The Best of Penny Dread Tales (18 page)

Mounted upon the back of a Dun in his worn, high colored coat, he made a strange image. The wide brimmed hat hid his eyes in shadow, but on the occasions in which I could see them, I had come to reconsider my previous evaluation. The glint in his eye, which I had earlier taken to be a sign of disturbed obsession, appeared new to me in the light of our second day together. He looked less like a man crazed and more like a man focused. I came to realize that day that he reminded me more and more of my father’s gamesman. I was dismayed to find that I had somehow come to respect this man, if only marginally.

It was shortly after this revelation that he stopped once more to sniff the air and to measure energies. Engrossed as he was in his task, he seemed not to have noticed when Niles raised his objections. We had all known that he would, at least those of us who knew him, and I suspect that our companion had known as well. When the tirade was complete, our companion spoke firmly but softly. I can remember his words well, for the effect that they had.

“Silence, you fool.
It
is close.” The authority of those words echo in my head still. Niles’ face reddened, and he began to object, but he had not the time. Before he could speak another word, bedlam descended upon us.

Wilson was the first taken. The small glade in which we sat upon our horses was suddenly darker, as if a preternatural twilight had descended upon us. A shadow reached to him from an outcrop of granite—and he was gone. Pistols were drawn, and the air was soon filled with smoke. I confess my own inaction, for which I can only blame cowardice. I sat on my horse and watched in shock as the shadows danced around us. Of our party, the only one to remain calm was our companion. He watched the shadows from his saddle with steadfast alertness. As he held the shotbow in his right hand, he used the left to withdraw a vial of water from within his coat.

Niles, jaw still hanging open from his outburst, was the second to be struck down by the beast. What I know now to be one attacker had seemed then to be several. Distracted by the shadows, it pounced upon him from behind. The speed and ferocity of it lifted him from his seat and threw him through the air. Our companion was faster than we and had quickly trained the beast in his sights, for what good it did. The monster had used Niles’ own horse for cover as he dashed toward his next victim, Rufus. Before we knew what had happened, Rufus, whom I had bunked with at college, was gone as well, hauled away into the shadows. I could hear his screams in the trees … they ended abruptly. Niles, still alive, whimpered at the base of a tree. He was holding his cartography monocle like a pistol, waving it at the air in front of him. We would later conclude that he struck the tree and broken his collarbone.

Then our guide spoke to me. He was not afraid, nor was he weakened by what had happened. “Steady, lad, and rally to me.” They were simple words, but they invoked such confidence that they broke the spell of fear that had engulfed me. I noticed then that I had, out of instinct, been controlling my startled horse. It pranced in fear, whereas my guide’s horse stood fast. I tried to calm my horse as I urged him beside my guide. He gestured for me to back up slightly, and I did. We sat there for what seemed to be several minutes, my guide watching the trees while Niles whimpered in pain.

When he moved again it was almost too quick for me to track. He spun in his saddle like an adder and slung an arc of water. As I looked to my right, the beast was rebuffed in midair. It had come for me, but now it fell to the ground as if it had struck a wall! I could see that it was man, or that it at least resembled a man. With alacrity that I have come to associate with its kind, the beast sprang to its feet. It clearly intended to retreat to the shadows, but it was met instead by silver-headed stake shot from my guide’s first barrel. It screamed and hissed as the silver burned its flesh, smoke rising from his wounds. It fell to the ground and, barring its fangs, rolled to its back, scrambling backward as if to seek refuge in the shadows. My guide was already on the ground, dismounting while I had been watching the
Oupire
, and as the thing hissed, a flash of light forced another shaft of silver and wood into its flesh.

My guide dropped both the gun and the vial. Drawing that wide silver blade, he approached the beast with speed, though still showing caution. It cowered on the ground as if already defeated, alternating between bouts of hissing and whimpers of pain. I can recall being on the verge of urging my guide to finish the thing, when it suddenly pounced. It displayed a speed I had thought impossible. From prone it sprang up and forward in one motion, a blur of viciousness imposed over the dying sound of its last pitiful whine.

My guide was not as foolish as I would have been. He had known the deceit of the
Oupire
and waited for the attack. His reaction was clean and final. Hunter moved forward a fraction of a second before the beast, sweeping the blade in an upward arc as his left hand reached out to brace his other wrist, pushing his entire body’s weight into the attack. The first slash hit the beast in the chest and stopped him in his tracks, ripping through the flesh of the beast’s torso and unleashing a gout of reddish black blood. The second slash, delivered so smoothly that it seemed to come at the same time as the first, severed the
Oupire’s
head.

As it fell to the ground, its limbs twitched. My guide wasted no time. He revealed the flask of oil and removed its stopper, emptying the flask upon the creature in front of him. Retrieving the shotbow, he cranked a cogwheel concealed below the stake feed belt, and the two barrels rotated, revealing a smaller diameter third one. Out of his pocket he produced a strange looking oversized bullet, similar to a shell from a fowling piece, painted red. I would later learn this was still called a shell, but was modified from the particular weapon called the shotgun, used mainly in the Americas. He loaded it, leveling the weapon at the
Oupire.

After saying a brief prayer for the lost soul, he fired the weapon one last time. The contents of the shell entered the body and burned as if imbued with some magic. He would later teach me a recipe, a mixture of two metals, which when set on fire could not be dowsed. As it burned the chest of the beast, it lit the oil. The body moved for several minutes as the oil reduced it to ash.

After tending to Niles’ injuries, we were able to recover the bodies of my dear friends. We could not retrieve the horses and resigned ourselves to walk back to the village, using the two remaining horses to carry the wounded and the dead.

This is how I became a hunter. I spent many years with my mentor, playing the role of both scribe and squire. What I learned I recorded, and in the years since I have published much of what I saw. I knew well enough what to withhold for the sake of the skeptic, and I was ever cautious to present my material within the realm of myth and tradition. Nonetheless, my work stands as the surest source regarding such matters, and it was due to the sheer depth and detail of my writings that I was offered a Professorship at the University.

Niles returned home, but died two years later. His body mended rapidly, but his mind was never the same. He kept to himself, hiding in dark rooms, eating scraps, and seemed unable to formulate coherent sentences. It was the night that his doctor and I were discussing moving him to Bethlam Royal that he took his own life. I now suspect that he had been encouraged to do so by an occult voice.

***

And this brings us back to the night in which I first met the Scottish industrialist. Upon boarding the vessel, Master Ruthven greeted us immediately. His exuberance at our presence was palpable. I can recall with stark clarity the processes of my mind in that moment. The familiarity of his features and the warmth of his smile bestowed upon me the inclination to greet him warmly, as a friend many years unseen; and yet, I can recall a hesitation, that warning of my base instinct which was quickly discarded by my higher functions. I recall that my hidden mind gnawed at my awareness. There was a hidden glint in his eye, the danger of which was at such odds with the warmth of his smile.

That dichotomy should have frozen my blood, but all I could see was the smile. It haunts me still, in my dreams. Giant, it looms above me. Even in this retelling, I find myself drawn to the charm of it, a magic that defies the meaning of the word. I have often wondered if the moth knows the danger of the flame, if perhaps something deep within it compels an attraction which it knows to be fatal. If so, then I was, that night, a moth.

He took my hand warmly and greeted us aboard his ship. I had taken his excitement as a sign of his devotion to my sister. There were cracks in his façade. His anticipation was well contained, and for that I mistook its meaning, its focus. Darkness I had been taught to penetrate with my gaze instead blinded me with its light.

After greeting us at the gangway, we were received in the vessel’s grand hall. The ship itself was an eastern continental design, which I presume he had acquired during his ventures in that region. The ornamentation was heavily gilded, statuary and filigree interlaced across the visible areas of the ship, all designed to conceal the pipe works and gearing that an aristocrat’s Air Yacht required to sail. It was an odd ship to see in the West, but the exchange of such fashions was not unheard of, and I could identify no less than four cultural influences in his décor.

The areas we traveled were all well lit by gas infused lamps, the piping seamlessly concealed within the walls and filigrees. It occurred to me that the quality of craftsmanship indicated a wealth greater than I had uncovered, but I reasoned that he had levied his business assets and had the vessel rebuilt to his personal specifications. My eyes took in the splendor as we departed. The ship shook a bit, swaying as the lift bladders vented steam to push us forward and up. The weakness I had felt when we embarked returned, and though I gripped my cane, a wave of dizziness overcame me, and I grabbed a rail, waving my wife and Ilyena forward.

“Go on ahead, I shall be with you shortly.” They said something else, I am not sure what, but when I once again protested the group left me to regain my composure. Busy fighting the sudden sickness, I never noticed the assailant sneaking up behind me. A sharp pain flared across the side of my neck, and I felt warmth spreading across my shoulder. The injury awoke a fire in me, and I spun around, smashing a fist into the reaches of the wall above me, grabbing what was inside. Standing before me was a beast. One of
them.
I grinned at it, allowing the rage in me to come forth. Attacking me had been a mistake, and I would make sure it was the last it made. It paused, sensing that it had shifted from hunter to prey.

A scream echoed from behind me, curdling my blood. My sister’s scream. I jerked the pipe in the wall out while smashing the lamp above me with the silver head of my cane. Cut off from the gas flow, the lamp died, along with the other lamps along the entryway that had been powered by the line I pulled.

Though I am a man of science, I will give luck its due, especially here. The lamp managed, with its last flicker, to ignite the stream of gas coming from the ruptured pipe I was holding. The explosion filled the hall, rippling through the air away from me, consuming all in its path and igniting the Oupire. However, the shockwave did not treat me so well. I was thrown off my feet, bouncing along the corridor like a football at the toes of a guttersnipe.

My constitution was near the limits of my lifestyle. I had not exercised in far too long, and there is only so much a body can take. One of the pursuits of the natural philosopher has always been improvement of the constitution. Some went in the direction of Sir Newton, becoming closet alchemists attempting to distill the elixir of life. I have found that where the body fails, the mind can push on. I struggled to my feet, leaning on the wall for support until I reached the stateroom. Blood covered the handle.

When I entered the room my fears were confirmed. Ilyena, my sweet sister, lay motionless upon the top of his desk, my wife crumpled on the floor. My vision darkened. All I could see was my sister’s body. He had lain her out as though she were his trophy. I could feel my skin tighten, and in the corner of my eye I could see that his eyes bore into me. Inside I raged with pain, but I refused to show it to him. Raising my eyes, with my resolve steeled, I began to walk.

My sister, my poor sweet sister, lay between us, discarded and forgotten in the necessity of the moment. No, not forgotten. Never forgotten, merely set aside. As much as I wished to throw myself to her, I was a hunter; a mountain cat facing a bear. I was outmatched, outwitted, and unprepared. My foe, I recognized him now for what he was, had succeeded in trapping me on his ship. With nowhere to run, I was to watch as he playfully destroyed everything that I loved.

As I stepped to the side of the room, he remained still, standing on the other side of the desk. Waiting for me to advance. A small smile flitted across his lips while his eyes followed me. He had the presence of a confident beast, lazily awaiting my move. We both knew who had the advantage. I could stalk all I wanted, and he was just enjoying the show. My only chance—yes, I had one—I could not undo the touch of death, but I could avenge. I had one secret from him. Something science could not explain, and of which I had never written.

I brought myself to the edge of obstructions. All that stood between us was twenty feet and the corner of his desk. A few more steps and he would have a clear line to me. I dared not give him that chance. I wished to tempt him with it, nothing more.

So I stopped. “Why have you done this?”

His response was, “To lament my brother. You helped the hated one slay us like beasts, yet we are not. We feel. We love. We speak. And the man you followed and idolized cut us down like so much meat.”

I blinked. He was trying to get under my skin. Into my head. “You dare act like a civilized man? You hunted us long before we returned. I never would have known you existed if not for your unprovoked attack.”