Nanowrimo 2016, Prologue, part 8
An Dannsa Sìth
Ro-ràdh : roinn a h-ochd : Càin a dh'Ifrinn (Tithe to Hell)
Madame Dobransky didn't release her grip on Jace's arm even as she sank down into her seat, forcing him to sit in chair beside her. The others filed in, taking chairs around the table from which they had obviously risen a short time before. The old lady turned her head, pinpointing the three academics in their turn. Excluding the Senator.
"Well?" she said, sounding gleeful, like a wilful child anticipating some treat.
Senator Buckminster sniffed, shook his head and opened his mouth to answer. Madame's head jerked toward him, a terrible scowl upon her face. She pointed a gnarled finger at the Senator and snapped, "Glass grub!"
That was what it sounded like to Jace and as insults went, it was a new one to him. Apparently the Senator as well. His mouth snapped shut and he looked surprised. The other woman, Dr. Collins, jerked upright in her seat, scandalized.
"Madame!" she responded sharply, reproving the old dame.
Madame Dobransky tossed her head, scoffing something that sounded like, "Eh, gavdohokar, Maggie. He's had his chance and he'll have it again, but he has no part in this now. The boy passed. He proved himself an acceptable candidate and I say we should let him in." Despite the assurance of the words themselves, she spoke mendaciously, expecting argument, and she got it.
The dark-haired younger academic, Dr. Majors, objected. "It wasn't a fair test. He said it himself, he's been under a great deal of stress lately. We all know that physical and emotional exhaustion can skey the results." He shifted his gaze to Dr. Campbell, regarding him steadily as he stated, "The offer was premature. I say we test him further."
"And I disagree with you," Dr. Campbell replied levelly. "I think it was fairly done and fairly passed." He deliberately looked toward Jace, meeting his eyes with a smile, patient, calm, accepting. Holding Jace's gaze with his own, he continued addressing his companions.
"He showed preserverance, a certain native skeptism, and the ability to think rationally despite the pressures of exhaustion and aggravation. When confronted with the impossible, he devised theories, tested them and abandoned each when they failed his tests. He confronted his fears and faced them. What more can we ask for in a candidate."
Senator Buckminster slapped a hand down on the table, his eyes bulging though no sound emerged from his lips. Madame Dobransky regarded him with disfavour, starting to raise her hand but Dr. Collins lay her own upon it and forced the old lady to return her hand to the table with a small shake of the head. She sniffed but complied.
"Oh come on, Stuart. You know that's the normal reaction to paranormal events. It proves nothing."
"It proves everything," Dr. Collins contradicted. "Normal reaction is to create so-called rational explanations, it's true, but they leave it at that, satisfied that they have explained the impossibility away. Mr. Walker tested his premises. Stuart is right, he is acceptable."
The room was getting colder. Jace had thought it comfortable enough when he first went in, but there was a chill from somewhere, one of the windows, perhaps, that was snaking up his back, sending a shiver down his spine.
Madame Dobransky thumped her cane on the floor, hard enough to rattle the table slightly, even though it was a heavy carved dining room table, not a flimsy one one would expect in a conference room.
She followed that with a loud, disdainful snort. "Imph! If we do not accept him and protect him, the incursions will increase, the gates will be forced open against us, and we will be overwhelmed. Civilization will descend into barbarism, ignorant superstition, men terrified anew of the night, prey to every dark creature they can imagine." She paused, then added with an off-hand shrug, "And the old goat likes him."
Jace hugged himself, looking around at the others, wondering why they didn't seem to be feeling it as well. Maybe they didn't. Maybe they were used to the drafts and knew enough to avoid sitting in them. He thought longingly of his coat, left behind in the other room. He wondered if they would let him go retrieve it, eyed the soldier at the door and thought the better of asking.
Dr. Collins shook her head, not disagreeing exactly, more like resigned amusement. "We shouldn't be using the Professor as a ... a litmus test of suitability. I've said it before and I'm saying it now, it is an insult to his memory to use him so."
. . .
Immediately after saying that, Dr. Collins stiffened, with surprise. She jerked her head around, staring at an empty chair, pulled slightly out from the table, as if someone had just gotten up and left it that way until their return.
"Professor? What are you doing here? How are you here?"
. . .
Dr. Campbell looked from his colleague to the empty chair and back, looking surprised. And excited.
"The Professor is here? Now? How is that possible? Madame?"
One corner of Jace's mind, the only part not occupied with the misery of slowly freezing to death, had to admired their acting ability. Jace could almost believe that they'd been joined by some invisible person. He shivered, hunched his shoulders closer to his ears.
Madame Dobransky eyed Jace with a thoughtful frown. She raised her head, looking toward the soldier at the door.
"Grioff, dear boy, what does the thermometer read?"
"Sixty-five, ma'am."
Jace shook his head convulsively. Sixty-five? It couldn't be. No, it had to be colder.
He looked around, nobody else seemed to feeling any chill. Maybe it was him. Maybe he shouldn't have left the hospital so soon.
Madame wasn't finished. "Would you please take a reading over here, then. Right here next to young Mr. Walker."
The soldier used some sort of gun device, pointing and shooting and reading off a screen at the top. "Fifty-eight, ma'am."
Madame compressed her lips, glaring at the empty chair. As she slipped the shawl off her shoulders, she said sternly, "You are drawing energy from the young man, Winton. You should return immediately to your fire." She draped the shawl over Jace, tucking it around him, her attention fixed on the chair across the table.
. . .
Her eyes narrowed. "Get you gone, you old goat!" she commanded.
. . .
"Grioff, dear, be a darling boy and fetch a hot chocolate for Mr. Walker. He's quite chilled through and through thanks to that old goat of a man."
The soldier hesitated. "Major?"
Huddled into the old lady's shawl, trying to desperately to feel warm again, Jace didn't remember who 'Major' would be but the soldier nodded sharply and left, returning immediately. Empty-handed.
A few minutes later, however, the receptionist appeared, carrying a steaming mug which she placed in front of Jace. He tried to pick it up, but his hands were shaking too badly for him to manage. She knelt down beside him, held the mug up to his lips so he could drink.
She looked up to her elders, demanding, "What happened to him? What did you do?"
"The professor joined us," Dr. Collins said.
Dr. Campbell spoke simultaneously, saying, "Spectrally induced hypothermia. I've heard of it, of course, but I've never seen an actual case." He half rose out of his seat, unable to sit with excitement and urgency. "We have to test this but first, we need to record this instance, in case it never happens again." He turned to Dr. Collins. "We know when you first noticed him, Maggie. We can get that moment off the tape." Dismissing his fellow academic now that was satisfied, he looked to Jace.
"When exactly did you start feeling.... No, no no no. Putting the cart before the horse. What did you feel, exactly? Sensations of cold? Well, obviously, but what else? Cold chills up and down your spine? Goose-bumps? An odd inexplicable shiver all over? When did it start? What did you notice first?"
The questions came hard and fast, the words almost stumbling over one another with the speed with which Dr. Campbell posed them. Jace wanted to answer. He wanted to know what was wrong with him even more passionately than the doctor did, but he couldn't answer. He didn't know. His brain wasn't working. He couldn't think.
The old lady came to his rescue once again. She thumped her cane on the floor, calling to order.
"Stuart! Enough! Compose yourself. This young man is in not fit state for an inquisition."
Beside him, Alys Liddleton murmured softly, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition."
A laugh surprised Jace, caught in his throat, causing him to swallow a mouthful of hot cocoa the wrong way and triggering a fit of coughing. The next few minutes were a confusion of choking, having a glass of water shoved at him, being thumped - painfully - on the back, reminding him of the damage to his ribs and shoulder. And someone somewhere was rhythmically drumming on the table.
That someone was Senator Buckminster, looking alarmed, worried, anxious.
Madame Dobransky huffed impatiently, flicked on finger at the man with a curt word, "Upper!"
Senator Buckminster cleared his throat, coughed experimentally, then asked. "What's wrong with him. What have you done? I brought him here because I thought you could help us get my son back, but not if it kills Jace in the process."
Dr. Collins rose to her feet, facing the Senator.
"Mr. Walker is coughing because he swallowed the wrong way." She glanced down, checking that he was out of danger. The Senator seized upon that brief distraction.
"Before that! Why is he so cold? What happened to him?"
In an apparent change of subject, Dr. Collins asked in a conversational tone, "Senator, did you read the medical records of Mr. Walker's case before you brought him away from the hospital?"
"I ... ahhh...."
She didn't really give him a chance to answer, continuing to speak.
"He was admitted suffering from extreme hypothermia. If the ambulance that took him to the hospital hadn't been equipped with a warming blanket, he would have died before he arrived, he was that cold. There were signs that he had undergone rapid weight loss, as much as fifteen pounds, compared to his last recorded weigh-in. That was taken initially as evidence that he had spent the last six weeks imprisoned and badly treated."
"What does this have to do with what just happened?" the Senator demanded, sounding more bewildered than angry. Jace quite agreed. It didn't seem connected.
Dr. Campbell moved to stand beside Dr. Collins. He started speaking a split second before her.
"Senator, you know what we do here. The Special Response Unit is headquartered here in Dobransky House because Dobransky House is haunted. The ghost of Professor Winton-Smythe haunts the library across the hall; he draws energy for his haunting from the fire that is kept burning. Up until today he has been confined to the library, unable to leave the place wherein he passed away. Somehow, today he was able to join us here, in the Parlour."
"From the symptoms he displayed, it seems likely that Mr. Walker provided the necessary energy for that transition. In essence, his life force, his heat, replaced the energy provided by burning wood in the fireplace in the other room allowing the Professor to break the confines of his existence and join us."
"He could have been killed!" Senator Buckminster yelled. "I want my son back, Campbell, but I'm not willing to trade Jace's life for his."
"Aren't you? Isn't that what you were planning?"
Surprisingly, it was Alys Liddleton who spoke. Jace had recovered sufficiently that he could hold the cup himself, but he started when she rose up from beside him. He would have spilled hot cocoa if he hadn't already emptied half the cup.
Alys faced the Senator, tall and queenly. The lilt of her accent was stronger, almost musical, bringing to mind images of warm breezes and tribal drums.
"I can see the curse upon you, mon. A family curse, drawing strength through the ages, stretching back through the generations. Your family. They have always thrived, even when they should not have. Growing stronger, prevailing, growing rich, growing powerful. You know, do you not? You know why this is so."
"When the bill comes due, the rent is paid. One son, the eldest, the heir, the shining hope, taken to continue the good life for all the rest. This is the reason you have brought Jace Walker to us, Senator. Not some altruistic benefice. "
She stepped around the table, slowly approaching the Senator. He stood, watching, horror growing over his expression.
"He was to be the sacrifice this generation, was he not? A scapegoat. A proxy. A whipping boy for you own offspring. You selected him personally, Senator Buckminster. You groomed him, educated him, forged the bonds of gratitude. Forged a relationship with him. Hoped to deceive those with whom the contract was made, all those centuries back. Hoped they would take Jace Walker and leave your boy behind."
She was crowding him close now. He backed away, hands up to ward her off, shaking his head, trying to deny the accusation, muttering, "No. No. It's not like that. It wasn't ... I didn't ...."
It was as if she didn't hear him. Her voice continued, soothing, lilting, unstoppable.
"Perhaps they were confused, Senator. Perhaps that is why both were taken. But Jace Walker has protections your son lacks. Powers that watch over him. Powers on whom he can call. They heard him call. They sent succour."
She stopped, seemed to focus on the Senator, as if for the first time. She sounded angry as she snapped, "And now you would send him back, would you, Senator? In the vain hope that that would bring your son back to you? Tell the truth, mon, now if no other time. Would you or would you not trade Jace Walker for your son?"
He took another step backwards, hit the wall. It seemed to give him strength, helped him regain his nerve. He drew upon himself to answer, defiantly.
"Yes! God help me but yes! I want my son back. I would do anything to get him back. But I swear... " His focus shifted, settling on Jace, pleading, desperate. "... it wasn't like that, ever. I didn't ... I did not deliberately select you for ... for this. It wasn't my plan at all. I liked you Jace. I thought you were a fine young man and I really wanted Buck to ... to come to appreciate you. To be more like you, I guess."
Not seeing what he hoped to find in Jace's expression, he widened his appeal, speaking to them all. "I didn't know anything about ... about any of this until after it happened. After the New Year, when the boys had been missing for several days already. I received a ... a note. It appeared in my office, on my desk. It told me that the terms of the contract had been met and extended the contract for the next period. I didn't understand. I swear it, I didn't know what it was talking about."
"It directed me to where I could find the original contract. In a vault at the lodge, written by hand on parchment paper. I couldn't read it, the letters were ... oddly shaped. But I didn't have to. It had already been translated."
"There was a letter with the contract. Modern, relatively speaking. My great-grandfather. He explained ... everything. He'd just learned of its existence of the contract himself, his eldest son had gone missing on that damned mountain. He wanted to make sure that we, that the family, never had to go through that again."
He sighed, looked down at the table, unable to meet any of their eyes as he forced out the rest.
"His solution was the Buckminster scholarship fund. Like she said, find a worthy young man, educate him as a gentleman, bring him into the family. Someone, he didn't say who, had advised him that ... that this might work. That they ... whoever they are ... might take the foster for the son."
Raising his head, he braced himself to face Jace again.
"I'm sorry, son. I swear, I didn't know."
"Don't call me 'son'," Jace snapped. "I have a father."
Dr. Collins cleared her throat, drawing attention to herself. She had resumed her seat at the table, had a book out and open before her. With a gesture, she invited them all to sit, including Alys Liddleton when the student would have slipped away.
"There is still a chance that we can retrieve young master Buckminster, without trading Mr. Walker for him, but it does depend on Mr. Walker's nerve and daring, and his cooperation." She met the Senator's suddenly hopeful gaze squarely as she added, "And it will void your family compact. You may lose all your money, land and influence. Are you willing to risk that?"
There was no hesitation in his response. "Yes! Of course!"
Dr. Collins shifted her focus back to Jace.
"Mr. Walker? Are you willing? There is a very significant danger to yourself but I suspect you are the only one who can do it."
Jace took a few minutes to consider the question. No matter how he examined the situation, there was only one answer.
"Yeah," he sighed, resigned. "Buck may be an ass and his father a bigger one, but he doesn't deserve this."
"Then let me read you an account of something similar that happened long ago. It will give you an idea of what will be expected of you."
The Senator started to bluster, wanting them to immediately set out to rescue Buck, but he broke off his protests under the lash of Madame Dobransky's displeasure.
"This account appeared in print in 1910, collected from oral tradition by the Reverend James MacDougall. He called it "The Two Neighbours and Their Hogmanay Whisky."
She began to read.