More Than Mortal (31 page)
Authors: Mick Farren
Marieko smiled. “You think Lupo doesn’t have his contacts?”
The two Hummers were now in the true wild Highlands. That, at least was how it appeared to Renquist, staring out through the windshield. And, as yet, no sign of dawn was showing. The old nosferatu maxim would seem to be correct in this case, the undead indeed traveled fast. The road along which they now rolled, still maintaining their preposterous speeds, was a simple two-lane blacktop that conformed to the contours of the countryside rather than a Motorway arbitrarily slicing through hills and bridging valleys. At one point they roared past a herd of Highland cattle. The shaggy creatures, with their curved horns and long matted hair, opened bleary eyes, but the vehicles had come and gone before their slow bovine brains could react. Only the road told Renquist he was anywhere in the twenty-first century. Apart from the narrow strip of macadam, the scene could have been the same any time in the past twenty thousand years. In the foreground, bleak and sere hills supported little more than short coarse grass, gorse, and heather, while further in the distance, blue and purple mountains were silhouetted against the night sky. Now that he was actually here, he could see how easy it would be, in such surroundings, to detach from all modern reality and live according to time-honored but not overly practical tradition.
“It’ll no be long th’ noo.”
“We’re almost there?”
“Aye, very soon ye should ha’ y’ first sight o’ Fenrior.”
In just over fifteen minutes, Gallowglass was proved as good as his word. The trucks crested a high ridge, and suddenly Renquist could see for himself. He had experienced a great many castles in his near-millennium. Some he recalled fondly, and others he remembered with dread. In terms of magnificence, Fenrior hardly ranked with the military extravaganzas the Crusaders had erected in the Holy Land, the Moorish edifices in Spain, or the excesses of the more elaborate gingerbread French chateaux. Outwardly, it looked to be a cluster of vertical, almost windowless towers that had merged one with the other, growing together, but still rising to an irregular apex of steeply peaked roofs and conical turrets. A flat-topped, square-sided redoubt was joined to the rest of the structure by a formidable curtain wall like a man-made cliff. Its plain and Scottishly practical design, however, was offset by its impressive natural setting. Actually built on its own small and rocky island, it stood a few hundred yards out into the waters of a loch surrounded by high wooded crags. It was joined to the mainland, first by a causeway and then by a bridge over the last stretch of open water. The bridge was buttressed by four squat, towerlike supports, and Renquist’s experienced eye told him that, as a fortress, it was well planned and highly defensible, both by land and lake. Even a modern army couldn’t take the Castle Fenrior without resorting to air support and structural devastation.
Renquist’s major surprise was not the castle, which, within its own idiosyncratic parameters was pretty much what he’d expected. His puzzlement was on the mainland at the other end of the causeway, where he could see the warm lights of what looked like a small village centered round a single main street and a small dock on the lakeshore. He glanced inquiringly at Gallowglass.
“What are those lights? They look like a human habitation.”
“What are those lights? They look like a human habitation.”
“Aye, tha’s exactly wha’ they are.”
“A village of humans?”
“Why th’ no?”
“It’s hardly usual.”
“Is i’? There’s many a nosferatu lord i’ eastern Europe tha’ has his boyars, his serfs, his gypsies livin’ right by him an’ no trouble. Did ye think Fenrior was some isolated pile on th’ side o’ a bare mountain like th’ vampire castles i’ th’ movin’ pictures?”
“No, but—”
“So?”
“But how can all this be maintained?”
Gallowglass tapped the side of his beaklike nose. “I’ th’ Highlands, th’ old ties go deep. Clan loyalty makes no distinction between th’ living an’ th’ undead, th’ warm an’ th’ cold. The Lord Fenrior is clan chief o’ both nosferatu an’ human, demanding fealty fra’ all.”
“And the humans don’t question this?”
Gallowglass treated the question as little short of retarded. “He’s no just some feudal leader. He’s regarded as th’ very embodiment o’ th’ common ancestors way down th’ years, an’, i’ these parts, tha’ makes m’ Lord Fenrior powerfully close to a god. Why d’ ye think his name an’ th’ name of th’ place are one an’ th’ same? All serve their laird i’ their own way, an’ if, for th’ humans, i’ means giving o’ their blood or even o’ their lives, so be i’. Th’ life o’ the individual ha’ always been secondary t’ th’ survival o’ th’ clan. Such ha’ always been expected i’ time o’ war. In Fenrior i’ also applies i’ peace, an’ i’ll never be questioned.”
Seeing Renquist was still perplexed, Gallowglass smiled dourly. “Never forget this is a hard country, peopled by hard men an’ hard women. Even as humans we were capable o’ so much more i’ th’ Highlands. On th’ run fra’ th’ damned redcoats, we drank th’ blood o’ living cattle. No French velvet homoerotic theatricals i’
these mountains.” He glanced back at the Highlanders packed into the back of the Hummer. “Is tha’ no th’ truth, lads?”
these mountains.” He glanced back at the Highlanders packed into the back of the Hummer. “Is tha’ no th’ truth, lads?”
The Highlanders laughed.
Very shortly, Renquist was able to see this unique human community able to exist cheek by jowl with the largest clan of nosferatu Renquist had encountered in at least 150 years. To all outward appearances, it was a wholly normal Scottish village with a village store and post office, a fish-and-chips shop, a telephone box, and a public house with a sign declaring it to be called THE RED HAND. Only a certain lack of advertising signs and the general antiquity of most of the parked cars provided a subtle hint all might not be as normal as it seemed. In the small hours of the morning, only a black-and-white terrier was moving on the streets, and the dog seemed little concerned when the Hummers roared through. The streetlights burned, though, and a few lights showed from behind curtained windows. Then they were on the causeway, the village was behind them, and Renquist had no more chance to observe. The two trucks crossed the bridge and slowed as they approached the high arched main gates of the castle itself. As they entered, blue flashes flared in concentric circles around each Hummer in turn, like a protective energy screen created from the low-level radiation of the living rock.
The two vehicles came to a stop in a courtyard with high granite-block walls rising on all four sides. The Highlanders with whom Renquist had made the journey dismounted with the stiff limbs and slightly bemused air of those who have traveled long and hard. Others of their kind waited for them, plaids and swords, hard faces and unkempt hair in the darkness; some carried burning torches, casting a flame-red light and creating flickering shadows that provided a primitive contrast to the extreme functional modernity of the two black trucks. Laughter, questions, some hand shaking, backslapping, and Gaelic ribaldry greeted the returning raiders and was
reciprocated in kind. Renquist also found himself the target of appraising undead eyes—eyes that looked him up and down, assessing his potential as an adversary. He didn’t doubt his reputation had preceded him, or that the Highlanders were curious about the infamous foreigner and wondered whether he truly measured up to the tales told about him and his exploits. He had half expected Fenrior himself would be there to greet him and personally welcome him to his domain, but apparently the lord had more important things to occupy his time, or he was making it plain who wielded the power by allowing his prisoner/guest to wait on his pleasure.
reciprocated in kind. Renquist also found himself the target of appraising undead eyes—eyes that looked him up and down, assessing his potential as an adversary. He didn’t doubt his reputation had preceded him, or that the Highlanders were curious about the infamous foreigner and wondered whether he truly measured up to the tales told about him and his exploits. He had half expected Fenrior himself would be there to greet him and personally welcome him to his domain, but apparently the lord had more important things to occupy his time, or he was making it plain who wielded the power by allowing his prisoner/guest to wait on his pleasure.
The cocoon of Merlin was being unloaded from the second of the trucks. Renquist badly wanted to go over and take a look at it, to see if it had been damaged in transit or undergone any changes since he had last seen it inside the burial mound, but he found his way blocked, not only by Gallowglass, but a big darklost sword-thrall with massive shoulders and a humorless demeanor. Gallowglass gestured to the man. “This is Droon, Master Renquist. He’ll be lookin’ out for ye while y’re here.”
The decision had finally been made; Marieko should place the actual call. To instantly convince whoever might answer the telephone in Los Angeles of their bonafides, the caller was going to talk in the nosferatu Old Speech, and since Marieko was by far the most fluent, she had been elected to make the first approach. Both Destry and Columbine had the Old Speech burned into their genetics, but Marieko, as always, had studied and practiced, so her fluency and pronunciation were far superior. Some confusion had ensued over the correct time to call, but finally, after some arithmetical wrangling, Destry and Marieko had come up with a short window in time when the sun shone on neither England nor on the Pacific Coast of the USA.
While arguing the pros and cons of their course of action, and then finalizing the details, Marieko had felt
calm and analytical, but when it came to the moment to pick up the drawing room telephone and start dialing the international code, an anxiety close to weakness came over her. She could only describe it as stage fright, although she had never engaged in drama as a means of entertainment. For a brief instant she found herself unable to continue with the call. The full import of what she was about to do had suddenly dropped on her like a tangible and physical weight. If her course of action were taken to its logical conclusion, it could mean open warfare between nosferatu. She realized she might actually be creating history. She had played her part in undead history before. She had no illusions about that. Never before, though, had she been cast in such a crucially instigative role. She put down the phone and stood very straight, concentrating hard to stop her trembling. Columbine and Destry were watching her like a pair of unblinking hawks. “What’s wrong?”
calm and analytical, but when it came to the moment to pick up the drawing room telephone and start dialing the international code, an anxiety close to weakness came over her. She could only describe it as stage fright, although she had never engaged in drama as a means of entertainment. For a brief instant she found herself unable to continue with the call. The full import of what she was about to do had suddenly dropped on her like a tangible and physical weight. If her course of action were taken to its logical conclusion, it could mean open warfare between nosferatu. She realized she might actually be creating history. She had played her part in undead history before. She had no illusions about that. Never before, though, had she been cast in such a crucially instigative role. She put down the phone and stood very straight, concentrating hard to stop her trembling. Columbine and Destry were watching her like a pair of unblinking hawks. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I misdialed.”
They both knew she was lying, but they said nothing. They easily read her weighty realization. She again picked up the receiver and dialed once more. The phone rang four times in the single tone of the North American telephone system. Finally a female voice answered, chilly and neutral. “Yes.”
Marieko took a deep breath and began. “
Alai ku nushi ilani mushiti itti kunu.
”
Alai ku nushi ilani mushiti itti kunu.
”
Whoever was on the other end of the line was masterly in the way she contained her surprise and responded in the Old Speech.
“Alsi au ushitum kallatum?
”
“Alsi au ushitum kallatum?
”
Marieko launched into a carefully worded explanation of the situation. “
Alai ku itti kunu-a
Marieko Matsunaga
eli qabitla. Upu alsi b-ia dinm dina
Columbine Dashwood
nubu-u
Destry Maitland.
Amru-sana amru-usanku alakti ku epishia
Victor Renquist.
Sha limnutikla kla limda sumj rabuti iqer kal ubbiraanni amastus-ha
Clan Fenrior
vah naepiv haa
.”
Alai ku itti kunu-a
Marieko Matsunaga
eli qabitla. Upu alsi b-ia dinm dina
Columbine Dashwood
nubu-u
Destry Maitland.
Amru-sana amru-usanku alakti ku epishia
Victor Renquist.
Sha limnutikla kla limda sumj rabuti iqer kal ubbiraanni amastus-ha
Clan Fenrior
vah naepiv haa
.”
“One moment please.”
For maybe thirty seconds all Marieko could hear were voices muffled by what had to be a hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. Then the first voice returned. “Just to be absolutely certain, would you mind repeating what you just said in English?”
“I said that I am Marieko Matsunaga, and I am calling from Ravenkeep Priory, where Victor Renquist has just been taken captive by a raiding party of the Clan Fenrior. I assure you this is not a mistake, a ruse, or a hoax. Victor was our guest when the attack occurred.”
Droon led Renquist along the echoing passageway, the burning torch held high so its flames reflected from the wet algae slime on the stone walls. In the Castle Fenrior, electricity was used extremely sparingly.
“So I’m a prisoner?”
“I wouldn’a ken.”
The phrase “I wouldn’a ken” seemed to be Droon’s answer to everything. When Gallowglass had announced in the courtyard that Droon would be “lookin’ out” for Renquist, he hadn’t been exactly sure what this was supposed to mean, but it very quickly became clear the hulking human was a combination of guard, guide, spy, escort, and servant. Marks on his neck were a clear indication blood was taken from him on a regular basis. That Renquist had been assigned a human as his escort made plain no attempt on his part to escape was anticipated. He could, of course, easily have overpowered Droon—physically or mentally, it made little difference. The man could have been his in an instant, but what would be the point? Supposing Renquist sneaked or fought his way out of the castle, what options did he have then? A trek across the wild Highlands leading nowhere but to a final sunrise? Maybe he could have stolen a vehicle, but that would have hardly put him in any stronger position. He had only the most vague and general idea of where he was, and most likely he could spend the time until daybreak trying vainly to connect
with the local geography. Besides, the idea of overpowering Droon was really nothing more than a fantasy. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the man’s mind was being monitored, and as such, he was nothing more than a living surveillance camera. If Renquist so much as attempted to either attack or elude him, an instant alarm would certainly be triggered.
with the local geography. Besides, the idea of overpowering Droon was really nothing more than a fantasy. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the man’s mind was being monitored, and as such, he was nothing more than a living surveillance camera. If Renquist so much as attempted to either attack or elude him, an instant alarm would certainly be triggered.
The air in the passage was chill, and this struck Renquist as both less than comfortable and decidedly insulting. If he was going to be incarcerated, he saw no reason why the incarceration should be in some dank dungeon with water dripping to pools on a stone floor. If nothing else, his status alone demanded he be lodged with more ease and dignity. On the other hand, two house thralls were bringing up the rear with his bags and the fur rug. He was being led to durance vile, but his creature comforts were coming with him. Odd. “It feels as though we’re actually under the loch.”
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