by Guy N Smith
“Not personally,” the inspector looked up, “but I’ve heard of him. Who hasn’t? Dead, is he?” Because nobody will care if he is.
“A couple of nights ago his body was found on the main Lichfield-to-Tamworth road. A hit-and-run, so it seemed I’ve got the PM here, sir.” The other put a sheet of paper down on the desk.
Barr read it, the room seemed to go into orbit, he hoped the young detective didn’t notice his reaction. The corpse had been badly mutilated by having a vehicle driven over it but at that time the victim had been dead for several hours.
“God Almighty!” This time Barr did not attempt to conceal his reactions. “Cause of death …”
It was crazy, impossible except that it was true.
“Will that be all, sir?”
“Yes. Yes, that’s fine, constable.”
Barr waited until the other had closed the door after him before he read the PM report again. Read it and reread it just to be sure that there was no mistake. There wasn’t.
Cause of death: drowning.
Eleven
Barbara felt a sense of pride that was only tempered by curiosity, maybe a hint of disappointment. She had not known quite what to expect at this supposedly informal gathering of the “chosen few” who revered the People of the Water. A cult of some kind, obviously; cults were commonplace in multi-religious Britain these days. Whatever, it was sure to be relatively harmless.
Maybe she had envisaged a learned gathering, college lecturers who had studied beyond the required curriculum, or even professors. Certainly people of Royston’s age group. And her own.
It wasn’t like that at all. Not one of those present was older than twenty-five. She glanced from one to the other of those who stood in a semicircle as if awed by Royston Shannon’s entry, counted them. Six. Just one face she recognized, Stogie who had waited at the table on her previous visit to Packington Hall, Short cut dark hair accentuated his pallid complexion, eyes that seemed to stare without seeing, an expression that was shared by all of those present, together with their strange all-in-one dark green costumes, like swim suits with fish scales embroidered on the material, right down to the feet where they formed into flippers in the style of fishes’ tails. Skintight, smooth and shiny, reflecting the hidden lighting in Royston Shannon’s ‘laboratory’.”
Barbara stared in undisguised amazement. The walls were covered with murals, underwater seascapes, plant life that trailed, provided cover for shoals of tiny fishes, each one painted meticulously. Larger creatures that had a prehistoric look about them; she followed the painting, it was a kind of pictorial history of evolution; the creatures took on a vague human shape, fins forming into arms and hands, human features. There was no mistaking their beauty as they evolved. Finally, there was land with subhuman forms crawling upon it. Then standing, walking. Gone were the fish bodies, replaced by claws, then feet.
“This is Barbara,” Shannon’s tone commanded instant attention, as one the gathering flinched, seemed to shake off their trance, glazed eyes cleared. Their expressions were of reverence. Of awe. “She has come to meet us tonight. Let us hope that she chooses to join us. Among us then is freedom, which cannot be said of the world above.”
Tables lined the walls below the murals, a series of water tanks that would have graced the finest of aquarium shops alive with darting movements, a kaleidoscope of colours unrivalled marine splendour both in plant and sub-aquatic life.
Royston wore a flowing green robe that swished as he moved towards a central dais, reminding Barbara of the sound of a distant incoming tide.
“Let us give thanks to Mukasa, propitiated by the Baganda, and to Akikuyu, the snake god of the water.” A silence, heads bowed, it seemed to Barbara that those in the fish costumes trembled as they closed their eyes and gave thanks to their strange deities. She noticed that Shannon’s eyes were closed, too. She was the only one in the room who showed no humility, but she was trembling with them. She wished that she hadn’t agreed to come here tonight. It was so strange, so frightening.
“We welcome a newcomer to our fold tonight,” Royston Shannon lifted his head, everybody was looking towards Barbara. It was like grace being said before a meal, she thought, the formalities were over, now everybody could relax. He waved a hand in the direction of their guest, “this is Barbara, she wishes to know more about our beliefs.”
Stares that were almost hostile. Stogie’s eyes had glazed over again. The short, fair-haired girl was almost certainly pregnant, Barbara decided. Well pregnant.
“Stogie,” Shannon stepped down, stood in front of the watchers, indicated the first in the line, “he lives here, works here. He has just been released from prison, served a sentence for something which is not an offence among us. Drugs have been taken ever since primitive man first learned about wild herbs and their uses. Society seeks to prohibit them. Stogie’s violence was merely in defence of our beliefs and rights, an injustice.”
The other showed no emotion, he may not even have been aware of his public exoneration.
“Janice’s husband left her in the final stages of her pregnancy,” the girl smiled benignly, proudly. “Our queen eagerly awaits the birth. And Elaine, overweight and in her late teens, the first disciple, the sole survivor of a pleasure boat tragedy, the fact that she was spared when others perished is, indeed, a sign from the People of the Water. They sent her back to spread the gospel of the deep. Heed her words carefully for she has crossed the divide and returned. And Sheila, Debbie, Lisa …’ Youngsters that were passed over almost indifferently, they were of no consequences in the power structure here.
Barbara nodded to each one, met their gaze, there were no welcoming smiles. It was as if she had to prove herself before they accepted her, that Shannon’s word was not good enough in itself. Barbara’s thoughts turned briefly to her father and his freemasonry, the secrecy. It was almost a threat.
“Bring her a change so that she may not be a stranger in our midst.”
It was one of the younger girls that stepped forward, Barbara couldn’t remember which one, it was all so confusing, plucked something from behind a screen. A fish skin like they all wore, the other thrust it forward. An order put it on!
Barbara took it, stood there holding it, glanced at Shannon. He smiled, nodded.
She glanced around her like she was in a clothes store, looked for a changing cubicle. There wasn’t one. She knew she was blushing with embarrassment, looked again to Royston Shannon.
“We have neither secrets nor inhibitions here,” his voice was kindly yet firm. “Clothes are an embarrassment, we merely conform to the society created by over-evolution. The waters of the oceans gave us our bodies initially, we should be proud of them, if we have any shame then it is because we have been changed into what we are. Cast aside your clothing, display your body and then change it to how it once was and how it will again be one day.”
It wasn’t easy undressing. Barbara fumbled fasteners and zips, if her unscheduled striptease was in any way erotic it was because she delayed removing the final flimsy garments until the last possible moment.
She knew that they watched her intently, that their eyes feasted on her nakedness. The younger women saw wrinkles where their own flesh was flat and smooth, they would not understand for youth was their temporary privilege. Breasts that were not as firm as they once had been. Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw heads lowered, thrust forward, trying to view that which she had so far managed to screen from their voyeurism.
There was no way that she could step into the complete outfit without lifting one leg, standing on the other. She heard intakes of breath, almost overbalanced; then she was standing firm on the flippered feet, pulling the garment up over her body.
Skintight, sensuous, it felt like silk, a clinging dampness like a swim suit after one emerged from the water and began to dry in the hot sun. Barbara’s skin seemed to glow inside it, her breathing quickened. There were no fasteners, it was self-supporting without the
need for elastic. A feeling of pride, she drew herself erect, turned to face them.
I am one of you now. I am a disciple of the People of the Water.
“Let us join our ancestors in the depths,” with a sweeping movement Royston headed for a door at the other end of the room. The others moved to follow him, fell into an orderly column; Stogie in the lead, followed by Janice and Elaine and the other three. Barbara moved to the end of the line, obviously this was the pecking order, her place was at the bottom.
Long narrow corridors sloped downwards, dim wall lighting created an eerie atmosphere, the only sound the flip-flop of those padded feet as if the wearers trod wet floors, yet the concrete was dry. It was the feet of the costumes that created a noise akin to wetness, it made her shiver. Barbara would have hung back had she not been afraid of finding herself lost; a right turn, then a left and up ahead she saw an open door, the last of the gathering just going through it. She hastened, fearful lest it might slam shut and abandon her in a maze of passages.
A smell that was familiar and yet not instantly recognizable assailed her nostrils. A dampness in the atmosphere. The odour brought with it a distant memory of childhood seaside holidays, the bracing atmosphere of a beach, the aroma of the tide and seaweed-draped rocks.
She emerged into a greenish light, looked up at a domed roof where the opaque glass had been tinted to give an oceanic glow. Barbara stared in astonishment, once this place had obviously been a large indoor swimming pool but its symmetry had been modified. There were no straight sides, they had been shaped in curves and outlets, it was like looking down upon a map of a rugged coastline.
The surface was covered with floating plant life, seaweed that trailed over jutting rocks, small trees grew and overhung the water, created mysterious shadowy inlets. The water was a greenish hue that obscured the bottom, hid its depth. She goose pimpled beneath her tight-fitting outfit her stomach muscles contracted. So beautiful, so sinister.
The focal point was the life-sized statue on a rocky outcrop. At first glance Barbara thought that it was yet another of this strange coven, a female of exquisite beauty who wore a half costume in the shape of a fish’s tail. Her top half was bare, breasts that were firm, alluringly half-hidden by her long trailing fair hair. Features that transcended loveliness, eyes that peered from behind golden strands and saw you, full red lips smiling a welcome.
Welcome to the depths where the People of the Water still live.
Royston Shannon stood on the edge of the pool, arms upraised, and when he spoke his voice echoed within the confines of this strange place. “O, Queen, we who are gathering your disciples in readiness for your coming again have brought a neophyte for you.”
Barbara trembled, had there been anywhere to run to she would have fled. All eyes were upon her, watching her closely. Shannon’s finger crooked, a summons which she dared not disobey.
“Barbara,” he smiled but there was no mirth in his eyes “go into the water and be baptized in the name of Mukasa.”
Intakes of breath from the watchers. Janice’s huge stomach seemed to vibrate as though even the foetus in the womb thrilled to the prospect.
Barbara looked down at the dark green water, its creeping plant life, thick plankton chowder extending downwards. A shoal of tiny fish, scintillating brilliant colours, vanished as quickly as they appeared. The surface rippled as if some creature was waiting beneath it for her.
She hesitated, the others moved forward, she read hate in their expressions, a seething jealousy, perhaps, because their high priest had dared to bring a stranger into their midst.
Throw her in, let the lurking water creatures feast on her flesh!
Shannon stepped between them, whatever their intention, it was halted.
“You will not be harmed,” he spoke in a whisper, “it is merely a baptism.”
Barbara had no recollection of stepping off the side; one moment she was looking up into his eyes, the next the greenish dark waters had closed over her head. She fought off her initial panic, she had always been a good swimmer, this was no different from any other swimming pool.
Was it?
Trailing creepers clutched at her as if their motive was to drag her down into the dark depths, to drown her. She struck out and they parted. Everywhere was green, becoming darker as she sank. She kicked out with her feet but she did not touch the bottom; it was obviously much deeper than an ordinary swimming pool.
A multicoloured fish swam into view, watched her with its goggle eyes. That same shoal, surely, which she had viewed from above, darted across her, streaks of red, blue, and golden, shimmering as they might have done in a tank with underwater lighting.
Barbara knew that she would have to surface for air soon; she could last maybe another thirty seconds.
A shadow fell across her, she sensed a movement close by, turned. It was one of the others, she recognized the costume, the unmistakable shape of the pregnant Janice.
Janice turned, swam towards her, mouthed something but Barbara did not understand. Janice trod water alongside, stroked her bulging figure proudly. A hand stretched out, smoothed across Barbara. A fondling of her breasts which elsewhere she might have rejected angrily; she did not even object when those same fingers explored between her thighs. The hand came back up, rested on her stomach. A smile, a question asked in body language.
Are you pregnant?
Barbara shook her head indignantly, on dry land she might have said, “I’m too old.”
It is our duty to provide offspring for the People of the Water.
Janice took her hand, led her upwards through water that lightened rapidly, trailing vegetation which made a token effort to pull them back; fish that darted away in alarm at this sudden intrusion.
They broke the surface, trod water. Barbara saw that the others stood watching, Royston Shannon towering like a giant on the waterside, watching intently. Perhaps he had been concerned that Barbara had been gone too long, sent one of the disciples to find her.
Barbara clutched at a rock for support, only then was she aware that a giant fishtail reclined within inches of her head. She raised her eyes, the Queen seemed to be looking down, their eyes met. The features smiled, it was probably a trick of the light.
Janice led her across to the other side where Shannon’s outstretched hand gripped her own, pulled her ashore.
“You are one of the Water People now,” his voice trembled with pride. “I built this place in the hope that when the time came our queen might choose to return here,” his features became solemn, “alas, she chose another place but it is not for me to question her wisdom. Consequently we have to pilgrimage there. She awaits our coming with an eagerness which rewards me for all the years I have served her. She demands sacrifices, we have provided them. But her needs are insatiable,” his gaze alighted on Janice her stomach distended by the child she carried, his eyes narrowed. “She awaits the birth, perhaps she will hasten it. Tomorrow night we must go and pay homage to she who will rule over the earth when once again the oceans over its surface.”
Barbara joined the column that threaded its way back up the long corridor and into the upper temple, for surely that was what it was. She was frightened yet thrilled, found herself wondering what kind of sacrifices the woman who was supposedly half-fish and half-human demanded. And she also regretted that she was not young enough to become pregnant.
If this was all some kind of weird game, then she was enjoying it. If it wasn’t … she eyed Shannon, knew that she would do whatever he asked. She had waited a lifetime to find the man of her dreams.
Twelve
Phil Quiles knew that mending the hole in the blockhouse wall was a priority; it was a health hazard, dirt could fall into the water supply, now that the inspection hatches had been secured it was the weak link in a possible deliberate pollution or poisoning. Also, if Dalgety saw it, there would be trouble. For himself.
Christ Almighty, that bloody woman was up here painting again! In a way Phil was re
lieved, at least he had human company in close proximity
“Good morning, Mister Quiles. The fine weather’s still going on but they do speak of the high pressure starting to move away by the end of next week.”
“Then the autumn rains will start,” he set his bucket of ready-mix cement down on the step. And when it rains you won’t come here anymore.
“Going to mend that hole, eh?”
“That’s right,” he began scraping the powdered concrete out with a trowel, taking care to ensure that none fell back into the water. He caught his breath, that awful smell wafted through the jagged outlet; staleness and damp.
And evil.
“What do you think made the hole?”
That damned woman questioned everything. “Dunno, for sure. I guess it’s because the walls are starting to bow, the pressure caused it to crack.” Now that was a plausible explanation. He tried to believe it.
“Bowing! They won’t collapse, will they? Because if all that water rushed straight downhill it would sweep the houses away at the bottom.”
“I don’t think it’d be that bad,” he scraped the last of the rubble out, began trowelling the mix in the bucket. “Probably ruin a few ground floor carpets.” He avoided scaremongering; if the worst happened, the released water would take the least line of resistance, follow the well-worn path down to the bottom of the hill; it would be like a raging river for a short while.
“Gracious! We’ve just had new fitted carpets in the lounge and hallway, cost over two thousand pounds. We only have the best, you know.”
The damage wasn’t caused by bowing or cracking, that much was evident. The hole through from the interior was a definite burrowing from within, like some animal had deliberately scratched and chipped its way out. That was an impossibility, the inside walls above the water were sheer, there was no foothold for a creature whilst it worked. The task was beyond rats. He couldn’t think of anything else, it sent little prickles all over him.
