And fearing to be left on her own, with the hunting thing coming down from the escarpment to sniff her out, Angela had let him lead her on into the forest.
They had gone painfully slowly at first, hardly daring to breathe, every nerve jumping and senses straining to their limits. She had held his hand and he hers—an entirely mutual, almost involuntary thing—and she’d felt his trembling. That, too, had been mutual, but she’d fancied he was the more afraid. Perhaps knowing something of this place, having been here before, he knew enough to make him more afraid. She’d thought of asking him, but in the event held her tongue. Maybe it was better that she didn’t know.
Full dawn had come as they left the first belt of misted forest and crossed a strip of heath; and as the light waxed, so Haggie’s fears had seemed to wane. He had lived through yet another night with his miserable body and soul still intact, and could now appreciate the advantages of his new situation. So that soon he began to talk to her, to make plans for them. But for them—the two of them—with never a word or thought for the others. At that Angela had known that Haggie didn’t intend to reunite with Gill and the rest, but she’d made no comment for fear of angering him. That had been a mistake, for he’d seen her silence as encouragement. When his talk had turned more intimate, however, and his piggy eyes commenced to devour her in the full dawn light, finally she’d spurned him.
It was something he’d said—something about “women, like men, all seeming much the same from the waist down”—that stung her into rebuke; that and his statement that she would soon get used to him, once she saw what he had for her. He’d been “saving it all up, because in a dump like this there was nowhere to spend it.” It was the sort of thing her husband had used to say to her when he was drunk, and caused her to remember the things he’d used to do to her.
Then, breathlessly, she’d asked Haggie if he thought she was a bitch in heat, that he could talk to her like that—which of course had been the wrong thing to say to someone like him in a place like this. “In heat?” he’d answered. “Well, you look pretty hot stuff to me … .” And straight out with it: “But if that’s how you like it—doggie-fashion—that’s okay by me.”
What she might have said to him then—whether or not she’d have gone for him tooth and nail in her extremity of fear and loathing—would never be known, for that was when they’d reentered the forest and she’d stumbled into the web.
At any other time she couldn’t have failed to see that patterned mesh of glistening fibers strung between the trees, but her blood was up and she’d been blinded by anger. In a moment she’d found herself held fast, spread-eagled on the web; and then she’d heard that vibrant, rhythmic, sentient rattling—and seen the devil’s own worst nightmare falling on her out of the treetops! It had been about as big as Angela herself; not exactly a spider or a wood louse, but something in between and much worse than both.
Her horror had given her strength; somehow she’d torn herself free; and give Haggie his due, he had tried to fend the spider thing off with a branch torn from a thorn tree. But the monster had stabbed at her even as she got loose from its web, and one of its chitin-covered forelimbs had pierced her blouse and torn her shoulder. The blouse, hooked up on the limb’s hairy barbs, had been ripped from her cringing body and yanked aloft even as she staggered to safety.
When they reached a brighter patch of forest, Haggie wanted to look at her wound but she said no. Tearing her ski pants from the knees down, she’d somehow fashioned a bandage and even a scrap of a halter to cover her breasts; but Haggie had only laughed, insisting that modesty in this place was for fools. Why should she want to hide what was going to be his anyway? But … it was up to her. She could do it the hard way or the easy way, take her pick. The easy way would be to do as she was told—everything she was told—and he’d take it easy on her. And the other way? Sooner or later, if she chose that route, she’d come crawling to him. And then there’d be no terms but his.
The gash in her shoulder had been an agony, but still she had her pride. Defiantly she had told him that she’d wait right here, for Gill and the others. She believed they still lived—they had to! She was bluffing, of course, fòr she didn’t dare wait there in the forest. She had to make it to the mansion—and Haggie knew it. It had prompted him to play a cruel game with her.
“Suit yourself,” he’d said, and sneered at her then. “Wait for them if you want to. See if they’re alive and if they can help you. Gill was a dying man anyway, couldn’t you see that? But if they don’t come, or if you miss them, then you’re finished. It’s up to you: stay here and I’m done with you, I go on alone. Or come on with me to the mansion. If you do come with me, then you’re mine. It’s the three F’s, Angie doll. If I feed you and fend for you, then it seems only right that I take care of the third F, too—when and how and as often as I like!” And with one last contemptuous grin he’d left her.
With tears of frustration streaming from her eyes, crying out her bitter detestation of him, she had stood her ground—for a little while. But life was dear, and now that she was alone the forest seemed even more sullen, silent, alien. And indeed she knew that it was all of those things. She’d caught up with him at last as he entered the final belt of forest, which must have been something over two hours ago … .
They’d reached the mansion just as the sun was preparing to touch the purple rim of the distant escarpment, which was also when Haggie chose to commence her subjugation. “It can’t wait,” he’d hoarsely grunted, coming up behind her where she sat on a stone at the foot of the mansion’s wall. And as she heard the naked lust in his voice, her eyes had widened and she’d turned her head to look up at him.
“What?” she had said, unable to credit that he’d try something in a place and at a time like this. She had loosened the knot of her makeshift halter, was examining the burning gash in her shoulder. Strangely, it seemed to be healing very quickly; while still purple and a little puffy, it was no longer so stiff as to incapacitate her.
“You flash your tits about like that and ask me what? This is what!” As he tore the halter from her back and she jumped to her feet, he showed her what he’d been saving for her, throbbing where he worked it with one hand. “Now’s the time, Angie doll,” he told her. “My way!”
But after that business with the spider thing, Angela had armed herself with the whiplike branch of a thorn tree. She’d kept it close to hand and now snatched it up. Maybe Haggie had thought she was spineless, that she wouldn’t dare. But she did. She whipped him back away from her, out of range, where he danced and hooted his delight at this unexpected sport. “Hoo! Hoo! But it’s going to feel really nice when I slip it in, Angie doll! This is my little slippy-stick, see? Biggest muscle in my whole blood body!”
And then she’d run from him around the square base of the mansion. Behind her, he’d laughed all the harder and let her go; but in a little while, curious, he’d come looking for her. “You’ll be back,” she had heard him calling, “when it gets dark and they start howling and fighting. But don’t leave it too long or I might not be here.”
At the back of the mansion Angela had found a slender tree with many branches, standing alone in a position close to the wall. The upper half of its trunk leaned inwards, dangling lesser branches and leaves over the high balcony. As a girl she’d been something of a tomboy and could handle trees well enough. She’d launched her thorn-tree weapon like a spear onto the first tier, then scrambled up the tree to comparative safety—from Haggie, at least.
Haggie had found the tree eventually and even tried to climb up after her. But she’d lashed him around the head and shoulders and had the satisfaction of seeing his blood; and then, snarling, he’d retreated back down to ground level. From which time until now he’d wasted no slightest opportunity to taunt and terrorize her … .
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Coming in from the heath in the gathering dusk, Gill and Turnbull heard most of it. If Angela had chosen to look in their di
rection, where they deliberately kept a low profile, still she just might have seen them; her first-storey vantage point was a good one, giving her a more or less clear view over the scrub all around. But she was more interested in Haggie; or rather, in holding him at bay.
“Well, Angie darling, what’s it to be?” he called up to her from the foot of the mansion. “Are you going to wait up there for the bats? Or would you prefer me?”
“Bats?” Her answer was a gasp. It was the first time she’d spoken to him at all since climbing up here, and even now the word sprang from her before she could stop it. Haggie guessed he’d bit on a sore point.
He shrugged. “They fly like bats, anyway. Something like ’em. All leathery wings and big ears. But after that they’re more like. snakes. Long, whiplash bodies. Oh, yes,” he added, as if on afterthought, “and they’re big. Big as large house cats. Couldn’t say what they eat. I was only here once and I didn’t wait to find out. Nor will I this time. You’d better come on down.”
She looked nervously all about in the darkening sky. The sun’s exit had left a shrinking glow in the west over the dark, elongated mass of the far escarpment. But to the south … sure enough she could make out a cloud of gnatlike aerial shapes darting this way and that. They were a long way off but seemed to be coming closer. “Oh!” It was the second time a word had made its involuntary escape.
“Oh?” he repeated her mockingly from below, his voice echoing out into the expanding silence of dusk. “So you see them, do you? That doesn’t give you much time then, sweetie. Now come on down before they get here. I mean, I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know what the hell they are, but you can bet your backside they’re not nice. That is, unless you can think of a better use for that sweet little backside of yours. I certainly can!”
She looked down at him uncertainly, and again at the darting dots in the sky. From somewhere in the forest a far, faint howling reached her—was taken up and answered from another direction—and again from a third.
“The howlers,” said Haggie unnecessarily. “But that’s not all they do! That’s why I’m waiting. When they eat, I eat.” He chuckled obscenely. “And you, too, if you want to. You have to eat sometime, if you want to stay on your toes. And good red meat is scarce around here, until the howlers scare some up.” Again his obscene chuckle. “You’ll see what I mean soon enough—that is, if you’re still around.”
Angela thought fast. She could try one last time to reason with him. Whether it worked or not, he’d win in the end anyway, because she knew he was right and she couldn’t stay up here indefinitely, a sitting duck in the growing darkness. “If I thought you could behave more like a man,” she started, “instead of a dog, then maybe I … I …”
Now his voice turned sour. “Listen, Angie: I’ve shot my load twice in my pants just thinking about having you. So you’re okay from that point of view—for a little while. But I’m telling you, you can’t stay up there. Shortly the howlers will be hunting, and what they hunt will run this way. The howlers don’t much care for this place, but they won’t hold back forever. Now I know which of these doors is which. Some of ’em anyway. I’ll just grab up a little food—on the hoof, you know?—and get the hell right out of here. If you’re down here with me, all well and good. We eat, you carry right on living, and tomorrow can take care of itself. But if you’re still up there, you face the howlers, the bats, whatever.”
She shook her head desperately, looked this way and that. He knew he very nearly had her.
“Also,” he quickly continued, “I know the place where I’m going. It’s not good there but it’s not the worst. Except I’ll make sure you don’t see which door I use. So if you do make it down after I’ve gone, you won’t know where I’ve gone. You won’t be able to follow. Of course, you can always choose just any old door. But you’re not stupid—you could have done that already. And you’d better believe me when I tell you that most of these doors lead straight to hell!”
Gill couldn’t take any more of this. “It’s okay now, Angela,” he said, stepping out of the shadow of the wall. “You can come down.” Then he turned towards Haggie.
At the sound of his voice the little redhead had drawn breath in a gasp, stooped and picked up a rock. He swung it at Gill’s head. Ready for him, Gill ducked, straightened up and slammed a fist into his mouth. Swatted from his feet, Haggie went down—and bounced back to his feet just as quickly. He edged around Gill, ran past him along the front of the mansion.
Turnbull was waiting for him. The big man grew up like a huge dark blot out of the wall, grabbed Haggie by the neck with one massive hand. “Little man,” he growled, “I’d say you’re in trouble!” He bent Haggie’s arm up behind his back until he howled, frog-marched him back to Gill.
Taking careful aim, Gill hit Haggie again, hard and deliberate, flattening his nose. But this time when Haggie hit the ground he didn’t come up. He simply lay there and moaned. Gill sat down on him and asked Turnbull, “Can you get her down?”
Meanwhile Angela had burst into tears of relief. “Oh, Spencer, Jack! I—”
“It’s okay,” Turnbull growled. “Don’t say anything. We can imagine. Listen, can you climb over the balcony and lower yourself down? If you can, I’ll be able to reach up and grab your legs.”
“Round the back,” she gasped, trying hard to regain control of herself. “There’s a tree.”
“Angela,” said Turnbull quietly, “forget the tree. Just do as I say, right?” He had seen dark shapes descending out of the amethyst sky, a cloud of them that squirted like a school of winged squid, crisscrossing the first stars. She knew from his tone of voice something was wrong, glanced up and saw them. Haggie’s “bats.” In another moment she was over the parapet, on her knees, lowering herself to her fingertips. Turnbull got her, said, “Let go.” She fell into his arms, hugged close to him a moment, then turned to Gill.
Haggie raised his head and spat out dirt. Gill dispassionately hit him again, behind the ear, and stood up. Turnbull stepped close to the sprawled Haggie and put a foot in the middle of his back. “Just stay put, not-so-Smart Alec,” he said, “or I’ll smash your spine.” And knowing he would, Haggie lay very still.
Meanwhile, Angela had flown into Gill’s arms. “Oh, Spencer, Spencer!”
“Did he … ?” He let the question hang unspoken.
“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head in the hollow of Gill’s shoulder. “He wanted to, would have, but—”
“He tried?”
“He … I found a way up there. I was safe there.”
“It’s okay, then.” Gill felt his heart slowing down, the adrenaline settling in his system. “I won’t have to kill him. But if he had, then I would have.” If Haggie heard all of this, he was saying nothing.
Gill could have held on to the girl forever, but he knew they didn’t have even the smallest fraction of that. “Jack,” he said, “get that little bastard up onto his feet.”
Turnbull hauled Haggie upright but held on to him. “No running away,” he warned him. “If you make me chase you, I’ll fix it so you can’t run, right?” Haggie hung his head, remained sullenly silent. Turnbull shook him until his head nearly came loose. “Right?” he said again, louder, after he’d stopped shaking.
Haggie nodded. “But listen—” he babbled.
“You listen,” Gill cut him short. “First off, there are things we need to know. And no more bullshit about information being valuable. It is, if you value your own skin. See, we’ve had it with you. You try to make a profit—all sorts of profit—out of threats and blackmail. You’d bargain with people for their lives and their bodies, even their souls, if you could. Okay, so we’ve learned from you and learned fast. So try this on for a threat: if we’re going to die in this place, be sure you’re going first. Got it?”
Turnbull tightened his grip on Haggie.
Haggie gulped. “Got it,” he said. Blood dripped from his nose and the corner of his mouth.
“And don’t
bleed on me,” said Turnbull. “I’m particular.”
There were scraping sounds from above, claws scrabbling at smooth stone, where things were landing on the square of the topmost tier. Bat wings furled down, and a line of leathery, big-eared gargoyles looked down on the group of human beings. They were perched on the edge of the top tier, cat eyes glowing gold in black silhouette faces. Angela hissed her terror, shrank back into Gill’s arms.
Gill held her tightly and said to Haggie, “These bat things—you didn’t say if they were dangerous. Are they?”
“I don’t know,” Haggie answered. “I was on my own last time. They didn’t bother me, just sat watching me.”
Turnbull gave him a quick shake. “You mean you were only using them to frighten the girl into coming down?”
“Yes,” Haggie said. “I mean, no! Christ, I don’t know! They could be dangerous, couldn’t they? Almost everything else is. Anyway, I wasn’t going to hurt the girl. I only … wanted company?”
“You ugly little … .” Gill released Angela and moved to hit him yet again, but Turnbull intervened.
“Don’t you think he should be conscious?” he said, with no reproof but simple common sense in his voice. He didn’t have Gill’s involvement. “Let me talk to him.” And to Haggie: “Alec, son, what about the howlers? Are they dangerous?”
Haggie looked up at him. “Son?”
Turnbull grinned. “I never married,” he said. “Any sons of mine are bastards!” The grin slipped from his face. “The howlers?”
“Dangerous?” Haggie gabbled. “Damned right they are! They hunt and kill, and as night comes down they get braver. You can bet they know we’re here, but they’ll wait until it’s really dark before they move in.”