A Fever of the Blood

by Oscar de Muriel

  And now I understood how he’d come to know: Joan, my housekeeper and the world’s most pre-eminent gossip, had known about the entire affair from the very start, and it would not be a surprise if she had diligently communicated it to the old butler, George, who in turn must have told the juicy tale to McGray. I could picture them both laughing over the dirty linen of the ‘soft Southron’, the jilted upper-class snob, the flimsy lover who’d not been able to keep his ‘lassie’.

  The thought made me growl, and I glared at McGray, wanting to punch his already sore face.

  It was good to feel angry, I thought. At least that would keep me warm.

  26

  No blizzard can last for ever. Not even that one.

  The winds slowly died down and the clouds eventually dropped all their snow on the moors, but by that time the sky was already dark.

  As soon as the clouds parted I heard the squawk of a raven, and then saw the bird flying boisterously into the now clear sky. Its winding trajectory took it east, towards a gentle slope that ascended in front of our shelter. It led to a high peak, its thick coat of snow gleaming subtly blue under the sliver of crescent moon. It was an ominous landscape, with the oak’s twisted branches swaying above us, and even I felt its influence: I thought of green torches, black cats and cawing ravens. I would not like to venture down those wild roads at night, and I feared what new adventures Nine-Nails might drag me into when he woke up.

  I looked at him, curled up on the ground. He’d looked utterly broken, even diseased; entirely at odds with his usual resilient self. Now, after a few hours, he was sleeping deeply, snoring like an expiring bull, as he’d done on the two previous nights.

  ‘Two … nights,’ I whispered, suddenly frowning.

  It struck me again quite how odd that was. Nine-Nails seldom slept more than two or three hours, and when he did, it was usually followed by two or three days of uninterrupted vigil.

  That was not all. He had been behaving – if possible – more erratically than ever: I would have never thought him capable of punching a helpless abbot or taking pleasure in kicking a dead animal, and I had provoked him much more bitterly in the past without getting my nose crushed. His obsession with finding Joel had been fervent, but throwing us into that ludicrous pursuit across the moors of Bowland, without having a trace to follow or even thinking of the practicalities … that had been downright stupid.

  He was always reckless and impulsive, yes, but not to such an extent. It was as if something had amplified his fixations and blocked the trickle of common sense that had kept him alive in the past.

  To crown it all, his good eyesight and his usually proficient shooting had become pathetic: I recalled him squinting to read the maps, and he’d failed to get a clean shot in at the vast body of the moustachioed circus freak, even when aiming from the most favourable distances. He’d managed to hit him in the shoulder, but that must have been a mere graze, otherwise he could not have taken McGray down so easily.

  ‘What if …’ I whispered again, an idea now taking root in my mind: what if the witches had cast some … ‘spell’ on him? I was not thinking of an actual charm, of course, but some clever hoax like the foxglove tea. There were countless hallucinogens those witches could be using: belladonna, opium, mandragora … However, I could not think of any way in which those drugs could have been administered. Food or drink were out of the question, for we’d both eaten from the same sources – and as Oakley’s poison had proven, my system was prone to much more violent reactions. I thought of the pie I’d not eaten, and remembered that McGray had bought them off an old woman – but I discarded that idea; Nine-Nails had been showing strange symptoms even before he ate the pies.

  I dwelled on the problem for a good while but could not come up with any plausible theory. Then I remembered the old hag we’d nearly caught at the church and, just as one recalls an undesired melody, I heard the rough voice of Madame Katerina: Witches can curse you simply with their eyes; one glare and you’re lost.

  Just then Nine-Nails moved, startling me.

  He stretched as leisurely as if arising on a pleasant Sunday morning, and yawned with his mouth so wide open I could see all the way to his uvula. When he spoke his voice sounded hoarse and worn out.

  ‘Fr … Frey?’

  ‘Yes. Were you expecting somebody else?’

  He looked around, groping at the stone and roots around him. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘In Kensington Palace.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘I do not have the slightest idea,’ I snapped. ‘I was too busy dragging your oafish frame to safety.’

  ‘Did they go away?’

  ‘Yes, McGray, they did. Why they did not kill us, I cannot possibly tell.’

  He stretched his arms and back, every joint creaking. ‘I feel like a bloody elephant charged against me … Cannae believe ye moved me here under that bloody storm!’

  I kept my arms crossed. ‘What is truly astonishing is that despite this freezing cold I can still smell your wakening breath.’

  McGray touched his cheek and moved his jaw sideways. ‘Ouch! That devilled swine did ken how to blow a right hook.’

  His face was now even more bruised than mine, the flesh less swollen but turned into all the most ghastly shades of black, purple and green.

  ‘What?’ he asked, seeing I was smiling wryly.

  ‘I wish he’d finished the job once and for all.’

  He looked at me and sighed. ‘Has His Majesty decided to throw another tantrum?’

  ‘Can you blame me? You have nearly dragged me to my death!’

  ‘Och, there ye go again. Appease yerself! I’ve taken my beating too.’

  ‘I do not give a pox what beatings you take! In fact, I would like to see you take a little bit more.’

  McGray was searching his pockets.

  ‘They took the guns,’ I grunted. ‘And the money. And our badges. You truly excelled yourself this time.’

  He ignored me, distractedly scratching his leg inside his boot. ‘I still have the map and some matches.’

  ‘I still have a compass,’ I said, feeling it in my breast pocket.

  ‘That’s all we need,’ he said resolutely, pulling himself up and clambering out of our hideaway. ‘Tell me where’s east.’

  I blew out my cheeks. ‘You cannot be suggesting we go on right now!’

  ‘Why not? Finally there’s a wee bit o’ moonlight. The sooner we get to Slaidburn, the sooner –’

  He fell silent.

  I was going to ask why, but I did not need to. Almost immediately my eyes saw a small speck of light in the distance; I had to blink to assure myself it was actually there.

  It was a quivering flame, a torch, ascending across the hill along a twisted track. The light was golden, but just as I registered that fact, an emerald flash arose, so briefly I would have missed it had I blinked.

  ‘Did ye see that?’ McGray asked, already striding towards the glow.

  ‘I did, but –’

  McGray was moving fast, and I had to leap out and clasp him by the shoulder.

  ‘You are not thinking straight!’ I hissed. ‘We cannot confront anyone as we stand. We are both beaten, we have no weapons and –’

  He pulled away, and I could see that fire in his eyes I have come to fear. His mind was set, and only death could break his resolve.

  I had no other choice but to follow him, not even able to grumble.

  We advanced furtively, maintaining a prudent distance from the torch. As we drew closer I saw it lighting the white snow around it, and casting sharp shadows of the figures that held it.

  There were two of them, covered in what looked like black rags that dragged on the ground. One figure was slightly broader than the other, and to me they both seemed female.

  There was another green flash in the flames, and then a second fire appeared atop the hill. It too glimmered alternately yellow and green, and the torch responded, as if the flames were conversing in some
sort of spine-chilling Morse code.

  We followed the tracks of disturbed snow, but the fire in the heights became brighter and brighter, and we had to hide behind a large bush. That one was a beacon – perhaps one of the lights we’d seen from Lancaster, but I could not be sure.

  Our eyes stayed on the two figures as they ascended the last twenty yards, now heading straight towards the fire.

  A hunched figure seemed to emerge from behind the pyre, but silhouetted against the light it was nothing but a black shadow.

  ‘I cannae see,’ McGray whispered. ‘Who’s that?’

  I half closed my eyes, straining to distinguish any feature, but all I could see were dark outlines. The two women planted their torch on the ground and then bowed so low I thought they could have kissed their own knees.

  ‘What are they doing?’ McGray asked. ‘It’s all a splodge to me.’

  ‘Your eyesight has grown terrible,’ I hissed. I was about to comment further on his weird symptoms, but then my heartbeat quickened.

  The third figure, much shorter than the women, suddenly seemed to sprout from the earth, like a rising mast, and then the wind brought us the echoes of high-pitched howling.

  The women threw something that exploded in pink and red flames; the now towering figure hit them away, and then extended a pair of long arms, looking like a black crucifix, that made the women ululate. The sound was horrible, sending a chill down my spine.

  McGray jumped up like an arrow, and before I could stop him he was running towards the macabre scene.

  I grunted, sick of running after him, but I could not leave him to his fate. I imagined those shadows striking him and throwing him into the fire, and I left the safety of the bushes to run in pursuit. By then the three figures were embroiled in a savage fight, dark blurs rolling and dashing dangerously close to the flames. A small bundle was jumping about; it was a black cat, hissing and running for dear life.

  The taller figure, square-shouldered, was wrapped in a thick overcoat, the black folds flying about as the women hurled themselves against it. A deep, enraged voice yelled back at them, a sound I recognized though I’d heard it only once.

  Lord Ardglass.

  He saw McGray running to him, and I caught a clear glimpse of his bloodshot eyes, looking like a demon’s in the firelight.

  ‘Back off!’ he spat.

  The slimmer woman turned back, and I saw clearly the youthful features of Miss Oakley. It was just for a split second, but time enough for Joel to land a mighty punch on her temple. The girl screamed and fell sideways, crawling away as the other woman brandished a small vial as if it were a weapon.

  Joel must have known what it contained. He looked at the little bottle with frightened eyes, even though he was armed with a large knife. It was a glass blade that reflected the glimmering fire, a hellish vision that was unnervingly familiar to me. He threw stabs to keep the woman at bay, but she was slowly gaining ground, ducking the blows and shouting unintelligible words, maybe hexes. She pushed the vial at Joel, and he had to take a step back, closer to the flames. The woman cackled then, a horrible, piercing sound I recognized immediately. That was the woman we’d seen at the church. The infamous Redfern. The very sight of her made me shudder: her creased, grey face, her bulging eyes burning more furiously than the green fire. She held her bony hand up high, and Lord Ardglass watched the sinister vial in terror.

  McGray went straight to the pyre, pulled out a blazing log as long as his calf and ran towards Ardglass. Redfern showed her rotten teeth in a twisted grin as she stepped back to let the two men fight each other.

  Joel threw a stab that McGray dodged by mere inches. Then Nine-Nails whirled the flaming torch around, the burning end reached Joel’s hand and the dagger flew out of it.

  ‘You bast–’

  McGray hit him in the chest and Ardglass fell flat on his back. He rolled and crawled swiftly away, avoiding the blows McGray threw at him.

  Redfern raised her bony arm, about to throw her potion, and I realized with a chill that she was not aiming at Ardglass.

  I sprinted as fast as I could, yelling at McGray, but he was too busy charging against Joel. I stretched out my arm but managed to grab only one of the folds of Redfern’s sleeves, just as she threw the vial at McGray. The tiny bottle barely missed him: it hit the base of the pyre, the glass smashing and releasing a cloud of fumes that burned my eyes and nostrils, despite the distance.

  Redfern let out a cry like an eagle’s and turned to me. I had a fleeting vision of her long, repugnant nails before they reached my face and scratched my cheek. Without thinking I thrust out my fists, not knowing where I hit her, but she fell backwards and all I saw then was her body rolling down the hill, until it became lost in the darkness.

  ‘Ma’am!’ Oakley shouted, still creeping miserably over the snow. ‘Wait!’

  She began to moan then, as she realized the old witch was gone.

  I grabbed her by the wrist and hissed at her. ‘You have a lot to explain!’

  There was a gunshot behind me, and when I turned I saw McGray falling to the ground. His leg was bleeding and he groaned in pain, but he never dropped the burning log.

  Lord Ardglass was standing up, pointing at McGray the same large-calibre gun we’d seen in Edinburgh. Again I had to jump forwards before I could even think what I was doing. I clutched Ardglass’s wrist and the gun fired twice into the sky.

  He punched my face, right on the open scratches, and I lost my balance. As I fell backwards I saw the log’s green fire hit Joel in the stomach, and he also fell to the ground. The gun slipped from his fingers and a large boot kicked it into the pyre.

  It had been McGray, his eyes shining with renewed rage.

  Ardglass looked around desperately as McGray stomped towards him. Suddenly Joel gasped and crawled with spasmodic movements. Too late, I saw him grab the shiny glass blade.

  Oakley had strayed too close to him. Joel grabbed her by the hair, pulled her up and held his dagger to her neck. The girl’s face was distorted in terror, her eyes wet and her lips trembling. I remembered her terrified face when we’d first questioned her; now her worst fears had materialized.

  ‘Drop that!’ Joel said, his eyes fixed on the flaming torch. ‘Or I slit her throat.’

  McGray was holding the log high, ready to strike a mighty blow, his chest heaving.

  ‘You need her alive,’ I spluttered, feeling as if my face were about to explode. ‘You would have shot her and the old witch otherwise.’

  Joel sneered. In the green, flickering light, his teeth made me think of a hound’s fangs. ‘You think you’re so clever, boy. Are you willing to test your theory?’

  As he said that he plunged the tip of the blade into the girl’s skin. She shrieked in agony as a trickle of blood ran down her neck.

  ‘Don’t!’ McGray shouted, and Joel cackled at him.

  ‘You shouldn’t worry so much about the likes of her. Hasn’t this little witch tried everything against you?’

  We did not reply, which pleased Lord Ardglass exceedingly. ‘I thought as much,’ he said. ‘Following me will bring you nothing but disgrace.’ Then he drew the knife to Oakley’s cheekbone, softly caressing her face with the blade, smearing her skin with her own blood. ‘I said, drop that!’

  Oakley yelped and my heart skipped a beat. McGray had to oblige, tossing the log at Joel’s feet.

  ‘Good boy. Now, as I told you before: don’t bloody follow me!’

  He showed his teeth as he said that, retreating into the shadows and dragging the poor girl with him.

  ‘Why are ye doing this?’ McGray asked.

  Joel was already far from the fire, but I could still see his unsettling grin, and the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth looked like deep, sharp cuts.

  ‘Boy, have they not told you I am mad? Just like your little sister.’

  McGray gnashed his teeth, and with his deep frown and glassy eyes he looked as if Joel had really stabbed him.

  He made
to follow them, but I held him back. Weak and weary, Nine-Nails fell to his knees and I saw tears pooling in his eyes.

  Soon they were gone. We heard Oakley’s voice again, sobbing and then screaming. She let out one last shriek and then the world became silent. I tried not to think what could be happening on those dark moors.

  We were left all alone on that icy hill, lit only by the dull moonlight and the beacon’s waning flames.

  27

  ‘We need to find shelter,’ I urged, leaning closer to McGray and looking at his bleeding calf. ‘And I should look at that wound.’

  He did not move. His stare was lost in the vast darkness ahead.

  I pulled at his forearm, but surprisingly it was much more difficult to make him move now, when he was conscious, than when he had been lying in the hollow like a dead billy goat.

  ‘We have to move!’ I snorted. ‘Joel or the damned witches could come back, and we are not exactly well hidden …’

  McGray’s stare was still fixed ahead, and he slowly lifted his arm, pointing downhill. My eyes immediately fell on another speck of light on the lower slopes.

  ‘Oh Lord,’ I moaned, drained to my very core. It was definitely another torch, albeit not green – and it was ascending in our direction.

  I pulled McGray’s arm more urgently, shook him, then pointed at the golden light.

  ‘We have to go!’

  McGray did move, but sluggishly, dragging himself to his feet with my help. He leaned on me and I nearly fell under his weight. As I struggled to take a first step I saw that his face was peppered with sweat and his entire body was shaking. That crushed any doubts I could have had: this was not Nine-Nails McGray. They had done something to him, rendered him helpless.

  We must have moved but a couple of yards when I looked again. The torch was approaching at a slow but steady pace. I knew it would reach us before we could escape from the beacon’s light.

  ‘It’s useless,’ McGray said, realizing it too, and then dropped on to the snow, grasping his injured leg.