The Watchers Trilogy: Omnibus Edition

by William Meikle

  “It was Fitz, wasn’t it?” Martin suddenly said. Megan smiled at him, and took another long swig from her jar.

  “Do you want to hear the story or not?”

  Martin smiled back at her and waved for her to continue.

  “As I said,” Megan continued, “it was the black-haired youth. And, yes, l later found out his name was Fitzsimmons.”

  “‘I would ask you to unhand my lady,’ he said. He had a pistol in each hand, and the old cove stood behind him, a crossbow pointing at the bleeding crow’s heart.

  “‘Unhand her?’ the crow said. ‘Aye, but later. For now, she has a debt to pay…and we men of the excise always collect our debts.’

  “The crow lunged towards me, and a crossbow bolt seemed to grow from his chest, just before both the youth’s pistols fired and the crow fell away from me again. This time he wasn’t going to be getting up…half of his head was blown away.”

  “‘You had better come with us, lass,’ the old cove with the crossbow said. ‘You won’t be safe here.’

  “‘Come with you?’ I cried. ‘Never!’

  “The black-haired youth sighed and stepped forward. In one swift movement he reversed one of his pistols and, using it as a club, rapped me, hard, on the head. I fell into a swoon, and the last thing I remember is him lifting me over his shoulder. After that everything went black.”

  Martin couldn’t contain himself.

  “He abducted you! Him and Menzies. It was Menzies, wasn’t it? They killed an excise man and abducted you!”

  He didn’t know whether to show outrage or admiration.

  “Aye,” Megan said. “And that was how I met the love of my life. And there’s more…I haven’t told the half of it yet. But maybe I should leave that for another time…”

  “Oh no you don’t,” Fitz said from beside Martin. Martin didn’t know how long the man had been there, but guessed that he knew which story was being told. “You’ve started it now. You had better finish…and tell the true story…the Thane has earned the right to hear it.”

  “The true story it is then,” Megan said, “Though it is a long time since it happened, and no one but we three who were there has ever heard the tale.”

  She passed the flagon around, and all three of them drank deeply before she started again.

  “I came around in a dark, damp place, and I believe I would have screamed had a cold hand not been pressed over my mouth.

  “‘Shush, lass,” a voice said. ‘The crows have sharp ears.’

  “My eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and I realized I knew where we were…we were in the stable block behind the inn, up in the hay loft. I started to struggle, until the voice spoke in my ear again.”

  “‘We can give you to them now…if that is what you really want?’

  “I remembered the look in the crow’s eyes, and I held my peace. But we were not found anyway…the barn stayed quiet.

  “‘Luck is with us,’ the black-haired youth said as we climbed from the loft.

  “‘Luck is it?’ the old man replied. ‘Aye. Lucky we are right enough. Did you know they’ll hang us if they catch us? I hope the lass is worth it.’

  “The youth looked at me.

  “‘Oh, she is worth it. Come lass,’ he said, holding out a hand. ‘We have a ship to catch up with at Nantucket.’

  “‘Come with you? Never!’ I said.

  “‘They’ll hang you if you stay, lass,’ the old man said. “‘But I did nothing…’

  “‘You busted an excise man’s head, and caused his death…or do you think the crows saw it differently?’

  “After a moment’s thought I had to agree with him.

  “‘At least let me get some of my things,’ I said.

  “‘Too risky,’ the youth said. ‘Tell Menzies what you need and he’ll fetch it.’

  “I told the youth where to find my room.

  “‘And don’t forget the axe’” I said as he was leaving. ‘It will come in handy if I need to split some wood…or some wooden head.’

  Fitz butted in, disrupting the flow of the story.

  “And then she rapped me on the top of the head with her knuckles. Oh, she was a brazen hussy, even then. You should have seen her, sire…she…”

  Megan passed Martin the jug once more.

  “Ignore him, milord…he is as besotted now as he was then. I’ll have no more interruptions…the story is getting to the part that will be hard to tell…unless you want to take over?”

  This was directed at Fitz, who gulped and shook his head.

  “No, ’tis your tale to tell.”

  Fitz took the jug, and swallowed enough of the brew to fell a lesser drinker, but his eyes were still clear when he handed it back to Megan.

  She nodded, and restarted the tale once more.

  “We left the town as quietly as we could. My every nerve jangled, but no one stopped us.” “‘The crows are down at the docks,’ Menzies whispered. ‘They think we mean to take to the water.’

  “‘Then let us take to their mounts instead,’ Fitz said, and we finally left the town on three horses belonging to the excise men.

  “‘We may as well be hanged for horse-stealing as for murder,’ Menzies said with a grim smile as we left New Haven behind.

  “We had traveled many miles on dark roads before Menzies pulled us to a stop.

  “‘We need to rest up,” he said, ‘The horses need a couple of hours respite before dawn. We will need to travel hard and fast by day if we are to reach Nantucket ere nightfall.’

  “I was just about to vent my rage at the pair of them as we dismounted, but I wasn’t given the time. The Others came at us from out of the darkness…as fast as moonlight shadows in the wind.

  “There were two of them…two gray savages, naked save for their war-paint. I had my axe in my hand in two seconds…but even then I wasn’t fast enough. One of them went for Menzies, but the second one came straight for me.

  “Things moved too fast for me. It was on me before I had even turned full around. I felt its cold breath on my face as it bent my head to one side to give it access to my neck. I even saw its eyes flare in anticipation, then I was pulled aside and an arm—Fitz’s arm—came between the Other and me. In rage and frustration it bit down, hard, but while its fangs were clamped in his flesh, Fitz staked it through its black heart and they both fell away from me.

  “On the other side of the horses Menzies was in hand-to-hand combat with the other bloodsucker. I raised the axe to go to his aid when I heard the voice from below me.”

  “‘Here, lass,’ Fitz said. ‘I need your help.’

  He was on the ground, his arm stretched out from him. The bite was a red, bloody tear welling darkly in the moonlight.

  “‘I hope you know how to wield that thing,’ he said. ‘Strike hard, I would prefer to only be hit once.’

  “It took several seconds for me to realize what he meant.

  “‘Take your arm…I…I cannot.’

  “‘But you must,’ he said through gritted teeth. ‘I have seen men bitten before now. I would not end up like them. Now, strike…and strike hard, then go and help the old man. It seems I am going to be in need of some doctoring.’

  “I looked into his eyes. There was pain there, and fear, but also something else, something of pity, pity for the situation he was putting me in. I believed I screamed as I raised the axe…he certainly did, as I cleaved his forearm from his body.

  “I turned to call for Menzies, but the old man was already by my side, a bloodied stake dripping in his hand.”

  “‘Make a fire, girl, he said to me as he knelt beside Fitz. ‘And boil some water. And if you have any faith, say a prayer for the lad here. It is going to be a long night.’”

  Megan stopped and lifted the jug to her lips, but she couldn’t conceal the heavy tears that ran down her face. It was Fitz who took up the rest of the story.

  “Aye, sire. It was a long night, indeed…and more pain and tears than I care to
remember.” Fitz scratched at the end of his stump. “But you should have seen Megan…she was magnificent. She held my head in her lap as Sawney stitched me up, and although I screamed and thrashed she held tight and never let me go…never mind how many curses I threw at her. “And it was she who threw my poor hand on the fire. She had Menzies turn my head away, but I could smell it…and I can smell it still. And when Menzies had finished his needlework, it was Megan who stood by me, and sang me lullabies until I slept.”

  Megan took up the story once more.

  “Aye, he slept all right. He was in a delirium for four days…four days in which he had no more mind of his own than a newborn babe…four days in which he fought the taint of the Other in him. And on the fifth morning, Menzies tested him, with silver and bulb, and declared him man and only man.

  “Even then we came close to losing him, for after the delirium he was weak and feeble. Indeed he was as pale as the Others we had dispatched. Old Menzies was forced to leave us together while he went off to forage for food. Left to our own devices we had nothing to do but talk to each other…he was too weak for any other activity.

  “So we talked, and, slowly, something grew between us, a bond that kept us pledged together in all the years since. We talked about our hopes and fears for the future. He wanted an inn, a sailor’s bolt hole in a hot sultry port in the Carib. I wanted somewhere more stable. He wanted to brew beer, I wanted to cook. I wanted to return to England…”

  Fitz butted in again.

  “You can see who won, sire. It took us long years of sailing, and a few cargoes that were not wholly revealed to the excise men…but I figured they owned me an arm, and that some brandy smuggled through Penzance was only going partway to redress the balance. And finally, when we moved into the old inn at Far Sawrey, it was the happiest day of my life.”

  “You told me it was a Spaniard in the Carib that took your arm,” Martin said accusingly.

  “Aye, sire,” Fitz replied. “But I was supposed to tell the Thane of Milecastle that I had killed an excise man, and been bitten by an Other? Either on its own is enough for me to be put to death.”

  “Then I will do my duty as Thane,” Martin said. “For your stout service as my Quartermaster, I hereby pardon you for all previous crimes. When we get to your inn, bring me some ink and paper, and I’ll make it official.”

  “Another good reason to get there,” Fitz said, and coaxed his horse into a trot as he moved once more to the head of the line.

  “Calm yourself, old man,” Megan said. “It will be there, however fast you get to it.”

  But she was wrong.

  They saw the red glow before they smelled the smoke, and Fitz was galloping away ahead before anyone could stop him. Martin took five men and followed him fast, but still couldn’t catch him until they reached the courtyard of the inn.

  Smoke was still rising from the ruins. All the ale barrels were in the yard in front, smashed and broken beyond repair. The building was completely burnt out...the roof having fallen in, bringing two of the four walls with it. A name was written in blood on the wall of the barn: ROLLO.

  Fitz was on his hand and knees on the ground, pounding his arms in the dirt.

  “Filthy, evil bloodsucking bastard...bastard…bastard.”

  Martin dismounted and put a hand on the man’s shoulder, but it was brushed off as the innkeeper stood. He went to the cart in which Megan sat, climbed in behind her, and sat with his face in her shoulder. His shoulders heaved up and down, but there was no sound.

  “Toby. Set up camp in the yard here!” Martin shouted. “Three hour watches, fifteen to a watch. Have a man on the big bellows at all times. Megan?”

  The woman raised her head. Her eyes were red, but dry.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Can you feed the men?”

  “Aye,” she said. “Give me ten minutes with my man here, and I’ll be with you.”

  “Take thirty. We’re not that hungry.”

  She managed a small smile and nodded. As Martin turned away, she was lifting Fitz’s face towards her own. Soft words were muttered, and Martin moved away quickly, not wishing to intrude.

  “There’s nothing salvageable,” Toby said as Martin approached him. “It must have been done last night.”

  “Rollo, or more truthfully, the Other he has become, did this, just to spite Fitz. It was no more than an act of cruelty,” Martin said.

  “Aye,” said the smith. “But it means he was here. And if he was here, then the Boy-King’s army must have passed this way. He is heading north.”

  Martin nodded.

  “He is heading for the wall. Let us hope Milecastle still stands when we get there.”

  Chapter 2

  NOVEMBER 10, 1745 THE FIRTH OF FORTH

  Sean sat on a hillock and watched the sun come up over the smoldering ruin of Edinburgh. From here, some five miles away, the castle didn’t look so grand, or so daunting. The fire had burned most of the night until a heavy shower of rain had finally dampened it down just before dawn. The plume of black smoke rose hundreds of yards into the air. It looked like a great crow hanging over the town.

  Over to Sean’s left was a wide expanse of water, a large estuary more than a mile across, rippling silver in the thin morning sun. Small islands clustered near the far shore, and there was a long range of wooded hills beyond...but there was no sign of a boat, or a ferry.

  Not that I’d be able to use one anyway, Sean thought. For what would I say to an Other...be a good chap and give me a ride across?

  Behind Sean to the west, just at the foot of the hillock, was the start of an oak and beech forest that stretched as far as the eye could see.

  He had arrived at the hillock some ten minutes before, forced to stop as tiredness from the night’s exertions started to take its toll.

  He had lost the trail. Once, while running down the long street away from the Castle, he had caught a glimpse of Barnstable in the distance, carrying Mary Campbell over his left shoulder. But he had lost the man in the smoke and confusion.

  He was nigh on a hundred miles north of the wall, and he had lost his guide and only friend in this wasteland. He had his cloak, a hunting snare, a tinderbox, and a long dagger tucked into his boot...that was all. At least his clothes were still in good order, and his boots were yet whole and waterproof. Which was just as well, as rain began to fall steadily in a constant drizzle.

  All he had to go on was the names Campbell had given him...Linlithgow, Falkland and Stirling. He had heard of the last, but only vaguely...a memory from long boring afternoons listening to Menzies drone in the classroom. He had a feeling there had been a battle of Stirling Bridge long ago, before the Others. But he had never heard of the other two. He was at a loss.

  If he had been a religious man, he would have prayed for guidance, but Sean suspected he might have other avenues to explore.

  If there is any of you inside my head, Woodsman, he asked himself, I would appreciate some aid.

  He tried to let his mind still, as if attempting to sleep, and gasped in shock as his vision filled with the sight.

  The huge cave-system is packed full of Others. Sean’s vision takes him through chamber after chamber, and all that can be seen are the tightly packed bodies, and their red eyes glowing in the darkness. He is taken among them, smelling the rank dead stench emanating from the bodies, seeing the earth, blood and fluids that encrust the torn and bedraggled remains of their clothes. Some of them are partially melted, like wax candles left to burn, then cool, their bodies stretched and malformed into grotesque parodies of man-and-only-man.

  As Sean watches one of them pulls something from its clothes, something that looks like musket shot. Suddenly the Other’s fingers explode in blue flame, and it starts to flap its arms around in the tight confines of the cave. Those surrounding it try to back away, but the press of bodies is too tight. The Other burns intensely for several seconds, the blue flame impossibly bright in the darkness, then the dark arm
y shifts and the flame goes out under its weight.

  Deeper and deeper he goes, down to a measureless depth where the air is damp and chill and tastes slightly metallic.

  It is here that he finds the Boy-King in conference with a highland lieutenant and a squat creature in monk’s garb.

  “I have attempted to contact William of Rennes,” the monk says. “But there is only fire and blood in the sight.”

  The Boy-King looks high and haughty, pale and wan with aristocratic cheeks and hair like fine silk. But there is a haunted look in his red eyes...something that might grow into fear, given time.

  “And I have been seeking counsel from Baphomet...he does not respond. I fear the King of Kings has finally been sent to the true death.”

  “And what about the lassie?” the highlander says, “She is still yours?”

  “Oh yes. At least that slave is still mine. Even now she is being taken out of danger.”

  “Baphomet? Gone?” the monk says, and crosses himself. “Then the bloodline is lost. We cannot make a new king of the babe she carries.”

  “The king is where the blood is,” the Boy-King says. “And I am the blood. I have sent slaves to Edinburgh...we will know more by nightfall.”

  The highlander speaks again.

  “Think you that it had anything to do with the ‘Wolf’ who sent Artus to his final death?”

  The Boy-King shakes his head slowly. “I cannot yet see. But my blood-wife’s father is dead...I have ‘seen’ him in the chapel. And there is one of the blood...a black-haired lad who is not quite turned. We will meet him anon.”

  “And what do we do now?” the monk asks.

  “We go to Ross-Lynn, and thence to Edinburgh,” the Boy-King says. “Before I can continue I must know what has happened to Baphomet. If it is as bad as I fear, then we must go to Stirling. My slaves will bring the Bloodwife there, and I will make the new prince myself. And then we will turn south once more, and I will avenge Baphomet in blood.”

  The Boy-King’s eyes suddenly go blank.

  “We are not alone,” he says. “There is a Watcher present.”

  His head swivels until he is looking Sean in the eye. Sean feels the draw, the magnetism of the gaze.