Changeling Dark Moon Page 12

  He turned to leave, shouting over his shoulder as he went, ‘The fridge and food cupboards are all full so feel free to eat and drink anything that you want.’

  Tom walked into the room. He’d evidently started to unpack some of the items that Hjelmar had left for him because he held an ugly-looking assault rifle in the crook of his arm. ‘Who wants a nice cup of tea?’ he asked.

  The interior of the room resembled the site of an explosion. Pieces of splintered wood and twisted metal littered the floor and in the centre of the room, not far from the strange revenant creature, two dead bodies lay like gruesome islands floating in a crimson sea. One of the dead demons had had its head torn off, although there appeared to be no sign of the missing item. The other body looked as if it had been crushed by some huge weight: organs and other parts that should have been on the inside were on the outside, extruded from it on to the ghastly, slippery mess that had become of the floor.

  The remaining two Maug guards were standing against the wall as far away from the Draugr as they could get. In their hands they clutched long, cruel-looking spears, but their eyes reflected nothing but undiluted fear as they eyeballed the creature before them.

  ‘What is the meaning of this?’ Caliban’s voice cut through the eerily silent room that only a short time ago had been filled with a symphony of agonized screams. He stood in the doorway and eyed the guards with contempt. ‘Why are the two of you skulking there in the shadows? Clear this mess up.’

  They mumbled their apologies but gave no sign of moving from their position of relative safety.

  The vampire regarded the chaos before turning his gaze to the creature standing in the centre of the room. He slowly walked in, stepping over the flotsam and jetsam that punctuated the bloody floor. The Draugr regarded him through long-dead eyes. It stood in the centre of the room, its great barrel chest heaving up and down, watching Caliban approach. Around its wrists were what appeared to be thick silver-grey bands of shimmering light that was fluidlike in the way that it flowed in unison with the creature’s movements. The restraints flowed down from the creature’s arms to the floor on either side, where they were anchored to some invisible points. The monster was pure power. Great slabs of sinuous muscle lay beneath its bluish-black skin, rippling and contracting as it strained against its shackles. There was a putrefying stench of decay and death in the room that was overwhelming, and Caliban had to resist the urge to cover his mouth with a handkerchief. It was impossible to think that this creature had ever been human.

  The vampire stepped forward. Judging from the circle of damage, he was now within the creature’s range.

  ‘Careful, master,’ said one of the Maug from behind him.

  ‘Silence, you cretin!’ Caliban commanded without looking round at the two terrified demons.

  ‘It’s just that it—’

  The rest of the sentence was cut off by the deafening roar that emanated from the shackled beast in the middle of the room. Caliban watched as it peeled back black lips to reveal the series of daggers that lined its mouth, its entire face contorting into a mask of fury. A smile flickered across the vampire’s features as the creature began to expand in size very rapidly – the thunderous roar increasing in volume to match this sudden accretion. The thing now stood a good twelve feet in height, and Caliban marvelled at the strength of the magic that denied it its freedom, watching as the thing raged and tore to be loose from the restraints at its wrists. It lunged towards him – the speed that it moved a contradiction to its immense size and bulk. The huge open maw hurtled towards the vampire’s face, teeth bared and ready to rend flesh from bone.

  Caliban waited until the last moment before he misted, reappearing at a spot no more than three feet back from where he had stood, and watched as the creature’s teeth met with a snap around nothing but air. The smile he had worn throughout still adorned his cruel features and he turned to the sorceress by his side.

  ‘Feisty little thing, isn’t he? Tell me, Gwendolin, do you think it can be … tamed in any way?’

  The sorceress regarded the undead monster and slowly shook her head. ‘I think that my original concerns have proven correct. They have been underground for too long,’ she said. ‘The rage that they have built up over the centuries has consumed them. They want revenge against a world that has forgotten them, but they seem happy to destroy anything and everything that they encounter in the meantime. They appear to have lost all ability to communicate.’

  ‘And this is the only one that we have successfully managed to restore to life?’ the vampire asked.

  ‘Yes. There would appear to be another lying in a burial mound not far from where we recovered this one, but we have put off digging it out. We could do so, and use the Globe’s powers again to see if we might be successful but I am pessimistic. As you know, we have found it much harder than we had thought it would be.’

  Caliban studied the creature again as it gradually shrank back to its previous size. After a moment he let out a short, humourless laugh.

  ‘Have the other one brought back and see if it too can be resurrected,’ he said.

  ‘But, master, you’ve seen …’

  Caliban raised the prosthetic hand that now adorned his right wrist, cutting her off with the gesture. The curved blades at the end of the fingers reflected what little light was in the room. He pointed towards the beast, which had not taken its eyes off him since he had entered. ‘Sadly, they appear to be of no use to me as part of my army. But I believe that any creature with such pure, unadulterated rage is still something that I would like to have restored to the human world.’ He turned to Gwendolin and narrowed his eyes. ‘If, and when, you revive the other one, I want you to have them transported down to the capital city of this godforsaken land and then have them set free. If it is revenge that these creatures want, who am I to disappoint them?’

  Gwendolin managed a thin smile that she hoped would mask the dismay she felt at hearing this command. She was already exhausted, and now she was being asked to expend even more energy on what was little more than a vicious and diabolical whim. ‘Very good, master. I shall see to it personally.’

  Caliban turned to the two guards that were still lurking at the far end of the room. ‘Be sure to clean this mess up,’ he said with a careless gesture over his shoulder.

  An unkind smile played on his face as he left the room and turned back up the corridor. Perhaps this experiment was not to be a complete waste of time after all.

  It was the birdsong that woke Martin Tipsbury the next morning, that and the smell of the wild flowers that drifted in through the open windows. He swung himself out of bed and looked out on to the view, smiling at the sight. It was like looking at a picture in a glossy travel brochure. Brightly coloured birds hopped from branch to branch high up in the tall gardenia trees, whose white blooms produced the strong scent that drifted in to him on the breeze. Beyond the gardens of the villa the white sand of the beach stretched out towards an azure sea that reflected back the late-morning sunshine as white-hot pinpricks of light.

  He and Philippa had arrived at the villa a little after three o’clock that morning, after transferring to this island, Praslin, from the main island in a small Bell 206 helicopter. Despite the sleep that they had both managed to get on the plane, the trip had left them groggy and wanting nothing more than to throw their things down and climb into bed. The housekeeper, Mrs Beauchamp, had been waiting for them when they arrived and had fussed around, arranging for their bags to be placed in their rooms and asking them if they wanted to eat. They had politely declined her offers of food and collapsed on their beds instead. Philippa was in a room just down from his own and he hoped that she too had enjoyed this view when she arose.

  Philippa had spent most of the plane journey in silence. When she had not been asleep she had simply stared out of the window at the sea of clouds below. She had eaten little and simply smiled politely and nodded whenever Martin had asked her if she was OK. He sincerely hoped
that this did not signal the return of the usual sullen and aggressive attitude that he had come to expect. He still held out some hope that this surprise holiday could be the beginning of a new start for them both. He loved his daughter, but she seemed to be filled with little more than thinly disguised contempt for him, and nothing that he did was good enough any more. He hoped that there might still be time to put things right before she drifted away from him forever.

  He stepped back from the window and stretched, arching his back and letting out a deep sigh of satisfaction. He moved back into the room, humming tunelessly to himself, and noticed the telephone on the bedside table. He walked over to it and studied it for a moment. He wanted to phone Mr O’Callahan back in the UK. To tell him that he had arrived safely and thank him for this opportunity. Martin could never have afforded a trip like this, and he smiled at his good fortune. He had been told that he was not to call anyone during the trip, but he didn’t see what harm calling his boss could do. He picked up the receiver and was about to dial when he heard his daughter’s voice on the other end of the line. He frowned, looking down at the device in his hand before returning it to his ear. Philippa was speaking to someone from a telephone somewhere else in the villa.

  ‘That’s right,’ she said, ‘just the two of us. Tonight … Curieuse.’

  The man repeated the details of the trip back to her, confirming the times that she had obviously given him before Martin had picked up at his end.

  ‘That’s fine, thank you. Oh, and there is a very good chance that only one of us will be coming back when you come to collect us, so if you could let the skipper know that in advance – thank you.’

  She hung up and Martin stared down at the receiver again as if uncertain how it had got there in the first place. A strange feeling came over him. It was something about the way that Philippa had spoken – her voice cold and hard with something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Who the hell had she been talking to? And what did she mean, ‘Only one of us will be coming back’? He lifted the phone up to his ear again, but the line was dead. Replacing the handset in its cradle he sat back on the bed and tried to figure out what on earth was going on. He considered how very oddly she had been acting towards him since he had arrived home yesterday. He wasn’t used to smiles and kisses and cups of tea. Instead, upon announcing that they had to leave for the airport, he’d expected swearing and violence and vitriolic abuse. Something was wrong. He’d tried to kid himself that it wasn’t, but something was badly wrong.

  There is a very good chance that only one of us will be coming back.

  An uncomfortable idea crowbarred its way into his mind. He shook his head, silently admonishing himself for imagining such a foolish and fanciful notion. But once it had found its way in there was no hope of him ridding himself of the terrible thought he had just had, and the more he tried to ignore it the more convinced he became that it might just be true. Horrifying, yes, but true nevertheless. He was surrounded on a daily basis by demons and djinn and other creatures that he didn’t care to think about, deliriously happy that as a human he could not see them for what they really were. But he knew. He’d always known. And Lucien had been honest with him about what his business was and what it tried to do. And Martin had been happy to take the generous salary that he’d been offered, telling himself that it didn’t matter and trying not to think about who and what he shared the office with.

  But what if something had happened? What if one of those creatures had done something to Philippa, and—

  He shook his head, trying to force the thought away.

  He leaned forward and tapped out the number of Tom O’Callahan’s mobile phone, needing someone – anyone – to speak to.

  ‘Who was that you were calling?’ Philippa asked as Martin entered the kitchen area. She was dressed in a red swimming costume with a brightly coloured sarong wrapped around her waist. The sight of her in anything that wasn’t black halted him for a second. She looked like a different person.

  ‘Calling?’

  ‘I thought that I heard you talking to somebody on the phone when I came in from the garden.’

  Martin shook his head. ‘No, not me. I’ve just this moment woken up and came straight down here. Where is Mrs Beauchamp?’

  ‘She’s popped out for a moment to get some provisions. I told her the type of food that we like to eat. I asked her to get lots of fish for you; I know how much you like fish.’

  Martin did like fish, but they never ate it at home because Philippa refused to have the smell in the house. She was a vegetarian and the mere smell of fish or meat sent her into fits of histrionics about the exploitation of animals. He mumbled his thanks as he sat down at the table next to her, helping himself to a banana from the large bowl of fruit in the centre. He peeled the fruit, considering idly why he was doing so – he had no intention of eating it. He was surprised by how calm he felt (or was it just empty?) and even managed to smile back at his daughter when she asked him how he was feeling today.

  ‘I’ve been looking through this guidebook that Mrs Beauchamp gave me,’ she said. ‘I think we should take advantage of your company’s offer and try to do as much as we can while we are here. I’d like to go on a trip to the neighbouring island, Curieuse.’ She pointed to a picture of a beautiful island rising up from a sapphire sea. She reached over and placed her hand on his arm, giving it a little squeeze.

  ‘It’s almost deserted,’ she said. ‘We could hire a boat and the two of us could go over this evening. Mrs Beauchamp says that if we are lucky we might even see green turtles coming up on to the beach to lay eggs. She said we should take a picnic and we can watch them from the cover of the trees. So what do you think?’

  Martin swallowed hard. He looked into his daughter’s eyes and hoped that he was wrong in his suspicions, and that the preposterous theory that he had related to Mr O’Callahan moments ago was just that. Surely he’d lost his mind if he thought that his daughter could be capable of anything so malevolent. And yet he kept thinking of that voice he’d overheard on the line and how it had terrified him to the core.

  ‘Sounds nice …’ he managed to mutter.

  ‘Good. Then I’ll nip into town and see about getting us a boat.’ She gave his arm another little squeeze. ‘It’ll be a night you’ll never forget, Dad.’ She stood up and went to leave.

  ‘You look good in red, Philippa,’ Martin said in a quiet voice. ‘Suits you. Makes a change from all that black.’

  She looked down at the swimsuit and smiled back at him. ‘I bought it at the airport while you were book shopping. I thought it’d make a nice change. Black’s a bit morbid to be wearing in a place like this. I’m thinking of giving up the whole goth thing anyway.’

  Martin watched her leave the room and walk on to the sun-baked veranda outside. He glanced down at the banana still in his hand and put it back on the plate in front of him.

  If he was right, his daughter planned to murder him tonight and he didn’t have the slightest clue what he was going to do about it.

  ‘Who on earth was that calling you at this time in the morning?’ Trey asked Tom as he entered the kitchen.

  ‘Just somebody that needed to update me on something,’ the Irishman said with a frown, glancing at his watch. ‘More to the point, what the hell are you doing up at this hour? You don’t normally crawl from your pit for at least another five or six hours. Was your bed on fire or something?’

  It was five o’clock in the morning. The blackness visible behind the shuttered windows was absolute – there was no street lighting, or indeed any of the light pollution from offices, cars and houses that Trey was used to, living in the big city – just a complete darkness without any source of light to fix upon.

  ‘Couldn’t sleep,’ Trey said.

  ‘That’s understandable. Nerves get the best of everyone, Trey. I myself get the heebie-jeebies before going into something like this.’

  They both turned round in surprise at the sound of s
omebody else coming into the kitchen. Alexa was leaning in the doorway, glistening tears tracking down her cheeks. ‘I’ve just had a phone call from Dr Tremaine.’ She cocked her head to one side and stared at Tom accusatorily.

  ‘I asked them not to call you,’ Tom said in a low voice, holding her stare. ‘I didn’t want you to panic if he took a turn for the worse.’

  ‘I guessed you might do that so I spoke to Dr Tremaine before we left and left direct instructions to ignore any orders that you might have given to that effect.’

  Tom slowly nodded his head.

  Alexa looked down at the mobile phone on the table in front of the Irishman. ‘They called you first,’ she said.

  ‘Will somebody please tell me what is going on here?’ Trey said, looking between the two.

  ‘They called from London. Lucien’s condition has deteriorated and they don’t think he’ll survive for very much longer.’

  ‘How long has he got?’

  ‘They’re not certain. Two days? A week at best.’

  A silence hung over them all as they considered what Tom had just said. Trey stared at the table, picturing Lucien lying in the room in London surrounded by machines.

  ‘We need to get to Leroth,’ he said.

  ‘We will,’ Tom growled, getting up and retrieving three cups from the cupboard over the sink. ‘We’ll get that Globe and get back to London in time to use it to heal Lucien. I won’t hear of any other outcome to this mission. We leave tonight as soon as it’s dark. I’m waiting on one final delivery – a piece of equipment that I’ve ordered. Then I think we’re ready to go.’