Oisin McGann
Ancient Appetites
© 2007
Acknowledgements
I was never sure how this book was going to read, so I'd like to show my appreciation to all the people who helped me to see it from the outside. That goes particularly for my family: Mum, Kunak, Marek, Erika and Darius as well as Joe and Suzanne. I owe a special thanks to Maedhbh Rogan, for her sound advice, input and support throughout. I'm grateful to Conor Kostick, who checked over my peculiar portrayal of history – any mistakes or complete fabrications are entirely mine. Any really good ideas are mine also.
My agent, Sophie Hicks, continues to steer me through the world of international publishing with expert ease, ably assisted by Edina Imrik and the rest of the folks at Ed Victor Ltd. I'm indebted to all the book-loving people I've met on my travels, who've spoiled me rotten with their enthusiasm and educated me in so many different facets of this passionate industry.
Once again, the team at Random House made the production of this book a thoroughly enjoyable experience with their easy-going professionalism. Thanks particularly to the designer James Fraser for liking the same stuff I do and to Nicola Frame for shepherding me on the
Thanks to all of you.
Prologue
It was Gerald who said that the Beast of Glenmalure could be tamed, but it was Nathaniel who said that it would be. Gerald had plenty of time to regret his confident claim as he trudged up the hill after his cousin, constantly glancing around at every suspicious sound that pulled at his ears as they ascended through the trees. And to Gerald, every sound the forest made was suspicious. It took great self-control not to raise his double- barrelled shotgun at each crack or rustle. Nate glanced back to check on him every once in a while, noting with some small satisfaction that his cousin was struggling to keep up.
It was the last hour of dusk and it promised to be a bright night, but that would not help them. Mist hung in strands in the beech trees, and the higher up they went, the thicker it got. The woods around them were already a mottled mass of grey shadow. Nate had made it clear that they were not to use the lamps, and that they must wear earth colours to blend into the landscape. Their tweed suits and flat caps were of the latest cut – the finest money could buy; but Nate wore his with the carelessness that came from being born obscenely rich.
His well-worn boots sank into the soft turf. The soil was a thin skin over the mountain's rock skeleton, and there were grains of silvery-white granite in the mud, catching the last of the evening light.
'We'll follow the waterfall up when we meet the stream,' Nate said softly, pulling up his collar against the damp evening air; the moisture was already dripping from his blond hair and down his neck. 'It'll mask the sound of our approach.'
'And the sound of anything sneaking up on us too,' Gerald muttered.
'You insisted on coming.' Nate stopped and turned to him. 'I could have brought someone else.'
'I thought there'd be more of us,' Gerald replied with a scowl as he hefted the gun cradled in the crook of his elbow. 'There's safety in numbers. This thing maimed two men last week and sent another one home gibbering. It doesn't make sense to take it on alone. We need some more bodies – I mean, someone to carry the
They had driven a gig to the end of the road in the valley below, before tying up the horse and continuing the rest of the way on foot. Gerald was not accustomed to carrying heavy loads, and the straps of the bag on his back were biting into his shoulders. He resented being used as a pack animal; that was the whole point of having servants, after all. The gun was getting heavy too, but he had ignored Nate's demand that he leave it behind, so he wasn't going to mention it now.
'Are you going to moan the whole way up?' Nate asked.
'You could have brought Clancy.'
Nate looked back up the hill.
'This has nothing to do with him.'
Gerald rolled his eyes, finding it hard to believe that Nate still had issues with his manservant. Nate set off again, even faster than before, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack, and Gerald urged his tired legs after him. Nate was eighteen, his cousin a year and a half older, but they still shared a schoolboy competitiveness.
They had to cross an open area, the ground beneath the yellow grass damp and boggy after the recent rains. It was difficult to keep their feet from making squelching noises, and both of them kept their eyes anxiously on the tree line ahead, eager to get back under cover. At the edge of the trees they came upon a track, and followed it to where it met the stream that flowed down Fraughan Rock Glen, a steeply sloping valley pinched between two grassy cliffs.
Upstream there was a waterfall, with a rough, rocky path rising alongside it. The fog was getting heavier now; they could no longer see the tops of the hills against the sky. The creature could be anywhere out there. It could be a few yards away and they might not spot it until it was too late.
'This is where it was last seen,' Gerald panted, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. 'The men in the pub said there'd still be tracks.'
They both surveyed the surrounding land, looking for any movement, any lights or telltale sounds.
'I'm still not sure that three men in a pub is the best source of information on which to base a hunt,' Nathaniel grunted.
'You said you wanted local knowledge.'
'I was thinking more along the lines of someone who could
'Well, the last man who managed to find it had his leg broken in three places for his effort, so he won't be leading anyone anywhere for quite a while. Three men in a pub was the best I could do-What is it?'
Nate had stopped suddenly. Gerald looked round his shoulder at the spot on the ground that had seized his cousin's attention. There, in the soft ground near the base of the waterfall, was a single linear track, winding like a
