D. Mitchell: The King of Terrors

‘Just for the record,’ she said, ‘you’re not half as attractive as the old Gabriel.’

‘Just for the record, I’m twice as alive,’ he said. He indicated the phone with the flat of his hand. ‘I need to make a call.’

‘Where is Pipistrelle?’ she urged.

‘The reason for the call,’ he said. ‘May I? It’s in your interest.’ She nodded and he picked up the phone. ‘She’s here.’ His voice was unruffled, his movements unhurried, cool and deliberate. He put the phone back onto the table. ‘So, you want to see him?’

‘Don’t mess with me.’

‘We’ve got a bit of a hike. I hope you’re wearing sensible shoes.’

‘Cut the crap and take me to him,’ she ordered. ‘If you’ve done anything to harm him you’ll pay for it.’ She watched him closely as he slid his feet off the table. ‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ she warned.

‘I bet you say that to all the boys!’ He went to the door, the gun covering him all the way. ‘Follow me.’

At the door she lunged forward and grabbed him by the neck, putting the gun to his temple.

‘Hands against the wall, legs splayed!’ she said, her eyes wide, a fleck of spittle flying out to land on his cheek. ‘One wrong move, just one, and I’ll take the side of your skull out!’

He did as he was told. She started at the top of his body, moving swiftly down to his legs. She made a point of bringing the gun up hard between his legs so that it crashed heavily against his balls. He flinched and gave a tiny groan.

‘Was that really necessary?’ he said, trying not to screw his face up in pain.

‘I was making sure you weren’t packing anything solid in there. Turns out you weren’t.’

He gave a sneer.

They went out into the cold night air, the mist beginning to thicken perceptibly. In a few minutes they reached the edge of the village and took a narrow country path that headed off into nowhere, rising steadily upwards.

‘So who are you with?’ she asked, keeping a close eye on his back, watching his hands by his side.

‘God,’ he returned, and meant it.

‘Does God pay well?’

‘I get by,’ he said. ‘The true rewards will come later.’

The path now began to rise steeply. They walked for some time till they reached a style and he clambered over, waiting for her to do the same. The track on the other side disappeared into a faintly luminescent mist.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, realising they were headed up a considerable hill.

‘This is Mam Tor,’ he replied. ‘Apparently they say it’s one of the most accessible of the peaks, but I guess that depends which way you climb it. Not going too fast for you?’ he said with a leer.

‘Keep the jibes to yourself,’ she said, ‘or I’ll ram this gun down your throat.’ Visibility was now limited to but a few craggy yards. Her senses honed sharp she detected an overwhelming sweet smell of wet heather. ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘what kicks do you really get out of all this? Why the Church of Everlasting Shit and not Al Qaeda or some other fucked-up bunch of religiously motivated thugs?’

He laughed and it sounded dull and faraway in the mist. ‘Other people are just too self-serving. We work for the good of God’s creation. The others are products of Satan’s desires, though they may believe otherwise, because they are fooled by him. He threatens to destroy, we seek to restore, and that’s the difference.’

‘To wipe the world clean as if it were a computer hard-drive. Restore it to its factory settings.’

‘Crudely put, but if it helps you understand these things.’

‘You can’t really believe all that shit Doradus spouts, surely? You really think there’s a place for your kind in this New Eden? You’re being used like everyone else. You’re no better than a bunch of mindless Moonies without the weddings.’

‘If that’s supposed to tempt me from the True Path I’d forget being a missionary and stick to your day job,’ he said sardonically. ‘If you had one.’

‘Yeah, well, one wrong move from you and I’ll show you where the True Path really is. How far?’

‘Quite a distance yet.’

‘Why here? Why Mam Tor?’

‘Because Doradus wishes it,’ he said, as if she were stupid to question it.

They clambered steadily uphill along the snaking, narrow track till the ground started to level out, and not soon enough, thought Caroline. The air was decidedly chillier, the mist being shifted along by a stiffening breeze. Something dark and squat loomed menacingly out of the gloom and she realised it was a stone cairn marking the summit of Mam Tor. Some yards beyond this marker another barely recognisable form emerged.

‘That’s far enough,’ she said, and the man stopped dead in his tracks.

‘She’s here, Camael,’ the man called.

Caroline squinted against the dark, her eyes looking furtively around her. She took a step or two closer. The mist thinned and the shadowy blob separated out into two distinct figures. Charles Rayne was on his knees, his head bowed, and all but naked save for his underpants. He was shivering uncontrollably. Behind him a tall, lean figure became visible, a deathly pale face framed by long, dark hair.

‘I’d be very careful, Caroline,’ said Camael. ‘Little more than two yards to your left, and a mere three feet from my right, there’s a drop of a few hundred feet. You wouldn’t want to lose your footing, would you?’

Gabriel moved cautiously to stand a little closer to Camael. She covered them both with the gun. She saw how Rayne’s body was covered in weeping lesions and sores. ‘That’s far enough, Gabriel,’ she said. ‘What have you done to my father, you bastard?’

Camael looked down at the old man. ‘Let’s say he had a little too much sun yesterday. It doesn’t agree with him, does it?’

‘Let him go.’

A veneer of a smile spread over his lips. He grabbed Rayne by the hair and hauled him to his feet. The naked man stood trembling with the cold, his arms folded tight against him. He looked desperately ill, thought Caroline, her stomach tightening in anguish, dark patches of blood on his body, his face looking red and sore.

‘Let him go?’ he said. Then he gave a light laugh. ‘You know I can’t do that just yet.’

Rayne lifted his head. ‘I told you to stay away,’ he said, his voice cracked and dry. ‘Why did you come?’

Camael yanked Rayne’s head sharply. ‘Quiet, old man.’

Caroline’s jaw stiffened. ‘Let him go now or I’ll blow your brains out!’

‘No doubt you would. I think, however, it’s time for a little negotiation, don’t you? You have something I want, and I have something you want. Let’s say that in return for the old man’s handover you let me have the woman and her son.’

She shook her hair. ‘Sorry, no can do.’

Camael gave Rayne a shove closer towards the invisible cliff edge. ‘One more push and he’ll fall to his death. You don’t really want that, do you? All you have to do is tell me where I will find the woman and her son and your father, such as he is, will go free. Refuse and over he goes.’

‘If you do that then you’re a dead man, Camael. So is your friend.’

‘Death doesn’t scare me, Caroline,’ he said. ‘And killing me, though it will give you a modicum of pleasure, will not bring your father back from the dead. Where are they?’

‘Don’t tell them, Caroline!’ Rayne wheezed painfully.

‘What are they to you anyway?’ Camael continued. ‘What does it matter that they live or die?’

Caroline was sizing up the situation. She couldn’t rush Camael with her father a step or so from the edge of the cliff. She couldn’t risk a shot at him as the visibility was so poor, and even if she hit the man then she wasn’t certain she’d be able to get one off at Gabriel in time.