Errantry: Strange Stories (36 page)

She waited as he moved about the flat, collecting keys, the large black envelope containing the invitation, a plastic carrier bag from Sainsburys, an umbrella.

“I think it’s supposed to be nice,” said Nina, eyeing the umbrella.

“You’re probably right.” Uncle Lou set the umbrella back atop a hall table and paused, catching his breath. After a moment he slid a hand into his pocket, withdrew it to hold out a set of car keys.

“Here.” He put the keys into Nina’s palm and closed her fingers around them. “I’d like you to drive.”

“What?” Nina’s eyes widened. “The—your car?”

Uncle Lou nodded. “Yes. I don’t trust myself anymore. It used to be I saw better at night than daytime, but now . . .” He grimaced. “Last time I took it out I drove onto the curb near Tesco. You can drive a standard, right?”

“Yes—of course. But—”

“I’m giving it to you.” He turned and picked up a large manila envelope on the side table. “Everything’s in here, I’ve done all the paperwork already. Title and deed. It’s yours. There are some other papers in there as well. You might look at them when you have some spare time.”

Nina stared at the keys in her hand. “But—are you sure, Uncle Lou?”

“Absolutely. Impress that boyfriend of yours at the law firm. I can always borrow it back if I need to. Now, we’d better go—I don’t want to be late.”

He tucked the manila envelope beneath his arm. Once inside the car, he slid it into the glovebox. “Let’s remember it’s there,” he said, and sank into the leather seat.

They ran into heavy traffic heading north, but this eased as they approached Dunstable. The zoo was in the countryside a few miles outside town, within a greenbelt that was in stark contrast to the depressing sprawl behind them. Uncle Lou rolled down his window, letting in the smell of autumn leaves and smoke. On a distant green hillside, the immense chalk figure of a lion had been carved. Above the hill, a full moon had just begun to rise, tarnished silver against the periwinkle sky.

“Look at that,” said Nina. “Isn’t that beautiful?”

“Isn’t it,” said Uncle Lou, and squeezed her hand upon the gear-shift.

They arrived at the zoo entrance shortly after the reception’s opening time.

“Don’t park there,” Uncle Lou said when Nina put on her turn signal for the main carpark. “Keep going—there, on the left. Much less crowded, and you’ll be able to leave quickly later.”

Nina angled the Aston Martin through a narrow gate that opened into a much smaller lot. It held only a handful of vehicles, most of them zoo vans and trucks.

“Are we allowed to park here?” she asked, after following Uncle Lou’s directions to ease the Aston Martin beneath a large oak.

“Oh, yes. It never really fills up. Bit of a secret.” With an effort, he extricated himself from the car, steadying himself against the hood and sighing. “I swear, that car gets smaller every time I get inside it.” He pointed at a gap between an overgrown hedge. “That way.”

“How do you know about this?” asked Nina, stepping gingerly through the gap.

“I have friends here I visit sometimes. Ah, that must be where we’re supposed to be . . .”

This zoo was much more parklike than the London Zoo; more like the grounds of a stately home, only minus the home, and with elephants and oryx and other large wildlife. Dusk had deepened into early evening, the moon poised above them in a lapis sky where a few faint stars shimmered. Unearthly noises echoed through the night: high-pitched chitters; a loud snuffling that became a bellow; an odd hollow pumping sound.

“Least bittern,” said Uncle Lou, cocking his head in the direction of the sound.

Nina squinted in the fading light. “How do you know that?”

“I’m a font of useless knowledge. I’ve built my career on it.”

A path led them toward a large field where a crowd milled around an open-sided white marquee tent. A few security guards and several men and women in staff uniforms that marked them as animal keepers mingled with people wearing loose interpretations of fancy dress. At a small booth beside the tent, a middle-aged woman in a black faux-fur capelet examined Uncle Lou’s invitation.

“I know who you are,” she said, beaming up at him. “I met my husband because of
Athens by Night
. Is this your daughter?”

“My niece.” Uncle Lou tucked Nina’s arm into his.

The woman checked their names off a list and gestured toward the tent. “Go get some champagne. Enjoy!”

The reception was to raise funds for a new, state-of-the art Owl House, which would provide habitat for the endangered Eurasian Eagle-Owl and Pygmy Owl, along with more common species. Beneath the marquee, tables draped in black and silver held trays of canapes and elaborate hors d’oeuvre made to resemble owls, full moons, and bats. In one corner, a large owl with a slender chain attached to its leg perched upon a leather gauntlet covering the arm of a tall, blonde young man in zoo staff livery. A number of guests had gathered here, and the owl regarded them with baleful hauteur, now and then ruffling its feathers and clacking its beak noisily.

After making a beeline for the bar, Nina and Uncle Lou wandered around the tent, drinking their champagne and admiring a large display with three-dimensional models of the proposed Owl House. A few people walked over to clasp Uncle Lou’s hand and greet him by name, including Miranda Eccles, an ancient woman writer of some renown. Nina had often heard the rumor that the two had been lovers. While they spoke, Nina slipped away to get two more glasses of champagne. By the time she returned, the elderly woman was gone.

“Let’s go say hello to that owl,” said Uncle Lou.

He handed his empty glass to a passing waiter and took a full one from Nina. They edged their way to the front of the group, being careful not to spill their champagne. The owl had turned its back on the onlookers.

“It looks rather like Miranda, doesn’t it?” observed Uncle Lou.

The owl’s head abruptly swiveled in a disconcerting two-hundred-and-sixty-degree arc. Its yellow eyes fixed on Uncle Lou, the pupils large as pound coins. Without warning it raised its wings and flapped them menacingly, beak parting to emit an ear-splitting screech.

Nina gasped. A few people cried out, then laughed nervously as the owl-keeper swiftly produced a canvas hood that he quickly dropped over the bird.

“He’s getting restless,” he explained, adjusting the hood. “Full moon, he wants to hunt. And he’s not used to so many people.”

“I feel the same way.” Uncle Lou took Nina’s elbow and steered her toward an exit. “Let’s take a walk outside.”

They handed off their empty glasses and stepped back into the night. Uncle Lou seemed invigorated by the champagne: he threw his head back, gazing at the moon; laughed then pointed to a black tracery of trees some distance away.

“There,” he said.

He began walking so quickly that Nina had to run to catch up. When she reached his side, he took her hand, slowing his pace.

“You’ve been a very good niece.” He glanced down at her. For the first time Nina noticed he had neglected to shave, perhaps for several days: gray stubble covered his jaw and chin. “I don’t know how my brother and your mother managed to produce such a wonderful daughter, but I’m very glad they did.”

“Oh, Uncle Lou.” Nina’s eyes filled with tears. “I feel the same way.”

“I know you do. Here.” He stopped, with some effort twisted the heavy silver ring from his hand. He grasped Nina’s wrist and slid the ring onto her right pointer finger. “I want you to have this.”

She looked at him in surprise. “It fits! It always looked so big.”

Moonlight glinted on the silver band as Uncle Lou drew it to his lips and kissed her knuckle, the gray hairs on his chin soft where they brushed her fingertips.

“Of course it fits. You have my hands,” he said, and let hers drop. “Come on.”

They passed artfully landscaped habitats with placards that indicated that antelopes or Bactrian camels lived there, behind hidden moats or fences cunningly designed to resemble vines or reeds or waist-high grass. A gated road permitted cars and zoo buses to drive through a mock savanna where lions and cheetahs prowled.

Nina saw no sign of any animals, though she occasionally caught the ripe scents of dung or musk, the muddy green smell of a manmade pond or marsh. The snorts and hoots had diminished as night deepened and creatures either settled to sleep or, in the case of predators, grew silent and watchful.

But then a single wavering cry rang out from the direction of the trees, ending as abruptly as it began. Nina’s entire body flashed cold.

“What was that?” she whispered. But Uncle Lou didn’t reply.

They reached the stand of trees, where the gravel walkway forked. Without hesitation Uncle Lou bore to the left.

Here, more trees loomed alongside the path, their branches entwining above unruly thickets of thorny brush. Acorns and beech mast crunchds underfoot, so that it seemed as though they had entered a forest. There was a spicy smell of bracken, and another scent, unfamiliar but unmistakably an animal’s.

After a few minutes Uncle Lou stopped. He glanced behind them, and for a moment remained still, listening.

“This way,” he said, and ducked beneath the trees.

“Are we allowed here?” Nina called after him in a low urgent voice.

Uncle Lou’s words echoed back to her. “At night, everything is allowed. Shhh!”

She hesitated, trying to peer though the heavy greenery; finally ducked and began to push her way through, shielding her face with one hand. Brambles plucked at her dress, and she flinched as a thorn scraped against one leg.

But then the underbrush receded. She stepped into a small clearing thick with dead leaves. Several large trees loomed against the moonlit sky. Uncle Lou stood beneath one of these, breathing heavily as he stared at a small hill several yards away. More trees grew on its slope, between boulders and creeping vines.

“Uncle Lou?”

She took a step toward him, froze as a dark shape flowed between the boulders then disappeared. Before she could cry out she heard Uncle Lou’s soft voice.

“There’s a fence.”

She swallowed, blinking, looked where he pointed and saw a faint latticework of twisted chainlink. She waited for her heart to slow, then darted to his side.

And yes, now she could discern that behind the chainlink fence was a deep cement moat, maybe twenty feet wide and extending into the darkness in either direction. Vines straggled down its sides, and overhanging mats of moss and dead leaves.

They were at the back of one of the enclosures, a place where visitors were absolutely
not
allowed.

“
Uncle Lou
,” Nina whispered, her voice rising anxiously.

As she spoke, the shadowy form rematerialized, still on the far side of the moat, and directly across from them. It lowered its head between massive shoulders, moonlight flaring in its eyes so that they momentarily glowed red, then stretched out its front legs until its belly grazed the ground. A wolf.

Nina stared at it, torn between amazement and an atavistic fear unassuaged by the presence of the moat. When a second form slipped beside the first, she jumped.

“They won’t hurt you,” murmured Uncle Lou.

A third wolf trotted from the trees, and another, and another, until at last seven were ranged at the foot of the hill. They gazed at the old man, tongues lolling from their long jaws, and then each lay down in turn upon the grass in a watchful pose.

“What are they doing?” breathed Nina.

“The same thing we are,” replied Uncle Lou. “Excuse me for a moment—nature calls . . .”

He patted her shoulder and walked briskly toward another tree.

Nina politely turned away—he sometimes had to do this when they were embarked upon a long stroll on the Heath, always returning to shake his head and mutter, “Old man’s bladder.”

She looked back at the wolves, who now appeared somewhat restive. The largest one’s head snapped up. It stared at something overhead, then scrambled to its feet. At the same moment, Nina heard a rustling in the treetops, followed by a creaking sound.

“Uncle Lou?” She glanced at the tree where he’d gone to relieve himself. “Everything all right?”

The rustling grew louder. Nina looked up, and saw one of the upper boughs of the tree bending down at an alarming angle, so that its tip hung over the moat. A large whitish animal was clambering down its length, sending dead leaves and bits of debris to the ground beneath. Nina clapped a hand to her mouth as a shaft of moonlight struck the bough, revealing Uncle Lou, naked and slowing to a crawl as the branch bowed under him.

The wolves had all leapt up and stood in a row at the enclosure’s edge, eyes fixed on the white figure above them. With a loud
crack
, the bough snapped. At the same instant, Uncle Lou sprang from it, his pale form mottled with shadow as he landed upon the grass and rolled between the creatures there.

With a cry Nina ran forward, stopped and fought to see her uncle in the blur of dust and leaves and fur on the other side of the hidden moat. The wolves danced around it, tails held low, heads high, then drew back as another wolf struggled to its feet.

It was nearly the same size as the largest wolf, its muzzle white, and iron-gray fur tipped with silver. It shook its head, sending off a flurry of leaves and twigs, stood very still as the other big male approached to sniff its hindquarters, then its throat. Finally it touched the newcomer’s
white muzzle, growling playfully as the two engaged in mock battle and the other wolves darted forward, tails wagging as they joined in.