* * *
Ian’s fighting spirit roused, they left the mortuary and Mitchell directed them toward the hideout so they could check on McGregor’s progress translating the Book of Three. As he put it, “Might as well check on all your useless dead ends at once.”
Paddington had had more than enough of the Mainlander, and was out of the van and inside the hideout almost before Mitchell had unbuckled his seatbelt.
Skylar, formerly leaning against a wall, stood and aimed her rifle at Paddington, then lowered it and clicked the safety back on when she recognised him. She’d let her dark hair out of its usual ponytail and it cascaded around her shoulders.
“You should always wear your hair down,” Paddington said. She shot him a look of daggers, so he added, “What? I’m spoken for.”
“I thought she was missing…” Skylar said.
Paddington shrugged. “She’s still my girlfriend.”
“She’s a werewolf.”
“And she’s still my girlfriend,” he said. Mitchell arrived, so Paddington asked, “Anything interesting, doctor?”
McGregor blinked heavily. It didn’t look like he’d slept in the twelve hours since receiving the Book, and the absence of dishes or wrappers indicated he hadn’t eaten either. But he had covered the table with translations and notes.
“Too much,” McGregor said. “You couldn’t have stolen a thinner book, could you?”
“Next time the world’s ending, I’ll steal you something with pictures,” Paddington promised.
“Every time Idryo does anything, Enanti’s right behind Her trying to destroy it. There’s thousands of prophecies, always in pairs, with later ones contingent on earlier ones, and there’s lots of talk of Three Races, Three Brothers, Three Births, Three Ends, Three Everythings!”
“They certainly like their threes, the Three-God,” Mitchell said, taking Skylar’s spot on the wall.
McGregor glanced at him nervously. “I think I’ve worked out ‘the third night of the moon’ at least. We had a new moon last night, so the prophecy should come true tomorrow night.”
The Book of Three was very thick and there was only one McGregor. “That doesn’t give us a lot of time,” Paddington said.
“No. Especially since I still don’t know which Birth gives rise to which Race. Or what the births are! I did find— Where did I put it? Ah, here it is.” McGregor held up a piece of paper like a victory flag. “‘The Three Births are come from the three vital fluids.’ Whatever they are. I swear, this prophecy is deliberately convoluted!”
“Anything on how to kill them?” Mitchell asked. “Specifically the zombies?”
“The Book is stories, not instructions. The only bit about killing is the Three Ends; the only ways you can kill the Three Brothers.”
“What Three Brothers?” Mitchell asked, rubbing his forehead.
McGregor shuffled through his notes for the right sheaf of paper. “The ones in the prophecy on the Tree. The ‘Three from one came, and to one three shall return’.”
“The ones the demon is supposed to stop,” Paddington added.
“As far as I can tell,” McGregor said, “they’re like, uh, leaders of the Three Races.”
“So there’s an über-werewolf running around as well?” Mitchell asked. “Just what we need.”
“I think I know who they are,” Paddington said. McGregor looked up with shock and Mitchell with annoyance, like he’d been holding out on them again, so Paddington qualified. “At least, the Browns fit the ‘Three from one’ criterion. They’re identical triplets.”
“Monozygotic?” McGregor’s bearded mouth fell open. “Three people from one egg…”
“And… what?” Mitchell asked. “They’re going to return to one egg?”
“Who knows?” McGregor admitted. “We’re on an island run by vampires; anything’s possible.”
“Great.” Mitchell turned to Paddington. “And would these Browns try to destroy the world?”
“Deliberately? I doubt it,” Paddington said. “But they might well destroy it by accident. Even if they didn’t, Adonis would force them.”
McGregor nodded into the Book. “I say we get hold of one Brother, just in case. Whatever the prophecy means, it can’t happen if we have one of them.”
“Shouldn’t we take all of them?” Paddington asked.
“No!” McGregor said. “Don’t you watch films? If we get all the Brothers in one place we’ll probably fulfil the prophecy, and if we tell them about it they’ll think it’s their destiny and fulfil it for no good reason. One’s enough.”
“The eldest, Thomas, is with the duke,” Paddington said. “Richard’s closer to us than Harold.”
“What makes you think this is worth our time?” Mitchell asked. He hadn’t moved, and didn’t look like he was going to.
“Because they might not be infected yet,” Paddington said. “Even if you don’t think they’re going to end the world or become über, you could save their lives. Protect a couple of stupid little people.” Mitchell still looked undecided, so Paddington switched tactics. “Plus, Adonis wouldn’t want you to. You can throw a spanner in the works of the vampire who trapped you here.”
“Fine.” Mitchell nodded at McGregor. “Doctor, grab whatever you’ll need for your exam. No point protecting Richard if he’s already infected, is there?”
The four of them took the police van to Richard’s farm. It took some time to convince Richard that he was in danger – mostly because Richard kept asking about Lisa and leering – but eventually he said goodbye to his cattle and they proceeded to the station.
When they arrived, Andrea had gone. Thompson, Peterson, Normson, and Clarkson were standing guard at the interview room door, though Paddington wasn’t sure what they were guarding it against. Truman, presumably, because he was the only other one there.
“Where’s mumsie?” Mitchell asked, laying his rifle on her desk.
“She left to deal with the zombies,” Truman said.
Paddington stopped. His mother had gone into the fighting. He hadn’t even said goodbye to her. Would he ever see her again? Probably; he’d be in the thick of the fighting himself soon enough.
But would it be soon enough? Or would he be too late?
“Never seen the inside of the station before,” said Richard. “This gonna take long? Only my girls get lonely if I leave ’em.”
Paddington pulled himself back to now. “It’s for your protection,” he said, and led Richard into the interview room. Mitchell followed him. McGregor stayed outside and set up some sciency gear on Paddington’s desk.
“What do you know about the Three-God?” Mitchell asked.
Richard eyed the Mainlander, then shrugged. “Only what I heard as a boy. Haven’t been in a church in thirty years, though. What’s all this about?”
“A prophecy,” Mitchell said, “that you and your brothers are going to destroy the world.”
“I didn’t think that greenhouse gas thing was as bad as all that,” said Richard. “How big a difference can thirty cows make? Well, twenty-nine now that I sold off Delores.”
Paddington had a notepad out, but hadn’t written anything in it yet. He had a feeling he wouldn’t need to. Richard was a Brown, after all. “Richard, did you have any contact with the creature in your field?”
“No,” he said. “Well, I put a bullet in it, but that was from a distance. I’m a crack shot, you see. How’s this for my protection, Jim?”
Paddington wasn’t sure Richard needed protecting. He was a burly man, broad-shouldered and thick-armed. Combine that with being a crack shot and Richard would be very difficult to kill.
“What about foreign substances?” Paddington asked. “Have you encountered anything unusual lately?”
Richard shook his shaggy-haired head. “No.”
“That’s all for now,” he said. Richard watched them go, grinning strangely. Probably thinking of his cows again.
“What were you looking f
or, detective?” Mitchell asked Paddington.
It wasn’t worth telling Mitchell that he was looking for a method of infection – some way for Richard to become either a vampire, werewolf, or zombie – the Three Births, as McGregor had called them, so he just said, “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know what you’re looking for? Let me know if you find it, then.”
“At least I’m trying! What are you doing?”
McGregor, who’d been lurking a few feet away, approached. “Uh, captain, I had a thought about killing the zombies, but I’d need more information to confirm it.”
The vein on Mitchell’s neck was starting to stick out. That wasn’t a good sign. “And how do you propose,” Mitchell said, through his teeth, “we get more information?”
“You could just take… a… zombie?” McGregor trailed off.
“Not a bad idea,” Skylar said. Mitchell glared at her; he’d probably forgotten she was there. Either that or he liked his women seen but not heard. She continued, “We need to know what we’re fighting, sir. We could grab a zombie from the edge of the battle, clamp something over its mouth, and bring it back for McGregor to study. Better to rely on science than theology, eh sir?”
Paddington had been thinking about the Three Births, but the word “theology” burst in, reminding him of days stuck in classrooms hearing about all the old religious figures and their funny stories. He’d never heard anything about Three Births, but there were three stories about bodily fluids. Surely they wouldn’t be the three vital fluids the Book had mentioned. Would they?
Mitchell smiled at Skylar, suddenly and widely, baring his teeth. “Great idea. Off you go.”
She hesitated. “You’re not coming, sir?”
“Nope. This is your operation.” He beamed. “Best of luck with the hordes of undead.”
Paddington needed to get out of here before the idea slipped from his mind. Before he over-thought it or thought himself out of it. He pressed the van’s keys into Skylar’s hands and started away.
“Where do you think you’re off to?” Mitchell asked. A single glance to Clarkson and the soldier blocked his path to the main door.
The real answer would probably only upset Mitchell, so Paddington improvised. Again. “I have work to do,” he said without turning back. “Rather a lot, given the state of things.”
“We’ll see you later, yeah?” Mitchell said. It wasn’t a question, so Paddington didn’t respond. He had the impression there was no right answer anyway.