Book of Shadows (9 page)

“Leave,” ordered Lyle. “Leave this house, this place. These are country people. They’re different. You must respect their homes.”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “You two don’t belong ’ere. None of us belong ’ere.” He looked around, as though expecting someone, yet hoping they wouldn’t show.

He said, “It’s almost dark. It’ll be ’ell gettin’ back to the Boat.”

Nat Shields’ smile wasn’t returned. “Robert and I, we stumbled across this village. It’s rather off the beaten path. Do you know anything about it?”

“I know the two of you shouldn’t be ’ere. None of us should be ’ere.”

Lyle turned and stepped outside. Robert and Nat Shields followed.

“Back to the boat,” ordered Lyle. “The sooner the better. And that’s fer all of us.”

The dogs blocked their way. With ears flat against their long skulls and bellies low to the ground, the odd-looking black dogs began to slink closer, mouths open, curved teeth wet with spit. Robert was weak with fear. Nat Shields, table clutched to his chest, was too terrified to move.

Jack Lyle pulled the knife from its sheath and crouched, the blade aimed at the dogs. “No choice but to run fer it.”

Nat Shields found his voice, “I-I don’t think I can.”

“You will, mister, if you want to live. These animals is of a killin’ mind. Now the both of you, do exactly as I say. Stay behind me and move as I move.”

The dogs growled.

Lyle said, “I’m goin’ to back up and turn a bit so’s to give you two a chance at runnin’ across the clearin’ and into the woods. Them dogs is trained to guard the village and if yer lucky they won’t follow you into the woods. If yer lucky. Now don’t waste time talkin’. This knife I’m holdin’ is all that’s keepin’ us alive. We’ve got to be gone before anybody comes back. We mustn’t be caught ’ere. Now move!”

Lyle took a step back and the lead dog came closer; Lyle backhanded the knife at him, forcing the dog to keep his distance. Suddenly Lyle leaped forward, slashing left-right, driving the dogs back, gaining distance. Angling to his right, the little boatman motioned with his left hand for Robert and Nat Shields to come forward and they did, keeping as close to him as possible, staying behind him. The sky was changing from gray to dark and Jack Lyle’s face was tight with tension, his eyes never moving from the dogs. In the growing cool of evening, his small, sunburnt face perspired with the effort of concentration.

“Run!” he shouted. “Run!”

Robert and Nat Shields ran.

“Find the rock!” cried Lyle. “Get to that big rock and make yer way back to the boat!”

The dogs charged Lyle and he lashed out once more.

A dog yelped and spun, spraying blood in the dusty clearing. The dogs backed off and Lyle risked a quick look toward the forest and saw the two Americans reach the trees. The one with the table tripped, fell and cried out. Lyle noticed that Robert never stopped to help the fallen man.

Then Nat Shields was on his feet and staggering into the trees, the table held tight against his chest.

Lyle turned to the dogs, who eyed him with murderous hatred. The dog he’d wounded limped forward, chest bleeding. Lyle backed up and the dogs inched forward.
My arm’s tired,
thought the little boatman,
and it’s gettin’ dark and
they’ll
be back soon. Mustn’t let
them
find me ’ere. Mustn’ let
them—

The dogs charged.

Lyle swung the knife with all the strength he had left.

In the forest, an exhausted, frightened Nat Shields heard Lyle cry out “Goddam demons, you are! Demons!”

Nat, dizzy with fatigue, held on to the table and lurched forward past trees that now blacked out the sky.

Robert reached the boat first. Marisa, waiting on deck for him to return, saw him stumble out of the darkness and collapse on the shore. She smiled and was about to say something when she noticed that he lay there, gulping air and shaking his head. Then Nat appeared holding a thing to his chest and he too breathed as though he’d been in a foot race. Robert got to his feet and stood there, while Nat fell to his knees, head down, a small table beside him.

Marisa sensed that something was wrong but before she could ask, Robert staggered on board and was leaning over the rail as if ready to throw up. She put her arm around him. He was trembling.

And then she saw Jack Lyle hurrying out of the darkness, looking over his shoulder while moving towards the boat as fast as he could. But instead of coming aboard Lyle went up to the trees that held the lines and, drawing his knife, hacked at the lines with a frenzied strength. As soon as one line was cut, Lyle hurried to the other tree and slashed the second rope, and when it was free, he looked at the forest and backed away from it.

On board, Lyle said to her, “No time fer questions, we’re pullin’ out! Now!” There was blood on his arm and the back of one hand.

Marisa said, “Mr. Lyle, I know you’re skipper and owner of this boat, but we
are
your customers. There’s a cold supper below that used to be warm before we started waiting for the three of you to return. And when you do return, you come racing up to the boat as though the devil himself were chasing you.”

Lyle, hauling in the lines, said, “Would that it were only the devil. But it’s not. It’s—”

He dropped the lines on deck, leaving them where they fell.

Marisa said, “It’s who, Mr. Lyle? Look, I hate to say this but we did hire you and there are times when you seem to take yourself a bit too seriously. If it’s not asking too much I’d like an explanation of exactly what’s going on.”

As he raced towards the wheel, Lyle muttered, “I’m tryin’ to save yer lives. And me own.”

Marisa frowned. “You’re what?”

Lyle jammed the key into the ignition, pressed the buttons and the engine rumbled, grew stronger and became a steady, subdued roar. Even as he looked over his shoulder at the forest, the little boatman pushed the throttle forward.

Marisa ran to him. “Mr. Lyle—”

He shoved her behind him and down to the floor. “Get the bloody ’ell away from me if you want to live!”

Shocked and angry, Marisa got to her feet, rubbing her elbow. Lyle’s blood was across her breasts. An exhausted Robert and Nat Shields could only watch. Ellie and Larry, puzzled by
The Drake’s
unscheduled sailing, had arrived on deck in time to see Marisa go down and now they too were temporarily frozen into inaction.

It was Jack Lyle who broke the silence. “All of you, if you want to see the sunrise leave me be!”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Lyle?” asked Marisa, forcing herself to stay calm.

“It is not. We’re in danger ’ere and the farther gone we are, the better. The three of us set foot where we ought never to ’ave been and unless we get away from ’ere we’re all goin’ to die.”

Robert snorted. “You’re pouring it on a little strong, aren’t you sport?”

Nat said, “Robert, those dogs, remember?”

Robert waved him away. “I was there. I saw them. Okay, captain, let’s have the whole story. You’re not telling us something and I’d like to know what it is. The whole truth and nothing but, starting now.”

“Go below,” said Lyle. “Yer supper’s gettin’ cold.”

Nat tugged at Robert’s arm, pulling him away from the rail, and Ellie ran to the two of them, touching Nat’s scratched face with her hands. Only Marisa stayed on deck and after long minutes of silence she said, “Please tell me. Please.”

Lyle, hands on the wheel, stared straight ahead. “If we’re lucky they won’t come.”

“Who?”

“There’s things in this world that are better never spoken of.”

“What happened out there? You’re bleeding.”

“We got away, that’s what happened.”

“Please tell me.”

“Later, missy, maybe later. Go below now. Let me be alone to think.”

Marisa said, “I’ll get the first aid kit and take care of your arm.”

For the first time since coming aboard Lyle looked at her. “That’s very kind of you, missy. Much appreciated.”

When she finished caring for Lyle, Marisa went below to find Ellie washing Nat’s face and Robert holding an odd-looking book in his hands, feeling it and casually thumbing through the pages.

Nat said, “The book was in the drawer. I gave it to Robert, since he shared my moment of truth out there. Did Lyle say why all of a sudden we’re sailing at night, something he’s expressed a lack of fondness for on more than one occasion?”

Marisa shook her head. “Nat, what happened? Where did you get that table and that book?”

“In some sort of deserted village, hidden—and I do mean hidden—out there in the trees. I have a pang of conscience about how the deal was made, and frankly it’s a thing I’d rather not do again for a lot of reasons. But there is just something about this table. What can I tell you, it’s mesmerizing. Absolutely hypnotic. I just had to have it.”

Robert, eyes on the book, said, “Tell her about the dogs.”

“The dogs,” Nat shuddered. “Three of them. Black, ugly, and looking for somebody to maim. If it wasn’t for Lyle—”

Robert said, “Lyle, my ass.”

Nat was firm. “Robert, let’s for once tell it like it is and not like we want it to be. Those dogs would have torn us to pieces if it weren’t for Jack Lyle, and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah I know it.”

Nat kissed Ellie’s hand, his eyes on Marisa. “Lyle held them off with his knife. I’m telling you he saved our lives.”

Marisa looked up toward the wheel, then at Nat. “Remember he did say if we didn’t get away, we were going to die. He did seem to feel we were in some sort of danger.”

“I’m hungry,” said Robert, closing the book but holding on to it. “Time to feed the inner man.”

“What sort of book is it?” asked Nat.

“Code, maybe. I’m not sure. It’s different, I’ll say that much. Oh, does Lyle know we’re supposed to be stopping at the Clannons’ village in the morning?”

Marisa said, “I suppose so. You could always remind him.”

Robert grinned. “Later, maybe. Let the old bastard cool down. Pass me the cheese, will you? And a couple of those olives.”

Minutes later on deck alone with Lyle Marisa spoke to his back. “You said we were in danger. Did you mean it?”

Lyle nodded.

She turned and went downstairs. A worried Marisa ate nothing and neither, she noticed, did Jack Lyle.

Marisa was suddenly awake.

Why?

She looked at her watch. It was 7:32 A.M. Ellie, Nat, and Larry were still asleep in their bunks. She looked across the cramped cabin at Robert’s berth. It was empty, covers pushed back, the pillow on the floor.

Marisa fought to remember exactly what had torn her from a deep sleep. She’d lain awake until after four, her mind made restless by things said and unsaid. Jack Lyle had spoken of danger but hadn’t elaborated further. There’d been a nasty wound on his left arm, which Marisa guessed had come from the black dogs described by Nat as the hounds of the Baskervilles with brass knuckles.

And then she knew what had awakened her. Robert and Jack Lyle were arguing on deck.

Slipping out of bed, she put on a robe over her nightgown.

When she reached the top of the small stairway she heard Lyle say, “It was my decision to make and I made it.”

“We’re paying you to take us where we want to go,” said Robert.

“You’re not payin’, laddie. Yer woman, she pays. We both know whose name is on the check.”

Marisa stepped out on deck. “Mr. Lyle, that’ll be enough. This time you’ve gone too far.” She drew her robe around her against the chill.

Robert snorted. “You can say that again. It seems our captain’s taken it on himself to sail past the Clannons’ village. He was supposed to stop but apparently there’s been a change of schedule.”

Marisa said, “Is that true, Mr. Lyle? Did you sail on without telling us?”

“Aye.”

“Does it have anything to do with what happened back there with the dogs?”

Lyle, hands on the wheel, nodded. “That it does.”

“Let’s not forget this book,” said Robert. He held it up. “I was disturbed from my slumber by our dear captain here, who was trying to get his hands on it. I caught him poking around my things, so let’s just dispense with the bullshit about who’s right or wrong on this issue.”

“I wanted to throw it overboard,” said Lyle. “Maybe it’ll save us if they know we don’t have the book. Maybe.”

Marisa stepped closer to the two men. “I think it’s time for details, Mr. Lyle. You owe us more than a handful of cryptic remarks. Let us decide whether or not we should worry.”

In the silence Marisa heard the motor and felt its vibrations under her feet.

Lyle finally said, “The people what belongs to that book will come for it. They’ll kill to get it back.”

Robert threw back his head and laughed.

Lyle said softly, “I was only tryin’ to save you. That’s all I wanted to do.”

Robert shook his head. “You’re missing a few seeds from your gourd, that’s what you are. Too many years spent zipping up and down canals with a bottle of whoopie juice in your hand. Save us. You know something, Captain Jack? I wish we were back in New York because New York pays twenty-five dollars for every insane person you turn in. And man, you are a certified loony tune if I’ve ever seen one. Save us? Christ, you can’t find your own ass with both hands.”

Lyle pulled a bottle from his back pocket, uncapped it and drank.

Robert said to Marisa, “Your friend’s cute. Now he’s drinking his breakfast, which means we can look forward to a collision any minute now. Excuse me while I go below. He’s your buddy, you talk to him.”

But no one could talk to Jack Lyle anymore. He ordered Marisa to leave him alone. The little boatman was in charge, a fact he’d made clear before the cruise got under way.

All of that morning and into the afternoon Lyle drank. It was hard liquor, not stout, and the liquor turned him into something surly and unapproachable. When the passengers did venture on deck and inquired about stopping, Lyle insisted there was nothing worth seeing nearby. It was best to press on.

Nasty words passed between him and Robert more than once and each time the hostility somehow involved the book. By late afternoon the antagonism between the two men was ugly and obvious, spreading an edginess among the others. Eventually Robert hid the book, refusing to say where.