Ancient Appetites

III

Nate and Flash could see the silhouette of Wildenstern Hall against the night sky long before they reached it. Set on a hill at the fringe of the mountains that bordered the south of the city, its jutting rooftop was the highest point on this side of the country. As Nate and his mount approached at an easy pace, he gazed up at the house and felt a welling up of homesickness. It was good to be back.

There was no question of riding up the main road to the front gates. He could not arrive home on his new steed like a conquering hero; nothing would be said, of course, but it would be considered bad form. Instead, he took the back roads, entering the grounds through the rear gate and rolling past the cabins where the railroad crews would be sleeping, or drinking and carousing the night away. There were nearly two hundred of these labourers living here, out of sight of the main house; they were working on the private railway line that would eventually stretch from the underground station beneath the house, to Kingsbridge Station in the city. Another branch would eventually lead east to the docks of Kingstown on the coast.

The gravel road led past the clachan of rough buildings through the woods to the manicured lawns that skirted the lavish, exotic gardens. Gas lampposts illuminated the grounds near the house, the gravel road joining a wider, cobbled thoroughfare lined with cast bronze sculptures holding flaming torches in glass shades. To the west Nate could just hear the mewling from the zoo; the cages and pits where the family had its menagerie of untameable engimals. Too savage to be useful, but kept out of curiosity and a hunger for unorthodox entertainment. Nate wondered how much of that would change once Gerald's theories could be tested.

The cobbled drive took Nathaniel and his mount up to the yard past the stables, then further round to where deliveries were made. A wide, ornate marble staircase led up to the rear entrance. Below it, and to one side, a more utilitarian brace of double doors marked the tradesmen's entrance, and the doors to the kitchens, the storerooms, the servants' quarters and the service elevators. Further round to the right again, below a wing of the house with no windows, was another door, which led down to the dungeons, deep in the foundations. They were disused now, a relic of Norman times, when the house had started life as a keep.

Nate gave a start, turning in the saddle, sure that he had just seen a small shadow darting across the grass and in behind the stables. He was tempted to take Flash after the figure to investigate, but he was too tired to be concerned. It was probably no threat at all; most likely just some groom returning after a frolicking with one of the housemaids.

To refer to Wildenstern Hall as a house was a pitiful understatement, but there were few words that could do it justice. It was far too tall to be just another manor house, but too grand to be a tower. At its highest point it was thirty storeys of gothic magnificence; a monolith, a cathedral of commerce. The smaller wings around the main structure were older, but just as grand in their own way. Wildenstern Hall had grown over the generations, and now, in the mid-nineteenth century, its new size reflected the unprecedented wealth the family enjoyed.

The lights from the courtyard only illuminated the bottom two floors; above, there was just a shape, dotted with the occasional lit window. Near the top it was difficult to distinguish them from the stars.

'Welcome 'ome, sor,' a voice greeted him in a thick Donegal accent. 'I 'eard yeh come en. I see yev find yerself a new wee animal there, sor.'

'Hennessy.' Nate smiled wearily at the lithe middle-aged man with the enormous white sideburns who stood before him. 'Yes, it's a fine brute, isn't it? Its name is "Flash". Would you find it a stall, and water it for me? And I'll need a saddle. Whatever fits for now, but have one ordered to measure as soon as possible please.'

He climbed off the velocycle, and Hennessy went to take one of its horns. It snarled its engine at him, making him jump.

'Ah.' Nate raised his hand. 'Perhaps I should put it to bed myself. You lead, and I'll follow.'

With the velocycle ensconced in a comfortable, straw-strewn stall, complete with water trough, Nate bade the head groom goodnight and trudged across the yard to the house. He took his mucky boots off by the door and walked in through the servants' entrance, causing alarm among some unfortunate members of staff who had been relaxing, thinking themselves safe from the eyes of their masters. He handed the boots to one of the young kitchen boys playing marbles in the corner, confident that his footwear would be spotless within the hour, and waved to the cook, who was tucking into the leftovers of an expensive dessert normally reserved for them upstairs. He ignored the flustered parlourmaid who was warming her bare feet on the lap of a helpful pageboy.

Nathaniel did not feel ready to greet his whole family – and particularly not his father. Nobody would voice their suspicions, but they would all be thinking the same thing. It was an incredible coincidence that he had arrived home on the same day that Marcus had died. Too much of a coincidence.

The men would be in the smoking room now that dinner was over, and the women would have retired to their own recreations. His arrival would be greeted with more fuss and bother than he could bear. He took the servants' mechanical lift up to the residential floors, and watched the brass needle turn as the lift rose. The elevator car stopped with a barely perceptible settling, built to limit any noise that might disturb the family. The doors opened with a quiet slide, and he stole down the rich pile carpet of the sumptuous, gas-lit hallway to his sister's room.

Tatiana's maid was fast asleep in an armchair outside the door. She shouldn't have been napping – there was no way that Tatiana would be asleep yet. He tapped gently on the door. The maid woke with a shudder, but Nate put a finger to his lips and waved at her not to get up.

'Who is it?' a voice chirped from inside.

He opened the door and poked his head in.

'A great big pirate, come to steal you off to Africa!'

His fourteen-year-old sister, Tatiana, threw her book down, jumped off her bed and rushed over to the door.

'Oh, Nate!' she exclaimed, pulling him into the room. 'You're back! Oh, it's so-' She stopped in mid-sentence. 'You do know about… about Marcus?'

He nodded. She buried her face in his chest, wrapping her arms around him. Despite her ongoing attempts to act more like a lady, she could never contain her wild emotions. He found it as endearing as ever. Nate knew that Tatiana would never believe him capable of killing their brother and he drew great comfort from that. Tears were welling in her eyes when she pulled her face out to gaze up at him.

'I still can't believe it,' she said in a small voice. 'It's so terrible.'

Her forehead thumped back against his chest, mussing her wavy blonde hair.

'I know I should be grief-stricken. I've read all about how it should feel, and yet… I don't…' She sniffed. 'I should be so poorly that I must take to my bed. I'm supposed to be overcome with heartache. But I hardly feel anything, really. I mean, I feel sad that I don't feel sad, if you know what I mean… but… Oh, Nate.' She lifted her face to meet his eyes again, and whispered in a frightened voice, 'Do you think I'm evil?'

He smiled and took a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her eyes, brushing her blonde locks off her face.

'Of course you're not evil, Tatty. Don't be so melodramatic. You don't have a wicked bone in your body. You're just overwhelmed, that's all.'

'Thank God,' she breathed. 'I was so worried.' She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. 'Let's sit down. There's so much you have to tell me.'

They sat down together on the edge of her bed as they had done since they were children. Nate cast his eyes around the room, which was lit on either side by two small lamps with stained glass shades. Little had changed. There was the pink and gold floral wallpaper, the matching curtains and the ornately dressed four-poster bed that must be getting a bit small for Tatiana now. One corner was completely given over to her collection of porcelain dolls, with their fashionable dresses, and her favourite stuffed bears.

The roll-top desk where she spent so much of her time was littered with notepaper, pens and different-coloured bottles of ink. He knew all the letters he had written her would be tucked away safely in one of its drawers. The gifts he had sent from Africa – the wooden mask, the metal tusk of a berserker, and the short Zulu sword in its leather scabbard – had all been given pride of place on top of the desk.

'So, did you bring me back anything?' she asked, her attention having returned to less spiritual matters.

'Yes, of course,' Nate replied. 'But it's down with my luggage on the boat. I wanted to surprise everyone…' He paused. 'Clancy will be having my things brought up, but it's late. I'll have your present for you in the morning. You'll just have to wait until then.'

Tatiana gave an exaggerated moan and flopped back on the bed.

'Tell me what I've missed while I've been away,' he prompted her. 'How is your new governess?'

'She's a cow.'

'She can't be any worse than Mrs McKeever. You said she was a kraken sent from the depths of the sea to torment you.'

'This new one's much worse.'

'How can that be? Worse than the kraken? I don't believe it,' Nate scoffed theatrically.

'Mrs McKeever was ancient. She was bound to kick the bucket eventually. This new one can't be more than thirty years old. She won't die for years!

'You must never give up hope, Tatty.'

'Can't I have my present tonight?' she whined.

'No. Don't be such a spoiled brat. Tomorrow morning.'

Tatty gave another frustrated moan and thumped the bed.

'Very ladylike,' Nate told her. 'If you keep that up, I won't show you the monster either.'

'What?' Tatiana sat bolt upright.

'Didn't I mention that? Big brother caught a monster tonight.' Nate pretended to study his nails.

'Really? Like the ones in the zoo?' She clutched his sleeve.

'Better than those old things. I can ride this one. I've tamed it.'

She gaped.

'But you can't see that until the morning either,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Now you go to bed, and I'll see you before breakfast. And don't sit up late, reading – you'll strain your eyes. Go straight to sleep.'

'Oh please. I'll never sleep now! You're so mean!'

'It's for your own good,' he retorted as he opened the door, imitating their old nurse in one of her favourite phrases. 'You'll thank me in years to come.'

A pillow hit the door as he closed it behind him.

His room was on the next floor; he took the stairs up. His door was open, and Clancy was inside with Nate's trunks and cases from the ship. The manservant already had most of the clothes put away. There was a nightshirt laid out on the bed, which had been freshly made.

Apart from the new clutter, Nate's room was exactly as he had left it. It was still a boy's room, really; full of sporting trophies, framed daguerreotypes and lithographs of wild engimals; shelves of adventure books and penny dreadfuls. That would all have to change.

Clancy was looking over some of the shoes Nate had bought in Capetown, obviously unimpressed with the stitching. As he noticed his master, he stood up straight and gave a stiff bow of the head.

'Welcome home, Master Nathaniel. You're looking well. Africa seems to have suited you.'

There was pride in the older man's eyes. Nate was different now, a grown man, mature for his eighteen years. His shoulders filled his jacket and his body was strong and agile; his hands had been roughened by work that did not befit a gentleman, his skin darkened by long days in the sun.

Nate had known Clancy all his life; this short, ugly man had served as his manservant and bodyguard for several years, and had been Marcus's before that. Nate had done most of his martial training with him, including boxing and wrestling, fencing and shooting, as well as many of the other skills a young man needed in an increasingly complicated world. Clancy had been his mentor, his guide and his shadow as he grew into manhood, but Nate had left him behind when he had escaped his family to travel the world.

'Thank you, Clancy. It's good to be back.'

He sat heavily in one of the armchairs, feeling all the aches and bruises of his night's adventure. His tongue was slightly swollen, and the dull pain in his groin was still there.

'What would you like done with these, sir?' Clancy asked, pointing to a number of packages laid out on the floor.

'Just leave them.' Nate waved his hand dismissively. 'Just leave everything. It'll all wait till the morning.'

'Yes, sir.'

The man sensed that his master was not finished with him and so he hovered for a minute by the door.

'Clancy,' Nate said at last, 'if there is any word among the staff about… about my brother's death, you'll let me know, won't you? If you hear anything at all.'

'Of course, sir,' Clancy replied. 'Am I to take that to mean that you don't believe Master Marcus's death was an accident?'

With some of the predators in this family, Nate thought, you can't take any chances.

'It's just a feeling,' he said out loud. 'There's still too much I don't know. And now there's going to be the funeral too – it's going to bring all the dregs out of the woodwork. This house is full of people who'd do anything to-' Nate stopped himself. Sometimes he forgot that Clancy was only a servant. This was no business of his. Another thought occurred to him. 'What's the word on the rebels?'

'The family is facing a great deal of unrest in the countryside,' Clancy began, the faint Limerick accent just detectable beneath his cultured tones. 'After the Famine, and the failure of the last rebellion, people have grown ever more discontented with their lot. They are giving more sympathy to violent men. There is a new breed of rebel appearing, better organized this time, and there are rumours of funds and arms from America. But I've never believed that one should allow fear to dictate one's actions, sir. I think most people would rather talk out their differences than resort to violence.'

'Not in this family' Nate snorted. 'And Marcus's funeral is going to have everyone gathered together in one place – along with every important figure this side of the country. You're telling me the rebels wouldn't be tempted by that kind of target?'

'With the number of guns being carried at this funeral, sir,' Clancy replied, 'I think the rebels will be the least of your problems. Would you like me to arm the booby traps on the way out, sir?'

'Yes, please.' Nate nodded.

All the key members of the family had their bedroom doors and windows booby-trapped. It didn't pay to take chances. As he flopped back on the bed, Nate reflected on the fact that he had felt no need to take such precautions when he was away from home. After all, none of his relatives were in Africa at the time. He turned onto his side, intending to relax for a few minutes before undressing. But his exhaustion finally conquered him, and moments later he was drawn down into a deep but disturbed sleep.