Pure Dead Brilliant (6 page)

Weirdm@il

T
he following dawn, returning to StregaSchloss after a dip in Lochnagargoyle, the beasts halted at the edge of the meadow, somewhat perplexed by the sight that greeted them up ahead. Several figures lay on the lawn, their contorted bodies rendered ghostlike by the early morning mist that wrapped round their twisted limbs and hung damply above the grass, dotting everything at ground level with chilly dew. Strange grunts and occasional roars of pain disturbed the silence, demonstrating to the watching beasts that all the figures were alive, even if horribly injured.

“What d'you think
happened
to them?” Sab whispered, at a loss for what to do next.

“They weren't there when we left the house,” Ffup said, raising a pawful of lurid pink talons to scratch the top of her head. “Whatever it was must have taken place while we were down at the lochside.”

One of the figures heaved itself into a sitting position and, much to the beasts' confusion, dragged a leg over its head and curled it round the back of its neck. With a wail of agony, it toppled over and lay facedown on the grass.

“Oh, the poor thing,” groaned Ffup, turning away in horror.

“Come on, guys, we'd better go and see how we can help.” Tock lolloped ahead, disappearing into the meadow, his passage marked by a thrashing trail of green as he trampled the grasses under his paws.

But when the beasts arrived on the lawn, far from being greeted as welcome agents of rescue, they found themselves being rudely rejected as unwanted gate-crashers. The contorted bodies belonged to seven of the houseguests, none of whom were even remotely grateful for the arrival of the beasts—who stood panting in their midst, offering help, medical aid, and the possibility of ambulances.

“Do bog off, would you?” Ariadne Ventete muttered as Knot attempted to pat her consolingly on her back. “Eurrrch. I
loathe
dogs. Don't let it breathe on me.”

Tock ambled over to where Black Douglas lay on his stomach, his legs twisted up over his spine, his head straining painfully backward till it touched his feet.

“Bad luck,” the crocodile murmured sympathetically. “Can I get you anything? Some Tylenol? Aspirin? Would a massage help? My back goes like that sometimes—”

Black Douglas collapsed suddenly, his legs crashing down on the grass, his face following seconds later. His shoulders shook and he emitted little sobbing sounds.

“Oh lord,” Tock breathed, aghast. “Guys, get over here. I think we're about to lose this one.”

Black Douglas rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes.

“Yup,” said Tock sadly. “I'll try and do some lifesaving stuff here, but while I'm busy giving mouth-to-mouth, one of you run and call an ambulance.” Sab obediently bolted off to the house, leaving Ffup and Knot to watch in admiration as Tock bent over Black Douglas. The crocodile took a deep breath and grabbed the man's face between his front paws.

“Listen, Tick,” Black Douglas growled. “One kiss and you're history.” He sprang upright and elbowed Tock aside. “Pin back your ears, reptile. We're not ill, not injured, and definitely
not in need of medical assistance. We. Are. Practicing. Yoga. Understand?” Seeing the total lack of comprehension on all the beasts' faces, he seized Tock and rolled the alarmed crocodile onto his back. “Relax,” he commanded. “You're dreadfully tense. Look, you're clenching your jaw. . . .”

“Help,” mumbled Tock. “Mnnng . . . urk . . . aaowww!”

“There,” said Black Douglas, grabbing the crocodile's tail and expertly twisting it into a loose knot. “Now we'll just ease your legs over your back, like so—”

“Nooooo,” wailed Tock. “I'm not designed to bend that wayyyy—OH-NOOO-AAAOWWW!'

“That's what all beginners say,” said Black Douglas disgustedly. “Just relax, you great wuss—it only hurts because you're fighting it.”

“Too right, I'm fighting it!” howled Tock. “Knot, Ffup—
do
something. HELP MEEEE!”

Knot shuffled up and leant over until his furry face was next to Black Douglas's. “Read my woolly, unwashed lips,” he said firmly. “Put the crocodile down.”

“Yeah,” added Ffup, leaning over Knot's shoulder and grinning menacingly. “Or else—”

Sensibly deciding that now was perhaps not the best time to win the beasts over to the joys of yoga, Black Douglas released the moaning crocodile and got to his feet. “No hard feelings?” he said, holding out a hand to Tock.

“No hard feelings?”
squeaked the crocodile. “I've no hard
anythings,
thanks to you. You've turned me into jelly, you brute. I don't think I'll ever walk again.” And followed by Knot and Ffup, Tock limped off across the lawn toward the solace of StregaSchloss.

Seeking to avoid his mother's eccentric houseguests, Titus had forgone breakfast. He was closeted in the map room, hunched over his laptop, and close to despair.

“Come on,” he begged the lit screen in front of him. “Please? Don't do this to me.”

An internal chittering sound alerted Titus to the fact that the laptop had, not surprisingly, failed to respond to his spoken pleas. Onscreen, a dialogue box popped up bearing the glad
tidings:

Mail could not be received at this time.
An error type h:ex//yt occurred.

Titus laid his head on the keyboard and groaned. This was just so not fair, he decided. For weeks now his laptop had been playing a perverse game of hide-and-seek with his e-mail. Time after time, he'd log on, attempt to download his e-mail, and up would come several dialogue box variants on a theme of: Y
OUR MAIL?
E
H?
W
HAT MAIL?
W
HO ARE YOU, ANYWAY, DEMANDING MAIL?
C
OME TO THINK OF IT, WHO AM
I
?
A
M
I
A COMPUTER?
W
HAT IF
I'
M JUST A LITTLE LUMP OF EXPENSIVE GRAY PLASTIC?
A
M
I
GOING TO CRASH?

In vain, Titus had tried to reassure his neurotic computer that indeed it was a mega-machine, a brain the size of planet Earth and enough processing power to launch a spacecraft into orbit, if required. But back would come the message that his laptop was currently enjoying the cyber-equivalent of door shut, lights off, and fingers jammed firmly into ears.

He tried once more, sidling sneakily up to the S
END AND
R
ECEIVE
menu, trying to make sure the laptop was looking the other way before he brought his index finger slapping down on the E
NTER
key. To Titus's relief, little clicks and whirrs came from inside the machine, not the chittering noises that usually preceded a fit of the cyber-vapors. Waiting impatiently for something to happen, Titus shivered. The map room at StregaSchloss was situated in the oldest part of the house, built beneath the central courtyard and dating back to the fifteenth century. Here no daylight shone and the walls were six feet thick, which might have accounted for the deep chill that permeated the air. Titus could see his breath forming clouds in front of his mouth, and condensation beaded the laptop's screen.

“Hurry it up,” he complained. “I'm beginning to get frostbite—” Behind him, the hammered brass lights on each side of the fireplace dimmed, flickered, and went out.

“Oh
great,
” muttered Titus. “A power cut—just what I need.” In front of him, automatically switching to battery power, the laptop sprang to life. Apparently overcoming whatever had previously ailed it, the computer began to download Titus's mail. Loads of it. Faster and faster it came, each message bigger than the last, byte piling upon byte, the computer barely able to sustain the flow.

“Whaat?” Titus squeaked as his in-box filled up, overflowed, and mail still kept on coming. After what seemed like hours, the flood slowed to a downpour, then a drizzle, and finally, with an exhausted beep of protest, the last one dropped into his in-box.

T
O
W
HOM
I
T
M
AY
C
ONCERN
was the subject, and H
[email protected]
was the sender.

“What
is
this?” Titus whispered, hoping that he hadn't been sent a virus. No alerts sounded from his computer, and finally curiosity overcame caution and he clicked it open. To his extreme frustration, it was written in purest computer gobbledygook. Ignoring this, Titus clicked on the little paperclip icon above the undecipherable message in order to open its accompanying attachment.

Immediately, he wished he could turn the clock back and undo what he'd just
done. “No . . . no . . .
Stop!
” he wailed as his computer greedily devoured the virus-laden attachment, dragged it, gloating and slobbering, into its hard drive and, with a strangled squawk, went down. The screen turned black, and a wistful little dialogue box informed Titus

Connection terminated
Hard drive erased
A pox on the house of [email protected]

Titus slumped back in his chair. This was just too awful to contemplate. How could he have been so dumb? And how was he going to tell his father that he'd accidentally erased the hard drive? The noises now coming from the inside of the laptop sounded prohibitively expensive. Titus reached over to turn the computer off and put it out of its misery, but his hand halted quiveringly above the O
N/
O
FF
key. His mouth fell open and he blinked rapidly, noticing several things simultaneously: his keyboard was covered with frost, the screen was glowing a deep and poisonous green, and, incomprehensibly on a dead computer, a new dialogue box was telling him

Y
OU HAVE MAIL

The thought crossed his mind that his laptop was haunted, but dismissing this instantly, he pressed E
NTER
.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
21/02/XXXX

Dear Mr. Strega-Borgia:

As per your faxed instructions of 28/07/XXXX, we are pleased to inform you that your new car will be delivered to your home address in approximately six weeks' time. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you have any further requirements, and be assured that we will
contact you closer to the delivery date to receive your final instructions.

Yours sincerely,
Piers Brooke-Shepherd
Senior Managing Executive (Sales)
Aston Martin Limited
London WC1 1AM
e-mail: [email protected]

Mystified, Titus watched as this message was replaced by another.

Titus,
are we still on for sat? cant remember if you're back from ny late frid or sat a.m. dyou need a lift from the airport? let me know.
lots of love,
M

Frowning in total incomprehension, Titus watched helplessly as this was replaced by

Get rid of it. Don't take it. It will consume the taker. Destroy it for it will destroy all who seek to possess it. Somehow the Borgias have to break the chain. You'll never know how
much I regret . . .

Totally alarmed by the tone of this last message, Titus stood up, shivering uncontrollably. From a long, long way off came the sound of mocking laughter. Unnerved, Titus glanced at the screen. White fingers of ice were running across it, reaching out to obscure the words that Titus saw, just before his courage failed him entirely.

Help me please

Hel h
Ex

The laughter changed to a hissing repetition of one word. Over and over, increasing in volume and menace, Titus heard himself summoned,
Titusssss . . . Titusssssss . . . Titussss . . .

He clutched at his throat, a feeling of suffocation overcoming him. In the dim light from the screen he saw the walls of the map room begin to move and shift, in and out, like a giant stone heart beating all around him.

Stumbling back out of the map room, Titus fled. He crashed blindly along the flagged passageway, hardly able to breathe for terror and, coming to the stone steps that led up to the kitchen corridor, fell to his knees and began to scrabble upward.

“Ah . . .” came a familiar voice. “Splendid. My brother in the full-on grovel position. Heavens, Titus, what brought
this
on?” Standing on the steps above him, Pandora looked down to where he knelt, tear-stained and in desperate need of a handkerchief, incoherently gibbering an explanation for his distraught state.

“Map r-r-room. Mail. Got loads of mail. Horrible . . . It's dead, but it was
working
. Got to help m-m—”

Pandora tutted. “Tell me, Mr. Strega-Borgia, have they changed your medication recently? Forgotten to take it, perhaps? Ughh—don't wipe your nose on
me
.”

“Pandora. Listen to me, please. Something awful's going on down there.” Titus gestured behind him, down into the gloom. “Come and see, you have to believe me. My computer—” Aghast, he saw Pandora was shaking her head and walking away. He scrambled to his feet and followed, temporarily delayed by a trio of his mother's guests, who were attempting to roll a vast, pockmarked cauldron along the narrow corridor leading to the kitchen. Consequently, by the time Titus overtook Pandora, she was halfway up the main staircase.