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Authors: Dean Vincent Carter

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BOOK: The Hand of the Devil
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‘She gave him his blood back?’
‘Well, she believed he’d gone mad and just wanted to humour him, hoping he would leave her alone. Anyway, when Tam caught the blood in the palm of his hand, a transformation occurred. Diep rose from the cushions where she’d been lounging and began to shrink in size, her body twisting and folding in on itself. Tam and the merchant backed away, horrified by what they were seeing. In seconds Diep was the size of a bird. But unlike a bird she had a long needle extending downwards from her head. A needle designed for only one thing.’
‘Blood.’
‘Exactly. But not just any blood. She wanted Tam’s blood. It was the only way she could become a woman again. She flew at him but he swatted her away, stunning her. By the time she was able to take to the air once more, Tam had gone. But Diep couldn’t find her way home. She had to search endlessly, desperately for her husband . . .’
Soames pursed his lips, clasped his hands and stared down at his feet. Then he chuckled. ‘Despite everything, it’s a wonderful story,’ he said.
‘Yes. But again, what bearing does it have on our situation?’
‘I believe the story explains the Ganges Red.’
‘What? You believe . . . the Ganges Red is . . . Nhan Diep?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re joking. Why?’
‘Why not? I’ve heard stranger things.’
‘I haven’t.’
‘If you believe the stories about the Ganges Red, witness the strange effect she has on Mather and her lust for blood despite the fact that she can’t reproduce, then—’
‘Wow.’ I laughed. ‘That’s a pretty big leap. Sure, the mosquito is incredible, but it’s a freak of nature, that’s all. There’s no evidence to suggest it has any connection to the myth. I mean, have you ever experienced any strange phenomena when near her?’
‘Not directly. But she communicates with Mather, of that I’m sure.’
‘Oh, he’s imagining it all . . . Either that or he’s just playing with you.’
‘No, no. Before she arrived, Mather was behaving normally – well, apart from the experiments.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘If I take a huge leap of imagination and believe this is true, then what exactly is Nhan Diep doing here? What’s her plan?’
‘I believe she’s making Mather help her. He and I draw people to this island, and she feeds on them, hoping that one day she’ll find—’
‘The blood of her husband? That’s crazy!’
‘Yes, well, Mather is convinced of it. I know he is. And whether it’s true or not, his belief in it is dangerous enough.’
I looked at Soames’s drawn face, his sharp, pale features. He was a prisoner, and he looked the part.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘Isn’t it about time we were getting the hell out of here?’
‘I told you, I’m not going anywhere.’
‘But—’
‘I can’t leave.’
‘Why?’
‘Haven’t you been listening? I can’t go back to civilization now. And besides – I think she would know if I tried to leave. Even if I could get off the island alive, she might track me down. And she’d make me sorry. You have a chance though. You haven’t been exposed to her for long enough—’
‘In that case I’ll send help as soon as I get to the mainland.’ I stood up. ‘In the basement Mather said something about a dragonfly. He seemed pretty worked up about it. Does this mean anything to you?’
‘I don’t remember him saying anything about a dragonfly. Unless it’s . . .’ Soames’s brow furrowed as he thought something over.
‘He sees it as a threat,’ I said. ‘I think he called it the Yemen or something.’
‘The Yemen! Yes. So the Yemen is a dragonfly . . . Now it all makes sense. Dragonflies prey on mosquitoes. He must have come for her.’
‘Who is he?’
‘You remember the genie in the Nhan Diep story?’
‘Yes.’
Not that again
, I thought.
‘One of the forms he took was that of a dragonfly. And he’s supposedly immortal – so maybe it really is true. Maybe he’s come for her, to stop her. That would explain why all the flies have gone.’
‘You noticed that too?’
‘Yes. He must have been here for some time, watching her, making sure he had definitely found her. He would be able to banish the other insects so that he wouldn’t be distracted in his observation. The Yemen dragonfly must be a modern name, like Ganges Red. He must have been hunting her for a long time. All the more reason for you to get away from here as soon as possible. It’s the sort of confrontation you’ll not want to be in the middle of.’
I thought the man must be delusional. He honestly believed in this whole myth as much as Mather did. I made a final attempt to persuade him to leave the island with me.
‘Ashley, the last thing I deserve from anybody is sympathy. I gave up that right a long time ago. I’m just as much a monster as Mather or the Lady.’
‘So you intend to die here?’
‘My fate is linked with Mather’s. Always has been.’
I thought this over for a while. Despite all he’d done, it was impossible not to feel sorry for Soames. He’d defied Mather when things had gone too far, and had then been forced, against his will, to continue helping him.
‘So how do I get off the island if can’t use Mather’s boat?’
‘I’ll show you,’ he said, getting to his feet and carefully opening the door of the caravan.
We both looked cautiously around for any sign of Mather, listening for telltale rustling or the snapping of branches. When he was happy that we were alone, Soames looked back at me and nodded that it was OK to proceed. It was approaching one o’clock. I wanted desperately to be on my way home, putting as much distance between myself and the island as possible.
‘Come on,’ Soames said.
I had no idea where he was taking me. My instinct told me we were heading in the direction of the house, but if that was so, then we should have come upon the path at some point. After about five minutes Soames stopped at the top of a small rise. He waited for me to catch up.
‘It’s down there. At the bottom of the hill.’ We started down the incline.
‘But there’s nothing down there,’ I said.
Soames didn’t reply, so I just carried on after him, sliding down the hill in bursts so I wouldn’t fall and roll down.
When I reached the bottom, Soames was standing in the middle of a small clearing, facing me. I stood beside him, a questioning look on my face. He looked down at the ground by our feet. I followed his gaze and at first could see nothing of any interest amid the soil, leaves and twigs. Then I saw it.
It was well camouflaged – a short length of thick, old rope, poking out of the ground no more than an inch. Both ends appeared to be beneath the surface of autumnal detritus, presumably attached to something.
‘Using this tunnel to the mainland should be safer than using Mather’s boat.’
Soames knelt down and grabbed hold of the rope with both hands. Slowly, he straightened his body, pushing with his legs and pulling on the rope with all his strength. As I bent down to watch, the rope lifted, and a large patch of square ground came up with it. It was a wooden hatch. All of a sudden there was a strange, loud noise and Soames let go of the rope handle. I looked up to see him stumbling backwards, raising his hands to his forehead, which was now bleeding profusely.
He slipped and fell onto his back, banging his head hard on the ground. Then he lay very still. I knew what had happened even before I could confirm it. Turning very slowly, I saw the desperate figure holding a spade above his head, ready to strike a second time. The look in his eyes wasn’t one of anger or revenge; it was pure murder. I had less than a second to prepare before the hard, cold blade of Mather’s shovel connected with my face.
XI: CONGREGATION
I can’t really explain how nauseous I felt on regaining consciousness. It was perhaps like waking from a car crash with a bad hangover. Mather had moved me from the spot where I’d fallen, but exactly where he’d left me remained a mystery until I was able to focus properly. It looked different, but I was definitely in the clearing by the house, and the sun was setting. Another sharp pain lanced across my head, making me groan. I couldn’t hear much due to the awful ringing in my ears. The need to vomit became urgent, but standing up wasn’t an option: Mather had lashed me to a tree with a good length of tough rope. He’d arranged me so that I was facing the clearing, with the house to my left. I tried to twist my way round the tree, in the hope of loosening the rope, but it was a wasted effort.
Mather must have pulled my hands together at the back of the tree, then bound them. He’d then tied rope around my waist, securing that to the tree as well. He was clearly taking no chances. I pulled at my bonds a few times, in the hope of working them loose. No such luck. I’d have to wait until my head cleared and my strength returned. So I just sat there, eyes closed, helpless, hoping that Mather wouldn’t return for a long, long time.
I must have passed out again, because when my eyes opened next, night had consumed the island. A full moon peeked from between dark clouds to bathe the area in a pale blue light. Occasionally I heard a bird or some other creature move amongst the branches overhead, or dart through the leaves on the forest floor, but otherwise it was quiet. I felt pitifully alone, and more vulnerable than I’d ever been.
It was some time later – I’ve no idea how long – when a pair of luminous green dots appeared by the side of one of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. At first I panicked, wondering what strange feral creature had taken an interest in me. Then I realized the eyes must belong to a cat, and as far as I knew there was only one in the vicinity.
He sat there watching me, perhaps wondering what to make of my predicament. After a short while he padded over. He looked a lot better in the dark. He even seemed to move with a little more grace and dignity. Perhaps the night brought out the best in him.
He reached my feet, then settled down on his stomach between my legs. He was like a tiny sphinx as he stared up at me, head tilted curiously to one side.
‘Things aren’t looking good,’ I said, my voice sounding foreign to me. It was hoarse, weak, as though I’d been shouting for hours. ‘My head feels as if it’s going to burst.’
The cat sneezed, made a contented gurgling sound, then started to purr. At least one of us was comfortable. Mr Hopkins’s left ear flicked as though in reaction to something. It was a raindrop. He got up, turned and took off into the trees, seeking better cover.
As the rain began to fall in earnest, I gazed resentfully upward, wondering what reason the Almighty could possibly have to dislike me. Strangely the rain seemed to alleviate some of the pain in my head and the aching in my wrists. I closed my eyes, expecting to black out again.
‘Who knows?’
It was almost a whisper, and I couldn’t be sure from which direction it had come. I opened my eyes and saw no one. The rain had stopped, but it was still dark and the moon had emerged again from behind the clouds. Drops of water were falling from my hair and eyebrows. My clothes felt sodden and the aching in my bound wrists was worse than ever.
‘
Who knows?
’
I winced. Mather had repeated the question louder than before, and directly into my left ear. Pain exploded inside my head. He moved in front of me and shone a torch into my eyes.
‘Answer me. Who knows you’re here?’
‘I don’t know . . .’
‘Of course you do.’
‘Well, my editor . . . some of the others in the office.’
‘Family, friends?’ He was agitated.
‘Yes, a few of them,’ I lied.
He came right up to me and poked the wicked, curved dagger beneath my chin. I swallowed, then concentrated on not moving my head.
‘The letter instructed you to tell no one. Now – the truth!’
‘Well, my editor knows . . . and Gina.’
‘Who?’
‘She’s the photographer at the magazine. I think I mentioned to her—’
‘You’d better not be messing me around, Mr Reeves.’ Mather was whispering again. ‘I can’t begin to illustrate the consequences for you if you are.’ After a few tense seconds he removed the dagger and pushed it back in his belt.
‘Where’s . . . ?’ My throat felt terribly dry. ‘Where’s Soames?’
‘Soames is dead. Very dead.’
‘What do you mean
very dead
? What did you do?’ The oppressive need to close my eyes and sleep again was becoming unbearable, but I wanted to hear Mather’s response.
‘Do you know what the optic nerve is?’
‘Something to do with the eye,’ I mumbled.
‘That’s right. It’s the stalk that connects the eye to the brain.’
‘So?’
‘Soames once joked that he’d love to see what his insides looked like. Well, now he has! It’s amazing how far the optic nerve can stretch.’ He grinned.
BOOK: The Hand of the Devil
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