The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) (15 page)

“Hello, Col!” called Dr. Brock, pitchforking dead branches onto the blaze. “How’s your summer been? Looking forward to starting at Chartmouth next week?”

“Not much. I’d prefer to hang out with Skylark.”

Dr. Brock chuckled. “Of course.”

“And Connie won’t be there.”

The doctor leaned on his pitchfork, his face serious. “No, it seems that she won’t. How is she, by the way? Your grandmother told me you’d seen her.”

“I dunno—miserable, I think. But she’s got plans to escape this weekend and see Argand.”

“Good. It doesn’t do for companions to be separated for too long.”

“I know—I feel rough when I haven’t seen Skylark for a few days.”

“It’s more than that. Your bond makes you reliant on each other—you both need each other to be truly yourself—at least, that’s how it seems to me after all these years with Argot.”

“So can I borrow Argand?”

“Ask her yourself.”

Dr. Brock pointed to the heart of the fire, where Col now saw a little dragon was basking.

“Won’t she get hurt?” He had half a mind to fish her out with Dr. Brock’s pitchfork.

“Oh, no, that’s the amazing thing about pure golden dragons—their hide protects them from even the hottest flames—they’re practically indestructible.”

Col watched with fascinated delight as Argand fanned the flames with her wings to make it blaze a little hotter around her rump. She wriggled with
pleasure as the fire tickled her.

“Argand!” called Dr. Brock.

She ignored him.

“Argand, pay attention—it’s about Connie.”

Instantly, the dragon whirled up from the fire, circled, and landed on Dr. Brock’s shoulder, cheeping and whistling in his ear.

“Will you go with this boy to see her in a few days?”

Argand’s eyes turned to Col. A flourish of raspberry colored flames burst from her mouth.

“Now stop that. What would your mother say? I know he’s not a dragon companion, but he is Connie’s friend. She chose him.”

Argand let out a skeptical whistle, then nodded.

“Well, that seems to be agreed. Come and fetch her from here on Saturday. I’ll have words with her to make sure she behaves.”

“Thanks.” Col turned to go but then remembered what else Connie had asked him to do. “Dr. Brock, what do you know about Godiva Lionheart?”

Dr. Brock frowned and wiped his hand across his face, leaving a soot mark. “Why do you want to know?”

“It’s not me—it’s Connie. She’s figured out that her great-aunt knows a lot about the Society.”

“Yes, she does.”

“How come?”

Dr. Brock stroked Argand thoughtfully. “I’m not
supposed to talk about it—about her. That was what we agreed.”

“Agreed? When?”

Dr. Brock shot Col a shrewd look. “Well, it seems Connie’s guessed quite a lot already. I’ll tell you something about it—but not all. I took an oath and I intend to keep it.

“Two Lionhearts in that generation had a gift—Sybil and Godiva. Fine girls, the pair of them—broke many hearts in the youth section of the Society just before the war.”

“You mean World War Two?”

“I suppose I do—but I was thinking of the last war with Kullervo. Sybil was the elder—she married a very powerful companion from the Two-Fours. As for Godiva, well, I suppose you could say she and I were walking out together.”

“You were dating Godiva Lionheart?” Col found it hard to imagine anyone liking that old battleaxe.

“I was.” Dr. Brock sighed. “She’d only just joined as a full member—‘sweet sixteen’ and I…er…made sure the rest of the song didn’t apply.”

Col looked puzzled.

“‘And never been kissed’? Surely you’ve heard your grandmother singing it?”

Col shook his head.

“Heavens, you make me feel old, Col. Anyway, the
violent deaths of Sybil’s husband and many others came as a great shock to us all. Godiva reacted more severely than any of us—I think she went almost out of her mind. I couldn’t reach her—she pushed me and everyone else away. It was particularly sad as her sister needed her more than ever before. Iva started…”

“Iva?”

He smiled sadly. “Her pet name. Iva started saying that the mythical creatures were all made up—a hysterical delusion. She even rejected her own companion. It died and something in Iva died, too, that night.”

“Her companion died?”

“Yes. It was terrible. Of course, it happened during wartime. We were surrounded by death and destruction. But that one death—the suffering as her companion pined away with Iva refusing even to say good-bye—that was the worst.”

“That’s…that’s awful.”

“Maybe, but grief and love make us do strange things.”

“What was her companion species?”

Dr. Brock shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t say. We agreed never to reveal that once she handed back her membership badge—or threw it at me, I should say. It’s the protocol for when members leave: they are no longer mentioned and their companion species is struck from the record. Fortunately, she didn’t know many of our secrets—only the basics of her own company. I suppose
you could say that defectors become as mythical to the Society as the creatures are to most people.”

“But that’s crazy. You can’t deny she’s got a gift.”

“It’s not us denying it—it’s her—it’s her choice.”

“And she’s trying to force Connie to do the same. We’ve got to stop her.”

“I know, but the law of this country is on her side. We can’t go marching in and take Connie away. I’ve no doubt she’d soon get the authorities to have the lot of us arrested as a dangerous cult kidnapping children. No, what you are doing is the best way—keep Connie in touch with her companion, support her as a friend.”

Dr. Brock unwound Argand’s tail from his neck and placed her gently in Col’s hands. “If I were a betting man, Col, I’d put my money on Godiva cracking before Connie does. After all, she doesn’t know it, but she’s up against a universal—that’s way out of her league.”

9
The Chest

T
hough Connie had committed herself to escaping from the lodge on Saturday night, she still had to work out the details of her plot. She knew she needed the gate key and some way of getting up to Mallins Wood. During her lunch hour on Friday, she decided to explore the coal-shed and was rewarded with the discovery of an old bike. Dragging it out onto the lawn, she examined it to see if it was still roadworthy.

“Goodness, where did you find that?” asked Hugh, coming in from his daily trip to the newsstand, gate key clinking at his side. “I haven’t seen that old boneshaker for years. Now let me see…ah, yes, it was Godiva’s—I thought as much. Sybil must have taken hers with her when she decamped to Hescombe.”

“Do you think I could fix it up?”

“Frankly, my dear, no I don’t.”

Connie’s face fell.

“But I could. Right up my alley something like this—stop the old seadog from feeling completely useless.”

“Thank you. Do you think it’ll take long?”

“Why? In a hurry to leave us?” he asked shrewdly.

“I was just hoping I’d be allowed out this weekend. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen the other side of these walls—except for the abbey.”

“Well then, I’ll take it along to the bike shop this afternoon and see what I can do. No promises, though!”

“Thank you, Uncle Hugh.” Impulsively, Connie kissed him on the cheek. He flushed pink with pleasure.

“Now, now, don’t mention it,” he said. “You may be a funny little thing, Connie, but I can’t bear to see you upset. I’m pleased I can cheer you up with this. I wish I could do the same for my sister—it’s sixty years since she was last really happy.”

“That’s a very long time.” Connie, too, had sensed that something had sucked all the happiness out of her great-aunt, like a lemon squeezed of its juice. The atmosphere changed when Godiva entered a room, becoming heavy as if presaging a storm. Connie found it hard to spend so much time in her company.

“Yes, isn’t it? I sometimes wonder whether…well, never mind. Let me get going on this. Come and find me in my room after lessons and I’ll tell you how I got on.”

Hugh’s cabin, as he liked to call it, was at the far end of the house up in the roof. Connie had not yet been allowed in and was curious to see what it was like. She knocked on the door.

“Come in!” called Hugh.

“Wow!” Connie stood transfixed in the doorway. In contrast to the deadness afflicting the rest of the house, this room was vibrantly alive. It was crammed with wonderfully carved furniture—wardrobes, chairs, tables, screens—so much that there was barely room to move.

“Sorry, it’s a bit cluttered,” said Hugh.

“No, I love it.”

He looked pleased and stroked the top of a wooden chest under the window. “I couldn’t let Godiva get rid of them, you see. They’ve been in this house for centuries. So here they are—in my sanctuary.”

“Why would anyone want to get rid of them?” Connie was admiring a filigree screen chiseled into the shape of a fruiting apple tree. The wood seemed to hum contentedly under her touch.

“I think she…they make her uncomfortable. She says it’s a kind of allergy.”

“She’s allergic to furniture?”

“No, just to wood. She only feels safe from it at sea.”

The last piece fell in place. Connie now knew what Godiva’s companion species had been.

“Can I take a look around?”

“Of course, my dear, they’re yours, too—all family bits and bobs.” He watched his great-niece examine each article, tracing each carving with her fingertips. There were mythical creatures from all companies in here—dragons, griffins, snakes, water sprites, minotaurs. Hugh lived surrounded by them but did not know that they had been carved from life. Connie finally settled down before the chest and placed her hands on the compass symbol that decorated the lid.

“Ah, I see you like my favorite piece. It reminds me a bit of that tomb. I’ve always reckoned this was the family safe. It’s full of old papers and ledgers.”

Connie’s heart began to beat a little faster. “May I take a look?”

“Certainly. I’ve leafed through it myself several times—a lot of it is mumbo jumbo.” He opened it and, with the knowledge of long acquaintance, rifled until he reached a bundle of papers. “Like this lot—I guess someone was translating from Arabic—see these squiggles here—that’s what it looks like to me.”

Connie took the crackling pile of yellowed parchment from him and read the title. It had been written in English on the left-hand side of the page, leaving a column for some kind of script on the other. Though the English was flawless, the script had many cross-outs and inkblots as if the pen had hovered over the page too often as the writer
searched for the right word.

She looked back at the title—
Fighting within the Gate: A Universal’s Guide to Repelling Hostile Encounters
.

“What do you think, Connie?” Hugh asked her, perplexed by her sudden stillness. “I thought it might be a translation of some Arabian Nights tale or some such—or a crusader’s handbook.”

“I think it’s a translation all right, but from English into this other language,” said Connie. She didn’t add that she had a suspicion that the language was not one spoken by men. The author, she guessed, was Suzanna Caldicott, but why she should then go on to translate it was a mystery. Connie’s fingers burned to turn more pages, but she tried to hide her excitement.

“Can I take this with me and see if I can make anything of it?”

Hugh sucked his bottom lip. “I suppose so,” he said reluctantly. “But wouldn’t you prefer to choose something else?” He pulled out a big family Bible. “How about this? Or this? The accounts are fascinating—all that ballast, rum, and cordage—it keeps me amused for hours just looking at the numbers involved in keeping a three-masted ship afloat.”

Connie shook her head, smiling. “I think it’d send me to sleep.”

He laughed. “In that case, you can take those. It’s far too old to be of any consequence now, isn’t it? Godiva
won’t think I’ve broken her rule.”

So he was suspicious that it had something to do with the Society, thought Connie. She leafed through to the end. “Look, Uncle Hugh, the family compass is here again. Perhaps it’s something to do with why we chose that as our coat of arms. It seems to mention all those mythical beasts right out of heraldry, doesn’t it?”