The Amulet (21 page)

I drove back to Dunlop's house as fast as possible without exceeding the speed limit, and arrived to find Dunlop struggling out of the house with a suitcase. Whatever was in it was obviously heavy, but he refused my offer of help.

"And about bloody time, too," was all he said. "Help Fiona with the other case, will you-we're getting short on time."

I did as I was told.

Fiona was in the hall. She had changed into a blouse and skirt, and I thought I glimpsed, as she bent over, the tops of stockings. Did this woman not realize the effect she was having on me?

I helped her carry the case outside, and when I got back out I was just in time to see Dunlop loading the other suitcase into the boot of a large black Mercedes.

I found that I was nominated driver. Dunlop was clearly too ill to try, and Fiona couldn't drive.

"We'll take this car," Dunlop said. "Can you drive an automatic?"

I couldn't, but I wasn't about to tell Dunlop that. I was almost salivating at the thought of being in control of all that sleek, black power. I decided I had better put in a token protest; I didn't want to seem too keen.

"Wouldn't we be better off in something a little less conspicuous?" I asked, pointing over at Doug's car. "Someone might be watching out for your car."

"I don't think it matters much," he replied. "I'm pretty sure they'll be expecting us to try something. We may as well travel in comfort."

By the looks of him he'd need all the comfort he could get. I had doubts that he would survive the trip.

Dunlop got in the back and Fiona got into the passenger seat, her skirt riding up to show an expanse of thigh. I had been right about the stockings, and it was all I could do to keep my hands on the wheel. I know-all very childish, very macho, but show me someone who wouldn't have been moved by those legs, and I'll show you a woman.

I almost embarrassed myself just getting the car started, and managed to stall it twice before we even got to the road, but after a few minutes the car seemed to drive itself. It was silky smooth and purred like a big cat. On any other day I might have taken a great deal of pleasure from being behind the wheel.

The early part of the journey passed uneventfully. Dunlop had told me little more than to head for Fort William and points north. Fortunately there was only one road, so it was difficult to get lost.

"So tell me about Durban," I said.

"There's not much to tell," Dunlop said. "His great grandfather's name was Johnson. Does that tell you all you need to know?"

I did. I'd been right about the family feud.

The car was a joy to drive and the rain had eased. By the time we reached Loch Lomond, the sun poked its way through the clouds and I had mastered the controls. The scenery was at its best, with just a fine mist covering the hilltops.

We had been cruising along in silence for about half an hour before Dunlop spoke to me again.

"You seem to be taking all this very calmly, Mr. Adams. We must seem very strange to you."

I looked at him in the rear view mirror.

"Aye, strange is a good word for it. But I've seen too many 'strange' things in the past few days-I think I'm suffering from overload."

He started to laugh, then thought better of it as another coughing fit hit him.

"One thing does worry me, though," I said. "I just can't imagine you as the man who controls the North Side."

This time he did chuckle.

"Oh yes-I have my father to thank for most of that. But I like to keep my hand in. We all have some price to pay for our power."

Whatever that meant, it was too obscure for me, but I wasn't able to quiz him further. We got caught in a spot of heavy traffic and I had to keep my wits about me as the boy-racers played their games in front and behind me.

Once the traffic had calmed down, Dunlop started talking to me again.

"Tell me about the Arab you saw-what did he look like?"

I didn't have to think too hard; the image was ingrained in my mind. I described him, as best as I could, and when I had finished Dunlop looked thoughtful.

"Just as my great grandfather described him," he muttered.

I jumped at that, and almost lost control of the wheel.

"What do you mean-it can't be the same man. Can it? He'd have to be well over one hundred years old-maybe as much as fifty years over."

"Oh, it's the same man, all right. And he's much older than that. I wouldn't like to guess how old, but Great-granddad reckoned it might be as long as three thousand years-maybe even older. It is rumored that he is the same age as the amulet itself, and that could go back tens of thousands of years."

I think I snorted, but my mind was reeling. It was just too much to take in. I concentrated on the road while Dunlop continued.

"Whoever, or whatever, the Arab is, his life has been bound with the amulet and the ritual. Great-granddad speculated that he was one of the original priest kings, bound to walk the earth until the stars were right for the ritual. From grandfather's research, I think I have a fairly good idea of his motives. A long time ago he was the keeper of the amulet, but he abused its power and it was taken from him and placed in the sepulchre, surrounded by rock and bound by many spells. He was exiled, forced to wander the desert for centuries-you'd be surprised how often he turns up in old legends-until Johnson came along."

He paused and coughed up a lump of blood into his handkerchief. I only caught a quick glimpse as he put the handkerchief away, but it looked like a piece of raw meat.

I was grateful for the pause; it gave me a chance to check the rear-view mirror. We were being followed. I'd spotted the same car three times over the last fifty miles. They hung well back, and never came too close, but it was the same car, all right. I didn't tell my passengers; I didn't want to alarm them. Anyway, they must be police. It was just Stan and Ollie's style-they probably put the tail on me right after I met them at the cemetery.

I decided to ignore them. They might come in useful later on, but for the moment they weren't causing us any difficulty.

Dunlop was still coughing, and it was several seconds before he was able to continue.

"In Johnson the Arab found a man he could use, a man he could mould to his own ends. What with Johnson's ambition, and his dynamite, the old Arab got what he wanted-the amulet. If it hadn't been for Andrew, he might have achieved his purpose already."

I didn't want to ask any more, but he was bent on telling me.

"When the stars are right, and he has the amulet, then Great C'thulhu will be called from his dreaming sleep. That's what we are going to have to stop."

"And this C'thulhu chap? He's a bad guy?"

Fiona answered this time.

"One of the worst-he is the very embodiment of chaos. If the ritual is successful, C'thulhu will be able to reclaim his old form and all of evolution until now would be reversed in an instant-it would mean the earth being returned to its primal form."

"A bad idea, I think you'll agree, Mr. Adams," Dunlop said, and chortled again until a fresh bout of coughing forced him into quiet.

I talked quietly to Fiona for a while, but didn't learn much new. She thought that we had a chance to disrupt the ritual and retrieve the amulet. A slim chance, but one we had to go for. I got the impression she didn't expect to survive the trip.

"And where does Doug come into this?"

I saw her glance quickly at her husband, and he shook his head.

"We don't know," she said. "We hope that we will find your friend at Arkham House, but it may be too late."

I resolved to put my mind in neutral and go with the flow. I would keep my head down and let Dunlop get on with the hocus-pocus. If a chance came to save Doug, I'd take it. And if Doug could not be saved, somebody else would pay.

I'd paid already.

Dunlop slept for most of the rest of the trip, and after a while Fiona was keeping her thoughts to herself. Every time I glanced over at her she had her eyes half closed and she muttered to herself, but I couldn't make out the words. I contented myself with enjoying the feel of the car, and admiring the sweeping scenery.

Near Crianlarich I decided it was time for a cigarette. I needed some rest anyway-my arm had started throbbing again, and the stiff pedals were giving me shooting pains in my calf muscle. Dunlop was still sleeping, so we left him in the car.

Once I'd got my cigarette going I asked Fiona what she thought was waiting for us.

"Hell, Mr. Adams. Pure, unadulterated hell. Just pray to whatever gods you have that we get there in time."

"I don't believe," I said.

I realized I didn't sound convinced. If I had answered her just three days ago there would have been no hesitation, but something in the things I'd seen had got through my cynicism. I found that I couldn't cope with the idea of so much evil without a balancing force, a force of good.

She gave me the smile again, and I felt something melt inside me.

"You don't sound as if you're very convinced about that," she said, echoing my own thoughts back to me.

"I'm not, but I always fancied changing my mind on my death bed, preferably after my ninetieth birthday."

Now she looked serious, two small lines appearing as furrows.

"I just hope you don't have to do it sooner."

She accepted my offer of a cigarette and we smoked in silence for several seconds.

"So how did you get involved with Dunlop?" I asked, and she gave me more than a smile, she gave me the full works.

"You mean, what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?" she said, and I had to join her laugh.

"I met Arthur through the Craft," she said, and must have noticed my blank stare. "I'm a witch. Hadn't you guessed?"

"Where's the broomstick?" was out of my mouth before I could stop it. I thought at first she was angry, but then she threw her head back and roared with laughter.

"You really don't know anything about us, do you? It's not all libido-raisers and palm reading."

I had to admit she was right-films had clouded all my views on the occult. I learned fast, though. I found out a bit more when I asked her what she had been muttering in the car.

"Protection, a spell to keep us all safe. You won't have noticed, but we have been under psychic attack since we left the house. Only the combined efforts of Arthur and myself have kept them at bay. They know we are coming."

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, hoping she wouldn't say yes.

"Just drive, and keep an open mind. I've got a feeling things are going to get a lot stranger yet."

A cloud swept over the sun and a cold shiver passed down my spine as I got back in the car. The first thing I did was check the rear-view mirror as I pulled out. Our tail was still there-they pulled out of a lay-by a couple of hundred yards back at the same time we started moving.

Dunlop was still asleep, new flecks of blood at his lips, blood that bubbled with every breath. I didn't say anything-the man's health was his own problem. I still hadn't made up my mind if I liked him. Oh, he was pleasant enough, but there was an undercurrent there, something somehow slimy and evil. After all, you didn't get a reputation like his in Glasgow without some cause. Mrs. Dunlop was another proposition entirely: I refused to believe that she was capable of any wrong, but maybe I 'd been blinded by her obvious charms.

The pursuing car fell in behind us. Now that we were out in the open road they found it more difficult to sit four hundred yards back. Once more I chose to ignore them.

"Do they work, then?" I asked Fiona.

"Do what work?" she said, puzzled.

"You know-those potions you mentioned-the libido raisers."

She laughed out loud at that one, again showing off the perfect dental work.

"What a quaint way you have with words. Of course they work." She gave me a little sideways grin. "Not that I've ever had a need for them."

"So, another stupid question for you," I said to hide my sudden embarrassment. "How did you get into all this weird occult stuff in the first place?"

She gave me the smile again. I wondered how many men had melted before it.

"You know, you're quite cute when you blush. I started young," she said. "I blame it on my grandmother. She was always doing weird things-reading tea-leaves, making up potions for women in the town to help their men along in bed-all that kind of thing."

"Later, at school, I got together with a group of friends to play with a Ouija board. That was the start of it."

I looked over at her. She was lost in memories. I decided to let her go on-I was actually getting interested.

"We got in touch with something, certainly, but even now I'm not sure what it was. At first the messages were obviously fake-one of us must have been pushing it. Then things started getting weird. I started getting personal messages, things only I knew, and they would come through even when I wasn't touching the glass. Most of the messages were spiteful, the sort of thing that hits teenage girls where it hurts. And whatever it was, it was powerful. One of the girls had a nervous breakdown, and I started sleepwalking. It was after I was found, five miles from home, wearing only a night-dress, that my parents took me to see a specialist."

"I bet you looked a picture," I said, before I could stop myself.

She gave me a tight-lipped smile, but didn't stop.

"The specialist happened to be a white witch-she had no great power, but she made up for it with lots of enthusiasm. She recognized something in me, and for the next two years, on the pretence of therapy, she taught me in the ways of the Great Mother.

"By the time I was seventeen I'd learned everything she had to teach me. I did some fortune telling to make some quick cash, and I began to visit other covens, taking part in ceremonies. It was at one of them that I met Arthur."

"What do you mean-covens?" I asked. I had the picture in my mind again, the thirteen hooded figures around the obscene, tentacled beast.

"Oh, you needn't be worried. There was no black mass, no devil worship-no sacrificing of virgins. No, this was the old Craft, the one that has been around far longer than the obsolete symbols of Christianity. Arthur was officiating at the ceremonies. You should have seen him in those days-a fine figure of a man, so strong, so confident."