The Gorgon's Gaze

  “I’m sorry. Something must have stopped Connie from coming.”

  “It was you, wasn’t it? You made her sus-ss-picious of us-ss.”

  “What? No—I haven’t seen her. She doesn’t know anything about you. I’m sure she wanted to come, but she couldn’t.” Col now had his back pressed against the rock wall, his eyes screwed tightly closed. “Look, just give me Argand, and I’ll go. I’ll try and bring Connie here another night.”

  A cold fingertip touched his cheek—no, it wasn’t a finger; it was the flicker of a snake’s tongue. He swallowed his cry of alarm. Another snake glided over his shoulder, wrapping itself around his neck. He could feel the dry breath of the gorgon on his face.

  “Ss-shall I kill him?” the gorgon asked.

  The question was answered by the noise of hooves inside the cave.

  “I think not,” said a voice that Col had never heard before. The sound chimed through his body, making his bones quiver. “Leave him to me. He can still be useful to us. Turn your eyes away so he can see me.”

  Col felt the snakes retreat.

  “Boy, come and greet me,” ordered the voice.

  Cautiously, Col opened his eyes a crack. The gorgon had her back to him and was staring at the entrance of the cave. Out of the shadows stepped a pegasus, larger than a Shire horse with vast iron-gray wings, powerful shoulders, blue-black mane, and strong muscled legs. It snorted once and trotted toward Col, graceful despite its size, coming near enough for him to see into the horse’s eyes, an odd pair, golden and acid yellow, all wrong for the creature.

  Col hesitated. He felt dazed, unable to think straight while staring into these eyes. Something was not right—he could not sense the pegasus from afar as he could Skylark.

  Greet me! the voice threatened again, this time inside Col’s head. It felt as though the door to the bond he shared with Skylark was being pried open with a crowbar. He put his hands to his temples.

  Coward, greet me!

  This time, Col had no choice. He reached out and touched the pegasus.

  Crack! A charge flashed through him. He screamed but could not remove his hand; it was as if an iron fist had gripped his wrist. This was no encounter—it was an invasion. Col was driven down, trampled in the stampede of the dark presence. It thundered over him until he no longer knew who or where he was, kicked and buffeted aside by uncaring hooves, stunned into submission. He fell against the pegasus, his face half-buried in the creature’s suffocating mane, and then slid to the floor.

  Pleased to have conquered so easily, the pegasus nuzzled Col possessively. The boy stirred.

  Come, the pegasus said.

  Obedient now to another’s will, the boy rose to his feet and stroked the creature’s neck, drinking in its presence like poison.

  Somewhere inside him, the dying embers of Col watched this stranger he had become clamber astride the pegasus. He was powerless to stop what was happening, his screams unheard as if he was shouting and thumping the walls of a thick glass cage. Then another pulse of energy from the false pegasus stamped out even this resistance.

  Argand chewed her way through her tether in time to see Col flying away on Kullervo’s back, heading into the night. The gorgon was slithering up the path and into the trees. Argand peeped in distress. Why had everyone left her?

  10

  Colin

  Connie thought she would go mad. The walls of her room had closed in on her; the faded tendrils of rose-patterned paper wove into her dreams, choking her with their thorns. She’d been shut away for a week, not allowed out except to use the bathroom. Godiva had banned Hugh from going anywhere near her, making it sound as if she was contagious and visiting only to hand out and collect schoolwork and meals.

  Perhaps she really believes that what I’ve got is catching, Connie thought, staring at the ceiling. Perhaps she thinks she’ll fall ill again, wake up and hear the trees talking to her as they should.

  As much as Connie hated her great-aunt for this treatment, she could not help but be fascinated by her. How could Godiva have taken the step of denying the evidence of her own eyes—of her own heart even? She had viciously pruned off the shoots of her true self to produce not even a bonsai, but a dry stick. Still, she couldn’t escape her gift—her hiding from anything wooden proved that. It still hummed under her fingers like it did for Connie—that’s why she hated it—and why she loathed her niece. But did she know that the much-praised family coat of arms was based on the universal’s symbol? Connie thought not—or she’d have eradicated that from the house, too.

  Spending hours in solitary confinement, Connie had plenty of time to wonder what Col, Anneena, and Jane were doing at school. She measured out her hours by theirs, thinking of them chatting at the bus stop, kicking a ball in the playground at break, doing their homework together in the Nuruddins’ kitchen. She hoped Col understood why she hadn’t shown up on the weekend, but she was surprised that he hadn’t tried to call or get a message to her through Anneena.

  Saturday came around again. Connie wondered whether her aunt would expect her to work like during the week—Connie thought that she would. She had gotten through the last few days by not speaking to Godiva, except for “yes,” “no,” and “thank you”—the barest minimum she could get away with. Her heart burned with the injustice of her imprisonment, but there seemed no one to turn to.

  She was allowed that breakfast time to eat with Hugh and Godiva in the kitchen. Let out on parole for good behavior, she thought.

  “Feeling better now, Connie?” asked Hugh anxiously.

  “I haven’t been sick, Uncle Hugh.”

  “Well, well.” He patted her wrist, clearly preferring to avoid an argument.

  There was a ring at the gate bell. Godiva got up and peered through the window.

  “It’s those two friends of yours,” she said over her shoulder to Connie. “Did you invite them?”

  “No…who?”

  “The girls.”

  “Oh, you mean the nice ones—the safe ones,” supplied Hugh. “Shall I go and see what they want?”

  “They’ll want to see her, of course.” Godiva looked at her great-niece’s bowed head. Connie no longer dared to show any enthusiasm or pleasure in anything in case it was whipped away from her.

  “And can they?” asked Hugh. “See her, I mean?”

  “I think she’s learned her lesson. Haven’t you, Connie?”

  “Yes, Aunt.” Adding under her breath, “No, Aunt, three bags full, Aunt.” She’d got to the stage where she would say anything to see someone other than Godiva. She’d even welcome an interview with Mr. Coddrington. I must be feeling desperate, she thought ruefully.

  “Righty, ho. I’ll go and fetch them,” said Hugh, brightening. He, too, had been suffering in sympathy with his great-niece.

  A few minutes later, Anneena and Jane were standing in the kitchen, trying to persuade Godiva to let them take Connie out for the morning. Their pleas were seconded by Hugh.

  “I’ve fixed up your old bike for her,” he said. “You can’t keep a young thing like her indoors the whole time—she needs a run from time to time. It’ll stop her dwelling on other things.”

  This argument proved the most persuasive.

  “In that case, you can go. But you’re not to go to Hescombe, Connie, nor anywhere near Evelyn and her friends, do you understand?” said Godiva.

  Connie could’ve hugged Anneena and Jane—they were her knights in shining armor come to rescue her.

  “Yes, Aunt,” she replied, keeping her face under strict control. She felt like dancing for joy.

  “And be back by one o’clock.”

  “Yes, Aunt.”

  “Well, then, what are you waiting for?”

  For any more orders, Connie could’ve said, but she didn’t want to push her luck.

  It felt wonderful to escape into the air. The three friends didn’t say anything at first, by mutual agreement wanting to put some distance between them and Lionheart Lodge in c
ase Godiva changed her mind. Connie just let herself enjoy the sensation of pedaling hard after Jane’s bent back, feeling the wind in her hair. After ten minutes they had reached the outskirts of Chartmouth, not far from the refinery. It wasn’t a picturesque spot. Connie wondered why Anneena had brought them here.

  “Should we have a rest?” Anneena suggested, her face glowing with the exercise.

  “Okay. But where are we going? I can’t go to Hescombe—not after I promised.” Connie looked up the steep hill that separated Hescombe from Chartmouth. It was much changed since she’d last seen it—one side was a raw scar of turned earth and concrete as the construction work on the new road got under way; on the other, the land was so far untouched. At the top of the hill, the first of the trees of Mallins Wood waved on the horizon. Police cars were parked in the rest area near the summit with a couple of officers flagging down vehicles—usually old, battered ones.

  “What are they doing?” she asked.

  “Looking for protesters—there’s already been some trouble,” explained Jane. “The police tried to move the camp last week but they wouldn’t budge, so now they’re trying to stop more from joining. It’s all getting a bit heated—and the festival’s only a week away. There’ll be so many people then that they’re saying the police won’t be able to handle it.”

  “Mr. Quick from the refinery said they should call in the army to clear the camp. I saw him on TV,” snorted Anneena. “Actually, Connie, that’s where we’re going.”

  “Where?”

  “Up there to the wood. You see, there’s a problem.”

  “What problem?”

  Connie had a feeling that something serious was coming. Anneena sat down on a concrete block lying by the roadside.

  “It’s Col. He hasn’t turned up at school this week.”

  “What!”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not like him. He’s disappeared somewhere with his mother. We don’t know where she’s taken him, but I thought he’d at least call to let us know what he’s doing. Even his grandmother doesn’t know what he’s up to. She’s really upset—and as for Col’s dad, he’s—well, you can imagine.”

  “But where does Col’s mom live? Have they checked if he’s there?”

  “She doesn’t live anywhere much, except in a camper-van she drives around in. It’s not here at the moment—Jane and I biked up to the wood to check yesterday. No one’s seen her.”

  Connie was quickly thinking through all the people who might be able to help. Presumably Mrs. Clamworthy had tried all the obvious sources of information: Dr. Brock; Col’s mentor, Captain Graves; Skylark. Who did that leave?

  “Look, Anneena, I have an idea. I think I can find out where Col’s mom might be from someone in London. Can I borrow your phone, Jane?”

  “Sure.” Jane held it out. “Where’s yours?”

  “Confiscated by my great aunt.”

  “Is she…quite all there?” Jane asked delicately.

  “No, I really don’t think she is.”

  “You should tell your parents.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t. It’s just that they take the view that she’s the sane one and I’m the one who’s crazy.” Connie tried to make light of it, but she couldn’t rid herself of the sense of betrayal that her parents sided with Godiva rather than with her.

  “What about your uncle? He seems okay,” Jane said.

  “Except he sees things her way, too—he doesn’t like what’s going on but he agrees that you’ve got to be cruel to be kind.”

  “It’s inhuman what they’re doing to you—it’s like you’re in prison or something. Isn’t there something we can do?” said Anneena.

  “For me, at the moment? No. But I might be able to help Col. Just give me a minute.”

  Connie dug in her jacket pocket, pulled out Mr. Coddrington’s business card and called the switchboard at the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures.

  “We’re sorry but our offices are closed at the moment. If you’d like to—”

  She ended the call. Of course, it wasn’t open. It was Saturday. No one would be there. But she wouldn’t have another chance once she handed back the phone since Godiva had hers; she decided to give the direct line a try, banking on Mr. Coddrington being such a workaholic that he might well be in on the weekend.

  The phone was picked up before it had even rung twice. “Hello, Coddrington here.”

  “Oh, Mr. Coddrington, I wasn’t really expecting you to be in the office.”

  “Who is this?” His voice had a snap like a mousetrap.

  “It’s Connie Lionheart, Mr. Coddrington.”

  “Ah, Miss Lionheart. Connie.” She could almost see him fawning over the phone as he spoke. “How good of you to call. I assume that you’ve given further thought to our conversation last month, and you have something to tell me?”

  “What?” Connie realized that he had jumped to conclusions as to why she would contact him.

  “I assume you want to tell me about how many universals you think there are,” he said patiently. She heard rustling in the background as if he was poised to take notes.

  “Er, no.” She glanced nervously at Jane and Anneena, who were listening to every word. “I’m with some people at the moment. I can’t talk much.”

  “I understand. Perhaps we can talk another time when you are at liberty to speak more freely to me.”

  “Er…yes. Actually, Mr. Coddrington, that wasn’t why I called.”

  “Oh? So why did you then?” He now sounded genuinely curious.

  “It’s about a friend of mine—Col Clamworthy. He’s gone missing with his mother. I just wondered if you knew where she might be, seeing how good your filing system is?”

  “Oh, is that it?” She could tell that her flattery was hitting the desired mark. “Well, I might be able to tell you—as a favor between friends. You understand that all the information has been gathered strictly in confidence. If I tell you this, I’ll be bending the rules to help you.”

  Connie understood that what he meant was that he expected a favor from her in return, but this didn’t matter as long as she could help Col.

  “Thank you. I’d be really grateful.”

  “What is the mother’s name?” She heard the clanking of cabinet drawers being pulled out.

  “Cassandra Clamworthy—at least, I think so.”

  “Let me see—Cassandra Clamworthy. What is her companion species?”

  Connie searched her memory, not even sure whether Col had ever told her this. He hadn’t talked much about his mother. “Sorry, I don’t know,” she admitted.

  “Never mind,” Mr. Coddrington said, as if this was good news. “All my files are cross-referenced. I should still be able to find her for you. Your friend is a companion to pegasi?”

  Connie wondered how he knew this about Col. Perhaps he remembered him from last year? Col had said that he had trained once with Mr. Coddrington and Shirley Masterson. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Ah, here he is. Hmm, from quite a family by the looks of it: a Kraken and a gorgon companion—a most unusual combination—but resulting in a child with a fairly common gift. Well, there is no Cassandra Clamworthy here. You are looking for Cassandra Lang. She reverted to her maiden name after her divorce from the Kraken companion.”

  “And do you know where she is?” Connie wished he would stop showing off and tell her what she needed to know.

  “Oh, yes, this one has given us a lot of trouble from the evidence of her record. Dear, oh dear. Quite disgraceful. It seems that she can most often be found as an irregular tenant of a cottage in Wales, in the Brecon Beacons to be precise. Bwlch is the uncouth name of the place,”—he spelled it out for her—“at least, that is where I have elected to put her pin, just to the left of it. If you are looking for your friend, I suggest you start there.”

  “Thank you for your help.”

  “And you won’t forget our little discussion, I hope? Phone anytime if you have anything you w
ould like to tell me.”

  “Er, thanks,” said Connie, ending the call. Jane and Anneena were still watching her. “I’ve got a lead—Col might’ve gone to Wales to his mother’s cottage.”

  “Great.” Connie could tell that Anneena itched to ask to whom she had been speaking. It was a measure of their friendship that she held back, knowing Connie well enough to understand that she hated being interrogated about the Society. “That’s really helpful. His grandmother will be pleased to have something to go on. She’s been having a terrible week—we found her in tears. Apparently that friend of yours Dr. Brock is really angry with Col for not returning something, and that hasn’t helped.”

  “When was this?”

  “Last Saturday night apparently.”

  Col hadn’t returned Argand—now she was convinced something terrible had happened.

  “Come on, I want to see what’s going on in these woods,” said Connie.

  “Let’s go and find Rat then,” said Anneena, mounting her bike as a tanker rumbled by filling the air with fumes.

  “Who?”

  “Col’s friend from the camp. He’s a bit odd but actually,”—she looked at Connie from under her lashes—“I think you might have a lot in common.”

  Colin Clamworthy was woken early by his mother. He floated up from his dreams of darkness like a diver rising from the depths, but he did not break the surface, staying submerged just below the point of true consciousness.

  “Colin, it’s time for your combat training,” Cassandra said gently, helping him to his feet. Colin automatically reached for his new padded flying jacket and helmet—both were black and were worn with matching leather arm protectors and shin pads.

  “How are you feeling today? Better now?” Cassandra asked as he tied on his gear. He nodded and admired his reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall of his cell-like bedroom.

  “I know it’s hard for you, Colin,” she said, biting her lip, “but he’s promised he won’t hurt you. He says that as the plan failed—as you and I didn’t bring the universal to him—that he needs you now to make it right.” She frowned slightly. “Are you listening, Colin?”