Descendant. Part 18

"Don't bet on it," I told him, and took hold of my whip, which was still embedded in Duca's back. I yanked it with both hands, as hard as I could, hoping that I could drag Duca down from the ceiling. But I heard a sharp tearing noise, and the claw came free. As I later found out, all I had pulled out was a b.l.o.o.d.y lump of muscle and a triangular piece of silk from the back of its vest. it with both hands, as hard as I could, hoping that I could drag Duca down from the ceiling. But I heard a sharp tearing noise, and the claw came free. As I later found out, all I had pulled out was a b.l.o.o.d.y lump of muscle and a triangular piece of silk from the back of its vest.

"Terence!" I said. "Mirror! We have to start this over!"

But at that moment, Duca reached into his coat pocket and took out something cylindrical. As Terence reached for the mirror, Duca tugged the end of the cylinder and the darkroom was suddenly filled with intense white light-so bright that Terence and I could see nothing at all. I took three steps backward, s.h.i.+elding my eyes. Although I was blinded, I could tell by the magnesium smell and the sharp fizzing noise that Duca had set off a handheld marine flare-ten thousand candle-power, at least. It dazzled us totally, but it gave Duca the extra light he needed to see.

I hauled out my gun but the light was so intense that all I could see in front of my eyes were dancing scarlet amoebas, and Duca was so quick that I didn't stand a hope in h.e.l.l of hitting it. I heard it leap from the ceiling, and the next thing I knew it pushed me squarely in the chest, so that I stumbled backward over my Kit. It twisted the gun out of my hand and threw it aside. Then it tore open the front of my s.h.i.+rt, and pulled the wheel from around my neck, breaking the chain.

"Thank you for my property," it breathed, and its breath was actually chilly, like an open icebox. "Now you will get what you deserve for stealing from me."

Through the glare, I saw Duca take out a broad-bladed knife. I had never let a Screecher get the jump on me before, ever, but I suddenly realized that I could die here, with my heart cut out, and my guts lying all over the floor. I felt like a skydiver on his thousandth jump, who discovers that his chute won't open. here, with my heart cut out, and my guts lying all over the floor. I felt like a skydiver on his thousandth jump, who discovers that his chute won't open.

"You think you're going to live forever?" I asked it. "Whatever you do to me, you're not going to see another winter."

Duca pointed his knife at my throat. "There is a war here. There is always a war. On one side, the living. On the other side, the eternals. You can never win, for all of your religion, for all of your so-called morality. For all of your piety."

It pulled my s.h.i.+rt open even wider. "Maybe now we can see what you are made of."

It prodded my navel with the point of its knife, and the pain made me jump with shock. But as its drew back its elbow to stab me, it tilted backward. I heard struggling and swearing. Although I was still half-blinded, I managed to roll over and pick myself up. The flare had almost burned out now, but in its last flickering moments I could see that Terence had thrown himself on Duca and dragged it to the floor. They were hitting each other and grunting with effort.

I stood up, and hauled out my gun. "Right there!" I shouted. "Hold it right there!"

But Duca was too quick and too strong. It dragged Terence up off the floor, and swung him around in a circle, so that he was standing between us. By the sputtering light of the flare, I could see that it was holding its knife across Terence's throat. Terence was staring at me in panic.

"Now I am going to leave you," said Duca, its voice hoa.r.s.e with effort. "But in case you are thinking of showing me any more of your mirrors, or opening any more of your Bibles, I am going to take this fellow with me, for my security." your Bibles, I am going to take this fellow with me, for my security."

"No! I'll let you go, I promise you. You can walk out of here and take your wheel and I won't do anything to stop you. Just don't hurt him, OK?" I'll let you go, I promise you. You can walk out of here and take your wheel and I won't do anything to stop you. Just don't hurt him, OK?"

"Do you think I believe you? I know who you are. I know what what you are." you are."

"I'm coming after you, Duca," I warned it. "If you so much as scratch him, I'm going to make sure that you have the most agonizing death that any Screecher ever suffered, and that's a promise."

"Jim-" choked Terence, but Duca pressed the blade of his knife right up against his Adam's apple, so that he couldn't say any more.

"Just stay calm, Terence," I told him. "Do what Duca tells you, and you won't get hurt."

Duca smiled. "Who are you to make promises on my behalf? We shall see what happens to your friend when it happens."

With that, it pulled Terence back toward the darkroom door and opened it. Then, with unbelievable speed, it dragged him off along the corridor toward the stairs. It was like watching a flickery old black-and-white horror movie.

I ran after them, but before I could even reach the head of the stairs I heard the front door slam, and I knew that they were gone.

Body Count.

I clattered down the stairs and into the street, but there was no sign of them. I saw a black saloon pulling away from the curb on the opposite side of the road, with a puff of exhaust, but I couldn't make out who was driving it.

I needed a man-trailing dog, and I needed it fast. But Terence had the keys to the car and without the keys I couldn't get access to the radio-telephone to call for a.s.sistance. The counterintelligence corps had trained me how to fire a whole variety of weapons from crossbows to bazookas, and how to break down a reinforced door using explosives, but they had never taught me how to hot-wire a car.

I looked around. Only about thirty yards along the road, on the corner of Allenby Avenue, stood a lighted red phone booth. I panted my way up to it. Inside, chattering and laughing and smoking a cigarette, there was a plump-faced girl with a ponytail. She was wearing a pink skirt with so many net petticoats underneath it that it practically filled up the whole booth, and a white back-to-front cardigan, and pink popper beads. I rapped on the window and mouthed, "Are you going to be long, honey? I have an emergency!"

She opened the door and a cloud of smoke came out. "What's the matter with you, mate? I'm talking to my boyfriend!"

"I have an emergency. I really need to use the phone."

"I just put three bob in. Go and have your emergency somewhere else."

I took out my wallet and pulled out a ten-s.h.i.+lling note. "There. You've made seven bob profit. Now can I use the phone?"

I called MI6 control. As it happened, Charles Frith was still in his office, and the operator put me directly through to him.

"Captain Falcon? You were lucky to catch me, old man. What's the latest? Mission accomplished, I hope?"

I told him what had happened. He listened in silence. The only time he interrupted was when he said, "A flare flare?"

"Just because the strigoi strigoi come from a bloodline that's over three thousand years old, that doesn't mean they're not technically sophisticated. Duca turned the tables on us completely. It blinded us, and at the same time it gave itself all the light it needed to see in the dark." come from a bloodline that's over three thousand years old, that doesn't mean they're not technically sophisticated. Duca turned the tables on us completely. It blinded us, and at the same time it gave itself all the light it needed to see in the dark."

"Well, look here, I'll get in touch with Inspector Ruddock and get him to start looking for Mitch.e.l.l right away. As for a dog, perhaps Miss Foxley has recovered sufficiently to help you out. She's nearest, after all. If she's still hors de combat, let me know right away, and I'll arrange to have another dog handler sent down."

"OK . . . I'll call you when I get to Miss Foxley's."

"Good man. By the way, a Mrs. Rosemary Shulman has been trying to get in touch with you, from the Home Office. She rang two or three times, so far as I know. Daphne's got her number."

"Thank you, sir. I'll talk to you later."

"Captain Falcon-"

"Yes, sir?"

"You will will keep a very low profile, won't you? I've had the press hounding me all day. Sooner or later, one of the b.u.g.g.e.rs is going to find out what we're up to." keep a very low profile, won't you? I've had the press hounding me all day. Sooner or later, one of the b.u.g.g.e.rs is going to find out what we're up to."

"Yes, sir."

I hung up. The girl with the petticoats said, "About b.l.o.o.d.y time, too. My boyfriend's probably left me for somebody else by now."

"A terrific-looking girl like you? He'd have to be nuts."

"Oh," she said, flattered, and giggled.

I went back into the South Croydon Observer South Croydon Observer building and collected up my Kit. The building was dark, and it echoed, and it smelled strongly of burned-out flare. I was reminded of World War Two, searching through bombed-out apartments for signs of Screechers. building and collected up my Kit. The building was dark, and it echoed, and it smelled strongly of burned-out flare. I was reminded of World War Two, searching through bombed-out apartments for signs of Screechers.

When I had rea.s.sembled my Kit and shut the case, I went back outside to flag down a black taxi. I asked the cabbie to take me to Jill's house in Purley, which was only about five minutes away.

"I'll be glad when this bleedin' 'eat lets up," complained the cabbie, with a skinny cigarette dangling between his lips. "Makes me feet swell up like bleedin' balloons."

"Sorry to hear it."

"Then there's all this Korean Flu going around. People dropping like bleedin' flies. That's all because of the 'eat, if you ask me, and they say that next year's going to be even 'otter. Do you know what I was readin'? By the year nineteen-seventy-nine, the 'ole of England's goin' to be like the Sahara desert, and we'll all be ridin' around on bleedin' camels." to be like the Sahara desert, and we'll all be ridin' around on bleedin' camels."

We reached the Foxleys' house and I asked the cabbie to wait. The Foxleys were obviously at home, because the drapes were drawn and the living room lights were on, but the house seemed unusually quiet. I couldn't even hear a TV.

After a few moments, however, Mr. Foxley opened the door, holding Bullet by his collar.

"Captain Falcon!" he blinked. "We weren't expecting you, were we?"

"No, you weren't. But we have a crisis on our hands, and I was wondering if Jill could maybe help us out."

Without hesitation, Mr. Foxley shook his head. "I'm sorry, Captain, but Jill isn't very well at all. She's been in bed since yesterday, and we've had the doctor around twice."

"Do you know what's wrong with her?"

"She's very feverish. The doctor thinks it might be Korean Flu. He's given her something to keep her temperature down, but I don't think she's out of the woods yet."

"I'm very sorry to hear it. The problem is, I desperately need a tracker dog." I looked down at Bullet, who was straining so hard against his collar that he was wheezing. I thought: I've seen how Corporal Little handled Frank. I've seen how Jill handles Bullet. It can't be too difficult to manage a man-trailer. They go running off on their own most of the time I've seen how Corporal Little handled Frank. I've seen how Jill handles Bullet. It can't be too difficult to manage a man-trailer. They go running off on their own most of the time.

"Maybe I could take Bullet myself," I suggested.

"Oh. I'm not so sure about that. I mean, Jill and Bullet, they're tremendously close. I don't know whether he'd take instructions from anybody else."

At that moment, Mrs. Foxley appeared, in an orange silk robe. "Who is it, dear? What's going on?"

"Hi there, Mrs. Foxley," I said. "I'm sorry that Jill is feeling so low. I was wondering if I could borrow Bullet for a few hours."

Mrs. Foxley looked dubious. "You could try try, I suppose."

I hunkered down on the front doormat and held out my hand. "Here, Bullet. Good boy, Bullet. How about coming out to play with your Uncle Jim?"

I stroked his ears and he seemed to like that. "Do you have a leash?" I asked Mrs. Foxley.

She went to the hall closet and came back with Bullet's leash. "Here, boy," I said, soothingly. "Let's go walkies, shall we?"

I started to clip the leash on to his collar, but Bullet immediately snarled and twisted his head round and his teeth crunched into the fleshy part of my thumb. I toppled back, knocking over all of the Foxleys' empty milk bottles.

"Oh, I am so so sorry!" said Mrs. Foxley, coming outside to help me up. sorry!" said Mrs. Foxley, coming outside to help me up.

"You're a wicked dog!" snapped Mr. Foxley, slapping Bullet's nose. "What are you? You're a very wicked dog!"

I stood up, holding my bleeding hand. The bite wasn't too deep, but it d.a.m.n well hurt. "Hey, it's not Bullet's fault. Poor mutt hardly knows me. I'll just have to call for another dog handler, that's all. Can I use your phone?"

Just as I was about to go inside, the cabbie came up, carrying my Kit. "Sorry, mate. I can't wait any longer. It's me mother-in-law's wedding anniversary tonight. If I turn up late for that, I'll get all kinds of grief from 'er indoors." turn up late for that, I'll get all kinds of grief from 'er indoors."

"It's all right," said Mr. Foxley. "You can borrow Jill's car. It's the least we can do. I'll get the keys for you."

I called MI6 again. Charles Frith had left the office, but his deputy George Goodhew said that he would arrange for a dog handler to meet me in South Croydon as soon as he possibly could. I prayed that it wasn't Skipper and that pompous Stanley Kellogg.

I was anxious to see Jill. I wanted to find out what Duca had done to her, if anything. Her doctor might have believed that she was suffering from "Korean Flu" but I knew d.a.m.ned well that there was no such illness. It could have been nothing more serious than stress. After all, I had left her in Duca's surgery for only a matter of minutes. But she had been very disoriented when she came out, and I would have liked to check her out.

There was no time. I had to get after Duca without delay, and in any case Mr. and Mrs. Foxley seemed to be keen for me to leave. I didn't blame them. Since I had first arrived on their doorstep, I had brought them nothing but trouble.

It was past 9:30 PM PM now. I tried to think where Duca might have gone. It must have infected at least a dozen now. I tried to think where Duca might have gone. It must have infected at least a dozen strigoi vii strigoi vii, so maybe it had taken refuge in one of their homes. Once I had a man-trailing dog, I would have a much better chance of hunting these Screechers down. But it also occurred to me that many of Duca's recent victims were likely to have been patients of Dr. Norman Watkins. Once Duca had installed itself as Dr. Watkins's "loc.u.m," it wouldn't have had to go out searching for new people to infect. Every day, unsuspecting victims would have come to the Laurels expecting medical treatment, and it would have been simplicity itself for Duca to taint their blood with an injection of its own blood, or simply give them an oral dose of cough linctus blended with its own saliva. have come to the Laurels expecting medical treatment, and it would have been simplicity itself for Duca to taint their blood with an injection of its own blood, or simply give them an oral dose of cough linctus blended with its own saliva.

I drove to the Laurels. There were still two bobbies standing outside, with cigarettes cupped behind their backs, and a line of marker tape was fluttering across the gates. I parked outside and showed the officers my MI6 pa.s.s.

"I need to take a quick look inside."

"Rather you than me, squire. I reckon it's haunted, that house."

"Haunted?"

"We thought we saw somebody looking out of that upstairs window."

"When was that?"

"About nine o'clock, just before it got dark. We went inside and made a search. Cupboards, under the beds, everywhere."

"Not a sausage," said the other officer, emphatically.

"Well, maybe you're right, and it is is haunted," I told them. "On the other hand, reflections can play some pretty funny tricks." haunted," I told them. "On the other hand, reflections can play some pretty funny tricks."

I went into the house, switched on the lights and headed straight for the receptionist's office. The police and MI6 had obviously searched it, because all of the drawers of the filing cabinet had been left open, and the pictures taken down from the walls. Two of the chairs were tilted over and magazines were scattered all over the floor.

I found what I wanted almost at once, but then of course the police and MI6 hadn't been specifically looking for it. The receptionist's diary was still lying open on her desk, and the name and address of every patient who had visited "Dr. Duca" was meticulously listed, along with the time of their consultation. Once my new dog handler had arrived, we could visit every one of these patients, starting with the earliest, and it wouldn't take us too long to sniff out any Screechers. for it. The receptionist's diary was still lying open on her desk, and the name and address of every patient who had visited "Dr. Duca" was meticulously listed, along with the time of their consultation. Once my new dog handler had arrived, we could visit every one of these patients, starting with the earliest, and it wouldn't take us too long to sniff out any Screechers.

I closed the diary, tucked it under my arm, and I was about to leave the office when I thought I heard a creaking noise upstairs. It wasn't like somebody walking across floorboards-it was more like hinges, followed by a complicated click. There was something else, too: a noticeable change in atmospheric pressure, as if a window had been opened, and a draft was blowing in.

I went out into the hallway and stood at the foot of the stairs, listening. I was sure that I heard more creaking, and then a shuffling sound. The police officers hadn't been mistaken. There was was somebody in the house. I listened and listened, but I didn't hear anything else. I had the impression that whoever it was, they were listening to me, too. somebody in the house. I listened and listened, but I didn't hear anything else. I had the impression that whoever it was, they were listening to me, too.

I waited a few moments longer, and then I went outside to Jill's car. I opened my Kit and put the receptionist's diary inside it, along with all the other artifacts I needed for hunting Screechers.

"Everything all right, sir?" one of the bobbies asked me.

I gave him a thumbs-up but I didn't say anything. The less that anybody else knew what was really going on, the better.

Back in the house, I laid my Kit on the receptionist's desk and unfastened the clips. I took out my Screecher compa.s.s and opened the cover. Immediately, the needle swung around and pointed, s.h.i.+vering, toward the stairs. Its response was so quick and so positive that I knew there must be more than one Screecher in the house. swung around and pointed, s.h.i.+vering, toward the stairs. Its response was so quick and so positive that I knew there must be more than one Screecher in the house.

I could guess what had happened. Once they were infected with the Screecher virus, several strigoi vii strigoi vii had been forced to leave their homes, or had left voluntarily because they didn't want to be tempted to kill their loved ones or their neighbors. I had seen this happen many times before, during World War Two. They had gathered together in a nest, close to the had been forced to leave their homes, or had left voluntarily because they didn't want to be tempted to kill their loved ones or their neighbors. I had seen this happen many times before, during World War Two. They had gathered together in a nest, close to the strigoi mort strigoi mort who had infected them. who had infected them.

Judging by the way my compa.s.s needle was trembling, Duca's nest of living Screechers was here, someplace upstairs, in this house.

I took out my Bible and my whip, coiling my whip loosely around my waist. Before I attempted to destroy the Screechers, I had to find out how many there were, and where where they were. And this wasn't wartime. I couldn't throw in a hand grenade and attack them while they were still stunned and maimed and disabled. they were. And this wasn't wartime. I couldn't throw in a hand grenade and attack them while they were still stunned and maimed and disabled.

I went to the foot of the stairs again and looked up. The house was silent again, and the second-floor landing was in darkness. I tried the light switch but the bulb had burned out, or the Screechers had removed it.

Holding my gun in my right hand and my Bible in my left, I carefully mounted the stairs. They creaked, so I stopped every two or three stairs and stood totally still, in case the Screechers had heard me. Somewhere in the distance a plane was droning.

I reached the top of the stairs and looked right and left. No Screechers on the landing. I went into the bedrooms, one by one, switching on the lights. I opened the wardrobes and looked under the beds. No Screechers here either. wardrobes and looked under the beds. No Screechers here either.

I nudged open the bathroom door. There was a huge black spider halfway up the side of the bath, but no Screechers.