An Evil Guest (32 page)

“Take it easy.”

“The s-siren w-was so l-l-l-l-loud—”

“I’m going to hang up now,” Zelda said. “You can call me back later if you want to, or I’ll call you.”

The siren had filled her mind, precluding all thought. A middle-aged tourist with a beer belly had her left arm, a younger, leaner tourist her right. Someone had shouted, “He’s found her head!” and they had turned her away so that she would not see it.

That evening, as she went to the dining room, she had seen a weeping man escorted by friends. She had asked another tourist, a soft-featured gray-haired woman who was surely somebody’s grandmother, who the man had been; and the grandmotherly woman had said he was the dead woman’s husband, and that the dead woman was Florence McNair.

One of her waitresses, a girl fully as large as Nele, had asked politely where she had been when the shark alarm sounded.

And she had said, with a feigned confidence that surprised her, that she had been on the beach.

T
HAT
night, the death of Florence McNair was replayed in her dreams. The siren screamed, no one seemed willing to help, and her legs would not obey her—an instant stretched, almost, until she snapped.

She got up, opened the drapes as stagehands open a theater curtain, unlatched her French doors, and stepped out into her private garden, where tall figures with long, almost human faces waited among the palms and azaleas, wrapped in leathern wings.

“Hello,” she said. Then, “I’m Cassie Casey.” And after that, “I suppose you know.”

“Our touch frightened you,” one whispered.

Cassie nodded. “I suppose it must have. I doubt that it would now.”

The one who had spoken laid his hand on her shoulder; he was taller than she. It was a small hand with three fingers and a thumb, and its back was covered with dark fur as soft as down.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve come out.”

Another whispered, “It is enough that you come.”

“I’ve always felt you were friendly—friends I didn’t want. Friends I was deathly afraid of.”

The first whispered, “We understand.”

“Now I’m afraid of something else. Terribly, terribly afraid, and I don’t think it’s friendly at all. When I was little I was scared of dogs—just ordinary, neighborhood dogs. Pets. Isn’t that silly?” She giggled.

None of the winged ones spoke.

“My mother married a new man, and he was—was just horrible. When she was away, he made me do things for him, and he said over and over he’d kill me if I told her. One time I was home all by myself, and I saw him coming up the walk. I ran out the back door and went through the hedge into a neighbor’s yard and hid behind their garage. Only their dog had seen me. He came into my hiding place and licked my face and hands, and let me hug him. Does this make any sense?”

“He whom you fear was a god once,” one of the winged ones whispered.

Another whispered, “We might be gods, too. Such gods as he. We do not desire it.”

“You already know what I’m afraid of?”

There was a sigh of assent from them all. “We do.”

“Then tell me, because I don’t. When—when I dreamed I went swimming with that Takangese—there was something horrible way deep in the water. When the lady from Perth was killed, I thought it had killed her.”

The winged ones watched her in silence.

“But it was only a shark. It’s real, isn’t it? The thing I dreamed of. The Storm King.”

“It is not a god.” That was one of the winged ones who had not spoken, save when they all spoke.

“So it’s real, and I’m a lot more scared of it than I ever was of you. I know you don’t want to hurt me.”

“We are your friends.”

“I know it. Would you like to come inside?”

“Would you like us to carry you through the air?” The whispered reply carried no hint of humor.

“I’ve got it.” Cassie managed to smile. “No thanks. You said the Storm King wasn’t a god. Not really. What is he?”

“One who came to this world sooner than we.”

“An alien?”

“Yes,” whispered one.

Another added, “Here.”

And a third, “Even as we.”

“Is this a dream? Am I just dreaming I’m out here in this warm night, talking to you—” She made a quick count. “To you five in my nightgown?”

The first whispered, “Does it matter?”

“Maybe not. I won’t ask why the Storm King wants to kill me. What can I do about it?”

“Does he wish your death?” the first asked.

Another added, “Not so soon.”

And a third, “He wishes you.”

Cassie tried to smile. “Monster lusts for beautiful Earth woman? I think I watched the movie. What can I do about him?”

“Go home,” one of the winged figures whispered.

“He can’t reach me there?”

Another whispered, “He has long arms.”

“I know they do. I’ve seen pictures.”

One was standing upon the back of her stone bench, although she had not seen it climb.
“We will save you.”
It spread vast wings and seemed to float up like a kite.

“Trust those who love you.” That whisper was the first. A moment later it too was gone.

“Only them.” One remained. It stretched a furry, clawed hand toward her. She took it, and it pressed her hand, very gently, between its own. “You are our cub.” Its long, hard face was without expression, but its eyes held a palpable warmth.

“I can trust you,” Cassie said. “I know it.”

It nodded solemnly, then gestured toward the graying sky.

She nodded, too, and backed away. After a last look, she turned and stepped back into her suite; when she turned again to close the French doors, her garden was empty.

S
HARON
answered on the first ring.

“This is Cassie. I owe you a call.”

“You owe me a dozen. Cassie, please, where the hell are you?”

“You mean you don’t know?”

“Dammit, you vanished without a trace. You checked out of the hotel and that was it. Nobody I talked to had any notion where you went. I checked the hoplines, both airports.”

“Did you talk to India?”

“For God’s sake, Cassie! She was the one who told me you’d disappeared.”

“I phoned her. Did she tell you that?”

“No, damn her!”

“I called to let her know I was all right, but I don’t think I told her where I was. I know I didn’t. What time is it where you are? I know it has to be different, but I have no idea how much.”

“Where are you, Cassie?”
Sharon sounded ready to throw whatever might be within reach.

“I asked first. What time is it there?”

“Almost lunchtime.”

“I see. I just ordered breakfast. Room service, you know. They have all this weird tropical fruit. I think I told India.”

“You’re in a hotel. Where is it?”

“I don’t know if it makes you fat, but boy does it make me feel healthy. The thing is, Sharon, I’m out of the country and I haven’t got a passport. Am I in trouble?”

“Hell, yes.”

“Maybe there’s, you know, diplomats or something.”

“An American embassy.”

“Right, I’ll ask. Nelly will know. Only I wanted to say, Sharon”—Cassie grinned—“that I might have to hang up to let the waiter in.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Can I tell you about my dream? There were tall flying things in my garden. Remember Batman? These were Manbats. Menbats. Only I think one was a woman bat.”

“Where are you, Cassie?”

“On this cute little chair. It looks very French, to me anyway. I don’t know much about furniture. It’s all spindly and gilt, with an ashes-of-rose plush seat. I’ve got the drapes pulled back and the glass doors open, and the ocean’s so darned warm and beautiful you can’t believe it. Only the shark signs are up, so there’s no swimming except in the pool.”

“For God’s sake! Cassie, either you answer this one or I’m hanging up. Is Wallace Rosenquist with you?”

“I’m happy to give you a full and honest reply. No, he isn’t. I haven’t seen him in quite a while, and I have no idea where he is. Will that do it?”

“Have you ever heard of William Reis, Cassie?”

“Say again?”

“William S. Reis.”

“Oh, you know, I have heard of him. Not lately, but Gid said something about him a while back. Dr. Gideon Chase did, I mean.”

“Is Rosenquist tied in with him? To the best of your knowledge?”

“Oh, golly! Sharon, all these big financial types know each other. You ought to know that. Don’t you want to hear about my dream? If it was a dream, I mean.”

“No!”

“Wait a minute.” Cassie cocked her head as though listening. “I think that’s my waiter. He’s pretty close to a giant and I think he carries a gun, but he knocks so softly I miss him sometimes.”

She pressed the button to hang up, turned off the phone, and snapped it closed.

The hotel phone rang before she had time to return her cell phone to her beach bag.

“King Kanoa has come for you, O Queen, with many, many warriors.” It was Nele.

Not knowing what else to say, Cassie said, “That’s good.”

“It is, O Queen. He comes to bring you to the high king on Takanga Ha’i.”

“Fine. What about my breakfast?”

For a time so long that Cassie finally hung up, she could hear only voices conferring in a language of many vowels,
M’
s, and
L’
s.

When her breakfast arrived, she smiled at the waiter, wondering whether he really carried a gun. “Has King Kanoa eaten?”

“He eats. His men eat also. Bon appétit, O Queen.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful. I’m going to miss you, Hiapo.”

“I go with you, O Queen, for a time at least. This hotel dispenses my service? I shall seek new employment with our high king.”

“I—see. Don’t let the tourists see your gun, Hiapo.”

“I shall not, O Queen.”

“You might tell King Kanoa the same thing.”

“I shall, O Queen. He knows, and his men also. It can do no harm if I repeat your words, even so.”

King Kanoa was waiting for her in the lobby. He was, as she had somehow expected, the biggest man she had ever seen. His violet loincloth was long, wide, and elaborately embroidered; his crown of crimson and gold blossoms simple but strangely becoming. Seeing her, he bowed until its perfumed petals brushed the carpet. “Greetings, O Most Glorious Majesty!”

His voice, Cassie reflected, would have filled any theater on Earth and shaken the light fixtures. It was as if an orchestra composed solely of bass drums had spoken. Aloud she said, “Greetings, King Kanoa. Thank you for your welcome.”

“The office does me honor, High Queen Cassiopeia. I am come with the cream of my people, eager to serve you.” This pretty speech carried more than a trace of British accent.

As soon as he had finished speaking, there was a loud murmur of assent from the gigantic warriors and huge women who had followed him. Enormous though they were, he made them look small.

A party of tourists, Cassie noticed, had come into the lobby; they stood gaping at the spears. She smiled in a way she hoped might reassure them. “Don’t worry, it’s just a guard of honor.”

“My lads will clear the road for us.” King Kanoa’s voice had fallen to mere thunder. “Walk behind them, if it please Your Majesty. I shall walk one step behind you, to your left. Near enough to converse, should you wish it.”

“I certainly do.”

“Gratifying, Your Majesty. Most gratifying.” King Kanoa spoke to his followers. Four trotted away, spearmen so big they could not use the revolving door.

Smiling, Cassie followed.

From behind her, King Kanoa rumbled, “We ought to’ve contrived a sedan chair. We still can, if you wish it.”

“Are we going far?” Some Takangese were watching, and looked ready to cheer. She waved, and they did.

“No indeed, Your Majesty. Only down to the marina. Okalani! Parasol!”

Abruptly, Cassie walked in shade.

Three big catamarans waited for them, double-hulled vessels with two masts mounted on each hull. A platform between the hulls of the lead catamaran carried a high and very painted chair for her and a lower, davenportwide one for King Kanoa. “I’m not used to boats,” she confided to him. “What if I’m seasick?”

“No fear.” He sounded more confident than she felt. “Sea’s like glass, you know, and we cast a spell on your chair. It should keep you feelin’ tiptop.”

As forty paddles dipped into the water as one, their catamaran put out more smoothly than any motorized craft.

When the ocher sails had unfurled and Cassie had grown accustomed to the boat’s rhythmic pitching, she asked, “Do you know somebody named Hanga?”

“Several.”

“He has pointed teeth. Like a shark.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. He’s the only Takangese I’ve seen with pointed teeth like that. Are there others? What does it mean?”

“Can’t say, I’m sure. Not my peck, eh?”

Cassie changed tack. “Why do you sound so English?”

“Public school, you know. Eaton after and all that rot. Cambridge, only I didn’t cop the gown. Pater passed, so I did a runner. Perfect excuse.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“I wasn’t.” King Kanoa fell silent staring out to sea. “Ought to have been, eh? But no.”

“What can you tell me about the Storm King?”

King Kanoa sighed, a sound that might have been more appropriate (so Cassie felt) to a Clydesdale or a bull. “Not a thing, really, Your Majesty. A few legends and a smatter of folktales. Not cricket to quiz royalty, is it? I’m royal myself, and I know. But we might progress if you told me what Hanga told you.”

“Some of it’s pretty fantastic.”

“I dare say. This Hanga had pointed teeth, you say?”

Cassie nodded.

“Good swimmer, too, I’ll wager.”

Cassie considered. “Well, I can’t be sure. I had a dream, and he was a super-duper swimmer in my dream. Then I talked to him when I was awake.”

“Interestin’. Put me over the moon to hear more, Your Majesty.”

“Only I don’t think he was really there, because there were no marks in the sand where he’d been sitting. He sort of disappeared, though. If he was there—I don’t think he can have been, really—the only way was for him to slip into the water fast while I was talking to Hiapo. Slip in and swim away underwater.”