‘How can an insect do that? And why would it, even if it were capable?’
‘Perhaps for fun – who knows? Perhaps she was testing her powers. If an insect could manipulate the mind of man, think what it could do.’
‘A mosquito with intelligence,’ I said, smiling. ‘Now there’s a worrying thought.’
‘Yes.’ Mather chuckled. ‘But it makes you wonder. Who are we to say what is and isn’t possible? Time turns a lot of assumptions on their head.’
‘Right. Putting the myth aside for a moment – how does she feed?’
‘Ah.’ His eyebrows lowered as he looked from me to the tank. I followed his gaze and saw that the Ganges Red had concealed itself once more. ‘Scarlet Death is indeed a fitting label where feeding is concerned.
‘A large number of deaths near the Ganges and in locations around Africa have been attributed to the work of our friend here.’ Mather closed his eyes, perhaps to better see the images in his mind. ‘What evidence there is suggests the Ganges Red is one of the most effective killers in the natural world.’ He paused again.
Not for the first time that day I felt uncomfortable. I wanted to separate what Mather was telling me into myth and reality, but it was proving difficult as he seemed to be blending them together. Was he trying to tell me something? Was he implying that the reality somehow incorporated elements of the myth? I looked again at the tank, more nervous now about its tenant.
‘She feeds in much the same way that any female mosquito would except, because of her size and strength, she is capable of taking in blood at a faster and more efficient rate.’
‘That would be pretty uncomfortable for the person she’s feeding on, wouldn’t it? She’d hardly go unnoticed.’
‘No, indeed.’ Mather chuckled again. ‘In fact it would be impossible for her to go unnoticed. You see, the feeding process causes pain quite unlike the comparatively mild irritation you experience after a bite from a common mosquito. Her smaller relatives inject a natural anaesthetic into you, which prevents you from feeling their presence. The Ganges Red doesn’t do this. Her saliva, unlike that of other mosquitoes, is highly corrosive. Its effect on human flesh is both devastating and agonizing.’
‘Jesus,’ I said, disturbed by the image.
‘Yes, the saliva is terribly potent. It immediately begins eating away the tissue surrounding the puncture wound, allowing blood to flow more freely and thereby accelerating the feeding process. The pain is so overwhelming that in less than a minute it can force the victim’s body into a state of paralysis. There is, unsurprisingly, no record of anyone surviving a bite. When she has finished the blood meal, she is bloated and will usually rest near the victim until she’s in a fit state to fly away. The victim’s body, depending on how much saliva she has injected, can be unrecognizable by the time it is discovered.’
‘Is there any research to back this up? Or is it just part of her legend?’
‘Well, I’m just repeating what I’ve read about her.’
‘So . . . how do you think she came to be? What could have happened to have produced such an incredible-looking creature?’
‘Who can say? If you believe the old legend, then she was born of the ultimate lust. The lust for blood. And not just any blood; the blood of a loved one. Ngoc Tam.’
‘Didn’t he prick himself on a thorn and drip blood onto the body of his wife?’
‘He did indeed.’
‘So what happened after that?’
‘Well, Tien Thai, the genie, knew that Ngoc Tam would only find misery if he brought his wife back from the dead – and he was right.’ Mather crossed and uncrossed his legs. I took his fidgeting as a sign of his obvious enthusiasm for the subject at hand. ‘Soon after the couple left the genie’s island, they came upon a settlement and stopped for supplies. Now,’ Mather said, holding up one finger, ‘while Tam was spending the day ashore in the busy markets, buying food, Nhan Diep was taking quite an interest in the large trading ship moored nearby, and its extravagantly dressed captain. By the time Tam returned to his modest raft, Diep and the merchant’s vessel were no more than indistinct shapes on the horizon.’
‘Well,’ I said, smiling, ‘it happens every day.’
‘Ah,’ Mather replied, ‘but that’s not the end of the story. Eventually, and after great anguish, Tam caught up with the ship and, ignoring the protests of its crew, boarded, demanding to see his wife—’
Suddenly, the mosquito started whining loudly and flying about the tank in an agitated manner. Mather slapped his hands on his knees decisively, then stood. ‘Well now, Mr Reeves, I fear she may have tired of our attention.’ He walked back over to the tank. ‘It might be best to leave her be for a while.’
I was left feeling puzzled about the Nhan Diep story, and curious to know its relevance. There were, however, more important questions.
‘That stuff about her feeding on people,’ I said. ‘It’s supposition, isn’t it? I mean, you’ve never seen her do it, have you?’
‘Ha,’ Mather said, still with his back to me. ‘Of course not. If I had, I’d hardly be alive to talk about it.’ He was then quiet for what seemed like a long moment, before, with a click of his tongue, he pulled the panel back, covering the recess once more. It slotted into place with an audible click. ‘As I told you, she sleeps for most of the day. You see, although I feed her regularly, she gets nowhere near the amount of food she would like. In the wild she would take at least one blood meal a day from a large mammal. Birds are her only source of blood here. They seem to suffice though. She gets one every few days.’
‘But she eats leaves and stuff as well, doesn’t she? Didn’t you say earlier that females only feed on blood to aid fertilization?’
Mather was silent again for a few moments. He looked through the window at the dark clouds gathering outside. ‘For the protein. Yes.’ He didn’t seem particularly focused on the question. Either that or he was debating whether to answer it or not.
‘So there’s no need to give her blood, is there? I mean, if she really was the only one of her kind left, and the only mosquito of that size, she’s unlikely to have any eggs to fertilize.’
‘That’s right,’ Mather agreed, turning to me and nodding. ‘No need. But she grows quite agitated if she can’t take in blood every now and again. She seems to have a taste for it . . .’
‘Wow. Feeding her must be a pretty risky business. I wouldn’t fancy opening that tank myself.’
‘No, well, let’s just say the Lady and I . . . have an agreement.’ Something in Mather’s voice hinted that he was reluctant to go into further detail on the matter.
‘So how do you do it?’ I watched Mather as he thought about the question. His left hand tapped his thigh while he stared out of the window.
I use a little persuasion and a lot of patience.’ He chuckled to himself. Despite this answer being almost as evasive as the previous one, I decided to drop the matter, sensing that Mather really didn’t want to elaborate.
‘Well, I think we might leave her to relax a little, hmm?’
‘Yes, of course. I think I’ve got all I need. I’ll have to find out the rest of the Nhan Diep story. I’ll be doing some more research at the office anyway. Now, if I could take some pictures of her before I go, that would be great.’
‘No,’ Mather replied somewhat brusquely. ‘I’m sorry, excuse me – I’m afraid I can’t allow photographs. You see, a story about her is one thing. Your readers can choose to believe it or not. Printing photographs, however, could have serious repercussions. The last thing I want is some lunatic finding the island and trying to get his hands on her.’
‘I see,’ I replied, hoping my disappointment wasn’t too obvious. I’d been thinking about the photographs throughout the interview. They were crucial, and the story would suffer without them. I didn’t want to upset Mather, but at the same time I didn’t want to return to the office with nothing but words. ‘Are you sure I can’t take just a couple? I’d hate to lose the story, but I doubt my editor will allow it in the magazine without something visual to go with it. I could always leave out the location of the island from the story.’
‘I was rather hoping, Mr Reeves, that you would be doing that anyway.’ Mather fixed me with a rather serious stare.
‘Oh, right. Well, that’s no problem, of course.’
‘Mr Reeves,’ he said, looking at the floor, ‘if the story cannot run without photographs, then I will understand. But please appreciate that I cannot be moved on this issue.’
‘I understand, really.’
‘Excellent,’ he said, brightening. ‘Then let’s move to the living room and discuss the article further.’ He led me out of the room. I took one last glance at the panelled wall, lamenting the missed opportunity for capturing such an amazing creature on film.
It was a little after nine thirty and Mather was making another pot of tea. I asked him if coffee was a possibility, but this seemed to bother him, so I changed my mind. It was a shame. I could have done with a stronger caffeine boost. I was still feeling the after-effects of being in the freezing water the previous day.
Mather looked at the logs in the fireplace as though contemplating a fire. Outside, the sun was guarded by oppressive clouds. I took a few sips of tea, imagining it was black coffee. My host looked across at me, his eyes wide open, as though waiting for me to say something. I broke the silence.
‘The article . . .’ I said, not intending to finish the sentence.
‘Ah yes,’ Mather began. ‘As I was saying, I would prefer it if you didn’t give away any revealing details.’
‘Such as?’
‘Well, such as the name of the island, the lake and the town. I would like to remain anonymous too.’
The tea made a strange gurgling sound in my stomach. ‘Anonymous?’
‘That’s right.’ He smiled, though it seemed a little forced.
‘Well, as I said before, I don’t mind keeping certain things confidential. I’m very grateful for the information you’ve given me. I’m sure it’ll be a great story. Although it would be nice to have real names, real places.’
‘Well, of course, I understand, Mr Reeves, and sympathize. However, this is a most sensitive case, as I’m sure you’ve grasped, and precautions must be taken. Otherwise I, as the Lady’s guardian, would not be doing my job.’ He stood, cup in hand, and looked outside. Rays caught his face as the sun broke cover.
‘Isn’t that better?’ Mather drained his cup and set it down on the tray. I was relieved to see him cheerful again. For a while his mood had been a little sour. I was curious about this strange little man, living alone, as he did, on the island with only an oversized mosquito for company. I decided to probe a bit to try to find out more about him.
‘You say you studied at Charing Cross Hospital?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said, sitting down again.
‘That must have been an interesting experience.’ Perhaps if I showed an interest in his life, he might be more accommodating. I meant to have photographs of the Ganges Red, even if I had to sneak back into the room at some point to get them. Other people, I’m sure, would have let the matter go, but I knew that if I wanted to be a successful journalist, I’d have to take risks. It was possible that if I remained on the island a little longer, the right opportunity might present itself.
‘As a matter of fact,’ Mather said, ‘it is because of something that happened during my time there that I came to live here.’ He scratched his chin and stared into space. ‘Despite my continued attempts to put the experience behind me, I was driven to flee London and seek the peaceful solitude of Lake Languor.’
He looked at the tray, then at my cup, implying that he was keen to clear things away. However, my tea was still hot and, though it wasn’t serving any great purpose, I was in no hurry to finish it. Mather settled back in his armchair, staring upwards as he recalled the dark tale.
V: ABOMINATION
I took the Dictaphone out of my pocket and rested it discreetly on my lap, pressing the record button. I didn’t ask Mather for his permission this time, not wanting to interrupt him and risk losing what sounded like a promising story. A lapse in manners is sometimes necessary in my line of work.
‘As a young man I lacked the confidence I have now,’ Mather began. ‘I allowed myself to be steered by others, and because of this I ended up doing things I didn’t want to do. Soames was a man I admired greatly. We met on my first day at medical school in a rather full classroom. I introduced myself, my name coming out in a stutter as it sometimes did when I was nervous. We shook hands.
‘“Soames. Alexander Soames,” he said. There was a remarkable air of self-assurance about him that made me comfortable in his presence. He proceeded to answer every question put to the class by the lecturer, even arguing with the man at one point, much to the class’s amusement. I made up my mind to stick to him after that, as he was clearly someone I could learn from. But as I was soon to discover, he was not without his faults. He was prone to sudden and often unexplained fits of rage. Culpability was something he was never able to accept, no matter what evidence there was to implicate him. Nothing was his fault. He would always find some excuse, no matter how flimsy, to lay the blame at another’s door. Indeed, if he were here to tell this story himself, he would lay the blame for what happened at
my
door. When he was successful, he would take all the credit and praise, regardless of how many people had helped him. But when things went wrong, he would be quick to accuse others, particularly me.’