket and the watery light began +to fade from the sky. The pitiful bodies, hung like carcasses in a +butcher's shop, torn and mutilated, had brought up emotions he'd +been holding down for a long time. For the first time he felt a +strange mixture of pity and admiration for Lorna Breck. There was +no doubt now that she was seeing these things. For some reason he +could not quite understand, she was tuned, like a radio, to the +thing that was taking children up to the high places to spike them +on the old lightning forks. They had died from this, and she was +living with it.

+

He was half-way down the chimney when a thought from the far +past came back to him, way back in the sixties when he was just a +small boy in short trousers, catching sticklebacks in the mill-burn +that drained out of the water meadow into the river, or spearing +flatfish down on the salt flats in the estuary.

+

Twitchy eyes. That's what they'd called him, the crazy +man who had killed the boy in the back room of Cairn House all +those years ago. He'd abducted a girl in Eastmains, raped her and +left her for dead up beyond Corrieside where there was a +tree-filled glen, now long since cleared to make way for the +encroaching housing schemes. The memory brought a strange twist of +apprehension in Jack that had been long dormant. Then, in that hot +summer, every child was scared of the man with the twitchy eyes +whose crudely drawn image had stared, like a character in an old +murder movie, from the posters in every school. He'd taken another +small boy out on Westerhill where the trees tangle down the hill +towards the shoreline and he'd smashed his head with a half-brick +and kept on hitting him, so the story went, until nobody could +recognise him as human. All summer there were organised picnics and +play schemes, something the town had never had before. Mothers +banded themselves into child-watching teams. Many kids were kept in +and around their homes until the schools went back.

+

Then it had simply stopped. Police found an old couple dead and +fly-blown in a croft house up on Blackwod Hill on the far end of +town. They'd been shot at close range with a twelve bore shotgun +and left to rot in the tiny front room. That was the last of the +killings in that year. The tracker dogs had scoured the moors up as +far as Langmuir Crag, but the killer was long gone. He never killed +again, as far as anybody knew. Later on, when Jack had been in his +teams, his father had told him he thought the man had probably +wandered up into the tarns of the moor where there were floating +bogs which went down forever. Maybe he'd fallen into one of them, +or maybe he'd gone up into the hills and blown his own head off. +The killings had stopped, but Jack Fallon remembered the strange +feeling of threat he'd felt when any stranger looked at him in the +street. He remembered the wrench of anxiety as he scanned the +stranger's face to ascertain whether this one had +twitchy-eyes. Whether this was the one who would reach out +and grab him and hit him with a half-brick until nobody could tell +if he was human.

+

He remembered it and his anger grew. There were enough dangers +for children. There were trees to fall out of, things for kids to +swallow and stick in their throat. There were pans of boiling soup +to scald them and fires to burn them. There were cars to run out of +control and smash them through shop windows to impale them on +knives of glass. These were the hazards, these and many more.

+

But it was different when someone, or some-thing was out there, +deliberately stalking children, snatching them away from their +mothers and their homes and carrying them off to impale them in +dreadful ignominy in a dirty chimney tower. He thought of the +families whose lives had been ruined, the mothers and the fathers +and the brothers and sisters, a whole chain of anguish and choking +misery and he felt the heat of the anger boil inside him. By the +time his feet touched the ground, he was almost speechless with +rage at this affront. He didn't even supervise the loading +of the trussed plastic parcels into the wagon. He left that to the +squad of men who had arrived. He got straight into his car and +drove away, hands gripping the wheel in strangle-grips.

+

Lorna Breck called from behind the door when he rapped the +knocker. When she heard his name, she opened it almost immediately +and when she looked up at him, she gave him a tired smile and held +out her hand. He took it and she led him through to the +kitchen.

+

"You're worn out," she said.

+

"No," he replied with some irony. "I'm as fresh as a daisy."

+

She let go his hand, but kept smiling. Her wide grey eyes looked +him up and down appraisingly.

+

"You've had that same shirt on since the last time I saw you, +and your trousers are covered in dust. You need a shave and a +shower," She wrinkled her nose as she spoke, and he felt +uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

+

"And you have something important to tell me."

+

"I do," he agreed. "And I will if you make me a coffee, hot and +strong, but first I want to ask you something."

+

"Of course I will," she said, crossing to thumb the switch on +the kettle. "As long as you don't mind instant." Jack shrugged.

+

"Tell me. The other night when you were describing the place it +goes, could you tell me again."

+

Lorna's face sagged. She came forward and leaned her hands on +the back of the chair on the other side of the table.

+

"You've found them, haven't you?"

+

"Yes. By sheer luck, if you can call it that. They could have +been there for years."

+

"In the tunnel, or the well?"

+

"In a chimney. One of the two on the other side of the +river."

+

"Damn!" she hissed. "Damnation. I didn't think. Yes. That's it. +I can see it now. But who would have thought?"

+

"I know. I couldn't think either. You gave me a clue once, when +you told me about the Kennedy boy. I remembered it from my +childhood. If you'd grown up here, you would have known where it +was."

+

"It's all unfamiliar to me."

+

"I know. It's not easy," Jack siad. "You were also right about +the bikes. It took three boys last night. I should have called you, +but it was very late."

+

"You should have called anyway. What happened to the boys?"

+

"They broke into a hardware store down near the allotments at +Rough Drain. It must have been there, or come in after them. One of +them got away."

+

"The one who hurt it?"

+

"Yes. He put a drill in its eye. He told me it wasn't +human."

+

"But you know that," Lorna said intensely.

+

"I'm finally beginning to believe it."

+

"So what are you going to do now?"

+

"I don't have a clue. But I think I'll need your help."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike29.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike29.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c693dc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike29.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,406 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 29 + + + + +
+
+

29

+

It was after six when Jack left Lorna's house down on Clydeshore +Avenue. By this time it was dark and flurries of snow were whirling +in past the trees on the dark street, borne on a bitter north west +wind. Jack pulled his collar up as he walked towards his car, +feeling the ice crackle under his feet. When he got to the station, +both Ralph Slater and Robbie Cattenach wanted a word with him. He +went down to the mortuary, where the young doctor was becoming a +familiar presence.

+

"I'll have to transfer all of them to Lochend for a proper post +mortem," he said briskly. Normally Robbie was a cocky young fellow +with a mischievous sense of humour, but when he worked, he was all +business.

+

"But I have done a preliminary investigation. You've a girl of +between fourteen and eighteen, a boy of about seven or eight, and +three infants, two female, one boy. Ages range from approximately +one to two years."

+

"Cause of death?"

+

"Far too early to say. There's an incredible amount of damage, +but at first glance I would suggest most of it has taken place +after death, and I mean long afterwards."

+

The three tiny forms, stripped of their rotted clothes and the +plastic sheets lay side by side, crosswise across one of the tiled +blocks. The girl was spreadeagled on another. From ten feet away, +Jack could see the devastating injuries on their bodies. The girl's +one leg stuck out awkwardly. Her face was badly distorted where the +spike had forced its way through her cheek. She was not as badly +dried out and withered as the other small forms, but it was clear +that in the cold and dry atmosphere of the chimney, her body had +begun to lose moisture. It was lopsided and elongated. The ribs on +the right side of her chest pushed up in corrugated lines, topped +with a stiff flap of shrivelled skin which had once been a breast. +On the other side, the ribs had been caved in, or pulled out, but +Jack couldn't tell which.

+

"Robbie, I've got a problem here. I only had reports of four +children. We've got one too many here."

+

"We've got five too many, Jack. One's more than enough."

+

"You know what I mean. There's a child here who's unaccounted +for. It must be one of the girls."

+

Robbie walked across to the slab and Jack followed behind his +flapping white coat.

+

"Girl one. Approximately nine months."

+

"That'll be Kelly Campbell. That's the one with the blood +type."

+

"Yes, I remember. The other is approximately two, going by the +number of teeth."

+

The little form was stretched out, head stiff and off to one +side. A gaping hole just under the collar-bone showed where the +hook had forced through the skin and then, in time, torn upwards +with the weight of the small body's suspension. The child had been +disembowelled. Inside its abdominal cavity, the spine was clearly +delineated.

+

"This one is in a more advanced state of decomposition than most +of the others, except for the infant boy," Robbie said matter of +factly. "At first glance, I would say this was one of the first." +He lifted up a stick-like arm. Something dangled losely on the +wrist. It was a small silver bangle. Robbie eased it off slowly and +held it up.

+

"This might help," he said, handing it to Jack who turned it +round to let the light catch the surface. One word was engraved in +an amateurish script.

+

He turned to the phone and called through to the front counter. +Sergeant Thomson came to the phone.

+

"Bobby, look out the file on that fire on Murroch Road about +three weeks back. Get me all the names of the victims."

+

He stayed at the phone, tapping his foot impatiently. Finally +the duty sergeant came back. Jack could hear the pages flick over +while Bobby Thomson muttered to himself.

+

"Got it. That was the Sunday night. Yes. One Patrick McCann, +also dependents James, Brendan and Kerry. Tragic case sir. Mrs +McCann took an overdose several days later. I can look up the +details if you like."

+

Jack told him it wouldn't be necessary. He made another call, +this time asking for an outside line and got straight through to +Sorley Fitzpatrick at the fire station.

+

"Sure Jack," Sorley said agreeably. "I was there that night and +most of the morning after. A lot of damage. Took the whole top +storey and collapsed it down through the lower floors. Not a damned +smoke alarm among them. You'd think people would learn."

+

"What about the victims?"

+

"All dead, I'm afraid. The heat was pretty fierce. We got some +remains, about enough to fill a biscuit tin. Your folk identified +the father and one of the kids. The other couldn't be positively +identified, and we couldn't find the baby at all, but that's not +surprising. Soft bones and baby teeth, they don't hold up too well +if the temperature's high enough. It's rare, but I've seen it +happen before. I estimated we got a complete disintegration on the +baby, poor wee soul."

+

There was nothing more to ask. Jack thanked him and placed the +receiver down. Again Lorna Breck had been right. She'd seen the +fire happen, from a quarter of a mile away, just when it was raging +through the McCann house. She'd touched Agnes McCann and had gone +into a trance, and that strange, nightmare gift of hers had +transported her right into the house. Everybody had believed it had +been a fire, pure and simple, but Lorna Breck knew it had not been, +and now Jack Fallon knew it too.

+

He held up the tiny silver bangle, a little hoop just big enough +to slip over a baby's wrist and read the engraving again. +Kerry. A child who was supposed to have died in a fire, +had now turned up in the chimney of the old forge, found completely +by accident because a brick had fallen down and nearly brained +Bernie Maguire while he sat on the pan. Jack calculated backwards. +The blaze at the McCann flat had come only two days after Timmy +Doyle had been snatched from his pram, and William Simpson had died +two days after that. He could have sent a team up to knock on all +the doors with a picture of the minister to get conclusive proof +that he had been in the vicinity at the time, but he immediately +decided against that. He did not need it any more. The fact that +Kerry McCann had been found with the other bodies was enough for +him. If there had been any doubt left in his mind, then it was +completely overwhelmed by the facts.

+

He remembered the old quote, was it from Sherlock Holmes? +Whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the +truth.

+

However improbable, however impossible, was the idea +that a group of people had gathered in the room at Cairn House and +conjured up some kind of monster? It was the stuff of horror films, +and bad horror films at that. In this day of computer games and +video recorders and international conglomerates, where did a notion +like that fit in? Yet it was also the day of ritualised rape and +ethnic cleansing and death squads and innumerable evils that could +make the world an annexe to hell.

+

Whatever remained, however impossible, had to be the truth.

+

And the truth was that something hideous scuttled in the dark in +the high places of the ancient town of Levenford, something that +had been brought up from another place in a strange and +incomprehensible rite and given a kind of life. And it had rewarded +those who had called it up with death.

+

"I don't think we have to look any further," Jack said. "She's +Kerry McCann, aged about two. We thought she'd died in a fire."

+

"That's the one out in Corrieside?"

+

Jack nodded. "They thought she'd been burned to a cinder."

+

"Might have been better if she had," Robbie said. "I'm just +looking at the damage to the bodies. These kids have been torn +apart. Look here." He leaned across the stiff and withered form +nearest him.

+

"That's a bite there," he said, indicating a crater the width of +a handspread just under the ribs. "But it looks more like a +shark-bite. I'll do some sums and work out a radius, but you can +take it from me that whatever did this has a mouth like a gin-trap, +or it's somebody using some kind of tool. You can see there, where +the flesh has been torn. The skin has been sliced in a bite and +then ripped off. It's taken away the horn of the pelvis too, which +indicates great crushing strength."

+

He turned to the girl on the other table, sprawled in ungainly +and grotesque stiffness.

+

"The leg has been bitten off. I thought at first it was a tear, +but if you look here," he quickly turned the body over. It kept its +position, as if it was made from wood. "You've got the same type of +injury. Powerful incision through the skin, then tearing to the +underlying muscle and crushing of bone. Something bit in here then +twisted, like a crocodile.

+

"And if you look at her shoulder," Robbie shifted his position, +"you'll see an odd thing."

+

Jack looked. There was a great deal of damage on the girl's +back. It meant nothing to him.

+

"Bruising and lacerations. Consistent with being dragged along a +rough surface. But there," he said pointing with his pen. "Two +indentations, four inches apart. They've punctured the skin and +muscle and left severe pressure bruises. They're exactly the same +on the other side. That's how she was lifted."

+

"And that's a bite?"

+

"No," Robbie said flatly. "Definitely not a bite. It's a grip. +Something grabbed her with extreme violence, enough to break her +collar bone, and as far as I can see, put a hole right through her +shoulder blade. The odd thing is, there are marks of only four +digits. Like an owl?"

+

"Go on," Jack said, unsure of what Robbie meant.

+

"An owl sits with two claws and the front and two at the back. +Ideal for perching and also for snatching prey."

+

"So I should look for an owl?"

+

"No. You should be looking for something with a handspan about a +foot wide, with four claws on each."

+

"So what do you recommend?"

+

"Nothing on this earth," Robbie said with a grim smile. +"Remember what I said when I examined Shona Campbell's body? +Somebody had hit her with the strength of a bear?"

+

He looked at the stiff, blackened shape lying on the table.

+

"It certainly wasn't a bear. If you want to get something that's +close, I would suggest the museum of natural history. The only +thing I can imagine is one of the dinosaur raptors, and they've +been dead for sixty million years."

+

Jack left him making preparations to transfer the bodies to the +lab at Lochend. It was too early to call in the parents of the dead +children, though he knew he'd have to, all except Agnes McCann who +had decided life without her family was not worth living, and Shona +Campbell whose corpse was still in cold storage waiting for release +by the sheriff. The identification of the bodies would be a +nightmare for all concerned. What father would recognise his +daughter, or mother her son, when they had been left hanging up +like meat, bitten and chewed and mutilated?

+

Ralph Slater had taken fragments of clothing from each of the +bundles and had sent them to the central forensics lab for analysis +along with fibres he'd collected at the scenes of the +abductions.

+

"I don't know what the hell's going on," he said in +frustration.

+

You and me both," Jack agreed with him, not telling the entire +truth. Already he had made the mistake with Ronald Cowie, who had +looked at him as if he was mad. Ralph was not ready to share the +knowledge that Jack had.

+

"So what next?"

+

"I've got the extra manpower from head office. We go back over +every scene. I want you to work with John McColl and try to get a +central location. Work out a progress map for me, times, dates, the +lot. And put in elevations as well. There must be a pattern."

+

Even though he said it, Jack was not convinced there would be +any pattern. His only hope, he realised, would be for Lorna Breck +to use her special talent and see it in action again, and he would +hope against hope that she recognised something in time. What he +would do then, he hadn't a clue.

+

"I don't know," Andy Toye said in answer to the question. Jack +had managed to get him between lectures, but he would have hauled +him out of one had it been necessary.

+

"There's a lot of speculation of course, but no recent +documentation. The old texts say how to summon a spirit, but then +it's supposed to be confined within a container or by some other +means. You could try holy water, or maybe a stake through the +heart."

+

"Like a vampire?"

+

"I'm just taking a shot in the dark. I just don't know."

+

"What about the instructions you read out? Something about a +talisman or whatever?"

+

"Wherefore, the magician must hold the ring in his face," Andy +quoted from memory, "of pure iron or fine gold, or talisman blessed +by consecrated hands and that will defend him."

+

"Would something like that work?"

+

"I don't know. Nobody does. You could give it a try, but don't +come to me if it doesn't work."

+

"I won't," Jack said, drily.

+

"Can I take it you're beginning to take this seriously?" Andy +asked.

+

"I have to take it seriously. I've got eight murders so far and +six suicides, plus two boys missing presumed dead. I've got a +regular Armageddon on my hands down here, and the only clues I have +are from a delirious seventeen-year-old who says he stuck a drill +in its eye, and from a Highland girl who's got some kind of ESP." +He paused to draw breath. "And I've got a pathologist friend who +tells me I should be looking for a dinosaur with feet like an owl, +the strength of a bear and a bite like a crocodile. Yes, I'm taking +it seriously."

+

"I think the girl's your best hope," Andy said. "I do think +she's got a gift."

+

Jack came down from his office and through the swing doors just +as a commotion broke out right at the desk.

+

Three uniformed officers were scuffling with a man who was bent +over the front desk with an arm up his back. He was desperately +kicking out in all directions. A lucky toe caught young Gordon +Pirie right in the crotch and he went down like a sack of potatoes, +hands jammed between his legs, groaning in pain.

+

Jack continued walking. One of the other officers slammed the +man down hard on the desk, making his head thump the polished +surface. The fellow yelled, squirmed round and saw Jack.

+

"You bastard," he bawled at the top of his voice. Two old ladies +who had come in to report a lost purse shrank back, shaking their +heads and tut-tutting in genteel disapproval.

+

"You swine that you are," the man shouted. "You said you'd let +me stay in the church."

+

Jack stopped in mid stride and spun round just as one of the +policemen clamped his hand round the man's throat and forced him +back to the desk. Michael O'Day spluttered and struggled, +displaying surprising strength despite his scarecrow build.

+

"Promised me, you cheating lying shite," he screeched, feet +still flailing. "Let go of me, you swines."

+

"What's going on here?" Jack barked. Everything went quiet.

+

"Bastard," Michael O'Day spat at him.

+

"Hold on, you," Jack ordered. "And stay still." He walked up to +the constable who was holding the skinny man in a death grip. +O'Day's jacket was torn at the pocket and the collar of his shirt, +already crumpled and dirty, was sticking up at an angle. A light +dusting of snow was melting on his shoulders.

+

"What's happening?" he asked again. "What's this man doing +here?"

+

"Superintendent Cowie told us to get him down from the church," +the policeman said. "He nearly took my head off with an iron bar. +Damned maniac. He's in for it now."

+

"Just hold on. Mr Cowie told you to arrest him?"

+

"Yes sir. Breach of the peace and theft, but now he's up for +resisting arrest and police assault."

+

"You promised me, you lying swine," O'Day grated bitterly. He +was struggling against the big policeman's grip and making no +progress. One of his shoes came flying off and rolled under a +chair.

+

"Just wait here until I get to the bottom of it," Jack said. +"And stay quiet, or I'll throw you in the cell myself."

+

He staked off back the way he had come and shouldered his way +through the swing door. At the Superintendent's office, he bulled +his way in without knocking.

+

"What's this all about?"

+

Cowie looked up.

+

"I beg your pardon?"

+

"O'Day. You've had him arrested."

+

"Of course I did. He was causing disorder, and according to you, +he'd already admitted theft," Cowie said smugly. "We can't have +people like that running around, and we can't have policemen making +deals and condoning such actions, especially when they have more +pressing and serious matters to attend to."

+

"But I told him he could stay there."

+

"I know you did, and I over-ruled you. Listen, Chief Inspector, +I don't know what you're playing at. You came to me with a fairy +tale about seances and devil-worship. Now I don't know about you, +but that doesn't strike me as going by the book. I think you've +overstepped the mark, and I've cut you down to size."

+

"O'Day is crucial to my investigation," Jack said as calmly as +he was able.

+

"Oh really? A mad Irishman who thinks he's being chased by +ghosts? Up in a church bell tower? I can hardly see how that +figures in your investigation. I really don't know what sort of +investigation you are conducting, but so far it's produced nothing +except delusion. Let's see, you've had how many murders? Eight so +far? Nine? Half a dozen suicides. And what have you got? An +Irishman who says he claims sanctuary and has you convinced he's +been conjuring up devils."

+

Cowie smirked. "Not the most impressive result of an +investigation is it?"

+

"But I need him," Jack protested, almost speechless with +anger.

+

"No, mister. You need to get results, and so far you've come up +with big fat zero. You've made yourself look a fool, and by god, +you won't make me look like one. You've gone over my head and I +don't like that."

+

"I went by the book on that one. We need more men."

+

"I make the decisions around here, and you'd do well not to +forget it. The Chief Superintendent, as far as I can gather, won't +be back, at least not for some time, and when he's gone, I'm in +command. You'd do well to remember that too. I want this place +running properly and that includes the murder investigation. So far +your attempts have been abysmal."

+

"I already told you I was following up a lead in connection with +O'Day, and I told you it was important to leave him where he was. +At least he's talking."

+

"Talking gibberish, yes. And if you believe a word of it, you're +a bigger fool than you're beginning to look. Now he's in our +custody and you can talk to him all you like, but I warn you, +Chief Inspector, I don't expect you to waste any more +time. You've got a madman out there, who as far as we know, has +killed eight people of this Burgh. I must stress to you as strongly +as I can that I am far from impressed with your lack of progress, +your attitude and your conduct of this operation. One more such +lapse, and you will be off this case. I have that authority, and by +God I'll use it."

+

He smiled up at Jack, favouring him with a triumphant, self +satisfied narrowing of his eyes.

+

"Now, if that's all, some of us have important work to do."

+

Jack spun on his heel and stalked out of the office.

+

The front office was empty, apart from the two old biddies who +were huddled together at the desk, giving a bored looking young +policeman their details. Bobby Thomson cocked his thumb in the +direction of the cells. Jack went downstairs, passing the mortuary +as he went. The wasted and mutilated bodies, covered with white +sheets, were being carried out of the rear door for the short trip +to Lochend and the pathology lab.

+

Michael O'Day was sitting in a corner, huddled up inside his +badly wrinkled coat, feet drawn up beside him on the low bench-cot +and arms hugged around his knees.

+

"Bastard," he hissed when the young turnkey opened the door and +let Jack inside.

+

"For what it's worth, I didn't agree to this. I had already told +them to let you stay where you were."

+

"You expect me to believe that? Eh? Listen, you, I'm a dead man. +You're looking at a corpse."

+

"You'll be safe enough in here," Jack said reassuringly, but it +didn't work.

+

"Safe? You think I'll be safe? Are you mad or what? I told those +cretins to leave me alone. The only place I was safe was in the +church. Now it'll come for me. I can hear it already."

+

The emaciated man cocked his head to the side, as if +listening.

+

"It's back in my head. I can hear it. You've killed me, don't +you see it? Jesus help me. It's going to come for me. It'll make me +do whatever it wants."

+

"No," Jack said, though even he knew he was on unsteady ground. +"We'll give you protection. I can't put you back in the church. +It's an order down from upstairs and I've got to go along with +it."

+

"Protection, is it? And what protected Janet Robinson? She +worked here, for god sake. Did that protect her? Listen, man, you +can't stop this thing. It's not human."

+

He stopped and cocked his head again.

+

"Fuck off, you bastard," he said, staring right at Jack , but +his eyes were focused much further away. "Get out of my fuckin' +head," he screeched.

+

All of a sudden, the man on the cot began to cry. His eyes were +still open, still wildly staring.

+

"It's coming for me," he wailed. "Oh, holy mother forgive me. I +didn't know."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike30.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike30.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..172c2fc --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike30.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,652 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 30 + + + + +
+
+

30

+

Mutilated bodies of five children have been found by +detectives leading the biggest ever murder inquiry in Levenford's +history, the story blared from the front page of the +Gazette.

+

The gruesome find was made by steeplejacks working on a +disused venting chimney at Thomson's Forge.

+

And the discovery follows the macabre abduction of two +teenagers and the brutal slaying of another in a car-part store in +the early hours of Thursday morning.

+

The latest violent death was discovered yesterday when staff +at Rolling Stock in the commercial centre just off Strathleven +Street opened for business. The horrified shop assistants +discovered part of the body of a young man, and evidence of a +violent struggle in which, it is suspected, two other teenage boys +have been injured or killed.

+

The dead boy has been identified as Votek Visotsky, whose +father Karl is the well known manager of Kirkland Automobiles and +secretary of the Round Table. The shocked parents were too +distressed last night to speak of the tragedy.

+

The missing boys are Edward Redford and Charles Black, both +of East Mains, who have been missing since Wednesday night. A +blood-soaked piece of clothing, bearing a wallet identified as +belonging to Edward Redford, leads police to suspect he was +involved in the incident. His whereabouts are subject to a massive +police search of the area around the Rough Drain on the east side +of the Burgh.

+

Police are also investigating an incident involving a fourth +youth, known to be a friend of the other three, who was found badly +injured on Castlebank Street in the early hours of the morning by +local bowling club secretary and newsagent Walter Dickson. Mr +Dickson took the boy, believed to have been burned, to Lochend +Hospital from where he was rushed to Keltybank Hospital, the +world-renowned plastic surgery unit, where he is still undergoing +emergency treatment.

+

The bodies in the Thomson Forge Chimney, one of the town's +major landmarks, were discovered by Fergus Milby and his assistant +Daniel Cullen moments after they scaled the 200-foot tower in a +routine maintenance operation.

+

They told the Gazette that the dead children had been +impaled on the spikes of lightning conductors and were hanging +inside the chimney. Mr Milby described the scene as being "like a +butcher's shop".

+

Police are working on the theory that the dead children +include the bodies of babies Timothy Doyle and Kelly Campbell, both +of whom were abducted two weeks ago. Mrs Shona Campbell was killed +in the barbaric attack. Two of the others are believed to be those +of Neil Kennedy, 8, who went missing from near his home in Miller +Road on Monday night, and Carol Howard, 16, who disappeared from an +elevator in Castlebank Distillery on Tuesday. The identity of the +fifth child is unknown at the moment, raising yet another riddle in +this series of tragedies. Police have confirmed that they have had +no further reports of missing children so far.

+

The horrific slayings, which began with the murder of +elderly Marta Herkik in her home in Cairn House on River Street, +now thought to have been the beginning of the series of deaths and +abductions, have been parallelled by a bizarre succession of +suicides.

+

Blair listed them at length.

+

The man heading the murder and abduction inquiry, Detective +Chief Inspector Jack Fallon, has appealed for any information +concerning the deaths.

+

Mr Fallon and scene of crimes officer Inspector Ralph Slater +were first on the scene at Thomson Forge where the bodies were +found, and again affirmed the warnings to all parents. Because of +the public outcry over the series of horrific killings, Regional +Headquarters have confirmed the temporary transfer of a significant +number of officers to help in the inquiry.

+

Mr Fallon said he had to weigh the balance between causing a +public panic and ensuring public protection.

+

"I have to say protection comes first," he told the Gazette: +"Every parent should by now be aware of the danger to children. +This person, or persons, has so far taken babies, a boy, and a +teenage girl, and possibly three youths. All of the incidents have +happened at night, but this pattern may change. We cannot +say.

+

"Every parent should be made aware of the dangers. Children +must be watched at all times, and they should under no +circumstances be out after dark. Any woman, young or old, should +avoid dark or isolated places where there are no people. At night, +all windows and doors should be locked. Deserted areas must be +avoided."

+

Provost Stanley Moor, leader of the Labour administration on +the District Council however, last night hit out at the lack of +police success.

+

"What are we paying them money for?" he asked."They've got +people out stopping drivers with broken tail lights and giving out +parking tickets, while there's some maniac running around our +streets and killing our children. This town is under siege, and I +wasn't voted in here to sit back and take it. I will be speaking to +the Chief Constable first thing in the morning to demand immediate +action."

+

Provost Moor declined to offer any advice to the murder +squad detectives, or to suggest what action they should +take.

+

The story continued on pages two and three and the centre +spread. Blair Bryden had again burned the midnight oil and he'd +gone knocking on the doors. There were interviews with relatives +and friends, pictures of white-faced shop assistants at Rolling +Stock who were far from shy about describing in detail what they +had found in the early hours of a cold and frosty morning. Blair +had been circumspect about his own descriptions. An old aerial shot +of the town had been hauled out of the files and spread across the +centre pages, with every location outlined with a black circle. It +looked as if Levenford had been used as a target by a giant +hoopla-player. They crowded on the page like a scattering of +malignant haloes. On the wing column of the spread, there was +another article.

+

OCCULT DETECTIVES?

+

It read.

+

Chief Superintendent Jack Fallon is remaining tight lipped +about the involvement of two alleged psychic experts who have both +been interviewed at Levenford Police station and are believed to be +helping with inquiries.

+

The experts are Andrew Toye, professor of paranormal studies +at the City university, and librarian Lorna Breck, who recently +featured in these pages after a tragic fire on Murroch Road which +claimed the lives of four people.

+

Professor Toye is a well known authority on the occult and a +veteran psychic investigator. Last year he was involved in the +Blackhale mystery where a young girl was thought to have been the +focus of a poltergeist-style haunting. Professor Toye is also +respected for his expertise in Celtic Studies.

+

Lorna Breck, of Clydeshore Avenue, who recently came to +Levenford to work in Strathleven Library, is reputed to have +foreseen the disastrous fire which claimed the life of Patrick +McCann and his three small children, James, Brendan and +Kerry.

+

Though Miss Breck makes no claims for any psychic +capability, Mrs Moira McCluskie a friend, who was present during +the 'episode' told the Gazette: "It was amazing. I've never seen +anything like it in my life. Lorna was reading the tea-leaves, and +we were ll having a bit of fun. Nobody took it seriously, at least +I didn't.

+

"But then she went all funny and started telling Agnes to go +home. That was the mother, poor woman. She said she had to go home +because her house was on fire, and it was true. When we went +downstairs, we could hear the fire engines in the distance and by +the time we got along to Murroch Road, there was nothing left of +the house."

+

Both professor Toye and Lorna Breck have refused to comment +on their involvement.

+

However, it is known, or suspected, that the first in this +terrifying spate of murders happened during a seance in Cairn +House, the tragic history of which has been revealed in previous +issues of the Gazette.

+

Mrs Herkik, a Hungarian refugee, was a well known psychic or +speywife who held regular seances in her fourth-floor rooms. Police +are working on the theory that she may have actually been killed +during the progress of such a sitting.

+

A further, and more disturbing theory is that she may have +been at the centre of a cult of devil-worshippers or +occultists.

+

At St Rowan's Church, Father Liam Boyle said: "This kind of +blasphemy is dangerous and a sin against the Holy Ghost and the +first of the commandments. People who are involved in these +practices are in danger of losing their immortal souls."

+

Chief Inspector Fallon, has so far refused to confirm the +involvement of either Miss Breck or Professor Toye, but other +forces on England have, on numerous occasions, sought the help of +so-called psychics in the search for missing persons. But the fact +that a paranormal expert and an alleged fortune-teller have been +discussing the issue with the murder squad detectives suggests that +they had been called in for advice on both the mysterious and +brutal killing of Marta Herkik and the whereabouts of the missing +children.

+

Mr Fallon would only confirm that none of them are suspected +of any involvement in the horrendous crimes which have terrified +the people of Levenford.

+

The discovery of the five dead children in the chimney of +Thomson's Forge may indicate that their involvement has been +helpful.

+

It is not understood how, or why, the children were taken to +such an inaccessible place and hung on the spikes. The awful find, +reminiscent of the cache of the Shrike, or butcher-bird +which impales its prey, has sent shock-waves of fear and anxiety +throughout the community. On Friday, Fr Boyle is to hold a special +service of prayer for the victims and for an end to the spate of +killings.

+

"What the hell is this?" Cowie said, throwing the newspaper down +onto his desk. It landed with a loud slap.

+

"It's a newspaper," Jack said, blandly. "Is this what you called +me in for?"

+

Jack had managed to get up to Julia's house where she cooked him +the first real dinner he could remember in recent weeks.

+

As he wolfed a steak pie, Davy sat beside him while Julia eyed +him askance.

+

"So he's not happy?" she asked.

+

"He'll never be happy. Dad told me about folk like Cowie, +promoted above their station. The handshake still counts for too +much, even these days."

+

"Dad would have killed you if you'd joined them."

+

"I would have killed myself," Jack said through a mouthful of +pastry. "There's too many damned secrets without having a society +to start new ones."

+

"Uncle Jack said a bad word," Davy piped up gleefully, nudging +Jack just under the ribs. "Just like he said when he fell in the +water."

+

"Now Davy," Julia told him, though she was looking at Jack with +her eyebrows raised. "Don't tell tales."

+

"Explosive expletive," Jack said, trying to keep his face +straight. "I didn't think he heard."

+

"Are you going to catch the bad men?" The boy asked, eyes wide +and serious.

+

"Bad men?" For a moment Jack was nonplussed, then the coin +dropped. "Oh yes. I'm going to catch them."

+

"We had a policeman round today again. We can't even get out in +the playground any more. We all have to stay in."

+

"That's the best thing. When I catch the bad men, you can all +get out to play again."

+

"Good," Davy said brightly. "I told my pals you would get them. +They all said it was a monster that caught people and ate them. +Some of the girls were crying, but I wasn't. I told them you'd +catch them and punch them on the nose."

+

"That I will," Jack said. In himself, he was wondering how he +was going to catch whatever he was hunting. Somehow he thought a +punch on the nose would not be standard operating procedure.

+

He'd toyed with the idea of going back up to Lorna Breck's +house, again, but after his run-in with Ronald Cowie, he'd decided +against it, because he was still tense with anger. A sister was +different, especially one like Julia who'd already been through the +wars of a divorce. She knew how to handle him. Her house just round +the corner from Cargill Farm Cottage, was the one place he could +sit and let the tension ease out. There was another reason, one +that he'd just begun to realise when he'd thought about making +another trip across to Clydeshore Avenue.

+

She was a strange girl, Lorna Breck. The first time he'd met +her, she'd been in a state of hysterical collapse. The second, +she'd looked not much better. But since then, since he'd got to +know her a little better, and once he'd made the enormous mental +leap of actually believing what she said, he'd seen her in a +different light. He'd thought of her short chestnut-shiny hair and +her wide, innocent grey eyes as they fixed upon him and he had felt +the stirring of something he hadn't felt for so long he thought +he'd forgotten how to feel it. Sometime in the past couple of days, +without even consciously thinking it, he'd noticed what a stunner +Lorna Breck was. Maybe he'd bodyswerved the notion, shrugged it off +as soon as it started in his head, but when he considered his +reasons for going back up to her house in the early evening, he +couldn't really think of one, except that he wanted to.

+

So he came to Julia's house instead and had dinner with his +sister and his nephew and tried not to think about Lorna Breck at +all.

+

That's where Ronald Cowie's assistant found him after +telephoning several numbers.

+

"The boss wants you in here pronto," the voice said.

+

"Why, what's happened," Jack asked. Davy was over at the table +by the window doing a jigsaw puzzle he'd asked his uncle to help +him with. Julia was on the armchair, legs curled up underneath her, +looking across at her brother with muted concern.

+

"I don't know. I haven't heard anything. He just wants you to +report to his office immediately"

+

It was pitch black when Jack got into his car. Davy waved from +the window as he pulled away and went back down to the station. +Cowie looked up at him when he came into the Superintendent's +office and threw the paper down with an angry slashing motion.

+

Jack picked it up and read Blair Bryden's front page piece.

+

"Seems about right," he said.

+

"Oh no, it's not alright," Cowie snorted, "Are you responsible +for that information?"

+

"Some of it, not all. He's a digger. Knows his area."

+

"And what about the rubbish on the centre pages?"

+

Jack flipped through and held the wings of the paper up in front +of him. He gave the aerial shot a cursory glance. He'd his own +picture from the air, and huge grid-maps besides. He already knew +where everything had happened. He scanned the quotes from Doreen +Sweeney in Rolling Stock, flicked over the tremulous statements +gleaned from Sandra Mitchell who had watched the crazed Derek +Elliot ground to a pulp under the train, and skimmed over the +colourful description of the find in the chimney as told by Danny +Cullen.

+

Then the headline on the other side of the page caught his eye +and he felt himself sag.

+

"Witchcraft?" Cowie barked. "Is that what we're down to? I +thought it was bad enough with that Irishman, but this really takes +the biscuit."

+

"Sorry," Jack said as levelly as he could. "I'm not with +you."

+

"You had better believe that," Cowie said, his voice rising in +indignation. "I want to know what you're playing at. I was told +nothing about these charlatans. What the hell are they doing on a +murder case?"

+

"They're helping with inquiries."

+

"You'd better explain that," Cowie grated.

+

"Certainly. Professor Toye is an old acquaintance of mine from +university. I brought him in for an expert opinion on the Cairn +House murder. He's an expert of parapsychology and the occult. +Assuming that Marta Herkik was involved in some sort of seance at +or around the time she died, I thought his advice might be +helpful."

+

"And this Breck girl?"

+

"That's a different kettle of fish," Jack said, extemporising. +He was loath to tell Ronald Cowie exactly why he'd been dealing +with Lorna Breck. Certainly Blair Bryden had worked something out +for himself, and Jack could not blame him for running the piece in +the Gazette, no matter how unhelpful it was to him. He'd promised +to keep it out until Friday's edition. Jack had forgotten that the +bi-weekly paper was printed on a Thursday night. Cowie had got an +early copy.

+

"She's reputed to have some sort of extra sensory perception. +Professor Toye believes she'd be helpful."

+

"And that's why you have made this whole station a laughing +stock?"

+

"I don't quite see it like that. Lorna Breck was able to give us +a specific pointer to the warehouse where the Kennedy boy was +snatched. Based on that, I feel that she might be crucial to this +operation."

+

"Mister Fallon," Cowie hissed through clenched teeth. "Must I +remind you that this is a murder inquiry? The fact that you have +brought in so called psychics and fortune tellers makes you, and +every man in this station look like a fool, and I'm not going to +have that. The people out there," he said with a sweeping gesture, +"expect solid investigation, and that's what they are going to get. +They do not expect you to consult the stars, or witches or whatever +you care to call them. They want this thing stopped, and if you +think stargazing is going to do it, you're very much mistaken."

+

"I brought them in for sound reasons. They are also in addition +to the investigation. I've had people out all over town every +minute of the day since this started."

+

"And come up with nothing, as I predicted. Now it's your day of +reckoning. The reputation of this force and the safety of the +people of this burgh is much too important. As you told me earlier, +you believe this man O'Day was at the sitting which ended in the +death of Marta Herkik?"

+

Jack saw what was coming, but he could not tell a lie on +this.

+

"Yes. I believe he was."

+

"He admitted this to you?"

+

Jack nodded.

+

"And you left him up in the bell tower, despite your knowledge +that he had broken into the church and stolen valuable religious +objects." Cowie snorted with derisory laughter.

+

"So, you have a witness to a murder. All the others believed to +have been present are dead, and you let this man stay free? Didn't +you stop to think that this man is not only a witness but a prime +suspect?"

+

"I don't think so," Jack said. "In fact I know he is not a +suspect. He couldn't have carried out the killings."

+

"I take it you got that from the stars, eh?"

+

Jack said nothing, and Cowie blustered on triumphantly.

+

"Gross dereliction of duty. Criminal dereliction as far as I'm +concerned, and I suspect a few others will see it my way. I am now +formally taking over this case, which, if you had done your job +properly, you would realise is pretty much cut and dried. I have +instructed Inspector Slater to formally arrest Michael O'Day for +the murders of Marta Herkik and complicity in the killings of +Doyle, Campbell, Kennedy, and Howard with others unknown. I believe +his already admitted links with the suicides will reveal more than +you have so far found."

+

Cowie leaned forward and put his hands on his spotless desk. The +buttons on his shoulder gleamed in the overhead light.

+

"Have you anything to say?" he asked, with what could only be +described as a sneer.

+

"I think you're making a huge mistake. O'Day did not kill any of +those people. Look at the state of him man. He can hardly stand up. +If you speak to Dr Cattanach, he'll tell you. The marks on those +bodies were not made by anything he's ever seen.

+

"Oh, you haven't considered the possibility of ritual torture +and mutilation?"

+

"You think he climbed that chimney and put the bodies +there?"

+

Cowie faltered a little, but then came back strongly.

+

"That's neither here nor there. You have a man who admitted he +was there when the Herkik woman was killed and who has admitted his +association with all of the others suspected of involvement. I +think that wraps the case up nicely. Now, if you'll excuse me, I +have some serious police work to do. And you, my university +educated friend, will be the subject of a report to headquarters. +As far as you are concerned, I think you can count your days on +this force as numbered."

+

Jack stood there, towering over his superior, almost unable to +breathe because of the tight anger building up inside him. It took +a great effort of will to force the words out of his mouth without +shouting.

+

"Listen to me you crazy shit. If you think this is over, you've +got another think coming. And if you stop this investigation now, +then you'll be responsible for what happens next. This is +not finished yet. If somebody else dies, then you'll have +blood on your hands."

+

Cowie smiled brightly. "Oh, I don't really think so. And by the +way, I'll be adding this conversation to my report."

+

He flicked a hand towards the door. "That will be all. I believe +you are off duty now. I understand you have several days owing, so +as of tonight, I must insist you take them. You look a little over +tired."

+

Jack found the door handle and it took another major effort not +to wrench the door from his hinges.

+

He found Ralph Slater and John McColl in the operations room. +They looked up as he came in and he could see their discomfiture as +soon as he opened the door.

+

"Sorry, Chief," Ralph started. "There was nothing we could do. +He came down and insisted I make up an arrest sheet on O'Day. The +poor bastard didn't understand a word when I read him his rights. +He's down there going mental. Gibbering like an idiot."

+

"Do you think O'Day did any of this?"

+

"Oh, I think he's crazy enough at the moment, but he's scared +out of his mind, and it's not us he's frightened of. Says +something's coming for him. I reckon you've got a better idea of +what he's talking about than we have, but no, I don't believe it. +There's not a pick on the man. He looks as if he hasn't eaten for a +fortnight, and he's scared witless."

+

"Is that fool Cowie closing the case?" John asked.

+

"I'm afraid he is. I'm off it, in case you didn't hear the +jungle drums. That only means he'll make an announcement tomorrow, +get a bloody great pat on the back, and then all the kids will come +out to play again. Then another youngster will get killed. I told +him it's not over yet, but he wouldn't listen."

+

"Man's a buffoon," John said. "Batteries not included. So what +do we do now?"

+

"I've got a problem. I've been told to take time owing. I can't +refuse it. But I would appreciate if you kept me in touch"

+

He scribbled three numbers down on a sheet of paper and handed +it to Ralph.

+

"I'll be at one of these if you have to get a hold of me. Stay +close to Robbie Cattanach and get his post mortem results as +quickly as possible. And Ralph, if you can get a rush on those +blood samples from Rolling Stock, they'll tell us who was who. The +search for those lads will need top priority, but for God's sake, +have a word with the Community Involvement boys. No matter what +Cowie says tomorrow, and he'll probably sent a fax up to HQ +tonight, I want them all round the schools in the afternoon. We +can't afford a stand down on that, or we'll lose more +children."

+

He stood, hunched over with his hands in his pockets, the +familiar slick of straight black hair hanging down over his +eye.

+

"We're going to lose more anyway." he said with utter +conviction. He opened his drawer and took out a flat folder which +he stuffed inside his bag, then left without a word.

+

This time he did go to Lorna Breck's house. Again she called out +from behind the door, but when she heard his voice she opened it +quickly and gave him a wide smile. Jack's heart did a strange +little flip and he mentally berated himself for a fool. Lorna +reached out and took his hand, pulling him over the threshold. He +dropped his bag in the hallway.

+

"I was hoping you would come back," she said.

+

"Why's that?"

+

The girl shrugged. She was wearing a pair of light jeans and a +baggy pullover that made her look even younger than before.

+

"Oh, I don't know. I've been thinking, maybe we can work +together on this. I feel safe when you're with me."

+

Jack's heart did its little thump again. He wasn't sure he liked +this.

+

She led him through to the kitchen still holding his hand. "I've +got some wine in the fridge. Want some?"

+

Jack hadn't had wine in as many weeks as he'd missed hot +dinners. He decided he'd really like a glass or two, or ten. She +handed him the bottle from the fridge. It was red, but he didn't +care. It would taste just as good cold. He pulled the cork while +she got the glasses and poured two manly amounts. She told him to +sling his coat and jacket over a chair and they both sat down +opposite each other.

+

"Something's wrong," she said.

+

"You got that from holding my hand?"

+

"No, silly," she said and then she laughed for the first time in +Jack's recollection. It was surprisingly throaty and very feminine +and Jack took a drink from his glass so he wouldn't notice if his +heart did it again. "I can see it on your face. You look as if you +want to do somebody an injury."

+

"Oh I do. I've just been pulled off the case by a pompous, +ignorant, incompetent fool of a man."

+

"Why?"

+

"Because he read the Gazette today. They've speculated about you +and Professor Toye."

+

Lorna coloured. "But I didn't say anything to them. Mr Bryden +phoned me and I told him I didn't want to comment."

+

"So did Andrew Toye. It doesn't matter. That's not the real +reason. My Superintendent thinks he can get a feather in his cap by +telling the world he's arrested the killer. He's hauled Michael +O'Day down to the station. He's been up in St Rowan's belltower for +the best part of a week. All he's eaten and drunk are holy wafers +and holy water. He could't put a hole in a wet tissue."

+

Lorna looked at him intently. "That means he'll stop the hunt, +doesn't it?"

+

Jack affirmed that with a look.

+

"So it will keep on going. It will kill other people."

+

"That's what I told him, but he's hungry for the fame and the +kudos. And by the way, he called you a charlatan."

+

Lorna's eyes widened instantly and it was Jack's turn to +laugh.

+

"Oh, what the hell," he said. "Let's have a drink, then a think. +I've got one or two friends who have promised to help me."

+

"And another one," Lorna said. Jack looked across at her and she +smiled again, her eyes crinkling. "You've got me."

+

Jack took another gulp of his wine. He sat in uncomfortable +silence for a few moments until Lorna spoke again. "I do want to +help, but I'm scared."

+

He reached across the table and engulfed her small hand in his. +The skin was warm and soft. "Me too, and working blind. I want to +try something, see if I can use you as my eyes, but first I'll tell +you what O'Day told me, and what Andrew Toye thinks."

+

He explained about Michael O'Day's appeal for sanctuary.

+

"He says it can't get him as long as he'd on hallowed ground and +has the sacraments to protect him. So far, as far as I can see, +he's been right."

+

Jack reached for his coat and fumbled in the pocket. He drew out +the cross which O'Day had handed to him up in the tower. he'd +forgotten about it until that moment.

+

"He said I should keep a hold of that. Thinks it can protect me. +I suppose I should give it back to the church."

+

Lorna reached across and took the crucific in her hand, hefting +it.

+

"No. I think you should keep it until this is over."

+

He shook his head. "Maybe O'Day believes, but not me."

+

She held on to the golden cross, rubbing the surface with her +thumb. "Now that he's out, what will happen?"

+

"I don't know. My folk have promised to keep a special watch on +him. I think he'll be safe enough where he is. Nobody can get in +and he can't get out. The man's hardly got the strength to walk. He +told me about the seance in Cairn House, and I believe him. The +rest of them didn't turn on Marta Herkik. They were involved in +some kind of ritual and he says something came into the room. Like +a scene from Poltergeist."

+

Lorna raised her eyebrows, asking a silent question.

+

"It was a film. Great special effects. O'Day says this was no +trick. Andrew Toye goes along with it. It's hard to take it all in, +but I'm prepared to go along too. O'Day says whatever it is, it's +been using the people who were at Cairn House. I don't know why and +I don't know how, but he seems to think it needs them for energy or +food or something."

+

"Where does it come from?"

+

"God alone knows. Andrew has some old books which tell how to +raise demons. Call it hell or the underworld or another dimension, +it doesn't matter. I've got to find it and I have to stop it, +though I don't have the faintest idea how to do either. That's why +I've come to you for help. I want you to try to see it for me."

+

Lorna's face paled. "I thought you might suggest something like +that. I don't know if I can."

+

"You don't want to?"

+

"No, I don't, but I will try," she said in a small, resigned +voice. " But I don't know if I can do it. This isn't a +voluntary thing, you know. I've been trying not to see it +for weeks, and I've failed miserably."

+

Jack poured another glass of wine for both of them. Already he +could feel it heat him up inside. He changed the subject and for +the next hour or so they pretended to forget about why he'd come. +Lorna told him about her childhood on a farm up on the north west +coast. He told her about his own, in Levenford, running wild up in +the Langmuir Crags, catching newts in the bomb-craters which had +been left since the war, guddling trout in the streams which ran +down off the hills. She made some cheese and toast and they had +another glass, almost finishing the bottle, and then they both went +through to her small cluttered living room and sat side-by side on +the sofa. Jack fetched his bag, drew out the folder and produced a +sheaf of photographs.

+

"These might help," he said. "I know the town, but you might +recognise something in these." He laid them down on the floor, +overlapping the prints until eventually he had a jig-saw picture of +the town spread on the carpet.

+

Lorna turned the lights down and sat, staring at the pictures +which were barely illuminated. Jack sat in silence, hoping she +might spot a landmark, seen from above, that she would recognise. +It took a minute or so before he realised that she'd closed her +eyes. Her breathing deepened, the only sound in the quiet room.

+

He was about to speak when she shivered violently and she gasped +sharply.

+

"Oh," she moaned. "It's dark. Cold." Her shoulders drew upwards +and her hands crossed themselves to rub her own forearms before she +twisted and drew herself into a tight hug.

+

"Cold," she said again. "I can feel it." The words were +slow and drawn out, like the speech of a dreamer, Jack felt a +crawling sensation trickle under the skin at the back of his +neck.

+

"I see stone. A wall. It's dark in here and cold. The wind is +blowing through. The smell. I can smell birds. Dead. Dead birds, No +noise."

+

She stiffened. "It's there. I can feel it. Oh, it's +there in the dark. He hurt it. Oh, the pain," she wailed, slapping +a hand to her eye, "and anger."

+

He started to say something, but she held up her free hand to +forestall him, even though one eye was covered and another closed +tight.

+

"Wooden beams again. Old boxes. I see an elephant. A round hole +with chicken wire to stop the birds, but it's torn. There's a smell +of paper, and something else."

+

Lorna shivered again. "It's blood. It's all around."

+

She dropped her hand, eyes now wide, but somehow unfocussed, as +if she was searching in the dark. She turned slightly, head +swivelling.

+

"I see them. Oh my. They're hanging there." Her voice shuddered +in horror. "Dead. All of them. Hanging on the pipes. It can see in +the dark. It is moving out from the corner where the roof goes down +to the beams. Like a shadow. I can hear it breathing, like an +animal. It is hungry, and it has pain. It's going up to the pipes +and it's...."

+

Lorna let loud cry. Her body arched back as it uncoiled +violently and she fell against the back of the couch. She lay +there, head lolling, gasping for breath. Jack moved across to her +and put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her up to a sitting +position. She fell against him and he held her tightly, trying to +deaden the tremors with his own body.

+

"Come on," he said softly. "You're safe." He smoothed her hair +with his other hand, holding her head in at his neck, almost under +his chin. She smelled warm and clean. It took a few minutes for the +trembling to die away and he still held her tight. Finally, she +began to raise her head and he shifted position. She looked up at +him and her eyes looked huge in the gloom, dark puddles against her +pale skin.

+

"I saw it," she said faltering, trying to keep from sobbing. "It +was feeding. There was a foot hanging down. I could see +the shoe, like a trainer. It came out of the dark and it reached +up. They were hanging down from the pipes. Three of them. The feet +almost touched the floor." She stopped, drew in her breath in a +quick hiccup. "No. It was one foot. There wasn't another +one."

+

"Do you remember where it was?"

+

She shook her head. "I don't know. It was in a roof. I could see +the beams sloping down to the floor. Dead birds. I could smell +them. And boxes of paper. All stacked high. It was behind them, in +the corner where it's dark. It doesn't like the light. And there +was an elephant on the boxes. A funny kind of elephant."

+

A memory tried to form itself in Jack's mind, but it was too +vague. It was an odd thing to say, an elephant, but there was +significance to it. He concentrated hard, and it came to him.

+

The elephant with the castle on its back. It was the main motif +on the old burgh's coat of arms. It appeared on every signpost on +the edges of the town. It was the stylised image of the great +double humped rock of the castle beneath which Annie Eastwood's +body had been found. Jack closed his eyes and tried to visualise +the old house inside the castle ramparts where Ian Ramage, the +keeper lived. He'd been down there half a dozen times with Davy on +weekends in the summer. It had a pitched roof, as Lorna had +described, but he could not remember a circular hole where birds, +or anything else could get in or out.

+

"Could you see anything else?"

+

She shook her head. "It was feeding. It turned and +looked at me. It's eye opened. The other one's been hurt, but it +looked at me and then it smiled. At least I think it did. +It's too black to see. But it was looking at me and it +knows I was watching it."

+

Her whole body shuddered powerfully.

+

"It knows about me," she whimpered.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike31.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike31.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..225b481 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike31.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,648 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 31 + + + + +
+
+

31

+

Gordon Pirie's shift had been over for an hour, but he'd stayed +around the office after midnight talking to the blonde policewoman +who worked on Ralph Slater's team and who was three years older +than he was, wondering if he should ask her out. He was too new to +the job to realise that she was surreptitiously involved with +Sergeant Thomson whose divorce papers had come though only a month +before. She recognised and even appreciated the young recruit's +interest and chattered to him amiably while she typed up her +reports. He took the hint when she pointed out that he was getting +unpaid overtime and should either be home in his bed or in the back +room of the County Bar whose rear alleyway door was always open, no +matter the hour, to off-shift policemen.

+

He got his hat from the stand and adjusted it self-consciously, +struggled into his still-new coat and went down the corridor +towards the fire-door which led to the front office. Before he +pushed through, he could hear raised voices out at the reception +desk and when he opened the door, a barrage of noise erupted. Close +to the front entrance, a man was bawling at the top of his voice, +while two policemen were trying to calm him down by the time +honoured method of getting him in a head-lock and bending him +forward, one arm up behind his back, so that his head almost +touched his knees.

+

At the desk a woman in a faded grey coat was screaming as loudly +as the pinioned man was, her shrewish face screwed up and red from +the effort. A drop of saliva spat out from a mouth which showed +long stained teeth. She was using words which Gordon Pirie had +heard many a time, but had rarely used himself. Beside her, two +small children in dirty fake-fur-lined anoraks were crying almost +loud enough to drown their mother out.

+

"That's the last time I bail you out," she screamed. "Ungrateful +shite," she screeched. "Just you wait 'til I get you home.

+

"Aye, well just don't bother your arse next time, bitch that you +are," the man bawled back, still struggling against the two +policemen. "And get your fuckin' hands off me you shower of +bastards." He lashed out with his heel and kicked fresh air, but on +the back swing, his heel caught one of his captors right on the +shin. From where he stood Gordon heard the crack and he winced in +sympathy.

+

"Get off me you swines," he snarled.

+

"Aye, leave the wee bastard alone," the woman shrieked. "He's +not worth the bother."

+

"See you, you ugly bitch. You're nothin' but a po-faced shrew +like your mother."

+

"Don't you bring my mother into this." She turned to the +snivelling children. "That's your granny he's talking about, God +rest her soul. Have you ever heard the likes? Just don't yous +listen to him."

+

Gordon stood bemused, watching the tussle as the small man in +the greasy donkey jacket and outsize navvy's tackety boots writhed +and twisted like a cat in a sack while the two big policemen tried +to get a firm grip of him, one of them still hopping on one foot. +Bobby Thomson, behind the desk, was trying to keep the smile from +his face.

+

"Domestic bliss," he remarked jovially, whereupon the woman +rounded on him.

+

"Just you shut it. He never did anything wrong," she hooted, +diverting her wrath at Bobby, who merely shrugged and failed to +keep his face straight.

+

Just at that moment, from down the other corridor, another blast +of noise erupted. The sound of a man shouting hoarsely came +reverberating up the passage, followed by a loud, violent banging. +Gordon turned round just as the man's voice rose to a yammering +scream.

+

"I thought this would be a quiet night," Bobby Thomson said with +a long-suffering sigh.

+

"I suppose that's another one you've been kicking lumps out of, +you big bastards," the woman yelled.

+

Down at the cells, the shouting rose to a crescendo and the +furious hammering on the door resounded up the passageway.

+

"Here, son," Bobby said. He reached behind him to the green +board and unhooked a tangled bunch of keys which he slung onto the +desktop. "Away and see what's eating him. Tell him if he doesn't +shut up and get to sleep I'll come down and give him something to +shout about."

+

"Aye, that's typical of you lot," the woman shouted. "Folk that +never did you any harm. You should be out looking for the nutter +that's killing those bairns, instead of picking up decent folk just +because they've had a wee drink." She turned to the ongoing +struggle at the door.

+

"Hey Hughie, stop your nonsense and get yourself home before I +take my hand off your face."

+

Gordon stood with the keys in his hands, wondering what to do. +Bobby glared at him and told him to get moving.

+

"But I'm just going off..." Gordon began to protest, but stopped +when the sergeant simply stared him down. Bobby's moustache was +beginning to bristle. The young man turned and went down the +corridor towards the cells where the racket was almost deafening in +the enclosed, narrow space. He followed the sound and stood outside +the metal door.

+

Inside, hardly muffled by the thick steel, he could hear the +prisoner screaming incoherently. There was a loud thump and the +door quivered on its hinges. The young policeman flipped back the +cover on the peephole and put a wary eye up close to the door. +There was nothing to be seen. The cell was pitch dark, but the +man's screams soared upwards in a harsh cacophony. Something hit +the door again, making it ring like an anvil. He rattled the key in +the lock and gave it two turns to the right. The mortice snicked +back and he pulled the door open.

+

At first there was nothing to be seen. The overhead light, which +should have been on continuously, was out. The hard cot against the +wall was empty. In the corner next to the re-inforced window-grate, +the prisoner was bawling dementedly, and from the sound of it, he +was thrashing on the floor.

+

He kept the door open with his foot, letting the wan light from +the corridor shine against the wall of the cell while his eyes +accustomed themselves to the darkness. He snaked a hand on to the +outside wall and checked the old brass switch. It was in the on +position.

+

"What's going on?" he called out.

+

"Keep away from me," the man screeched, the first coherent words +Gordon had heard from him. "Keep away for the love of Christ." +Something moved in the far corner and rolled in the gloom towards +the cot. There was not enough light to see what it was, but he got +the vague impression of a man's form writhing on the floor.

+

"What's all the noise about?" the young policeman asked, +stepping forward. He crossed to the wall and hunkered down beside +the hunched shape. As soon as he touched him, the man lashed out +with a fist and caught Gordon a sharp crack on the cheek.

+

"Keep away from me. Get." the man squawked. He was kicking and +struggling. One foot hit the side of the cot with a thud and his +head rapped against the cold tiles of the wall. All the time he +kept repeating his demands to be left alone.

+

"Hey, hold on," Gordon said. The blow on the cheek had made his +eye water and he could feel the flush of heat spread round to his +ear. "Come on now. Get a hold of yourself."

+

Behind him, the heavy door swung very slowly until it clanged +against the post. The light faded to a deep gloom. Through the +thick and dirty glass on the cross-hatched window, there was hardly +any light at all from the nearest street lamp. Gordon groped +forward in the dark and felt the man's shoulders, They were +shivering violently as if a shock of high voltage was running +through him.

+

"Come on and I'll help you up."

+

He pulled at the man who jerked back as if he'd been +scalded.

+

"No. Oh please, no," he screamed. "Don't touch me. Keep your +filthy hands off me. You're a fucking devil."

+

"No, no, it's alright. I'm a policeman."

+

Gordon hadn't heard about the arrest that day. He didn't know +why the man was in jail. He assumed he was a drunk who'd been +hauled in from the street or one of the benches at the Cenotaph +grounds. He also thought the man might be suffering from the DT's, +although he'd never seen that happen, only heard about it. He +wondered if he should go back and tell the sergeant.

+

Ignoring the man's frantic writhing, he grabbed him under the +armpits. "Come on man, get up," He tried to lift the fellow, +bending right down over the slumped form, when a foul smell +suddenly filled the cell. At first Gordon thought the reek was +coming from the man on the floor and he drew back, disgusted, +throat gagging.

+

"Dirty bugger, have you shit yourself?" he gasped through the +throat-puckering stench.

+

He let the man fall to the ground, turned away, almost +retching.

+

Beneath him, the man was moaning and blubbering. By now the +words were all jumbled up and incomprehensible. Gordon dived a hand +into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief his mother had +pressed into a neat square. He clamped it over his face.

+

Then the room got colder. It wasn't like a draught, or a breeze +from an open window. In one quick moment of time, the temperature +of the cell simply plummeted. Gordon breathed in through his mouth +and he felt the sharp glacial air catch in his lungs.

+

"What the hell?" he mumbled though the handkerchief. The cold +was so intense it was already numbing his fingers and nipping at +his ears. He straightened up, eyes widening, trying to see in the +dark, when something moved in the corner just to the right of the +door.

+

"Eh?" he said. For some reason he couldn't quite understand, his +whole body was instantly singing with unaccountable +tension. He whirled round, trying to make out the movement. Just at +his feet, the man whimpered. Gordon took two steps.

+

"Don't." the man blubbered. "Stay away. Oh please, get away from +here."

+

Gordon thought the prisoner was talking to him. He half turned +towards the man when his peripheral vision caught a sudden movement +in the gloom. The blackness just reached out to him, a shadow that +simply expanded out of the darkness. Before he had time to flinch, +it elongated with rippling speed and seized him by the neck with +such force he heard his own larynx collapse.

+

A muted squawk of sound was forced out of his mouth as the pain +tore across his throat.

+

Then he was in the air. His feet came right off the ground as he +was thrown backwards by an immense force. The darkness whirled +around him, cutting off every dim ray of light. The grip on his +throat was so fierce he couldn't breathe, and he felt his eyes +begin to bulge with the unbelievable pressure inside his head. A +hot metal taste of blood filled his mouth. Something else popped in +his neck and a jagged pain danced down to his shoulder, followed by +an immediate warm, wet flow.

+

The young policeman's hat flew off and hit the wall and his +handcuffs sailed from his pocket to jangle to the floor. The heel +of his boot struck the man on the floor on the side of the head, +but the policeman did not notice that. He was still travelling +upwards in the dark. He felt himself turned, still in mid air and +something else took hold of him by the chest and a vast pressure +squeezed at him. It felt as if he was being gripped in an enormous, +relentless vice which was squashing him flat.

+

Everything went in ultra-slow motion, on the crest of the sudden +tidal wave of fright-induced adrenalin flow. Gordon heard the door +close with a low clang so deep it was like a vibration of +a monstrous gong. Just in front of his face, unseen in the perfect +darkness, something snarled, low and feral and guttural. He was +still rising through the air, too frozen to struggle, when he was +slammed against the wall. His head went whiplashing back against +the glass and one of the tiny, inch-thick panes in the heavy grid +cracked. A sickening nausea swelled and rolled in the back of his +head and an unbelievable ripping pain tore into his back between +his shoulder blades.

+

Force of the blow expelled the air from his lungs, forcing it +past the enormous pressure on his throat to come out in a cough of +blood which spurted down his nose and sprayed from between his +teeth.

+

The pressure on his neck vanished and he felt his body sag +downwards. The grip on his ribs squeezed once, with ferocious, +incomprehensible force, then let go.

+

Completely dazed, Gordon hung there in the dark, twisting in a +sea of hurt which swelled higher and higher, gaining in intensity. +Beneath him, his legs kicked out in a palsied frenzy, though, +bewilderingly, he felt no pain there. Their spastic dance, however, +raised the white hot pain in his back to an incandescent flare. +There was something else wrong, but he couldn't understand what it +was. Something terrible wrong which he was unable to fathom in the +shock of the violence and pain. In front of him, something moved +with a scuttering sound. The darkness expanded again and in that +dark, a huge bare eye flicked open and stared into his. Even +through the blood which clogged his nostrils, he could smell the +putrid breath as the darkness exhaled in a ravening growl so deep +it shivered the walls. The eye fixed him with its dead stare and he +felt as if he was being sucked into it as it grew larger as it grew +closer.

+

The shrieking hurt in his back rived right through him. He +couldn't breathe. His chest twitched helplessly and every hitch +sent a knife of pain through his chest. The young man's whole body +went into a spasm of trembling and as he shuddered uncontrollably, +up against the wall. He felt the rending tear of skin and +flesh inside him. Gordon's hand came up reflexively, inadvertently +brushing against something that was hard and slickly smooth +protruding from between his ribs. His hand scrabbled there on the +wet fabric of his tunic, his mind reeling in confusion while inside +his brain synapses and dendrites were sparking away with urgent +unbelievable messages.

+

He was impaled on the wall. Something had come out of the dark +and lifted him up and hung him up on a spike.

+

In that strange slow motion, stretched-out instant of time, he +realised what had happened and the enormity of it dawned on his +stunned mind.

+

The dark had moved. It had shoved him onto a spike and put it +right through his body. The realisation of imminent death washed +over him in a flow as cold as the air of the cell. In that moment +his brain stopped its jangling dance and an icy calm spread +thorough him. Beneath his waist, his nerveless legs, cut off from +the command centre at the top of his spine by the curve of metal +driven through from shoulders to breastbone, continued to dance and +quiver on their own. Already the pain was beginning to fade, as +Gordon Pirie, brain starved of oxygen because of the enormous loss +of blood, began to lose consciousness.

+

"I'm dying," he heard his own voice, as if from far away, though +the words were inside his head. His shattered larynx and the +crushing force on his windpipe had made breathing almost +impossible. His abdomen still bellowed jerkily and he could hear +the hiss of air escape through the gaping hole in the front of his +soaked tunic.

+

"I've only just started my job and I'm going to die," he thought +distantly.

+

Just in front of his face, the enormous, putrid yellow eye +glared at him with a light of its own. The absence of any pupil +made it look eerily blind, but the young constable, dangling there +in the dark, could feel the frigid malevolence in its stare.

+

It continued to watch in utter coldness as the life faded from +the boy's eyes.

+

The last things Gordon Pirie heard was the odd drumming of his +heels against the wall, the steady hoarse animal sounds of the dark +thing's breathing and the whimpering gurgle of the man on the +floor.

+

The thing continued to watch, glaring right down behind the +young rookie's eyes, searching for the crossover moment when all +life became extinct.

+

For a while there was complete silence in the cold dark. Very +slowly, the black shape pulled itself down from where it hung on +the wall. The great eye closed. The shadow flowed back from the cot +in a strange liquid motion, and oozed towards the man on the +floor.

+

Michael O'Day screamed in panic. He was not quite sure what had +happened. Something had hit him on the head and the blow had +knocked him against the wall, giving him the merciful respite of a +momentary daze. He blinked his eyes, feeling the cold steal into +his bones, and then the dark came rolling towards him.

+

"No," he said. "Get away. Leave me alone."

+

He shrank back against the wall, eyes wide and terror stricken. +The shadow flowed over his legs, swelled, then shrunk. Michael +O'Day opened his mouth to shriek his fear and the dark elongated +towards him and flowed between his lips. He tried to clench his +teeth shut, but his jaw was forced open so wide he could hear the +muscles creak. An intense cold, even deeper than the now arctic +chill inside the cell, flowed into him, a glacier of ice. Michael +O'Day gagged, twitched violently just once, and was still.

+

The dead silence fell like a weight while the man lay, hands +held up like claws in front of his face, eyes staring, face +contorted in a frozen gape. He lay like that without a sound, +without a movement for quite some time.

+

But after a while, in the dim light of the cell, Michael O'Day's +pale Irish eyes blinked once.

+

He grunted as he turned and shoved himself to his feet. Without +a sound, he crossed the cell to the door and pushed it open. The +feeble light, a single bulb overhead encased in a heavy mesh, +briefly illuminated the wall at the far end of the small room.

+

Gordon Pirie was hanging against the wall. His lifeless eyes +stared out from above the spattering of blood at his nose and chin. +His tunic was tented out in the front of his chest, forcing his +radio to twist to the side on his lapel. From a gash in the fabric, +the upward curved ratcheted spine of the window opening protruded +like a blunt sabre. The young man's police boots dangled two feet +from the floor. His eyes were unfocussed, but they seemed to be +peering onto the far distance.

+

The thing that wore the body of Michael O'Day closed the door +and locked it with a quick turn of the key. It turned, staying +close to the wall, avoiding the light, until it got to the +mortuary. The door was open, and in the shadows, it slipped inside. +A moment later, there was a jangling of keys and a quick snap. The +door opened at the back of the station and a dark shape let itself +out into the huddle of outbuildings. Down from the station, past +College Walk, the shape merged with the shadows of the +rhododendrons of Cenotaph Park.

+

The pale eyes glinted with an inner light which gave them a +yellow tinge in the deep shade. It remembered this place. It had +been here before.

+
+

She woke with such a start that her cry of alarm catapulted Jack +out of sleep. For a second, there was a rush of disorientation.

+

"Whassamater," he blurted. Lorna was struggling in his embrace, +squirming in panic. He tried to move but his arm had gone to sleep +and was caught between the girl and the back of the couch. He +shifted position and pulled free, still dozily confused. +Immediately pins and needles sparked painfully down the length of +his arm.

+

The effort of Lorna's attempt to use her unwanted perception had +exhausted her and the effect had appalled her. She had slumped back +in the settee, rigid with panic and he'd put his arm round her to +hold her close again. She hadn't said a word for more than twenty +minutes and he waited until the tuning-fork vibration of her body +had faded and she'd started breathing slowly again. He still held +her close, gently rubbing her arm with his hand in slow, soothing +strokes. She mumbled something and he bent his head only to +discover she was fast asleep.

+

Jack wondered whether to carry her into her room and tuck her up +in bed, but dismissed the notion on the grounds that she might wake +up while he did so and wrongly suspect his intent, and because of +the possibility she might wake up and get another fright when she +found herself alone. Her breathing deepened and she snuggled +comfortably into him. A few moments later Jack dozed off.

+

When her cry woke him, he didn't know where he was. His eyes +were gritty and the back of his throat dry. The pins and needles +were stinging under the skin of his arm and his shoulder was stiff. +Lorna was writhing to pull free.

+

"What's happening?" he asked again.

+

"Get away. Oh please get away from me!" Her cry was +deafening, so close to his ear. Jack twisted round and despite the +numbness in his arm, he took a hold of the girl by the shoulders. +The shivery vibration transmitted itself to him. She was staring +straight ahead, eyes wide and unblinking.

+

"No. Get away," she cried again.

+

"Hey. Calm down," Jack soothed. "It's alright."

+

The girl jerked back and her eyes blinked, then fluttered +quickly, as if she had just noticed his presence.

+

She shook her head, obviously bewildered, still shuddering with +powerful emotion. "Where? What?" she asked in quick succession.

+

"It's okay. I think you were dreaming," he said softly.

+

"Dreaming?" she seemed as confused as he'd been when he woke. +Then her eyes widened hugely again.

+

"Yes. I saw it. I saw it again, Jack." She drew her +breath in a backward gasp. "It's hunting again. Oh, it was +terrible." She turned into him and grabbed the front of his +shirt.

+

"It's killed someone. It threw him against the wall. Oh, he was +in such pain. It got him and lifted him off the floor and he hit +the wall and the pain went right through him and he's dead."

+

The words came out as if she was living the scene, +feeling the pain.

+

"Where was it, Lorna. Did you recognise anything?"

+

She closed her eyes, trying to see back into her +dream.

+

"It was dark. Not high. The man came in. There's a heavy door +and the walls are white. But the door closed and it was dark. Too +dark to see. It's a place I've never seen before. Oh, it's awful, I +don't know and I can't tell you. I'm useless."

+

"No you're not," Jack said, though in truth he wished that if +she did have some special perception, it would be little +more helpful. "We'll get there."

+

Lorna eased herself out from his embrace, first loosing her +grasp on the front of his shirt. Her grip had been so strong that +she'd torn one of the buttons off the fabric. It fell between them +and slid into the gap between the cushions.

+

"I must have fallen asleep."

+

"Yes. You were sound. It's getting late. Maybe you should go to +bed." Jack bent to scoop the scattered photographs together and +jammed them in the folder. He stood and reached for his jacket.

+

"Where are you going?"

+

"I'd better be off. It's pretty late, or early, depending on +your point of view. You've had a rough day."

+

"Please don't go," she said, pushing her way out of the settee +to put herself between him and the door. "Please stay with me. I'm +frightened. It knows about me. I can feel it. I've got nobody else +to help me." Her eyes were wide again and glistening with the +promise of tears. The looked so slight and childlike as he looked +down at her that Jack felt a powerful, and very masculine surge of +appeal.

+

He hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, sure. It's not as if +I've got work in the morning," he said. She took his hand and held +it tightly in a meaningful gesture of thanks and pulled him back +down to the settee. Then, quite impulsively, she leaned forward, +tilted her head and kissed him quickly on the cheek. Just as +quickly, she blushed furiously. Quite taken aback, Jack felt his +own colour rising and he grinned stupidly, feeling for the first in +a long time, like an awkward schoolboy. Lorna pulled away and went +into the kitchen. He heard the click as she switched on the kettle. +He took the opportunity to use the telephone and spoke to Ralph +Slater for a few minutes, giving him what little information he +had, convinced it would be no help at all. A few minutes later, she +returned with a tray of milky coffee and some biscuits.

+

Then, without hesitation, and with surprising calmness, she told +him exactly what she had seen in her nightmare.

+

It was close to two in the morning when two-man squad pulled up +outside the front door of the station and the second drunk of the +night was hauled in, a big, belligerent and red faced man who +roared even louder than the previous miscreant and took a swing at +one of the policemen, though he only succeeded in knocking his hat +off.

+

"Hanging off the edge of the quay," the policeman said. "Can't +get a word of sense out of him. He'd have drowned if he hadn't +huckled him."

+

The two-man crew pinned the big fellow up against the desk and +with deft expertise, they unbuckled his belt and drew it through +the loops.

+

"Gerrof," the big man spluttered. They held him tight.

+

"Alright, McFettridge," Bobby said. "Another free room for the +night and your wife round crying her eyes out in the morning."

+

He reached behind him absently, to unsnag the keys from the +hook, but his fingers only scrabbled against the baize on the +board.

+

"Where did I put them?" he asked nobody in particular, +scratching his head before he remembered.

+

"Damn, I gave them to that new boy. Idiot must have gone home +with them in his pocket."

+

The first stramash at the front counter had taken a further ten +minutes to resolve. It had almost resulted in the small, dirty and +aggressive man being hauled back to the cells, but finally his wife +had taken him by the scruff of the neck, after giving Bobby Thomson +and anybody else in the vicinity the rough edge of her particularly +scabrous tongue, and led her husband off into the night, with the +two sniffling children trailing behind.

+

The duty sergeant cursed under his breath, swearing he'd give +the new recruit a real going over in the morning. He unlocked the +cabinet and fumbled about in the mess of odds and ends until he +found the spare set, and handed them to one of the men now involved +in holding up their captive who now looked to be in a state of +drunken collapse.

+

"Sling him in four," he instructed "I've got his particulars +from the last time." The men started towards the cells with the man +slung between them.

+

"Oh, while you're down there, check in on number six. The weirdo +was making a right racket earlier on."

+

He bent down to fill in the drunk and incapable form while the +others dragged the drunk down the corridor.

+

Stuart Bulloch, who had been showing Gordon Pirie the ropes on +the morning they'd been sent round to the pathway beneath the +castle's balustrade and had come across the body of Annie Eastwood +on the rocks, helped ease the man down on the cot. All the fight +had gone out of him and as soon as his head touched the cold tile +roll which served for a pillow, his snores reverberated round the +cell. Stuart turned the lock, flicked the spy-hole just to make +sure, then slapped it closed. As he turned down the corridor, his +regular partner asked him if he wanted a cup of tea, but didn't +wait for an answer and headed for the muster room.

+

The light was off in the opposite cell when Stuart checked the +peephole, a natural precaution in the case of potentially violent +prisoners, and in his experience, they could all turn out +to be fighters.

+

He popped the lock and shoved the door open. The dim light shone +against the shape on the wall.

+

At first, Stuart thought the prisoner was standing on the cot, +trying to peer out of the almost opaque glass.

+

He walked forward.

+

"Come on down," he said, when something clicked in his +brain and the reality of what he was seeing hit him like a +blow.

+

Gordon Pirie stared into infinity. His mouth was sagging open. +Blood saturated his sagging chin and there was a great dripping +wash of it down the front of his tunic. The curve of metal from the +widow jutted out and up.

+

Stuart's mouth opened and closed several times. He was trying to +say something, but no words would come out.

+

He backed off slowly until his backside came up hard against the +wall and he got such a fright he jumped almost a foot into the air. +Without a word he turned round and dashed out of the cell, using +the doorpost as a fulcrum to swing him up the corridor. His +shoulder jarred against the far wall, though he would not feel any +pain for another hour at least. He battered the swing door open and +came hurtling out into the front office.

+

Bobby Thomson looked up.

+

"Is he okay?"

+

Steward Bulloch stood there, still unable to make his mouth say +the words, pointing behind him like a pale-faced mime artist.

+

"What the hell's up with you?" Bobby asked him irritably. "I've +had enough fun and games for one night."

+

Finally Stuart got his voice back. "It's that new fellow. +Gordon." he blurted.

+

"Aye, him that's going to get my toe up his arse in the +morning."

+

"It's.." Stuart started, stalled, tried again. " He's...oh fuck +sergeant, he's dead."

+

The fun and games went on all night.

+
+

Jack Fallon got a call from John McColl at three in the morning. +It was the second time he'd been jarred awake that night. His neck +protested creakingly as soon as he moved. Lorna was huddled at the +far end of the couch, snug under the eiderdown she'd brought +through from her bedroom. She was snoring very softly. His duvet +has slipped to the floor and his back ached from the twisted +position he'd assumed sometime in the past hour. As he reached for +the phone, to answer it before she woke, he was trying to hold the +thought that had sprung to his mind in the split second before +sleep vanished.

+

"I tried your sister. She gave me an earful for waking the wee +fellow," John said.

+

Jack rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "She'll blame me. What's +up?"

+

"The shit's hit the fan Jack. Yon Irishman's just killed that +new boy."

+

"Hold on John. What are you talking about?"

+

"That O'Day fella. The one from the church tower? He's escaped. +Bobby Thomson in an awful state. He sent the rookie down to shut +him up. There was a bit of a stramash at the front counter with a +couple of drunks and by the time it was sorted out Bobby forgot +about the boy. Gordon Pirie, that's his name."

+

"I remember him. Nice lad. So what happened?"

+

"Ralph's down there at the moment. The place is a bloody +shambles, a real slaughterhouse. Young Pirie's hanging on the +window. Christ alone knows how he got up there, but he's got a +bloody piece of metal from the window right through him. Cowie's +down here and he's going berserk. He put out a note to HQ that he'd +got the killer. Now he's lost him."

+

"So where's O'Day?"

+

"Who the hell knows? He's not here. The cell door was locked. I +reckon we were wrong Jack. O'Day didn't look as if he could blow +his nose without falling over, but it had to be him. How he got +that boy up in that spike is anybody's guess, but believe me, it +went right through him. It's sticking out of his chest."

+

"No John. It wasn't him. Believe me it wasn't, but you have to +find him." Jack remembered what Lorna had told him. A dark place +with white walls and a heavy metal door. Where else could it have +been but the old cell down at the station? He cursed himself for +not seeing it.

+

But he had seen something else.

+

"Listen John, I'm still grounded until I hear otherwise. But it +doesn't mean I'm crippled. As soon as you get clear there, find the +keyholder for the Town Hall. I need him round there, and I'll need +you to come team handed."

+

In the split second between sleep and wakefulness, when the +phone was ringing somewhere in the distance, Jack Fallon had got a +flash of his own extra sensory perception. He'd been unable to +dredge up the information before, but again sleep had unlocked the +filing cabinet of his brain, and the picture had come clear. He'd +grown up in this town and he'd seen every building from every +angle. The elephant and castle coat of arms had helped direct his +mind to the place Lorna had seen when she had closed her eyes and +used her weird power. It was a place with a circular window high on +the gable wall, with wire mesh over it to keep the pigeons out.

+

Lorna was still asleep when Jack hung up. He debated whether to +wake her, decided against it, and instead wrote a quick message on +a page of his notebook and left it on the coffee table next to the +settee. He washed his face quickly with cold water from the kitchen +tap, then put on his jacket and coat, knowing he must look rumpled +and scruffy. He also needed a shave, but that was the last thing on +his mind. Just as he went out the front door, closing it as quietly +as possible, Lorna turned over in her sleep, mumbled something, +then wriggled into a more comfortable position. She did not wake +up.

+

She was still asleep at five when Jack got back from the Town +Hall. The caretaker had been very ill-tempered about being woken in +the small hours and even more irate when John McColl told him he'd +have to accompany the officers round to the old sandstone building +on Kirk Street. Grudgingly, he opened the front door. The night was +cold and overcast. No moon or stars were visible and a +bone-chilling wind was whipping round the corners and moaning in +the telephone wires. Jack arrived just as the caretaker turned the +key. John McColl had brought six policemen who stood around in the +cold, swinging their arms and blowing into their hands. They nodded +to Jack, but said nothing.

+

Inside the elegant marble staircase with its carved wood +bannister swept up to the town chambers where the councilmen +debated with strenuous argument the minutiae of the Burgh's +business and still managed to louse everything up. Jack ignored +that and went past the provost's office and through a back corridor +to the disused police court where as a nervous rookie himself, he'd +first given evidence in a breach of the peace case. Beyond that, +there was an even narrower back staircase which twisted upwards. At +the top, an old green door barred further progress. John McColl +took the keys from the grumbling caretaker and told him to go back +downstairs. The man protested some more but all eight policemen +stared him down and he clumped back down the stairs, muttering +under his breath.

+

The door creaked open and immediately Jack smelled old paper and +mouldering feathers. He and John McColl moved in first and Jack +felt a twist of tension as his body prepared itself for fight. He +clicked the light-switch down and a fluorescent bar on the +store-room wall stuttered fitfully before coming on. It was covered +with the dust of years and its light struggled to chase the +shadows. The room was filled almost to the ceiling with boxes +bearing stickers with the town's fanciful coat of arms. A narrow +passage between the stacks led away towards the gable. John asked +one of the uniformed men for a torch and sprayed light in front of +him as he followed the lane.

+

Beyond the boxes they found a fairly large space where a +storeman of old had come to have a fly drink. A couple of dusty +vodka bottles stood against the far wall where the circular +air-vent had been barred with wire mesh which was now jagged and +torn.

+

The body of Chalkie Black, his white hair like a dim halo in the +wan light hung motionless, his one trainer trailing down close to +the floor, brown with dried blood. His head was twisted to the side +by the piece of electrical cable conduit that had been torn and +bent out from the staples which held it against the wall, and +spiked through his neck, just under the jaw. Beside him the two +others were suspended in the same fashion, except that Votek +Visotsky had no neck to impale. The steel tube went through his +left shoulder and jutted out on his back close to his spine. One of +his arms was missing.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike32.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike32.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..525a240 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike32.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,437 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 32 + + + + +
+
+

32

+

Blair Bryden's story had coined the phrase and it stuck. +Newspapers prefer it when the crazed and the criminal have tags to +hang their stories on.

+

SHRIKE!

+

The tabloids and the broadsheets blasted the name from every +front page.

+

SHRIKE: Teenage Victims Impaled. Shrike Strikes in +Police Cell: Policeman Brutally Murdered.

+

NIGHT SHRIKE: The town which lives in fear!

+

And because most people hadn't the foggiest clue what a shrike +actually was, they wheeled on a famous naturalist and bird watcher, +who had already been thrown off three Scottish islands because the +farmers objected to his protection plans for the geese which were +eating them out of crop, field and homestead.

+

"The Shrike," he expounded on every networked news +programme, "is a little bird with a very nasty habit. It feeds on +lizards, frogs and often helpless nestlings of other birds which it +impales on the spines of a thorn-bush which it uses for its +larder."

+

A photograph of a neat little bird flicked up on the screens, a +bright-eyed, sparrow-sized and quick moving thing with an elegant +red back, a black stripe covering its eye and beak with a +delicately fearsome, almost hawk-like curve. The picture +immediately flicked to a filmed scene of a bird with a small naked +nestling still wriggling helplessly in its beak, forcing the blind +wingless creature down onto a blackthorn spike. The baby bird +squirmed as its outsized head was forced down onto the sharp thorn. +The shrike bobbed its head vigorously, hammering down on its victim +and the spine came forcing up between the bulbous closed eyes. The +nestling wriggled a little more then went still.

+

"Lanius cristatus," the popular ornithologist said, "is +an efficient predator and carnivore which revels in its nickname, +the Butcher Bird. It is such a successful hunter, that +many of its impaled victims are uneaten, and decompose where they +hang." The picture panned left, showing an array of pitiful little +bodies, feet dangling groundwards, some of them shrivelled and +dry.

+

Massive Hunt for the Shrike, the papers shrieked, and +that was true enough. Two busloads of policemen drawn from +divisions all over the region had been drafted in to comb every +inch of the town. Every school in the Levenford closed its doors at +two thirty and squad cars followed the clusters of pupils home, +while it was still light. Some mothers kept their children at home +all day. At night, the streets cleared quickly as workers, men and +women, hurried home, casting quick glances to the side when they +passed a darkened close mouth or a narrow alley, jumping in alarm +if the wind rustled the needles of the evergreen trees lining the +edge of the park.

+

A heavy pall of fear descended on the town. It was as if the +people of Levenford were under siege.

+

A roadworker just finishing a job on Denny Road, close to where +Neil Kennedy had lived, was shovelling the loose rocks from a +surface awaiting tar infill where the electricity engineers had dug +a forty yard trench, got the fright of his life when scratchy +footsteps came up behind him. Something growled and before he had +time to think he had whirled round in an absolute panic and with +one blow of his spade, smashed the skull of a friendly black +labrador whose owner had let it out for a piss. The dog dropped +like a sack, without so much as a whimper, its brains leaking onto +the hardcore surface.

+

A mother of three, who like Shona Campbell had gone down to the +Castlegate Bar to salvage some of her husband's pay packet was +coming along Rope Vennel up to River Street when a shadow loomed +into view, a bulky silhouette which clumped jerkily towards her. +She backed against the alley wall as the faceless shadow stumbled +forward. It lurched to the side, heading straight for her and she +screamed so loudly she was heard by two patrolmen who came running +down River Street at full tilt and thundered down the alley. By the +time they had got there, however, the Castlegate Bar had emptied +and the screams of pain and fear were echoing from the narrow +walls. They found, under a press of bodies and flailing fists and +feet, the battered and semi-conscious form of a seventeen-year-old +amateur footballer who had twisted his knee at a five aside match +that very night and, far from attacking the petrified and still +screaming woman, had merely slipped on a patch of ice while limping +home. At Lochend Hospital doctors stitched a nasty gash on his +forehead and strapped up three broken ribs. They put dressings on +his multiple bruises and contusions, and then they examined the +boy's knee. It needed no treatment. A week later, his dental bill +cost him three weeks wages.

+

Out in East Mains a stranger seen talking to two teenage girls +was chased for his life.

+

In Corrieside a burglar shinned up a roan-pipe to break into the +fourth storey of a tenement building. He came silently down the +pipe half an hour later, with a haversack containing a video +recorder slung over his shoulder, only to find a waiting group of +men in ambush behind the privet hedge. They beat him half to death. +The men, hyped up with the fear and alarm that had spread through +the town, then went on the rampage in what was one of the rougher +areas of the town. In Corrieside, there were two houses which had +become regular pharmaceutical dispensaries. Neighbours had +complained to the council and to the police about the needles and +syringes picked up by their children on the verges by the side of +the street. There had been a couple of raids, but the occupants had +re-inforced the doors and by the time they were battered down, any +evidence had been flushed down the toilet. The fathers of +Corrieside took the law into their own hands and required no +evidence but what they already knew. One of the homes was on the +sixth storey of a squat block of flats. One of them used a sledge +hammer to smash the door off its hinges and they stormed in. A +sleepy, unshaven and skinny man, known until then as something of a +hard-ticket and who already had done two stretches for grievous +bodily harm, came diving out of a bedroom with a plastic bag in one +hand and a wickedly curved sheath knife in the other. The hammer +came down in a swift arc. The man's wrist shattered and the knife +whirled down to the floor where it stuck, quivering. In the bedroom +a woman started screaming as the man was forced back inside. The +group of men battered the skinny fellow all round the walls, each +of them punching, kicking and gouging until he was a bloodied +scrap. Then they threw him through the window to tumble forty feet +or more to the ground where he broke his other arm and fractured +his skull. They dragged the woman out of the house and down the +stairs where they beat her to a pulp and left her naked on the +pavement before moving in a determined posse up the road to the +third floor home of two brothers who were selling pills and worse +to schoolchildren. One of the boys escaped through the window and +suffered only a prick from a needle in the grass which later gave +him hepatitis and a nasty infection which turned gangrenous and +caused him to lose two fingers and a thumb. He never returned to +Levenford again. The other brother was kicked senseless and his +legs were broken so badly that it took fifteen hours of surgery to +make them look like legs again, though they never worked like legs +after that. The men went home to their houses with the feeling that +they had hit back against what was wrong with Levenford that +winter.

+

The town huddled in the grip of the cold and the crazy fear that +hunched at the back of everyone's mind. The people of the burgh, +battened down the hatches and waited for it to be all over.

+

Superintendent Cowie ordered the printing of a set of posters +which were stuck on every wall and lamp post, bearing a picture of +Michael O'Day culled from a passport photograph which had been +taken three years before. It showed him as a chubby-faced, +dark-haired smiling man, with light blue Irish eyes, and bore no +resemblance whatsoever to the wasted, haggard, grey-haired wretch +Jack Fallon had spoken to in the bell tower of St Rowan's +Church.

+

For two days nothing else happened. The huge and painstaking +search turned up nothing, no sign, not a hair of Michael O'Day. +Jack spent his time between his sister's home and Lorna's house. On +several occasions, Lorna tried to go into the kind of trance-like +state she'd demonstrated before, but she could see nothing. For +those two days, her hopes were beginning to rise that it had gone. +Jack even suggested the possibility that O'Day had died, because +he'd looked far from healthy the last time he'd seen him, or, like +the others, had commited suicide and remained only to be found. He +offered the suggestion that because O'Day had been the last of the +people who had been at Marta Herkik's seance, then the whole thing +might be over.

+

On Monday, the wind veered northwards and brought a freezing +blast of air straight from the Arctic. At five o'clock in the +morning, Graham Friel kicked his motorbike to a stuttering start +and came down the Arden Road from Westerhill on the far side of the +town. He had to wipe the icy crystals of snow from his visor as he +turned over the old bridge and into the centre of the deserted +town, heading for Riverside Bakery just off Barley Cobble. The +bakehouse had been producing fresh bread and well-fired rolls and +traditional mutton pies for more than two hundred years. Graham had +worked there since he left school, and within a year he'd be a +fully fledged master-baker, a title which caused not a little +hilarity among his friends.

+

He throttled back on the turn on River Street, careful of the +black ice on the morning-cold road, and made his way past the +deserted shop fronts. When the river had burst its banks and +flooded Benson's Tailors, Woolworths and the other shops along the +row, Graham Friel had been one of the two boys who had sped on +their bikes over the flooded tarmac and along the soaked pavements, +sending up bow waves and almost knocking the feet from Mickey +Haggerty as he made his way homewards on the night of the storm, +the night Marta Herkik had died in Cairn House.

+

Now he was keen to get in to the bakery and lean with his back +against the hot brick of the oven to take the cold out of his +bones. The icy air, colder in the wind-chill of his speed numbed +his lips and bit at the enamel of his teeth as it whipped under the +edge of the visor. None of the shops were open and the place had +that ghost-town emptiness of the early winter morning.

+

Graham moved slowly along the main street, slowed further as he +came up to Rock Lane which parallelled all the other alleys leading +down to the riverside, turned and dropped a gear to drive down +towards the bakery. Inside, he unstrapped his leathers and put his +helmet down on the bench. Gregor Christie had fired up the ovens +and when Graham stepped through to the bakehouse a delicious +flour-dusted breeze of heat enveloped him. His boss nodded from +under his white hat, a big-bellied jovial man who was already up to +his elbows in white dust. The slow egg-beater paddles in the +kneading churns were dancing around each other as they stirred the +dough. Graham leaned against the bricks and felt the heat banish +the cold. He stood there, spreadeagled, flattened against the +surface for a few minutes, the most enjoyable of any winter's +morning, and then got to work. The two of them manhandled the tub +to the table and with deft expertise, they heaved the dough out +onto the board, flattened it with their palms and sliced it into +strips which they balled into small ovals and laid on the trays. +Working steadily, Graham used his long paddle to slide the +bake-trays along the grooves on the oven sides, enjoying the fiery +scorch when the door was opened, until he'd loaded the first batch +of rolls. When the hatch clanged shut the heat died +immediately.

+

He made tea for both of them, while Gregor prepared the bread +for the stores along River Street, then when the timer rang, he +started unloading the first bake. The rolls were hot and light and +mouth-watering.

+

"Where's the milk?" he called over to Gregor. "I've buttered the +rolls."

+

"Good man," the baker said, squeezing the last of the dough into +the high silver pans. "There's a bottle in the bag. Where did I put +it?" Gregor scratched his head, then raised a finger.

+

"I must have left it in the car. It'll be behind the front +seat."

+

Graham pulled a face at the thought of going back outside into +the dark and chill morning. Gregor ignored it and chucked the keys +over to him then turned to start loading the second oven, whistling +merrily. The younger man went out of the bakehouse and through the +store-room, jamming his hat down on his head. As soon as he opened +the outside door, a draught of frigid air leached the heat from his +face. He shivered and bent his head as he hurried down the unlit +narrow space between the store-room and the wall of the +neighbouring building. He quickly opened the car, reached behind +the seat and found the bottle of milk in Gregor's tote bag. Graham +slammed the door, locked it and turned back up the gap. Just before +he got to the end of the passage, where the double doors of the +gate faced on to the alley, hiding the loading bay and the little +space where Gregor parked his car, he stopped, listening.

+

Above him, the noise came again, a rough scraping sound, just +audible over the moan of the wind which rattled the tall gates. +Graham half-turned. Already the cold was draining the warmth from +his bare arms. He looked up to where the roan-pipe on the wall +disappeared into the early morning dark. For a moment, he thought +he saw a movement, and he stood puzzled. Nothing happened and he +turned back towards the car. The noise came again, a rapid +scuttering of something hard rasping on the stonework. He turned +again, looked up, and the dark simply rushed down towards him.

+

In the bakehouse, Gregor Christie slammed the oven gate shut +with a resounding clang and put his paddle against the wall. He +yawned mightily, and strolled towards the table to where his +breakfast, two hot and crusty rolls dripping with butter awaited. +Graham had poured the tea, but it was still black. Gregor sat down +heavily on the seat, grabbed a roll jammed it into his mouth, +tearing off a gargantuan bite. He lifted the tea, despite its lack +of milk and took a sip just as the frantic howl shattered the dusty +peace of the bakehouse.

+

Gregor jerked back and spilled half a cup of tea right down his +front, scalding his considerable belly from breastbone to crotch. +He let out a whoop of pain and went stumbling back from the table, +dropping the rest of the cup onto the wooden surface while he +hauled the burning cotton away from his skin. Outside, in the +narrow gap between the building, Graham was bellowing +incoherently.

+

Despite the pain on his belly, Gregor stumbled to the door, +pushed his way through the storeroom and pushed the exit-bar.

+

"Oh get off," Graham screeched, though the words were hardly +intelligible. "Oh Jesus. Gregor! It's got me it's got me +it's oh help me for chrisake I'm..."

+

The babbling screech soared up so high it sounded like a woman's +shriek and then cut off abruptly.

+

Gregor bulled his way out into the back alley.

+

"What the hell's going on?" he bawled, peering down the gap. +There was no sign of Graham.

+

Up above, there was a scraping noise, like stone rubbing on +stone. Gregor looked up. For an instant he thought he saw something +light in the shadows, but it disappeared as soon as his eyes +focussed. He scratched his head and hurried down the passage, +squeezing his stout frame between the stacks of plastic baskets to +where his car sat in the shadow. Graham was nowhere to be seen.

+

A pale pool of milk spread out on the concrete of the bay and +shards of glass were scattered all around. Graham's hat was lying +upside down in the middle of the puddle.

+

Gregor took a step back. For some reason his legs were shaking +and his heart was pounding and he was suddenly very scared. He did +not know what happened. He stole a glance at the double gates and +saw the padlock still on the chain. Graham had locked it, as usual, +after parking his bike, a precaution against opportunists who might +sneak in while they were busy. There was nowhere out of the yard, +except back the way he had come. Graham hadn't been in the alley, +and his desperate and scary screams had come from outside.

+

Gregor backed away from the pale pool of spilt milk. Every nerve +down his back and arms was jittering and jumping as a huge and +nameless fear shivered through him. He took one quick, and very +nervous glance up at the dark space between the two buildings, and +then he skittered up the alley like a fat and frightened cat, +barged through the door and slammed it hard behind him. He got to +the bakehouse and flopped down on the seat and sat there for +several minutes until the distressing and dizzy pounding of his +heart slowed down enough for him to reach for the phone. The police +arrived within five minutes and it took another half an hour to get +any sense out of Gregor Christie. The mug of tea which Graham Friel +hadn't had a chance to drink went cold.

+

At five past six Laurie Liddell jumped off the back of his +milk-float and scurried up Yard Vennel, only four hundred yards +from Christie's bakery, with two eight-bottle crates rattling in +his hands. The scaffolders who had set up their frame for the +sandblasting operation on the Ship Institute, an old Victorian pile +from a bygone era of commercial and maritime wealth, started early +and they started on gallons of tea. Laurie was fourteen, and +despite the warnings on every poster, he had not thought for a +moment of quitting his job. It paid too much, despite the +hours.

+

He ran on, head down, past the metal bars on the side of the +building when he heard a noise a few feet above his head. He +glanced up and something snatched him clean off the ground so +quickly he didn't have a chance to utter a word. The crates of milk +went flying forward, tumbling as it went. The bottles flew out and +shattered on the cobbles in a series of glassy explosions.

+

The milk-float driver moved on another forty yards while the two +other boys darted up the alleys, hurrying to keep warm.

+

"Hey, where's Laurie?" one of them asked when he got back into +the warmer cab.

+

"Is he not with you?" the driver asked.

+

"No. He did the delivery for the workies. He's not down +yet."

+

"Och, away and tell him to get a move on," the driver growled. +"We can't hang about here all morning."

+

"He's probably taking a piss,!" the boy protested.

+

"I don't care if he's having a shite and a haircut. We've a run +to finish. Now get back and haul him out of there." The driver +jerked his thumb over his shoulder and bent to his tally book.

+

Colin Jamieson, who was Laurie's cousin and older by ten months, +jammed his hands in the pocket of his heavy jacket and huddled +against the cold as he scampered back towards the institute. He +rounded the vennel at a trot and ran to the far end where the +workers had their storage hut.

+

"Hey Laurie, come on. He's spitting bullets."

+

There was no reply.

+

He stuck his hear round the side of the hut, expecting to see +Laurie hunched against the slatted wall, a cloud of steam rising +from a spreading puddle. There was nothing there.

+

"Hurry up, will you?" he called again into the dark, but there +was no reply.

+

Puzzled, the youngster went right round the back of the hut, +next to where the scaffolding rig clambered up the black side of +the old building. His foot kicked a piece of glass and it tinkled +against a brick. He looked down and saw the pool of milk, just as +Gregor Christie had done on the other side of River Street.

+

"Aw Laurie, he'll murder..." he started, but did not finish. +Something struck him on the back of the neck with such colossal +force he went flopping to the ground. One second he was standing +there, gawping and the next he was face down on the cobbles. Dazed, +but still conscious, he managed to raise himself to his elbow when +a grip clamped on his head and lifted him straight off the ground. +The shadows of the scaffolding swung and somersaulted in his vision +as he was flipped upwards. A terrible pain cracked in his neck and +everything started to go dark. The last thing he saw was a single +yellow glow, like a poisonous moon, right in front of his face as +the thing that had hit him, then picked him up like a rag doll +watched as the life drained out of his eyes.

+

At six forty it was still dark and bitter cold. On Swan Street, +just round the corner from Cenotaph Stand, in one of the oldest +parts of town, Lisa Corbett went upstairs to check on her +grandmother, who lived in the little flat above in the old and +crumbly tenement. The old woman had applied for a sheltered house +because the worn stairs up to the fourth floor were getting too +much for her, though she knew she'd miss being so close to her +daughter's family. Lisa was nineteen and worked an early shift on +the lines at Castlebank Distillery. In the mornings, she always +went upstairs to make her gran a cup of tea and find out if there +was anything she wanted from the shops.

+

She closed the door behind her. The light on the stairwell was +off, which wasn't unusual because most of the tenants would rather +wait for the council to fit a bulb than spend the money themselves. +It mattered little. The teenager had been up and down the steps +almost every day since she could walk. She took the first flight, +and was turning to the second, past the sash window which looked +down onto the back courts when a gust of freezing wind came +blasting in from outside. She turned automatically, reaching to +slide the frame down, when everything went dark. A sickly smell of +rot filled her throat and she screwed her face up in disgust. Then +with such speed that the girl had no time to blink, she was dragged +right out over the window sill. The skin of her leg peeled down +from knee to instep as she was whipped over the edge against the +sandstone. She never made a sound.

+

Half an hour after that, the old woman, who had been expecting +her grand-daughter because Lisa was as regular as clockwork, went +to her front door and peered down the stairs. Something lay on the +flat landing in front of the window. She toddled down the flight +and picked it up. It was Lisa's handbag.

+

At eight, still wintry dark, the wind had picked up. It tugged +at George Wilkie's heavy coat when he opened the front door of the +old college, which was now used as the town planner's office. The +milk, he noticed, hadn't been delivered, and the janitor knew there +would be complaints from the pen-pushers when they arrived at nine. +He shivered in the cold and closed the door behind him before going +downstairs to switch on the old boiler to get the heat running +through the ancient pipes. He could have done with a hot cup of tea +himself, and muttered grumpily. He lit his pipe and blew out a +plume of smoke on his way to the back door where the black plastic +bags were leaning against the wall. The rubbish would be collected +by the cleansing department later in the morning. He shoved the +door open and started hauling the bags out into the little +quadrangle at the back of the building where the planners, now that +the building was a no-smoking area, would huddle for their morning +cigarettes. He'd hefted the last of the bags outside and dumped +them against the wall, and was just turning back towards the +building when the wind whooped fiercely into the confined space, +picking up pieces of paper and cigarette packets and whirling them +together in a dust-devil circle. Something rasped on the wall above +his head and he looked up. Something black fluttered against the +wall. For a moment he assumed it was an empty bin-liner back caught +by the wind.

+

Then it dropped down on him so blurring fast he didn't have a +chance to even open his mouth. A tremendous blow hit him on the top +of his head and the force snapped his teeth together so hard the +stem of his pipe was bitten cleanly in two, and the upper plate of +his dentures broke into three pieces. Sparks of burning tobacco +fountained out and were whipped upwards by the blustering wind. Old +George, who was due to retire in February was slammed to the ground +and then without warning, lifted up again. The force of the blow +had detatched the retina of his left eye. The other, still blurred, +was vaguely aware of the old, dusty windows passing by, although he +did not know why they were moving. When he reached the level of the +guttering, George was hauled onto the slates beside the +corbie-stepped gable. Something black opened an eye and stared into +his. Still dazed, it took him some time to realise that an +inexorable grip was squeezing at his neck. He gasped once as the +pressure built up inside his head, then the vision of his good eye +just faded out. The yellow orb glared until the life-light drained +away, then the thing turned and began to climb, dragging the old +man like a bundle of rags.

+
+
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+
+

33

+

Jack drove down Clydeshore Avenue towards Lorna's House at seven +on Monday morning. He'd spent the weekend alternating between there +and his sister's house, and thanks to Superintendent Cowie, he was +able to keep his promise to Davy, though all the time he'd been in +a turmoil of agitation following the death of young Gordon Pirie +and the find of the three bodies in the town hall's attic store. +When he'd suggested that O'Day might have killed himself, Lorna had +just shaken her head slowly. That, in itself, was possible, though +try as she might, she sensed nothing, but she insisted to Jack yet +again that what had killed the children in Levenford was +not human.

+

Despite his preoccupation, Sunday afternoon turned out to be the +best Jack had spent since the firework celebrations of Burgh +Charter Day.

+

It had been icily cold, but the skies had been clear with the +kind of pale frigid blue of deep winter. Davy had met him at +Julia's front door at eleven, bundled up in a jacket that was +several sizes too large and with a tasselled hat pulled down over +his ears. They had strolled up the full length of Cargill Farm +Road, past the old mill with its ice-locked wheel and then crossed +the fence to get beyond the trees and onto the hillside.

+

Langmuir Crags were white with snow that had drifted to five +feet in places when they arrived, panting, to the top of one of the +gentler slopes. Davy had insisted on rolling a snowball, though +Jack did most of the work until he had a thick disc a yard high, +then, with much laughter and cheers, they had sent it rolling down +the long swoop, watching it grow as it travelled. Fifty yards +downslope, the snow-wheel hit a rock and collapsed into itself in a +crump of hard-pack. Davy whooped with glee and it took some +persuasion to dissuade him from building another. They breasted the +edge of the flat plateau and trudged through the heather. Jack +lifted his nephew on to his shoulders when the snow got too deep +and they walked on over the hill and down the next depression where +Loch Murroch lay flat and iced over. Up here the wind picked up the +little shards of ice which had frozen to the heather bells and sent +them tinkling in a musical whisper over the flat white expanse of +the hill-loch. Overhead, high in the clear air, a buzzard mewed +plaintively as it wheeled on broad wings, hungry for the meals that +had tunnelled under the snow or had changed their colour to +perfectly match their surroundings.

+

Davy had spent two hours skittering and sliding on the ice. Most +of the time he was on his backside, or sliding on his front on the +clear patches where the wind had brushed the ice to polished black +smoothness.

+

The pair of them had watched as a mountain hare, greyhound-fast, +and completely white bar the twin jet spots on its long ears, came +streaking down the hill and onto the flat surface, legs blurring +and kicking up a trail of ice crystals. The animal had sped right +out into the middle of the lake, dashing past them until it hit the +slick clear surface. It had spun twice, like a character in a +cartoon, rolled, found its feet with miraculous agility, and raced +for the far side of the narrow loch. They watched until it hit the +sloping snow-bank in a puff of powdered snow and disappeared.

+

Up here, in the clear winter air far above town, the destruction +that had taken place in Levenford seemed far away. From the slopes +of the rolling plateau, the town was well hidden from view. There +was no sound but the moan of the wind through the runnels and +gulleys, the call of the bird high overhead, and the crunch of snow +underfoot.

+

Loch Murrin has a waterfall at its westermost point where it +overflows to drain down into the Langmuir Burn, a winding stream +that cuts through the soft, layered strata of ice-age deposits on +its tortuous route to the estuary. The falls were silent but for +the steady drip of water from a portcullis of icicles which dangled +from the lip, some of them waist thick and dropping twenty feet to +the iced-over pool below. Jack eased Davy down the incline next to +the falls and let the youngster break off a sword of ice. He chose +another and they fenced until their weapons shattered into +rainbow-sparkling diamonds.

+

They followed the stream down the hill until they came to +another deeper pool where Jack sat the boy down on a flat rock and +opened the sandwiches Julia had prepared for them. The walk had +given them ravenous appetites and they demolished the food in +minutes. As they sat there, Jack pointed out the dark shapes moving +in the sluggish water which was moving just enough to keep the deep +pool ice-free. Every now and then, there would be a bubbling +turbulence on the surface as a sleek shape would dart up from the +depths and turn with a flash of silver. Jack had come up here when +he was not much older than Davy was now, trudging up the slope in +winter to the redds where the salmon and sea-trout gathered to +spawn. As a youngster, he had used a loop of twine strung across a +forked branch to snare one of the fish by the tail before hurrying +back down the hill, watchful for old Dan Leitch the gamekeeper, on +his way home with his prize. He'd thought about those days many a +time since, not least because his own father had been a policeman +who had never raised a disapproving eyebrow about his son's +poaching of fish, and had always tucked in to the fresh salmon with +relish.

+

They watched the fish for almost an hour while Jack gave a +running commentary and answered all of Davy's questions as best he +could, before they started heading down the hill. Already the sun +was heading for the horizon, though it was still early. Halfway +down the long meander the stream, Davy began to tire and Jack +hoisted him back on his shoulders for the last two miles to the +trees.

+

Twilight was setting when he got the boy back home and after a +bath, Davy was so tired from his long romp in the fresh air that he +fell asleep on Jack's knee, halfway through a story about dungeons +and dragons. He carried the boy through to his bed and tucked him +in while Julia made coffee.

+

"You're good for him," she said when she poured cups for both of +them in the kitchen.

+

"And he's good for me," Jack said, grinning at the recollection +of rolling the boy in a drift as Davy's childish laughter pealed +across the snow.

+

"It's about time you got yourself a good woman," Julia said in +that direct sisterly way that always made Jack smile.

+

"You're one to talk," he retorted. "You've been on your own +too."

+

"Yes, but I've got Davy," she said. "You need somebody to get +you out of yourself. You've been working too hard. All work and no +play, Jack. You'll get dull."

+

"Oh, don't worry about me," he said. "In fact I'm seeing a girl +tonight."

+

Julia looked at him quizzically over the rim of her cup, so he +told her about Lorna Breck. She listened while she sipped her +coffee and let him talk, gauging his tone. Jack told her about the +girl's strange gift, and how she had been instrumental in finding +three of the bodies and the place where Neil Kennedy had been +snatched. He only talked about her in relation to the case, but his +sister had known him a long time.

+

It was what Jack did not say that made her smile.

+

He had taken Lorna to Barloan Harbour where the old canal +empties into the estuary. At one time, the canal had been a busy +waterway, but since the war it had fallen into disrepair until a +couple of years back when someone had taken the notion to open it +up as a boating marina. It was still in the early stages yet, but +the old buildings and storage yards had been converted into +chandler's shops and fancy outfitters for the modern seafarer and +there was also a neat little restaurant built into the disused +railway arches which crossed over the locks beside the basin.

+

He had asked her on a whim and had been surprised when she +readily agreed.

+

The food was French and expensive and quite superb. During it +they tried not to mention the one thing that had brought them +together, though it sat silent and invisible between them. They +talked about everything else. He discovered she'd once been almost +engaged to the son of a wealthy farmer and had broken it off when +he'd stated quite flatly that she would have to leave her work in +the local library and take over looking after the chickens and +milking cows at five in the morning.

+

"I decided there were better things to do with my life, though, +I haven't done them," she said. "Maybe I should have gone along +with it," she said with a quick laugh.

+

He noticed she'd laughed a lot during the meal. When he'd picked +her up, she still looked as almost as worn and drawn as she had the +time he'd met her in the chemist's shop, but once they passed the +burgh boundary, heading east, when the town was behind her and they +were driving through farmland close to the banks of the estuary, it +had been as if she'd walked into sunlight, although the sky was +already dark.

+

He told her a few stories from his past, some of the cases he'd +worked on, picking out a few of the funnier ones, though in fact +there were too few in his line of work. Eventually she asked about +Rae and Julie and for the first in a long time, he was able to +speak about them without the twisting ache in his belly and the +heavy weight of loss on his shoulders. He talked about his +daughter's birth, the most momentous experience of his entire life, +and how she was perfect cross between him and Rae, with his black +hair and her brown eyes. Lorna reached across the table and used +her two small hands to cover his in a gesture of understanding.

+

Finally, despite their avoidance, the matter that had brought +them together intruded.

+

"It's strange," Lorna said, still holding on to his hand. He did +not pull away. "This is the first time I've been able to think +about it without panicking. It's as if I'm safe here with you."

+

"I think it's because we're out of the town. There's an +atmosphere you can cut with a blunt knife. People are just coming +to terms with what's been happened. I'm praying that it's +over."

+

"I don't think it is. It would me a miracle. I could get on with +my life, but I don't think so. I've had a bad feeling about it, +even though I can't sense it any more. I really don't believe it's +gone."

+

She looked at him earnestly, searching his eyes.

+

"What if I'm right?"

+

He shrugged, keeping his face impassive, and trying not to show +his own budding feelings as he met her grey gaze.

+

"If you're right, then my boss has certainly blown it. He'd +already made an arse of himself, sending a fax to headquarters +telling them he had the killer. John McColl told me the other night +he'd sent the same telex to every newsroom. They had the story on +their front pages and then that poor youngster got it. The second +editions made Cowie look like a fool, which, of course he is."

+

"You'd rather be back in there, wouldn't you?"

+

"Of course I would. I'd like to think that it's gone with O'Day, +but I have to be honest. You've been right so far. If you say it's +still there, then, yes, I'd sure like to be back. My immediate +superior is as useful as a bull with udders and thick as two +planks. If you're right, I should be back in there."

+

He'd taken her home, travelling on the back road that went way +round the edge of Langmuir Crags, a narrow snow-banked country lane +which dipped and turned. It took an hour longer and both of them +knew he was just delaying taking Lorna back into Levenford. He came +in for a moment, checked her windows and told her to snib the door +behind him. She stood at the door as he went down the path and when +he got to the gate, he wondered if he should have kissed her. Jack +wasn't sure any more about body language. He'd been out of +circulation too long. On the way back to the farm cottage, he began +to wish that he had, and then suffered the pang of guilt for +thinking that thought. When he got there, the place was cold and +too many unwashed clothes were lying around. He put them in the +washer and absently played his guitar until the cycle was over. +When the shorts were in the tumble drier, he went to bed and slept +until six.

+

As had happened so many times in the past, when he awoke, he had +an idea of what he should be doing. It had come to him sometime as +he slept, although he could not remember dreaming. If Lorna Breck's +extra sensory perception worked better when she touched someone, +maybe it would improve if she came with him to Michael O'Day's +house, to see if there were any vibrations, or sensations that +might trigger off her second sight. It was a long shot, but his +enforced absence was already chafing. If she found nothing, no +shivery sense of premonition, then it might allay her fears, and +that would certainly quieten his own.

+

At seven, still dark and bitterly cold, he parked the car +outside the gate and pulled his collar up against the wind driving +up the firth as he walked quickly up the path.

+

There was no response to his knock. He tried again, twice, but +Lorna's now familiar voice did not call out from behind the door. +He checked round the side of the building. There was a light on in +her bedroom, though the curtains were closed tightly. There was no +sound of running water from the bathroom, which was in darkness and +for a moment Jack hesitated, wondering if she'd perhaps fallen +asleep with the light still on, then recalled she'd already told +him she was scared of closing her eyes in the dark because of the +visions that would crowd into her mind. It was early enough for her +to be still asleep and he decided against waking her. He turned +back on the path. Across town the sound of sirens wailed eerily and +the ululating sound, so early in the morning, triggered the shivery +sensation down his back. He was about to head for the gate when he +heard the faint cry from inside the house.

+

He stopped, holding his breath to listen. The wind rattled the +bare twigs on the elm tree at the side of the road and the whine of +the siren faded in the distance. Nothing happened,and he began to +think he'd imagined it, when the sound came again, faint, almost +like a moan.

+

He hurried round to the front door, crouched, and jammed two +fingers to open the flap of the letterbox. The narrow hallway was +dim, but there was a line of light from the bedroom which formed a +bar on the floor and up the wall. In that band of illumination, a +bare foot stuck out through the doorway on the floor. As soon as he +recognised it, Lorna moaned a long drawn out, quivering sound of +distress.

+

Jack banged hard on the door, rattling it on its hinges, but +there was no response from inside, except the shuddery cry. It +sounded like an animal in pain.

+

He stepped back, now suddenly worried and scared that she'd been +hurt. He was about to raise his foot and stomp his keep just below +the lock, when he stopped. She was a country girl, raised on a +farm, far from any major town. He turned, and in the darkness, felt +along the wall beside the door where he'd seen the plantpots in +daylight. He lifted the second one and his fingers found the key. +In seconds he had jammed it in the lock, twisted it, and pushed the +door open so hard it banged against the wall.

+

Lorna was lying on the floor of her bedroom. When he reached +her, his heart did a double thump when he saw her eyes, wide and +staring. She was spreadeagled with her arms drawn up at the side of +her head. They were trembling violently. A trickle of saliva +dribbled down from her half-open mouth and her whole body was +jerking in a series of violent spasms. He threw himself down beside +her and took her face in his hands, calling her name. The tremors +made his own arms shake.

+

The moan abruptly stopped and the girl began to pant, again like +an animal. Powerful heaving gasps shook her and her shoulders came +right off the floor as she fought for breath. All the while her +eyes were staring blindly.

+

He drew her up to a seated position, wondering what to do. It +looked as if she was in the middle of a fit, and if that was the +case, he should turn her on her side and make sure she didn't +swallow her tongue.

+

Just as he made to move her, she twisted violently against him +and drew a hand up to his face, as swiftly as a cat's strike. He +felt her nails rake down his cheek and he drew back, breath hissing +with the burn.

+

Lorna came half off the ground, panting like a dog. Her face +twisted savagely, though her eyes were still wide and frantic. He +caught her by the shoulder and pulled her against him. She +struggled viciously, and with such surprising strength that he was +thrown against the wall with a jarring thump.

+

Then she screamed like a cat. There were no words, just one +long, shriek which soared so high he could hear it crackle in his +ears. He moved quickly and gathered her in his arms and smothered +her with his own strength. She struggled against him, still +screeching, but he held on tight, wrapping his arms around her and +locking his muscles. He held the position for several minutes while +her screams rattled the windows in their frames and then, without +warning, without any slow trailing away, the noise stopped. Lorna +sagged in his arms like a puppet whose strings had been cut and lay +limp.

+

Jack didn't move for another few minutes, wondering whether to +carry her to her bed or take her through to the living room where +he could phone for a doctor, but then she gave a start against him. +He drew his head back to look at her. She blinked, looking dazed, +and them simply burst into tears. The sobs racked her from head to +foot. It was as if a dam had burst inside her. Huge tears welled up +and spilled down her cheeks to soak into his shirt. He held her +tightly, rocking her gently, until finally, the sobbing began to +subside. She sat still for a little while longer, then moved +against him, wiping her cheeks on his already damp shirt.

+

"You want to tell me what happened?" he asked softly.

+

She hiccupped, tried to speak, then hiccupped again in the +aftermath of her tears.

+

"It's killing again," she finally blurted thickly. She sniffed +and shivered again almost as she had done when she'd been lying +rigid on the floor.

+

"I saw it, Jack. It's not gone away. It's still here and it's +angry. I could feel it's hate. It showed me everything and +it knows I can see. It's killing now."

+

"Where?"

+

"Everywhere. I couldn't stop it. It's as if it wanted me to see +it all. I know it wanted that. I got up to get a drink of +water, and I saw it, right in front of me."

+

"Here?"

+

"No," she said. Her shoulders hitched as she swallowed a sob. +She tapped the front of her head. "Here."

+

"It was worse than before. Oh, it was much worse. I could see +everything. It's on the rampage and it's killing so many +people."

+

Jack held her tight, trying to calm her. Slowly, he eased her to +her feet and reached to the side where her dressing gown had +slipped to the floor. With the difficulty of long-lost practice he +helped her into it, pushing her arms into the sleeves the way one +does with a small child. He drew her to her feet, tied the cord +firmy around her waist and led her into the kitchen. He made an +instant coffee for them both, making hers thick and strong and +sweet and urged her to drink it, holding the cup to steady it in +her fluttering hands. He waited until she had finished, made her +drink another, then started to ask questions.

+

"Show me the pictures," she demanded.

+

He went through to the living room and picked the folder from +the table where he'd left it. He drew up a chair beside her and +spread them on the table, then drew her forward with his arm around +her shoulders. She slipped her hand round his waist. It was still +shaking, but warm against his side.

+

"The first one. It came down between buildings. He heard it and +looked up."

+

"Who did?"

+

"The boy. He had a white hat. Something in his hand, a bottle +maybe. I could smell cooking. He looked up and it came down so +quickly he didn't have a chance to move. It took him by the +shoulder and climbed the wall with him. He was screaming and +crying, and his feet were kicking against the wall, but it went +back up into the dark. It was playing with him. It threw him onto +the roof and then it took him by the neck and looked into his eyes +until he was dead. It was looking into my eyes, and it was +laughing."

+

"How do you now that?"

+

Lorna turned her eyes on him. "Because I do." she said slowly. +"Because it wants me to know. I don't know why, but it does, and +it's like a disease."

+

"Did you recognise the place?" he asked.

+

She shook her head. "I could hear the gulls, and a clanking +sound.

+

And the smell of something cooking."

+

Lorna closed her eyes and actually sniffed, as if she was +scenting the air.

+

"No. It wasn't cooking. It was bread. Fresh bread like +my mother bakes. It was coming from a door between the two +walls."

+

Jack reached for the remainder of the folio of prints and +searched through them. He selected one and held it up. It showed a +warren of alleys down by the river.

+

"Was it there?" he asked, jabbing his finger. "There's a bakery +here."

+

She took the picture and he watched as her eyes narrowed in +concentration. She was trying to convert what she had seen in three +dimensions to the flat surface of the picture which had been taken +from several hundred feet in the air. Finally she nodded.

+

"I think so. It might have been the place."

+

He pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet. "I +have to phone Ralph Slater," he said.

+

"Wait Jack. There's more. It hasn't stopped yet. It's angry now. +It's like it wants to kill everybody. It's like a nightmare. I was +there and I saw it take two boys, just little ones. She held her +hand out to indicate a height. This time she flicked through the +pictures herself.

+

"It's somewhere I've seen before, an old building with +scaffolding on the side. The first boy was carrying something. It +rattled. Milk bottles maybe?"

+

Jack let out a long sigh. The warnings had been in every paper +and on every screen. Yet every morning, hours before daylight, +young teenagers, boys not even in their teens, were out in the +dark, scurrying up alleys and tenement closes to deliver the town's +milk. Lorna drew out a print and this time she pointed.

+

"There. He went up there and it came down the scaffolding, +swinging from bar to bar. Oh, it's so fast. It took the boy by the +head and lifted him up and it stuck him up on the bar. The +other boy came round and it watched him. I could see him from up +there. It was showing me. I tried to call out, but it +laughed inside my head. Oh, Jack, it's filthy. It's like a +sickness." She leaned into him and the tears started to +trickle down her face again. There was nothing he could do to stop +them.

+

After a few moments she started again, telling him about the old +man. She did not recognise this place, nor the stairwell where +she'd seen the girl being dragged from the window. But in every +case she told how it had swung its victim upwards and held it there +until the soul fled, watching the life-light fade from the +eyes.

+

"It is like a disease," she said. "It's foul and it +hates everything here. It makes me feel unclean."

+

Jack made his phone call and Ralph's wife told him her husband +had been out since almost five, two hours before. He managed to get +Bobby Thomson at the station who accepted Jack's request for +urgency and relayed a radio message to the scene of crimes officer. +Ralph called him back within two minutes.

+

"Christ almighty, Chief. We need you down here."

+

"No time to chat, Ralph. Drop what you're doing and get round to +Christie's bakery."

+

"How did you know?" Ralph asked incredulously. "I'm just back +from there. Listen Jack, the shit's hitting the fan down here. It's +a fucking slaughterhouse. There's a baker missing from Christie's +place. His boss heard him screaming outside the bakehouse. He's +gone, but the walls are covered with blood. Next we get a bloody +milk-float driver telling me he's lost two of his lads. They went +up the alley by the Ship Institute."

+

Jack closed his eyes, picturing the place. The alley was exactly +where Lorna had pointed out on the grainy print.

+

"No sign?"

+

Nothing but broken milk-bottles. No blood, nothing."

+

"Anything else?"

+

"We've just had a report of a girl gone missing round on Swan +Street. I've just sent a squad car round there."

+

"Well, there's another one. I don't know where it is, but +there's another old man gone. It took him at the back of a +building. Somewhere with railings, like a back court. I don't know +exactly where, but I reckon it's in the centre of the town."

+

"Jesus, Jack, I've got my hands full down here," Ralph bawled +down the phone. He sounded helpless.

+

"And anyway, how the hell do you know? How did you know about +the bakery?"

+

"You'd never believe me," Jack said. "Listen. Hold on down +there. I'm coming in."

+

"Cowie won't like it."

+

"Cowie can shove it up his arse," Jack retorted vehemently.

+

Back in the kitchen, he told Lorna he'd have to go. She looked +up at him, the disappointment evident in her eyes.

+

"I'm sorry, but I really should. Ralph is down at the bakery. +You were right, of course."

+

Lorna nodded dumbly. "I know," she finally said. "I wish I +didn't have this thing. I wish it was somebody else." She stood up +and came towards him and put her hands on his hips. Without +thinking he drew her forward by the shoulders. She tilted her head +and without thinking, he kissed her gently on the lips. She tasted +of woman and sweet coffee.

+

As soon as he did so, she jerked back as if she'd been scalded. +For an instant Jack was taken aback, completely wrong footed. Her +hands suddenly gripped the side if his shirt and her fingernails +dug into the skin just below his ribs. Her eyes were huge and +suddenly terrified.

+

"No," she gasped.

+

"I'm sorry," Jack stuttered. "I didn't mean to.."

+

"No," she repeated. "It's not..oh Jack. It's you. I can +feel it."

+

He tried to take a step back, but she held on desperately, +shaking her head, her face a picture of shock and dismay.

+

"It's you it wants. It knows about you, and it wants you."

+

"Me?" he asked stupidly.

+

"I can sense it. The thing's in my head. It knows you're the man +who understands what it is. It knows you've been hunting it, and +it's coming after you."

+

He laughed, though he knew it sounded shallow and forced. Cold +fingers began to scrabble their way up his spine.

+

"Well," he said,"It'll have to be a big mean bastard then. I've +been around a long time."

+

"No, I mean it Jack. Please be careful."

+

He pulled back, but she leaned against him, as if she'd lost +strength, then raised her hand to the back of his head and pressed +him against her. This time she kissed him properly, forcing her +mouth against his with a kind of hungry desperation. Jack could do +nothing except respond, though his mind was awhirl. They stayed +together for a long moment.

+

Finally he pulled back. She was looking up at him and her eyes +were filling with tears again, making them huge and lustrous.

+

"Promise me you'll be careful," she said quietly, holding him +tight.

+

He promised.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike34.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike34.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..520f99e --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike34.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,480 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 34 + + + + +
+
+

34

+

Ralph Slater had been right. Everything was hitting the fan by +the time Jack got to the station. Even as he crossed the old +bridge, screeching over the curve in second gear, recklessly +ignoring the black ice on the brow, he could hear the urgent wail +of sirens way down on River Street. On the turn towards Artisan +Road two police cars sped past, cutting in front of him, lights +sending blue strobe flashes bouncing off the glass doors of the +Regal Cinema.

+

Bobby Thomson only raised his eyebrows when Jack came hustling +in, letting the door slam behind him. He watched in silence as the +other man strode past the desk and took the stairs three at a time, +coat flapping behind him.

+

Ronald Cowie's secretary half rose in her seat as he came +barging through and raised a hand to forestall him, but he ignored +her, twisted the handle on the office door and stormed inside.

+

"This damned stupidity has to stop," he snapped without pausing +for breath. "It's a slaughterhouse out there and you've got me +kicking my heels. I've had enough. As of this moment I'm reporting +back for duty."

+

"And why not?" a voice said from behind him. Jack whirled and +saw a tall, grey-haired man in a herringbone coat standing with his +hands in his pockets. "Where've you been Jack?"

+

Divisional Commander Hector Nairn came walking towards the desk, +his eyes shifting from one man to the other. Cowie was still seated +behind his desk, his mouth hanging open.

+

"Is there something I should know?"

+

"Chief Inspector Fallon had to take some time owing," Cowie +started to say.

+

"That's a lie. I was ordered out, and if you'd have let me +handle things my way, you wouldn't have half the force out on the +streets this morning."

+

"Ordered out?" Nairn looked from one to the other again, then +swivelled his eyes back to Jack. "I think there is something I +haven't been told, and I think I should hear it right now." He +turned and pulled up a swivel chair and lowered himself slowly into +it. He'd been head of the murder squad in the city when Jack had +joined. The two of them had worked on dozens of cases together.

+

Jack hauled another chair from the far side of the office and +sat down heavily.

+

"Office politics, and I'm bloody fed up with them," he said. +Mentally he took his gloves off and prepared for a bareknuckle +fight.

+

"We've got a serious situation here," he began.

+

"Now there's an understatement if I ever heard one." Hector +snorted.

+

"And getting more serious by the minute. We shouldn't have lost +young Gordon Pirie. If we'd let O'Day stay in the church, then he'd +most likely still be alive, and those kids wouldn't be dead this +morning."

+

Jack turned to the Divisional Commander. "I've wasted the last +two days doing nothing but being kept out of the way while we +announced we'd got the killer. But I knew we didn't have him, and +we won't get him unless somebody sits up and takes notice."

+

"You went off duty," Cowie protested, his face red.

+

"With respect, Superintendent, I was ordered to take my leave. I +have a duplicate copy of my objections to that order, and my +protest over the arrest of Michael O'Day."

+

"Is that right, Ron?" Hector Nairn asked softly, but there was +an iron undertone. "Did you order Jack off the case?"

+

Cowie began to bluster. His mouth opened and closed. He started +to say something, but the senior officer held up his hand.

+

"You tell me, Jack. And when you're finished, I want to hear an +explanation of everything I've been reading in the newspapers."

+

"It's simple," Jack said. "I was told to stay away on Thursday +night. That's the night the tele-message claimed that we'd got the +killer. I objected to that and to the arrest of Michael O'Day +because I didn't believe he should have been in a cell."

+

"But he'd stolen religious artifacts and he confessed to being +involved in the Herkik killing," Cowie interjected.

+

"Yes, he had admitted taking the chalice, and for a reason which +was explained to you."

+

"Mumbo jumbo is what I heard," Cowie rasped, but Hector Nairn +merely held up his hand again.

+

"That's enough Ron, I want to hear it from Jack and I don't want +to waste another minute, okay?"

+

"But the man had not admitted to killing Marta Herkik," Jack +continued. "He only said he was in Cairn House on the night it +happened, and he was perfectly safe up in the church tower. He was +asking for sanctuary."

+

"A bit archaic," Hector observed.

+

"Yes, maybe, but he was safe, and he was going nowhere. I'd been +looking for him for some time, and if I'd got the message from an +informant on time, then perhaps we could have resolved this case a +week ago. But I didn't get the information from Superintendent +Cowie until it was too late, and my requests for extra manpower was +denied. I am not into playing politics. I'm a policeman and my job +is to catch this thing."

+

"Oh, I agree with that, Jack," Hector said with a humourless +smile. "So what's the juju I've been reading about?"

+

"Devils and monsters," Cowie interjected. "It's absolute +rubbish."

+

"I won't tell you again, Ron," Hector said icily. Cowie's mouth +closed like a trap.

+

"That's speculation in the press, but there is a basis to it. +Marta Herkik was killed in the middle of some kind of seance. +That's why I brought in Professor Toye. He's an expert on +paranormal studies, and I know him. He has given us valuable +advice."

+

"Yes, but what about this spey-wife?"

+

"Every source helps. She's been helping me. Basically, as far as +I can tell, she's got some kind of extra sensory perception. She's +seen some of these killings as they happen. Sometimes +before they happen."

+

"And she'd not involved?"

+

"No, she is not. I've been there when it's happened. She's +clean."

+

"And you believe all this?"

+

"I have to believe it. I was with her this morning when she told +me about the boy in the bakery and the milk-boys. We're not looking +for missing persons, I can tell you that. We're looking for +corpses. And if we don't get our fingers out there will be a lot +more, I can tell you."

+

"It's a bit of a mouthful to take in all at once," Hector said +gently.

+

"I agree. I was too long in arriving at it myself, but +everything has fitted so far. I want to continue to use Lorna +Breck, no matter how it looks, or whatever it costs us in public +relations. Our image doesn't matter a damn. It's the kids in this +town who matter."

+

Jack stopped talking for a moment to gather his thoughts and +while he did, Hector Nairn asked him to tell him the full story +right from the start. Jack wasted no time. He took him through it, +from the killing of Marta Herkik, to his conversation with Andrew +Toye about what might have actually happened on the night of her +death. He told him about Lorna's premonitions and his initial +incredulity, then the finding of where Neil Kennedy had been +snatched, and her visions of baby Kelly Campbell's mother being +smashed to the ground on Barley Cobble.

+

"What did it for me was when we found the bodies in that +chimney."

+

He turned to Cowie. "Check Robbie Cattanach's report. There was +one extra body. I told you this before. That was the baby from the +fire on Murroch Road. That's the one Lorna Breck saw when it was +actually happening. Sorley Fitzpatrick - he's the firemaster - said +he thought the baby might have been completely destroyed by the +heat, but Lorna Breck told me she saw something take the baby from +the cot. I know it's far fetched and it doesn't sound like straight +forward police work, but I can't deny her as a source, and at the +moment she's all we have. She's the best we're going to get."

+

"So who are we looking for?"

+

"We're looking for Michael O'Day, initially," Jack said, not +wanting to tell anybody exactly what he was looking for.

+

"So he'd been the killer all along?"

+

"No. Something, or some-one has been using these people. And it +all started on the night of the seance."

+

"So what is it?"

+

"I don't know. But I'll find out and I'll find it."

+

Hector sat back in his seat.

+

"It really is a bit much to take on board, Jack." he said.

+

"I've had longer than you. But I'll get nowhere if I'm twiddling +my thumbs. Michael O'Day saw something at that seance that scared +the hell out of him, and he believed it. He locked himself up in +the belltower to get away from it."

+

"And you think this Lorna Breck is genuine?"

+

"I know it. I don't know how she does it, or why, but I've seen +it happen. If I don't use her, then we can all walk away and let +children die. It's as simple as that."

+

"So what are we looking for here?"

+

"Damned if I know. Seriously, I just don't know."

+

"It sounds as if you don't think it's human. Not the kind of +thing I want to tell the chief constable."

+

"Frankly, that's the least of my problems. Tell him we're +hunting a deranged escaped prisoner, which is the truth anyway +because somebody took O'Day out of the church. It could be an +influence which has forced these people to do what they've +done. Michael O'Day was convinced he'd be safe in the church tower, +and I think he was right. He told me he did not want to kill +anybody, but that he'd be compelled to if he was taken out of +sanctuary. I believed him then, and I believe him now. It doesn't +matter what you call it, and it doesn't matter what it is. It's a +killer, and it has to be stopped. Let's say it's some psychosis +brought on by the seance. I just want to stop it killing anybody +else."

+

"Well, you've got my backing on that. As of now, you're in +charge of the case," Hector said. "Use whatever resources you need, +and ask for anything else you want."

+

He turned to Ronald Cowie who hadn't said a word for some +time.

+

"I want you to understand that Chief Inspector Fallon has my +fullest confidence. There will be no interference in this case +whatsoever. From you I want a full report of why a senior +investigating officer was taken off duty in the middle of such a +serious case, and it had better be good, though, frankly, I doubt +it."

+

Cowie did his goldfish act again. Hector heaved himself from his +chair and walked to the door, Jack followed him out. Beyond the +ante-room, the divisional commander stopped him.

+

"I can't say I honestly believe a word of what you've just told +me," he said. "I think we're looking for a nutter, or a group of +them. But in the meantime, I'm going to rely on your judgement, no +matter what. Just don't make me look like an idiot."

+

"I'll do my best," Jack promised him, though in his own mind he +wasn't sure what that best would be. He didn't even know where he +was going to start.

+

He was only in his office five minutes when Robbie Cattanach +knocked on the door and popped his head round.

+

"I heard you'd been sent home," he said. "Then I got a whisper +you were back."

+

"Word travels fast," Jack said.

+

"Listen, I know you're busy, even busier than I've been, if you +can believe that," Robbie began. "But I have all the reports on the +bodies in the chimney and the other ones from the town hall. The +baby is definitely Kerry McCann. There's a great deal of +desiccation of the tissues, caused by the cold and the dry +atmosphere at the height of the chimney, but the blood tests are +fairly conclusive. There is not a shadow of doubt about Kelly +Campbell, again because of the blood tests, and the others have +been positively identified as Neil Kennedy and Carol Howard. We +suspect the fifth to be Timothy Doyle, but identification has been +hampered. There are no distinguishing marks and sufficient +putrefaction as to make it very difficult. His own mother hasn't +recognised him, and to tell you the God's honest, there isn't that +much left."

+

"I know," Jack said. "I brought him down."

+

"As far as the other three are concerned, you can call off the +search for Charles Black and Edward Redford. Votek Visotsky we know +about. The missing part matched."

+

Jack pulled a disgusted face.

+

"I know," Robbie apologised. "It sounds callous, but what else +can I say?" Jack shrugged.

+

"Cause of death?"

+

"Blood loss and shock in all cases, more or less, though we +can't be too sure about the three infants. However, it does point +that way. Partial strangulation on Charles Black, and severe trauma +in Redford's case. His leg was pulled off at the hip. That would +kill anybody. Visotsky died from a single blow to the side of the +head."

+

Robbie stopped and looked over at Jack.

+

"I'm more interested in the secondary wounds. Mutilation +describes it better. In every case, they occurred after death, and +in some cases long after the event."

+

"How do you figure that?"

+

"Without being too technical, generally we can tell by the +condition of the skin close to the wounds. The integuement dries +out quickly in the open air, making it more liable to rip. There's +no elasticity and it pulls away on either side of a cut. But that's +neither here nor there."

+

Robbie reached into his black case and brought out a set of ten +by eight prints. He shuffled them onto Jack's desk.

+

"I've burned the midnight oil on these, and I can tell you, my +freezer room's filling up too damned quickly. We don't have room +for any more cadavers and I'd be pleased if you could catch this +loony and give me a break."

+

He leaned over the prints, without waiting for a response and +jabbed his finger at several of them in quick succession.

+

"Every one of these injuries is post mortem. You can tell by the +tearing of the underlying muscle and ligaments that this is exactly +what it was, a tear. To get this kind of damage, we're talking +about considerable force. Something very powerful. You get this +trauma in mechanical accidents, where people have been dragged into +machinery, but that's not what happened here."

+

"So what did happen?"

+

"I'm coming to that. Just bear with me. Just remember what I +said when I looked at Shona Campbell's body. I've a set of pictures +in a book which show the aftermath of a bear mauling. The damage is +similar to this, wrenching of muscle and ligaments, twisting of +joints in the socket. It's what you'd expect when you have a +powerful animal dismembering a carcass."

+

"We've ruled out animals."

+

"I know you have," Robbie said. He leaned over the spread of +prints again and used his finger to stab here and there.

+

"Look at this. These are certainly bites, and it's got a radius +you wouldn't believe. I've worked it out that it's got a gape about +seven inches across. This was not, repeat not, caused by a human. +Something has been eating these children after they were dead."

+

"You know anything with a bite like that?"

+

"Ever watch Jaws?"

+

"Get out of here," Jack said. "We're looking for no shark."

+

"I know that. I just don't know what you're looking +for. This doesn't fit anything I've ever come across. I've been +through all the books, because the fiscal's ordered full inquiries +into each of these cases, and I just don't know what to tell +him."

+

"Neither me," Jack said. He didn't know what to tell Robbie +Cattanach either.

+

"Welcome back to the cuckoo's nest," was how John McColl greeted +Jack when he made it to the operations room. Ralph Slater turned +round from the grid-map and gave him a tired grin.

+

"You should have stayed away," he said. "It's a madhouse in here +and out there."

+

Jack didn't bother with the explanations both of them were +expecting. Instead he crossed to the map and told Ralph to give him +a briefing. Ralph began with the call from the bakery and went on +non-stop for fifteen minutes, pointing out the by-now very familiar +parts of town.

+

"We've a report in on the girl. Lisa Corbett. She just +disappeared from the stair landing. Somebody found her handbag on +the stair between the third and fourth floors, but there's no other +sign."

+

"How about the old man?"

+

"Nothing so far. Nobody's called it in. What I'd like to know is +where you're getting this from?"

+

"Later. As of now, I need you to organise a special team, all +local boys, to do a search of every place that's higher than forty +feet."

+

"That's a lot of places."

+

"I know that, but we have to do it. Forget out-buildings and +garden huts. This thing doesn't operate on the ground. Remember +where we found the bodies? And Jock Toner? It came in the skylight +at Rolling Stock. It's a climber and it leaves them up high. That's +where we'll find the bodies, and that's where we'll find it."

+

"So you think it's bodies again?"

+

"Certain of it. It hasn't left one alive so far. Also, it +operates in the dark, so it has to hide somewhere during the +day."

+

"You keep calling him it." John McColl said. "I thought +we were looking for O'Day."

+

"We are." Jack replied. "He'll be holed up somewhere. If we can +find him and lock him up before dark, then we've got a chance. +After dark, then it's anybody's guess. Whatever's controlling him +can do what it likes then."

+

"You mean like hypnosis?"

+

"Something like that," Jack said, though he didn't explain what +he really thought. Ralph and Jack looked at each other, but said +nothing. Ralph picked up the phone and made a call, and ten minutes +later, Jack was briefing the patrols. The search went on through +the day.

+

At three o'clock, while it was still light, but already turning +to dusk, Keith Fraser, who ran a television repair and installation +business from a small workshop behind Wattie Dickson's newsagent's +place was on top of Denny Court, the second grey monolith of +high-rise council housing by the river next to Latta Court where +Timmy Doyle had been snatched from his pram. Keith had been an +electrical engineer in Castlebank Shipyard until the Korean +shipbuilding had all but obliterated the Clyde from the forefront +of marinecraft and made it just a memory with only gaunt black +cranes on the skyline as a reminder of the boom days. Now he was in +a growth industry, and spent much of his time on roofs and up +ladders installing satellite diches which were beginning to +proliferate like mushrooms on walls and houses throughout the +town.

+

Despite the wail of sirens in the frosty morning, and despite +the shocking spate of murders which had cast a pall of unease and +trepidation among the townsfolk, the residents of Denny Court on +that day were more concerned about the fault in their television +reception. They flooded the council with complaints and Keith +Fraser, who was working in Lochend that day, eventually had to head +back into town and check out the problem before the good people of +Denny Court started a riot over the loss of their daytime quiz +shows and soap re-runs.

+

The elevator, smothered in graffiti and stinking of sweat and +bad cooking took him to the ninth floor and refused to go further. +He had to trudge up the final five flights with his toolbag until +he got to the roof where he used his pass-key to get out onto the +flat.

+

He spotted the problem with the communal aerial immediately, but +it took several moments for the gruesome truth to dawn on him.

+

The aluminium prongs of the antenna were bent out of line by two +small bundles which dangled down from the spidery rig. At first +Keith thought that one of the housewives from the teeming block of +flats had come up and hung her washing on the aerial, but as soon +as he crossed the asphalt roof, he realised what he was seeing and +took several slow steps backwards, shaking his head all the while, +eyes fixed to the two sightless and staring eyes which twinkled red +in the glow from the hazard-light dome.

+

Keith made it all the way to the ground, shunning the elevator +the whole distance, and had reached his van parked fifty yards away +before he remembered that he had a portable phone in the pocket of +his jacket. As it was, it took him seven attempts before his +shaking fingers managed to press the numbers for the police +emergency service and even when he got through to the operator, he +could not speak for fully three minutes.

+

In the station, Ralph Slater got the call and made it across the +bridge to Denny Court in seven minutes, followed by two patrol cars +with sirens squealing.

+

Young Colin Jamieson and his cousin Laurie Liddell had both been +spiked under the jawline on the aluminium spines, which made their +towsled heads twist grotesquely. From the amount of blood under the +body, it was clear that Laurie had still been alive at the time. +His bloody prints on the spike above his head showed his desperate +yet futile efforts to free himself. Ralph could visualise the +squirming youngster trying to raise his body while the pain tore +into his neck. His agony must have been extreme. From what he could +see, the youngster would have been trying to scream for help as his +struggles weakened, but no help came because nobody would have +heard. The spike of metal had been driven right through the boy's +larynx. His cousin, a small, slight shape dangling close by, had +probably died before he was hung up like a carcass in a butcher's +shop. His eyes still glittered, kept moist in the cold air, and his +hands hanging limply at his sides were blue with the lividity of +blood draining down into them. The spike had taken him on the left +side of the jaw, causing only a small puncture hole, but he had +been driven down upon it with such force that it had rammed right +through his temple on the other side.

+

Keith Fraser produced a hacksaw and cut through the metal and +the boys were loaded into bags which were too big for their small +frames, while Ronnie Jeffrey took pictures of everything for +posterity.

+

Just before darkfall, on the coldest night of the year so far, +the body of Lisa Corbett was spotted by a teenage boy. The only +surprise was that no-one had seen it earlier. Sorley Fitzpatrick +sent his biggest ladders from the fire station, but they couldn't +get high enough up the steeple of the old parish Church at the +crossroads of River and Kirk Streets, and eventually they had to +call in the Sea King helicopter from the submarine base further +down the estuary to come and lower the frail limp thing down from +the golden weathercock where it had been swaying in the gathering +breeze. The massive cast-iron weather vane had easily taken her +weight. The girl had been pierced through the shoulder by the +six-foot long stylised arrow and had swung with the northening wind +until her foot had snagged on the compass-point. There she had hung +all day, leaking drops of blood to the far pavement in the strange +secrecy of height and familiarity before a schoolboy had casually +looked up and wondered what the flapping shape was. He'd pointed +upwards and his friends, on their way home from school early, had +gathered around. Passers by had stopped to rubberneck and finally a +policeman had chanced along. Even he hadn't recognised the shape, +but he knew of the find on top of Denny Court, and called it in +just in case. John McColl had to go back to the station for a pair +of binoculars and when he twiddled the focus ring, the dead girl's +pale face, jaws so wide the back teeth were visible, had sprung +into awful clarity.

+

The body of Graham Friel was found a week later pinned to the +guard-rail of the gas tank on the east end of town. It might have +gone undiscovered for a while longer, but because of the freezing +winter, people were using more gas than normal to heat their homes +and when the huge cylinder sank as the fuel was drawn off, the +bloody body of the bakery worker was found lolling on the curved +roof. An arm and most of the shoulder were missing and were never +recovered again.

+

Old George Wilkie, the caretaker at the planner's office had +simply disappeared. It was not until May, when the buds on the +trees had exploded into green that his rotting carcass slipped off +the overflow pipe on the roof of the old masonic hall and tumbled +into the valley gutter and blocked the flow of early summer rains. +The water backed up behind the body and seeped over the lead +flashing and into the old hall where the brothers met in secret +conclave, ruining a display of memorabilia from the boom-town +bygone age. Keith Fraser's cousin George, a mason who also ran a +roofing firm got the ladders up to check the blockage and found the +corpse of the old man, though, by this time, it was only his coat +which held him together over the drainage gutter. The flies had had +the spring months to get to work and when George grabbed a hold of +what he thought was a bundle of rags, a pile of squirming white and +bloated maggots came spilling out of a sleeve, along with a +skeletal arm which had been picked almost clean. The stench was +awesome.

+

On the day the bodies of the milk boys and Lisa Corbett were +found, Blair Bryden worked overtime to get the story on the wires +and his story blared from every networked news channel. The name +he'd coined for the killer had stuck.

+

Blair himself managed to get in front of a camera in a live +broadcast from the crossroads at River and Kirk Street, pointing up +to the night sky where floodlights illuminated the needle-spite on +the old church steeple.

+

"This," he said, "is where the Shrike brought his +latest victim."

+

He gave a brief and eloquent summary of the ghastly events which +had rocked the town in the space of three short weeks, and managed +to slip in a barbed comment about Jack being taken off the case by +Superintendent Ron Cowie whose picture was shown, carefully chosen +by Blair, one suspected, to catch a shot of him with his eyes +closed and mouth open. He added that O'Day had escaped from the +cell after Jack got his marching orders. Blair speculated as to +where the Shrike would strike next and painted a picture +of a town shivering with fear, which was closer to the truth than +the viewing public beyond the burgh boundary realised.

+

Next morning, his story made the front page of every newspaper, +but by then it was all over bar the shouting.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike35.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike35.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7e828e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike35.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,678 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 35 + + + + +
+
+

35

+

The wind had veered again and was blasting down straight from +the north when Jack left the station and headed up to his sister's +house. The night was blistering cold and the frost sparkled like +diamonds on the windward sides of the trees and lamp posts. Jack +hadn't stopped, hadn't slowed down all day. Robbie Cattanach had +had to request extra storage space for the cadavers at Kirkland +Hospital and the fiscal had drafted in another pathologist to help +with the autopsies which were becoming monotonously, if horribly +similar. In every case, the cause of death was either by +devastating blood loss, massive trauma or both. Every one of the +bodies in the storage freezers had been mutilated in one way or +another. Robbie had been able to establish that the bite marks all +had the same radius and similar shear-lines. Each of the dead had +been gripped with enormous pressure, sufficient to cause dreadful +bruising and in most cases, skin rupture. The pathologist was able +to show, in a series of quick diagrams, the spread of the grip and +the strange, two-digit claw marks on either side. Robbie Cattanach +was not now prepared to put down on paper any speculation as to +what on earth could have caused the marks. As far as he was aware, +nothing living could have inflicted such damage.

+

Under John McColl's direction, the teams had hit the high spots +and searched as much of the town's skyline as they could before +nightfall. That search continued after dark in a town that had +become strangely silent, eerily empty. Few cars moved on River +Street. The cinema simply shut its doors and the bingo hall posted +a sign saying that they were sorry, but they were closed for +alterations. Under normal circumstances, this would have caused a +riot among the blue-rinsed brigade, but there were few grannies who +would risk venturing out in the dark just to test their luck. All +early morning milk deliveries were cancelled and Castlebank +Distillery stopped its night-shift bottling operation after +acrimonious but very speedy negotiations with the union +representatives. There was little else to be done when the entire +bottling line failed to turn up just after seven o'clock. Latta +Marineyard stayed open, working round the clock to finish the +oil-rig platform just at the south of the tidal basin beside the +old shipyard. The floodlights blazed down onto the maze of +metalwork and the sizzling electric flashes of the arc-welders +continued through the dark. Apart from that, and the and constant +passage of police patrol cars, the town had simply locked its +doors. The townsfolk huddled behind them and waited.

+
+

On the other side of town, somewhere between the looming brick +megalith of Castlebank Distillery and the volcanic rock where the +castle perched at the junction where the river ran into the firth, +something moved in the dismal dark of the old shipyard. The great +sheds where some of the ships that had made the Clyde great had +been fabricated, were silent and empty. There were four massive +structures, all connected and constructed of iron beams and +corrugated iron, blackened by dirt and grime and the smoke of a +bygone age. From the giant shed nearest the castle, a slipway which +still had launching tracks embedded in the stone, swept down +towards the tidal basin where the hardy wrack which could survive +in the brackish water floated on a greasy surface. Inside, out of +the wind, it was like a huge and dark cavern. Somewhere high, water +leaked from an aged tank and dropped fifty feet or more into a rust +puddle with a metronomic, almost metallic sound. High on the sides +of the launch bay, a fretwork of metal stairs and ladders soared up +into the utter blackness above.

+

It was not silent here. Apart from the steady droop of water, +and the echoing chink of a rusty chain which hung beside the pulley +door and was stirred by the harsh wind, the fine ice particles +blown from the trees across the river abraded the outer surface +with the sound of glass splinters and the wind itself whistled +through the narrow gaps where the corrugated iron had peeled away. +Beyond, closer to the distillery, the whine of machinery and the +harsh sizzle of arc-welding came over the wall from the +rig-yard.

+

Inside the gaunt and towering shed, something stirred in the +darkness. It moved slowly, but with little care for silence, out +from the shadows underneath the stairwell against the far wall. A +little light, not much more than a glimmer, was reflected up from +the oily water in the basin, just enough catch the figure of what +had been a man shamble back into the shadows.

+

If anybody had seen Michael O'Day they would have recoiled in +disgust. There was hardly an ounce of flesh on the man's bones. His +once-smart coat was in tatters and covered with whatever filth he'd +been lying in. The scarecrow figure turned and his eyes, now sunk +deep under grizzled white eyebrows, closed quickly against the pale +glimmer of light, screwing themselves up in obvious pain.

+

O'Day's thick hair, once black but now white, had all but gone, +save for a few lank strands which fell down behind his ears. One +hank, greased with oil swung down over his eyes. On his shoulder +another clump had stuck to a patch of engine grease and fluttered +there like moulted sheep wool. His face was so emaciated his cheeks +appeared to be black holes and the bones were ridged out, giving +his face a skull-like, fleshless look. The skin of his forehead was +scabbed and peeling, and a suppurating sore seemed to be eating +into the side of his nose. As he shambled back from the door, an +incoherent mumbling sound came dribbling out between cracked lips +along with thick and ropy saliva which swung with his jerky +movements to add to the damp stains on the front of his coat.

+

He took several steps, swaying like a drunk, then stopped, +shaking his head.

+

Something that was almost like words, but was still +unintelligible came out in a guttural stream. The man's body jerked +left and right, then he started walking again, feet scraping the +stone floor, kicking aside rusty nails and rivets. He got to the +far corner and reached the other space beneath the stairs and began +to crawl into the darkness.

+

For a while, he stopped moving and simply huddled there on his +side.

+

Then he began to twitch. It started with a twist of his neck, an +involuntary spasm, then his whole body began to shudder. A hellish +scream echoed round the vast chamber of the shed, reverberating +from one dark wall to another, but no-one heard it. Michael O'Day's +scrawny form writhed uncontrollably and his heels drummed against a +metal plate which had been left under the stairs, banging a rapid +drum-roll before they stopped abruptly and went limp. There was an +instant of silence and then something moved out of the shadow. It +was blacker than black and it moved with spidery speed. It flowed +up the side of the stairs, clinging to the outside of the banister, +then leapt without a pause to the first level of the side-wall +platforms, reached a long limb upwards with eerie liquid grace and +began to climb.

+

When it got to the top, high on the side of the shed, it paused, +making a throaty, rumbling sound. Until now it had not opened its +eyes, but when it froze to complete stillness, they flicked open, +two caustic yellow orbs, blind looking, and the left one puckered +and scarred, yet both searing in their intensity. The thing +swivelled its head.

+

Here, out of the sickly warmth where it had spent the hours of +light, the air was cold and somehow alien, yet despite the +emptiness of the shipyard, it sensed life, abundant hot and +fluttering life all around. Its head flicked to the side and cocked +up to the left, a mantis-like motion of alert menace. Up in the +high beams, it sensed the warmth of the starlings which had flocked +and wheeled like bees in the dusk and now huddled in uneasy +clusters. Its unearthly perception discerned the shiver of alarm +which rippled through the roost as the birds sensed its own +presence. It was too dark for them to fly. Instead they nervously +fluttered, each small bird crouching tight as the unseen but +strongly felt presence of the black thing touched them.

+

On the old iron stairway, the black gargoyle creature turned its +head down with that same insectile flick and the birds were +forgotten. Out there, beyond the towering metal walls of the +boatshed, there was warm life aplenty, a surfeit of it, a +storehouse of vitality, cowering from the dark, waiting to be +reaped. It closed its eyes and sensed way beyond the +walls. It scented the fear and the unease, like the fluttering +consternation of the little birds in their roost, but much +stronger, much more powerful. They tossed and turned and they +worried, all of them giving off the sweet emotion that filled its +senses with a potent spice. The obsidian lips parted and a drool of +saliva slithered in a wet braid to splash on the metal tread where +it sizzled and boiled in the freezing air. It held itself stock +still and forced its senses outwards, beyond the nearest buildings, +past Castlebank Church and over the centre of the town, keeping a +grip on its own clenching hunger.

+

Soon it would have nowhere to shelter, unless it found welcome +warmth, unless it invaded. Time was running out. Here, in +this place of light, where the minds and souls were throbbing with +savory life, it had almost outstayed its allotment, unless it found +a nest to shelter from the burning radiance of day. Anger, glowing +and feral, boiled up inside the thing as it hunched, still as +stone, on the metal ledge, while it outreached with its baneful +mind over the town beyond the shipyard.

+

Finally its perception focussed and found what it sought. The +strange other mind it touched was filled with flickering +thoughts, wheeling emotions, and under it all, the dark bubbling +fear that all prey possesses. It dipped into the mind and sipped on +the emotion, nurturing the fear, sampling the jittery thoughts, and +then, as quickly as it had entered, it withdrew, leaving hardly a +trace of its presence.

+

Out on Clydeshore Avenue, Lorna Breck shuddered, as if a +chill wind had blown through her. Somebody must have walked on +my grave, she said herself.

+

In the old shipyard, the thing turned its mind away and pushed +outwards, following the skein of thought it had invaded. It dipped +here and touched there, a cold, unseen presence.

+

After a while, it began to move, flowing like oil up to the roof +of the massive shed. A starling chirruped as a shadow deeper than +night passed by. An eye gaped in the dark and the bird died +instantly. Its small body tumbled, fluttering to the ground far +below. When it hit, there was hardly a sound.

+
+

It was after eight when Jack knocked on Julia's door. Davy +opened it, flashed him a big smile and then bounded away to watch +whatever was on television. Julia was in the kitchen, sitting at +the table with her big electric typewriter in front of her and a +pile of papers on the side.

+

"You've been in the wars, I hear," she said, pushing her chair +back. She crossed to the sink and filled the kettle.

+

"It's a long campaign," Jack said wearily. "I just need a wash +and a clean shirt and a quick bite."

+

Julia reached up and rubbed his cheek.

+

"And a shave. You look totally disreputable."

+

"Always the one with compliments," he shot back. She slapped his +jaw lightly.

+

"I told you to get a good woman who'll do your shirts for +you."

+

"I've got one, and you're a marvel. Just tell me where they are +and I'll be out of your hair in ten minutes."

+

Despite his obvious agitation to be gone again, Julia made him +sit down and have a cup of tea while she rustled up a sizeable +grill of bacon and eggs and hot toast, then sat down and watched +him until he'd finished the lot. She asked him about the case and +he responded almost unintelligibly between mouthfuls, but she +gleaned enough to get the picture.

+

"This girl, what's she really like?" she asked.

+

"She's okay. I thought she was a bit of a flake at first, with +this mental thing, but I reckon she's straight." Jack told her. +"She's got auburn hair."

+

Julia's eyes crinkled over the top of her teacup.

+

"Do I detect a note of interest here?"

+

"Oh, don't be daft. She's too young for me."

+

Julia smiled again. She knew her brother probably better than he +knew himself.

+

Davy's programme finished and he came charging into the kitchen, +narrowly missing the fridge. He pushed and squirmed until he was on +Jack's knee.

+

"I'm off school tomorrow," he announced. "Can we go sledging +again?" The boy was bouncing around on Jack's knee with unconcealed +enthusiasm.

+

"'Fraid not, pal. Too much work. But maybe at the weekend. No +promises, but I'll do my best."

+

Davy took a sausage from his uncle's plate, slid down to the +floor again, and went pattering out of the kitchen. Jack watched +him, unable to keep the smile from his face.

+

"He's as fly as a bag of monkeys, that one."

+

"He's picking it up from you," Julia told him with mock reproof. +She leaned over the table and took his empty plate away.

+

"As you heard, you don't have to come for him tomorrow. They've +closed the school on the pretext of in-service training. The kids +are having an extra week's holiday."

+

"Silver lining for the wee ones. I wish I could say the same for +the rest of us."

+

"Are you going to catch him?" Julia asked. Like every mother, +the enormity of what was happening in Levenford had seeped into +her. She was afraid for her child.

+

"Sure I will, and damned quick. We're getting closer now. It's +just a matter of time. You just look after Davy until the weekend, +and it'll be over. That's a promise."

+

He reached across and ruffled Julia's hair, the way he'd done +when they were both teenagers. Then she had screamed in protest, +now she just came close and leaned her cheek against his +shoulder.

+

"I'll be praying for you," she said.

+

After the huge meal, the hot shower went a long way to making +Jack feel he was able to face the night ahead and the plan he'd +been working on. He stood under the cataract of water, letting the +heat soak off some of the tension which had crept under his skin. +His thoughts danced at random while the steam fogged the tiles. He +closed his eyes for only a moment and all thought wavered away, +drifting into the mist of vapour. A few seconds later, Jack gave a +start, as if coming awake. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing +it back from his forehead, and knuckled his eyes. Without looking, +he reached out and yanked the shower handle, twisting it far over +until it pointed to the blue marker. The hot water switched to a +jet of cold. He endured it for ten seconds, feeling his skin pucker +as it froze, then, when it became unbearable, he stumbled out of +the shower, gasping for breath. While he shaved, he remembered +Julia had asked him to run the bath for her. He jammed in the plug +and let the bath fill noisily while the steam misted up the mirror, +making the shaving more difficult. He rinsed off with a sharp +splash of cold water and ran his fingers backwards through his hair +again, knowing it would fall back over his forehead once it +dried.

+

Downstairs, Julia had placed a fresh shirt over the back of a +chair close to the fire and he savoured the momentary crisp warmth +as he buttoned it. Davy was perched on the arm of the seat, eyes +fixed to the screen where Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck were +perpetrating enormous wrongs on each other. Julia had got into her +dressing gown.

+

"Come on, young man, it's time for your bed," she told her son, +who immediately protested that he was off school the following day, +and using Jack as a back-up, he wheedled his way into staying up +for half an hour.

+

"I've run your bath," Jack said, stretching an arm into the +sleeve of his coat.

+

Julia looked up at him.

+

"I hadn't planned one 'til later," she said.

+

"Oh, I thought you asked me to," Jack said, brows knitting in +puzzlement. He'd been sure she had asked him to fill the bath.

+

"Must have been some other girl," she said, smiling. "Are you +sure there's nothing I should know?"

+

Jack patted her backside.

+

"Go on. Get up and soak before the water gets cold."

+

Julia hadn't planned on an early bath, but for some reason, and +despite the oddity of her brother telling her he'd imagined she'd +asked him to run the hot water for her, the idea of a quick warm +soak appealed to her.

+

Davy gave his uncle a hug and tried to elicit a definite promise +for Saturday. Jack ruffled Julia's hair again at the bottom of the +stairs before she went up for her bath, then, impulsively, took her +in his arms and squeezed her tight, silently showing his love and +appreciation before he walked out into the cold. Down the path +towards the gate, the wind moaned through the bare branches of the +rowan tree and cut into him like a knife.

+

He'd parked the car up at the end of the road and the fifty yard +walk drained the heat from him, despite the thick wool of his +overcoat which he'd buttoned up to the neck. Ice had already +started to rime the windscreen and had clogged the keyhole enough +to make it difficult to turn the lock. The engine started first +time and Jack eased the car onto the hill and carefully steered it +down the slope towards the centre of town. It was only when he was +half-way down Kirk Street, when raised his hand to check his watch, +that he realised he'd left it at Julia's. The radio spat and he +thumbed it on. Bobby Thomson told him there was a message to call +Lorna Breck. Jack told him he was heading that way anyway. He +switched off and accelerated over the crossroads.

+

-----

+

The cartoon had ended just after Uncle Jack had left. Davy +flicked through the channels, but there was nothing of interest for +a seven-year-old so he hit the button and watched the picture +disappear to a dot. Upstairs, he could hear the watery sounds of +his mother in the bath and he knew that in a few minutes she'd be +down to tell him to get into his pyjamas and go to bed.

+

He picked up a toy car lying on its side close to the fireside +kerb and trundled it along the top of the fireplace, making a noise +he thought was a close representation of a racing car. The kerb was +warm on his stockinged feet as he edged along, feeling the heat of +the coals against his legs. Just at the end, before he turned the +car to retrace its route, he found Jack's watch. Davy dropped the +car and carefully lifted the timepiece. It was heavy and silver and +had two little faces inside the big one and a picture of a thin +sliver of moon rising beside the quarter hour.

+

He turned and scampered across to the window. He peeled the +curtain back and leaned up against the glass, raising his hand to +cut out his own reflection. He hadn't heard Jack's car outside, as +he normally did when his uncle came to visit. He peered out. Specks +of snow danced up against the pane then veered away, gusted by the +wind. Further along the road, an orange street-lamp winked as the +branches of the chestnut tree swung in front of the glow. Jack was +nowhere to be seen.

+

Davy pulled back and thought for a moment. If the car wasn't +there, that meant it was probably parked outside the cottage, and +that was only two minutes away across the back gardens behind the +house. It was dark out there. If he told his mother, she'd tell him +just to leave it. Davy sat down and thought. He closed his eyes for +only a moment and when he opened them again, it was as if he had +just woken from sleep. He rubbed his eyes and then turned to pick +up the watch.

+

Take it.

+

The thought came from nowhere, like a distant whisper, and the +decision was somehow made. Without further pause, the boy hauled +his shoes from under the table and jammed them on his feet with the +wriggling motions children use when they haven't opened the laces. +His hooded jacket was still slung over the back of the chair and he +pulled it on quickly and did the zipper right up to the neck. At +the bottom of the stairs, the heavy watch clenched firmly in one +hand, he paused for a second. Upstairs his mother was still +splashing in water. Any second now, she'd pull the plug and he'd +hear the gurgle as it flushed through the pipes.

+

It would only take a minute, he told himself.

+

He reached for the front door handle, then stopped again. If he +followed along the road, then Jack might get to his car first and +drive away. There was a quicker way, the kind of route Davy and his +small friends knew intimately because of the hours they'd played in +each other's gardens. He went down the hall, through the kitchen +and eased open the back door. Here, in the lee of the wind, it was +cold, but not bitterly so. Davy pulled the door closed and twisted +the handle to make sure it made no sound, then scampered down the +steps and across the crisp, frosted grass of the drying green.

+

At the far end, the small rockery gave enough height to scramble +over the lattice fence and into the neighbour's garden. On the +corner, beyond the onion patch, there was a gap in the privet hedge +which was used as a short-cut by most of the kids in the street. It +led through to the stand of tall pines which bordered onto Cargill +Farm Road.

+

Davy had never been in the barwood at night. Beyond the +protection of the fences and privet hedge, the unhindered wind +tugged at his jacket and pulled the hood back from his face.

+

The track between the trees was hard-packed and solid with +frost. The boy's feet thudded noisily as he scurried between the +gaunt trunks. Overhead, the dry pine-needles scraped and whispered +and up there in the dark, two trunks sawed noisily against each +other with a shivery squeal, like an animal in distress. In the +dark, he held his hands out in front of him and his eyes were +instinctively open wide to catch as much light as they could in the +gloom. Here was a strange world of shadows and eerie sound. Twenty +feet in from the edge, the far-off light from the window of the +nearest house faded to nothing and Davy was alone in the gloom.

+

He stopped, hands still outstretched to protect against the +knife-edge twigs that jutted in spikes from the conifers, +momentarily lost.

+

Just ahead on the track, or what he assumed was the footworn +path, a small juniper bush reached a out fuzzy branch just at head +height. It waved lazily, almost threateningly, as the cold wind +whipped it into motion. Davy shrank back, and bumped against a +tree. A broken branch jabbed against his spine and when he twisted, +he felt the material of his jacket rip.

+

From just ahead of the juniper bush, a twig snapped and suddenly +everything went quiet.

+

For a second there was no sound at all, not even the whine of +the wind above. It was as if a heavy door had silently closed, +trapping him in still air. The wind, for some reason, had stopped. +Davy stood frozen, heart now beating faster. He held his breath, +ears straining to listen, but no sound came.

+

Very slowly, he raised his foot then put it down in front of +him. It happened almost without volition, because as soon as the +twig had snapped, the kind of sound a twig would make if something +heavy had stood upon it, his first thought was to turn back the way +he had come and scramble though the hedge and over the lattice +fence and back into his own house.

+

Instead his foot moved forward. He took another step, then +another, heading for the far edge of the wood opposite Jack's +house.

+

He made it past the waving arm of the juniper bush, feeling with +his feet to keep them on the bare path.

+

Something rustled nearby in a patch of dead brambles and a small +unseen thing scuttered out and dashed into a scraggle of +rhododendron. Davy's heart skipped a beat and he gasped +involuntarily. This stand of trees was a different place at night. +For a small boy, it was like a different world.

+

He waited until his heartbeat settled again, though it was still +beating fast, before he moved forward again.

+

Ahead, maybe forty yards away, he thought he could see a patch +of light from the street and made his way towards it, easing his +way past the dark trunks.

+

Halfway across the belt of trees, there was a depression where a +big pine had come crashing down in a winter gale. Most of the tree +had been cut away and burned in the neighbourhood fireplaces. All +that was left was the fan-shaped root system and the dip in the +earth where it had been torn free. Here Davy and his small friends +had played adventure games, using the great roots as a gang hut or +a fort or a space-station, whatever the game dictated. At night, +however, the spiked semi-circle glowered like a the skull-frill of +a monstrous dinosaur. In his mind, Davy could picture the dead tree +in the warm light of a summer day, but now in the dark, it had +changed into a threatening mass, something with a life of its own. +The boy veered away from it, moving right off the pathway and into +a closely-planted section of pines.

+

Without warning, the wind came gusting between the trunks again, +more ferociously than before. It whipped at Davy's hood and he +raised a hand to snatch the draw-strings. Uncle Jack's watch was +still held tight in one small fist.

+

He felt his way between the trees until he came to a dead end +where the rubbery rhododendrons crowded together to bar any +progress. Immediately a sensation of being trapped in the barwood +swamped him. It was as if the bushes had eased themselves, +roots and all, out from the edges and right across the track. +Davy's breath locked in his throat and he backed away again as he +had done when he'd seen the juniper branch beckon to him. He +turned, groping his way in the dark, every nerve now jittering with +the awareness of the motion of the forest, mentally conjuring up +dread movement behind him where the bushes were thickest. He banged +his shoulder against a tree, swerved to the right and reached an +open space where he stopped, panting for breath.

+

And in that moment, he knew he was not alone. He did not know +how he knew. Yet suddenly, something in the dark had changed and +that change had been picked up on an instinctive level, received by +wire-taut senses, gathered and sent to his brain along jangling +nerves. He was in the dark, among the night-strange trees and there +was something there with him. He froze.

+

Up above him the wind shrieked through the icy needles and far +off the two trunks screamed frictive protest. A shivery fear +tingled up and down the bones between his shoulderblades. Davy +swung his head from side to side, beginning to panic, wondering +which way he should go, not even sure now of how to get back, in +the dark, to the safety of the privet hedge crawlway.

+

Then something came crashing out of the dark towards him.

+

It happened so suddenly that he didn't have time to think.

+

All he saw was a black shape, blacker even than the trees over +his head. He'd been standing there swinging his wide-eyes from left +to right when the movement had flickered in peripheral vision. His +neck had jerked round towards it so fast he felt a painful wrench +in the neck muscle under his jaw. Ahead of him, between the trees, +but high up from the ground, there was a loud crash as something +leapt from one trunk to land on another with a thump strong enough +to shiver the roots. At that very moment, Davy heard the grunting +sound, a noise so hard and deep and fearsome that he simply turned +and ran. It was the kind of sound a dinosaur would make in the dark +of the forest. The noise of something that would open preposterous +jaws lined with curving serrated teeth and snatch a small boy from +the ground and snap him in two with one savage crunch.

+

In that instant, he heard the voice in his head.

+

"Get you. Catch you."

+

It was like a creak of wood against wood, the rasp of stone on +stone. It was a voice so cold and so deadly it sent wild fear +sizzling down his back.

+

"Catch you kill you, catch you eat you." The voice in +his head jabbered in malignant glee.

+

Davy took off. He ran like a startled rabbit, jinking past the +jagged saw-tooth trunk of an old pine he scooted along the track, +legs pumping fast, lungs bellowing air.

+

Behind, high and off to the right, the thing smashed through +foliage, hit another trunk with a smack and wrenched a small branch +loose in its passing. Davy heard the scrabble of claws on bark and +a rip-tide of terror surged through him. He opened his mouth to let +out a scream, but all he managed was a whimper. His uncle's watch +was still clutched in a death-grip in his hand as he blundered +through the trailing strands of brittle bindweed, while all the +time the dreadful voice was screeching in his mind.

+

Something hit the trunk above his left shoulder and Davy +immediately dodged to the right. As he did so, his foot snagged on +a root just at the edge of the depression where the tree had blown +down and the boy went sprawling headlong. He saw the dip yawn in +front of him. His left hand went out in a reflex action. The ground +fell away from him and he felt his body twist as his legs swung up +and over. The spiked branches in the gloom of the hole were waiting +to impale him and he could do nothing as he flipped in the air +towards them.

+

Then something hit him a shocking blow on the shoulder. The +ground, only inches from his face, swung away from him with +dizzying speed. He felt himself thrown upwards and something under +his shoulder-blade ripped with an actual tearing sound and a +searing bolt of pain arced across his back.

+

Again the boy's mouth opened as the hurt twisted through him. +His eyes were still wide open, but the dark world of the trees +whirled and spun. His shin scraped across rough bark and scored a +flare from knee to instep. The grip on his shoulder was so enormous +that he couldn't breathe and the big scream boiling up from deep +inside simply came out in a burbling wheeze.

+

In a matter of seconds, the boy was up in the canopy of the +pines, hauled and jolted along as whatever had grabbed him leapt +from trunk to trunk at bewildering speed. Davy could smell the +noisome stench which surrounded him and he could hear the guttural +mindless snuffling of the creature every time it flexed itself for +the next leap. Needles tore at his face and twigs poked at his +eyes. By the time he reached the end of the line of trees on +Stockyard Street, Davy was barely conscious. He felt himself drawn +upwards, even higher than before. Out on the road a car's headlamps +flickered briefly, though the sound of its engine was just a low +drone, almost drowned out by the now-sluggish thudding of blood in +the boy's temples. Whatever held him gripped him harder still and +he felt the last of his breath expelled from his lungs. Little +green lights sparkled in front of his eyes and then everything +faded away to complete darkness.

+

The thing that had snatched the small boy in the belt of trees +did not pause. Using the trees and the darkened sides of buildings +as its own skyway, it skirted the low land on Rough Drain until it +crossed Castlebank Street over the old spur line rail-bridge and +disappeared into the high warren of deserted sheds in the shadow of +the rock where the castle perched.

+

-------

+

Lorna was wrapped against the cold in a thick wool jacket and a +knitted Tam O'Shanter hat with a big red pom-pom. It made her look +more childlike and innocent and the paleness of her skin made her +eyes huge and luminous, but the pinched, fearful tightness of her +face contradicted the illusion of youth.

+

"Ready?" Jack asked, and she nodded, not trusting herself to say +anything. She was so frightened she thought she might be sick.

+

When they had discussed the possibility, in the cold light of +day, she had readily agreed. It was a long shot and she knew that +Jack knew it too, but at least it was a shot. Lorna had been +willing, almost desperate to do something, anything that might rid +her of the terrible visions that were ripping her apart. But now, +in the cold dark of night, as she eased herself into the passenger +seat, the slumbering fear in the pit of her belly had woken up and +was twisting and writhing like a rat in a corner.

+

It had seemed simple then. Jack had wanted to use her as a +direction finder, some kind of psychic sonar. That's how he'd +described it and she'd laughed then, a girl from a farm on the edge +of a village in the back of beyond, picturing herself with a dish +aerial on her head, trying to pinpoint a source. The pictures, he'd +explained, were no use to them, because Lorna didn't know enough of +the town, not the way Jack knew it after a childhood spend +exploring every alley and shack. She'd laughed then, but she was +not laughing now. Even before he'd arrived, the cold twist of fear +had started to roil in her stomach and she could not fight it.

+

"We'll just drive around," he'd said. "If you get anything, +anything at all, let me know, and we'll try to find it."

+

She'd agreed to that. "And don't worry," he'd told her. "You'll +be with me all the time, and you'll be in the car. If we can find +it, then I'll call up the cavalry."

+

Lorna hadn't worried then. As long as she was with this man, she +was safe. When she'd collapsed into his arms, the sense of sureness +and strength and honesty had come radiating out from him. Behind +it, as before, she felt the bleak empty space that had not been +filled, had not healed over, since the deaths of his daughter and +his wife, but in that moment she'd known that she could trust him +implicitly. Whatever faultline had opened in her mind and let in +the nightmare visions of terrible death, had also allowed another +perception. For some strange reason, she felt closer to Jack Fallon +than to any other person. That thought had warmed her, but not +enough to douse the embers of fear.

+

Now despite the closeness, despite his protective presence, she +was dreadfully scared, though she tried to hide it. She nodded and +he started the engine and they pulled away from the house. Neither +of them heard the muted ringing of the phone in the empty +house.

+

He drove up the slope of Clydeshore Avenue and down the run +towards the old bridge, both of them peering through the windscreen +at the fine salting of frozen mist which rolled and tumbled in the +headlamp beams. He slowed down at the turn and was about to pull +out when Lorna cried out so loudly his foot automatically stamped +on the brake pedal and the car fishtailed right across the +junction. Jack swung the wheel, guiding the nose into the skid, +found purchase and eased it to the far side and slowed to a stop. +Lorna was thrown right back in her seat. In the wan orange light he +could see the pallor of her face. Her eyes were wide and staring, +both hands up at her face with her fingernails dug into her cheeks +and she was moaning incoherently.

+

He reached over to her and grasped her shoulder. Under his +fingers he could feel the tuning-fork vibration that told him every +muscle in her body had locked in tension.

+

"What's wrong," he asked, shaking her almost roughly.

+

She opened her mouth and he thought she was about to speak, but +all that came out was a low moan.

+

"Come on Lorna," he said, more urgently. He shook her again, +even more strongly. Her head rocked back against the headrest, and +a lock of hair which had been tucked under the rim of her hat fell +down over her eye. She gasped, then started hauling breath in, like +an exhausted swimmer who's battled an undertow to reach the +surface.

+

"What is it?" Jack demanded, his voice now loud.

+

"Catch you kill you, catch you eat you," Lorna +jabbered, the words tumbling over each other in a rush. It didn't +even sound like her voice, not the sing-song highland lilt that +gave her the air of innocence. Her tone had dropped to a harsh +rasp, almost a growl. Jack felt a chill crackle through him.

+

He took both her shoulders in each hand, leaning right across +the seat and grabbed her tightly, pulling her roughly back and +forth. Her eyes were staring straight ahead, and her pupils were so +wide they were like blind, black pools. Her breath was rasping in +her throat, so fast it sounded like a dog panting. He pushed her +hard against the back of the seat, slamming her roughly against the +fabric. It seemed to work. Lorna blinked twice. Her breath caught +in her throat and then she let out a shuddery wail. Jack pulled her +in towards him and held on to her as she shivered against his +chest, mewling continuously. He rocked her, the way he had soothed +Julie when she'd been teething, waiting until the spasms passed, +then finally pushed her back. Her face was still deathly pale, +making the freckles on the bridge of her nose stand out like sepia +ink-blots, but her vision was back. She knew where she was.

+

"It's out again," she said, with difficulty. Her voice was +cracked and uneven.

+

"What happened?" Jack asked simply.

+

"It came down from the trees," she said. "I could hear its +thoughts. There was a boy. It was telling me what it was +going to do."

+

She paused, seeming to cast around, looking for the right word. +"No. It was telling me and it was telling him. Oh, it's +evil. It's like a disease in your head. It wanted the boy to be +frightened. It was leaping from tree to tree, jumping through the +branches. It moves so fast. It came rushing down and took the boy. +Oh, Jack, I could feel his fear, it was like glass inside me. He +didn't have time to scream."

+

"Where was it?"

+

Lorna shook her head.

+

"Trees. That's all I could see. I don't know where. It took the +boy up into the trees and carried him along the branches. It's dark +in there."

+

Jack was now beyond any semblance of disbelief.

+

"What in Christ's sake is a kid doing out in the dark? Eh? Do +the stupid bloody parents in this town have no fucking idea?" He +felt the hot and futile anger rise inside him again in the certain +knowledge that another child was dead.

+

"It's still moving," Lorna butted in. "It's gone beyond the +trees. It crossed over on a bridge and then up a wall, away from +the light."

+

"Where, for Christ's sake?" Jack demanded, voice too loud.

+

She shook her head.

+

"It wants me to see, but I don't know where. I think it's a +railway bridge, but it's too dark."

+

She sat back, hands over her eyes, concentrating. She held her +pose for several seconds, then jerked up.

+

"The boy. He's still alive. Oh, but he's hurt. It still has him, +but he's broken something. He's so small."

+

Her eyes flicked open.

+

"I can sense the boy, Jack. There's something wrong +here. It's important, but I don't know what it is." Lorna's voice +rose higher. "The boy is special to it, but I don't know why. I can +feel it laughing. It's like poison."

+

"Just as long as we find out where," he told her. "That's what +we need to know."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike36.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike36.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bf976d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike36.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,378 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 36 + + + + +
+
+

36

+

Julia came downstairs, towelling her hair briskly. Her dressing +gown was wrapped tightly and cinched at her waist, accentuating her +slimness, though the huge black and white slippers with the Snoopy +faces on them just looked ridiculous. They'd been one of the +birthday gifts from Jack who had obviously taken David with him +when he'd bought them.

+

She pushed open the living room door, expecting the usual +barrage of noise from the television and was pleasantly surprised +to find it was turned off. David was nowhere to be seen. He'd even +put away his winter jacket which had been slung over the back of a +chair. She still had the after-bath glow, an almost lethargic sense +of cleanliness and well being as she moved into the kitchen. +Normally at this time of night, the surface next to the cooker +would be a mess of crumbs and jam-splatters from his enthusiastic +attempts at making his own supper, but the place was clean. She +poured some milk into a cup and put it into the micro, pressed the +setting for two minutes, and fished the jar of cocoa down from an +overhead shelf. Her hair, still slightly damp, clung to her temples +in a dark mop of ringlets. Julia absently draped the towel over the +radiator.

+

From the kitchen doorway, she called upstairs.

+

There was no reply. Julia walked down the narrow hallway and +turned up the flight, her ludicrous slippers scuffing on the edges +of the treads. Jack had bought David a little personal stereo and a +handful of story-teller tapes which the seven-year-old favoured +instead of books, though she knew this would probably change. He +was probably up in his room with the earphones on and the sound up +to full volume. She got to the top of the stairs, turned past the +bathroom which still smelt of bath oil and warm water, pushed open +David's bedroom door and stopped dead.

+

The room was empty.

+

Julia's heart did a slow and easy flip, like a sleeper turning +over in bed.

+

The coverlet on the bed was still stretched up over the pillows +and a scattering of toys, most of them grotesque robotic things +depicting characters from the last science fiction romp he'd seen +with Jack at the cinema, lay in a cluttered heap on the floor. The +little stereo was on the shelf over the bed, neat headphones +dangling down like a futuristic wishbone.

+

She crossed quickly to the closet and pulled the door open. +David's jacket was not there.

+

Her heart flopped again, squeezing inside her chest as if +gripped by a cold hand. Julia backed away, taking two slow steps, +then spun quickly and almost ran out of the room. She pushed her +way into her own bedroom and swept her eyes round. He wasn't there. +She got to the top of the steps and whirled herself round on the +newel post, descending so quickly one of her slippers came off and +tumbled behind her. She jerked open the cupboard door under the +stairs, flicking on the light with her free hand. A jumble of +brushes and mops stood silently.

+

For the first time since she'd stood at the bottom of the +stairs, Julia called out again. Her voice bounced back towards her +from the tall wall at the top of the stairs. There was no +reply.

+

Panic lurched drunkenly and the bathtime legacy of lethargy +simply disappeared.

+

"David!" she yelled again. His name faded away. For a second, +she thought he might be hiding, behind the settee, under the table. +No. He was gone.

+

Julia strode to the window and yanked the curtain aside. In the +glow of the street lamp outside, she could see the ice particles +swirl in the rising breeze. She checked under the table again where +she'd last seen his shoes. They were gone too.

+

She sat down heavily, one hand going automatically to her +forehead where a tension headache was already beginning to pulse +above her left eye.

+

He must have followed Jack.

+

As soon as that thought came, indignation piled itself on top of +the panic.

+

How dare he, she hissed aloud between gritted teeth, +motherly anger bubbling up inside. She'd told him a million times, +since he was old enough to understand, that he must never ever go +out of the house without first letting her know. Now he'd slipped +on his shoes and his heavy jacket and followed Jack out into the +night. She didn't know why, but she'd find out as soon as her +brother brought the boy back, and then she'd tan his hide good and +proper. Even as she thought that, the idea of the small boy out in +the dark on a winter's night in Levenford made her heart thump +heavily again and her instant motherly wrath winked out.

+

David was out there in the dark. He was out there alone, a +seven-year-old boy on his own. While whatever was stalking and +hunting children in Levenford might be out there with him.

+

Julia's stomach clenched so tightly she thought she was going to +be sick. She gulped back against the gagging sensation and reached +the phone in three strides, snatching up the receiver even as she +began to stab at the buttons.

+

The earpiece clicked as the numbers registered, then burbled +softly as Julia stood, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

+

"Come on, Jack," she bawled into the thing. "Please pick it +up."

+

It rang softly, double chirrups overlain by static. Her thoughts +were racing ahead. Had he gone to Jack's house? Of course he must +have. She tried to recall whether her brother had the car with him, +whether she'd heard the engine start up, or the door slam, but +nothing came.

+

Meanwhile the earpiece was purring insistently in her ear. If +he'd been at home, he'd have picked it up by now.

+

Julia's heart did another lurch as the next thought hit her like +the night mail-train. If Jack wasn't at home, then where was +David?

+

She dropped the receiver with a clatter and sat down heavily on +the arm of the chair. All the strength just drained out of her in +that one moment. Her mind was a whirl as the panic gripped at her. +She put two hands up to her temples, pressing hard, trying to make +the unwelcome thoughts stop, striving to clear her mind and think. +Finally all the wheeling pictures in her mind slowed down, ground +to a halt and she concentrated. It took only a second to decide +what to do. She grabbed the phone again, dialled the station +number. Bobby Thomson recognised her voice as soon as she spoke and +started to say something.

+

"No time Bobby," she snapped at him. "I have to speak to Jack +right away."

+

"Sorry Julia, he's not in yet."

+

"I thought he was coming straight to the station," she said. A +wild whoop of hope surged inside. Maybe Jack was on his way back to +the house with David shivering and shamefaced in the back seat. +Jack would have torn him up for being out of the house alone. He +was more paranoid about the killer, the one they were calling the +Shrike than anybody. Even as the hope flared it died. He lived only +two minutes away by car. He wouldn't have stopped to read the boy +the riot act. He'd have brought him straight back, and +then kicked his backside good and proper.

+

"I can give you John McColl," Bobby offered.

+

"Sure, but when Jack comes in, tell him to call me right +away."

+

The phone clicked. A gruff voice spoke into her ear.

+

"Operations."

+

"John? Julia."

+

"Who?"

+

"Jack's sister."

+

"Oh, hello. Haven't seen you in a while."

+

"Sorry John. I don't have any time. Any idea where Jack is?"

+

"No. He said he'd be in later, but I don't know how late. He's +out with the search teams at the moment, I imagine."

+

"Well. I have to speak to him right away. Can you contact him +and get him to call me?"

+

"Sure," John promised. "I'll give him a shout on the radio. +He'll get back in a couple of minutes."

+

Julia thanked him and hung up. She dropped the phone and went +striding in her now-bare feet through the hallway and snatched her +coat out from the cupboard next to the kitchen. Her old gardening +shoes were lying on their edges and she shucked them on, ignoring +the sandy grit rasping against her soles. She belted the coat +tightly over her dressing gown and opened the front door, about to +step out when she stopped.

+

The smirr of ice-dust, too fine to be called snow, had frosted +the front step and dusted the flagstones leading down to the gate +at the bottom of the garden. The cleated imprints of Jack's shoes +were clearly delineated on the flat surface, a single trail of wide +exclamation marks, but they were the only footprints there. David +hadn't gone this way. Immediately she realised what had happened +and dashed for the back door. As soon as it swung open, and the +outside light came on, the evidence leapt at her. David's prints, +the zig-zag soles puckering up the spindrift angled down the steps +and across the drying green towards the rockery in the far +corner.

+

Julia's stomach clenched again. He'd taken the short cut through +the trees. Without stopping, she ran across the short grass, not +even hearing the crackle of the frosted grass underfoot, leapt up +on the rockery and clambered over the fence. She knew the routes +the children took, though it was less easy for her to squeeze +through the gap in the privet hedge. As she pushed her way through +the cold foliage, she cursed herself for a fool. She should have +told somebody, Bobby Thomson or John McColl, that David had gone +round to Jack's place. She should have got one of the patrol cars +up here to look for him. She'd left the house with only a coat, no +flashlight, nothing of any use in the trees. She hadn't even told +either of the policeman that she needed Jack to call back +immediately, and even if he did, there would be no reply. Julia +debated going back to the house and calling the station again, but +then mother instinct took over. Her son was out in the belt of +trees. Maybe he'd gone beyond them and reached Jack's place. She +wanted to find him now before he took another step.

+

She made it through the hedge and took the few steps it needed +to reach the belt of trees. As soon as the branches overhead loomed +dark, cutting out the faint glimmer of the stars, she started +calling her son's name.

+

Up above, the wind plucked at the twigs and pine needles and the +few dry leaves left clinging to the fine branchlets of the beech +trees, sending their whispery paper rustle down to her and the +darkness closed in.

+

There was no reply. Julia stumbled on, her heart now thudding +hard enough to make breathing difficult.

+

"David," she shouted at the top of her voice. Behind her, just +out of vision beyond the edge of the trees, a light came on in a +house, sending a faint glow of illumination and sharpening the +shadows. Far off to the right, up Cargill Farm Road, a dog barked +throatily. Julia ploughed on, ignoring the brambles which snatched +and tugged at her bare legs, beating her way between the trees. A +few yards further in, the faint glow from the house faded to +nothing and she was walking in darkness, panic fluttering inside +her, clogging her throat, rasping her breath. She reached the small +clearing in the middle of the barwood, but now the darkness was so +intense that she could see nothing. She blundered on, hands held up +in front of her face, towards the old root-fan of the fallen +tree.

+

Behind her, the wind moved the joining branches and they +screamed loudly in frictive protest. The noise was so sudden and +unexpected, so eerily human that Julia jerked around, +still walking. She did not see the deep pit left by the ripping +roots of the fallen tree and she simply crashed over the edge in a +dizzying tumble. She landed with such force all the breath was +punched out of her lungs. Something sharp speared her on the hip +and an awful pain ripped across her pelvis. She bounced, rolling +forward and in the dark, something hit against her forehead with a +sickening crack. The dark broke up into a spangle of flashing blue +lights. David's face wavered among them and she tried to call out +to him, but then he faded away and the lights went out and Julia +felt herself fall slowly into oblivion.

+

On the other side of the river, Jack was about to start the +engine again when the radio coughed. He thumbed it on, gave his +call sign and John McColl's voice tried to break through the heavy +static. Jack heard the words sister and call, but little else. He +asked John to repeat it. There was a flare of interference then the +sergeant came back, a little more strongly.

+

"Julia wants you to give her a bell. Sounded important."

+

"Can't do it right now," Jack said. "I'm heading over the bridge +onto River Street. I've got an idea, so tell Ralph to wait for my +call. Give Julia a ring and see what she wants."

+

Jack didn't know if using Lorna would work, but he had an odd +feeling of anticipation, and exhilaration, as if something +was getting ready to happen. Overhead, up in the murk, the clouds +were gathering, whipped in on the thundery low pressure that was +playing havoc with the radio, and despite the deep chill, there was +a tension in the air.

+

"What's your intended route?" John asked.

+

"No details as yet. I'll come back first chance." He clicked the +radio and the static died. The engine coughed then ran smooth. He +pulled out and drove over the bridge. They turned right along River +Street, as Jack had said. Lorna sat silent, fingers curved and +pressed against her temples. Her eyes were closed. Every now and +again, Jack would glance across at her, and when they passed under +the overhead street lights, her face, in the brief flash was tight +with concentration.

+

They travelled a hundred yards or so when Lorna's head snapped +upwards. Jack eased the brake down and stopped.

+

"Something," she said. "I felt something."

+

"Like what?"

+

"I don't know. Just a bad feeling. We're close, but it doesn't +feel right."

+

She peered out through the windscreen, shading her eye against +the lamplight, eyes screwed up, then she shook her head. Jack +prepared to pull out again when she turned and looked over her +shoulder. He looked towards her and saw her eyes widen.

+

"There," she said, pointing out of his window. He turned and +followed the direction of her finger.

+

Cairn House loomed taller than the rest of the buildings, a +great, gray and worn facade, with the maw of Boat Pend a dark +tunnel running through its centre at ground level. No lights shone +from the tall and narrow windows.

+

"In there?" Jack asked, feeling the anticipation wind up +inside.

+

"No," she stated flatly. "Just a bad feeling. That's where it +came in. Something terrible happened in that house. Many terrible +things, from long ago."

+

"That's where Marta Herkik died. Cairn House."

+

"She should have left it alone," Lorna said in a surprisingly +hard voice. "And they should knock that place down. It's like a +sponge. All the badness is soaked up in there. That's why it was +able to come in."

+

"From where?"

+

"From somewhere worse. That place is an abomination. It's an +evil house. I can feel the badness, like leprosy. Like a cancer. +They should burn it to the ground."

+

"Maybe another time. Should I go in and look?"

+

Lorna started back. "Don't go in there," she said, voice sharp. +"Not ever."

+

"I mean, should I call in the reserves and search the +place?"

+

She shook her head. "It's not in there. I would know."

+

"Sure?"

+

She nodded slowly and sat back out of the light. Her eyes were +like pits in the shadow.

+

He pulled out on the quiet street and started along. Just past +the bakery where young Graham Friel had been dragged to the roof by +the thing that whispered inside his head, a patrol car passed by, +driving slowly. The driver flicked his lights in recognition and +moved on past. There were no pedestrians.

+

They continued to the cross and turned left up Kirk Street, +heading past the masonic temple and on towards the town hall. At +the turn, they passed the church steeple where John McColl had +gazed up at the flapping body of Lisa Corbett, and Lorna shuddered +as a bleak picture flashed into her head and faded. Another shiver +rippled through her as they slowly moved past the masonic hall, but +this time there was no image, just a sense of foulness and rot. She +turned her head away, feeling sick. Jack drove on.

+

-----

+

Pain was hammering into the centre of Julia's forehead. It +seemed to drive through her brain and ricochet from the back of her +skull. She twisted, not knowing where she was, and the movement +caused her to roll further into the hole. Something sharp twisted +against her pelvis and a glassy agony sang in her hip.

+

The movement cranked up the pain in her head and again little +orbiting lights flickered and danced in her vision, though it was +so dark she couldn't tell if her eyes were open. For a long moment, +she was completely confused. Thick nausea stirred at the back of +her head, just above her neck. She turned and the pain in her hip +corkscrewed viciously, launching a squeal from her open mouth. +Dopily she wondered what had happened, why she was lying wherever +she was and why the pain was so bad. She raised herself up on both +hands, feeling her palms press against jagged splinters of wood. +The pain flared again in her hip, so fierce that a while light +seemed to flash inside her head, then something pulled free with a +revolting wrench that came from right inside her.

+

David.

+

His face danced across the forefront of her mind and for a +second the pain vanished.

+

Something wrong. Something wrong!

+

Something about David. She clawed for it, fought against the +dizziness and nausea and the cloud of oblivion that was trying to +billow over her.

+

Gone.

+

And it all came back in a lightning flash. She'd followed him +through the trees because...because he'd gone.

+

She remembered stumbling through the undergrowth, hands up in +case she bumped into a sharp branch, and then she'd fallen.

+

How long ago? She tried to think, tried to force back the +terrible hurt in her side that came sweeping back in a red rip +tide. Seconds? Minutes? Hours?

+

Julia cried out aloud, against the pain and against the sudden +and terrible dread.

+

He could have been gone for hours. The thought got her onto her +feet. The darkness spun around her, shapes and shadows fluttered in +front of her eyes and she took a step forward. Wet warmth drained +down her thigh as she clambered up the ridge of frozen earth, +panting for breath. She made it over the lip and stumbled forward. +Something hard hit against her side and the pain there blossomed +like a poisonous orchid. She bit against it, breath hissing between +her teeth, too scared to stall, too desperate to faint. She did not +know how long it took to reach the edge of the barwood, fighting +the exhaustion and pain and sick apprehension. At the privet hedge, +she stopped, close to collapse, panting like an exhausted animal. +The wet had now soaked into her shoe, making a soft squelching +sound with every step. She dragged herself through, made it to the +back door of the nearest house, crawled up the stairs and when she +banged on the door, she didn't even realise she was screaming at +the top of her voice.

+

Old Miss Loch, who made cakes for the local youngsters, but went +into an apoplectic rage if she caught them using her herb garden as +a short-cut, opened the door just as the lights were beginning to +come on above the doors of the houses nearby.

+

"Whatever's the matter?" she asked tremulously, easing the door +a fraction, peering over the safety chain.

+

"Help me," Julia blurted. "Oh, please. I have to get to a +phone."

+

The old woman, hair done up in bright pink rollers, squinted +down at the woman on the stone steps. She seemed about to close the +door again, then she recognised Julia. She undid the chain and came +out, reaching to help her up.

+

"What's happened? Are you hurt?"

+

Julia lurched against her and smeared the old woman's nightdress +with a vivid splash of blood. Miss Loch jerked back, aghast.

+

"Oh my!" she gasped, planting a hand on her flat chest.

+

"Phone," Julia mumbled, pushing past through the kitchen. She +got to the hall, where the telephone sat on a neat doily on a small +occasional table and fell to her knees. Despite the pain, she +called Jack's office. John McColl picked it up on third ring.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike37.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike37.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a5028bf --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike37.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,725 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 37 + + + + +
+
+

37

+

She could sense it like the sub-audial chitter of bats, a +tingling whisper felt, rather than heard, at the base of her skull +where the messages from her brain shunted down the length of her +spine. It was like the stealthy scrape of chitinous nails on stone, +the rustle of dry winter leaves on a forest floor.

+

Jack had eased the car up Kirk Street and then along past the +station, following the line of the tracks as far as the old +warehouses, using his own mental map of the places where the +killer, the Shrike, had struck.

+

He stopped and turned the car around just past the old green +door of the derelict building, recalling for himself the dull sense +of hopelessness when they'd found the boy's boot lying face down on +the cluttered treads. When the lights swung across the crumbling +facade, they picked out the words Jack had seen in the dream when a +piece of the pattern had locked in place: West Highland Railway +Company. Beside him, Lorna let her breath out sharply.

+

"I saw it here," she said flatly. "That's where it took the boy. +It was using a woman then, I think." She shuddered, lips pursed +tight. "But it's not there now. I can feel the echo. Pain and hurt +and fear."

+

He reached across and gripped her forearm in a silent gesture. +The shiver subsided.

+

"Not here," she said. "I have to get away from this."

+

Beyond the warehouse, on the other side of the river, the twin +stacks of the furnace chimneys loomed up into the night. Whoever or +whatever had killed Neil Kennedy must have crossed the water on the +railway bridge. He tried to picture it in his head, a man or a +woman dragging the flopped body of a small boy, feet smacking up +and down on the sleepers, then the strange, preposterous climb on +the bare face of the flue, and the grotesque impalement on the +twisted lightning rods.

+

Why had it happened? There was no answer to that. There was no +semblance of reason.

+

Jack spun the wheel and retraced his route to the junction of +Strathleven Street where the old library stood on the corner. +Overhead, the sky was black, but the clouds beating in from the +west on the quickening wind had obscured the stars completely. +There was a change in the air since the afternoon, an electric +tingle of a gathering winter storm. The spindrift of ice was +beginning to change to flakes of snow, blown horizontal and +spiralling in the turbulence round the corners of dark buildings. +Jack thumbed the radio to call in his position, but all he got was +a burst of static.

+

"Where now?"

+

Lorna shrugged, a small movement he didn't see, but felt +nonetheless.

+

He followed the road past the entrance to the commercial estate +where the new do-it-yourself stores and garden centres crowded up +against the old factory buildings which were being renovated to +compete for business.

+

"That's where it got the boys," he told her.

+

She swivelled in her seat and the light from the street lamps +reflected back at him from her eyes as she looked past him.

+

"It came across the roof," she said, as if picturing the scene +again in her head. "Down through the hole. I didn't know it was a +roof, not then."

+

"But we all know now," Jack said. "Don't blame yourself. Nobody +knows anything. The town's gone crazy." He clamped his free hand on +her arm again and she gripped his fingers. Her own hand felt soft +and warm and somehow welcome.

+

"Anything yet?" he asked.

+

"Closer," Lorna muttered. "It's waiting somewhere, and it knows +we're coming. I'm sure. But I don't know where. Keep going this +way."

+

"How do you do it? What does it feel like?"

+

"Like sickness. As if it's touching inside me as well. I don't +know why it picked me. It knows something, something bad, but it's +hiding at from me. That's the feeling I get. Like being pawed by +something filthy."

+

He kept travelling west, past the line of scraggle-willows which +staggered unevenly on the banks of the small stream bordering the +Rough Drain before taking a twist and disappearing into the +overgrown acres of withered hogweed and tangled hawthorn. At the +far end, he turned and headed straight south, down the long road +which led to the castle, taking it slowly while the wind fluttered +the flakes against the screen. The radio coughed twice just then, +causing Lorna to jerk back in her seat, but when Jack picked it up +again, it only hissed at him.

+

Castlebank Church loomed on the left, and as they passed, Lorna +gripped his fingers tightly.

+

"What is it?"

+

"It was there," she said, voice hollow. "But there was badness +there before it came. She leaned forward in her seat, looking up at +the grey spire of the church, then drew her eyes across the stone +to the buttressed sides. "It used the bad there, because it was +weak and dirty. Because it was easy."

+

She drew back, mouth turned down.

+

"I don't want this," she whispered. "I don't want to +feel these things. I don't think I'll ever be clean +again."

+

"You're doing fine. Take it easy now," he said, twisting his +hand palm upwards to snare her fingers in his. "We have to find +where it's gone, and then it'll stop. That's a promise."

+

She gave a small nod, hardly a movement in the dark of the car, +and he moved on, right down the length of the road towards where +the volcanic rock hunched like a sleeping monster on the bank of +the firth where the river flowed into the estuary. Far down the +water to the west, lightning stuttered and flickered in the squall +whooping towards the town.

+

"This is where Annie Eastwood came," Jack said, prompting. "She +fell off up there."

+

Lorna followed his pointing finger. Up high on the second dome +of the rock, she could just make out the shadowy outline of the +balustrade wall. She got a faint residual sensation of black +despair, a strong and recent echo of bleak emotion, and beneath +that, images of violence and terror.

+

"It's old. There's been badness here too. So much of it, and for +so long. The stone is steeped with it, like that terrible house." +She closed here eyes and from nowhere came a string of images, men +in skins crooning round blazing fires while above them, in wicker +cages, things, people, squirmed and screamed in agony as the flames +crackled. She saw men in cloaks and with broad swords come running +down the stairways cut into the stone, hot with exertion, stinking +of fresh blood. She saw skulls on pikes along the parapet, pecked +by squabbling crows, mouths agape, sockets blind to the sky. The +pictures scuttered in rapid sequence across the forefront of her +mind, as if she was remembering something she herself had seen. She +blinked, shook her head and drew back.

+

"Not here," she said. "We have to go back."

+

Jack said nothing. He reversed, spun the wheel and drove away +from the castle. They reached the junction and turned left, slowly +cruising towards the oil-rig yard when Lorna gripped his hand so +tightly it caused his knuckles to grind together painfully.

+

Just at that moment, the radio sneezed again. Jack pulled his +hand away and grabbed the receiver.

+

"Fallon here,"

+

"Jack?" Static hissed and sparked around his name. "John McColl. +You'd better..."

+

"Say again?"

+

"Your sister," John started, voice fragmenting in the electronic +hiss. "You'd better get back. She says your nephew's gone +missing."

+

"She what?" Jack bawled, jamming his foot on the brake.

+

The radio spluttered and wheezed. John's voice disappeared into +it, each word broken up and scattered. Jack opened the car door and +got out, walking several yards to get a clearer signal.

+

"Julia said he went......trees....hurt."

+

"Forget it John," Jack shouted, trying to overcome the +interference. "I'm coming in. Give me three minutes."

+

He clicked the thing off, jammed it in his pocket and ran back +to the car.

+

"Come on. We have to get to the station. It's my nephew. He's +gone missing, I think."

+

Even while he spoke, the images were whirling around his head. +He hoped he'd picked the message up wrongly. The static on the +radio had left plenty of gaps, yet Jack knew that something was +badly wrong.

+

He gunned the engine and took off with a shriek as his back +tyres spun on the iced road, following the curve where the brick +wall of the old woodyard abutted the pavement. He came to the end +of the road, turned left again with hardly a glance for traffic, +hauled hard on the wheel and sped towards the gaunt black frame of +the derelict shipyard. He was doing nearly fifty, just passing the +wrought-iron gates when Lorna flew forward, both hands up against +her temples and screamed so loudly that Jack almost let go of the +wheel.

+

"Stop. Oh God I see it."

+

He floored the brake and both of them were thrown forward as the +car's nose almost crunched on the road. The tyres whined for +several yards before everything ground to a halt.

+

"What in the name of..." he blurted, but she cut him off.

+

"There," she barked. "It's in there."

+

"Where?"

+

She pointed out of the nearside window.

+

"There. In that place. It's waiting or us. Oh Jack, I can feel +it inside my head."

+

She rocked back again, hands still pressed to the sides of her +head.

+

"No. Oh please no." The words came tumbling out almost +incoherently. "Get you out of my mind."

+

"Jesus, Lorna, I have to get back to the station," Jack started, +but quick as a striking snake, she turned and shot out her hand and +grabbed his in a fierce grip.

+

"No. It is showing me what it has. The boy is in there, and he's +alive. He's dreadfully hurt, but it hasn't killed him. He's saved +him to bring you here."

+

She turned right towards him, eyes incredibly wide.

+

"That's what it wanted. It wanted you to come. I don't know why, +but it wants you."

+

"But David's gone missing," Jack protested, but before the words +were even out of his mouth, it dawned on him. "It's got him?"

+

She nodded, face slack.

+

"Oh sweet mother of Christ," Jack spat. He grabbed the radio +again, thumbed the switch, and started bawling into it. The flare +of static hissed around them. Way to the west, but closer than +before, the lightning danced in the clouds. He slammed the receiver +down, while the images spun and swooped in his mind. David out in +the snow. Julia in her bathrobe, a towel over her shoulder as she +went up for her bath. Then from nowhere, little Julie's smiling +face turning towards him as her mother spun her round on a summer's +day. He tried to think past the images, tried to banish them so he +could think.

+

"I can't get through," he finally said. "I need back-up."

+

"No time," she said. "The boy needs help."

+

She closed her eyes and for the first time, she deliberately +thought outwards, reaching beyond herself instead of +passively waiting for the terrible images to flood her senses.

+

Beyond the gates, the air was different, somehow thicker, murky. +She concentrated harder, stretching her touch beyond the gates and +through the gaunt corrugated iron sides of the huge empty building. +She could feel the bleakness, the blackness, like a poison +cloud.

+

"It's high," she whispered. "Up in the dark. It likes the pain, +feeds on that. I can feel its hunger and emptiness. It is not like +us, Jack, not like people. It's just evil. Bad and corrupted."

+

She opened her eyes again.

+

"It's waiting."

+

Jack let out his breath and the indecision vanished.

+

"Right. I'm going in there. You keep trying the radio and tell +them we're at Castlebank Yard. Tell them I'm going after it, and +for Christ's sake tell them to send everything they've got round +here."

+

"I should come with you," she said, though the very thought of +going into the empty shipyard appalled her.

+

"No. If it's in there, I'll find it. If Davy's there, I have to +get him out. I'm putting all my faith in you, so you have to trust +me."

+

He reached into the glove compartment and rummaged until he +found the flashlight.

+

"Give it five minutes. If you can't raise them, get round to the +station and tell John McColl what's happening."

+

"But I can't drive."

+

"Oh great," Jack said harshly. "Bloody fantastic."

+

"I'm sorry. I just never learned."

+

"Forget it. Just stay in the car. Keep the doors locked and keep +trying the radio." He opened the door and turned to get out when +she reached forward quickly and took him by the lapel of his +jacket, levering herself upwards to kiss him quickly, pressing her +lips hard against his cheek. As soon as she did that, a picture of +Julie's smiling face flashed in front of his eyes then faded away +slowly. He eased himself away, got out and closed the door.

+

The huge gates towered three times the height of a man, rimed +with frost and on the sides of the iron spars, the thicker snow had +been glued by the wind. The air was freezing cold and the gusts +whined through the barbed wire tangles fixed to the top of the +wall. Far-off thunder rumbled as the storm powered up, like a big +animal looking for a quiet place to settle. The gates were locked, +but there was enough play in the padlock chain to allow Jack to +push them inward and squeeze through the gap. They groaned in rusty +protest, an eerie, almost human sound, then clanged back together. +He walked forward, into the shadow of the towering black building. +The light from the nearest street-lamp was cut off by the outside +wall and he was left alone in the dark. He jabbed the flashlight +button and a weak cone of light spread out in front of him. There +were no other footprints in the dirty snow but his own.

+

Back in the car, Lorna flicked the radio button on and off, but +there was no coherent sound over the electronic froth. All of her +senses were wound up to sizzling tension, and the strange +other sense was like a scream inside her head. She had +reached for the thing and she had touched it with that part of her +mind.

+

And it had laughed at her.

+

It was hunched there in the dark, still as stone, not far from +where the boy hung from a hook on the wall, small feet dangling and +lifeless. The sense of deep pain radiated out from the frail form, +but dulled by unconsciousness, body pain which juddered along +damaged nerves and tried to scream messages at a brain which had +closed itself off.

+

The black thing had sensed her own self and had let her +approach, showing her images of blood and rot, teasing her with its +foul mirth.

+

Again she saw the fire in Murroch Road, saw the shadowy thing +move among the smoke, clutching the little bundle. She heard her +own voice mimicked with foul sarcasm: Ladybird, ladybird, fly +away home.

+

It turned its thoughts and she saw the baby in the pram, jolted +awake by the violent blow, and smelled the fetid odour wafting in +the air. Sleepy baby eyes swivelled and saw the strange shadow, +then a bewildered, uncomprehending innocent mind was touched by the +filth of its thought and hunger. Instinctive panic welled inside +and a scream bubbled up.

+

Too late. Too late. The scream was cut off.

+

...And Lorna was in Memorial Park when Annie Eastwood's dead +daughter came out from the shadows of the rhododendrons and glided +forward to embrace her mother, to squeeze her mother, to ooze +inside and invade.

+

She blinked her eyes, breath caught in her throat and the image +winked out.

+

It was showing her. The thing that had come into the +world in the back room of an old house where bad things had been +done down the decades, down the generations, was letting her in on +its secret.

+

It was mocking her, showing her how it made people do the +terrible things that had ripped her from sleep at night, or even +slammed into her consciousness while awake, and she knew she had +been right all along. This thing was not human and it was utterly +evil. It could take people and get inside them and corrupt them for +its own baleful use.

+

She thought of Jack walking into the dark and deserted shipyard +where the gantries and stairwells climbed in a web of tangled metal +to the soaring roofs and she realised he could not face this thing +on his own. He did not even know what manner of thing he was +hunting, did not know that he was the prey.

+

He would not sense it. It would come down from the heights where +it sat like a black gargoyle. It would come for him with such speed +he would have no time to react.

+

And then it would take him.

+

Horror flooded her at the thought of the creature inside Jack, +changing him, forcing him to do obscene things, making him sin +again and again, and finally twisting his mind and forcing him to +the ultimate degradation.

+

She reached for the handle and pulled the catch. Nothing +happened. She'd locked the door as instructed when he'd left. +Quickly Lorna flipped up the button and wrenched the door open. +Cold air swooped in, bringing a flurry of snowflakes. She got out, +closed the door behind her, and crossed to the gate. Using all of +her strength, she managed to move them forward the distance +necessary to part them then shoved her way into the shipyard +grounds. As soon as she stepped beyond the protection of the wall +and the street light as Jack had done only minutes before, she +heard the cold chuckle of laughter inside her head. It was thick +and oily and filled with vicious glee.

+

A primitive fear opened inside her and Lorna thought she was +going to be sick.

+

-------

+

Jack got in through a small door on the side of the vast shed, +like the entrance to a goblin's cave on the side of a mountain. He +had to brace his foot against the metal wall and heave hard before +it creaked open on rust-frozen hinges, and then suddenly it swung +back against the surface with a deep booming sound which +reverberated and echoed around the man-made cavern.

+

He stepped in while the noise slowly diminished, a vast and +fading drum beat, angling the flashlight in front of him and +cursing himself for not replacing the batteries after the last +night's search. As soon as he was inside the shed, where great +ships had been conceived and built and launched down the slips into +the tidal basin, the sharp wind was cut off. A few flakes of snow +eddied in beside him and sparkled in the feeble light. Behind him +the door slowly swung to and fro in the gusts of wind.

+

Inside it was deeply dark, a monstrous hollow place. The +torchlight picked out a length of chain, each link thick as a man's +chest, scaled with rust, coiled like a metal anaconda. Jack was not +given to flights of fancy, and his mind was on finding the Davy - +his belief in Lorna's strange perception was now total - but when +the wind through the doorway ruffled the rust-flakes on the hauling +chain, for one brief moment he thought it had moved and his heart +kicked against his chest so hard it hurt.

+

He swung the light towards the heavy coils, forcing his breath +to calm down, damning himself for an idiot scared of the dark. Jack +walked past the massive links, still creepily wary lest the thing +did actually move (and if it did, oh what then?) and moved +deeper into the vast space of the building shed.

+

The air smelt thick and oily, and underlaid by other smells. +Somebody had lit a fire in here some time ago, off in a corner +somewhere and the scent of charcoal and burned wood mixed with the +other odours. Dusty rust, flaking paint, rat droppings. Bird shit +and birds feathers, the throat clogging smell of a busy winter +roost. Jack walked on past a massive block of old machinery and a +stack of acetylene cylinders, giant ant cocoons scattered in a +heap.

+

The empty place was not silent. The wind was rasping grains of +ice against the high roof and the westward side of the building, +scraping the corrugated metal with the sound of shingle on a +deserted beach. Far off to the left, where the big hangar doors +were wedged shut, a light chain dangling from a crossbeam clanged +like a cracked bell against a stanchion. Somewhere close by, a +rodent made a sound like a squeaky shoe then pattered away unseen. +Up above, out of sight, nervous starlings twittered and chirruped. +He took a step forward and his foot kicked against an old rivet +which tinkled across the oily floor and struck an empty paint-tin +with a hollow clunk. Beyond the perimeter fence, outside the yard +altogether, the screech of tortured metal in the fabrication plant +shivered the walls. The men who worked round the clock there on the +new rig laboured on, unaware of the drama in the deserted +shipyard.

+

The place was empty, but it was alive with odd noises and unseen +life.

+

Somewhere in here, the killer had Davy. It was waiting for him. +Lorna had said it would be high, though he already knew that. +Somewhere, he knew, there would be a stairway, something the old +shipwrights had used when they built up the immense hulls of the +craft. He'd have to climb again, and the thought twisted at him. +But he'd climbed the chimney, re-living his own nightmares, and +that was just to find the emaciated, torn bodies of the missing +children. If Davy was up there - and he knew he was - he'd have to +grit his teeth and find him, no matter how high he had to go.

+

He followed close to the wall, skirting an old milling machine +and a pile of wooden boxes mouldering under a torn tarpaulin when a +clatter of noise erupted far overhead. Something solid hit one of +the steel spars with such force it sent a vibration right down the +framework and into the ground. Up in the dark, the starlings +screeched in panic. They took off, flying blind, so many of them in +flight that their wings roared in the air, like a predator bursting +from cover. Jack stopped, startled again. He could hear them, +fluttering and screeching up there, then there was a cascade of +noise, a series of hard drumbeats. For a moment, Jack was puzzled, +then he realised what had happened. The little birds were crashing +into the sheet metal sides of the shed. They were so terrified, +they were flying in the dark, unable to navigate. On the east side, +a dirt-encrusted array of skylights showed a flicker of lightning +and a cloud of birds fastened on the brief light. They smashed +against the glass, punching into the thick panes, killing +themselves as they darted for freedom.

+

Another loud boom spanged the air and the birds started to fall. +Jack jerked back as one of them hit him on the shoulder with +surprising force, a bunch of meat and feathers. The bird made a +little squawking sound as the air was driven out of its tiny lungs, +but it was already dead. Another one fell just two feet away, +bunching, a puff of feathers in the dim light, then another and +another, bird rain, drumming on the empty cans and steel +benches.

+

Way up in the darkness a hellish screech ripped the air. +Something crashed against the roof, fast and hard and powerful. The +noise of the starlings was cut off instantly. Whatever was up +there, jarring against spar and beam was moving fast, crossing the +whole width of the shipyard shed. Jack felt the hairs on the back +of his neck prickle in unison. When the noise reached for far side, +in a matter of seconds, the birds started to fall again, but not in +ones and twos as before. This time the flock, thousands of them +huddled for shelter on every cross-tie, came dropping, stone dead, +to the ground. They hit off Jack's head, smacked against his chest. +One struck his wrist and knocked the flashlight right out of his +hand. It landed on its face, glass tinkling, then winked out. He +stood in the darkness, all alone while around him the tiny bodies +of birds thudded as they hit until finally the downpour ended. He +warily walked forward, feeling his way with hands in front of him, +while his feet could not avoid crushing the soft little bodies +underfoot. He found the torch and shook it until the batteries made +enough contact to coax a wan light.

+

He could not turn back, despite the appalling sense of wrongness +that shivered through him at the thought of the cataract of dead +birds. This was something different, something unexpected and +alien. Even at that moment, no matter what he'd thought before, he +was still really expecting to find a man in the vast hangar; a +crazy man, obsessed or possessed. What kind of thing could have +scuttled across the girders and wiped out the winter flock of +starlings, he could not comprehend. It could not have been human. +He was in here, alone, trying to find that thing. Had it not been +for the certainty that Davy was in here with it too, he might have +turned back and ran.

+

He forced himself forward until he came to the cats-cradle of +stairwalks set onto the far wall. His knuckle rapped against the +bannister and a small pain flared in the bone. The torchlight was +all but useless, but it was all he had. He angled the faint beam +upwards, but it could penetrate no further than the first turn. +Beyond that was pure blackness. The shivery fingers were still +crawling down from the nape of his neck, spiders down his spine, +but he ignored them as best as he could, put a foot on the first +tread, pointing the flashlight ahead of him, and began to climb. He +reached the turn and something happened to the air. It was as if it +had suddenly become charged, somehow more solid than before. He +paused, taking a deep breath, and a sickening scent of rot +enveloped him. His throat clamped against it, cutting off the +reflexive urge to vomit. This was worse than the bodies in the +chimney, more putrid than mere fleshly decay. It was a stench of +utter foulness. He tried to hold his breath, realised the futility +of that, and carried on. The reek abraded the soft membranes in his +throat and his nose and made his eyes water glassily. Still he kept +climbing.

+

And far overhead, he heard something chuckle in the dark. It was +a sound so coldly gleeful that he actually felt the skin on his +shoulders pucker and cringe. It was waiting for him.

+

"Bastard," he hissed.

+

Jack reached the first landing and swivelled left, gripping the +rusty bannister with his free hand. The torchlight was fading fast +to a rosy glow and as he turned, the connection failed and the +light went off. He shook the thing again, trying to worry the +batteries together when he heard a faint noise behind him. He spun, +almost losing balance, and a hand clamped round his elbow. Huge +fright exploded in the pit of his stomach. He jerked back, raising +the heavy torch to slam it against the thing when Lorna said:

+

"It's only me."

+

Jack had to throw himself backwards to prevent the flashlight +cracking her skull. A surge of cold relief flooded through him, +followed by hot anger and dismay. His legs suddenly felt weak.

+

"Jesus god, you scared the crap out of me," he finally managed +to say.

+

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," she said, reaching out to take +him by the elbow again.

+

"I thought I told you to stay with the car?"

+

"I couldn't. The radio isn't working and you can't find the boy +by yourself. I can."

+

"No," he said, shaking his head, though she couldn't see the +motion. "There's something in here. It's too dangerous."

+

"I know it's here. It's up there," she said. He knew she was +pointing in the darkness. "It's waiting for you."

+

"And that's all the more reason for you to be out of here. I +haven't the time to keep an eye on you. Now will you get back to +the car and let me get on with this?"

+

"No Jack. You won't find the boy, and even if you did, you can't +get him out. Not with that thing in here. I can find him and get +him out if you can keep it away."

+

He stood in silence for a moment, thinking. It was wrong, he +knew. It went against everything he was to allow the girl to stay +in the black shipyard shed while the thing (not a man) +that killed children and could slaughter a flock of birds in an +instant was somewhere up in the high gantries lying in ambush, +waiting for him to climb to it. Yet she was right. It had brought +Davy here as bait to lure Jack inside. All that mattered was +getting the boy out of here, and it would surely try to stop him. +But if he could deal with the killer Lorna might somehow get Davy +to safety. He shrugged and reached for her hand.

+

"Right, but stay close to me," he whispered. "Really close."

+

He pulled her towards him and she put a hand around his waist, +brought him close and pressed herself to him in a spontaneous +gesture of solidarity. In the brief contact, he could sense her +tension and fear and he wondered at her courage in coming into this +metal cavern in the dark to face the thing that had driven her +close to madness since the night Marta Herkik had died.

+

"Come on," Lorna said. "We have to climb."

+

Very carefully, they followed the narrow metal staircase, level +by level until they came to the crosswalk close to the top of the +hangar. Above them, the dirty row of skylight windows flickered in +gauzy rectangles as the sheet lightning of the approaching storm +lit the sky.

+

"Where now?" Jack asked.

+

"Up further. He's close, and so is the other. It's waiting."

+

"Well, I'll be ready for him, don't you worry." Jack said, +though he wasn't sure he was ready and his intestines felt knotted +with anxiety. He groped around, hoping to find another flight of +steps, but there were none. Instead, in the dark, he fumbled until +his fingers clamped around the first cold ring of a ladder set +against the wall. His heart sank.

+

"You wait here," he told Lorna.

+

"No. I have to come with you," she protested, but he put his +hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

+

"No chance. Two of us on a ladder gives us no room to +manoeuvre." He thought of the birds flopping in their hundreds, the +powerful smack of a solid form hitting the corrugated walls. "If +anything comes up, or down, then we're stuck. You wait here. I'll +find him and bring him down, and then we can take care of the +whatever else happens."

+

Lorna said nothing. Jack turned and started to climb, biting +down the looping vertigo, holding tight to the rungs. There were +eighteen steps in all to the first catwalk. He counted them all, +through gritted teeth, and at the top he gingerly stepped out onto +the scaffolding planks. He followed the skyway, gripping the +bannister carefully, shuffling his feet so as to maintain contact +with the beams until the next ladder which would take him almost to +roof level. Men had walked and worked here, when he'd been a boy, +welding and rivetting the mighty hulls of ships which still sailed +the Atlantic. They'd worked in the light, not in this gloom. He +climbed the narrow ladder slowly, feeling the sides of the building +vibrate under the onslaught of the west wind against the bare wall +until he reached the final level just under the crossbeams.

+

He paused to get his breath back and something moved above him +close to the slant of the roof. Even in the dark he could make out +the quick, scuttling motion. Lightning flashed again and he got a +glimpse of a shape scrambling with spiderlike speed on the metal +ties. It spun on one long limb, grabbed a spar, flipped over and +landed with a violent thump which jolted the wooden planks under +Jack's feet and almost tumbled him over the edge of the narrow +gangway. He clenched the safety barrier with both hands, head and +chest leaning out into the void. He couldn't tell how high he was +and the blackness below looked as if it went down and down +forever.

+

Forty days and forty nights.

+

The words came in a whispery scrape inside his head. Even as he +gripped the rail, white knuckled, centre of gravity perilously +close to the point of no return, a part of his mind wondered where +the phrase had sprung from.

+

And they fell from the light to the outermost darkness where +there was weeping and gnashing of teeth.

+

The thought scrabbled on the inside of his skull, a hideous +invasive abrasion.

+

"What on earth..." he blurted aloud, heaving himself back from +the edge.

+

Not of earth, fool.

+

Ahead of him, in the dark, a deeper darkness, a pure blackness +so profound it seemed to suck the rest of the gloom in to itself, +hunched just above head height. A sensation of dreadful cold and +awesome malice radiated out from it, a chilling aura which made the +skin of his scalp crawl.

+

Down below, Lorna called up, her voice echoing in clean, clear +tones from the walls.

+

"Be careful, Jack. He's close. He's coming."

+

"Too late," he thought, holding himself dead still.

+

Too late, too late, the voice in his head chanted, and +then the voice changed, became a grating chuckle that was more like +the growl of a hungry animal than a laugh.

+

"Who are you?" Jack thought, or asked, although he did not quite +know which. He jammed his thumb hard on the button on the +flashlight, willing the thing to work, but nothing happened. The +darkness, and the oppressive malevolence flowed over him.

+

I am the other. I am the spirit. I am that which is Eseroth. +I am what AM.

+

"Where's the boy?" Jack asked, this time aloud, and all the time +wondering why he was asking, why he was perched up on the skyway, +talking to a shadow.

+

In the blackness, two eyes flicked open with an audible +click. Poisonous orange orbs swivelled towards Jack and +speared him with a blind gaze. He felt the blind-sight crawl over +him like the touch of a leper.

+

Come into my parlour, little man. Come eat of the flesh and +drink of the blood and do this in memory of me.

+

"Go take a flying fuck to yourself," Jack bawled back at the +eyes, anger suddenly sparking hot enough to wrestle the fear. +Lightning stuttered stroboscopically along the line of skylights +and the eyelids closed with a meaty slap. The flickering +luminescence danced for several seconds and for that time, the +weird greenish light illuminated the central part of the huge shed, +throwing harsh shadows from the cross-hatched girders against the +walls. Jack blinked against the sudden glare and inside his head a +blare of pain stabbed from temple to temple. Through blurred +vision, he saw a dark shape scuttle back away from him.

+

"Light," he whispered to himself as the alien other +pain faded. Realisation sparked in a duplication of the lightning. +"It needs the dark." He didn't even realise he had stopped thinking +of this killer as he.

+

He turned back along the gangway, past the ladder he'd climbed, +feeling his way carefully, quickly as he could. The walkway turned +abruptly at the corner and followed the far wall. He called Davy's +name, hearing the word ricochet from wall to bullwark, breaking up +on the high girders. The wind shrieked through the holes in the +thin steel plate and rattled the corners of the roof in a sudden +cacophony of sound which reverberated round the hangar.

+

"David! Can you speak to me? It's Uncle Jack."

+

The wind whooped in response. "If you can hear me, Davy, make a +noise."

+

"You're close Jack," Lorna's voice soared up. "He's near to +you."

+

The metal plates clanged together as the wind slammed against +the west wall. The sound faded away, then Lorna's voice ripped +through the dark.

+

"Move," she shrieked. "Jack it's coming!"

+

He heard it behind him. Something clattered across the girders, +each contact causing them to ring out like gongs. It came from the +left, swung straight to the right, leaping an impossible twenty +feet, slammed against the wall behind him. Jack started to turn, +disoriented in the dark.

+

Just out of the corner of his eye, he saw the dark move with the +speed of a striking snake and land with a jarring thump on the +platform just ahead of him. In the corner the thing merged with the +shadows, and he only had a fleeting impression of something squat, +limbs elongated and oddly jointed, blacker than coal. Chittering +sounds crackled in his ears and then the scrapy voice came +scratching into his mind.

+

And he took him to a high place and showed him all that lay +before him and offered it all, if he would fall down on his knees +and adore him.

+

The words grated with sly menace. Jack stood his ground, trying +to make out the shape squatting on the walkway.

+

All of this, it rasped, like stone grinding on stone. A +picture flashed into Jack's head, completely unbidden. Julie's face +wavered just in front of his own, beside her mother. They were +staring at him oddly. Completely bewildered, Jack opened his mouth +and closed it again.

+

They were covered in blood. He could see the great jagged shard +of glass poking out from the front of Julia's dress, and the red +river blurted down the flowery pattern, making it glisten slickly. +Rae's eyes were wide open and glaring.

+

"You should have been there, Jack," she said, though her voice +had that same scratchy undergrowth rustle he'd heard before.

+

"But you can come with us now," she said and then she smiled, +but it was not her smile, not the lazy smile of gentle humour he +remembered. It stretched into a leering, hungry grin. She reached +out her hand. Julie did the same, her small blood-slathered fingers +splayed out. Despite the sudden wave of horror and unbalancing +loathing that surged inside him, Jack felt himself reach. He took a +step forward, felt the edge of the parapet under his sole and +reflexively snatched for the safety bannister. His hand groped in +the air, clenched on nothing. He felt himself begin to topple and +instinct took over. The grotesque wavery vision winked out. In a +panic, he swung his hand to the side, found a stanchion and grabbed +at it just in time.

+

Raucous laughter yammered in his head.

+

He pulled himself back to the platform, gasping for breath.

+

"Bastard," he hissed, turning round to face the squat thing, and +just then, another image was forced into his mind.

+

He saw Davy hanging on the side of a wall, his little body +twisted to the side, eyes glazed and drying, a trickle of saliva +and blood dripping from his slack mouth. Beneath him, Lorna Breck +was lying spreadeagled and naked on the perforated metal of the +skywalk. Her head was thrown back and her legs splayed while +between them, the wizened figure of Michael O'Day nuzzled and +slobbered. He could see her writhing, mouth agape, making little +jerking motions. Revulsion squeezed at him. He closed his eyes, +wishing the sight away, but it persisted, dancing at the forefront +of thought. O'Day lifted his head up and his eyes locked on Jack's +own. His emaciated face was skull-like and his skin was peeling. +His mouth was open showing two blackened teeth. Blood was smeared +round his mouth, and a wet piece of red flesh trembled at the +corner of his lip.

+

Jack shook his head, eyes tightly closed. O'Day began to laugh +and he could hear the lecherous, manic madness in it. He pushed +away from it.

+

"No," he bellowed into the dark. "Get out of my head!"

+

The surge of anger and adrenalin was so powerful that the +picture disappeared instantly, leaving him standing on the +gangplank, chest heaving, heart pounding.

+

The force of his anger drove him forward, towards the black +shape. It leapt to the left, bounding right over the safety rail, +hit a spar which clanged in resonance, spun, tumbled in the air and +crashed against the wall behind him. He half turned and something +hit him on the back with such enormous force that he was catapulted +forward towards the corner of the wall. His cheek hit against a +support beam and he heard the bone crumple just under his eye.

+

Very far off, he heard Lorna scream, then the sound faded away. +Little whirling lights danced in front of his eyes and as they +began to fade, Jack realised he was losing consciousness. A +dreadful sleepy numbness oozed through him. Somewhere in the +distance, he heard a series of metallic booms, like sounds heard in +a dream. How long he'd lain crumbled on the skywalk, he had no +idea, though it could only have been a few seconds while his brain +struggled against the creeping lethargy. He rolled over, groaning +as his cheek scraped against the floor. As he turned, the +flashlight flickered on and at the far edge of the beam, a shape +jinked behind a cross-tie.

+

His vision faded again and he slumped to the floor, fighting the +fuzzy clouds of dizziness. A loud noise thudded behind him. He +tried to turn, couldn't make the effort and a second crushing blow +slammed into his back. A dazzling white light flashed in front of +his eyes and a purple afterimage swallowed it and he felt himself +falling into complete oblivion.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike38.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike38.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..34f51bd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike38.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,503 @@ + + + + + +38 + + + + +
+
+

38

+

Two levels below, Lorna heard the booming clatter. Jack said +something she couldn't make out and in her own mind she heard the +grating response. She shrank back from it, trying to close her mind +off against the mental onslaught. It was as if something had +reached inside her head, scoured her brain. Revulsion flooded +through her and she shuddered violently as a tide of nausea +swelled.

+

An appalling perception of wrongness washed over her and she bit +back the cry that almost blurted out.

+

Then from somewhere close by, a white hot flash of child-pain +came ripping through the mental barrier, so fierce and sharp it +shattered the images which were beginning to form in the dark in +front of her eyes. An augur of pure pain drilled into her shoulder, +twisting her body to the side and an involuntary gasp hissed +between her teeth.

+

It was as if her mind was being torn and stretched in every +direction. The boy's pain lanced through her, overlaying Jack's +horror and disgust, and beneath it all, scuttering like poison +scorpions, the malignant mind of the alien thing scratched and +grated. She fought against it, tried to ignore Jack's anguish, and +held on to the child's hurt, drawing it into herself, experiencing +its agony. It was like a light in the darkness, pure physical +sensation, a beacon she could orient by.

+

Up above, Jack shouted something, maybe a curse. His voice +shattered on the corrugated roof and reverberated across the wide +empty space.

+

Lorna closed her eyes and ignored the pain shrieking in her +back, concentrating on the source overhead. She found the ladder +where Jack had ascended to the next level, and clambered +upwards.

+

Off to the right, over her head, something hit a support pillar +with a massive thump that shook the entire roof and caused the +ladder to thrum under her fingers. Jack bawled incoherently again, +but she could not afford to listen. She reached the first level, +groped until she found the next set of rungs and climbed quickly, +blindly, drawn towards the blaring beacon of the boy's pain. At the +topmost level, where the roof slanted towards the west wall, she +turned away. Off to the right, something was moving fast, but away +from her. A light flickered briefly, a weak circle of luminescence. +Jack groaned aloud.

+

Lorna made it to the end of the gangway, letting the blast of +pain wash through her, feeling it intensify with every step.

+

Davy was hooked onto a twisted bracket, one foot dangling +limply, the other jittering with involuntary nervous motion. His +eyes were open, though she could not see them in the gloom. His +mind was awash with pain.

+

She came to the end of the skywalk and stopped at the retaining +barrier.

+

Six feet away from her, impaled on the stanchion, the boy hung +well out of her reach over the black emptiness.

+

He was too far away. Even if she swung out over the void, she +would never reach him. Despair and anger clawed with each other. +Lorna groped out along the wall, trying to find a beam or a spar +which would give her enough purchase to ease out over the drop and +drag the boy back to safety, but in the dark, her fingers only +rapped against the rusting metal sides of the hangar.

+

She pulled herself back, exhausted and defeated, and behind her +something sniggered. Lorna spun round. It crouched on the beam over +the walkway, a shadow inside blackness, a contorted thing, limbs +spread, each of them hooked onto a spar or a rod, oddly elongated, +strangely jointed. In a tumble of impressions she thought of an +insect, a reptile, a spindly crab, but she knew it was none of +these.

+

The thing sniggered again, a guttural gurgle of sound that +conveyed chilling glee and frightful contempt, and a sudden +terrible realisation broke on her.

+

It did not want Jack. It cared nothing for the boy. It had +tricked her.

+

The thing Blair Bryden had named the Shrike wanted only +one thing. It needed a warm place to stay, a hot, living place to +wait out the daylight hours. It had used the boy to bring Jack, +knowing that he would use her to find his nephew, and that's what +it wanted.

+

Step into my parlour.

+

The mental invasion made her recoil in revulsion. It was like a +rotting necrosis inside her skull. Behind her, Davy's pain blared. +The boy whimpered and his heel drummed against the steel wall, a +soft booming sound which twisted the hurt and made it scream. The +blast of agony was powerful enough to fade out, if only for a +moment, the foul touch of the fiendish thing hunched on the +cross-ties.

+

She shook her head, trying to negate the pain, attempting to +deny the knowledge of what the thing wanted. Lorna staggered +backwards until her back thumped against the safety rail.

+

"No!" The word blurted out of its own volition.

+

The faultline in her own mind, the one which had opened up on +the night she had dreamed of the terrible thing in cairn House, was +what it needed to get inside her, to invade and take her over. In +that instant of clarity, she sensed its own desperation. Its time +was short. Its human havens had been used up, were almost gone, and +it had nowhere else to go except back to where it came from, unless +it could invade her own mind.

+

Another image bloomed in her mind. She saw a place of +unfathomable depths, a place of dread cold and dark where scaled +things with spiked tails and gaping mouths filed with glass-shard +teeth roiled in their obscene legions. She sensed the reek of the +place and the barren emptiness, felt the hunger and the hate and +the overpowering radiation of pure evil. This was where it had come +from, she knew instantly, drawn from this festering abyss to a +world of life and plenty. It had feasted here, glutting itself on +the hot emotions of fear and despair, sucking the life-light from +the eyes of children. It had been called, by accident or design, +into the bodies of the people who had sat round the table in Marta +Herkik's house.

+

And unless it found shelter, it would have to return.

+

Ask and it shall be yours.

+

The voice wheedled.

+

Lorna tried to back away, shaking her head, huge fear twisting +in her belly. She saw herself like the others, forced to creep from +hole to shadow, carrying the evil inside it.

+

Be one with me.

+

"No," she managed to gasp.

+

The thing moved then, limbs reaching out to the slope of the +roof. She saw its humped form clamber onto the corrugated sheets, +creeping upside down, head twisted impossibly on a reptilian neck, +eyes now open and fixed poisonously on her, glaring right into her +soul. She could see the puckered dark spot close to the bottom of +the left one, like a ragged pupil where the orb had been punctured. +The thing reached the support pillar, twisted itself round until it +was head down, and descended like a black mantis to the walkway. +She could hear its gurgling breath and smell the reek of +putrescence.

+

It reached out a long limb, holding it low, a gesture of +harmlessness. Even in the dark she could see the hugely elongated +fingers and the curve of claws.

+

"Get away from me," Lorna hissed.

+

It took two steps forward, spearing her with those venomous +eyes. It laughed again, with the sound of crushing stones. The long +limb stretched towards her, came up in front of her face. There was +no escape.

+

Lorna found her willpower draining away. The darkness deepened +and a dreadful numbness began to steal slowly up from her feet, +turning her legs to ice, freezing her belly. Under the glare of +those mesmeric eyes, she was an exhausted swimmer fighting against +the undertow of a rip tide. She struggled desperately, in a futile +attempt to push back the force of the thing's will. She felt the +fault-line in her mind give under the pressure. A coldness pushed +in on her and she felt her own sense of self fragment and dissolve. +Something hard and scaly touched her just under her neck. Just as +the blackness closed in on her, she felt a wrench as the front of +her winter jacket was ripped away in one violent jerk, exposing her +pale skin to the winter cold.

+
+

Jack coughed and a gout of bloody bile spurted from the back of +his throat leaving a filthy acid burn in his gullet. Somewhere in +the distance a pain was throbbing and his ribs felt as if they'd +been squeezed in a crusher.

+

Consciousness returned in rolling waves. His head was throbbing, +felt as if it was twice its normal size. Inside his ears he could +hear the slow pounding of his pulse. His eyelids opened slowly, +puling back across eyes which felt as if they were popping out of +their sockets. Dizziness spun at him, then the pain screamed in his +thigh.

+

For a moment he was completely disoriented. It was too dark to +see. A warm wetness trickled across his chest, flowing up towards +his neck.

+

A grunt escaped him as he tried to move, and the augur of pain +twisted in his thigh, causing him to cry out in the dark.

+

He was upside down, and he was stuck on something. He could feel +a sharp shard brutally tearing into his muscle. He was impaled, +pinned like an insect over a black void.

+

Sudden recollection, instant realisation, came back to him. He +recalled the shadowy thing, impossibly agile, spider fast, leaping +from gantry to beam to cross-tie, a blur of black on black. It had +hit him and he'd fallen and then it had slammed into him again.

+

David.

+

He had to get the boy. He was still alive. It hadn't killed +him.

+

And as soon as that thought came, another one batted it +away.

+

Lorna.

+

What had happened? How did he get here. The thoughts blasted +over the terrible hurt in his thigh.

+

Numb despair squeezed at him. It had them both. Like a fool he'd +played the hero and come up here with a faulty torch and no weapon +and it had taken him in the blink of an eye.

+

And now it had Davy and the girl.

+

He twisted again, trying to raise his body, fell back, tried +again, reaching out in the darkness, trying to overcome the molten +lava searing through his body. His fingers jarred on a spar and +automatically clenched. He got another hand on to it, every +movement causing a pain in his chest or a river of agony in his +leg. He pulled and felt something scrape wetly inside him, close to +his hip. His teeth snapped on his tongue, but there was no pain +there. It was all in his leg and on his ribs. He groaned against +it, hauling himself slowly, excruciatingly off the metal spike. +Something twisted. He felt skin and flesh drawn outwards, then +there was a sudden jerk, a soft ripping sound and he swung free. +His legs swung out over the emptiness and he hung on desperately, +feeling his strength fail. The rusty spar dug into the curve of his +hooked fingers, threatening to sever then from his hands. The +thought of that summoned up a cold wash of resolution. He couldn't +fall, not now. He had to find a way back to the skywalk, had to +find Davy, needed to find Lorna. With desperate slowness he heaved +himself upwards, feeling his shoulders quiver with the effort of +raising his own weight onto the beam, Finally he got a chin onto +the metal, ignored the pain as the sharp edge ground on his +jawbone, hooked an elbow over, then his undamaged leg, pulled +himself up and lay panting, only inches from the roof.

+

Sweat ran down the black comma of hair and into his eyes and he +blinked it away. Close by, one of the grey skylights flared into a +rectangle of light and in that brief flash, Jack saw the thing on +the gangway, thirty feet away from him. Even when the light was +gone, the image, which was so sharp, stayed with him.

+

Lorna Breck was backed up against the rail. Beyond her, +something small and pale hung limp against the wall. In front of +her, something built with impossible geometry had reached out and +drawn a long, deformed limb down from her neck, ripping her clothes +open. Her breasts had jutted, soft and terribly defenceless.

+

The after-image faded to orange and purple. Without further +thought, he clambered along the beam, ignoring the urgent messages +of pain which seemed to come from all through him, reached the end +gasping for breath, jittery with need for speed, and lowered +himself to the platform. When his feet took his weight, exquisite +agony surged from his ankle to his groin.

+

The smell of the thing was like a thick cloud in the air. He +could sense her fear and futile struggle and panic welled up. He +groped for the torch on the fretwork of the footplate, thought he'd +found it, but it was only a scaffolding bar. He dropped it, heard +it clang, cursed incoherently to himself. It couldn't stand the +light. That was the blazing message right at the top of all other +thought. If he could use the light, he could make it back off, at +least until he got Davy down from the height, at least until he +dragged Lorna away.

+

The flashlight was gone. Sour rage bubbled up inside him. The +torch must have fallen, tumbled all the way down to the unseen +floor below. The anger flared even hotter than the pain. He bent, +gasping with the effort, scrabbled for the scaffolding bar. It +needed two hands to heft its weight. He raised it up, ignoring the +noise he made and turned, staggering along the narrow walkway to +the hideous black affront reaching its other hand to Lorna Breck's +face.

+
+

Her mind was caving in from the pressure, unable to resist any +longer. Somewhere else, behind her and in front of her, she could +feel other pain, child suffering, man hurt, throbbing +through the wave of darkness that pressed in on her. She tried to +hold the pain, a lifeline to her own world while the relentless +frozen force of the thing's will pressed in on her like a black +glacier. Her volition crumpled, imploded. It reached her +self through the faultline and began to flood into her, a +crawling obscenity, filthy as rot.

+

She dimly felt the heavy cloth rip down and the cold wash of icy +air then her whole body jerked upwards and back, almost throwing +her off the platform as a hideous mental blast seared through her. +Suddenly the mind-force was gone, shattered. Her eyes flicked open +and she saw the fuzzed outline of the fiend shrinking back, its +elongated scaly arm twitching back to merge with the rest of its +black mass. Its malignant mind was blaring in agony, so powerful +she could feel it in her own body. The shape lurched back, eyes now +clamped shut, shrinking away from her. She felt a warmth between +her breasts and glanced down. A faint blip of lightning flickered +somewhere high and picked out the plain shape of the cross on the +rosary, lying between her breasts. In the weird green flicker, she +thought she saw it glow.

+

Exultant hope bubbled up inside her. She freed her hand from the +barrier, reached up and grasped the heavy gold crucifix, gripping +it tight, holding it up the way she'd seen folk do in the old scary +horror films. This was no vampire she faced, no creature of this +world, yet instinctively she sensed the power of the talisman and +felt the creature's anguish.

+

It had power, this cross, power maybe enough to beat this devil. +Jack had given it to her, laughing his disbeliever's scorn. He'd +told her O'Day had believed it protected him from the thing that +stalked Levenford. He'd told her jokingly that it wouldn't harm her +to wear it, and she'd kept it and later she'd slipped the beads +around her neck. It had been an inert lump of metal then. Yet now, +in the sudden flare of hope, of lack of despair, it seemed +to be riven with power.

+

She held it in front of her, praying for another flash of +lightning to add to the holy force. She took a step forward and +another while inside her head she could hear the jittery screech of +the thing.

+

She walked another two steps then something came lurching along +the gangway. At first she thought it was another one, a second +gargoyle creature and the surge of hope evaporated. Behind her, +Davy whimpered, a little shuddery noise among all the commotion. +She turned involuntarily, forgetting the crucifix, cutting it off +from the thing and as she did, the monster leapt for her. She heard +its rush, froze....

+

And Jack swung the scaffolding bar. The six feet of heavy steel +came whooping round in an arc and smashed into the humped, +misshapen back.

+

The force of the contact jarred right up his arm with such force +it numbed his fingers and almost made him drop the weapon. It was +like hitting solid stone. A huge clang rang out and scattered +amongst the girders. The black creature fell forward, hitting the +walkway with a solid thump. In the blink of an eye it was up again, +spitting in fury. It whirled like a black tarantula, shot out an +incredible arm, grabbed a spar hauled itself forward and launched +straight at him. Jack twisted his body, pulling the hollow bar +back, gauged his moment and swung with all his strength.

+

The thing blurred up and over the club, faster than the eye +could follow. An arm, piston quick, jabbed out and caught him a +massive blow on the chest. The scaffold-bar whipped out of his hand +and went tumbling away. Jack was thrown backwards. The back of his +thighs hit the rail, unbelievable pain exploded in his leg, and +then he was over the edge and tumbling.

+

Lorna screamed. She saw him topple and tried to call out to him, +but all that came out was a screech of anguish. His feet +disappeared from view and the thing spun, incredibly fast, and came +clambering along the railing, a demonic tightrope walker, a +grotesque spider on a web, straight towards her.

+

Jack flipped over. His ankle hit a crossbar and something +snapped there. His hands were in front of him as he fell. In a +brief instant, he saw Julie and Rae smiling at him in a summer +garden and he knew he was about to die.

+

Then something smacked into his belly. His breath punched out in +one instant whoosh and he bounced, flopping over. Some basic +instinct made him reach in the dark. His hands grabbed the chain +which ran from the wall to a pulley-wheel. One hand slipped, hooked +up again reflexively, found the cold chain, and he hung suspended +over the well of the shed.

+

Up and to the right, he heard Lorna scream. Sick pain pulsed up +from his ankle, but he ignored it. He pulled himself several feet +along the horizontal chain until he came to the pulley and risked +letting go with one hand while he made a grab for the vertical drop +of links which descended to the far floor. As soon as he gripped +it, he swung his other hand over, then wrapped his undamaged leg +around the pulley chain. As soon as he did so, he felt a lurch, and +a harsh grating sound.

+

"Oh shit," he grunted.

+

He dropped five more feet. Something squealed in protest ten +feet from where he hung. Without even trying, he spun on the +down-chain and a long line of light came into being right in front +of his eyes. He had no time to think, he was just trying not to +fall, suspended close to the far wall of the hangar. The chain +rattled and he plummeted his own height and the line of light +became a blazing rectangle.

+

Up above, a ferocious caterwauling sound ripped the air, so loud +it rattled the metal roof and made his ears ring. Jack dangled +swinging and revolving, gripping the rope so tight it burned. The +chain rattled again and the service door opened even wider, rolling +back on its wheels, protesting all the way. His weight on the +chain, along with the counterweight which swung in the darkness +along the wall, was just enough to drag the massive door open.

+

The night floodlights from the Rig Yard across the fence glared +in through the gap, sending strange cross-hatched shadows on +everything, dazzling Jack where he hung. He screwed up his eyes +against the blinding light and dropped another four feet to the +next level. He could now see what he was doing. When he came level +to the platform, he swung his weight back, biting down the tide of +pain running from shoulders to feet, got him close enough to the +rail to get a grip and hooked a hand round the bar. Very carefully +he hauled himself over, slipped to the walkway with a crunch of +pure hurt and lay gasping.

+

On the top deck, Lorna watched the thing come for her, limbs +pistoning, a blurred monstrosity. She cringed back, half turned, +forgetting the cross in her hand.

+

Then metal had screamed in protest and a miraculous pillar of +light had seared the gloom.

+

Instantly the thing skidded to a halt. Its monstrous eyes +thudded shut and a shriek of agony brayed out in a high, ululating +shudder.

+

Lorna's own eyes flooded with tears. She wiped her sleeve across +them, shaking hear head to clear her vision. Then she saw it in the +light.

+

It was a nightmare creature. Its squat body was humped and +warted. Oddly bent bones, like deformed ribs poked out against a +taught reptilian skin. Its shoulders were wide and upwardly curved +and from them, two impossibly long arms stretched out on either +side, hooked spatulate fingers clenched on the rail. Its head was +large and ridged with nobbled scales. Leathery eyelids squeezed +shut over popping eyes. Its face was almost flat, and there was no +nose, just two ragged holes which flickered spasmodically. Below +them, its mouth gaped open, drooling green ropes of saliva.

+

It hung on the rail, shivering in agony and as she watched, its +whole shape began to crumble. Lorna stood frozen, mesmerised, as +the edges of the creature began to blur and run. Its skin bubbled, +wavered, started to evaporate in black wisps.

+

It made an obscene growling sound from behind its amphibious +lips, so deep the metal vibrated in sympathetic resonance.

+

Inside her head, Lorna felt its panic and pain and a second wave +of exultation overtook her. The door opened wider, allowing even +more light into the vast covered yard. The thing screeched, a +devilish animal caught in a trap. Its warty hide frothed. Murky +clouds of vapour started to trail off, fuzzing its outlines. It +scuttled back, heading for the corner. Droplets of its skin, or +pieces of flesh hit the steel walkway and sizzled there, sending up +orange puffs of mist. Metal creaked and the great door swung ever +wider, sending the light into every corner.

+

The thing howled, then took off. It leapt out from the corner, +swung on a beam, then hit a pillar, head down. Without stopping it +scrambled downwards, bunched itself then sprang for the stairway, +trailing a grey-black cloud around itself.

+

It passed close to Jack, screeching all the while, as he was +getting onto his sound foot. He straightened up, his whole body a +world of hurt, and saw the thing coming straight at him. Its mouth +was agape, a huge maw, barbed with row upon row of shiny teeth.

+

He flinched back, expecting it to leap at its throat, but +instead it shot out an arm, hooked an upright and spun down the +next flight. Its thickening cloud of vapour clung to it as it +moved. It reached the third level, tumbled and hit the landing with +a crash. Jack followed its motion unable to take his eyes off the +thing as the lights boiled it away.

+

It got to the second level, scrambled over the bannister, +dropped fifteen feet to the first, then crabbed along the flat. By +this time, it was hardly solid at all. At the bottom, he saw a +rolling black cloud, pulsing with motion, but boneless and +limbless, roll down to the foot of the stairs to disappear into the +faint shade.

+

For several moments, he stood there, transfixed. Up above, he +heard Lorna call out his name. Jack slowly forced himself to move, +gasping with the enormity of the pain, and hobbled up the +stairs.

+

He found her at the end of the skyway. She didn't seem to notice +that her breasts were bared to the light.

+

"He's here, Jack," he cried, pointing behind where she +stood.

+

"I can't reach him. Oh, he's so hurt."

+

Jack made it to the far end. Davy's eyes were open and his mouth +was moving, though there was no sound. He was stuck to the wall, +one foot still shivering as if the nerves had been cut. Jack got to +the rail and leaned over. Way down there, jagged piles of +machinery, old boxes of rivets, rusty spikes of metal awaited to +kill anybody who fell.

+

He estimated the distance, measuring the gap between the barrier +and the first of the roof spars. He still had one good leg and two +working arms. Jack got himself over the first obstacle, leaned out +until he could grip the spar, swung himself over until he got his +foot on a support beam on the wall.

+

Davy's eyes followed him. Tears were streaming down his face, +but he still made no sound.

+

"It's alright, Davy boy," Jack whispered as he edged himself +closer. He reached the boy and felt the pulse in his neck. It was +fast, too fast, but strong. He eased a hand behind his nephew's +back, edging it up against the metal wall and found the hook of +steel. The thing had punctured the corrugated sheet and torn back a +spike of flimsy metal. It impaled the boy just under the +shoulder-blade. Jack could not understand how the youngster could +be alive, never mind conscious, hanging there like that. His hand +worked its way along the slithery coagulation of blood. He eased +himself closer, got his arm right round the boy's chest, and gently +eased him off the spike. Davy sighed, then his eyes rolled upwards +and his head flopped to the side.

+

Very carefully and very slowly, Jack retraced his steps. It took +ten minutes to edge back to the skywalk. When he got there, Lorna +reached out over the drop and took Davy from his hands and swung +him to the relative safety of the gangway.

+

The movement had caused the gash in Davy's back to bled freely +again. Jack fished a handkerchief from his pocket and jammed it +against the ragged hole. Between the two of them, they managed to +carry the boy down the stairs, flight by flight until they reached +the bottom. Lorna stayed close on the last short section, ready to +support Jack if he stumbled. They reached the bottom, turned +towards the door, and something came lurching out from under the +stairs.

+

Lorna yelled in fright. Jack hadn't even seen the movement. He +turned, put his weight on his broken ankle, bellowed in pain and +began to topple.

+

The apparition that had been Michael O'Day came staggering +towards them. The white hair was almost completely gone from the +narrow head. The eyes were shadowed pits. Two emaciated hands, the +fingers elongated and skeletal, reached out, groping, towards +Lorna.

+

Jack twisted as he fell, trying to keep Davy up, hit the floor +with a jarring thump, hard enough to clash his teeth together. Davy +tumbled out and rolled.

+

The thing that O'Day had become lunged forward and clamped its +hands around Lorna's neck. She made a loud gulpin sound.

+

Jack turned over, unable to take his eyes of the scene. He +groped for anything on the floor and by a sheer miracle found the +scaffolding bar that he'd used up close to the roof. He used it to +get to his good foot, hopping awkwardly, then swung it under and +then over his shoulder.

+

Lorna was struggling, pulling away, trying to kick out at the +thing. She made a horrible gurgling noise as the fingers squeezed +on her throat. Jack pivoted and brought the hollow steel pole down +in a scything arc. It hit O'Day just above his ear with a pulpy +thud. The crazed man's hands flew out to the sides, then he flopped +like a rag doll, hit the ground and was still.

+

Overhead, lightning flashed and thunder cracked in a +simultaneous burst. In seconds, huge hailstones bulleted down to +rattle on the metal roof in a deafening roar.

+

"I think you killed him." Lorna said.

+

"I hope to Christ I did," Jack replied wearily.

+

He hobbled to where Davy lay, eased himself down to get his arm +around the boy, then gently lifted him up off the ground.

+

They got to the door just as one of the workmen from the rig +yard came walking towards them, swinging the beam of a powerful +torch in through the opening.

+

"Hello?" he called out. "Is anybody there?"

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike39.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike39.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8331cfd --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike39.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,375 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 39 + + + + +
+
+

39

+

He came swimming up from the dark, reaching for the surface, +trying to break through from the dream.

+

It had come after him again, up in the high gantries, racing +towards him with preposterous speed. His feet were glued to the +skywalk, hands gripped on the rail, unable to loosen. His breath +was locked in his throat. It came like a black spider, limbs +pistoning, jerky yet frighteningly fluid. He could hear the scrape +of its claws on the metal, the feral bass growl erupting from its +toadlike mouth. Its eyes were like sickly orange headlights, +spearing him with fearsome blight.

+

Beside him, on the wall, Davy and Julia writhed, stuck on shards +of glass. Behind him, his dead daughter whimpered in pain and +begged him to help her. On the metal gangplank, Lorna lay sprawled +in a pool of blood, eyes wide and blind and dull.

+

The thing came racing on, angular yet sinuous, solid yet fluid, +an ever-changing black mass, transforming and mutating as it +grunted and gurgled, slobbering its malice.

+

He backed off, came up against the wall. It jerked forward, +blank amphibian eyes wide as saucers. Its mouth opened, yawned +enormously. Rows of glassy teeth reflected light.

+

Then he was out of it. The membrane of the dream broke and +shattered and he was through, back in the real world again. He +hauled for the breath that had refused to come, drawing cool air +into aching lungs. He came fully awake, siting up in bed, slathered +in sweat, shivering from the horror of the image.

+

For several moments, he sat, trying to keep the muscles in his +arms and legs from twitching, attempting to calm himself, to hold +on to the reality that it was only a dream. He switched the light +on, banishing the shadows. Very slowly he turned round, expecting +to see her curled up, auburn hair fanned on the pillow, snuffling +warmly in sleep.

+

She was sitting bolt upright.

+

Her hands were held up in front of her face, palms out, as if +she was shoving something back from her, warding it off. As soon as +he turned, he could feel the tremble in her own body, a taut +shivering, tuning-fork fast. Her head was shaking from side to +side, small, jerky movements, little spasms. He reached for her, +touched her shoulder, felt the deep shudder ripple through her. She +was cold as stone, every muscle under his fingers bunched and +contorted. Her eyes were wide open, glassily staring in front of +her, great grey pools. Her mouth sagged slackly.

+

"What's wrong?" he whispered urgently. "What's the matter?"

+

It was as if he hadn't spoken. Her head continued its motions of +denial. The hands pushed further from her body. A slick of sweat +ran from her neck and trickled under his fingers. The power of his +own dream faded.

+

What did she see?

+

The wide eyes stared ahead, into the far distance.

+

"Come on," he urged, louder this time, shaking her quickly. +"Wake up Lorna."

+

She gave a violent start, hauling back against the headboard. A +pillow flopped to the floor. Under his fingers, the trembling died +instantly. Her mouth closed with a snap and she blinked twice, very +quickly and he heard her breath come out in a long shudder.

+

"What is it?," he said, now more unnerved than he had been in +the depths of his own nightmare. "What's wrong?"

+

She turned, as if only just aware of his presence. She blinked +again, then her eyes widened, huge and limpid. A tear spilled from +a corner and traced a path of light down her cheek.

+

Her mouth opened, closed again, then she fell towards him. He +caught her in his arms and held her tight, smoothing her hair as if +she was a child.

+

"Tell me," he finally said.

+

______

+

It had taken a long time to heal. A long time for all of +them.

+

In a precursive parallel to the dream he would have, Jack had +come awake, drowsily struggling against the anaesthetic. The drugs +helped, but not enough to completely dull the pain of the mending. +His head throbbed and a warm raw crater, or so it felt, burned into +his cheek. It was sore to breathe, each inhalation bringing a stab +in the ribs, front and back. His left leg was stiff and numb, with +only a dull gripe in his ankle to tell him he still had a leg.

+

Recollection came back slowly, individual scenes following on +the other like ripples in a pond. He could see them, like an +outsider, an impassive observer watching the thing flit from girder +to beam, seeing Davy hung on the wall, the whiteness of Lorna's +bared breasts. It was happening to somebody else. Even the memory +brought nothing, no emotion, no fear.

+

"Must be good stuff they serve here," he thought to himself, and +without warning, a laugh bubbled up from inside. He went into a +brief choking spasm and the sudden movement unleashed a rip of pain +in his ribs. He coughed, searing himself on his right side, painful +enough to make his eyes water.

+

"Only when I laugh," he said when it all subsided, remembering a +line from some long forgotten joke.

+

A young nurse, blonde and pretty in a rosy-cheeked way, came +bustling through the swing door of the room. She moved to the +clutter of instruments beside the bed and jerked back when Jack +spoke.

+

"Can I have some water?" he asked.

+

In three minutes Jack had his water, crystal clear and rattling +with a stack of ice. It was the best drink he could ever remember. +While he sipped it, a middle aged doctor with craggy grey eyebrows +ran through the damage as if reading off a provisions list.

+

"We've had to put a pin in your ankle," he said. "You've a +pretty nasty break, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. +You'll be walking in six weeks. The ribs were the worst. You'd +punctured a lung. We had to drain it and get the old balloon +inflated again. It's working fine now, but you'll get a twinge +every now and again for a while."

+

The doctor leaned over and without preamble, pulled Jack's +eyelid down.

+

"The cheek will heal on its own," he went on. "Nasty break on +your maxillary, but no point in digging in there. You'll probably +find your eye will water for a week or two until the pressure on +the lachrymal duct eases off, and you'll have a bit of a dent +there, but unless you've ambitions to film stardom, it should be +fine. I can get you fixed up at Keltyburn for some re-construction +if you feel the need."

+

Jack shook his head and instantly regretted it when the ache +thumped in his skull. He didn't feel the need for anything yet, +except sleep, and the need to know how Davy was.

+

"Bruises all over the body, and some internal, I shouldn't +wonder," the other man went on, lifting the heavy eyebrows with +what looked like considerable effort. "You've been in the wars my +boy."

+

"How long?" he asked, voice rasping over a tender throat.

+

"As I said, about six weeks."

+

"No, how long have I been here?"

+

"Since last night. You've a good constitution. We had to put you +under to get the lung back up and fiddle about with the ribs, but +it'll soon wear off. If the pain gets too much, just ring for the +nurse. We're real dope fiends here."

+

Jack smiled tiredly. He knew about pain.

+

"And the boy? My nephew?"

+

"Oh, he'll be fine. Strong young fellow. Nasty wound on his +back, and we're a bit concerned about infection. He's still under, +I'm afraid, but he'll certainly play football again. How'd it +happen?"

+

"Long story," he said. "Too long."

+

"Well, there's a whole corridor of people want to speak to you. +I can hold them back until you feel up to it."

+

"No. I have to." The doctor nodded. He turned to go. Jack held +up his hand with some difficulty. It felt weighted with lead.

+

"Is one of them a girl? Name's Breck."

+

The other man lifted his eyebrows again.

+

"Reddish hair? Pretty thing?"

+

Jack risked another nod, though he took it slowly.

+

"I need to see her first," he said. The man went out and there +was some noise outside the door. Voices were raised. The doctor +said something loud but unintelligible through the swung-shut door. +It eased open and Lorna came in, face pallid and dirt-streaked. She +was still wearing the long coat Jack had wrapped around her and it +scraped the floor at her heels. She quietly closed the door behind +her, and came slowly forward. He patted the side of the bed +casually, though the movement knifed him in the ribs. He coughed, +screwing his face up against the sharp corkscrew in his side and +her eyes widened in alarm, instinctively reaching for him.

+

He took her hand and drew her forward until she sat down.

+

"Well, Miss fortune-teller, did we beat the bastard or +what?"

+

She nodded, hardly a movement, face still solemn.

+

"Is it bad?"

+

"Hurts like hell," he lied a little, and gave her a grin, the +first one he could remember in what seemed like a long time. She +almost responded. "Big boys don't cry. They say Davy's fine and +I'll be out of here in no time."

+

She looked as if she was going to say something, backed off, +seemed to make up her mind.

+

"I was so scared," she blurted. "I thought you were dead."

+

"You and me both. Sure cured my love of heights, I can tell +you," he said trying to keep it light. "I should keep you as a good +luck charm."

+

"It wasn't luck," she said. "It was meant. I know it."

+

"I'll have to take your word for it. You've been right so +far."

+

He squeezed her hand. "Have you been here all night?"

+

She inclined her head, grey eyes glistening.

+

"I thought you might die."

+

"You mean you didn't see it in the runes? It takes more than +that to kill the likes of me."

+

The tears swimming in swelling crescent broke over and ran +freely down under her eyes, trickling to the corner of her +mouth.

+

"Oh, come on. We beat the bastard, you and me. We make a great +team. Once I'm out of here, I want to take you to Hobnobs for a +coffee and start over again."

+

Lorna squeezed his fingers. The tears continued and he wished +they would stop. Her soft grey eyes searched his battered face then +fixed themselves on his as if she was afraid he would disappear, +and the encompassing, insistent gaze bored its way into a part of +him he thought he had closed off forever. An almost forgotten +emotion stirred again in there. He pulled her gently towards him +and she simply toppled against his chest. A grind of pain growled +in his side and he let out a gasp. She hauled back, immediately +concerned and contrite.

+

"Oh, be gentle with me," he groaned, as a sudden wave of warm +tiredness washed over him. She held tight to him for several +minutes before she realised he had fallen asleep again. Alone with +him, knowing he was safe, she began to cry softly, leaning into his +arms.

+

The next few days were a maelstrom. It wasn't until he woke the +second time, to find himself alone and aching all over, that he +discovered Julia had been hurt. He refused to see anybody else +until he was satisfied her injury, so serious it had taken three +hours of surgery to repair the damage to her intestine and +abdominal muscles and remove a hard spike of wood that had broken +off inside her - was healing and until he got a promise that he +could see both her and Davy later in the day.

+

Robbie Cattanach slipped in to the room before the rest of the +crowd.

+

"Thought I'd be giving you the once over," he said, grinning +boyishly. "Might have been interesting to find out what makes you +tick."

+

"Sorry to disappoint," Jack said drily. He took a gulp of water +and swallowed down the cough that threatened to send it back up +again. "You won't get another chance, I can promise."

+

"You'll live," Robbie said. His face went serious for a moment. +"Christ alone knows what you've been up to. Want to tell me what it +was?"

+

"It was just as you described. Like nothing in the natural +history books. It was a fucking monster. Remember that Ridley Scott +film you were telling me about? It was worse than that."

+

"And you killed it?"

+

"I hope to Christ I have. I don't want to go through that +again."

+

Ralph Slater came in with Hector Nairn, the divisional commander +who had insisted Jack was re-assigned to the case.

+

"Are you up to a statement?"

+

"I'll give it my best shot," Jack told his senior officer.

+

"Miss Breck has declined to make any comment until we've spoken +to you. Any reason for that?"

+

"She's had a tough time. Where's O'Day?"

+

"We had to take him to the head injuries unit in Glasgow. You +nearly killed him."

+

"Nearly isn't good enough. Is he under guard?"

+

"Not necessary. He's in a coma which he may not survive. I'm +afraid this might cause us a bit of a problem."

+

"No problem to me. Listen, I don't care what happens, but he is +not to be left unguarded, even for a moment. And there must be at +least two people at all times. With the lights on at all times. Is +that clear?"

+

Jack reached forward and took Hector Nairn by the sleeve of his +coat. The man pulled back, narrowing his eyes warily.

+

"Sure Jack," Ralph butted in, taking the heat out of the +situation. "I'll put John McColl on to it right away. He'll make +sure."

+

Jack sank back against the pillow, breathing a slow sigh after +the sudden effort of his outburst.

+

"How did he get the injury?" the commander asked.

+

"I hit him across the head with a scaffolding bar."

+

"Was that necessary? According to the doctors the man was +emaciated to the point of death. He looked as if a breeze might +knock him down."

+

"Aye, that may be. But he tried to kill me, and would have done +it too. Me and Lorna Breck and my nephew. That's what we've been +hunting all along."

+

"I think there will be a few folk who might find it hard to +believe."

+

"That's fine by me. But as long as you put a guard on O'Day and +keep the lights on him, the killings are at an end. It's finished. +We've got it."

+

"It?"

+

"Whatever."

+

It took three days to get the statements from both of them and +while that was going on, the public inquiries began into the deaths +of all of the victims, starting with Marta Herkik. The fiscal +recorded five verdicts of suicide and one case, that of Jock Toner, +of death by misadventure. Timmy Doyle, Kelly Campbell and the +others with the exception of old George Wilkie who was still posted +missing, and including the the other McCann children and their +father who died in the fire in Murroch Road, were found to have +been unlawfully killed by person or persons yet unknown.

+

The storm blew itself out on the morning after Jack and Lorna +staggered out of the deserted shipyard, carrying Davy between them, +and a fresh day dawned in Levenford. It took several weeks, despite +Blair Bryden's clarion headlines in the Gazette, before people +actually believed the murders had stopped and that the killer he +had dubbed the Shrike was in custody.

+

Michael O'Day was in intensive care for four weeks while doctors +tube-fed him the nourishment his wasted body needed. John McColl +was as good as Ralph's word. There were two officers on guard at +all times. There was no need to bother with Jack's injunction about +the lights, for in intensive care, they are never off. The man was +comatose for another two weeks and finally began to stir under the +sheet, still emaciated and pallid, but not as corpselike as he had +been. A shallow concave depression reached from his ear to the back +of the skull, showing where Jack had smashed him with the bar.

+

Several doctors, including two consultant neorologists put him +under a battery of examinations. O'Day was awake, but as they say, +though the lights were on, there was nobody home. He was unable to +speak properly, only managing a few grunted vowels. He had to be +taught how to eat and for hours at a time, he would go into a kind +of fugue, sitting with his head cocked to the side, mouth slack and +drooling, as if listening to far-off voices. His self- appointed +lawyers took the medical report on his assessed brain damage and +went hammer and tongs for Jack.

+

By this time, he was walking, though slowly, and with a stick. +Julia had been allowed out of hospital after two weeks, when the +infection in her abdomen had finally cleared and Jack re-learned +how to use the washing machine and iron clothes, making the house +tidy for her return. Davy remembered little about the incident, +though he had a repetitive nightmare for several weeks, in which +something came for him in the dark. Jack cuddled him until his +breath smoothed out and he fell back asleep. He saw Lorna Breck +every day.

+

Internal affairs hauled Jack through the mill, and while he +couldn't care less, the thought of Ronald Cowie's smirking face +helped him defend himself against an accusation of dereliction of +duty - in not arresting O'Day in the first place - and grievous +bodily harm. The senior officer from another force , having heard +the extent of his injuries, and having read Jack's daily reports, +requests for extra men, and uncanny predilection for being right, +dismissed the allegations. He remained off duty for a further two +months until the court case.

+

Michael O'Day appeared in a wheelchair at the High Court charged +only with the murder of Gordon Pirie, the young policeman, +attempted murder of Davy Forest and the killing of Marta Herkik, +although the evidence in that was circumstantial and his +unwitnessed admission that he had been in Cairn House that night +was inadmissable. His lawyers once again claimed police brutality, +but they were fighting in the face of the certain knowledge that +since O'Day's capture, there had been not a single killing in +Levenford.

+

The accused sat hunched in the dock, barely visible over the +wooden handbar. Jack sat with Lorna in the public gallery, both of +them mesmerised by the slack eyed thing which drooled between the +two court officers. It took less than a day for the solemn court +pronouncement that he was insane and unfit to plead. The Judge, +furnished by the prosecution with a full dossier on the atrocity +that had spawned in Levenford with the killing of Marta Herkik, +decided that as a matter of public safety, he should be confined to +the state mental hospital at Dalmoak without limit of time. O'Day +passed from the court's jurisdiction into other hands.

+

Lorna waited with Jack outside the courthouse when it was over. +She stayed close. Finally O'Day was wheeled out of the back door +towards the waiting secure transporter. The two policemen pushing +the wheelchair stopped, turned it to lift it into the van. Lorna +turned away, not wanting to look again at the man who had crawled +out from under the dark stairwell, but Jack could not avert his +eyes.

+

As O'Day was lifted inside, the vacant expression flicked off. +He blinked, focused, then hooked his eyes on Jack's. For several +eerie, unnerving seconds, he found himself locked with the other +man. Lively, malevolent intelligence danced in O'Day's burning +glare. He sat there, hunched like an old and crippled man, white +hair awry and patchy, yet his eyes were full of life of a kind. He +stared at Jack, mirthlessly challenging, then a creepy smile +altered his vapid face. The smile widened, became a grimace which +showed two blackened teeth. In that instant, Jack got a flash of a +wide, amphibious mouth set with rows of needle shards. O'Day lifted +a skinny grey hand and pointed at him. The small movement carried a +dreadful menace. Jack felt himself suddenly unmanned. Lorna felt +him shudder and looked up at him, saw his eyes fixed on O'Day and +turned round quickly.

+

As soon as she did, the malevolent light flicked out. O'Day's +hand fell to his lap. His mouth opened and a trickle of saliva +edged down his chin. The officers hauled him into the van and the +door closed.

+

"It's' over now," Lorna said.

+

Jack looked down at her, clamped his arm across her shoulder and +pulled her against him.

+

"Over and done."

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike40.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike40.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61972c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike40.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,297 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 40 + + + + +
+
+

40

+

Dalmoak State Mental Hospital is a sprawling cluster of +outhouses dominated by a large, square building with a quaintly +church-like little bell tower. Its whitewashed walls stand out in +contrast to the surrounding greenery of the countryside close to +the river snaking between Lochend and Levenford.

+

Passers by on train and in car may catch a glimpse of the +innocuous-seeming building, which, in some respects, was built on +the same lines as the old seminary in Arden, now rebuilt after the +disastrous fire of several years past. From the road, it is +sheltered by a line of chestnut trees, then a small conifer +plantation which hides the double perimeter fence, the nearest one +leaning inwards and topped by the lines of taut braided cable +connected to insulating saucers and carrying three thousand volts. +The chain link barrier furthest from the building, parallelling the +outer, leans outwards, making it difficult to climb. The spirals of +razor wire braided along the top, sixteen feet from the ground, add +to the discouragement.

+

Dalmoak State Mental Hospital is one of the three most secure +units for the criminally insane in the country. The second fence +was constructed after two of the inmates escaped and killed a +passing motorcycle patrolman to death with a single blow of a +garden spade which took his head off cleanly under his helmet and +batted it forty feet into the stand of chestnuts.

+

It is here, that some of the most notorious madmen have been +locked away, without limit of time. Behind the whitewashed walls, +in a barred room, sits Agnes McPhail, the child minder who one day +got fed up with the job and let go the six children she was looking +after. She did this by dropping them from the thirteenth floor of +the tower-block apartment, holding them by the ankles, then +watching them dwindle to become red smears on the concrete. Agnes +sits and counts up to six on her fingers and dreams of falling +bodies. She eats when told and masturbates constantly hauling up +her light cotton gown to rub frantically between her legs. Her +pupils have shrunk down to mere pin-points and she will never, +ever, get out of Dalmoak.

+

There are others too. Tom Muir, the Arden butcher who filleted +his wife Eadie and offered her as cutlets in his shop window during +the mayhem summer that's already part of the local history. James +Collins who starved his wife to death in the cellar of their home +while he watched pornographic videos in the living room. Annabel +Monkton, who stuck a knitting needle through her old mother's ear +and into her brain because she was fed up with the clicking sound +the old woman made when she knitted scarves. She was well enough, +between bouts of morbid depression, to take part in handicrafts, +but they never let her handle anything sharp since the day she +tried to put a needle into the eye of a frail old woman who had +been in Dalmoak since before the war for feeding her husband and +her family to the pigs on their farm.

+

O'Day was brought here and the assessment team took over. They +poked and prodded, tried him on barbiturates, electro-convulsive +therapy and all manner of things, because in a place like Dalmoak, +the inmates are lost to the world. They have ceased to be +considered as human beings.

+

Despite it all, the man remained catatonic. He sat still as +stone in his chair, or on his bed, not moving unless moved, +speaking to no one, eyes glazed and unfocussed. After the initial +burst of activity over a newcomer, they assigned him a room of his +own, watered, fed and cleaned him down when needed. He was a model, +if un-cooperative patient.

+

In the August of the following year the consultant psychiatrist +retired and after an internal upward shuffle, a new resident joined +the team. Derek Whiteford was three years out of medical school, +had interned in Glasgow, and was delighted not only with the +substantial increase in salary which allowed him enough to treat +himself to a convertible BMW, but also the chance to work with what +he considered the cream of mental patients.

+

Derek was young and enthusiastic. He had dealt with trauma, +schizophrenia, depression and nervous breakdowns. Here, however, +were the real psychopaths, people whose brains worked in different +ways from the rest of the population, people who heard messages +from God, from creatures under the stairs, or from whatever being +they believed in. People to whom the knowledge of good and evil had +been denied.

+

Up in the top corner of C Wing, he met Michael O'Day. The +notorious Shrike sat staring at the wall, giving not a +flicker of awareness. Derek talked to him, studying the man's eyes +for any hint of perception, but found none. He spent a fortnight, +arranged a battery of tests, trying to find a way in, until the +lack of response made him give up, disappointed, to seek fresh +ground.

+

It was a year to the day of Marta Herkik's death, with the +nights drawn in to early dark, that O'Day said his first word. A +winter storm was brewing over the Cardross Hills, flickering the +sky green-purple in sporadic flashes. Walter McGowan, a heavy-set +nurse with a short crop of iron hair and steroid-abuser's bull neck +had pushed the frail little man back onto the bed. With one +practiced twist, he'd pulled down the front of the one-piece +hospital gown, exposing a ribbed and crinkled chest.

+

"Washtime, Mickey," he said, jovially enough. The patient was no +trouble. As long as he was slunged down regularly, he didn't smell, +and that was fine for Walter. The thin old man didn't care whether +his cot was wet or dry, so there was no need to bother with the +rubber sheet. It would soon dry, eventually.

+

The nurse stripped O'Day quickly until he lay prone and white, +then dipped the sponge into the plastic bucket and drew it down the +man's body.

+

"Hot," O'Day said.

+

"What's that Mickey?" Walter asked automatically, before he +realised what had happened.

+

"Too hot," the man said, voice little more than a cackle.

+

Walter might have had a weightlifter's body, but he was not +stupid. He had a good paying job here, and he wanted to keep it. +The new doctor had given them all specific instructions about any +changes in patients' condition or behaviour. They had to be +reported immediately. He slung the sponge back in the pail, lifted +the bucket and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him +and locking it with a quick twist.

+

Dr Whiteford had taken off his immaculate work-coat and was +heading for the door as Walter came round the corner.

+

"Something's happened," the nurse told him.

+

The young man snatched his hand up to look at his watch.

+

"I've just finished," he said irritably.

+

"But you wanted to know. That's why I came right away."

+

Derek Whiteford sighed. "All right, what is it."

+

"It's O'Day. Up in C3."

+

"Go on," the new resident said, taking a step towards the +door.

+

"He just said something to me. He spoke."

+

Derek took another step then stopped and spun on his heel.

+

"What do you mean 'spoke'?"

+

"He just told me his wash water was too hot. Clear as day. It's +the first time I've ever heard him say anything. I thought you +should know."

+

The doctor's expression changed.

+

"You haven't told anyone else, have you?"

+

"No. I've just come down."

+

"Fine. Let's keep it to ourselves. Don't want to be precipitate, +do we?" If O'Day had spoken, then it was a sign he could be coming +out of the fugue. And if that was true, there was a certain paper +in the first psychiatric examination of the notorious Shrike.

+

"Won't say a word, Doc," Walter assured him. Whiteford patted +him on the shoulder, a patronising gesture, though Walter was ten +years older than he.

+

"Good man." He went back to his office, took off his jacket, and +got back into the hospital whites.

+

O'Day was completely naked, sitting on the bed. Water trickled +over his ribs. He was staring blankly at the wall, and at first the +doctor assumed Walter had been wrong.

+

"What's this, Mr O'Day. You should be in bed by now."

+

The man turned to him, and the vacant look vanished. Whiteford +felt a surge of ambitious delight.

+

"Not tired," he said, vaguely, then more strongly. "No need to +sleep."

+

"Welcome back, Michael. We'd given you up for lost."

+

"Lost? Lost souls, hot lost souls, burn forever."

+

"No doubt they do, Michael, no doubt they do," Whiteford replied +gleefully.

+

He told none of the other two psychiatrists about what had +happened. The following morning, he visited O'Day again, before +seeing any of the other patients. The man was sitting in the same +position, as if he hadn't moved. As soon as the doctor stepped into +the room, his eyes snapped open.

+

"Ah, the headshrinker," O'Day said slowly, his voice totally +accentless. "Come to look in my head."

+

"Come to have a chat, and an examination too." he brought out +his stethoscope and without a word, placed it against the man's +chest, then against the vein in his neck. The blood hissed +pneumatically. Under the beat, Whiteford heard the faint gurgle of +turbulence which spoke of valve damage. How serious, he could not +say. He would have to call in a specialist. He let the stethoscope +dangle at his neck and drew out the pressure meter, quickly rolling +the sleeve around the man's skinny arm and pumping the bulb until +it bit tight then listened again, the systolic reading was high. He +lowered the pressure, waiting for the diastolic. It was way up, +over the hundred. The heartbeat was raised too, and under the +pressure of the sleeve, the wheeze of cardiovascular damage was +unmistakeable. The man was hypertensive, heading maybe slowly, but +surely, for a brain haemorrhage. The resident ground his teeth, +wondering whether to call the general physician for a further +examination.

+

"Not long, I think," O'Day said quietly in his ear, so +unexpectedly that the doctor drew back.

+

"What?"

+

"Weak body. Not long." He turned to Whiteford. "And so much to +know."

+

Whiteford made up his mind.

+

"I want to ask you some questions."

+

"Ask and it shall be yours. Seek and ye shall find. All manner +of things."

+

He turned to the doctor and held his scrawny hand up.

+

"But later. I tire in this light. Come later and you shall know +everything." He stared straight into the young man's eyes. Finally, +and for some reason he could not fathom, the psychiatrist nodded. +He undid the pressure sleeve, slung it and the stethoscope back in +his back and left the room. He closed the door, and when it was +locked, he reached and inexplicably rocked the light-switch to +off.

+

At eight in the evening, when the consultant was out to dinner +and the senior psychiatrist was on a night off, Whiteford went back +up to C Wing and opened the heavy door to O'Day's room. He did not +put the light on.

+

This time the man was sitting, as naked as before, on his bed, +but instead of being hunched over listlessly, he was ramrod +straight, his legs folded, hands on his knees.

+

"Ah, the seeker of knowledge. The digger into the soul."

+

"More the mind, actually," the doctor responded, taken +aback.

+

"Mind, soul, self. There is nothing but the dark."

+

"You like the dark?"

+

"It is all," O'Day said in that strange flat voice. His white +body was a thin ghost in the dim light.

+

"I want to ask you a few questions."

+

"And I will answer, but I need an answer too."

+

"Go on."

+

"Will you share with me?"

+

"I don't know what you mean."

+

"Will you join me?"

+

"Of course I will," the young man said, baffled. He was so keen +to start the real file on O'Day that he would have said +anything.

+

"But you must invite me in," the wizened man said. His voice +sounded sly. "You must ask me to join you."

+

Whiteford shrugged. "Very well. I would be most grateful if you +would join me. Please do."

+

O'Day lifted his hands from his knees and reached forward, +taking the resident's hands in his own, a movement so smooth and so +quick it was done before the other man had time to react. The hands +were cold, bloodless. He drew the other forward.

+

A trickle of alarm ran through the doctor, then evaporated. +There was no harm in this emaciated little man. Even if he decided +to get violent, there was little he could achieve.

+

"Will you be one with me?" O'Day wheedled insistently.

+

"Of course, if that's what you want. But first I need...."

+

"Then join me," the white figure said. He leaned close to the +young doctor, eyes like pits in the dark. They opened and gleamed +yellow. Whiteford tried to draw back, tried to pull away, but the +eyes had snagged him. They grew wider, whirling yellow orange, +mesmeric circles in the dark. He stopped pulling away, found +himself leaning forward, began to fall towards the sick yellow.

+

Something changed.

+

Hot hunger sparked in his mind. The smell of blood was in his +nose and the taste of it in the back of his throat. A coldness +welled inside him and he thought of Walter, the big nurse, lying on +the floor of the pharmacy room, writhing in pain, his belly slit +from groin to sternum, slathered in blood. He saw the consultant, +flash Harry McLeish driving back from his dinner appointment, +bloated and warm. Outside the room, through the frosted glass, the +lightning pulsed in three sizzling stabs. He turned away from the +light, feeling it sear his skin.

+

The scent of blood was in his nose and his mind was hot and +sparking with the sudden urgent need.

+

In front of him, the skeletal man sat still. He reached for him, +very gently, feeling the pulse of ailing life. He took the wrinkled +head in his hands, savouring the touch, delighting in the surge of +appetite.

+

With one sudden flex, he pushed the man backwards so fast that +his head hit against the tiled wall with the sound of an apple +trodden underfoot. The air filled with the damp metal scent, and +something dripped in the dark.

+

At nine o'clock, Walter was coming out of the pharmacy, carrying +a box of rubber gloves for the nightly shit-and-shovel run on D +Wing when the light went out. He thought a bulb had blown, turned +to put the box down on the nearest surface when something hit him +from behind. He spun round and a cold slick ran across his +belly.

+

"Wha..." he started to say, then he was lifted by a colossal +power right off his feet. He felt himself forced backwards against +the wall. There was a thud and a popping sound as a sharp protusion +went straight through his neck. At that moment, he felt the +slippery wetness tumble from his abdomen, hot softness against his +legs, then a vast emptiness just under his ribs, just as the gloom +in the room turned to darkness, to blackness and faded to +nothing.

+

Dr Kirwan, the consultant who had succeeded to the job only +three months before, came driving up from the security gatehouse in +his new Jaguar. He spun the wheel, tyres crunching on the gravel, +killed the lights and stepped out.

+

He never saw what hit him. A dark shape lunged from behind an +azalea bush and snatched him off his feet. He felt himself tumble +through the air. A sharp obstruction snagged at his foot, pulled +free and he catapulted onwards. He landed on the high-voltage wires +and died instantly, his body dancing in death like a puppet. +Instantly the klaxons blared and one by one the outside lights came +on. Overhead, thunder exploded as a jagged fork of lightning +stabbed down at the chestnut trees and hailstones the size of +marbles began to bounce off the gravel.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike41.xhtml b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike41.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..863d1c7 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/shrike41.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,43 @@ + + + + + +Chapter 41 + + + + +
+
+

41

+

Her mouth opened, closed again, then she fell towards him. he +caught her in his arms and held her tight, smoothing her hair as if +she was a child.

+

"Tell me," he finally said.

+

She pulled back from him, body singing like a violin string, her +face a mask of anguish.

+

"It's come back," she said, her voice a dread whisper.

+

"What has?" he asked, though he didn't have to.

+

"It's come back again. It's all going to start over."

+

"Where?"

+

"I don't know yet. I saw it, and it saw me. It knows where I am. +It knows where we are."

+

He took her shoulders with both hands, gripping too tight. A +dreadful surge of certainty clenched in the pit of his stomach as +he looked into her eyes and saw the truth of it.

+

He stayed like that, locked with her for a long time until +finally he relaxed, and drew her back down on him, thinking. He had +too many people to protect. And he'd found Lorna Breck. It might +have brought them together, this Shrike, +but he would never let it pull them apart.

+

"Well, we won't wait for it this time." he said.

+

THE END.

+
+
+ + diff --git a/build/shrike/OEBPS/toc.ncx b/build/shrike/OEBPS/toc.ncx new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6790829 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/OEBPS/toc.ncx @@ -0,0 +1,291 @@ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Shrike + + + + + + Title Page + + + + + + About the Author + + + + + + About the Book + + + + + + + Chapter 1 + + + + + + Chapter 2 + + + + + + Chapter 3 + + + + + + Chapter 4 + + + + + + Chapter 5 + + + + + + Chapter 6 + + + + + + Chapter 7 + + + + + + Chapter 8 + + + + + + Chapter 9 + + + + + + Chapter 10 + + + + + + Chapter 11 + + + + + + Chapter 12 + + + + + + Chapter 13 + + + + + + Chapter 14 + + + + + + Chapter 15 + + + + + + Chapter 16 + + + + + + Chapter 17 + + + + + + Chapter 18 + + + + + + Chapter 19 + + + + + + Chapter 20 + + + + + + Chapter 21 + + + + + + Chapter 22 + + + + + + Chapter 23 + + + + + + Chapter 24 + + + + + + Chapter 25 + + + + + + Chapter 26 + + + + + + Chapter 27 + + + + + + Chapter 28 + + + + + + Chapter 29 + + + + + + Chapter 30 + + + + + + Chapter 31 + + + + + + Chapter 32 + + + + + + Chapter 33 + + + + + + Chapter 34 + + + + + + Chapter 35 + + + + + + Chapter 36 + + + + + + Chapter 37 + + + + + + Chapter 38 + + + + + + Chapter 39 + + + + + + Chapter 40 + + + + + + Chapter 41 + + + + + + + Other books + + + + + diff --git a/build/shrike/mimetype b/build/shrike/mimetype new file mode 100644 index 0000000..57ef03f --- /dev/null +++ b/build/shrike/mimetype @@ -0,0 +1 @@ +application/epub+zip \ No newline at end of file diff --git a/build/template.xhtml b/build/template.xhtml new file mode 100644 index 0000000..323ca12 --- /dev/null +++ b/build/template.xhtml @@ -0,0 +1,19 @@ + + + + + Mythlands - Chapter + + + + +
+
+ +
+
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