Siege of Stone (18 page)

"But it's not time yet, that's what puzzles me," said Mrs.

MacLunie, her first words since she had offered them cake. "Not time?" said Laika. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, well, it's every ten year, isn't it?" Mrs. MacLunie said shyly, as though she shouldn't have spoken at all.

"Every ten years for what?" Laika pressed.

"Well, till they
gather
, isn't it? Every ten year they come. But it's nae been that lang now. And they look different, too, not as gentlemanly as before. I think there's more of them, too."

"Wait a minute, Mrs. MacLunie. You're saying that every ten years there's been a gathering of men at the castle?"

"Oh, aye," her husband interjected. "Ever since lang as I can recall."

"What do they do?" asked Joseph.

"That's what we never knew," MacLunie said. "But around here we're not ones to go pokin' our noses into things. I recall once when I was just a lad, though, I seen some of them close up. Me mates told me they'd heard from their parents as how they was a bunch of dell worshippers, and dared me to climb in and take something from the castle to show as how I'd been there. Well, I was a braw lad back then, so I did. I'd seen the motors arrive and knew they was all parked in the courtyard inside, so I decided to steal me somethin' off one of 'em.

"I waited till night and then went in right through that front entry, bold as you please. And dumb as I was, I was caught right quick by a rough dressed fellow, I guess a servant. He drags me into the kitchen by the ear, and a couple of gentlemen all dressed in tweeds come in and look at me like they were preachers and I'd just pissed on a Bible, and the one says to me as how I don't belong there and I'd better go and never come back or nobody'd see me ever again. Then that servant drags me out by the ear and lets me go. I ran, I'll tell you."

"What did your friends say?" Laika asked, not wanting to push too fast. "Did they believe you?"

"Ach, as scared as I was, they believed me all right, even the next day."

"Mr. MacLunie," Laika said slowly, as though she'd just thought of it, "do you think you'd remember the men's faces?"

"I'll never forget them. Burned like a scar into my brain, they were." He laughed. "Why, seen 'em around?"

Laika reached into her purse and took out the photograph of Kyle McAndrews. "We were doing some research into the castle today and came across this picture—it's just a copy." She handed it to MacLunie. "Ever seen him before?"

MacLunie looked at the photo and his face went blank. Then he murmured, "Shite . . ."

"Now, now," Mrs. MacLunie said reproachfully.

"Aye, I'll never forget
that
one. He's the man I saw, told me to go or die. Christ, what a cold one he was." He looked up at Laika. "Where'd you get this?"

"Over in Dingwall," she lied. "When would this have been, Mr. MacLunie?"

"Well, I'm sixty-three now, I must've been around nine or ten then, so that's fifty-some years back." He snorted. "Like it was yesterday. And do ye know, I've stayed away from that damned castle ever since."

"I
think we have our Templar connection," Joseph said on the ride back to their cottage. "A mysterious group meeting every decade, a castle that's had the same owner for seven centuries, the French priest's story,
and
the fact that Kyle McAndrews, aka Robert Gunn, one of the twelve departed Templars, was one of the group at a meeting fifty years ago."

"I hate to jump to conclusions," Laika said, "but you know what else I think about Kyle McAndrews?"

"You think," said Joseph, "that he was Sir Andrew Mackay, because that's exactly what
I
think."

"Me too," Tony said. "And Andrew Mackay was every owner of Castle Dirk, father and son, all through the centuries. Just one thing, though. Andrew Mackay—also known as Alister Scobie—is dead now. So who's this Francis Scobie who's supposed to be his son?"

"If I had to guess," said Joseph, "I'd say that Francis Scobie is his
real
son—the young Mr. Mackay."

"It's as good a theory as any," said Laika, "with the information we've got. Maybe he's leading a new bunch of Templars, with a more contemporary look, as Mrs. MacLunie implied. I think we should just maintain surveillance for the time being, if you don't mind being outside in the Scottish mist, Tony. They're calling for rain this week."

"Goody. I'll pretend I'm Mel Gibson."

"And Joseph," she said, turning toward the back seat, "you and I will just—" But her words were broken off as Tony jammed on the brakes. "
Jesus
, what the . . ."

Laika turned and looked through the windshield. There, ten yards away, was a glowing, upright form like a man or woman shrouded in white. She felt her breath lock in her throat as she watched it hover several feet above the surface of the roadway.

There was no face, just a smooth plain of white, and as Laika's mind struggled to see features there, a gaunt, terrible face began to take form upon the empty canvas. Then, just as she thought she saw the eyes start to open, the image vanished utterly, leaving not even a nimbus of light behind to mark its passing.

"What the hell," said Laika slowly, "was
that
?"

"That," Tony replied, "was what I saw in the cellar of the castle."

Laika took a deep breath, then took a flashlight from the glove compartment. "Turn off the engine, but leave the lights on," she told Tony. She opened the door and got out. The men followed. She walked to where the manifestation had appeared, shining the light down on the road and to either side, and up into the air. "Let's check the brush," she said.

With their flashlights they explored the area to either side of the road, but the vegetation was low, and no trees were in view. There seemed to be no haven in which anyone might have hidden a projector or other device to create an illusion.

"Well," Joseph said, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't find any spiritualists lurking in the heather, so what
was
that thing?"

"Tony, was that exactly what the other one you saw looked like?" Laika asked.

"Absolutely. Only it was a little closer in the castle. I think. Kind of hard to judge size and distance with the damn thing."

Laika cleared her throat, wishing the fear would dissipate. "Did any of you see any kind of face?"

"Not I," said Joseph. "Not really. I think maybe I started to
imagine
one the longer I looked."

Tony nodded. "Same with me. I could swear something started to form both times, but when I look back, I think that maybe it was just my imagination."

"The human mind demands order," Joseph said. "We'll imprint what we expect to see on whatever blank screen comes along." He smiled. "Reminds me of M. R. James's 'face of crumpled linen.' "

Laika couldn't place the name. "Who?"

"The English ghost story writer. His most haunting image was a face of crumpled linen that formed out of the bed sheets. I always wondered if James intended that face to be real, or just a projection of the protagonist's fears."

"Well, if I'd want to scare the greatest number of people," Tony said, "I'd use a blank face myself. You see whatever frightens you most."

"Did either of you hear anything?" Laika asked. "Because I didn't. Not over the sound of the engine."

"No, not this time," Tony agreed. "But in the castle I heard that high-pitched humming. Like a machine of some kind."

"Sure it wasn't the sound of glowing ectoplasm?" Joseph asked, then held up a hand. "I'm not baiting you. I've seen it too. I know it's real, unlike my dream about one of the things, and I know we've got to find out what's causing it, especially in light of the Templars in the castle. This has all got to tie together somehow."

"And the more we learn, the stranger the connections get," Laika said as they walked back to the car. "Let's just keep on keeping on. Something else has to happen sooner or later."

L
iam Riley had to take another piss. He'd been up once already at one. And here it was two-thirty and he had to go again. Shite. He knew he'd just dribble a few drops and wake up again around four.

His prostate had to be the size of a bloody potato, but the goddamned Social Services doctors told him there was nothing to be done, just stuck their fingers up his arse and prodded around until he thought he was going to scream, but he never did. "Nothin' wrong there, Liam," they'd say. "Right as rain." Then he'd ask them, "Then why do I have to piss every five minutes?" and they'd say, "Maybe it's just nerves, Liam, me boy. Would you be wantin' to see a therapist, get your head back on straight?" Then he'd tell them where they could stick their bloody fingers and go back to pissing.

At least there were no locks on the cell doors in HM Prison Maze, or the Shitehole, as Liam called it. He was free to come and go to the pisser, or the precious
sanitation
, anytime he wanted. He was also free to crack a few loyalist heads, were he so inclined, if he could get past the circle, the area between the two wings that the prison officers supposedly controlled, and into the opposite wing where dead Billy Wright's so-called Loyalist Volunteer Force was housed, along with the UDA and UFF boys.

But that was a mighty big "if." Both the Republican and Unionist "officer commanders," prisoners themselves who controlled their respective Catholic and Protestant wings, would order even a guard badly beaten if he came onto their wing without permission. No, as lovely a fantasy as it was to sneak into the opposite wing and kill a few of the Orange bastards, it was far safer to drain one's prick and go back to sleep.

As he passed the cells, everyone was sleeping except for the men on watch, to whom he nodded and spoke a word or two of greeting. He passed his pitiful amount of water, then returned to his cell, only to find that some bastard was in it.

Liam Riley stiffened and stayed outside the doorway. He didn't recognize the long-haired bearded man, who was wearing a dark shirt and trousers. A Loyalist bastard, maybe? But which of them would have the guts—no, the stupidity—to come into the IRA wing in H-block 8?

Still, Liam didn't call out, for fear of being shot down instantly. Shooting him would have been suicide for the stranger sure as hell, but that was nothing new. Some of these crazy shites would welcome the attack, taking down as many Republicans as they could before they were killed themselves.

But as Liam looked more closely, he could see the man had no gun. In fact, his hands were empty of even a shank or a cosh. And he looked peaceful enough, standing there against the back cell wall with that soft smile on his calm face. "What is it, then?" Liam whispered.

"Do you want out?" asked the man, and his voice sounded strangely like Liam's old da, first kneecapped and then killed in the troubles when Liam was a boy.

"What are you talkin' about?" Liam asked, shaken by the vocal similarity to his father.

"Do you want out of here?" the man said. "Do you want to be free?"

Well, Christ on a crutch, of
course
he wanted to be free. He was looking at another fifteen years at least, and by the time he got out, he'd be pissing every three minutes. Besides that, he didn't do shite for Ireland sitting in the Maze. But what could this bastard do about getting him out?

"I can do a great deal, Liam."

Liam's eyes widened. It was like the man had read his mind, answering questions before he'd even asked them, just the way his da used to.

"I can get you out of here, if you'll come with me. Freedom, Liam, for you—and, if you play your cards right, maybe for Ireland, too. All you have to do is do one little job for me, and then you're on your own. What do you say?"

"I say . . . how are you goin' to do it? Get me out?"

The man held out his right hand. "We're going to have to hold hands, Liam. And whatever you do, don't let go of my hand. Then we're going to walk right out of here. Right past the guards and the soldiers and through the walls."

"Ye're fulla shite."

"So what are ya then, Liam, a
nancy boy
?"

It was just what his father had said to him when he was afraid of something, back in the old days when he still could be afraid of something other than his da. Hearing it now put steel into his backbone, and he decided it would be worth dying to try and get out of here. Christ, if he stayed, his piss would probably back up into him and poison him anyway.