The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) (23 page)

At the Society’s temporary command post at the Mastersons’ farm, Col was on duty, manning the telephone in the office they had established in the dining
room. Keeping Col company, Argand lay curled up asleep in the center of the polished table, her golden scales gleaming in the reflective surface, small curls of smoke issuing from her nostrils with every breath. Col had just thrown the newspapers aside. He could not bear to read the pleading of Connie’s parents, who had flown back from the Philippines, urging their daughter to get in touch. It made it sound as if she was callously not phoning just to punish them all.

The Society had seen and heard nothing of Kullervo. Wherever the creature was, he was well hidden, biding his time. Search parties and scouts had combed all likely haunts, but no trace had been found and everyone was becoming increasingly short-tempered, frustrated by their powerlessness. They had no idea where he was taking the universal or when he would next strike. Col tried not to think too much about what might be happening to Connie. He knew he could not bear it.

Shirley Masterson, daughter of the house and a companion to weather giants, came into the room, dumping her schoolbag in a corner, startling Argand awake.

“Still here, Col?” she said sharply, swinging her long blonde hair over her shoulder. “Off school again?”

Col shrugged, not wanting to start an argument with her. His grandmother had allowed him to stay at the headquarters, knowing that he could not settle into the mundane regularity of a school routine while Connie’s fate was still
unknown.

“Heard nothing, I suppose?” she went on.

He shook his head.

“Well, perhaps my mentor will know more. He’s arriving this evening to help. He has sources of information others don’t have.”

Col was intrigued, despite himself. “Like who?”

Shirley smiled mysteriously, delighted to flaunt her superior knowledge before him. “I think he has a circle of regular informants—creatures he employs to keep track of us all.”

Col did not like the sound of that, but he supposed it might be useful in the current circumstances.

“I know that he’s asked them to keep watch for your mother’s camper-van,” she continued, putting a callous emphasis on “your mother,” driving it home that it was his parent who was the traitor. Though angered by Shirley’s casual cruelty, Col still felt ashamed.

There was a murmur of voices in the hall and more Society members came into the dining room. Dr. Brock, haggard with tiredness, led the way. He slumped down into a chair and wiped his misted glasses with a grimy handkerchief. Col had not seen him out of his riding clothes since Sunday and did not think that he had slept. Dr. Brock was followed by the stocky figure of Gard, a rock dwarf and one of the Trustees, clad as usual in deepest black. Gard threw back his hood to reveal a face that
looked as if it had been chiseled in coal. Each facet gleamed silver as he moved his head. His dark eyes were surrounded by many fine cracks and fissures. This past week had carved new lines into his brow.

“She is being kept inside, you mark my words,” he was saying in a gruff voice. “I cannot sense her footprint anywhere on the earth.”

“I fear he must have learned not to let her touch the ground,” replied Dr. Brock, referring to the rescue they had been able to mount the first time Kullervo had abducted Connie. Thanks to Gard, Kullervo had only been able to hold her for a few moments then, not the days that had now passed since Sunday morning.

Mr. and Mrs. Masterson came in bearing a tray of sandwiches for their guests, handing out bone china plates and napkins to all who accepted some food. Col took a couple of egg sandwiches, more through habit than desire, and munched miserably on the bread that tasted like cotton wool, glaring back at the family portraits that watched him from the wall. He couldn’t remember ever feeling so low.

A car crunched on the gravel outside and, moments later, Mr. Coddrington strode into the room, his energy contrasting starkly with the despondent faces that greeted him. The crisis seemed to have galvanized him. He looked positively perky.

“At last I have news,” Mr. Coddrington announced. All eyes turned on him, hope rekindled. Shirley hurried to his
side to catch some reflected glory. “The van was seen about an hour ago on the highway heading in this direction.”

“Heading here!” Dr. Brock exclaimed, putting aside his plate of food. “Whatever for?”

“I don’t know that,” Mr. Coddrington snapped back, annoyed that his news had not received more compliments from the gathered members. “Only Cassandra Lang can tell you that.”

Dr. Brock remembered his manners. “Thank you, Ivor. This is most valuable and welcome news. We must take counsel immediately—let us decamp outside.”

Clutching a forgotten sandwich in one hand, Col trailed out with the others to the barn, where the larger mythical creatures were waiting. Windfoal, the unicorn, paced to and fro on the straw, shaking her silver mane fretfully, her gilded horn shining like a flame leaping from her forehead. Storm-Bird, the great crow-like storm chaser, was perched in the rafters, rumbling ominously as his anger built to a peak. Two dragons sat side by side: Morjik, the ancient emerald-skinned Trustee, and Dr. Brock’s Argot. Their reptilian eyes flickered with a dangerous light. Smoke wound from Morjik’s nostrils, and at intervals his forked tongue darted out like a whip lashing the air. There was a flash of gold and Col saw that Argand was flitting excitedly around her patient father’s head. Other creatures and their companions flooded in through
the double door, called in from their training to form a great circle. The barn echoed with the buzz of eager voices and the grunts, squeals, and neighs of the creatures. Col squeezed in beside Skylark who had already positioned himself in the front row by Windfoal on the western side of the barn.

Mr. Coddrington and Dr. Brock stepped into the center of the circle. The doctor held up his hand and the room fell silent. He nodded to his colleague, cueing him to speak.

“Trustees and fellow members,” Mr. Coddrington began proudly, “I have just heard that the vehicle belonging to former Society member Cassandra Lang is on its way toward Hescombe.” An excited murmur ran around the room. “It seems that a confrontation is brewing. If they are coming this way, we can assume that Kullervo is not far behind. We must now decide what we can do to stop the shape-shifter and save the unfortunate Miss Lionheart, if that is now possible,” he ended with an unctuous smile at the Trustees.

Then a voice spoke up from the doorway, shattering the silence that had fallen after this speech.

“It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve got her!”

All eyes turned to the speaker. On the threshold stood Godiva Lionheart.

14
Shape-shifter

“W
hat is the meaning of this? Who is she?” Mr. Coddrington turned furiously to Dr. Brock.

“It’s Connie’s great-aunt,” Dr. Brock explained as he hurried over. “Godiva, what on Earth are you doing here?”

“She can’t come in!” shrieked Mr. Coddrington, his face white. “She’s not allowed to see.”

His protests went unheeded. Gard strode by and held out a hand. “Companion to wood sprites, you are very welcome.”

“I am not a companion to—” Godiva shut up abruptly, remembering that she claimed not to be able to see creatures such as Gard. “What have you done with Connie? Where are you hiding her?”

Dr. Brock put an arm around her shoulders. Col expected her to push him away, but instead she seemed to
sag under the weight. A week’s worth of worry had taken its toll on her.

“Look around you, Iva. We don’t have her here.”

Godiva raised her eyes.

“You can’t pretend any longer you can’t see us. You’ve been hiding yourself for too long,” said Gard.

This angered Godiva. She stood up straight again and shook Dr. Brock off. “I don’t want anything to do with…all this.” She turned to go.

“But you have to.” Dr. Brock took a deep breath. “Connie’s a universal, Iva. Don’t you remember what that means? Like Reggie Cony?”

“I don’t want to hear this—I don’t want to hear anymore.”

“You’re running away because you’re scared—not because it isn’t real. The girl I once knew would never run away. She would’ve faced her fears.”

“That was before the girl you knew saw all her friends slaughtered by that monster. Don’t you remember, Francis? George, Ramon, little Michael, Fredrich—all of them gone.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I have to help Connie—save her from you.” Godiva’s eyes glittered with their old fire. “I heard the trees in Mallins Wood whispering her name as I came past. I knew you had her in there. She’s in danger. I’d have taken the police there myself except I—”

“Except you wish to keep your word to the Society not to betray the mythical creatures,” said Gard.

“Exactly,” she confirmed angrily.

“What did the trees say?” asked Eagle-Child, Storm-Bird’s companion, stepping silently to Godiva’s other side.

“They said that she was coming. There’s a storm brewing.”

“Mallins Wood—so that’s where they are taking her,” Eagle-Child announced to the gathering.

“What are you talking about? Who’s taking her where?”

“Iva, Connie’s been captured by Kullervo,” Dr. Brock said softly. “I think you know only too well what that means for her.”

“No!” She shook her head in disbelief.

“But what you might not know is that he could use her powers as a universal to cause massive destruction. This is no longer about you and your feelings about the Society. This is about human survival.”

Godiva opened her mouth to say something, but then suddenly left the barn. Col could see her sitting on a hay-bale outside, head in her hands.

“Why is he taking her there?” asked Kinga Potowska, the dragon Morjik’s companion. A forceful woman with iron-gray hair curled in a knot at the nape of her neck, she strode to stand in the center of the barn, returning the meeting to the pressing matter at hand.

“Road,” growled Morjik.

“That is true,” said Gard, thumping into the circle from the doorway. “I can feel the earth already groaning under the machines, but tomorrow they start to rend root from soil as should not be done.”

“Kullervo must be thinking of attacking at first light to stop the wood being bulldozed,” added Kira Okona, companion to Windfoal. Her dark skin gleamed in the light as she stepped forward, casting her orange and black cotton wrap over her shoulders.

Dr. Brock rubbed his furrowed forehead in thought, casting an anxious look outside. “Perhaps,” he said at length. “That may be so. We know that the gorgon is one of his chief followers and that it is her wood the road-builders are set to destroy. Kullervo may think to make a beginning there.”

“So does that mean that the universal has given in?” asked Kinga, giving Dr. Brock a sharp look. “You said she would hold out long.”

“I know, I know,” he said sadly. “I hoped she would—I thought she would—but can any of us be certain when we consider the power of Kullervo? We understand too little of the bond between the universal and the shape-shifter to make pronouncements on this.”

Indignant that Kinga seemed to be blaming Connie for her weakness, Col spoke up: “He has the power to make you do his will. I should know—he used it on me.” He glared at Kinga.

“I am sorry, Col, if I angered you,” she said gently, resting a calming hand on his arm. “Do not misunderstand me. I know Connie would not willingly cause harm to anyone.”

Mr. Coddrington, who all this while had been standing in the circle, disgruntled to have found his big moment punctured by Godiva’s arrival, now spoke: “Surely, we can all agree that we have very little time. We know the gorgon companion, and probably the universal, are headed in this direction. We must assume that the universal is now in Kullervo’s power. We must prepare for battle.”

He paused, waiting for the Trustees to give the word.

The Trustees looked at one another in silent debate; each nodded as they reached a mutual decision.

“I fear we must make that assumption,” Kinga said heavily, “however much it pains us to believe this.”

“I have always warned the Society that universals pose a great—an unacceptable—risk to us. They are even worse than renegades.” Mr. Coddrington cast a derogatory look at the woman sitting crumpled in the farmyard. “But no matter. Now we have to take action. We must be at the wood before the shape-shifter arrives with his forces.”

“It will be difficult to keep from the sight of humans,” said Eagle-Child. “The festival-goers, the road builders, the men and women of your media, even the riders of the pageant will all be flocking to the wood tomorrow morning.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Brock, “I would not be surprised if that’s why Kullervo has chosen tomorrow. He no doubt wants to wipe out as many people with his first blow as he can. Success at the wood could rally many creatures to his side—creatures that do not care about the deaths of humans.”

“But we cannot be certain of his intentions,” countered Kinga. “We have spent centuries guarding the secret of the existence of mythical creatures. We must not throw it away rashly. It should only be sacrificed when we have no other choice. I think we should array our larger forces on the moor, a short distance from the wood, but away from the people. We will only use them as a last resort and when we know for certain that Kullervo is there.”