Connie groaned. Everyone was telling her to sit tight, but it did not seem right to her to put herself above the lives of the sea creatures and birds that would be affected in any disaster. What about Mew and her flock? She felt doubly responsible for them now that Scark was gone. How could she live with herself if she found Mew floating in oil on her doorstep? What about the people that worked for Axoil? What would she feel if another man went missing? Yet, with her family arriving and no one in the Society willing to take her out to the sirens, she did not have any choice for the moment but to act as if things were normal. Trips to see the sirens were completely off the menu.
Her parents and brother, Simon, arrived later that day to celebrate Christmas with Connie and Evelyn. Simon was moving to a new boarding school in England after the holidays, having been expelled from his school in Manila because of a mysterious incident with a snake. This development had necessitated the sudden change of Christmas plans, but neither her parents nor Simon were forthcoming about the details. Connie wondered if Simon was growing more like her as he got older—she could certainly relate to someone having wildlife problems in the classroom.
It was odd to fall back into her everyday role of daughter and older sister after spending the autumn getting accustomed to her new identity as the only universal. It did her good not to worry about the future, her time being totally taken up by shopping for Simon’s new uniform with her mother, rambling with her dad and brother, and eating together as a family every evening. She suppressed her worries about the sirens and Kullervo, trying to maintain a convincing performance for her parents that she was behaving perfectly normally and nothing out of the ordinary ever happened in Hescombe.
Evelyn was on her best behavior with her brother’s family, keeping her eccentricities well hidden, even managing to seem interested when Connie’s mom, her brunette hair flawlessly arranged, nails manicured, and clothes coordinated, attempted a conversation about fashion and makeovers. Connie, knowing them both well, could tell that her mom was trying to drop her sister-in-law a heavy hint that she could do with some attention in the style department, but Connie also knew that Evelyn was too thick-skinned to notice the implied criticism. In any case, Connie had long ago decided her aunt’s eccentric style did not need any alteration.
Mr. Lionheart, a giant of a man with a mane of black hair, which he kept tamed with copious amounts of hair gel, questioned Connie closely about her activities with the Society while they strode the coastal path together. He seemed reassured by the description of riding lessons.
“I even learned some geology,” Connie added, keeping her back firmly to the Stacks, visible from the headland. That impressed her father: any society that kept children to their studies, even on the weekends, was sure to get his approval.
On Christmas Eve, Evelyn volunteered to cook them a special supper. The Lionhearts were gathered around the kitchen table, which was decorated with white candles, a pyramid of sweet-scented tangerines, and a vibrant red poinsettia in a gold pot. Connie’s father beamed jovially at everyone, having already downed a generous gin and tonic, and reminisced with Evelyn about Christmases when they were children. Connie’s mom listened politely, but her attention was really taken up with the maddening disorder that was her sister-in-law’s countertop—old glass bottles and mismatched cups piled haphazardly in front of cracked plates. From time to time, as distressing burning smells wafted to her from the stove, she wrinkled her nose and fidgeted in her seat, finding it difficult to resist the temptation to interfere with Evelyn’s culinary endeavors. Simon slumped on his elbows, disappearing, like the dormouse in the teapot, into the hood of his favorite sweater—a garment that he refused to be parted with unless his mother wrestled it from him to wash. The smell of freshly singed salmon attracted Madame Cresson into the kitchen. She leapt on to Simon’s knee and put her paws on the table.
Alarmed at such flagrant evidence of her peculiar household, Evelyn spoke sternly to the cat: “Leave the table immediately!” Madame Cresson merely glowered at her.
“Go on, cat. Do as you are told,” said Simon, pushing her gently away. To Connie and her aunt’s surprise, Madame Cresson obeyed without a murmur and slid out of the cat flap. Unless Connie asked her, the cat rarely did as she was told. Connie and her aunt exchanged a meaningful look.
“You’ve got quite a way with animals, Simon,” Evelyn said, keeping her tone even, while turning the fish over in the frying pan.
“I s’pose I have. It’s been like that this year. They seem to like me now that Connie’s not around so much,” Simon said.
“What? All animals, Si, or just cats?” Connie asked, trying to hide her excitement. Simon was looking a bit embarrassed; he knew his dad was not fond of this kind of talk.
“Dunno really,” he muttered. Then, changing the subject, he said, “I like your friend Col. He’s cool. And having your own horse—and a boat!”
“Don’t you get big ideas,” his dad butted in. “No room for a horse at your new school.”
“Well, if Simon wants to spend some of his break with us here,” Evelyn slipped in quickly, “I’m sure Col will let him ride his horse. Don’t you think so, Connie?”
“Oh yes!” Connie agreed, knowing what her aunt was thinking. If they could spend some time with Simon, they could see if he would be a likely candidate for undergoing an assessment. Not with Ivor Coddrington though, Connie made a mental note.
“That would be very kind of you, Evelyn,” said Mrs. Lionheart, “but you’ve already taken on so much with Connie....”
“It would be no trouble at all,” Evelyn replied quickly, shoveling the charred salmon onto plates and slapping them down in front of her guests.
“Well, we’ll see how things go during term,” said Mr. Lionheart, giving his supper a doubtful stare. “You never know, Simon may want to stay with some new friends. After what happened in Manila, it’s perhaps best he mixes with normal people.”
That night, Connie could not keep her mind on anything but her little brother. Could he have the gift too? If so, it should be kept very quiet, or he would be in danger. What likelihood was there that there would be any members of the Society on hand to help at his boarding school? With a new worry to add to her existing problems, Connie spent a restless night, plagued by a series of dreams in which she was running after Simon as he bounded away from her like a cat. All the while she was aware of a shadow in close pursuit, threatening to overtake her and swallow them both up.
On New Year’s Eve, Connie was in her bedroom preparing for a party over at Jane’s when a headache exploded in her temples with completely unexpected ferocity. She sat down on the bed abruptly.
“What’s the matter, darling?” asked her mother. She had come up to help choose an outfit for her daughter and was half-buried in the wardrobe in the vain hope of finding something that she thought pretty. “Your face is as white as a sheet.”
“Headache,” croaked Connie, hands clutched to her temples.
Mrs. Lionheart came over to the bed and smoothed Connie’s hair off her forehead. “Migraine, I expect. I used to get them all the time at your age. Nothing to do, I’m afraid, but lie in a darkened room and wait for it to pass.”
“But the party...”
“You’re certainly not going out in this state. I’ll stay with you.” Mrs. Lionheart gave a resigned pat to her own newly styled hair.
“No, don’t do that,” said Connie. She knew her mother had been looking forward to the party all day. “Look, I’ve got my phone. I can call if I need anything. The Lucases next door can keep an eye on me. I’ll sleep it off.”
“All right. If you’re sure. I’ll come back early to check on you.” Connie’s mother smiled and stroked her daughter’s cheek. “I hope you feel better soon. I’ll bring up some painkillers.”
Pills taken but head still pounding, Connie buried herself in her pillow. Through the fog of pain, the next thing she heard were raised voices in the hall.
“I thin
k I should stay.” That was Evelyn.
“No, no, Connie was most insistent that we all go. She’ll call if there’s a problem.”
“But—”
“Evelyn, do you really think I don’t know my own daughter? She’ll be fine. All she needs is sleep. I’ll pop back later to see how she’s doing. I’ve already spoken to your very nice neighbor; she’ll look in to check on her.”
“But—”
“We can hardly go on our own to these Benedicts, Evelyn,” Connie’s father said gruffly. “Don’t even know them. It’d be terribly rude not to go this late in the day.”
“I suppose—”
“Well, that’s settled then. Let’s go or we’ll be late.”
The house seemed very quite now that her family had finally gone. The wind was picking up. The hot water pipes creaked and gurgled. Her bedroom was very dark. Despite her headache, Connie began to wish she hadn’t refused her mother’s company tonight. It was not a night to sit in shadows. She switched on the bedside light and leafed through Col’s present of The Odyssey—but that was no good: it only reminded her that she hadn’t succeeded in getting back out to the sirens again. Casting it aside, she turned on her radio for company.
“Attention, all shipping. There are warnings of gales in Sole, Plymouth, Portland, and Wight. Severe gales and blizzard conditions expected soon along the south coast.”
The mention of the approaching storm unsettled her for some reason. She did not know when Kullervo would strike. What if it were tonight? But then, what could she do? She had been forbidden to go out to the sirens, and her head was pounding. She was having difficulty even thinking straight.
There was a tap on the window. Looking out into the darkening skies, she saw Mew perched on the ledge, her feathers ruffled by the strong wind. Connie’s heart gave a lurch, recognizing that this was the sign she had been waiting for. Opening the window quickly, she let in an icy blast and one cold seagull. Mew hopped on to her dressing table and began to flutter her wings, sounding her earsplitting wail.
“What brings you here?”
Mew screeched insistently, aggravating her headache with her penetrating cry.
“Do you have news?”
The bird tapped her foot. “What about? About the sirens?”
Tap.
“They’re up to something?”
Tap.
“Okay, okay. Calm down—let me think.”
Connie stroked Mew’s head thoughtfully as she started to put the pieces of the puzzle into place. Mew thought something big was about to happen. Slowly Connie made the connections. The buzzing in her head? She’d felt this before. Hadn’t it happened long ago—the day before her assessment and her visit to the sirens? The trip to the Stacks was the first time she heard about Kullervo. But he had known about her before that. Perhaps even then he had been closer than she thought? So was it really a headache? It might be a warning. What if Kullervo was nearby? Was there a mythical creature in the area, a hostile one trying to disable her with its presence? If so, then she should be able to clear her head by practicing with the universal’s shield. Closing her eyes for a moment, she steadied her mind and mentally drew a picture of a round shield. Slowly raising it, she waited. The buzzing faded as if someone had turned down the sound on a radio. She had her answer.
What creature had caused the noise in her head? She had a residual impression of a swirling being, foggy and cold. She then remembered the weather forecast: the approaching storm—how could she have been so dim?—it must be the work of a weather giant! Kullervo had timed his attack to perfection. Shielded by his most potent ally, he had broken out of hiding and was heading into Hescombe. Was he intent on punishing her for her refusal to join him? Perhaps he planned to have his revenge by goading the sirens to wreck the first tanker they could find right outside the universal’s front door? That would be like him. But if so, that meant the sirens were going to act without coming to her first. Yet what could she do to prevent them? The answer was obvious. Kullervo would expect her to be kept at home by the Society since his attack on her. He wouldn’t anticipate that she would try to stop him. How little he knew her. She wasn’t about to turn in meekly for the night when lives were at stake. He’d already claimed Scark’s life; he wasn’t going to take any more if she could help it.
She grabbed her phone and punched in a number.
“Col—it’s Connie. I have news.” She could hear a babble of voices in the background—he must be at Jane’s party, too. She quickly told him what she knew. “Look, Col, you know that I’m the only one who can deal with the sirens, so I’ll have to go out to them. I’ve got to try and stop them. I’ll need you to take me there. Will you do it?”
Col, at the other end of the phone, was thinking rapidly. “But I thought the Trustees told you not to go out to them?”
“Col, I can’t sit by while the sirens do this—I just can’t. Look, I’ve had more training since I last met Kullervo—I’m better prepared. I’ve got to do this. Please help me.”
Col hesitated. He had let Connie down once before when she had needed him; he did not want to do that again, but he also didn’t want to rush into danger without taking sensible precautions. “Connie, I’ll take you, but we need help—we can’t cope with Kullervo and the sirens on our own,” he said. “I’ll tell your aunt what you said—she can fetch Dr. Brock and the others.”
“What about the ships? What if there’s a tanker out there right now? I can’t see the sirens letting such prey slip past them with Kullervo to egg them on. Shouldn’t we try to warn the company, or the coastguard, someone at least?”
“Look, Jane and Anneena are here. I’ll see if I can think of something to put them on the watch without letting them know too much. I’m sure Rupa will help. It’s going to be difficult getting any attention for a disaster that hasn’t happened yet, but it’s worth a try.”
“Col, whatever you do, don’t tell my parents what we’re up to. They wouldn’t understand and they’d certainly try to stop me.”
“Perhaps I should stop you,” said Col grumpily, “but I’ve got a feeling you’d never forgive me if I tried.”
“You’re right.”
Ending the call, Connie pulled on some thicker clothes and bundled herself up in waterproof outerwear: it would not be fun going out in Water Sprite on a night like tonight. Mew cried to be released, so she let the gull out of the window. The bird disappeared into the squally darkness. Connie dashed downstairs to grab her boots, hopping across the hall in her haste to get them on. Slamming the back door behind her, she ran down the street, slipping several times on the ice until she made herself go more slowly. Snow was falling, not in gentle fat flakes, but stinging grit-like fragments of ice driven into her face by the wind. She clambered on board Water Sprite and tried her best to get it ready for sea; a few minutes later, Col joined her.
“The others are coming,” he panted as he jumped down into the boat beside her. “Your aunt’s furious, of course. She’ll skin you when she catches up with you. Your parents are in the dark as instructed. Mr. Benedict was starting them on his homebrew as I left, so I think they’re safe for a few hours.”
“What about Axoil?”
Col gave a grim smile. “I’ve told Anneena and Jane that Dad’s had a tip-off from the union that the company’s using the holiday to take away the faulty machinery without anyone noticing. I told them that if they took Rupa with them, they should be able to catch Axoil red-handed. It’s the best I could do.”
“Got some ear protectors?” Connie asked. He nodded and cast off.
As soon as the boat left the harbor, Connie began to have second thoughts. The sea was heaving, whipped up by the approaching storm into angry hills of water. Rags of clouds scudded across the sickly moon, driven by the relentless wind as if fleeing some danger hidden in the darkness. The little boat was having difficulty making headway.
“Will she manage this?” she shouted to Col.
“Yeah, she’ll we
ather it,” he said confidently. “Stay in the cabin—I don’t want to lose you overboard to a rogue wave.”
Painfully, the boat plowed its way across the short stretch of water between the harbor and the Stacks. Connie began to worry about what she would do when they reached them; no one could land on the Stacks without wings, and with all the noise created by the storm, could she attract the sirens’ attention? She would have to feel for their presence like she had for Morjik, but, with the interference from the other presences, that was going to be doubly difficult. Taking some calming breaths, she tried to focus on her shield, imagining herself holding up a bright, shining silver one, engraved with the points of the compass. The shield held; the buzzing disappeared and her head was clear again. All she had to do now was hold them off so that she could use the sword when she got closer.
A thump on the cabin door alerted her to their arrival. She poked her head out, only to receive a faceful of spray as a wave crashed against the side of the boat. Col was already wearing his scarlet ear protectors.
“Can’t get any closer,” he shouted. “Too risky!”
Wiping the salt from her stinging eyes, Connie saw that they were about 200 feet from the Stacks. The sea was lashing against the rocks, battering them hard. Closing her eyes, Connie concentrated on the song of the sirens, trying to remember its peculiar quality, its particular curves and dives. The creatures were there—she could tell—but they were not listening to her. Beyond their song, she sensed a dark presence enveloping them, drowning their will in his to bring about destruction.
“Gull-wing!” Connie whispered. “Feather-breath!” But there was no answering call: Gull-wing and her sisters were drunk with the new song of death and devastation Kullervo was teaching them and had no time for the soft harmonies of a human companion.
Opening her eyes, Connie tapped Col on the shoulder. “It’s too late,” she mouthed. “He’s already here.”