by Oisin McGann
“No!” he cried. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
This is my body, he told himself. Gerald said we could impose our will on these things. I have no music, I can’t speak that language, but this is my body. He can’t take it away from me!
The thought seemed to help, and Cathal turned to glare at Gerald, his whole body feeling as if it were filled with red-hot pins and needles, all surging in waves towards the darkness of the tunnel. But he was starting to slow those surges, his mind slowly picking out each little spark of pain and extinguishing it. This is my body, he repeated to himself over and over again. I can control this thing inside me.
He felt Gerald’s focus change. The children were back under the control of the guards now and as Gerald directed all of his energy towards Cathal, the pain and the overwhelming urge to turn back rose again. Pip screamed, flailing at Cathal’s iron grip, begging to be released. Cathal shook his head, trying to will away the pain. Gerald’s hold over him was weakening. It was not a clash of intelligence, but of will, and Cathal did not bend before Gerald’s.
From out of nowhere behind him, a snake-like cable the thickness of a man’s thigh whipped forward, coiling around his torso. Another two wrapped around his legs, and a fourth bound his left arm to his body. His right hand still held tight onto Pip’s wrist. These things were some kind of tentacle, part of the leviathan. More stretched out on either side of him, blocking off any hope of escape. The ones that held him squeezed him mercilessly, forcing the breath out of him, crushing his flesh and putting unbearable pressure on his bones.
Something snapped in Cathal’s head, and he felt a sickening change deep within his torso. He gasped as his bones began to lengthen and change shape. His muscles writhed under his skin, pulling taut like cords and swelling, rippling, squirming like the tentacles that held him. An immense strength filled him and his left arm twisted free, wrapping around the girth of the tentacle in return. With a wrenching turn, he felt the tentacle’s flesh split as it folded against itself. He tore the end of the tentacle off so that it dangled by a few strands of engimal-gut and some kind of oily gum.
Another tentacle seized his left arm, nearly yanking it from its socket, but Cathal was growing now, his body swelling, his face distorted. His skull felt as if it would explode, his spine as if it were about to snap, but instead, he grew in powerful, misshapen spurts. The tentacles struggled to hold him. But he was losing his reason too—his mind was fogged with an all-consuming rage, a desire for violence, an aching need to tear his enemies limb from limb.
Pip shrieked in abject terror, thrashing and kicking out, desperately trying to escape from this monster.
Cathal could still hear Gerald’s playing, but it just enraged him further. Releasing Pip, he grabbed the tentacle circling his waist and heaved on it, pivoting his body and ripping the tendril from its roots. He hurled the thing at Gerald, knocking the older man to the ground. Turning his eyes on Red, he saw the panicked cove raise the whistle to his lips, intent on closing the leviathan’s mouth. Pip was scrambling across the giant creature’s lower jaw as Red blew on the whistle.
Cathal’s right arm shot out and shoved Pip through the gap between the three jaws just as the mouth slammed closed with a frightening suddenness. The boy escaped a crushing death by mere inches … but Cathal’s forearm was smashed to pulp. For the first few seconds, he couldn’t even scream, paralyzed by the pain and the horror of it. Like the leviathan’s tentacle, his arm was still attached by strands of muscle and sinew. Cathal’s mouth opened, and his shriek filled the tunnel as Gerald lunged forward and clamped a hand to the back of his neck, fingers and thumb digging into pressure points. Moments later, Cathal blacked out.
XXV
“SENTENCE HAS BEEN PASSED”
WHEN ELIZABETH CAME TO DAISY’S OFFICE and invited the younger woman to join herself and Brutus outside, Daisy had felt inclined to tell the hag where to insert her invitation. This urge to resort to coarse language had been growing in strength recently, and she saw it as just another symptom of the stress of her situation. But she was in no doubt that the summons had actually come from Brutus, and Daisy was curious to see why Elizabeth had been sent, rather than a servant. Apart from her assertion that it was she who was extending the invitation, the imperious woman did not even seem put out that she had been dispatched by her brother as a mere messenger.
The day was overcast and cold, with a brisk, fresh breeze blowing across the lawns. Daisy put on her bonnet and pulled a white woolen shawl over the shoulders of her cream and ivory patterned dress before setting out. Elizabeth wore a heavy silk dress of different greens, and as they walked along the path towards the woods, Daisy half wondered if the woman had changed her attire to blend with the environment. Elizabeth had not told her where they were going once they got outside, and Daisy decided she couldn’t be bothered asking. Until they reached their destination, she would try and enjoy the walk in the clear morning air.
She could hear the family’s private train from here. Beyond the graveyard, at the bottom of the hill, the idling steam engine wheezed as it waited for whichever illustrious family member was using it today. Daisy had noted that the train would make an excellent means of escape in the days to come, if it should become necessary. But she had dismissed the idea when she reasoned that the rest of the family would already have included it in any exit strategy, should the need to leave urgently arise. Over the tops of the trees, the scattering traces of its exhaust smoke floated towards the sky.
The path took the two women into the woods, its fine gravel surface dappled with green and blue shadows cast by the trees as the sun burnt through the clouds, making way for patches of blue sky. There was still no warmth in the day, and it was cooler in the shadows. This path led to the church, and for a silly moment, Daisy wondered if Brutus had decided to stop wasting family money building a church. Then she reminded herself that the building was almost finished and, more importantly, that Gerald had an investment in its construction. Could that be it, then? Had Gerald let her build the thing, only to commandeer it completely now that it was finished? She wouldn’t put it past him.
But Elizabeth steered them away from the church, turning into the grandest part of the cemetery instead. Here lay the graves of the most important branches of the family. Monuments of different-hued marble competed with each other in their outlandish glory. Statues of angels vied with soldiers and lions and dragons and other majestic or mythical beasts. Scattered among their shadows, like the undergrowth beneath this forest of petrified figures, were simpler gravestones, still elegant, their graves well-tended.
The mausoleum where the Patriarchs were interred was a large marble building decorated with inlaid patterns of exotic stones and engravings picked out in gold leaf. Six white columns framed its entrance, supporting a shallow gabled roof that caused it to resemble a Greek temple—an effect that was entirely deliberate, she was sure. They walked past this vainglorious crypt to the graves beyond. The headstones here were not as grand as most of the others, though Daisy considered many of them quite beautiful. The yew trees around them gave the place a sheltered feel, and the gusts of wind were not as strong here. Daisy would often have said that she found graveyards to be eminently peaceful places.
That peaceful atmosphere was marred somewhat by the sight of three men on their knees in the gravel covering one of the graves. Their hands were tied behind their backs. Each one had his head pinned to the marble kerb that ran around the edge of the grave. Their heads were held in place by the black iron rail that ran around the top the kerb, though Daisy could not see how they could possibly have pushed their heads under the rail—it barely had space beneath it for their necks. Oliver was one of the men; the other two were lesser cousins, of the gang who let themselves be ruled by Oliver’s domineering manner in the hope that he would share his power in the future, after he had seized it from Gerald. Now, their faces all shared the same expr
ession of abject terror.
Brutus stood over them, his right hand—the engimal claw—tucked behind his back, the other holding a smoking cigar. Interestingly, he did not look ruffled in any way. And yet Daisy would have bet good money that their predicament was his doing. Seeing how he stood now, the men could have been wreaths of flowers, for all the attention he paid them.
The bar across their necks did not seem to be allowing them to breathe properly. Oliver had gone a deep red, though there might have been some embarrassment involved, mingled in with the fear. She noticed their faces, hands and clothes showed signs of having recently been in a fight. An assortment of guns and knives lay on the grass around Brutus’s feet.
“Thank you for joining us,” he rumbled to Daisy. “I have asked you here this morning to help me make a decision.”
“If it’s about your choice of grave decoration,” she replied, “I would have opted for lilies. But each to their own.”
Elizabeth gave a condescending laugh and clapped her hands. Brutus glanced down at the three men and huffed to himself, before taking a long drag on his cigar.
“Very droll,” he commented, blowing out smoke. “But this is a matter of utmost seriousness. These three men have committed an Act of Aggression against me. As you can see, they have failed. Elizabeth was with me, but we cannot be sure they meant her harm. Under the Rules of Ascension, I have the right to carry out retribution against these whelps for their attack. Reason dictates that I do so—I have no wish to leave them in any condition which would allow them to attempt another assault at some point in the future.”
“Clearly, you are a most reasonable man,” Daisy said.
“I found something on Oliver here that adds a new dimension to this decision-making process,” Brutus went on, ignoring her sarcasm. He put the cigar in his mouth and used his left hand to take a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. Handing it to Daisy, he added: ‘It is a drawing, a piece of a floor plan. Perhaps you recognize the location described hereon.”
One glance at the sheet confirmed that she did. The drawing was of her suite of rooms in Wildenstern Hall. Not just the walls, doors and windows, but also the main pieces of furniture, the secret doors, the tunnels they led to and the booby-traps that protected them. She had only started allowing booby-traps to be set around her rooms for the last two years, and had thought she could trust the small number of servants who installed them. There was only one reason that Oliver would be carrying this drawing. Her stomach felt as if it was carrying a small heavy stone—it was not the first time her life had been threatened, but her eyes were drawn to the small rectangle marked “Bed.” They had marked the very place where she slept.
“You were next,” Brutus told her. “Whether it was to be murder or kidnapping one cannot tell from this alone, though I wager I could find out quickly enough. The fact remains, they intended to act against you. That is most certainly against the Rules of Ascension. It is written that no woman can be the target of any Act of Aggression. So the choice is yours.”
“I’m sorry, what choice?” Daisy asked.
“Their fate,” Brutus said simply, taking another drag on his cigar and gazing down at her with hard eyes.
“It would be wise to bleed them for information first, Daisy,” Elizabeth offered helpfully. “We can be sure that there are other conspirators. They must be sought out. But once they have provided enough answers, the end itself can be quite abrupt. There is no need to extend their suffering if you do not wish to. I know what a soft heart you have. Brutus defeated them without using a single weapon. He can certainly dispatch them in a similarly Spartan fashion. He’s tremendously powerful, you know. One stamp on the head would do it for each of them.”
“Now … now … now look here, Daisy!” Oliver protested, his face as red as a tomato, his voice made thin by his constricted breathing. His head was pressed down on its side, and he could not turn it properly to look up at her. “We’ve had our differences, by Jove, but … but … but there’s no need to resort to any petty thoughts of revenge, is there, what? The floor plan was merely research! My wife quite fancied your rooms and thought you might be … be … be … be persuaded to move. I didn’t want to cause you any trouble, so I had the drawing done up by one of the servants to convince her that your rooms were … were no great shakes and that ours were quite adequate. It’s all a misunderstanding, don’t you see? A harmless muddle, that’s what I say. All right, so we attacked Brutus here, there’s no denying that, but that’s one of those little eccentricities of our family, and here we three are now, all trussed up like prize pigs and we can all have a good laugh about it, eh? Ha, ha, ha! Eh? Ha, ha!”
The other two men did their best to show the jollity they shared with their leader. They were a right jocular bunch altogether. Daisy stared down at them. The marble beneath Oliver’s mouth was spattered with spit.
“I wouldn’t have done anything to you,” he tried again. “I wouldn’t hurt a woman, apart from my wife … I wouldn’t even hurt my wife, by the Lord Harry! I think women are good … good and fine and gentle creatures—especially gentle! And you are such a good Christian, Daisy. Everyone says it of you. What a sweet, blessed, Christian thing she is, people say!” His voice was breaking now, and there were tears welling in his eyes, running down his nose and over his cheek to the cold white marble on which his face was pressed. “Help me, please, Daisy. Please, please God … please for the love of God, don’t let him kill me. Please …”
He broke off, his body wracked by sobs. Daisy despised him now more than she ever had. Brutus had no right to put her in this position and she hated the ogre too for that. She did not want to be involved, but if she left their fate to be decided by Brutus and Elizabeth, she had no doubt what it would be. And if she chose to let them live, there was every chance they might still be a threat to her. Mercy was a weakness in the house of Wildenstern, not a virtue.
Who were they to force her to make this decision? Only God had the right to decide who lived and who died. For anyone else to make such a decision was a sin.
“You watch,” Elizabeth said to Brutus. “She’ll say something priceless, like, ‘Only God can decide who lives and who dies.’”
Daisy turned away from them. They were trying to make her into one of their kind.
“Damn you—damn all of you!” she breathed through her teeth.
“What is their fate to be?” Brutus’s cavernous voice pressed her. “Either you make a choice, or I shall.”
“Exile, then,” Daisy replied without any more hesitation. “They leave Ireland, and stay away from any Wildenstern interests anywhere in the world.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes and sighed.
“Exile is only workable if they are forced to obey the sentence—as you well know,” Brutus grunted. “What if they refuse to go, or try to involve themselves in our business in some other place?”
Daisy closed her eyes. He was right; the Wildensterns were like rabid dogs in pursuit of their ambitions—Oliver certainly would not sit out the rest of his life quietly. He would devote every waking hour to getting back into the family. Daisy had never had to deal with this side of the business before. When Berto had taken over as Patriarch, it was Nate who had handled all of the discipline and security for his brother. After Gerald had seized power, he had been more than able to control the family on his own, leaving her to deal with the day-to-day running of the business. As a businesswoman, she was used to making harsh decisions, even ones that could deprive people of their livelihoods, for the greater good.
But passing sentence on a person’s life had no place in business. Not in any normal business.
“Death,” she said, resisting the urge to clear her throat. There could be no weakness, no doubt in her voice. “If they come back to Ireland, or if they involve themselves in our family’s matters, they are to be killed.”
“Then exile it is
,” Brutus declared. He glared down at the three men pinned to the kerb of the grave. “You will gather what you need to travel and leave today. Oliver, you are married, so your wife and children may leave with you, or they may choose to stay. You must be off the estate before sunset today. You will leave the country before sunset tomorrow, or you will be hunted down. Sentence has been passed.”
With that, Brutus reached down and gripped the black wrought-iron bar in both hands—one human, one engimal—and by main force, bent it upwards, freeing the necks of the three men. They crawled backwards, pulling their heads out from under the bar, groaning and rolling their necks to stretch out their bruised throats. Brutus made no offer to untie their hands, so they rose awkwardly to their feet and stood there in the grave, waiting. Oliver eyed Daisy with a resentful, defeated expression. If he felt any gratitude to her for sparing his life, he did not show it.
Elizabeth did not look pleased.
“They should at least be questioned,” she urged her brother. “Surely you are not letting them off so lightly? You do intend to interrogate them before they are released? Brutus?”
“The decision has been made,” Brutus said. “Sentence has been passed.”
Elizabeth made an exasperated sound and lifted her hands in a gesture of dismissal. Daisy could see the frustration in the older woman’s eyes. She was not happy, but it was not her place to question her brother’s actions. At least, not with others present.
Men emerged from hiding all around the small strange group—concealed behind the monuments and crypts. Daisy felt an icy fear run through her, afraid that these were more of Oliver’s conspirators. Or was this part of some complicated trap to have her condemn one of the family and pay the price for her betrayal, as so many women had? She recognized the men as some of the Wildensterns’ enforcers, the hard men who were party to some of the family’s more illicit dealings.
“I summoned them before I called for you,” Elizabeth told her. “They are here merely for security, now that Brutus has subdued the aggressors.”