Austerley & Kirgordon Adventures Box Set

by G R Jordan

  “Like hell.” Kirkgordon dropped his shoulder, grabbed her round the back of the knees and lifted her up and over. He surveyed the scene ahead. There was a path through some thick gorse, narrow, possibly a sheep path. Try and get webbed feet through that, he thought.

  A glint from the frog-man’s neck caught his eye. Carefully, Kirkgordon bent down beside it with Cally still draped over his shoulder. A chain, heavily tarnished, was catching a nearby light. He quickly snapped the chain from the creature’s neck and gave it a cursory examination. It carried a pendant which displayed a large winged creature with the letters EOD beneath it. Like we needed another denomination, thought Kirkgordon, throwing the pendant away.

  A quick glance over his shoulder showed lights coming from the main village. Time to run again. I thought I’d given all this nonsense up. He ran hard towards the gorse. His shoulder felt the chill from Calandra’s body, which had nestled in. Austerley was just a freak show to Alana. Cally would be a bit more difficult to explain. But Austerley was missing, Havers too, and he didn’t have a clue how any of this worked. His survival instincts were running a stopwatch, timing his would-be pursuers from the village. His interior alarms were sounding loudly, so he clutched Cally tight and scuttled off into the gorse.

  The House in the Snow

  Snow is beautiful, covering all with its most perfect of blankets. Swirling and whirling, occasionally blinding, as we plough on to who knows where? I always get a little poetic on the run, thought Kirkgordon. Still, at least it’s not Austerley over my shoulder.

  A little guilt came over him as he wondered whether Austerley was lying in some dismembered state somewhere with a broken ex-civil servant. No matter how much anger he felt toward the “stupid arse”, he could never feel the pure disdain that Alana had for him. That frog-man, though. The very idea of creatures like that. Hopping. Just hopping. It was comical in some senses, but the creature had moved so quickly and with such killing intent. And the “stupid arse” had prevented him from bringing guns.

  Kirkgordon had deliberately tried to stay away from the shoreline since the frog-man’s attack, but the gorse-lined track he was following had become so enclosed he had temporarily lost his bearings, and he now emerged suddenly onto the machair at the beach-side. Quickly, he scanned to see if there was anything sitting out in the open. His eyes were drawn to a figure on the beach, motionless and seemingly face down.

  “Cally, I’m gonna drop you here.”

  “And your wife thought you were chivalrous? Nothing like protecting a lady.”

  “I’ll drop you in that hollow over there. If you’re in the gorse I can’t get an arrow near you.”

  “Black doesn’t seem a good choice anymore. Left my white ball gown at home, unfortunately.”

  “Are you going to be all right? It’s pretty exposed and that wind’s picking up. Don’t want you freezing to death.”

  “Are you taking the piss?”

  Kirkgordon smiled. She was damn likeable. He hurried quickly to the hollow and dropped Cally rather unceremoniously before racing down to the beach. The figure hadn’t moved but was covered in a thin white veil of snow. Kirkgordon got close and touched the figure’s neck. It was stone cold. He brushed snow off the figure’s face and recognized the captain who had brought them over. At least, he remembered the hat, hair and stubble from his chin. The rest of the face could only be described as having been devoured.

  “Dear God. What is this? I mean it, God! What is this?”

  God appeared silent on the matter and Kirkgordon felt a gut-wrenching hollow. Up until now, there had been almost an excitement behind his candour, complaining and swearing about the damn nuisance of it all, but this changed things. He hadn’t taken Austerley and his warnings seriously enough. This was worse than the graveyard. He was beginning to believe this could be an evil apocalypse. No! He had to start thinking tactically and not emotionally.

  Searching the deceased captain’s pockets yielded nothing except copious amounts of seaweed, leading him to the theory that the killing had happened at sea. Yet the body had been dragged ashore – there were two long lines in the sand lightly covered with snow. Kirkgordon looked around but the only other marks were his own. Anyway, he thought, it’s too open. Time to move on. Within a minute he had picked up Calandra again and was racing into some new gorse on the far side of the beach.

  The snow was now falling heavily and the wind was throwing it around like a wrestling main event. Calandra was not the only one who was cold, and Kirkgordon knew that shelter was essential.

  It was now obvious to Kirkgordon that he was following a circuitous route with regards to the island. At his current rate he would be back in the main village within two hours. In honesty, there was no plan, just a hope that something might crop up. He couldn’t swim off the island. On land the frog-men were extremely agile and strong. In the water… he didn’t want to think about it. The boat and Havers’ captain were gone. And as for Havers and Austerley… no, he needed a break of some sort. Some way of communicating with the outside world would be good. There had been the occasional payphone in the village but the place was too hot to risk any public activity. There had been no mobile signal since they’d landed.

  The game was afoot. Clearly life was expendable and no mercy could be expected. Calandra’s most strange mode of transport was blocked. He wished for Austerley now. Indy was a master of these situations, how to undo evil spells, castings or whatever they were.

  He stopped. Ahead was a small beach house, set just up from the shore. Fairly old, its wooden decor had a faded look even in the poor moonlight. At the front was a small balcony area with a set of steps. From the side he couldn’t tell how many windows were there, but the height of the house indicated two floors and possibly four to five rooms at best.

  “Did you see that?” Calandra was peering round from over his shoulder but was focused on a spot just in front of the house.

  “No, what?”

  “Light. Torch, small, pen-like. Very brief.”

  “And do you see the roof?”

  “Radio aerial! Smart.”

  “We need to check it out. Just running won’t do us any good. We need help.”

  “Agreed. If you can get me to the house side I can hobble behind you.”

  “Can you fly?”

  “I’d rather not, but if I have to… When he threw me down, it felt like half my back broke. Flying’s going to be sore.” Calandra grimaced as she spoke.

  “Okay. Just keep an eye behind me. We don’t know if these things can sniff.” Without hesitation, Kirkgordon raced quickly to the house side before gently dropping Calandra onto her feet. She winced but gave a thumbs up. With his bow drawn, Kirkgordon crept to the front edge of the house, only once checking on Calandra’s progress.

  The escape had worn him down, especially having carried Calandra for most of it. Constantly pushing back the thoughts of the horrors awaiting had taken its toll, too. But this tension, this anticipation of the next encounter, was sapping every last bit of strength. All that was keeping him going was a nervous energy which he neither trusted nor wanted. He breathed slowly and surely, trying to control his nerves and body.

  It was there again. Very brief but bright. Circular and intense. Definitely a torch. But why? He glanced out to sea, searching for a responding light or even a confirming sound. There was nothing. He knew here against the house side they could easily be seen by anyone emerging from the gorse, so he couldn’t wait.

  Quietly, and with a practised ease, Kirkgordon swung round to the front of the house. The front steps, which had seemed well built from the previous elevation, were broken and provided no foothold. With a delicate jump followed by a silent landing, he moved to the balcony. Gliding up to the window he tried to peer in but the glass was filthy and covered in the most part by a curtain of a greenish hue. The whole building felt like it was about to crumble, felt uninhabited. But the aerial?

  Scuttling under the window, Kirkgordon mo
ved to the front door. It was slightly ajar. Paint peeled off its sides and the ripening wind was making it swing, but no sound was coming from its rusty looking hinges. Someone needs the silence. But why? To stop someone looking, or to hear an intruder’s step? This was not normal. The victim walks in. No sound from the door which would halt their track. They would walk right into a trap.

  Kirkgordon racked his memory of the side of the house. Were there any holes? Look-outs? Did they know he was coming? He had no option. They needed to take the chance of finding a radio. Well, he wasn’t going to present an easy target.

  Stepping to the door’s edge, he knelt down. Beckoned forward, Calandra crept to the other side of the door. Kirkgordon waited for a particularly strong gust of wind. As the door swung open slightly, he used the edge of his bow to continue its progress until it was fully open. As luck would have it, the door remained open. He drew the bow back, primed it and glanced inside. There was nothing this side of the door. His eyes quickly read shadows as cups and pots, chairs and clocks. Kirkgordon shook his head at Calandra. Now he rotated onto his back, drawing his feet up before planting them on the ground. With a deft but firm push he slid backwards into the room.

  Top left, fish eyes. Two arrows buried deep. Far right, a figure, small but with trident. Primed and drawn. Fingers released. Child! With lightning reactions he pulled the bow left and the arrow shot past the child’s ear.

  “Mr Kirkgordon, enough. We are secure. Call Calandra in.” The tension snapped like a broken drawstring. “We don’t have long. And no, there’s no radio. Not a working one, anyway.”

  Plans

  “Dammit, Havers, I could have killed the child!”

  “And I am glad to say that you did not, Mr Kirkgordon. Let me introduce you to young James, son of a Mr Macleod who is currently offshore, availing himself of the work offered on the north sea oil rigs. His mother is here, Mrs Donaldina Macleod. She’s upstairs, trying to tend to Mr Austerley’s wounds.”

  “Austerley’s alive!”

  “How is he?” said Calandra, brushing in past Kirkgordon.

  “Somewhat bruised and battered, as the expression goes, but physically… operational. Mentally… somewhat compromised.”

  “What the hell happened? You were meant to be lying low.” Calandra hurried upstairs while young James just stood and stared at Kirkgordon. It was somewhat off-putting, but Kirkgordon didn’t feel he had the right to complain after nearly piercing the child’s head.

  James was a stout young man, possibly twelve years of age. Dressed in black jeans with a T-shirt brandishing the logo of a heavy metal band, his hair was close-cropped. His face was sombre and worried, but with his father away he was fronting up as the alpha male in the family.

  “We ran into a spot of bother; hence the fish-head you saw fit to bury your arrows into. James, my good man, be so good as to get a cup of tea for Mr Kirkgordon and one for Miss Calandra. In fact, check if your mother and Mr Austerley require one. Good chap.”

  James turned away with no acknowledgement and was soon climbing the small flight of stairs.

  “So what happened? Cally said you could look after yourself.”

  “Your friend and I are here, alive, and with all appendages accounted for. The mental injury is quite removed from my actions. I dare say you may have struggled to achieve the same result.” Havers’ eyes narrowed in a questioning look.

  “Havers, I’m not criticizing! We ran into a frog-man out there. Took both of us to take him out. In fact, he roughed Cally up a bit. Her leg’s seized up even more. She’s struggling to walk.”

  “I am aware of that. I saw you carry her here. You forgot to scan for eyeholes in the wall. It’s a good job I was watching your back. The torch drew you inside, as I hoped. My apologies for a lack of warning, but I believe some of the creatures have remarkable hearing. You did well to get here.”

  “I saw the radio. Does it work?”

  Havers shook his head before turning as James entered with a mug of tea, which he handed to Kirkgordon.

  “Thanks, son. Sorry for the arrow. It’s been a bit of a rough ride so far.”

  “Can you get my mum out of here?” James stared at Kirkgordon, who felt his usefulness was being questioned.

  “Honestly, I don’t know. But I’ll try.”

  “Sit down, James, my lad. You may have some useful information for us. And you should know all that is going on. Mr Kirkgordon is about to tell me of his tour of the village. He may have some answers.”

  Gripping the hot tea like a school prize, Kirkgordon told of their exploits that evening, from the pictures and the manuscript to the missing items from the table, the crowd outside Elliot’s and the encounter with the frog-man. Havers sat motionless, listening, but James widened his eyes in horror at the story. Once the tale was complete, Havers stood and walked to the window. They remained in darkness, but he wasn’t looking for anything; instead, he was deep in thought.

  Kirkgordon turned to James, who was now trembling a little. “It’s okay, son, feeling afraid is okay. We’re all scared. Even Havers is shit scared.”

  “Language, Mr Kirkgordon. Let’s set the youth of today a more expressive example than that American vulgarity.”

  Kirkgordon rolled his eyes and James let out a little laugh. Years of working in the field had taught Kirkgordon of the need to let out the pent-up fear when you could. Kids being caught up in bad situations was nothing new to him, but the current issues were not exactly typical.

  “How long have you been here, James?”

  “Six months. Dad had saved up from being offshore to get us an island house for Mum. She’s got nerves, you see. Really bad ones, so the doctor says.”

  Oh magic, thought Kirkgordon.

  “So we came somewhere quiet,” James continued. “And it is quiet here. But the school was weird. There was no RE. Not that I minded. Lots of history about America, places in New England. Always on about fishing and reefs.”

  “That is strange. What did your folks say about it?”

  “They complained, but the headmaster just said that was the way it was. It was all in the curriculum. They took it to the mainland as well, but they haven’t got back yet. I tried not to make a big deal of it cos of Mum. She was struggling as it was.” James hung his head in silence.

  “Why? What happened to her?”

  “This place. That’s what happened. We’re not one of them, see. They have all these weird festivals going on, dressing up like fish and things. Marching up and down the village. I’m just glad we’re all the way out here. I went once to see one of the festivals but they chased me away. I saw a man dressed in a robe with a frog’s head. It was just weird. Teacher asked what I had seen. Said it was just a made-up man and to forget it.” James went quiet. However, Kirkgordon could see he was fighting the urge to ask a question.

  “Careful, James. Make sure you want the answer before you ask.”

  James started to tremble. “You said you killed a frog-man. You didn’t mean a diver, did you?”

  Kirkgordon stepped over to James and put his arms around him. Then, taking James’ face in his hands, he looked deep into the child’s eyes. He shook his head and whispered, “No.” The floodgates broke and James started to weep. His body racked and convulsed with horror and all Kirkgordon could do was hold him. For a moment, he was taken back to his own children, when he had had to explain he was going away for a while, after the incident. None of the horrors of the grave or even his previous profession had prepared him for the sheer abjectness of his kids’ suffering.

  “James, why don’t you go and see to your mum? Make sure she’s okay. Mr Austerley can be quite draining on people. Good lad!” prompted Havers.

  When the boy could be heard climbing the stairs, Havers came over and sat down in front of Kirkgordon. Normally Havers was a picture of calm, the eye of the storm, but now this bastion of serenity looked worried.

  “They have trashed the radio. There’s a hidey-hole under the stai
rs which leads to a tunnel to no-one-knows-where. The boy and his mother hid in there when they came. From what they said, it was almost directly after they came in on Mr Austerley and myself at the pub. The poor lad had to hold onto his mother, almost smothering her in the effort to keep her quiet.”

  “What’s the plan? Tell me you have a plan, cos I’m all out, Havers.”

  “I have been trying to signal my boatman to come ashore, but he seems to be singularly failing in responding.”

  “He’s dead. Found him on the shore about a mile or two back. Not pretty. Most of his face was gone.”

  “It would appear that we are the sum hope for sorting out this little mess, then. The satellite phone won’t connect, some kind of interference. Did you go by the harbour? Were there any vessels we could procure?”

  “Nothing, and anyway, that’s where the frog-man was. If we go out into the sea, Havers, we’re goners! These things are pretty good on land, but in the water, they’d be devastating. Austerley said something about some cataclysmic event. Any ideas where and when?”

  “Where is here. This island. When was going to be about now until their plans hit a snag. We were very fortunate.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  Havers looked thoughtful for a moment before beginning his tale in soft tones. “After Miss Calandra and yourself left on your scouting trip, Mr Austerley continued to babble somewhat. Then he became violently agitated, kicking out and screaming, Mother Hydra, Mother Hydra. Then one word, over and over again: Dagon. There was an inhuman strength in him and, despite my expertise in restraining techniques, he threw me into the wall. Admittedly, the distance was not excessive but the strength with which he completed the action was remarkable. How much do you know about the Eldars?” Havers pursed his lips and looked hard into Kirkgordon’s eyes.

  “Well, I did meet them. Ask Austerley!”

  “No, Mr Kirkgordon, you did not meet them. What you met were mere minions of these things.”