I prayed for Mother to burst into that room and save me. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I opened them, she would be there. But when I opened my eyes, there was McGloury. He seized me and jabbed the needle into my arm. I bit my lip at the pain, but I was determined to be brave and did not scream.
Deirdre waved McGloury away. He set the syringe on the table and left. I started to shudder, as if my blood became ice. My eyes dilated and my head, which now seemed heavy as stone, sunk against the headboard.
Deirdre moved from her harp, but her superb voice maintained the song as she approached me. The final notes faded away. My eyes closed but I could feel her finger gliding lightly across my shoulder. I opened my eyes.
Deirdre was a blur, a vague form with an arm skimming back and forth across my shoulders. Then the image sharpened. Deirdre had become the demon-god carved into the roof of the chamber. In my hallucination, this horror was no longer stone, but alive with red-glowing eyes and blood-encrusted fangs. Upon its forehead a fiery crescent-moon spat scarlet flames. I know now what I saw wasn’t real. Some part of me then must have known it wasn’t real, but it didn’t help. It didn’t help either the little girl I was, or the young woman I grew to be. That beast from my mind would live with me, torturing me with my helplessness and poisoning me with buried anger that my Mother would permit this horror to happen to me. I saw Deirdre’s hands become great, misshapen talons, rough and jagged, with sharp claws that ripped into my flesh. My eyes saw blood stain my white blouse in ever expanding, crescent-shaped pools.
Mother heard my screams. They mixed with my sobs as they distorted and echoed throughout the chambers and tunnels. Mother, in a frenzy, pulled against her bonds like a penned-up animal. The manacles held and it was she, not the chains, that shattered. She howled helplessly and sank to her knees, weeping.
Deirdre’s fingers floated down my arm, and I screeched again, for I saw some sick, scaly nightmare prodding me, and at each touch, blood flowed from my skin. Then her hand moved to my face. Deirdre, in reality, must have just brushed my lips with her fingertips, but to me, my face was ripped away. My tiny hands clutched helplessly at the sheets, and as my reality became a vision of hell that no child should or could imagine, I shrieked until my throat was raw.
In the huge main chamber, Sebastian sat at the table, listening as my shrieks ate him up inside. My screeching echoed, and the men stopped their work. Von Traeger, at the submarine, attempted to divert himself by cleaning his monocle, but he noticed the hard expressions exchanged between Blake and McGloury, who stood on the dock.
Sebastian glared across the table at Ian, as thoroughly miserable as himself. The two men stared into each other’s eyes. Ian grabbed his mug of ale and angrily tossed it against the stone wall, then stalked away up the stairs. Sebastian noted the Inspector’s outburst suspiciously.
Mother was kneeling on the ground, staring at the rough stone floor, her mouth a hard line, her expression inscrutable. Ian, unseen by her, stood bitterly at the entrance. My screaming peaked and then abruptly stopped. In a moment, only naked silence filled the cavern.
The workers in the main chamber stood frozen. No one made a sound. Sebastian had left—the table was empty.
Sebastian was hidden in the shadows of the tunnel outside Mother’s prison chamber, observing as Ian drew his revolver and entered. Having seen enough, Sebastian silently slipped away.
Chapter Thirty-four
The Caverns
Ian had been honest in telling Mother he was born on Millport. He loved the beauty of the island, but detested its grinding poverty. He migrated to America with his family in 1878 and, like many, went West to seek his fortune. Wealth eluded him, but he had a penchant for law enforcement and became a sheriff in Montana.
The feeling of freedom, that anything was possible in this new land, darkened as corruption tempted him. He soon found it profitable to look the other way when gambling halls cheated, and they were generous in their gratitude. Some of the ill-gotten money was sent to his elderly parents who had returned to Millport. Then two things changed: a citizen’s committee exposed the corruption, and Ian was replaced by a new—and honest—sheriff. The timing was a blessing, for Ian received word that his parents were ailing and, using money he’d saved, returned to Millport to care for them. The trip home and medical bills soon exhausted his funds. Ian had to earn money, so he returned to his most gainful vocation: law enforcement.
He became an inspector for the City of Glasgow—the first modern police force in the world—and, at his request and though it was stretching the city boundaries, Millport Island became one of his responsibilities.
Ian was determined to be honest and paid adequately, but his salary wasn’t enough to meet his parents’ needs. He watched helplessly as one, and then the other, died. The sorrow—and bitterness—gave strength to the germ of corruption that had not been eradicated when he fled America. It waited only to infect again. And Deirdre, who discovered Ian’s past and knew that having the local constabulary in her pocket would be useful, made it her business to recruit him.
Ian, like many, thought that war was inevitable. As long as conflict was coming, despite anything he could do, he had no problems making a profit. But that was as far as his corruption went. He had not wanted to think about how far Deirdre might go, or how personal her plan might become. Now he had to grapple with what he had done, and decide what he would do next.
Meanwhile, I was sprawled face down on the bed, sobbing into the pillow. Deirdre, though I couldn’t see her, sat in front of a mirror, brushing her hair in manic calm. There was a knock at the entrance, and Sebastian anxiously entered. “Deirdre …” he started, but she raised her hand.
“I know,” she whispered.
Tasha glared at Ian as he unlocked the manacles on her left arm. He paused, noting her intensity. Mother slipped her left arm free while rattling the iron chains that constrained her other arm. Ian slipped the key into the lock, swallowed and said with regret, “There’s a lot of things I’ve made myself live with …”
Mother slid her right wrist free and stood up, her fury rising. Ian reached into his coat and grasped Mother’s Webley revolver, “… and there’s things I …”
Tasha backhanded him. The Webley clattered to the floor. Mother, her eyes on Ian, stooped and retrieved it—the firing pin had been replaced—then aimed at Ian. Ian’s knuckles wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth, “We need to go.”
She lowered the gun, stepping past him in contempt. “Take me to Laura,” she said, cold as death.
Mother and Ian were soon at the entrance to Deirdre’s chamber. Mother signaled and they rushed in to find Deirdre at her table reviewing some charts. She coolly set them down and glanced at her visitors. Mother scanned the chamber. I was nowhere in sight. The bed was neatly made up.
“Where’s Laura?” Mother intoned.
“We are very much alike, the two of us. Ask Ian,” Deidre said.
Ian scowled at Deirdre. “You both think too much … but she’s got a heart.”
Deirdre smiled softly and shook her head. “Your interest in her body wasn’t the heart, Ian.”
Mother could not have been less interested in any of this. “Where’s Laura?” she demanded while aiming her revolver at Deirdre’s head.
“Behind you,” was her answer.
Mother felt the terror even before she turned back to the entrance. Sebastian, Von Traeger, and McGloury were there. I was limp and unconscious in the imposter’s arms, and the German had the tip of his foil resting against my neck. Once more, because of me, Mother was powerless.
Deirdre removed the gun from Mother’s hand. “It’s still my move, Lady Dorrington. When you get emotionally involved, your wonderful mind rather dulls.”
Mother did not answer, but her concentration fixed upon me. Deirdre noticed her anxious scrutiny.
“I will allow you this, your daughter was not harmed … physically,” said Deirdre.
“Whatever you did to
her …”
“… is forever. Her mind, her essence, will be filled by me.” Deirdre turned to me, her hands travelling over—but not touching—my comatose body. “Let that be your dying thought, Lady Dorrington.”
“What horror created this darkness inside? Did someone do this to you as a child? I pity the life that has filled you with such hate,” replied Mother.
Deirdre snapped back to Tasha, her features darkened; but her flicker of anger was replaced by haughty mirth. “A scavenger of clues presumes to pity a Priestess.” She shook her head. “That was hardly worthy of you. You must be wretchedly desperate.”
Deirdre gracefully walked to Ian. “And Ian. What shall we do with you?” She lowered her head in mock sadness and turned back to Mother. “Concede the game?”
“You may fool the faithful with your ‘prophecies, witches, and knells,’” mocked Mother, as she quoted satiric lyrics from W.S. Gilbert, “but in this ‘game’ you are merely a clumsy amateur.”
Deirdre was surprised.
Mother knew that survival—hers, mine, perhaps millions more—depended on repressing her rage and taking her mind back under control. The hot rage cooled for the moment, she suppressed all emotion and forced total clarity. Mother continued, as if giving a lecture, “Permitting me to discover the real McGloury’s Master Certificate … shocking inattention to detail.”
Deirdre cocked her head sternly at Ian. “It’s so hard to get good help these days. Still, you’ve lost, Lady Dorrington.”
Mother gave a little shrug. “We’ll see.”
“Why won’t you admit it?” said Deirdre with quiet intensity. She moved closer, running her eyes over Mother. “What a waste. When we finish here, demolition charges will seal this cave forever.”
“Won’t you miss your little kingdom?”
“I’ll soon have a much bigger one. This I bequeath to you. You’ll be in here then.”
“And Laura?”
“Can’t you ‘deduce’ her fate? I’m going to bring her up for you. I will give her a glorious destiny. Your daughter will become me.”
Tasha’s face betrayed nothing.
But Deirdre knew Tasha’s heart and could barely suppress her glee. She stepped seductively to Ian. “I’m going to forgive you, Ian.” She embraced him. “I’ve a heart, too. Try and reach it.”
She kissed him, her hands slid around his neck, her nails rubbed against his skin. They started to press. He knew all about the poison. He tried to push her away, but the finger-nails dug deeper. Any more movement would puncture the skin. “Hold me tighter, Ian,” she taunted. The nails suddenly withdrew and she pushed him away. “No, you deserve a lingering death. One that gives you time to contemplate. You both do.”
Moments later, Ian was tossed into the sacrificial chamber by McGloury and two other armed men who promised Ian they would be back soon. The door was slammed shut and Ian tried rushing the door—it was an instinct—though his intellect told him the stout wooden barrier wouldn’t budge, and it did not.
To Sebastian’s surprise, Deirdre was morosely watching me, passed out on her bed. He straightened out his immaculate naval uniform in the mirror and could see us in the reflection. “You didn’t need to torture a child!”
Deirdre altered her notice—as if only just aware he was there at all—to him, and her dour mood lightened. “I have been neglecting you, Sebastian. And now you must leave for the most dangerous task of all, to be on board when the Dreadnought is attacked.” She poured two snifters of brandy.
With all thoughts of me gone, Sebastian relished her rare moment of affection. “I’ll be high on the bridge, far above the danger.” He raised his glass for a toast. “We’ve come a long way together.”
“Yes. And now we stand together on the precipice of a new age. My dear, Sebastian, you believe that my contest with Lady Dorrington is a personal matter. Can’t you understand, it is a battle between her world and ours. You see who is in chains.”
“And the child?” he asked.
“I was not being cruel. I was preparing her. I was honest with Lady Dorrington; under my guidance, the child is our future.” Deirdre handed Sebastian his snifter. “To the destruction of Christendom.”
He shook his head. “To a remarkable woman.”
Deirdre lowered her eyes in humble appreciation, but the diffidence was fleeting, and as she lifted her glass for the toast, those same eyes glinted in anticipation.
In the prison chamber, McGloury kept Mother covered as Von Traeger re-secured her chains.
Tasha baited the German with a haughty amusement. “I’ve always felt that your reputation with a rapier was in excess of your ability, Baron.”
“You will not have the opportunity to find out, Fraülein,” he answered as he checked her manacles.
“Life may surprise you. I’m sure a director of Germany’s third-largest armaments empire never expected to keep the company of a madwoman in a Scottish cave.” Mother’s attention reverted to the chamber entrance. “For you are mad, Deirdre.”
Deirdre was standing in the entrance, and silently ordered the two men away. They left the lantern and departed without a word. The two women were alone.
“You’ll never win,” Tasha started the conversation. “You hope the war will last for years and that millions of desperate men will rally to you. They will never come. They will reject you.”
Deirdre moved closer, their eyes locked into each other. Deirdre was inscrutable, but Tasha detected a tension near the surface.
“Do your celebrated deductive skills include predicting the future?” Deirdre’s words were mocking, but her voice trembled quietly.
Tasha made certain she sounded pleasantly detached, almost conversational. “I require no crystal ball to know that your vision sees only power, your cult offers only fear, and you are too blind to see that you cannot build a lasting world on that. It will crumble and be rejected, as you will be rejected. There is no cleverness that can prevent it. And somehow in me, you sense this truth.” Deirdre, her expression unaltered, continued to study Mother, who continued, “You’re a very frightened woman, Deirdre. So terrified that you had to come and see me in chains. Does it help?”
Deirdre became suddenly vehement. “I have your daughter. I have you. Tomorrow I’ll start a war that will shatter Europe. I will destroy this stronghold of perversion that has ruled for a thousand years, and you can’t lift a finger to stop me. You’re beaten. Admit it!”
Mother shook her head.
“Admit it!” Deirdre repeated.
Tasha’s only response was a patient smile and another slight shake of her head. Deirdre erupted, backhanding Tasha with all the strength she could command. The blow didn’t remove Tasha’s triumphant smile. Deirdre, shaken by her own emotions and loss of control, for the first time looked frightened. She composed herself, regaining her mask-like armour. “You’ll admit it after tomorrow, Lady Dorrington. The world will admit it for you.”
Chapter Thirty-five
The Ruined Church & H.M.S. Dreadnought
At first light, the ruined church overlooking Greenock Harbour and the Dreadnought were barely visible in the thick fog.
The “monk” squinted through his telescope and shrugged to another bogus monk standing behind him.
“Send the message, ‘Target obscured in fog. Will report developments.’”
The monk wrote the message on a slip of rice paper and attached it to the leg of a pigeon. He leaned out the window and released the bird, sending it on its unerring way to Deirdre.
On the bridge of His Majesty’s Ship, Dreadnought, Captain Summerlee observed the fog that swirled outside the scuttle. He sighed helplessly to Mycroft Holmes, who stood next to the Executive Officer (called “Number One” in the Royal Navy), just outside the hatch on the wing of the bridge, which was encased by fog. Nothing else was visible through the wheelhouse ports.
Summerlee stepped through the hatch, joining them in the damp mist, and took a sip of cocoa. “If you wa
nt the press-boat to spot us at sea, Mr. Holmes, we’ll have to wait out the fog.”
Sebastian, in letter-perfect uniform, entered through the hatch. “Their Lordships are complaining about the delay, sir.”
Summerlee thanked Sebastian and then grinned to his Exec. “Try and soothe those exalted tempers, Number One. And send up that security chap.” Summerlee was not delighted at having a ship full of Members of the House of Lords, Commons, and other high-ranking officials underfoot. They were acting as if the Dreadnought was their personal pleasure yacht, and his main duty was seeing to their comfort and answering endless, and often pointless, questions.
The Exec saluted. “Aye, aye, sir,” and smartly went about his business.
Chapter Thirty-six
The Caverns
In the large cavern, Deirdre was standing on the pier near the U-boat. She read the message sent by the pigeon and, unperturbed, crumpled it. Men were working all around her, some stringing cable to boxes of cordite across the lagoon near the sea entrance.
Outside the mouth of the cave, the fog was an impenetrable sheet of solid grey. Von Traeger emerged from the hatch in the conning tower and stared at the mist. “Your plan is useless in the nebel! They must identify the U-boat as German …”
“The fog will not be a problem.”
Von Traeger snorted. “Do you claim to control the weather, Priestess?”
“I do not let it control me. They will wait out the fog, Baron. As will we.”
Mother was alone, still chained in the small rocky cell. She heard footsteps passing up and down the outside shaft, and indistinct voices. Though deducing from the increased activity that Deirdre’s plan was hatching, for the moment, there was nothing Tasha could do but wait. She forced herself to accept that fact, and focused on what to do if the situation changed.
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