“We’ll talk about what’s to be done later.”
Marieko nodded. Her face was like stone. “And later we’ll also talk to Columbine.”
Destry gestured to the Highlanders. “When our Scottish visitors have departed. In the meantime, we’ll just bid Victor farewell.”
For a moment Marieko seemed reluctant to move, but then, hand in hand, she and Destry followed Bolingbroke to where Renquist was standing with Gallowglass.
The two Hummers purred smoothly up the Motorway, headlights cutting through what was now a downpour, wide heavy-duty tires singing on the wet road surface, traveling in excess of a hundred miles an hour—and a full thirty over the United Kingdom speed limit. To facilitate this flagrant breach of the traffic laws, a pair of red lights flashed on each vehicle’s roof, creating a second set of haloes in the downpour. When Gallowglass talked about “motorin’,” he tolerated no half measures. The trucks were being driven flat out. Renquist had voiced his surprise that traveling in such a manner didn’t immediately cause them to fall foul of the police. At this, the sticklike nosferatu had smiled knowingly. “There’s th’ canny part o’ i’. The coppers all think we’re some exceptional big deal. Some big-arse special unit goin’ about its secret dirty work, y’ ken? Tha’s th’ trouble wi’ th’ English. They don’t like t’ ask about wha’ they don’t know. We even have sirens if we need t’ really impress.”
“What will your lord come up with next, Gallowglass? A black helicopter?”
“Gi’ him time, Master Renquist. Gi’ him time.”
Although it transpired the Clan Fenrior kept concealed bolt-holes up and down the British Isles, and it would be possible to pass the day in any one of half a dozen of them along the approximate route, Gallowglass wanted to make the long journey to Castle Fenrior in a single night. The lord had demanded the cocoon of Merlin under his roof as soon as possible it seemed, and thus the need for the headlong rush and the rotating warning lights. Renquist did suspect, without even the goading of their laird, the Highlanders would have driven that
way in any case. Reckless speed and splitting the night with sound and fury seemed absolutely in keeping with their character.
That the raiding party of Highlanders should be divided into two groups was dictated by their having to travel in two vehicles. Renquist, Gallowglass, and some nine others were crowded into the lead Hummer, packed tight and smelling of damp plaid, while Duncanon and a further six, along with the Merlin cocoon, brought up the rear. Renquist noticed that he had been kept separate from the cocoon, and he assumed this was deliberate. Either Gallowglass or Fenrior or both must have decided Renquist riding in the same truck as the cocoon ran the risk of his accidentally learning some fresh secret in transit. He found it an encouraging sign; at least a partial indication he was not being transported all the way to the north of Scotland simply to be exterminated. Renquist was operating on the optimistic assumption Fenrior had ordered him seized for his mind, rather than his destruction. Renquist could picture a flash of lordly nosferatu impatience. Renquist had procrastinated over the more civil “request and require” invitation, so Fenrior decided to have him brought by force. It suggested to Renquist the Highland lord had reached that advanced state of hubris in which he believed he could get away with just about anything.
Although Gallowglass had wanted the Highlanders moved out of Ravenkeep as fast as possible, there had been a certain degree of inevitable lingering and delay, and Duncanon had taken the time to speculate aloud about the number of hideous fates and methods of agonizing destruction for which Renquist should prepare himself when he finally came before Fenrior. Even this had not served to dent Renquist’s hopeful mood. He decided the insolent young troop leader was simply mouthing off, and if Fenrior had wanted him destroyed, he would have simply been left to burn in the sun, and Gallowglass would neither have asked for his word of
surrender nor opened the door to him when he gave it.
Renquist thought he heard the sound of singing voices from the second Hummer, but he couldn’t be sure over the drumming of the rain, the slapping of the windshield wipers, and the occasional
whoosh
as the truck hit standing water and threw up curved waves of spray. He found it reasonably plausible, however, and could imagine Duncanon and his crew, Fenrior’s Children of the Mist, crouched around the Merlin cocoon, bawling out some muscular ballad about laughing in the face of death, just as they had hundreds of years previously around any campfire in the lee of a rocky outcrop, amid gorse and purple heather. Every so often the two vehicles would pass what the British called a “service area,” harsh islands of blue-white neon where travelers could find gas, maps, souvenir trinkets, and food. Inside the lighted, aquarium-like restaurants, humans fueled up on rubber eggs, mysterious pork products, and greasy chips and killed their boredom on pinball machines and arcade games, while, just a few yards away, out on the six-lane highway, two truckloads of inhuman nightmare and the more than mortal remains of a historical legend raced past at breakneck speed.
“They’re goin’ t’ make th’ whole world like this a’fore too long.”
“The whole world does look like this.”
“We keep our part o’ i’ th’ way i’ should be.”
“How long do you think that will last?”
“Many ha’ come t’ tek i’ from us, an’ none ha’ managed i’ so far.”
Both Renquist and Gallowglass were silent for a long time, contemplating the world through the windshield. Finally Gallowglass was moved to comment. “Are y’ thinking o’ th’ lassies?”
“I’m thinking they may have problems.”
“Problems?”
“It depends on how many bodies your Highlanders left behind.”
Gallowglass shrugged noncommittally. “Duncanon an’ his lads know how t’ live off th’ land.”
Renquist nodded. “Then the ladies may have problems.”
Destry stormed into Columbine’s boudoir. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“I would have thought it was obvious. I’m packing.”
Columbine, still in her torn riding habit, hair falling and unkempt, and a dangerously wild look in her eyes, was haphazardly throwing things into an assortment of leather bags.
“I have to get away from here.”
Destry planted her hands on her hips. “Not suffering remorse at your advanced age?”
“I didn’t suffer remorse at any age.”
“Throwing Victor to the Highlanders was cold even by your standards.”
“I only did it to save the three of us, but you’re determined not to believe me.”
“We might if you tried to explain what happened.”
“I made a deal with Gallowglass that we wouldn’t be harmed if I helped him take Victor. That’s all you need to know.”
“That’s not all we need to know. Maybe you had to do what you had to do. We can’t tell. What we do know is that you can’t just go running off into the night. You can’t escape what’s happened.”
Columbine let out a brittle laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not running from you, or any supposed betrayal of Victor, or even the bodycount with which the Highlands have undoubtedly strewn the local landscape.”
“So what are you running away from?”
“I have to get away from him.”
“Him?”
“Your Taliesin, the Great Merlin.”
Marieko entered the room. She had stopped to lock doors and generally secure the house in the wake of the
Highlanders depature. “What new madness is this, Columbine? I think I speak for both myself and Destry when I say we’re at the limits of our patience.”
“When they moved him, I felt something. I could feel him leaving the tomb. He’s waking, and for some reason he wants me to come to him.”
“That’s absurd, Columbine, and you know it.”
“I swear. I can feel this pull.”
“So you’re running to follow the Merlin to Fenrior?”
Columbine looked at Destry as though she was the crazy one. “I’m not that insane. I’m running away from him.”
“Now you’re making no sense at all.”
“I don’t want any part of this. It’s too weird, and worse than that, it’s too damned monumental. I don’t want to be part of history. All I really want is to enjoy myself, to have fun. I don’t want to have to know about the damned Nephilim, or the Original Beings, or even the bloody Merlin. I want to get away from the whole fucking mess!”
“And how do you intend to do that?”
“I’m going to London, and I’m going to kill. I’m going to kill, and kill, and inflict pain on the helpless, and feed until I’m glutted. I am going to preside over a bloody reign of terror that will live in infamy, to quote FDR, and if the humans get too close to me, I’ll move on to Paris and start all over again. And then Rome, and then maybe Budapest for old times’ sake. I don’t really care about the geography. I’m going. I intend completely to exist in the moment. Perhaps I’ll start a salon and save beautiful young poets from the horrors of growing old.”
“Is there anything in any of those perfume bottles that might calm you down? Because this is mania, my darling. You may soon pass the point of no return.”
“What do you care?”
“We were … are … a troika. The theory is that we look out for each other.”
“We don’t even believe each other.”
Marieko, who had stood apart from the confrontation between Columbine and Destry suddenly interrupted. “I believe you.”
Columbine looked at her in amazement. “You do what?”
“I believe you.”
Columbine’s eyes narrowed. Had she been a reptile, her tongue would have flicked out. “What’s the trick, my Oriental darling?”
“There’s no trick.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The dreams were the first phase of his waking. We’ve pretty much agreed on that.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Unconsciously he was putting out feelers. Reaching for a kindred or receptive mind.”
“Why should this Urshu do that?”
Marieko shook her head. “I don’t know why, but the theory fits.”
“You sound like Victor.”
“That’s the way he approached a problem.” She added a pointed qualification: “When he was a free man, that is.”
Columbine ignored the taunt. Marieko and Destry might be buzzing with hostility, but at least she was the center of attention again. “So you think there is now some kind of link between me and this Merlin thing?”
“I’m practically certain of it.”
“A kindred mind, I think you said?”
“I actually said a kindred or receptive mind.”
“Are you implying I’m merely receptive?”
“Draw your own conclusions.”
Columbine apparently didn’t care to do so. “And what happens to this alleged link when he wakes?”
Marieko spread her hands. “I think that’s what you’re soon going to find out.”
“What I don’t understand is why me?”
“Again. I can’t tell you. Maybe it was purely random.”
“Maybe he sensed something about me. He had a female partner, didn’t he?”
Marieko nodded. “Morgana or Morgan le Fey.”
“So I’ll be his Morgan le Fey, and wreak even further havoc.”
Marieko looked wanly at Columbine. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you mean you don’t think so?”
Marieko had taken quite enough of Columbine and she saw no reason to sugarcoat the pill. “Because you are just receptive. You’re no kin of this thing. All you could ever be for an entity like Taliesin would be a plaything, similar, in fact, to one of those boys you like to have around the place until you’ve drained the life out of them.”
Columbine’s aura turned a dangerous thunder-at-sunset magenta. “Are you telling me it’s beyond my capabilities to control an Urshu that’s just woken from a fifteen-hundred-year sleep?”
“Totally. That’s exactly what I’m telling you. You wouldn’t have a chance in hell. You may be nosferatu, but you’re so damned vain and lazy, you’re adept at next to nothing.”
For a moment, Columbine didn’t react. Her aura became neutral and unreadable, but then her fangs began to extended, and when she spoke, her tone was pure spite. “You misbegotten Oriental cunt!”
In the second before she sprang, Destry made her move, knocking Columbine off balance, so instead of leaping at Marieko, ready to rip and tear, she went sprawling on the boudoir carpet. Destry stood over her. “Stay down, Columbine, or I swear I’ll hurt you.”
Marieko stepped forward. “No, no, let her up. This has to be taken to its logical conclusion.” She looked down at Columbine. “Shall we just do it? Is that the tactile and emotional experience you’re finally craving, the destroyer or the destroyed? Swords in the twilight,
my dear? Because if it is, Marieko Matsunaga is at your service.” She turned. “Since we lack seconds, Destry, will you take control of the dueling staff and oversee the combat?”
The Motorway went on and on, the view through the windshield and from the side windows was one of mobile monotony, and Renquist wished he could just doze like a human. Every now and again, the sameness of the drive might be relieved by the lights of a town or a large industrial plant, but even at the speeds the two Hummers were able to maintain, the miles could grow long and the journey—which was, after all, from one end of the British Isles to the other—grew tedious in the extreme. About the only diversion was in bouts of conversation with Gallowglass. To Renquist’s surprise, as long as they’d kept away from matters immediately at hand and what possible fate might await him when the small convoy arrived at Fenrior Castle, the tall thin nosferatu appeared happy enough to talk away the time.