The Language Of Bees Part 39

The driver-guide pulled his coach over to a wide place near the smaller stone circle, whose dark granite slabs resembled shards of broken window-pane dropped by the G.o.ds, and informed us that these were the Stones of Stenness. On a low hill to the north-west, across the causeway, rode the Ring of Brodgar (where, he did not tell us but my telegram had informed me, cremated remains had been recently scattered). To the north-east, beyond the church, was the pregnant belly-mound of Maeshowe, where a slaughtered sheep had been found on the May full moon. scattered). To the north-east, beyond the church, was the pregnant belly-mound of Maeshowe, where a slaughtered sheep had been found on the May full moon.

The Dutch contingent were kept occupied translating and commenting upon what the guide had to say about the artefacts we walked past: first the Stones of Stenness, then a couple of pencil-thin pillars jabbed into the ground, and the now-destroyed Odin Stone (which had been one of those venerable objects that inspire courting couples, entertain amateur antiquarians, and infuriate the farmer on whose land they lie-hence this stone's demolition). We crossed the causeway, pa.s.sing farm buildings and more standing stones, until the ground began to rise, revealing the size of the lochs on either side. Ahead of us lay the wide, low Ring of Brodgar.

I left the others to their misinformed lecture and circ.u.mnavigated the ring on my own, feeling the press of ground beneath me. Many of the stones were fallen or missing entirely; those that remained were cracked and uneven; nonetheless, the original Ring had been perfectly round. Perhaps that was why, despite its wear, it retained the feel of a precise mechanism, a circle tightly calibrated to enclose and concentrate any worship carried out on this barren and wind-swept hillock. It reminded me of an ancient bra.s.s-work device in a museum, whose function remained unimpaired by the surface ravages of time.

Standing in the centre, I looked down to see traces of ash among the gra.s.s.

From the Ring's heather-grown perimeter, which had once been ditched and banked to form a henge, I studied the countryside. Water stretched out before me and at my back; to my right, the peninsula between the lochs was littered with standing stones, brochs, and earthen mounds. To my left, peninsula narrowed into causeway before joining the road; on one side were the Stones of Stenness and Maeshowe; on the other lay the burnt-out anglers' hotel. A brief spill of sun showed boards across its windows.

The Dutch were being led away by the guide, tempted after his conversational carrots that seemed to link Vikings and Druids-although I might have been mistaken, I was not listening very closely. I dawdled among the stones, allowing the others to pull ahead, before following them down the causeway towards the Stones of Stenness. I might have been mistaken, I was not listening very closely. I dawdled among the stones, allowing the others to pull ahead, before following them down the causeway towards the Stones of Stenness.

Perhaps it was the approaching dusk coupled with the racing clouds and biting wind. Perhaps it was the knowledge that, somewhere near, a man with a knife waited to loose blood on the earth. In any event, I was aware of an atmosphere here such as I had seldom felt before: not at Stonehenge, a gloomy and isolated huddle of stones, nor even Avebury-what metaphysical authority it once possessed had long since been overbuilt by barns and homely cottages. This place held another kind of aura entirely: One could feel it brooding.

The Stenness stones had been a henge as well, although this site's ditch and bank were more elliptical than the Ring, and what had once been a stone circle was little more than a collection of slabs. They were tall, one of them nearing twenty feet, and unbelievably thin-it seemed impossible that they had stood here for millennia without snapping off in the wind. One of them jutted out of the ground at an angle, then turned sharply back on itself, like a directional arrow for giants.

In their centre was the restored altar. According to a guide-book in Mycroft's study, some twenty years ago a well-meaning enthusiast had decided that the half-buried stone in the middle of the circle had originally been an altar-stone, and had raised it, stretching it between a stone that lay to one side and a pair of stones that had been cracked and mounted upright with a gap between the halves.

Although the position of the cracked stone seemed to have a significance beyond that of a support-the gap between its halves would frame the mound of Maeshowe-the ma.s.sive three-legged table was, nonetheless, most impressive. It did not require the imagination of a Sir Walter Scott to picture it as a sacrificial altar, longer than any man, fenced in by the towering grey granite shards.

My tour companions had been marched away to Maeshowe, our guide having clearly decided that I was unappreciative of his expertise. Alone, I made a slow circuit of the Stones, memorising the arrangement of the upright rocks, letting my feet learn the low depression of the ditch-works and the ground-level bridge that had once pa.s.sed through ditch and bank. of the upright rocks, letting my feet learn the low depression of the ditch-works and the ground-level bridge that had once pa.s.sed through ditch and bank.

Under the guise of studying waterfowl, I took out my gla.s.ses and aimed them at the salt.w.a.ter loch to the south. Three swans stretched their wings and thought about dinner; seagulls darted and cried on the wind. A pair of fishermen occupying the shallows between me and the hotel had begun to work their way back to the sh.o.r.e, no doubt with dinner on their minds as well; behind them, I could see where the flames had been doused before they ate into the fabric of the hotel. The windows on this side of the building showed the backs of curtains-the fire must have started at night.

Its inner rooms, while not cosy, would be liveable.

s.n.a.t.c.hes of voice warned me of my companions' return, and I let the gla.s.ses wander along the sh.o.r.e-line for a minute before packing them away. I turned for a last look at the nearby proto-circle.

There was an intensity, almost a violence, to these Stones that the Ring on the hill did not have. I had fancied them earlier as having been dropped by the G.o.ds, but that was too pa.s.sive. Rather, they looked as if the G.o.ds had seized each sharp-edged slab to drive it savagely into the turf, pulling away a blood-smeared hand.

I caught myself: I'd been away from Holmes for too long, and my imagination was running away with me.

Still, when I looked at that stone altar, I shivered.

I returned to the coach and rode unprotesting to the island's second town of Stromness, but when the others were shepherded in the direction of a restaurant, I slipped away. I walked back the way we had come, taking my time with the four miles so it would be deep dusk for the last mile; three motor-cars pa.s.sed; each time, I dropped into the gra.s.sy verge away from their head-lamps.

The sky was moonless; the hotel was a faint outline against a marginally lighter expanse of clouds. I crept towards the smell of smoke and pressed myself into the wall between the first two windows, trying to hear above the perpetual sough of the wind. In the absence of a stethoscope, I pulled the knife from my boot-sheath and rested its point against the stones, setting the handle in back of my ear. Nothing. a stethoscope, I pulled the knife from my boot-sheath and rested its point against the stones, setting the handle in back of my ear. Nothing.

Moving down the wall to the next windows, I tried again, and again heard only the sounds of the night and the thud of my own heart. Around the corner, the wind was loud enough to obscure anything less than a shout, so I kept circling to the side facing away from the loch. Again I listened, again-wait. Not voices, but a rhythmic thump, thump, thump, that then quickened in pace for a dozen or so beats. Feet, coming down stairs?

I moved to the boarded-up back of the hotel, and there I glimpsed motion. A light flickered, danced, and steadied: a candle, half-visible through the boards. A figure moved around the room; I heard the sound of water flowing into a vessel, saw a flare of light as a gas cooker lit beneath the kettle. The shadowy figure pulled open drawers, coming out from the third one with a long knife. He took it to a shapeless lump on the table beside the tea-pot, and began sawing: bread.

All this was with his back to me, so he was nothing but an indistinct shape in a dim room. I considered moving around to the boarded-up door and seeing if I could find a crack, but before I could move, he turned, and the unruly hair and beard identified him: Damian Adler.

If prisoner he was, then a very blase prisoner indeed, making tea and sandwiches as if living in a burnt-out building with a religious fanatic was the humdrum stuff of everyday Bohemian life.

He turned away to the tea-pot, and I pressed my face closer against the gla.s.s, trying to get some sense of the man. Did he, too, burn with the fanaticism of Testimony? Testimony? Had this rumpled figure partic.i.p.ated in the ritual murder of his wife? Was he about to join in the similar slaughter of an innocent step-daughter? Had this rumpled figure partic.i.p.ated in the ritual murder of his wife? Was he about to join in the similar slaughter of an innocent step-daughter?

My nose hovered near the gla.s.s, my spectacles dangerously close to tapping its hard surface; without warning, a hand came down on my shoulder.

The Sacrifice of Setting Loose (1): As we have seen, As we have seen, the greater the sacrifice, the greater the energies loosed.

This is an age of War, when the earth has drunk the sacrificial blood of millions. The world lies primed, for a transformative spark.

Testimony, IV:8

THE SCREAM THAT CAME FROM MY THROAT WAS instantly stifled, emerging as a strangled death-rattle. Before Damian could turn I was already gone, attacking my attacker.

My muscles responded automatically to the hand on my shoulder, but as instantly lost all strength at the hasty whisper, "Russell!"

"Holmes? Holmes! What the h.e.l.l are you- Quick, away from the window."

I pushed him away, to the corner and beyond, then eased my head back: A shadow pressed against the window, looking for the sound; after a minute, it retreated. I turned and punched Holmes on the chest.

"d.a.m.n it, Holmes, what are you doing doing here? You were on your way to Norway, for G.o.d's sake." here? You were on your way to Norway, for G.o.d's sake."

"You did not receive my message?"

"No-how would I receive a message? I haven't heard a word from you since you left London."

"Interesting. I'd have thought Mycroft..."

"Holmes."

"I rethought my plans."

"Obviously."

"'Many things having full reference to one consent, may work contrariously; as many arrows, loosed several ways, fly to one mark.'"

"Holmes!"

"Shakespeare, on bees. Henry the Fifth Henry the Fifth," he added.

"d.a.m.n it, Holmes!"

"I decided you were right."

"You decided-? Good heavens. Well, sweet b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, I wish you'd let me know earlier, I nearly jumped through the window when you grabbed me."

"That would have been unfortunate."

I hit him again, for good measure, and felt somewhat better. Felt considerably better, in fact, with him at my side. I threw my arms around him and hugged him, hard, then stood back and explored his face with my hands.

"You haven't shaved in days," I exclaimed, "and why are you so damp? You're freezing."

"I have spent most of the past three days at sea," he answered, which explained both the difficulty of shaving and the permeating moisture.

"We need to get you out of the cold."

"That is of secondary importance."

"They're brewing tea, they won't be going anywhere for a time. Let me just check-" I tip-toed back to the window, and glimpsed Damian unconcernedly pouring water into the tea-pot. I retrieved Holmes and led him towards the hotel's out-buildings.

These were securely locked, but the padlock on the biggest one would not have challenged a child. The interior stank of fish and contained a lot of nets, poles, gum boots, and paddles, but in a window-less corner room I found a store of elderly bed-clothes and paraphernalia for the guests, from water carafes to expensive fly-fishing rods. A wicker picnic basket contained a filled paraffin burner, a packet of tea leaves, and even a tin of slightly crumbled biscuits. When I lit the burner, a remarkably bearded husband came into view, tugging a blanket around his shoulders. a lot of nets, poles, gum boots, and paddles, but in a window-less corner room I found a store of elderly bed-clothes and paraphernalia for the guests, from water carafes to expensive fly-fishing rods. A wicker picnic basket contained a filled paraffin burner, a packet of tea leaves, and even a tin of slightly crumbled biscuits. When I lit the burner, a remarkably bearded husband came into view, tugging a blanket around his shoulders.

I was startled, then began to laugh. "You "You were the bearded Englishman!" were the bearded Englishman!"

"I did not know you found facial hair so amusing," he grumbled.

"Not on its own-but when I was asking after Damian and Brothers in Thurso, I described him as a 'bearded Englishman.' I didn't think to add, 'of thirty.' So when a man said he'd seen such a person and I told him the Englishman was my step-son, the poor fellow was taken aback, that my husband should be so ..."

"Truly ancient."

"I thought his astonishment odd, at the time, but I never considered ... Holmes, what are you doing doing here?" here?"

"When did you last hear from Mycroft?" he asked.

"Not directly since I left, but I had two telegrams in Thurso at midday today. They were from Mycroft's men, pa.s.sing on the information that the blood found in the Kirkwall cathedral had been a.n.a.lysed and found to have been kept liquefied by chemicals, and that ashes had been found in the Ring of Brodgar, but then-"

"Those pieces of news were what turned me from my path."

"I see. So perhaps you didn't hear that Mycroft's flat had been raided?"

"Lestrade?" Holmes' incredulity matched my own, when I had heard.

"So it would appear." I told him what little I knew, but he could find no sense in Lestrade's imprudent a.s.sault on Mycroft's home, either.

"That does explain why I haven't heard further from my brother, and why he did not pa.s.s on to you my change in plans."

"How far had you got?"

"Well into the North Sea, I fear, when one of the officers brought me a cable from Mycroft with the information about the blood in the cathedral."

"Oh, Holmes, you didn't make them turn back to Hull?"

"I attempted to, but failed. I did, however, convince them that an aquatic transfer exercise would be in order, as soon as he could raise a boat headed the opposite direction. I left the packet of photographs for Mycroft's men in Norway, and succeeded in transferring onto a boat bound for Newcastle without more than a mild wetting."

"I'm astonished you don't have pneumonia. But if your wire reached his place after the raid, Lestrade may know we're here."

"The Chief Inspector won't be able to organise anything tonight, I don't think."

"Probably not. So, ashes and sodium citrate changed your mind?"

He fixed me with a look. "The dates and the impossibility of co incidence changed my mind. Eight events, eight sites."

I recited the deaths: "Beltane at Long Meg; the May full moon at Maeshowe; Fiona Cartwright during the June full moon at Cerne Abbas; the July full moon at Kirkwall-"

"That last was a c.o.c.k, according to the envelope in Brothers' safe, although he did not himself sprinkle the blood in the cathedral-he was in London."

"I wonder if Kirkwall has an employment agency-or he could have made arrangements when he was here in May, to kill the sheep at Maeshowe."

Holmes picked up the list where I had left off. "Then came Albert Seaforth in Yorkshire, during the Perseids. Two days later, on the night of the lunar eclipse, an hotel employee in Stenness dutifully scattered the ashes of some unknown person-"

"Which was, in fact, a horse, if those envelopes are to be believed."

"A portion of a horse, I should say, considering that the employee believed it to be the ashes of a human being. And the following night, the August full moon, Yolanda Adler."

"Dorset, Orkney, c.u.mbria, Orkney, York, Orkney, Suss.e.x, and back to Orkney for the end. But whose blood was used to mark the Testimony Testimony he gave Yolanda?" I wondered. "Millicent Dunworthy received hers on the fourteenth of May and it had the numeral two. Did we miss one earlier?" he gave Yolanda?" I wondered. "Millicent Dunworthy received hers on the fourteenth of May and it had the numeral two. Did we miss one earlier?"

"Not necessarily. He may have simply p.r.i.c.ked his own finger, to start the process. Certainly he used his own for number seven, to adhere the horse's ashes to the page."

"How would one find a crematorium willing to dispose of a horse?" I wondered.

"A haunch already in a coffin would be unremarkable. In any case, the pattern was clear, so I caught a boat north along the coast of Britain instead of the coast of Europe. Several boats, working their way against a hurricane. The last one cost me a prince's ransom."

"I know. The fellow's friends are planning his funeral."

"He was hale and more or less dry when I rowed away in his dinghy. He dropped anchor near Stromness, said he would stay there until the wind dies."

I gave him an equally laconic description of my own hair-raising journey, and poured us both tea, filtering it through a sterling tea-strainer.

"What, no milk?" Holmes asked.

"Pretend you're Chinese," I said. The little cook stove was taking the edge off the bitter cold of the room; Holmes had energy for a joke, and was no longer the colour of chalk.

I cradled my hands around the steaming cup. "How much detail was in the wire you sent Mycroft?"

"Knowing that police eyes were on him, very little. However, I said I was joining you, and if either of his men were less cautious in their information-"

"Then we'll find Orkney's finest waiting for us. Holmes, you don't imagine anything has happened to Mycroft? Another heart attack, brought on by outrage?"

"I think it more likely we'll find him arrested for a.s.saulting a police officer," he replied. "Mycroft takes the authority of his position seriously."

I suddenly thought of something. "Good heavens. I wonder if the local forces have arrested poor Captain Javitz?"

"Your pilot? Would you antic.i.p.ate he might tell the police all?"

"He's as gallant as they come, and in any event, he doesn't know my plans. Speaking of which, Holmes, what are our plans? I had intended to wait until Brothers came out and pull a gun on him. Would you prefer to storm the house?"

He shook his head. "The chances of breaking in without noise are slim, and I fear the child would have a knife at her throat before we reached the stairs."

"So we wait until they come out?"