The Gorgon's Gaze

by Julia Golding

  “The expert now, are you? What has your mom been telling you?”

  Col said nothing; he didn’t want to share his secret visit to Snake Hollow with Mack of all people. He started the engine and pushed it into top gear so that it whined with an angry hum, jerking the boat into motion. The two Clamworthys returned to Hescombe Harbor sitting at opposite ends of the boat.

  8

  Inheritance

  Connie decided that breakfast was the best moment to broach the subject of a visit to the abbey, as Hugh would be there. She waited until her aunt had satisfied her hunger with several rounds of toast before taking the plunge.

  “I’ve been wondering, Aunt,” she began.

  “Yes?” Godiva was instantly suspicious.

  “You mentioned something about the Lionhearts being an old family—merchants, I think you said.”

  Godiva smiled. This was a safe topic.

  “Indeed. I’m glad you’re taking an interest in them.”

  “Uncle Hugh said they were sailors, too.”

  Hugh rustled his newspaper. “That’s right, my dear—it goes with the territory, you might say—oldest son in the warehouse, younger in the shipping business. Shocking number of them lost at sea, of course—those sailing ships may be beautiful, but they were treacherous.”

  Connie wondered fleetingly how many of her ancestors had fallen foul of the Kraken on their voyages, but knew better than to speak this thought aloud.

  “I’d like to see their memorials in the abbey. Would it be okay if I went this morning?”

  Godiva sniffed, trying to scent the hitch.

  “Perhaps Uncle Hugh could come with me and show me around a bit?”

  “Delighted, my dear. I have a favorite tomb I’d like to take you to—remember, Godiva, Charles Lionheart’s one under the south window?”

  Godiva smiled at her brother. “Of course, I remember, Hugh. We could hardly tear you away from it when you were a boy. Yes, you go and show that to Connie.”

  Hugh, with old fashioned gallantry, offered his great-niece his arm as they crossed the Abbey Close a few minutes before noon.

  “Are you managing all right, Connie?” he asked once they were out of sight of Godiva. “I know my sister can be a bit fierce but she means well.”

  Connie said nothing.

  “It’s just that you’re looking a bit peaked. I was beginning to worry. She said you had to go through this to be cured. I hope you understand.”

  “I’m not ill, Uncle.”

  He glanced at her sideways. “You probably don’t see it like that. I understand. Who understands better? I came from a whole family of people who had only a vague connection with sanity—my sister Sybil was completely…” He checked himself. “I loved her all the same. It was terrible what happened to that nice young man of hers.”

  There weren’t many visitors in the abbey that morning. Sunlight streamed in through the round south window, staining the floor with rich splashes of color. Connie walked forward and stood in the center of the ring. She looked up. The vast circular window was in the shape of a compass—it was breathtakingly blatant—here for everyone to see.

  “Lovely, isn’t it,” said Hugh, rubbing his hands. “They say it stands for the ring of eternity—the snake with its tail in its mouth. The compass is a parable of how the heart leads us to our Maker.”

  But it’s also about me, thought Connie. Someone in the family knew what the symbol meant—they must’ve. “Who paid for it to be put here?” she asked lightly.

  “The couple in this tomb—this is what I really wanted to show you.”

  Hugh beckoned her over to a marble sarcophagus. The sides were decorated with images of the sea—ships in full sail, mermaids, dolphins, and fish. The lid was covered by a carving of the compass. Connie bent over to read the inscription.

  Here lies Charles Henry Benjamin Lionheart,

  beloved husband and father. Born 1670.

  Departed this life 1742. “The Sea calleth him home.”

  And also his relict, Suzanna Caldicott Lionheart,

  a universal mother to us all. Born 1682.

  Died 1743. She encompassed every virtue.

  “Very nice, isn’t it?” said Hugh, touching the lid affectionately, taking her stunned silence for admiration of the stone-cutter’s craft. “Never have been able to track down the quotation—probably from the Bible.”

  Or from his company. Charles was a companion to the mermaids, Connie was sure of it.

  “Bit over the top about his widow, though. Every virtue? Sounds pretty awful to me,” he continued.

  Suzanna Caldicott—her great-great—Connie didn’t know how many “greats”—grandmother.

  She had already begun to learn from Suzanna, thanks to that book in the library, not realizing she had inherited her gift. No wonder Suzanna’s old house was full of the universal’s symbol!

  “If you don’t mind, Uncle, I think I’ll just stay here for a moment. I want to think.”

  Hugh smiled and patted her on the shoulder. “You do that. I’ll toddle off and see if I can buy you a postcard of the tomb.”

  Connie sat cross-legged in the middle of the compass reflection. She hadn’t forgotten that she was here to meet Col, but she also hadn’t expected that the trip would prove such an eye-opener. Well, if hearing other creatures in your head was madness, as Godiva claimed, she now knew that the insane streak ran deep in the family. But she wasn’t mad—Godiva was, to shut herself off from the family inheritance.

  This was how Col found Connie, sitting in the middle of her symbol, lost in thought. Multi-colored lights danced magically in her hair. He was almost afraid to break the spell.

  “Connie?” He knelt beside her.

  “Col!” She reached out and held his hand fast in hers. “Look, my sign. It’s in my blood!”

  He looked up and whistled. “That’s pretty cool. I’ve never noticed before.”

  “I don’t think anyone but us knows what it really means—they all think it’s here because the Lionhearts were sailors. But she was a universal.” Connie nodded at the tomb.

  “Who?

  “Suzanna Caldicott Lionheart—she’s in the library register.”

  “Wow.”

  “I’ll bet you anything she probably had weird eyes and funny hair like me, too.”

  “Probably.” Col smiled and ruffled Connie’s black mop of hair. “How’re things?”

  She grimaced. “Terrible.”

  Yeah, she did look bad, thought Col. She had dark shadows under her eyes, and she was very pale.

  “I’m missing everyone—particularly you and Argand.” Connie glanced over to the bookstall where her greatuncle was just paying for his purchases. “I haven’t got long, but Col, can you do me a favor?”

  He spread his hands wide. “Anything.”

  “Can you bring Argand up to Mallins Wood this weekend—Saturday night around nine?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to try and slip out. I don’t think either Argand or I can bear being apart much longer.”

  “But why the wood?”

  “I think it’s the last place on Earth my aunt will want to go to look for me.”

  “You’re not making sense.”

  “Maybe not, but I have my suspicions about her.”

  “Dr. Brock said he knew her.”

  Connie nodded. “I bet she knows a lot of them—Mr. Masterson, your grandmother. Ask them about her for me, won’t you? I think it’ll help if I knew.

  “Knew what?”

  “What it is she’s running away from.”

  A packet of postcards fell into Connie’s lap.

  “And who’s this young man?” asked Hugh.

  “A friend from school,” Connie supplied quickly. “He’s got a boat.”

  “Really? What kind?”

  As Col began a detailed discussion of Water Sprite’s specifications with Hugh, Connie rose to her feet. Col winked at her—sealing his promise to meet her a
s she asked.

  “We’d better get back,” broke off Hugh, checking his watch. “I promised I’d not keep you more than an hour. Nice to meet you, Col.”

  “And you, Mr. Lionheart.”

  “See you around,” called Connie over her shoulder.

  “Yeah, see you,” answered Col, watching her until she disappeared back into the lodge.

  Col called by Dr. Brock’s house the next day to ask permission to take Argand up to Mallins Wood. He found Dr. Brock stoking a big bonfire at the end of his long, narrow cottage garden. The hedges were full of bright red and orange flowers as if they, too, were burning.

  “Hello, Col!” called Dr. Brock, pitchforking dead branches onto the blaze. “How’s your summer been? Looking forward to starting at Chartmouth next week?”

  “Not much. I’d prefer to hang out with Skylark.”

  Dr. Brock chuckled. “Of course.”

  “And Connie won’t be there.”

  The doctor leaned on his pitchfork, his face serious. “No, it seems that she won’t. How is she, by the way? Your grandmother told me you’d seen her.”

  “I dunno—miserable, I think. But she’s got plans to escape this weekend and see Argand.”

  “Good. It doesn’t do for companions to be separated for too long.”

  “I know—I feel rough when I haven’t seen Skylark for a few days.”

  “It’s more than that. Your bond makes you reliant on each other—you both need each other to be truly yourself—at least, that’s how it seems to me after all these years with Argot.”

  “So can I borrow Argand?”

  “Ask her yourself.”

  Dr. Brock pointed to the heart of the fire, where Col now saw a little dragon was basking.

  “Won’t she get hurt?” He had half a mind to fish her out with Dr. Brock’s pitchfork.

  “Oh, no, that’s the amazing thing about pure golden dragons—their hide protects them from even the hottest flames—they’re practically indestructible.”

  Col watched with fascinated delight as Argand fanned the flames with her wings to make it blaze a little hotter around her rump. She wriggled with pleasure as the fire tickled her.

  “Argand!” called Dr. Brock.

  She ignored him.

  “Argand, pay attention—it’s about Connie.”

  Instantly, the dragon whirled up from the fire, circled, and landed on Dr. Brock’s shoulder, cheeping and whistling in his ear.

  “Will you go with this boy to see her in a few days?”

  Argand’s eyes turned to Col. A flourish of raspberry colored flames burst from her mouth.

  “Now stop that. What would your mother say? I know he’s not a dragon companion, but he is Connie’s friend. She chose him.”

  Argand let out a skeptical whistle, then nodded.

  “Well, that seems to be agreed. Come and fetch her from here on Saturday. I’ll have words with her to make sure she behaves.”

  “Thanks.” Col turned to go but then remembered what else Connie had asked him to do. “Dr. Brock, what do you know about Godiva Lionheart?”

  Dr. Brock frowned and wiped his hand across his face, leaving a soot mark. “Why do you want to know?”

  “It’s not me—it’s Connie. She’s figured out that her great-aunt knows a lot about the Society.”

  “Yes, she does.”

  “How come?”

  Dr. Brock stroked Argand thoughtfully. “I’m not supposed to talk about it—about her. That was what we agreed.”

  “Agreed? When?”

  Dr. Brock shot Col a shrewd look. “Well, it seems Connie’s guessed quite a lot already. I’ll tell you something about it—but not all. I took an oath and I intend to keep it.

  “Two Lionhearts in that generation had a gift—Sybil and Godiva. Fine girls, the pair of them—broke many hearts in the youth section of the Society just before the war.”

  “You mean World War Two?”

  “I suppose I do—but I was thinking of the last war with Kullervo. Sybil was the elder—she married a very powerful companion from the Two-Fours. As for Godiva, well, I suppose you could say she and I were walking out together.”

  “You were dating Godiva Lionheart?” Col found it hard to imagine anyone liking that old battleaxe.

  “I was.” Dr. Brock sighed. “She’d only just joined as a full member—‘sweet sixteen’ and I…er…made sure the rest of the song didn’t apply.”

  Col looked puzzled.

  “‘And never been kissed’? Surely you’ve heard your grandmother singing it?”

  Col shook his head.

  “Heavens, you make me feel old, Col. Anyway, the violent deaths of Sybil’s husband and many others came as a great shock to us all. Godiva reacted more severely than any of us—I think she went almost out of her mind. I couldn’t reach her—she pushed me and everyone else away. It was particularly sad as her sister needed her more than ever before. Iva started…”

  “Iva?”

  He smiled sadly. “Her pet name. Iva started saying that the mythical creatures were all made up—a hysterical delusion. She even rejected her own companion. It died and something in Iva died, too, that night.”

  “Her companion died?”

  “Yes. It was terrible. Of course, it happened during wartime. We were surrounded by death and destruction. But that one death—the suffering as her companion pined away with Iva refusing even to say good-bye—that was the worst.”

  “That’s…that’s awful.”

  “Maybe, but grief and love make us do strange things.”

  “What was her companion species?”

  Dr. Brock shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t say. We agreed never to reveal that once she handed back her membership badge—or threw it at me, I should say. It’s the protocol for when members leave: they are no longer mentioned and their companion species is struck from the record. Fortunately, she didn’t know many of our secrets—only the basics of her own company. I suppose you could say that defectors become as mythical to the Society as the creatures are to most people.”

  “But that’s crazy. You can’t deny she’s got a gift.”

  “It’s not us denying it—it’s her—it’s her choice.”

  “And she’s trying to force Connie to do the same. We’ve got to stop her.”

  “I know, but the law of this country is on her side. We can’t go marching in and take Connie away. I’ve no doubt she’d soon get the authorities to have the lot of us arrested as a dangerous cult kidnapping children. No, what you are doing is the best way—keep Connie in touch with her companion, support her as a friend.”

  Dr. Brock unwound Argand’s tail from his neck and placed her gently in Col’s hands. “If I were a betting man, Col, I’d put my money on Godiva cracking before Connie does. After all, she doesn’t know it, but she’s up against a universal—that’s way out of her league.”

  9

  The Chest

  Though Connie had committed herself to escaping from the lodge on Saturday night, she still had to work out the details of her plot. She knew she needed the gate key and some way of getting up to Mallins Wood. During her lunch hour on Friday, she decided to explore the coal-shed and was rewarded with the discovery of an old bike. Dragging it out onto the lawn, she examined it to see if it was still roadworthy.

  “Goodness, where did you find that?” asked Hugh, coming in from his daily trip to the newsstand, gate key clinking at his side. “I haven’t seen that old boneshaker for years. Now let me see…ah, yes, it was Godiva’s—I thought as much. Sybil must have taken hers with her when she decamped to Hescombe.”

  “Do you think I could fix it up?”

  “Frankly, my dear, no I don’t.”

  Connie’s face fell.

  “But I could. Right up my alley something like this—stop the old seadog from feeling completely useless.”

  “Thank you. Do you think it’ll take long?”

  “Why? In a hurry to leave us?” he asked shrewdl
y.

  “I was just hoping I’d be allowed out this weekend. It’s been weeks since I’ve seen the other side of these walls—except for the abbey.”

  “Well then, I’ll take it along to the bike shop this afternoon and see what I can do. No promises, though!”

  “Thank you, Uncle Hugh.” Impulsively, Connie kissed him on the cheek. He flushed pink with pleasure.

  “Now, now, don’t mention it,” he said. “You may be a funny little thing, Connie, but I can’t bear to see you upset. I’m pleased I can cheer you up with this. I wish I could do the same for my sister—it’s sixty years since she was last really happy.”

  “That’s a very long time.” Connie, too, had sensed that something had sucked all the happiness out of her great-aunt, like a lemon squeezed of its juice. The atmosphere changed when Godiva entered a room, becoming heavy as if presaging a storm. Connie found it hard to spend so much time in her company.

  “Yes, isn’t it? I sometimes wonder whether…well, never mind. Let me get going on this. Come and find me in my room after lessons and I’ll tell you how I got on.”

  Hugh’s cabin, as he liked to call it, was at the far end of the house up in the roof. Connie had not yet been allowed in and was curious to see what it was like. She knocked on the door.

  “Come in!” called Hugh.

  “Wow!” Connie stood transfixed in the doorway. In contrast to the deadness afflicting the rest of the house, this room was vibrantly alive. It was crammed with wonderfully carved furniture—wardrobes, chairs, tables, screens—so much that there was barely room to move.

  “Sorry, it’s a bit cluttered,” said Hugh.

  “No, I love it.”

  He looked pleased and stroked the top of a wooden chest under the window. “I couldn’t let Godiva get rid of them, you see. They’ve been in this house for centuries. So here they are—in my sanctuary.”

  “Why would anyone want to get rid of them?” Connie was admiring a filigree screen chiseled into the shape of a fruiting apple tree. The wood seemed to hum contentedly under her touch.

  “I think she…they make her uncomfortable. She says it’s a kind of allergy.”

  “She’s allergic to furniture?”