‘There, there, Millie,’ said Mr Koloman. ‘When we told you your son would end up like his wretched relatives you were only too keen to bring him here.’
Benjamin looked at his mother, appalled beyond words. ‘Is that true?’
Miss Fletcher shed only a single tear. A fit of distraught weeping, however, could not have shown more sorrow. ‘They told me you’d never know . . . That they’d give you the medicine but would never tell you where it came from. I did what I thought was best for you.’
‘If it makes things easier for you, my dear Ben,’ Dominik went on, ‘we look for people like that idiot McEwan, people nobody would ever miss . . . people the world is better without.’
Mrs Nelapsi raised her chin. ‘What about my cousin Thomas?’
‘Yer cousin?’ McGray repeated. ‘Father Thomas was yer cousin?’
‘Once removed,’ she mumbled.
Dominik buttoned up his showy coat as he approached McGray. ‘As you very well guessed, Mr Nine-Nails, I paid him a visit the night before you and I first met. I did indeed leave my steamer just offshore and went to Thurso in a small boat – untraceable, impossible to prove beyond reasonable doubt, as we would have said in court, if it ever came to that. I even took the precaution of having one of those disgusting bats shipped to me from a Norwegian circus.’
‘Why?’ Benjamin asked, tears rolling down his face. The horror in his eyes was even worse than when McGray had found him cradling the bleeding neck of the dead priest. ‘Why did you do that? He was like my father! What could he have done to you?’
Dominik pulled out his pocket Bible and began rolling up a cigarette. ‘Believe me, cousin, I really didn’t want to. I slid through his window to tell him you’d be all right, that you’d live a long, healthy life, unlike him.’ He turned briefly to McGray. ‘The man was forty-eight. Can you believe that?’ Then, to Benjamin, ‘He told me he intended to write to my mother, also his relative, and I volunteered to take the message. The good priest dictated to me a very, very harsh letter, in which he threatened to expose us – in his very words – as the monsters we truly are. He said he would do so if we insisted in luring Benjamin into our – again, his words – dark arts.’ He chuckled. ‘Poor man, he couldn’t have been more Christian. I had to get rid of him even before he finished dictating that letter.’ He paused as Calcraft lit his cigarette. ‘I abhorred having to dispatch him in such a cruel manner, but I could not let him carry out his threats. I hope you understand, cousin. I was thinking of your future too.’
Benjamin roared, made to stand up, and when the men behind him grabbed his arms and torso he writhed like a wild animal. Someone had to smack him in the face with a gun, and as he fell face down on the ground Miss Fletcher let out a screech worthy of an eagle. She too had to be restrained, crying her eyes out as she watched her poor son struggling to push himself up.
‘Well, we don’t want this to drag on, do we?’ said Mr Koloman. ‘Mr Plantard, I must join my wife in her apologies. I had high hopes for you and my Veronika. If things had gone as planned . . .’ He sighed. ‘Well, what’s the point of discussing that now? We are where we are. But I am not a monster, and you have been a proper gentleman, so I’ll be kind to you. You shall be the first to die, so that you won’t have to witness all of tonight’s unavoidable gore.’
Maurice was hardly able to breathe. He was about to burst into tears. ‘You are . . . a real gentleman!’
’And we shall do it quickly. Believe me, Lazarus and this nine-nailed man will wish I had such consideration for them.’
Mrs Koloman rushed to her husband and whispered in his ear. McGray only just managed to catch her words. ‘Spare my sister and the girl, I beg you!’
Mr Koloman simply patted her shoulder and said something McGray could not hear.
One of the men pulled Maurice’s arm, but he would have none of it. He rose in one swift, elegant move. ‘Leave me my dignity, please.’
His breathing was choked, but he still managed to step forward with a noble air, his chin high, as he mumbled, ‘Christ receive my soul!’ again and again.
Boyde and Calcraft guided him to the open barrel and held him in place, pushing his torso forward so that his neck was held right above the cask.
‘It was a pleasure to meet you, sir,’ said Mr Koloman. Maurice looked him straight in the eyes, halted his prayer but could say no more. Mr Koloman bowed and stepped back. ‘Veronika, we need your touch. I don’t want him to pass on all frightened like this.’
The girl hesitated for a moment, until her mother and sister gently pushed her.
She went to Maurice, smoothing out the folds of her dress, as if looking for something, and when she stood merely inches from his face she attempted a smile. For once, Veronika looked shy.
She ran her fingers through his dark hair. ‘You have beautiful eyes, Mr Plantard. I’ve been meaning to tell you.’
He gulped, his eyes flickering from one blue pupil to the other. ‘Yours . . . yours are the most beautiful I have ever seen.’
The girl finally managed a proper smile, but the gesture was full of sorrow, her lips trembling.
She stretched up to kiss his forehead. It was a long, gentle kiss, and she held his temples with both hands. It was clear she didn’t want to let go, and when she did her eyes were misty. Slowly, with utter tenderness, she moved her hands over Maurice’s face, caressing his cheekbones, his jaw, running a thumb over his lips.
He could not take his eyes from hers as she cradled his chin and then moved her small, soft hands to the sensitive skin of his neck.
‘We would have had a long engagement,’ she whispered. ‘We would have spent an entire winter in London meeting all your relatives, and then the summer somewhere far north . . . And we’d probably have married . . .’ She gulped. ‘. . . here, on one of the islands. It would have been a lovely midsummer ceremony at dusk. The forest would have been full of candles. And then we would have spent every Christmas in Gloucestershire; you hunting, as you told me you like to do, and I waiting for you at home with a glass of brandy – and a child or two, impatient for Daddy to come and play. Would you not have loved that?’
Maurice could not answer. He was bewitched by the girl’s eyes. And it was as well that he did not even try, for Veronika had already cut his jugular open, and his blood was dripping into the cask, a crimson thread of liquid that barely made a sound.
53
A thunderous blast and a ball of fire shook the entire island.
All eyes turned to the light, the pines igniting as the flames rushed upwards. The second blast came from behind the Kolomans, and they all turned, bedazzled and scared. Some of their men were already running away, like ants from a disturbed nest.
Only then did I see my uncle. From where I stood, lurking behind the trees, it looked as if they’d tied a thin ribbon around his neck. It was only the glint in Veronika’s hand, reflecting the fire, which made me realize what had just happened. It was a tiny scalpel – and Uncle Maurice was . . .
A monstrous roar filled the air – my own voice, as I charged against them, breaking into the small clearing like a wild beast. Someone grabbed my arm, someone else my leg, but I hurled myself onward so savagely I dragged them both with me. The entire clearing had become a mad skirmish, but I hardly noticed. They all seemed to move so slowly, their shouts reaching my ears only as muffled voices.
Mr Koloman looked at me with distraught eyes, paralysed. I shot directly at his face, but just then a third man grabbed me by the waist and my bullet missed him.
I jerked and struggled, still moving forward, and aimed my gun at Calcraft and Boyde. I shot again, catching Cal-craft’s shoulder, and he roared in pain and let go of my uncle’s body. What a horrid sight: Uncle Maurice dropping on to the barrel, nearly knocking it over, and Veronika holding it in place – not before a splash of blood stained her dress red.
‘You bastard!’ I spat in a howl that made my throat sore. Boyde and the twins dragged the cask away, kicking Uncle’s body aside to
make way.
The third explosion came from one side, exactly where I’d left the jar of gunpowder, and men screamed in terror and ran away – so much for loyalty.
I heard a female roar: Mrs Plunket was running towards me, her mouth wide open, her cleaver glinting as she raised it in the air to strike me. Using all my strength, my muscles burning, I managed to free my hand and turn my gun in her direction. I shot without thinking and hit her chubby hand, blood splashing from her wrist as the blade fell. The woman squealed like a hog.
Mr Koloman was still staring at me in fright; I was still dragging the three men in my frenzy. He put a hand to his breast pocket, perhaps to draw a gun, but then I heard Miss Fletcher shout, ‘He’s mine!’ She hurled herself on the man and they both fell to the ground, locked in an unrestrained fist fight.
The men finally managed to bring me down. I fell sideways, my face hitting the ground mere inches from the bonfire. From there I could see Dominik giving Benjamin a mighty beating. I could see no trace of Mrs Nellys and her daughter, or of Mc–
Just as I thought of him, Nine-Nails appeared and began throwing punch after punch at the men who held me.
As I rolled onto my back I caught a glimpse of Uncle’s face, his cheek pressed against the floor, his dark blood seeping through the pine needles. His eyes were wide open, as if staring directly at me. Only . . .
There was no expression in them. I realized there was no turning back; I had lost him.
Someone stamped on my wrist, sending stabs of pain through my arm, and I lost grip of my gun. McGray and I punched and kicked in every direction, the image of my poor uncle imprinted in my eyes, and for God knows how long the world became a mess of pain and shouting.
‘Stop!’ a weak voice screamed, but nobody listened. It was Mr Nellys, who might well kill himself with the effort of shouting. He screamed again, and I saw from the corner of my eye that he stood not far from us, his flimsy knees shaking. He had Mrs Koloman’s derringer.
He shot once, then again.
‘That’s my son!’ Mr Koloman screeched, and we all came to a standstill.
Dominik, his knee still on Benjamin’s chest, was pressing his belly. Blood trickled between his fingers.
’You . . .’ he hissed, ‘you old – with my mother’s gun!’
I saw a slim shadow come from behind Mr Nellys, and before he could shoot again Calcraft had clasped him by the wrist. I heard the crack of bones as Calcraft twisted the old man around and punched him in the stomach. The blow threw Mr Nellys backward, just as Benjamin crawled into the darkness on all fours.
Miss Fletcher let go of Mr Koloman, and she too ran from the clearing, surely to go after her son.
‘Break the bastard’s neck,’ Mr Koloman cried, Miss Fletcher’s fist marks all over his face, as he moved closer to Dominik.
Calcraft, wounded shoulder and all, opened and closed his fists, readying himself to finish the poor old man off.
Mr Nellys only smiled, his teeth smeared with blood, and then laughed scornfully as he produced a jar from his breast pocket. And my own lighter.
At once Dominik knew what was about to happen. He tried to crawl away, leaving a trail of blood. ‘No –’
Someone tugged at my jacket and dragged me away, for I could not take my eyes from the horror. It took an instant, but I saw what happened in utmost detail: Dominik’s body in front of Mr Nellys, then suddenly the explosion lifting him in the air and engulfing the clearing in fire. The blast hit me and for the longest second I felt I was flying, the searing heat burning my eyes and my face, and penetrating through my clothes.
My shoulder hit the ground first and my body rolled. Before I went completely still, before I could even reopen my eyes, I was hauled up again.
‘Come on, Frey,’ McGray cried, ‘ye’ll have to row for me.’
He put my arm around his shoulders and darted forward as my feet dragged on the ground, the cool breeze of the night a heavenly gift.
‘Where’s yer boat?’ he asked. He had to repeat it before I could answer.
‘South,’ I mumbled. ‘Little bay, just south . . .’
I vaguely pointed in the right direction, which apparently was enough, for I soon recognized the outline of the boat, lit by the fire that by now engulfed large sections of the island. I heard the voices of men all around us, screaming.
We staggered down to the pebbled shore, and just as I thought McGray would throw me into the boat he plunged us both into the icy waters. That felt more painful than the fire, like a thousand daggers stabbing me all at once. I could not even shout, drawing air in with a noisy gasp. McGray made a very similar sound, closely followed by his worst swearing.
I was about to say something, but then he plunged my entire head into the water.
‘Yer hair was on fire!’ he said as soon as I re-emerged.
But there was only one thing in my mind. ‘My uncle!’ I said between frantic pants. ‘We . . . we cannot leave him.’
‘Frey, if we go back –’
‘I cannot leave him there!’ I howled, wading back to the shore. A monumental pine tree, right in front of me, had caught fire and its entire canopy was ablaze. Hundreds of years old, I thought, yet consumed in an instant.
Right then McGray grabbed my arm. ‘I’m so sorry, Frey. Really. But we have to go now. This is our best chance to get away . . . If we don’t go now, we’ll never go.’
I stood there motionless, mesmerized by the fire, my mind simply not functioning. I had just lost Uncle . . . It could not be. Life did not end like that. Life could not, could not be so damned fragile.
McGray tugged my arm gently. ‘We have to go, Frey. Now.’ For a moment I did not move, and he pulled at me again. ‘He would have wanted you to live.’
A blazing branch fell from the tree, throwing sparks and ashes all around.
‘There has to be something we can do,’ I said, attempting to free myself. ‘There has to be –’
Then I saw a shadow in the distance: a tall figure coming towards us, looking black beneath the burning trees.
‘Miss Fletch–’ McGray began. Indeed it was her, tottering in our direction.
She had my uncle in her arms. I tried to run to her but McGray held me firmly in place, and I felt my first tear run down my cheek.
‘I am sorry, sir,’ she said, not stopping but going straight to the boat, where she deposited my lifeless uncle with the greatest care. She had covered his face with a cloth, and I shuddered at the thought of his charred skin. Miss Fletcher picked up an oar and offered it to me. ‘Now go!’
She was a woman of few words, but her expression told me everything I needed to know. There was such sorrow, such guilt in her eyes.
McGray had to pull me in her direction, take the oar and put it in my hand.
‘I need ye to row. I’ll look after Maurice.’
I had no will left to argue, and was barely conscious of McGray and Miss Fletcher helping me into the boat. My eyes were fixed on my dead uncle.
‘D’ye have somewhere to go?’ McGray asked her.
‘Yes. My son is waiting for me on the east shore. We still have to retrieve the book; we left it in the cave.’
‘The book I saw Lazarus –’
‘Yes, sir. Benjamin thinks it contains the recipe for the serum.’
‘Will youse –’
‘Go!’ Miss Fletcher barked. ‘I’m losing precious time too.’ She cast me a tortured look. ‘I only brought your uncle because – well, I’ve done enough harm already.’
‘We cannae –’
‘Go, dammit!’
And she pushed McGray against the boat, turned on her heel and darted away, her powerful legs sending out huge splashes of water.
McGray jumped in, the boat swaying dangerously, and he had to grasp both gunwales. ‘Fuck, how I hate sailing!’
It took all his determination to bend down, pick up Uncle’s torso and cradle him on his lap. McGray placed a gentle hand on the cloth, carefully keeping it on Uncle
’s face.
He nodded at me. ‘I’ll look after him. Let’s go.’
I took hold of the oars and rowed, barely conscious of my burning joints, the. prickling on my skin and my tear-filled eyes.
We heard another couple of gunshots, brought by the cool breeze, and saw a handful of torches dotted all across Loch Maree: men fleeing in their boats, too busy saving their own skins to pay attention to us.
Rory Island gradually dwarfed in the distance, a roaring beacon against the blue immensity of the night. As I rowed, I watched how the fire rose, swirling from the towering pines, as if hell itself were erupting through the dark loch.
Avoid this place like the poison of a snake.
Distrust even its rose shrubs, lush and divine,
with beautiful flowers but a thorny vine,
for their scent announces death and doom and ache.
And you’re not a soul I’ll easily forsake.
If you lose your path you’ll see my candle shine;
I’ll share with you my meal, my bread and my wine
and you’ll forget the warning my verses make:
Though I’ll seem to play an angel’s mandolin,
with a voice as tender as a summer bud;
though I’ll give you my best songs to make you grin,
I will sour your lips with vinegar and mud
and before you discover my deadly sin
I’ll make you quench my thirst with your warm blood.
Attributed to Konrad Koloman
Epilogue
I studied myself in the mirror before I put on my shirt.
My neck and arms were still black and purple, and my face was speckled with marks from the last fire. Joan, my former housekeeper, had brought me a homemade unguent, and though it stank of camphor and old potatoes it had really helped my scalds and blisters. Still, I knew I would have yet another set of scars to show. I wondered what Uncle Maurice would have thought of that.
The arrangements for his funeral had been, fortunately, dealt with swiftly. Layton, my stiff valet, who had served my uncle for more than ten years before working for me, shed genuine tears when I gave him the news. He insisted on handling the entire affair by himself, and I was only too happy to oblige him. Uncle would be buried at the Plantard shrine in Gloucestershire, next to my mother and grandparents. Just as he had wanted.
Loch of the Dead Page 35