by Adam Carter
“So what is that, then?” Tarne asked.
“The Eye of Hecate,” Peterson laughed.
“The real eye of Hecate?” Tarne asked.
“No, you daft mare, that’s just the name of the jewel.”
“Oh, Sorry.”
Peterson shook his head. “I have an escape boat coming for me and I intend to catch it. Don’t try to stop me and you get to live. All of you. Don’t make me fire again.”
“If you do,” Mbana told him, “you lose all your bargaining position.”
“Well, clearly, but you wouldn’t be foolish enough to charge ...” He had not even finished the sentence before Mbana charged with a primal scream upon his lips. Peterson fired through instinct; the bullet tore through Mbana’s thigh, but did not slow him in the slightest. The big man smashed out with one mighty fist, and Peterson ducked it, punching out with the empty box into Mbana’s gut. Mbana staggered backwards and Peterson brought the box down sharply upon the back of his head, but Mbana did not fall.
Seeing her only friend being so brutalised, Tarne sprang into action, brandishing her knife and flinging herself at Peterson. He grabbed hold of her wrist that he might prevent her from stabbing him to death, and Tarne cursed that she could not find the best angle by which to land such a blow. Mayhew, crawling across the deck, attempted to trip Peterson, although only succeeded in getting in the way of Tarne instead.
Struggling as they were, Tarne yanked on Peterson’s arm and watched the jewel fly through the air. Mbana caught it easily in one of his strong hands. The gem disappeared within his palm, the light of Heaven streaming through his fingers.
“I have the jewel,” Mbana, laughed, then flew backwards as a bullet tore through his brain.
Tarne and Peterson ceased struggling immediately, both lying upon the deck, both looking up in horror at the form of Captain Shawe standing before them, cocking his smoking pistol. “No treasure on board this ship,” he muttered. “Din expec’ ol’ Mbana to betray me though, but ah suspec’ that li’l trinket was the reason fer comin’ here.” He spat upon the floor. “Sorry,” he said to Tarne and Peterson, “didn’t see ya down there.”
“Oh God,” Tarne said, wiping the foul thick globs from her eyes.
Shawe regarded them with a frown. “Din know priests were ‘lowed to go in for that sort a thing, Darius.”
“We’re not ...” Tarne started, then realised there was far more at stake here than her reputation.
“Who’s that?” Shawe indicated Mayhew.
“Sir Phileas Mayhew,” Peterson said.
Tarne jumped as another shot sounded within the cabin, and Mayhew jerked backwards to move no more. Shawe holstered his weapon. “Now, where’d that jewel get ta?”
Shawe ignored Peterson and Tarne as he began to search for the lost gem, and they both rose to their feet. “We find that jewel,” Peterson whispered to her, “and we leave here rich.”
“Mbana’s dead.”
“Shh,” Peterson hissed. “Do you have any idea how much that thing is worth? Shawe doesn’t suspect, but it could buy half the British Navy. We find it, we split it, and we both get out of here rich.”
“I don’t want to be rich.”
“Then what do you want?”
“To get away from Sara Kiel, preferably before she appears anywhere near me. And to do that I’m going to have to find some cat’s eyes.”
“Cat’s eyes?” Peterson asked. “Like Hecate?”
Tarne blinked. Then she blinked again. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so dumb.”
They scrabbled upon the floor for the jewel, all three of them, and within but a few moments one of them found it. Unfortunately for Tarne, it was Peterson who pocketed it and moved for the door. Until he was stopped as Captain Shawe shot him twice through the back.
Tarne winced in horror as the body slid down against the wall. “Do you have to shoot everything that moves?” she asked.
“Keeps me alive, girlie,” Shawe said, spitting again. He crouched over the body of Peterson and rifled through his pockets, and Tarne realised she had to get the jewel off him before he left the cabin. She searched about for a means of accomplishing this, her eyes falling upon the discarded ornate box. She picked it up slowly, glanced across to the crouched captain, stole lightly towards him and brought the box down heavily across his head.
Tarne grabbed the jewel and fled the cabin before Shawe could recover, darting into another part of the vessel that she might examine her find. The jewel was palm-sized, although she could not tell what kind of gem it was. It seemed valuable, if only by its sparkle, and surely more valuable to her since it was the means by which she would be able to leave this place. But now that she had it, she realised with some dismay that she had no idea what she was supposed to do with it.
“Sorry about that,” a voice came suddenly, “I got a little distracted.”
And then she looked about herself sharply, for her surroundings had changed drastically. Gone were the ship and the noise, gone also was the jewel; to be replaced only with a local darkness and a complete and disturbing lack of floor, ceiling or walls. In fact, her feet seemed to be walking upon nothing, her toes pointing straight down as though she was treading water or floating. There was also an old man with her, and he smiled reassuringly.
“Didn’t mean to take that long,” Old Man Robes said, “but now that we’ve got you out of that rather wet little world, what say you and I have ourselves a little chat, shall we?”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Heather Tarne was running. She did not recall why she was running, only that she must if she wished to survive. Her heart pounded within her breast and she understood something terrible was giving chase. That it was inhuman was not in question, although exactly what it was she could not say. She stumbled, slipping in the harsh rains, falling to scuff a knee against the rough ground. The darkness about her was almost complete, and she could barely even see the walls of the alley. She knew the folk of the town had purposefully extinguished all lights for fear of drawing the attention of the creature, and Tarne cursed their fear for keeping her sightless. She rose quickly, casting a brief glance behind her before continuing onwards, knowing only she had to get away immediately.
She reached the end of the alleyway and peered across the street. The street itself was wide, and while the flames of the lampposts had been extinguished, by the light of the moon was she able to make out the rough forms of several buildings. The thing was behind her, she could feel its presence, and she clutched protectively at her breast, where her fingers felt the warmth of the charm about her throat.
A chittering erupted in her ears then and Tarne stifled a paralysed gasp as the ground moved before her. A veritable sea of rats churned about her feet, and she backed away, farther into the alley from which she had just escaped. Eyes wide with fear of the rodents, Tarne realised she was being herded that way by the small devilish creatures.
She did not pause, but ran through them. They gave squeals of pain and fierce anger and nipped at her toes, although Tarne did not stop. Her sandals would not protect her feet from such an assault and she had no wish to be brought down this night by a plague of vermin. She ran, outdistancing them and at the same time fighting against the torrential winds and rain which battered her back towards the alley.
Tarne reached the far end of the street. Doors and windows were barred with wooden beams and iron nails. All the doors were locked, and she could find nothing which would allow her through.
Then a dark and terrible laughter gripped her very soul, and she spun about, placing her back directly upon the sodden wall, to see a creature she could barely describe emerge from the alleyway. It moved with the speed of a spider which has caught the vibration of a fly in its sticky strands, and appeared the colour of sin. The creature scuttled across the walls upon the opposite side of the street, shooting vertically upwards to come to rest in a crouch upon the far roof. From her vantage point, she could see little of the fiend, although
its eyes bore into her like crimson vestibules of blood-red hatred.
The creature hissed and leaped, pushing itself from the roof with powerful, piston-like legs, reaching out with long, sinuous arms to catch hold of the gutter of the roof upon her own side of the street. Tarne followed its movements in horror, and the thing scurried partway down the wall towards her. She could see now that it was of a man’s shape, although was able to acquit itself of agile feats no human could ever hope to ape.
The thing landed, leaping from the wall and dropping into a crouch directly before her without even making the noise of a cat. The rains ceased immediately, the air became still as the winds perished, although the darkness ever remained. Tarne found herself strangely drawn to this creature, this man. His gaze held her, his eyes almost captivating. She could see his face clearly now, and smiled with a strange relief, for his angular, imperious face was both handsome and entirely friendly. He sported a pencil-thin moustache and sharp, intelligent eyes, and his demeanour was now relaxed and almost distant. He held no weapons, nor any ill intent, and she was certain that whoever he was, she had been waiting for him for a long time. She felt safe in his presence and wondered why she had ever been fearful at all. There was the scent of honey in the air, and he seemed to drift away from her upon the light spring breeze which brought alive the sunshine of the morning.
The creature screamed, and Tarne’s mind snapped back to the present. It was upon her, and yet was recoiling. She could see it was in pain, could see also that its teeth were fangs of several inches. The darkness had returned in an instant. Clutching the charm at her breast, Tarne watched as the creature backed off several paces and hissed at her from the shadows of the night.
And then water of some form sloshed from a window directly above her and hit the street, sending a showering wave over both Tarne and the creature. The water soaked Tarne through to the skin, although the creature screamed and twisted in physical torment upon the floor. Tarne watched in shock as the thing bounded backwards, then scurried away down the street without once looking back.
A hand closed upon Tarne’s shoulder from behind and dragged her roughly through the double-doors of the saloon to which her back was pressed. And then Tarne’s mind closed, and she knew no more.
*
The public house was not large, although Tarne suspected it of being a family-run business and that it stood as the staple of meeting points within the town. From the décor, Tarne suspected the year to be somewhere in the eighteen hundreds. There were several tables in the common room and a bar off to one side, behind which several rows of glasses were arrayed. The beer pumps did not seem too different from the ones Tarne was used to in the present day (whenever that was).
There was a girl of about seventeen years forcing wine down her throat, and Tarne realised she was sitting at one of the tables, although did not remember having done so. The young woman was of a peasant’s appearance, and the richest thing she wore was her expression of deep concern. There was another within the room also; a heavy-set man of fifty years with a wide, healthy moustache and a terribly receding hairline. He seemed very distraught, and Tarne wondered why.
“I think I’ve had enough wine, thanks,” Tarne said, leaning against the table and trying to get her bearings.
“I’m just glad you’re all right, Heather,” the woman said worriedly. “For a minute there I thought it had all gone terribly, terribly wrong.”
“What had?” Tarne asked.
“Bless her, she doesn’t remember,” the woman said across to the man.
Tarne knew she did not not remember, but that she did not know, although could not say such. Instead, she seized this as an opportunity to have everything explained to her quickly. “Just tell me what happened,” she urged.
“The water was badly timed,” the woman explained hurriedly. “Justin was supposed to drop the water over you both, although we didn’t expect for von Tier to react the way he did. We told you not to take the crucifix, Heather.”
Tarne blinked, her hand going unconsciously to the charm still about her neck. “You’re telling me,” she worked out, “that I was the bait in a trap to catch that thing? That it was supposed to follow me, so you could pour a vat of acid over it?”
“Not acid, garlic water,” the woman said. “It wouldn’t have harmed you, but would’ve weakened the baron enough for us to rush out and stake him.”
Crucifix ... garlic ... stake ... Tarne’s mind worked through everything she was being told.
“So this baron’s a vampire, then?” she guessed.
“Baron von Tier has been terrorising our people for months now,” the woman explained. “Right after he awakened and took up residence in his family’s castle.”
“So they’re all vampires as well?” Tarne asked, still trying to piece everything together.
“Some of them are now,” the man said, stepping forward. “Now the baron’s taken them for his wives. The menfolk he killed outright, fed off their blood. We could hear their screams even from down here in the valley. They tried to resurrect him, thinking it would be a good thing to have an immortal from the pits of Hell back upon God’s Earth, and did not stop to consider the consequences of their actions. Now the baron preys upon us each night.”
“So you used me as bait?” Tarne asked again.
“Emily here wanted to go,” the man said, “although I wouldn’t have my daughter risked in this folly, and Justin agreed. Not my fault you volunteered for it, Heather. I warned you not to go, although you probably don’t recall that either.”
Tarne glanced towards the bar, saw the plaque reading ‘Walters and sons’ and said, “It’s beginning to come back to me, Mr Walters.”
The door opened and everyone started, although the man entering was not the creature whom Tarne had encountered. He was a tall man of striking appearance, clean-shaven with eyes pure and beautiful.
“Justin,” Emily said excitedly, throwing her arms about his throat in relief. “You shouldn’t’ve gone after him like that.”
“The plan was to soak him and stake him,” Justin explained, “and I reasoned we might never get another opportunity like this. I had to try, dearest Emily, if only for your sake.”
Tarne watched the two of them staring into one another’s eyes and very much hoped this Justin was not one of the sons mentioned upon the plaque. “I take it you failed, then,” Tarne said.
Justin scowled at her, releasing his hold upon Emily. “No thanks to you, Heather. What were you thinking, taking that crucifix out with you?”
“Probably trying to stay alive,” Tarne explained. “Why didn’t you drop the water sooner if you were that concerned for me?”
“Stop it, both of you,” Emily said, stepping between them, even though Tarne had not even bothered to get up. “Juss, Heather’s lost some of her memory; probably because of the mesmerisation. We can’t be clear of anything right now.”
Justin nodded, still seeming bitter to Tarne’s mind, and said, “In case you’re embarrassed to ask after anything you might have forgotten, my name is Justin Argers, and these are Peter Walters and his daughter Emily. The villain you faced is named Baron Harper von Tier, and he’s been plaguing us for some time now.”
“We covered the baron,” Tarne said. “How do I fit into this little family of yours?”
“Beg pardon?”
“Well these two are related, you’re clearly sweet on Emily here, but how do I fit in? Am I related to any of you or what?”
No one seemed to have an answer to that one, and Tarne decided she did not care for one after all. “So,” she said in order to change the subject, “when do I get to meet the sons the plaque mentions?”
“Perhaps soon,” Mr Walters said shallowly, “but hopefully not for many years to come. The baron killed them both a long time ago.”
Tarne cursed herself for a fool, although said nothing aloud.
After a few further moments of uncomfortable silence, Justin said, “I think I
should check the upstairs wards,” and he disappeared. The remainder of the night passed in an equally unsettling manner.
*
Morning brought little light. Tarne found some breakfast downstairs and ate alone, for everyone else seemed to have left the public house already or else was presently readying the establishment for the day’s work. It occurred to her then that she did not eat or drink all that much, and wondered whether the actual time she was spending in each of these worlds was comparable to real-time. Then she decided that thinking about such things was giving her a headache, so she just ate her breakfast instead.
One thing she was thinking about, however, was her sudden appearance in this strange nineteenth-century dimension. She remembered being on board the Red Scorpion, recalled also speaking with Old Man Robes just as he whisked her away to some insanely dark dimension. He had indicated he would give her some answers, and then she had blinked and had found herself in the very next instant running for her life down a darkened alleyway.
Tarne considered things slowly, chewing over some fried toast, and realised she was becoming more used to her lives as she entered them. She had known instinctively to head for the pub, which of course had been the plan; but it had been Justin’s plan, not hers. Within both this world and the last one, she seemed to have a role to play, an existence pre-determined. It was as though she was stepping into another’s life almost, which was quite frightening in fact, because it might well mean that anything she did in these lives directly affected someone else.
She thought about the giant cod and the chess game in the arena and a few dozen other things which had made little or no sense, and could not believe they were real in the slightest. There was some twisted, surreal weirdness in the air, and she wished she understood even some of it.