Day of the Serpent (Ouroboros Book 3) Page 13

  “I suppose you favor something a bit more violent?” asked Denny.

  Lisa nodded.

  “I would be killing Cleo now if it wasn't for Pavel,” she said, clutching the tall man's arm. “Without me, he would be lost.”

  “Lost,” said Pavel, looking down at her blankly.

  He's like a man child, thought Brad. Most of what made him a human being has been erased. Or is it simply suppressed?

  “Or perhaps your young man would be free,” said Norton, giving the foreign couple a calculating stare. “And able to live his own life again?”

  Lisa shot the academic a venomous look. Her mouth opened and there was a distinct hiss.

  “Well, I think that confirms my hypothesis,” Norton went on, sounding smug, as if he had just proven some obscure point in a college seminar. “In folklore, if a witch or enchanter dies, the harm they have done often dies with them.”

  “That's it, isn't it?” asked Brad. “Your power over individuals can be reversed by death. And that goes for all the lamias.”

  Lisa nodded.

  “Andreas, the German boy who Cleo keeps, he will be free when I kill her,” she said sulkily. “But maybe I take him for myself. As a prize.”

  “When are you planning this big showdown?” demanded Denny. “Because it sounds to me like you're just talking a good fight.”

  “You insult me again, I will not tell you the other thing!” exclaimed Lisa.

  “What other thing?” scoffed Brad. “Is Clay driving without a license?”

  “No,” sneered Lisa. “Cleo is … how you say? Ready to pop.”

  Chapter 10: Waking Nightmares

  “I don't believe it,” said Brad flatly. “I think she's lying. Lying as well as stone crazy.”

  They were sitting in his hotel room again, having left Lisa and Pavel in the park at twilight. It was now near midnight, but in this high latitude, it never grew fully dark. They had been discussing Lisa's warning for hours, Denny at the window observing the Talisman, Norton in his corner chair. Brad paced, full of nervous energy, trying to collate what he had been told about Cleo.

  “Is it possible?” asked Denny. “Can those things reproduce?”

  “Why not?” asked Norton. “Living things can, it's one of the things that defines life. But what worries me is exactly how many offspring this Cleo might produce.”

  Brad stopped pacing and looked down at the Englishman.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Don't snakes lay dozens of eggs or something?”

  “I doubt that we can use nature as our guide here,” warned Norton. “Mythical creatures, such as lamias, are traditionally exempt from normal restrictions. Indeed, one of the most common features of monsters in folklore is their extraordinary fecundity.”

  Denny looked over, a horrified expression on her face.

  “You're saying Cleo could spawn more than a few dozen little horrors?”

  “She might produce hundreds or even thousands of offspring,” pointed out Norton. “The snake is a near-universal fertility symbol, after all. If she is 'ready to pop,’ as that pale creature put it, we could be knee deep in hungry little monsters. And I suppose the loch in high summer would make an ideal spawning ground.”

  “It must be linked to the raising of Ouroboros,” declared Brad, starting to pace again. “Another reason to stop it.”

  “Look, we've got stuff to do,” said Denny, putting down her camera. “Like learning to use your magnetic gizmo, Brad. No sign of movement from the enemy, so we've got tonight at least.”

  “Right,” he said. “You both up for this?”

  Norton and Denny were keen to complete their training. Brad led them down to the rental car, where they retrieved the magnetometer. The device looked like a metal detector, but was much more advanced.

  “What we really need,” said Brad, fastening the power pack around Denny's waist, “is some kind of magnetic field so as to calibrate it.”

  “Power lines?” suggested Denny.

  “Or a cell phone mast?” put in Norton.

  Brad shook his head as he switched on the device.

  “All main electricity is underground here,” he pointed out. “And phone masts radiate microwaves, totally different signal. Best we can do is–”

  He stopped, staring at the small indicator screen.

  “What is it?” asked Denny, looking at the same reading without comprehension.

  “There's a powerful field nearby,” said Brad. “Fluctuating, but strong.”

  “Maybe their Zamyatin devices are already in operation?” suggested Norton, looking out towards the Talisman.

  “Crap,” said Brad.

  It had never occurred to him that the cultists might have equipped their field generators with long-lasting batteries. But it made sense. Rather than rush around the loch-side switching them on, or risking that some kind of signal would fail, their energy field would be in place for days.

  “They could start their rite any time they liked,” he said, thinking aloud. “Still, at least this means we can find the devices and disable them.”

  “No time like the present,” suggested Denny, offering Brad the car keys.

  “Nope,” he said, starting to unstrap the magnetometer from her. “You drive, I'll work this detector. It'll be quicker.”

  “And what will I do?” asked Norton.

  “Provide any extra muscle we might need,” said Brad, keeping a straight face as he climbed into the car.

  They set off along the loch-side and within ten minutes, Brad had zeroed in on the first field generator. The Zamyatin device, a metal box the size of a small suitcase, was hidden in some bushes by the roadside.

  “Not very well hidden,” Norton remarked as he and Denny heaved the device onto the grass verge. “Some curious soul would have found it quite soon, one would think.”

  Brad grunted in agreement.

  “Suggests they're on a tight schedule,” he said.

  “We are approaching the autumn equinox,” said Norton. “Traditionally a time when the powers of light and dark are in delicate balance.”

  “That might be it,” agreed Brad, getting a toolkit out of the trunk. “But whatever the reason, this component in their plan is about to be removed.”

  While his companions held the box steady, Brad pried it open with a large screwdriver. He removed the lid of the casing to be confronted with a powerful industrial battery connected to a magnetic coil. The important part of the device, an array of circuit boards, looked impressive. But Brad had no time to puzzle over the complexities of Zamyatin's invention. He selected a set of pliers and tore out vital connections, rendering the machine inert.

  “Let's get it good and wet,” he suggested, “nothing like old-fashioned water to screw up fancy gizmos.”

  “It's that simple?” asked Denny, sounding slightly disappointed as she helped Brad carry the device to the waterline and throw it in.

  “You'd rather it had blown up in our faces?” asked Brad, packing up his tools.

  “My God, I never thought that it might be booby-trapped!” exclaimed Norton. “You could have gotten us all killed!”

  “Nah,” Brad said, “buying explosives would be as risky as buying a gun, right? Draw too much attention.”

  Norton looked unconvinced, but said nothing more. They found a second box within half an hour, and went through the same routine. By three in the morning, they had almost circumnavigated Loch Ness, and destroyed five identical devices. The sixth they found as they were driving back into Fort Augustus. It was hidden amid a heap of trash behind a bus stop.

  “Let's keep this one,” suggested Brad, after disconnecting the battery. “I'd like to tinker, find out more about it.”

  “Isn't that what led to the creation of our friend, Lisa?” asked Denny.

  “I swear on a stack of Bibles that I won't conduct any unethical experiments,” he replied, putting his hand on his heart.

  The conversation continued in a slightly silly vein as they
drove back to the hotel. The sense of relief was palpable, all three of them expressing surprise at having thwarted Ouroboros so easily.

  “They can still make a lot of mischief,” Norton pointed out. “And they, too, probably have a Plan B.”

  “Don't be such a grumpy old man!” said Denny, giving the eminent professor a shove as they went up the hotel steps. “We've won this round.”

  “Yeah, every one you walk away from,” said Brad, carrying the last Zamyatin device.

  Except that it was kind of easy, he thought. Sure, they might not have expected us to go looking for their gear. But still, how hard would it have been to hide it more professionally?

  He said his goodnights and put the device in the wardrobe of his room. While he longed to investigate the mechanism, he was having trouble staying awake. He checked his phone for the first time since dusk and found a message from Katie Hopkins confirming the time of their interview tomorrow.

  No, Brad thought, as he undressed. Not tomorrow. Today.

  He lay awake thinking about what he would say to the reporter. Eventually he gave up trying to work it out. He also resolved to ask for a list of questions beforehand. He was beginning to drift off to sleep when there was a knock at the door. He got up and opened it to Denny. Without speaking, he led her to the bed.

  “I couldn't sleep either, and I just thought,” she said, “we might not get another chance.”

  “There's a lot to be said for the direct approach,” he said.

  ***

  “This is the time,” said Cleo. Her voice was deeper than before, and she spoke slowly.

  “How can you be sure?” asked Clay. He could barely make out Cleo's face in the gloom of the cabin. From what he could see of it, she was now unable to return to truly human form.

  Even after the birthing, he thought, she may not revert.

  “It's no big deal, Jonathan,” said Kelly. “And in the end, it's my choice. I've been yearning for this ever since the start.”

  She knelt down beside Cleo and pushed her hair back, exposing her neck. Clay, though he had seen this several times, still looked away. There were a few moments of silence, then he heard Kelly standing up.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, going up to offer her support.

  The American girl looked round. In the gloom, he saw a glimmer of golden-green in her eyes.

  “I'm fine,” she said. “I'm part of it all now, really part–”

  The gleam faded rapidly and she fell forward, collapsing so quickly that Clay almost missed the catch. As he helped her across to the cabin's only chair, Cleo began to groan.

  “That might have triggered it,” she said. “I need to be outside. Quickly! I can feel their minds clearly now, they're impatient.”

  “Andreas!” shouted Clay, but the young man – summoned by means more powerful than any vocal command – was already clambering down the hatchway ladder. Clay put Kelly in the chair, then helped Andreas get Cleo's hugely swollen form up on the small deck. For a moment, Clay was afraid the creature would get stuck in the hatchway, but her own strength and gritty determination got her topside. She lay panting, a woman-like head and torso attached to a bloated snake body. Cleo gave another, louder groan, and her body jerked.

  There was a tearing sound that made Clay feel sick to his stomach, and the scaly belly split open lengthwise. Clay and Andreas both stepped away instinctively as dozens of dark, wriggling forms surged out on a tide of bloody fluid. So far as Clay could see, they were like regular snakes, each about six inches long. They moved swiftly, and with purpose, heading for the boat's rail and plopping overboard into the dark water.

  Cleo heaved a sigh and her body began to heal with astonishing speed.

  I had expected something a bit more grandiose, thought Clay. Not this business-like spawning.

  “Oh, Jonathan,” said Cleo, and this time her words were much clearer. “Would it have been better if we'd had a marching band? This is just the first of many birthings. It will be a routine matter soon enough.”

  “But why do you need to give birth at all?” he asked. “Surely conversion–”

  “Conversion would be too slow without extra lamias,” said Kelly, appearing at the hatchway. This time her eyes were shining brightly in the moonlight. As she got closer, Clay could make out her slit pupils. He had gotten to know her well during the previous months, and understood her intense devotion to the cause. She was far more committed than he had even been. But part of the conventional man he had once been still recoiled from Kelly's decision.

  It's one thing to join with Ouroboros, he thought. But to do it for this reason.

  “What's the matter, Jonathan?” asked Kelly. “You think I'm betraying someone I should care about? Isn't it a little late for that, considering what we're doing here?”

  Clay did not trust himself to speak. Cleo stood upright, her human form restored. She was once more a tall, striking woman. Or so Clay thought at first. As she walked over to join them, he saw metallic gleams in the faint moonlight. He realized that she was still covered in fine, golden-bronze scales.

  “Yes,” said Cleo, looking down at her body. “I think this is the true form all women will one day assume. All those who survive, that is.”

  ***

  In his hotel room, James Norton lay awake on his bed, fully clothed. He never slept well away from his room in college. His life had, until this point, been that of the book-loving thinker, moving from child to student to professor without much effort.

  I am not a man of action, he thought. And yet I have spent my entire life studying and teaching folklore – old stories about brave heroes battling monsters.

  He got up, abandoning the pretense of trying to rest, and went to the window. His room looked out onto the streets of Fort Augustus. A few cars and trucks were moving, and as he watched, someone walked around a corner. It was a teenage girl, dressed for a night out, picking her way barefoot with her shoes in her hand. She almost collided with a lamppost before going out of sight.

  Slightly drunk, he thought. Probably get an earful from her mother when she gets home. I daresay she feels it's worth that minor annoyance.

  The commonplace sight made him choke up, suddenly. It was part of a world he had never been part of, merely observed, a world of love, families, children. Tears came as he felt an almost painful regret for the life he might have had, if he had been braver, more honest, when the opportunity presented itself.

  But she married someone else, someone who was a lot more fun of course, and that was that.

  Norton was about to turn from the window when he noticed a dimming of the more distant streetlights. At first, he thought his vision was blurred and dabbed at his eyes with a handkerchief. But it had no effect, and he realized what was really happening. A chill ran through him. The town was being blotted out before his eyes. It was deeply unsettling.

  “Oh my God,” he said. “This must be it.”

  ***

  “It's a fake,” said Brad.

  Denny sat up to see him sitting at the window, bits of the Zamyatin device scattered on the desk in front of him.

  “What?” she asked, still bleary from a deep sleep. “What do you mean? How long have you been awake?”

  “About half an hour,” he said, turning off the desk lamp. Now the window was admitting a dim, gray pre-dawn light. “The device, it's a fake. It was never intended to work. The circuit boards don't do anything, as far as I can see. The field generator is real, but it's just a dumb, un-modulated magnetic field. If that was enough to raise Ouroboros, the world would be knee-deep in lamias.”

  “You're sure?” asked Denny, getting up and clutching a sheet around her. “It's not just something unusual, maybe something you've never seen before?”

  Brad shrugged.

  “I could be wrong, I'm not an electrical engineer. But I've tinkered with enough gadgets in my time to know that this looks fake as hell.”

  She went over to stand by him and looked at the
haphazard array of components.

  “But why go to so much trouble?”

  “To make us go away, or keep us busy, bit of both,” he sighed. “We certainly wasted time and energy last night. Fool your enemy into doing something pointless, it's an old tactic.”

  “But if that's true,” she pointed out, leaning on the desk, “it means they have their real system set up. So they could go ahead any time.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, looking up at her. “But I still don't get it. I mean, Cherry Island is much closer to the town than I thought, and a lot smaller. So how can they expect to go there and perform their ritual without being seen?”

  “Maybe their ritual only takes a few minutes,” she suggested, twisting around to look out over the harbor. “Or maybe–”

  Denny froze, and Brad stood up. At first, he could not see what might have shocked her. There was something wrong with the view. It was misty, a thin haze lying on the water and blurring their view of the quayside.

  Well, the sun will soon burn that off, he thought.

  But then he realized what was wrong with the view. Yesterday he could see almost the whole length of Loch Ness, just over twenty miles. Now the view was truncated. A wall of white, seemingly as dense as cotton wool, was rolling down the loch towards Fort Augustus. He leaned closer to the window to see if it was just on the loch.

  “It’s closing in on all sides,” said Denny. “A fog that dense. In August.”

  “No way it’s natural,” he agreed. “And when it arrives they'll go to the crannog, and raise the serpent.”

  “What can we do?” she said, almost too quietly for him to hear.

  Brad grabbed a pad and pencil and started to write down a list of items.

  “Go shopping, first thing. Take James to help – no, scratch that, let the poor bastard sleep, he's done his best, and it's not much to carry. Buy this stuff, I'm not sure what the British names are for some of the products, but they're all regular household chemicals. Bring 'em back here. I'll be waiting. I can use some of this decoy to make a remote detonator, rig it to my phone. We'll trigger it with a message from your cell.”