Loch of the Dead

by Loch of the Dead (retail) (epub)

  The entire rock seemed to move, its shape shifting like the squirming insides of a living thing. He had to blink a few times to convince himself: it was a thick carpet of wings. Hundreds and hundreds. Bats huddled all over the cave’s surface, their wings pressed against each other’s. The cave was a black mass of coriaceous skin, matted fur and glowing little eyes, covering every square inch available.

  McGray had to hold his gun with both hands to steady it, and took a careful step forward.

  The gallery opened to his right, lit by a crackling fire, but McGray’s eyes went to a bat that unhinged itself from the ceiling and glided down to perch on a nearby stone fountain. It was one of those ornaments for garden birds, only this one was not meant to hold water. McGray felt a shiver as the animal bent down to drink blood from it.

  He had to repress a gasp, for the girl Helena stood beside the fountain, her back turned to them. She held her arm up high, a rather large bat clinging to her long sleeve, upside-down and wrapped in its own wings. The girl dipped a little glass into the fountain and fed the ghastly, viscous substance to the animal. The bat licked noisily, like a hungry cat.

  McGray looked beyond her and saw the rest of the Nelapsi family gathered around a small hearth ensconced in the rock. None of them was looking at the entrance, their eyes and ears rapt on their distraught matriarch.

  ‘How could you do it, Lazarus?’ Mrs Nelapsi was screeching, her hands resembling claws. ‘How could you?’

  ‘I did what I had to . . .’ her son retorted. He was leaning towards his father, who lay on a bed of moth-eaten cushions close to the fire. Lazarus was offering him wine, which his mother knocked from his hand. The pewter goblet fell to the floor with a loud racket.

  The woman stood up, covering her mouth in disgust. And then she saw McGray.

  ‘Don’t move!’ he roared, his shout disturbing wings throughout the cave. He moved forward, making room for Maurice to step in and point the shotgun. The bats moved and squeaked nervously, the one under Helena’s arm extending its wings and showing its teeth at the intruders.

  All the Nelapsis turned to face them: Lazarus made to stand up; Miss Fletcher, who’d been leaning against the wall, started forward; Benjamin, seated on the opposite side of the hearth, jumped to his feet.

  ‘I said, don’t fucking move! Are youse deaf?’

  Helena’s bat flapped its wings madly. The girl whined and dropped the glass of blood, which smashed to pieces on the filthy floor.

  Behind her McGray caught a slight movement: Benjamin was slowly stretching his arm towards a rifle that rested on the wall.

  ‘Leave that there, laddie,’ McGray told him, aiming his gun directly at the boy’s head. He looked at Helena. ‘Go to yer mother, lassie.’

  Her chest heaving and her eyes pooling tears, the girl carefully deposited the bat on the edge of the fountain and then rushed to her mother’s arms.

  Both McGray and Maurice moved their aim from left to right, watching everyone’s movements.

  Miss Fletcher cautiously raised one of her large palms. ‘I can explain –’

  ‘Shut it, lass! I’ll do the talking.’

  He didn’t do so immediately. First he had a good look around.

  There were two long tables in the centre of the cave, crammed with all manner of artefacts, most of them splattered with guano. There were bat skeletons, the swirling tubes of distillation systems, all manner of knives, scalpels, saws and tweezers. And a multitude of jars of all shapes and heights fitted snugly into every spare space between: jars of urine, of black powders, of flakes of desiccated guano, of blood samples that ranged from the slightly crimson to the almost black. McGray sniffed, disgusted by the mixture of ammoniacal and sulphurous smells that the containers gave off.

  ‘Youse drink blood!’ McGray cried, his eyes drawn to the stone fountain.

  Nobody answered him. The only sound, besides the incessant murmur of the bats, was Helena whimpering. Until Lazarus snorted.

  ’Yes! Yes, we do, just like you eat venison or blood-soaked steaks. What’s the damn difference?’

  McGray smiled wryly. ‘I wish Frey were here to hear this. Why d’youse do that?’

  ‘We are cursed,’ said Mr Nelapsi, struggling to turn on the cushions. ‘If we don’t drink it, we die. My family has been cursed for centuries.’

  Mrs Nelapsi hugged her daughter more tightly. In the light from the fire the blemishes on her skin were even more evident. ‘So has been mine.’

  McGray smiled. Things finally made some sense.

  ‘I’ve read about that,’ he said. ‘Creatures in Hungary and Rumania that only come at night and feed on human blood.’

  ‘We’re not creatures,’ Lazarus protested. ‘It’s a curse. Our ancestors committed horrible crimes and were cursed with madness and frail bodies.’

  ‘Youse have been doing this for centuries?’ McGray yelped.

  ‘No!’ Mrs Nelapsi wailed. ‘Our families discovered only recently that blood helps.’

  McGray looked at Lazarus. ‘So ye killed McEwan and emptied him. Is that his blood?’ He nodded at the fountain.

  Lazarus laughed. ‘Would you believe me now if I said I didn’t kill him? If I told you it was the Kolomans, and that they killed Father Thomas too?’

  McGray laughed in return. ‘Aye, right. They did.’

  ‘He’s telling the truth!’ cried Helena, the only one who still seemed to have some spirit left. Her face was drenched in tears. ‘I swear! On my own life. The Kolomans have murdered hundreds of souls to feed themselves! That’s why they look so strong and healthy. And when they’re done with them they throw the bodies on Rory Island, the furthest one to the west. They don’t even bury them. You’ll find their bones just lying on the ground.’

  McGray felt terribly sorry for the young girl, but he would not be fooled again.

  ‘How convenient, lassie. D’ye expect me to go there now, in the dark, and verify yer telling the truth?’

  ‘We no longer expect anyone to believe us,’ said Lazarus, ‘or help us. You’re as gullible as the others.’

  McGray breathed out. ‘I almost drowned trying to catch ye. Why should I believe yer word now?’

  ‘I don’t give a damn whether you believe me or not.’ Lazarus showed his teeth in a wicked grin. ‘In a moment it will make very little difference.’ His was a blood-curdling, twisted face, quivering shadows dancing on the sharp cheeks and the sunken eye sockets. He separated his incisors a little, and McGray thought the man was about to burst into laughter. Then Lazarus made to bite his lip, and just as McGray realized what was going to happen Lazarus let out the loudest, most piercing whistle.

  The cave came to life, every single bat jumping into the air and filling it with their high-pitched shrills.

  McGray raised both arms, trying to protect his face as he staggered amidst the mayhem. He felt the vile wings, the furry bodies and the sharp teeth all over him. Maurice screeched for help and the Nelapsis were all shouting, but McGray could see only the blurry blotches of dark creatures swirling all around him.

  And then he heard shooting.

  48

  Boyde had fallen and the back of his head was bleeding, but he’d not been knocked out; he was growling and struggling to stand up. He stretched a hand in my direction and I desperately crawled away. I rose to my feet and ran to the staircase, still coughing and holding my tender throat. And without the faintest idea what to do next.

  I felt a wave of panic and forced myself to think. I needed to get out of that house and soon, that much I knew, but I needed more than a gun and a tiny derringer. I had a last glimpse of Boyde, already on all fours, trickling blood on to the carpet.

  I thought of the boats, and the cave, and how to find my way around the loch, so I went upstairs, to the astronomy room. I ripped the smallest brass telescope from its tripod and then went to the ground floor, not even daring to glance into the corridor where Boyde had been hit. I could still hear the Koloman women yelling for help.
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br />   That reminded me . . .

  I rushed to the Shadows Room, threw the curtains open and rummaged through the drawers. I felt my heart racing and kept my gun at the ready, ever pointing at the door, expecting Boyde or Dominik, or even the exceptionally wide cook, to burst in any second. I looked for another syringe case – the one I’d taken from Natalja was in my bedroom, and I would not go back to that corridor. If my suspicions were correct, this could be crucial evidence. Instead of a syringe I found a little glass tube full of tiny purple crystals. I pocketed it and then looked for more practical items. Inside the girls’ black box I found a small oil lamp, its thick glass container full of fuel, and a box of matches. Just as I grabbed them I heard frantic footsteps upstairs, and I rushed to the hall and the back door. I felt a chill on the back of my neck, as if someone was running behind me, almost stepping on my toes. I did not dare look back; I simply ran until I reached the pier, threw my loot into the boat and jumped aboard.

  I rowed until my arms burned, my eyes fixed on the doors and windows, expecting Boyde and the twins to come out at any moment, ready to shoot me with more weapons they’d never told me about.

  My heart thumping, I focused on nothing but getting as far away as possible. I stopped rowing only when there were a good three hundred yards between me and the shore. I needed to hide, to find a spot where I could stop, calm down and ponder my options. As the momentum carried my boat onward, I tried to recall Mr Koloman’s map. Rory Island was the nearest, but I would not go there again. Between it and Juniper there was another large, weirdly shaped island I remembered was called Rough, with many little bays and peninsulas. I thought I’d row there, and then find a good place to dock on the northern shore, out of sight of the manor.

  I panted with each pull at the oars, the pain expanding from my arms into my chest and back, but I did not stop. I could not even think from the effort of rowing, my eyes focused on the little rocky islets that passed me by at an impossibly slow pace.

  On my right I saw the tall pine trees of Rory Island pointing to the sky like an army of lancers, guarding the horror that lay beneath. After a seemingly endless time I turned eastwards, following the dramatic contours of Rough Island. North of it there was another, smaller island, on which I spotted a little sandy beach, ensconced in a narrow bay. I rowed there, the last few yards an excruciating ordeal, and as soon as the boat hit the shore I jumped out, dropping face up on the damp sand. I closed my eyes and I tried to catch my breath, my mind already working on my next move.

  It would be dark soon – a new moon if I remembered right – and I’d be trapped in the middle of the loch with only a pathetic oil lamp and a few matches. I opened my eyes and saw the still light sky. I remembered we were so far north there would always be a thin strip of dusk on the horizon; I might not be able to make out any detail but at least I’d be able to tell north from south.

  ‘Where to go now?’ I asked out loud.

  Juniper Island, to look for evidence that confirmed or refuted my suspicions? To the mysterious cave on the northern shore, which might not even exist? To the inn, to reunite with Uncle and run as far as we could? The Kolomans had said McGray had gone there . . . Only I no longer believed their word. Was McGray even still alive?

  It all made sense now: the family connections; the syringes – which I was now sure had never contained laudanum; the books on blood transfusion I’d seen in the drawing room; the meteorological artefacts; even the crystal prisms and the Shadows Room . . . The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. All the pieces had been there, staring me in the face, and I had opened my eyes only when it was too late.

  I groaned in despair and jumped to my feet, if only to make myself feel a little less overwhelmed.

  ‘Think, Ian,’ I said, again aloud. I had no plan, many possible destinations and hardly any certainties. ‘What can you do now? What can you rule out?’ I turned in circles, feeling I was about to go mad. I saw the little telescope on the boat, reflecting the dying daylight. The map instantly came into my mind. ‘I can at least rule out the cave . . .’

  I went to the boat, seized the telescope and then strode to the other side of the tiny island, not twenty yards away.

  The sun was already projecting long shadows on the jagged rocks. In a matter of minutes I would not be able to make out a thing. I lifted the telescope, focused the lenses just enough to make out the main shapes, and scanned the northern shore swiftly but carefully.

  Nothing. There was nothing that looked like the entrance to a cave, just crags of granite.

  I did a second pass, this time moving the telescope more slowly. I could tell the shadows were already longer and darker. I’d probably not have a third chance.

  I saw something, not on the rock but on the water. At first I thought it was just the shadow of the waves, but it was larger: something floating at the edge of the loch. Trembling, I twisted the telescope for better focus and watched the dark spot grow sharper.

  At last I made out not one but two pointy ends. I was looking at two boats.

  I let out a sigh of purest relief. There was a good chance McGray had galloped to the inn, borrowed a boat and rowed to the cave. And given his seasickness he’d probably asked for my uncle’s help. I now knew where to go.

  I looked for any feature that might guide me there in the growing darkness. The boats floated exactly in between two little waterfalls, mere trickles from tiny brooks, but at least I’d be able to hear them, and they were only a few hundred yards apart.

  I felt a wave of excitement but it would be only a fleeting triumph. I turned, ready to sprint back to the boat . . . and what I saw froze the blood in my veins.

  The loch was ablaze with at least a dozen little lights, drifting in my direction from the west, their gleams reflected on the disturbed waters. I looked back at the spot where the cave would be, and out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of another set of trembling fires, these coming from the east. I did not need the telescope. They were flaming torches, lighting the way for a small armada on its swift way to that cave.

  Powerless, I felt pricking needles all over my spine as I watched them approach.

  49

  McGray threw blows all around, felt his fist going through wings and crushing little bones, and then a hand gripped his shoulder. He turned on his heel and threw an aimless punch. He hit a torso and heard a female growl: he’d just punched Miss Fletcher, and through the mess of flapping wings he saw her wince.

  ‘Stop it!’ she shouted. ‘Or they’ll kill you!’

  McGray hesitated for a split second, long enough for the woman to hit him right in the nose.

  ‘Och, ye bitch!’ He punched back but hit only air. A well-directed blow got him in the ribs; McGray bent and jerked about, feeling another pair of hands take hold of him and push him down.

  He thrashed about, seeing bottles of ghastly things fall and shatter on the floor, Mrs Nelapsi running about, Maurice pinned against the wall, a rifle stabbing him in the chest and a trickle of blood coming from his upper lip.

  McGray felt the barrel of a gun pressed hard against his temple.

  ‘Enough!’

  It was Benjamin’s steely voice, and McGray could do nothing but surrender. Benjamin pulled McGray’s gun from his hand, and then sent another piercing whistle across the cave.

  The bats went slowly back to the walls and ceiling, and McGray at last had a chance to see how things stood.

  Lazarus, despite a bullet having grazed his arm, was the one pointing a gun at Maurice, with bats perched on his shoulders like hellish parrots. The shotgun lay on the rock, not a yard from their feet. Helena bent down to pick it up and then went to her father, who was still by the fire, covering himself with trembling hands. McGray had a knee on the ground, Benjamin and Miss Fletcher holding him firmly in place – not that he’d move with a gun at his head.

  Everyone remained silent for a moment, catching their breath. The bats were also unsettled, and even though most had perched
themselves back in place their agitation would not subside. A few kept gliding from one side of the cave to the other.

  ‘I say we kill them now,’ Lazarus hissed, pressing the rifle harder against Maurice’s chest.

  ‘Because that’s how you’d like to solve everything?’ his mother snapped, picking up the few jars that had not shattered.

  ‘You know we need to flee,’ Lazarus went on, ‘and we don’t want them to follow. If we don’t kill them, we’ll have to leave them here tied up, and God knows how long it might be before someone finds them. It would be more humane just to shoot them and –’

  ‘Let me explain them!’ Miss Fletcher roared, banging a fist on the nearest table. Bloodstained instruments rattled and fell over. She forced herself to take a calming breath. ‘I brought them here, after all.’

  ‘Aye, ye did,’ McGray said. ‘Ye promised me a cure. Ye said yer brat was in danger –’

  ‘I thought he was!’ she cried.

  ‘Do listen to her,’ a struggling voice said from the back of the cave. Mr Nelapsi was sitting up, aided by his daughter. ‘Millie is the most honourable person you could have found at the Kolomans’ house.’

  McGray laughed bitterly, and Miss Fletcher rushed to speak. ‘I was a marionette, Inspector. I swear. The Kolomans have played me like a chess piece all my life and I didn’t even know it.’

  ‘Ye told Frey there was a threat to yer son’s life.’

  ‘I thought there was! The note and the brick did smash my window, but I must have been deceived. I don’t think there ever was a real threat. The Kolomans must have done it. They knew that bastard McEwan would do nothing, like he did nothing when I –’ She inhaled deeply. ‘It was Mrs Koloman herself who suggested I contact you. As I told Mr Frey, she read about you just over a month ago, when the Edinburgh papers were raving about that Henry Irving scandal. She told me I should go and meet you, and then bring you here to investigate. She seemed to know everything about you, about your poor sister and how you’ve been looking for a cure for years.’

  McGray laughed. ‘Doesnae take much digging. Everyone in Edinburgh kens that story.’