The Sirens - 02 (8 page)

He drowned the rest of the whisky quickly. There were many unanswered questions...not least how a sick man could do what he
said
he'd done, but I let them lie. He wasn't yet finished.

"My mother tried to contact me," he said. "But I put her off. I couldn't let her see me like this..."

He lifted his shirt. From his nipples to his waist was what I first took for scar tissue, but when I looked closer I saw it for what it was...fur. Thick, brownish-red fur, like the coat of a red-setter.

I sat down, hard, on the rail around the small cabin, so hard that I nearly fell over backwards. Mason moved, so fast I barely noticed, and pulled me back. His grip on my wrist was like a clasp of iron.

My hand was shaking as I pointed at his midriff. "You should get that seen to," I said.

He laughed, but there was little humor in it.

"Today it's fur. Yesterday it was more like crocodile skin...and once it was hard, like turtle-shell. I'm just waiting for feathers and I'll have had a full set."

"But...what the hell is wrong with you?" I said. My hands shook so much that he had to light my cigarette for me.

"Don't you get it? Loki was renowned for two things...he was a great trickster...and a great shape-shifter. And I am a Son of Loki."

4

I could only sit and stare at him for a long time. It didn't really matter if I believed him...what mattered was that he believed it. I waited until my hands stopped shaking before I spoke again.

"So, we've had the 'show and tell'. What's the favor?"

"I just want to do the right thing by my mother, and stand with her at the auld man's funeral. I hated the bastard, but I can't refuse my mother."

"Aye," I said. "The plan was to get you back to Glasgow anyway. Is that the favor?"

"No. I want you to keep your wee reporter pal away from the funeral...and away from me."

"Ah...you see, there's a wee problem...he's sort of been helping me out with the case."

"Well, he can sort of stop..." John Mason said. "I plan to be back in Portree as soon as possible after the funeral, and I don't want him snooping around."

"You're going back? Why in God's name would you want to do that?"

He thought for a long time before replying. "It's something I have to see through to the end. The brothers have finally convinced me of that fact, at least."

"So why the cloak and dagger stuff back at the harbor?"

"They want me to stay on the island. They
say
it's not safe otherwise. That's why I turned my mother down...why she sent you. It was Irene who turned me round. She missed her own dad's funeral...and has regretted it ever since."

"And Irene?" I asked. "There's something between you and her?"

"No. She's just been a good friend. She's married to Donald, the oldest of the brothers."

This case was shifting too quickly under my feet. I sat back and watched the scenery for a while, contenting myself with the thought of the check waiting for me in old lady Malcolm's handbag.

And that brought another thought.

"The three brothers...they're your cousins?" I asked.

"Aye. Their father and my father were brothers."

"So...it wouldn't be out of place for them to be seen at the funeral?"

"Oh, it would be a big surprise...the two sides of the family have not been on speaking terms for nearly forty years...you see..."

I put up a hand to stop him.

"Enough. My brain's taken in too much already. You can give me the family history on the way to Glasgow. We'll have plenty of time."

We sailed on in silence for a while, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I was miles away, thinking of a hot shower and some fresh brewed coffee, when he spoke.

"My mother...she was okay? When you saw her I mean."

"Oh, aye. As fit as a butcher's dog. Well, as fit as one that smokes Marlboro and drinks malt whisky anyway."

"My maw doesn't smoke or drink," he said.

"She does now," I replied, but he wasn't listening.

"She told me there was nothing but trouble for me on Skye," he said. "I should have listened to her."

"Aye, a boy should always listen to his mammy."

But he wasn't listening. He had that stare again, looking at someplace long ago and far away.

At some point the rhythmic throb of the engine and the swell of the waves conspired to smooth me down into a fitful sleep where I dreamed of unfriendly pubs and howling on moonlit moors. All I needed was a gratuitous sex scene and I could have been in an old British horror movie. I was brought gratefully awake by a hand on my shoulder.

"We're here," Mason said. I looked up. We were approaching a dock on the edge of a small town, I could just make out my Land Rover sitting on the jetty. There was a single figure standing and waving. It was the barmaid, Irene, and there was no sign of Jim Morton.

"Don't bother tying her up," she shouted as we approached. "I'll take her straight back."

I climbed up out of the boat, my legs suddenly weak and wobbly, and I stood beside her as John Mason came up.

"You got out of Portree all right, then?" I asked.

"Oh, aye," she said, smiling sweetly. "Your wee reporter pal tried to come with me, but a swift kick in his nuts put paid to that idea."

"I'll bet he swore."

"Oh, aye, I thought Donald was bad, but I heard words I'd never heard used in that order before." She laughed again.

I was busy re-appraising the Mason brothers. Anybody sensible enough to marry a woman like this couldn't be all bad...

I toyed with the idea of sharing that thought with her, but she was already into the boat.

"The keys are in the ignition," she said. "And somebody owes me forty quid for the ferry."

"It'll come out of my expenses. I'll send you a check," I shouted as she turned the wheel and expertly steered the boat away.

"Just get him to the funeral. That'll be enough for me. The source can wait...for a wee while longer."

If she'd been standing next to me I'd have followed that up with a question, but she had already moved beyond shouting range. The boat moved away, and I realized, checking the position of the sun, that it was already late afternoon.

"Christ. How long was I asleep?"

"Three hours and more. It's after two o'clock."

"Then we'd better get going. It'll be getting dark by the time we get back."

There was barely a quarter of a tank of petrol in the car. Once I'd eventually found the way out of the dock onto the road, the first priority was a petrol station...and more cigarettes.

I found one on the edge of town...charging only ten-pence a litre more than I would have paid in the city, which was a bit of a bargain this far north. I filled the tank...I figured old lady Malcolm would be good for the expenses. I left Mason in the car and went inside to pay. I bought three packs of Marlboro...I also figured Mason would smoke at least one of them, given the family propensity for my smokes.

When I got back to the car, the Mason brothers were in the process of dragging John from the passenger seat.

"Hey. Leave him be!" I called. As expected, they ignored me, right until I was on top of them. I pulled the one nearest to me away from the car. He swung a haymaker punch that I was able to step inside. He was no boxer, and a right uppercut dropped him. I was too late to stop the other two pulling John out of the car.

"You're coming back with us," the big man said, and put out a hand onto John's chest. I saw John reach out, and take the man's hand. It looked like no more than a simple grip to move the hand from its position, but the big man's face creased in pain.

"I'm going to my father's funeral," John said, and pushed the man away. There was a look of astonishment on the man's face as he flew through the air, hitting a petrol pump with such force that the fuel hose fell to the ground, the big man's body falling beside it.

John turned to the third man.

"I'm going to the funeral, Kenneth," he said.

The man, Kenneth, didn't reply. He turned to me instead.

"It's too dangerous. We can't control it, not so far from the island. Don't take him."

"It's his choice. He's a grown man."

"Oh no," Kenneth said, "You're wrong there...you're very wrong there."

Over by the petrol pump the big man was starting to stir, and the one I'd put down was showing signs of movement.

"Time to go," I said.

John held Kenneth easily as he climbed back into the car.

"I'll be back tomorrow night," he told the man. "I'll leave straight after the funeral."

"Then pray," Kenneth said as I got into the driver's seat. He was in John's side of the car, but he was talking to me. "Pray that there is enough time."

As we drove out of the forecourt, Kenneth was busy helping his brothers to their feet. They didn't seem in a hurry to follow us, just standing and staring. I watched them in the rear view mirror for so long that I nearly ran into a bus stopped in the road. I just caught the white, shocked, flash of the driver's face as I passed him with an inch to spare.

My hands were a bit shaky on the wheel, so I got Mason to light me a cigarette.

"What was Irene talking about back there? What is the 'Source'? And what happens if you're too far from the island?"

"Buggered if I know," Mason said. "I've heard Irene mention it a couple of times...and it's said reverentially, as if she's talking about something religious...but that's as far as it goes. And as for being off the island...the brothers always said it was a bad idea...like the night I ran away. I don't want to lie to you...I'm worried, about losing control again. But my mother needs me."

"Don't worry," I said. "If you start growing canines, I'll stop at a butcher's shop and buy you a bone."

I was kept busy with avoiding parked traffic and kamikaze pedestrians in the narrow streets of the town, so it wasn't until we got out onto the open road that I was able to put some thoughts in order.

"Okay. I think I'm getting it now. They think you're some kind of 'Chosen One'...that there's a seal woman you have made pregnant, and that you have somehow become, or are becoming, a shape-shifting defender of the unborn child...stop me if anything sounds weird with this story."

He laughed, but he looked as miserable as anyone I've ever seen.

"That's about it, apart from the 'don't get too far from the island' bit...and the fact that it's now nine months since my 'encounter' on the beach."

He puffed hard on the cigarette, sucking on it as if it was his last.

"You seem quite calm about it all," he said. "It must be a bit out of the normal range of duties for you."

"Oh, you would think so," I replied, "but just around ten miles from where we are now, I was involved in a case that opened my eyes. These days I'll believe just about anything...if the money is right."

"Well, tell me," he said. "I've been talking about myself all day. Tell me a story...it'll be a change."

So I drove, and I talked. I told him about Fiona Dunlop, and the Johnson Amulet, and the old Arab who controlled it...the Arab who had claimed to be over four thousand years old. I left out the more gruesome bits...he didn't need to know Tommy MacIntyre, the purveyor of sex toys who'd been left with too many holes in him, or Newman and Hardy, who'd been gored to death inside a locked police car. I did tell him of the ceremony at Arkham House, and of the thing beyond the veil.

"That's some imagination you've got there," Mason said when I'd finished.

"Not any better than yours," I replied.

"Touche. My mother did the right thing picking you," he said.

"Aye. I've got a feeling your mother chose me for a reason. Maybe we'll find out when I get you home. Always provided that she recognizes you, of course."

"Oh, I don't think there'll be a problem there. I'm still her 'wee boy'."

We drove in silence for a while, and when I next turned my head from the road to speak to him, I realized he was asleep. I drove on as the sun started its slow descent to my right. As I drove up through Glencoe once more the Land Rover's shadow leapt ahead of the car, and as we reached Rannoch Moor it had got dim enough for me to need to switch on the lights.

They didn't make the moor any more palatable...dark shadows seemed to lurk just beyond the range of sight, and wisps of fog and mist made random grabs at us out of the gloom. Once more I pushed up the speed, and kept my eyes on the white lines of the road.

I'd been planning to drive straight through, but my bladder had other ideas. I had to stop and pull into a lay-by.

As I stood there, steam rising from the growing puddle at my feet, a movement from within the Land Rover caused me to turn. John Mason was still asleep, but his skin rippled, as if small animals were burrowing in his flesh. His mouth was open, and his tongue flicked in and out, like a snake tasting the air. Then, just as quickly, he went quiet and still once more.

But I stood there, in the cold and damp, smoking a cigarette, and watching. It was long minutes before I could bring myself to get back in the car, and when I did, I pushed the speed up as far as I dared. A sign told me I was forty miles from Glasgow. Once I got going I did it in just over half an hour. I wasn't stopped by any speed police, but I think if I had I might have been grateful.

Mason woke up just as we were approaching Anniesland Cross.

"So, what's the plan?" he said after bumming yet another cigarette from me. I'd been just about to ask him the same question.

"I thought I'd deliver you to your mother," I said.

"Oh. And I thought I'd leave that till the morning," he said, but he suddenly looked lost and afraid. His eyes had that wide-eyed look I'd seen many times...usually just before their owner took flight.

"I could stay with you?" he said, "I won't be any bother."

Somehow I doubted that.

"I've already got a house-guest," I said, "and he's seen enough weird shit to last him a lifetime. Besides...your mammy is the one paying my bills."

His eyes went even wider. I took the precaution of surreptitiously locking all the car doors.

"Don't worry. We'll be there in ten minutes."

I was a bit premature. Traffic was on a go-slow under the river, and the Clyde Tunnel was just one big car park. While we crawled along John Mason started making excuses.

"I haven't got a black tie," was the lamest one.

"Your mother will have one. Mothers always have, especially older ones. Trust me...I used to work the obituaries column in the Star...once you get to seventy you get asked to a lot more funerals than you do weddings."

Even then he made a move to open the car door, but the locks held, although the door squealed as he put his weight into it.

The car was momentarily at a halt, so I reached over and pulled him round to face me. Heavy tears ran down his cheeks.

"Listen," I said, "you made the decision when you met me on the boat. You may as well go through with it now. Besides...I promised your mammy...you wouldn't want me to disappoint her, would you?"

Grudgingly he agreed, but it seemed I was no longer his friend. He stared stonily ahead as the traffic finally sped up and moved into Govan. I had to get him to direct me once we got off the main road...south of the river was outside my normal patch. He directed us past bonded warehouses and derelict ground, to a block of flats on the edge of the old docklands. Urban regeneration hadn't reached this far out, and the flats, dilapidated relics of fifties urban planning, looked like they would fall down long before anybody ever got round to demolishing them,