“Bollocks it is!” said the girl. “That crazy lady tied me to a chair! And she has snakes under her turban.”
Viktor breathed in deeply. “You are having a wonderful time here,” he said slowly, holding her gaze.
“No, I’m not…I’m…she…I mean…”
“There are no snakes, no one tied you to a chair, you are enjoying yourself and everything in the castle is fine,” Viktor said, calmly, untying her wrists. “Everything in the castle is fine. You are enjoying yourself. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine.”
Peaches wrinkled her forehead and rubbed her wrists. “I… um,” she said, looking at her hands in wonder. One finger was swollen to twice the size of the others. She held it up. “A snake bit me?”
“There are no snakes. No snake bit you. You hurt your finger by slamming it in a drawer. Everything is fine.”
“My hand hurts,” Peaches said.
“That’s because you slammed it in a drawer. Look, Dr. Ankh left some bandages for you. Shall we bandage your hand?” Peaches nodded, and Viktor wrapped the bandage quickly around the snake-bitten finger.
“Your hand isn’t hurting now,” Viktor said. “Everything is fine. You like being here, and you are having a wonderful time, aren’t you?”
Peaches screwed up her face in puzzlement. “I’m not… I mean… I… yes… Yes, I guess I am having a wonderful time.”
Chapter Twenty
Blake dived deep to recover his dropped mittens, worked them on over his webbed fingers and then swam back to round up the others. He kept one hand clamped firmly over the tear in his cheek as he signalled to them that it was time to come in. The wound was stinging and Blake wondered if he would need to go to Ankh for stitches. All five of his guests began to swim back to the channel leading into the castle. Suddenly, Mrs. Trellis stopped, began to thrash about and then dipped under the water. Blake waited for the old lady to pop back up, but although her blue swimming cap bobbed to the surface, there was no sign of Mrs. Trellis. Mrs. Meeks had observed her friend’s disappearance and now began to shriek. “Do something! Do something!” Alarmed, Blake powered over the spot where she’d vanished. He immediately spotted her floating limp, just below the surface of the water. He scooped her up, slinging her over his shoulder, and charged towards the castle. Now held firmly around the waist by one of Blake’s muscular arms, sensing the heat of his body through the wetsuit, Mrs. Trellis felt a giddy thrill. It was all she could do not to give away her deception by sighing with delight. Emerging at the pool Blake pushed the boys aside, climbed out and laid Mrs. Trellis on the floor.
“Emergency!” he called out, seemingly into thin air. “We need Dr. Ehl Bone at once!”
Lisa, Craig, Hayden and Mrs. Meeks clambered out of the pool and stood with Blake looking down at Mrs. Trellis. “Aren’t you going to do something?” Mrs. Meeks said to the swimming instructor. “She’s half-drowned. She needs mouth-to-mouth!” At this, Mrs. Trellis had to work hard to prevent a smile from appearing on her supposedly unconscious face.
Blake hesitated. The staff of the castle had all received first aid training from Ankh, but Blake’s knew his lungs weren’t quite working yet, since he had just gotten out of the water and was still making the transition from gill-breathing. At that moment, Norm came through from the gym. “Duh…” he said.
“Norm!” Blake exclaimed, relieved to see some help. “This lady needs the kiss of life!”
“I never kissed a lady before,” Norm said, but he got down on his knees, forced a breath into his long-dead putrid lungs, sealed his mouth over the woman’s and puffed out.
Foul air from the diseased lungs washed over Mrs. Trellis. It was revolting, and she coughed, raised a hand, pushed Norm’s face away from hers and struggled into a sitting position.
“She’s okay!” Blake declared with relief.
Mrs. Meeks glared at her friend, concern turning to suspicion. “That was a remarkably fast recovery, my dear,” she said.
“Oh…um, yes,” Mrs. Trellis replied, blushing red. “I must have just fainted. The exertion of snorkelling I suppose. I think I should go to our bedroom and lie down.” Mrs. Meeks pursed her lips and helped her friend to her feet. They donned their robes and shuffled off up the stairs into the castle, passing Ankh who, summoned by Louise, was racing down into the gymnasium.
As the two ladies were leaving, Lisa nudged Craig and Hayden and pulled them into a corner. “Look at Norm!” Lisa hissed. The big man’s makeup had smeared across his face both when he had clamped his mouth on the woman’s and when she had pushed him away. Streaks of green were now apparent underneath. His sweatband had also been dislodged and they could clearly see the scar where his scalp had been stitched on. “Let’s get out of here before they realise what we’ve seen,” she whispered. The others nodded, and all three began to towel off, rubbing their faces, not looking at Norm, Blake and now Ankh. Lisa began to talk loudly about the fish they had seen while snorkelling. Craig and Hayden followed her lead, and all three moved towards the stairs, still talking nonsense, but with Lisa straining to hear what the swimming instructor, fitness consultant and doctor might be discussing, casting furtive glances back towards them.
“False alarm,” Blake said to Ankh. “Sorry about that.”
“That’s alright,” Ankh replied, his beady eyes studying the aquatic man. “But what about your face? What happened to your cheek?” Then he noticed Norm. “Norm, your makeup! It’s got rubbed off! Did any of the guests see you like this?” He looked sharply over at the stairs, but saw only the retreating backs of the woman and the two boys.
#
Ankh had spent a frustrating morning with Mrs. Penny Fisher. Thrilled to have the undivided attention of a free-of-charge physician, the horse-faced woman had catalogued a series of minor ailments, requesting that the doctor look at her tongue, examine her moles, measure her blood pressure and test her reflexes. As far as Ankh could tell, there was nothing wrong with the blasted woman. She had already kept him up late last night demanding he hear about her migraine symptoms. Ankh had recommended trepanning – drilling a hole in her head to release demons – but Harriet, passing by and overhearing this suggestion emphatically ruled it out. Instead, he had sent the lady to bed with a cup of willow tea. She had enthused about this remedy as soon as she had arrived in his office this morning – her headache had completely vanished! She wondered would the doctor be able to write her out a prescription for her return to England? Sighing, Ankh had obliged. Willow tea… salicylic acid… what did those quacks in England call it? Ah, yes – aspirin. Silly name. He had reached for a scroll of papyrus, uncurled it and carefully inscribed it with the image of an eagle facing left, a hook, an open door, a reed, a mouth, another reed and a pair of squiggly waves, then passed it over to his patient. She had glanced at the papyrus and shrugged – typical undecipherable doctor’s writing, she had thought, as she put it into her purse.
“You see, doctor,” she was saying now, “I’ve had this twinge in my right leg for about a week, and…”
It came as a relief when Boo tapped Ankh three times on the shoulder, indicating that he was needed. “You must excuse me,” he said at once, getting to his feet and interrupting Penny’s latest complaint. “I have an urgent matter to attend to.”
Penny looked bewildered. “But, we’re in the middle of a consultation..?”
“Oh,” Ankh said, flummoxed. Why might a doctor have to run off? He thought about some of the modern medical novels Harriet had brought him from the village library. “I…er…oh yes, my pager went off. I must go… er… Stat.”
“Alright,” Penny said. “I’ll see you later then. I know you’ll want to get to the bottom of my troubles. Would it help if I brought a urine sample?”
“Oh, no! No!” Ankh said, shuddering. He ushered her quickly out of his office and once the door was closed, Boo appeared and explained about the snakebite in the salon. Ankh nodded in comprehension. Fortunately, he and Callie had worked together in prep
aration for just such an emergency. He had milked the venom from some of her vipers in order to develop an anti-venom treatment. He loaded a syringe with the serum, put it in his medicine bag and strode grimly next door to Callie’s salon.
The bitten girl was feisty, and put up a struggle, but he finally managed to jab her in the upper arm and inject the anti-venom. Exhausted, he had returned to his office, lit his briar pipe and sat back in his chair with his feet up on the desk, thinking. He was pleased to finally have a moment to himself. Getting ready for the arrival of the guests had taken a lot of effort. He had needed to prepare a selection of medicines and order supplies, plus train the staff in first aid. There had been little time for his ongoing research into reversing the effects of mummification. Maybe now he could take a few minutes to catch up. He got off his chair and knelt down, placing his head near the floor so he could peer into a mousehole in the wall. He whistled softly and two beady red glowing eyes appeared in the gloom. The mummified mouse shuffled to the entranceway, nose twitching. Ankh put out his hand, but before the mouse could climb on, Lou appeared next to him, clearing her throat. “Another emergency, Ankh. One of the guests is in the gymnasium, by the swimming pool, apparently drowned. You’re needed right away.” Cursing, Ankh shooed the mouse back into its hole, climbed to his feet, and took off at a trot, heading for the dungeon. A drowned guest! This would spell disaster for the resort!
However, when Ankh reached the side of the pool, he found only Norm, his makeup smeared away, Blake with a ragged hole in his cheek and three guests standing off to one side. The guests appeared not to have noticed anything amiss, perhaps because of the excitement of the near-tragedy. Once they had left, Ankh directed both men through to Norm’s room – a gloomy windowless chamber which, when the castle was built, had been the dungeon-master’s lair. There, he repaired Norm’s makeup and put a stitch in Blake’s cheek. Finally, he returned to his office, wondering what else might be in store for him. He opened the door to the outer waiting room only to see Penny sitting in one of the low chairs. “Oh, Doctor!” she said, standing up and presenting him with a small jar of yellow liquid. “I thought you might want this after all!”
#
The chicken squatted over the bowl-shaped nest of straw, flapped its wings and strained. An egg emerged from under the chicken and plopped onto the straw, and the chicken nestled down onto it clucking approvingly. Barbara Yaga poked Amy with a bony finger, and nodded towards the nest. Amy took a deep breath and gently pushed aside the fluffy black body of the chicken as it made a low noise of protest. She wrapped her hand around the egg. It was unpleasantly warm and slightly slimy. She held it in her palm, hand outstretched to Barbara. “What colour is it?” the old woman demanded.
“White,” Amy told her. “No, slightly blue.”
“Which means?”
“It will be a good one for magic?”
The old lady smiled. “Yes!” Today she was dressed in a tight-fitting woollen one-piece suit of black and red stripes. It looked like a set of old fashioned long-johns. Without the ample skirts she ordinarily wore, Amy could see how bony and frail the woman truly was. One stick-like arm was now waving Amy over to the giant mortar and pestle which occupied a whole corner of the room. Amy stood on tiptoes to peek over the rim of the mortar to see what was inside the large stone bowl. It appeared to contain red soil. To this, Barbara added black pepper, chilli powder, paprika and other spices. Then she motioned Amy to step back, mumbled a few words and waved her bony arm. Amy gasped as the pestle stood up straight and began to move by itself, mashing and grinding the ingredients against the side of the mortar. Meanwhile, Barbara snatched the egg from Amy’s hand and poked a hole in the end with a large needle. She gesticulated and the pestle ground to a halt, leaning back against the wall at rest. Barbara scooped up a pinch of spiced earth and sprinkled it into the egg, then carefully passed it back to Amy.
The egg jerked and jiggled on Amy’s hand and she had to try hard not to drop it. Cheeping sounded from the hole, and then the sides of the egg opened up, as if on hinges, dropping to form four petals. In the middle of the egg was a small golden carousel. A sweet melody drifted into the air and it began to turn, six tiny animals sliding up and down their poles. Looking closer, Amy identified them as two hens, two roosters and two chicks. She started to giggle.
At once, two more lines vanished from Barbara Yaga’s face, and thirty-seven of her grey hairs turned golden blonde.
#
Harriet pulled on a pair of riding britches, a plain brown turtle neck-pullover and a set of stout boots. As a girl she had loved riding horses, and had even worked one summer in stables in her native Scotland, mucking in and mucking out. Since her change, however, she had been unable to go near horses. Catching the scent of wild dog on her, they would whinny, roll their eyes, rear and pull away from her approach. The horses Sir Osis had brought were different, however. Like her, they were something other, and so they accepted her calmly. Sir Osis himself rode a ghost horse, she knew, and that was fine, as it was trained to move properly under his control and project its image. As long as the guests didn’t touch it, they wouldn’t suspect. The other horses were more problematic. Harriet had insisted to Sir Osis that he find corporeal horses for the guests, rather than ghostly ones. Unfortunately, she hadn’t specified that they needed to be alive. The wily near-headless horseman had enlisted the help of a friend (or possibly fiend) first to spend the gold she had supplied to buy suitable animals, and then to raise six fallen warhorses from the dead. The zombie horses were of course unacceptable. They would have to be replaced before the next lot of guests arrived, Harriet told herself – assuming that there will be a next lot of guests. In the meantime, however, it was too late to change. She had thought about cancelling horse riding, but it had already been advertised. They would have to make do. So she had inspected the horses and selected the two which were in the best shape, informing the guests that trekking would be restricted to just two people at a time and apologising for the inconvenience. The married couple, Rachel and Phil Whitely, had booked to go out on the first day. They had been invited to the free week at the resort as they published Departure Lounge Publications, and Harriet knew that a good report in one of their guidebooks would ensure the success of the resort. It was vital that nothing go wrong, and so Harriet had decided to supervise their trek herself.
She arrived at the stables a half hour before the trek was due to start, and was alarmed to see that nothing had been done to prepare the horses. Worse still, there was a vile stench of rotting flesh lingering in the air. She had sent a case of perfume over to Sir Osis and instructed him to douse the horses with it. Why hadn’t he done as he was asked? Angrily she strode into the tack room. Here, amongst the bridles, saddles and riding helmets she found the answer. The box of perfume had been smashed – trampled by a heavy horse hoof, by the looks of it. Harriet wondered why. The cloying fragrance of all the spilt scent hung in the air, but underlying it was the odour of the alcohol that made up the base of the perfume – and suddenly Harriet understood. Sir Osis must have captured the spirit of the alcohol as it was released from the bottle. “Reginald!” she hollered. “Reginald Osis!”
The ghost gradually solidified into view. He looked ghastly – his head clutched in his hands, but not actually attached to his neck. “Ooo!” he moaned. “I feel terrible!”
“I’m not surprised,” Harriet said, unsympathetically. “Drinking essence of perfume! Of all the foolish things to do. You could have killed yourself! Oh well, no I suppose not, but still – look at the state of you. You’re not fit to lead a trek, that’s for sure.” Reginald regarded her through bleary eyes and groaned. “And you haven’t even prepared the horses,” she admonished.
At this the ghost took exception. “Well, of course I haven’t! I can’t touch anything, remember? How you expected me to pour perfume on horses when I can’t pick up a bottle, I don’t know.”
Harriet rubbed the bri
stles on her chin and sighed. She hadn’t thought of that. “Alright,” she said. “You go and lie down – or whatever it is you ghosts do to recover. I’ll deal with everything.” Reginald’s hands nodded his head gratefully, and he faded away.
First Harriet recovered two unbroken bottles from the case of perfume. These she poured over Shadowdancer and Pyromancer, the two most intact of the zombie horses. Next, she covered them both with large blankets. This disguised the maggot-filled gash in the mare’s side and the badly burnt area on the stallion’s flank. She added blinders to mask the glow from their fiery-red eyes and finally secured two saddles in place. She selected the third-best looking horse for herself and was just finishing its disguise as Rachel and Phil strolled into the stable.
“Hello!” Harriet said, forcing false jollity into her voice. “Lovely day isn’t it? I’ll be taking you out today as our riding instructor is…uh… indisposed.”
“Oh?” Rachel said. “Nothing serious I hope?”
“Oh, no, no,” Harriet assured her. “Right, let’s get you kitted up.”
Once the guests were properly equipped, the three mounted their horses and Harriet led them out and away from the castle towards the other side of the island. The horses plodded across pastures of rich grass grazed by the castle’s many sheep and one cow, past the newly created golf course, into meadows of sweet wildflowers and on up a hill towards the overgrown orchard that had not been harvested for centuries. Harriet was thrilled to be riding again after so many years, happy to be out in the beauty of nature and relieved to be enjoying a moment to herself after having worked so hard for so long. In the last few weeks the only break she had allowed herself was the three days of the full moon when she was incapable of working – and of course in those three days she had hardly been herself!
The Last Resort Page 17
