The Gorgon's Gaze

  “Well, it always kicks off with a carnival procession. We haven’t picked this year’s theme yet, but usually there are animals—horses and so on. You could help keep them under control.”

  “You’ve asked the right person.”

  “I thought so. Should I ask your great-aunt or do you want to?”

  “I think it’d better come from you—you’re good at that sort of thing.”

  “What sort of thing?”

  “Twisting people around your little finger, Annie. You are to people what Connie is to animals,” explained Jane.

  Anneena smiled proudly. “Thanks. Okay, I’ll tackle her for you. What are her weak spots?”

  “I don’t think she has any,” said Connie. She thought a moment. “She likes work and order.”

  “Right, I’ll lay it on thick what hard labor it’s all going to be.”

  “Don’t worry, Connie, your aunt doesn’t stand a chance against her,” said Jane as Anneena disappeared downstairs. “No one’s got the better of her, yet. I almost feel sorry for your aunt.”

  It was a tougher battle than Jane had predicted. Godiva only agreed to allow Connie to work on the festival preparations as long as it was at her house and under her scrutiny. As for going out on site, that was out of the question.

  Anneena chewed the end of one long black braid thoughtfully as she reported back from her initial assault.

  “Your great-aunt is a funny one, Connie. When I mentioned you coming up to Mallins Wood it was almost as if I’d said some terrible swear word. She’d been coming along nicely until then—I think I almost had her persuaded—but she suddenly backed off and said you weren’t to be allowed within a million miles of the place—that she couldn’t bear it and that the sooner the whole thing was cut down the better.”

  “She didn’t!” Connie was outraged. She hadn’t liked Godiva before but now she had reason to detest her. How could anyone want to see all those trees felled?

  “She did. But anyway, at least she’s agreed to us coming to visit you from time to time.”

  Connie put her face in her hands. “This is a nightmare.”

  “Isn’t there anything you can do?” asked Jane. “Have you asked your parents?”

  “Uh-huh. They said I had to try my great-aunt’s regime for a few months and I wasn’t to expect it to be easy.”

  “Wonderful,” said Anneena in a hollow voice.

  “Thanks for trying.”

  “I’m not beaten yet. Let’s hope next time I have more luck.”

  A few days later, Col and Rat were lying in the long grass of a woodland clearing, watching a woodpecker hard at work in a nearby chestnut tree. The tree was decked with countless leaves like splayed fingers and hundreds of pale green baubles. Every time the breeze passed across the clearing, the leaf-hands rose and fell in a wave of applause. Col felt it was almost as if Mallins Wood was celebrating the perfect summer’s day.

  “Look at him go!” Col exclaimed with admiration as the bird rapped his beak so rapidly against the bark that its head became a blur.

  “Yeah, a bit like my dad at a heavy metal gig,” Rat said. “Must mess up his brain, don’t y’think? Ma’s always saying that Dad’s never been quite right since he started doing it.”

  Col snorted with laughter as Rat grinned broadly back at him. He passed Rat the binoculars and lay on his back, looking up at the blue sky overhead, picking out shapes in the clouds—a face, a ship, now a hawk.…Swallows swooped, catching insects.

  “Hey, here’s something worth looking at now,” Rat said with sudden excitement.

  “W…what?” Col asked, snapped back to the present to see Rat gazing across the clearing with the binoculars.

  “Would you look at that!”

  “Here, give me those!” Col grabbed the binoculars and focused them in the direction Rat had been staring. It was someone in a white dress—a woman with long golden hair that fell in curling ringlets around her shoulders. Col dropped the binoculars as if they had burned him.

  “What’s the matter?” Rat asked, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. “Has she gone?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  “What is it then?”

  “It’s just that…she’s my mother, if you must know,” Col said more aggressively than he intended.

  “Well, are you going to say hello or not?” Rat asked calmly, picking up the binoculars. He looked puzzled as Col stayed rooted to the spot, unaware that his new friend was both confused and frightened by the very sight of his mother. “You’d better hurry.”

  Col nodded and began a strangely uncoordinated half-jog to his mother as if his legs could not decide whether they wanted to go forward or not. She was now kneeling, hair in a thick curtain around her face, thumping the ground with her fists as if it were a drum.

  “What are you doing?” Col asked.

  “Calling the snakes,” she replied in her husky voice that always made Col shiver. She turned her forget-me-not blue eyes on her son. “Hello, Colin.”

  “Oh…er…hi, Mom,” he replied, fidgeting awkwardly.

  She rose in a fluid motion from the grass and came to his side. Taking him by the shoulders, she stared hard into his face.

  “You’ve grown up,” she said with a fierce kind of pride. “You’ve known danger and mastered your fear.”

  Col would have preferred a more ordinary greeting, but he was pleased that she had noticed him for himself at last.

  “Thanks,” he said briefly, pulling away. She continued to gaze into his face, making his insides squirm as if she had drummed up snakes in him. He tried to distract her:

  “So why are you calling snakes? Isn’t it a bit public here at the moment—against Society rules and all that?” His mother was a companion to the snake-haired gorgon, and he was thinking of how Rat had almost seen her in action.

  “Ha!” She gave a short, scornful laugh. “When have I ever cared about rules?”

  True, thought Col. “So why are you here?” It would not be to see him, of course.

  “To join the protest. This wood is the last home of the gorgons in southern England. It is the place they have returned to for centuries to spawn their young. If it goes, the gorgon’s hair will die—she will die.” Col swallowed and glanced behind him. He had not known that gorgons roamed these woods, and he certainly did not feel like meeting one just now.

  “Oh, that’s…that’s bad,” he replied feebly. “So where are they now?”

  “There’s only one and I’ve got her well hidden,” his mother said. “She’d be in danger if she’s discovered by one of these protesters or the road-builders.”

  Yeah, Col thought, to say nothing of the danger the unfortunate person would be in from the gorgon’s eyes—which had the power to turn living beings to stone—but he guessed that his mother was not concerned about that.

  “Dad’s here, did you know?” he asked tentatively as she set off back to the camp, her long white skirt brushing the bracken, picking up burrs by the dozen. She did not reply, but from the determined set of her jaw Col knew that this was unwelcome news.

  Col followed her to the steps of a pale green camper-van parked at the far end of the picnic spot.

  “You’d better not come in,” she said. “Wait here for me—I’ve got something for you.”

  She vanished inside—Col could hear voices and tried not to imagine what she was talking to. He sat down on a picnic bench and ran his hands through his hair. He was feeling terrible, feeling just as he had when he was five and still living with his mother. He hated to admit it, but he was just plain scared, yet part of him was drawn to her as if she had him on an invisible piece of string which she could pluck at her pleasure. The worst of it was that he did not think she realized the effect she had on him. He did not matter much in her life, she was so wrapped up in her snake-haired companion; and she probably did not believe she counted for much in his.

  A shout from behind: “Ah, Col! There you are. I’ve been looking
for you. Your gran wants you home by six.”

  Col spun around in horror, realizing he had only seconds to avert a catastrophe. His father was swaggering out of the trees, smoothing his black hair out of his eyes and stretching lazily.

  “Thanks. See you then,” Col shouted back, waving at his father and making as if he was about to go.

  “Wait!” Mack was jogging over to catch up with him. “I’ll give you a lift on the bike. I’m going out for the evening.”

  With Evelyn, no doubt, thought Col, now changing direction and running toward his father to head him off. He did not want this bit of information shouted across the clearing with his mother in earshot. “Fine.…” His voice tailed off.

  It was far from fine. His mother had reappeared in the doorway of the van, holding a package. She stood frozen on the top step, her look as stony as a gorgon’s but, fortunately for Mack, without the killing power.

  “Hello, Cassie,” Mack said heavily on seeing her there.

  “Cassandra,” she said curtly.

  “So you’ve decided to join us protesters, I see,” Mack continued in a doomed attempt at polite conversation. “I s’pose I should’ve guessed you’d come.”

  “Not join you!” she snapped. “I’ll never make that mistake again.”

  Mack bristled at the insult. “Ha! You never really did, even when we were married! Too busy grubbing around looking for snakes, if I remember—funny way to behave on our honeymoon.”

  “It was no honeymoon for me, believe me! You—off in the slimy embrace of your tentacled friend! ‘Let’s go to the Bahamas,’ you said! Oh, I was so gullible then. I should have known it was the Kraken rather than the beaches that interested you.”

  “So you were jealous!” Mack cried in triumph.

  Col looked furtively around. The argument was attracting the attention of other campers; a small crowd was beginning to gather. Col saw Rat and his family coming out of their bus and wondered if he could slip away before they noticed him.

  “Jealous—jealous of you? Ha! A second-rate creep who only feels big when roaring around on that ridiculous bit of tin!”

  “You—you scheming viper!”

  Col flinched as if ducking blows, as the slinging match continued over his head. Mack’s last insult brought a burly man with a shaven head out of the crowd.

  “Is he bothering you?” the man asked Cassandra.

  As if she needed help, Col thought.

  “He’s always bothered me,” Cassandra replied, “but I can handle him, thanks.” She flashed the man a brilliant smile; he moved to stand at the bottom of the step, a self-appointed bodyguard.

  Hoping the escalating confrontation was sufficient distraction, Col tried to slide away but his father grabbed his collar.

  “Don’t you go, Col! Don’t let shame of your mother drive you away!” Mack said loudly.

  Col could now feel the eyes of the onlookers turned to him. He could have shriveled up with embarrassment.

  “Ashamed of me!” Cassandra shrieked, darting down the step to seize Col’s arm. “Thankfully he’s inherited his mother’s courage—none of that Clamworthy weakness.”

  “You’re deluding yourself as usual, Cassie. He takes after me. Ask him!”

  They both turned their fierce eyes on Col, breathing hard after all the shouting. Col wished at that moment that he were anywhere else on the planet.

  “If you want the truth, I don’t want to be like either of you!” he burst out, pulling himself free of their grasp. He turned on his heels and ran away as fast as he could, heading back to Hescombe—to anywhere where they weren’t.

  When his breathing had become so painful that he could run no more, he bent over by the side of the road, panting. He wished he could keep on running forever—leave them both behind and never have to see either of them again. His eyes were burning, but he was too old now to waste tears on his parents, he told himself. Furious at his weakness, he brushed the tears away and walked slowly down the hill.

  The roar of a bike gave him ample warning of his father’s approach, but he was hemmed in by high banks on both sides of the road; so he had no choice but to stomp on, pretending he couldn’t see or hear anything. The bike screeched to a halt right in front of him, forcing him to stop.

  Mack lifted his visor. “Here!” he said and held out a brown paper package. “Your mother wants you to have this.”

  Despite himself, Col took the package, amazed that his father had deigned to run an errand for Cassandra. He could only imagine that for once he had managed to put out the blazing argument by his abrupt departure.

  “Get on,” Mack said, gesturing to the back seat of his bike. “It’s a long walk home.” He held out the spare helmet.

  Col hesitated. Putting up a fight now would be pointless. Besides, though he would never tell his father, he rather liked zooming along on the bike—it beat walking. He took the helmet.

  “So, what are we going to do about Connie?” Dr. Brock asked the members of the Society who had gathered in Mrs. Clamworthy’s kitchen. The wooden table was bathed in soft light from the lamp overhead. Around it sat twelve anxious people.

  “Jane and Anneena got in to see her,” said Col. “They say it’s like a prison over there. The old bat won’t let Connie out.”

  “Then we’ll have to get in, too,” said Mr. Masterson, a local farmer and owner of land where many Society activities took place in secret.

  “We’ve been trying,” said Col’s grandmother. She got up, went to the sink and ran her fingers under the tap. Feeling the atmosphere in the room change subtly, the others fell silent. The water curled around her hands taking the shape of one of her water sprites until the creature was standing in the basin, his form rippling like transparent silk. Mrs. Clamworthy closed her eyes and hummed softly. All the other members waited reverently for the encounter to finish.

  “I’ve never seen her do that before,” Evelyn whispered to Col.

  “Neither have I,” Col admitted.

  Mrs. Clamworthy broke off her bond with the water sprite, letting the creature flow back down the drain. She smiled at Col and Evelyn.

  “Who says you can’t teach an old dog a new trick? It was Issoon’s idea actually. He doesn’t like doing it much, but now that I’m getting on a bit in years, he thinks he should make the effort to come and see me at home more often.”

  “What did he have to say, Lavinia?” asked Dr. Brock.

  “That there’s no way in to see Connie. The garden’s hopeless—not a pond or a fountain in sight. No access to the water system.” She glanced out of the window at her own garden which was full of running water and pools. “They’re keeping watch as the Trustees asked, but it has to be from a distance.”

  “But we all know it’s not enough just to guard her,” said Dr. Brock. “There’s Connie’s training to think about. The Trustees are most insistent that this is not neglected. They, like us, have heard rumors that Kullervo has regrouped and creatures are once again flocking to his side. An entire coven of banshees has recently disappeared—we think to join him. We’ve got to get to Connie before Kullervo or his followers do.”

  “That’s all very well, Francis,” said Evelyn, needled by his mention of the defection of some of her companion creatures, “but are the Trustees volunteering to go and tackle my aunt themselves? She sent me away when I tried, so I won’t bet on their chances.”

  Dr. Brock frowned. “We know that Godiva is something of a special case. She’ll deny that she can even see them, if I know her.”

  “You’ve met her before?” asked Col. He could’ve sworn that Dr. Brock blushed.

  “Yes, we used to be friends once upon a time. A very fine girl she was in her youth.”

  “Then perhaps you should talk to her?”

  “No!” he said sharply. “That would do more harm than good. No, I think we should try something else. Is Hugh still living with her?”

  Evelyn nodded. “But I fear that she rules the roost.”

&n
bsp; “I’d expect nothing less of her. But I have an idea how we might wrangle Connie out of the house. All we need is the right bait.”

  Aunt Godiva leafed through the pamphlet on the national curriculum she had picked up from the local education authority. “What have we come to?” she muttered. “Citizenship lessons—what on Earth is that?”

  Connie sat silently at the desk that had been allotted to her in the former nursery, her fingers playing with an old-fashioned ink pen. Godiva would not allow pencils in her class.

  “Well, we can forget about all that, can’t we?” Godiva announced, coming to a decision and throwing the leaflet aside. “This is about curing you of the Society. What a young mind like yours needs is a diet of grammar and arithmetic, leavened with a modicum of scientific fact. We’ll start with an hour of algebra, an hour of composition, and an hour of Latin.”

  “Latin!”

  “A very good subject for teaching intellectual rigor. In the afternoon, we’ll study science and domestic accomplishments.”

  “You are joking?” asked Connie hopefully, but her great-aunt’s face told another story.

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life. You are suffering from delusions, Connie, no doubt hearing voices and seeing things, all encouraged by those mad people in the Society. Hard application to these subjects will bring you back to yourself.”

  The pen spurted ink over Connie’s fingers. “I’m not deluded, Aunt Godiva.”

  “I beg to differ. If I took you to any medical expert, they would say the same. What you think you feel during those Society meetings of yours is not real—it’s a form of group hysteria. I didn’t realize it myself at first, but I now see that the Society is a particularly virulent cult that brainwashes its members—dragons and flying horses, I ask you! I’ve no doubt they use banned substances, too, these days to induce even wilder hallucinations.”

  “You were a member once, weren’t you?” Connie asked quietly. The mystery of her great-aunt’s behavior was beginning to fall into place.

  Godiva stalked to the window and looked out. Her silence seemed to confirm Connie’s guess.

  “What is your companion species?”