Ancient Appetites

velocycle jerked to the side and Nate missed, his leg coming down so hard he lost his balance and nearly fell over.

'Whash got into you?' he asked the engimal.

He tried to mount the velocycle again, but again it twisted out his way. Nate tried for a third time and this time he did fall over, landing clumsily in the mud.

'F' Godsshakes!' he roared, flailing around as he tried to stand up again. 'Stand still, damn you!'

'I don't think it wants… you riding it while… while you're drunk.' Gerald chuckled as he swayed back and forth on the saddle of his own engimal, taking his goggles from his coat pocket.

'I'll ride it when and where I like!' Nate bellowed. 'Oi'm in charge 'ere!'

'It looks it,' Gerald snorted. 'Get on the back here – I'll give you a lift. Otherwise you'll have to find a cab.'

'Right!' Nate snapped, giving Flash a petulant kick. 'You're in my bad books now. You'll just have to follow us home. And don't go chasing any bloody rabbits or the like. Stay right behind us, y'hear me?'

Flash looked subdued and a little hurt. It rubbed its front wheel up against Nate's leg.

'Don't start,' Nathaniel said to it. 'I'm really annoyed with you.'

He climbed on behind Gerald and pulled on his goggles. They rolled out into the street with Flash trailing behind. The city was empty and dark at this hour and Gerald smacked the side of his beast hard with his riding crop, egging it on through the deserted streets. Neither rider was in a fit state to be in the saddle, and with each corner they came dangerously close to falling off. With no stirrups to steady himself, Nate hung onto Gerald's waist and tried to hug the velocycle with his thighs. Gerald shouted at his machine, his voice loud and raw in the quiet night air.

The wind rose and the rain began to fall more and more heavily, until it was cascading down in a wall of spray that turned the night scene to brushstrokes in the light of the engimals' eyes. They crossed the Grand Canal and raced up Rathmines Road. Gerald leaned into a hard turn right on the muddy corner that led to Rathgar. The velocycle skidded, lost its footing and suddenly slid out from under them, sending them tumbling across the road.

It happened so fast that Nate barely had time to register he was falling before he found himself prostrate on the ground, the wind driven from his lungs. He sat up and winced, working his right shoulder, which felt as if it had been badly twisted. His coat sleeves were torn and the skin of his right palm was in ribbons, embedded with muck and small stones. His knees were in a similar state, visible through the rips in his trousers.

Gerald was on his knees, his hand to his mouth as if he were in danger of throwing up.

'Are you all right?' Nate asked him.

His cousin held up his other hand for a second.

'Got hit in the mouth by the handlebar,' he said at last, spitting out some blood onto the wet ground. 'Think I've lost a couple of teeth.'

'Oh, bad luck,' Nate said. 'Front ones?'

'No, no.' Gerald felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue. 'I'll keep my dashing good looks, thank God.'

The engimal was lying on its side, groaning, but didn't appear to be too badly injured. Flash coasted up and stopped beside Nathaniel. It uttered a worried gurgle.

'Don't give me any of your sympathy' he exclaimed, pushing at the velocycle. 'This is your fault and you know it.'

XIV

A GASPING BREATH

When they finally got back to the house, tired, filthy, sore and dishevelled, they went straight up to Gerald's rooms. He lit a couple of the gas-lamps and took some iodine and gauze out of a cupboard.

'We need to clean out your hand,' he said, ushering Nathaniel to a stool at an empty table. 'It could get infected. Are you hurt anywhere else?'

'Just a sore shoulder and some bruises. And I skinned my knees too. I'll put some coins on them before I go to bed.'

Nate was gripping a handkerchief to his injured palm and when he opened his fingers, the linen was stained with blood. Laying his hand on the table, he bit his lip as Gerald poured iodine over the torn flesh – causing it to sting like a flash-burn – and started to use a gold-tipped tweezers to painstakingly pick out the stones and bits of grit.

'Are you sure you're sober enough to be doing this?' he asked.

'Not really, no.'

Nathaniel looked around the room, searching for something to take his mind off his wounded hand. His eyes fell on the four shapes covered by sheets at the end of the room. The tweezers dug into his hand and he yelped.

'God Almighty! Can't you be a bit more careful?'

'Sorry.'

Nate drew a hissed breath in through his teeth as he felt the metal tips probing his damaged palm. The wind blew rain against the windows and there was a distant rumble of thunder.

'Let's have another look at your bog bodies then,' he said. 'I need a good laugh.'

'If you like.'

Gerald finished cleaning the wound and told Nate to rinse it under the tap before putting on a bandage. Then they walked down the half-lit room to the tables where the leathery bodies lay. Lifting off the sheets, they gazed at the distorted, flattened forms in silence. The room flashed – lightning turning everything to black and white for an instant. A glint of metal caught Nate's eye and he leaned over one of the male bodies, examining the right hand.

'Look,' he said. 'That's gold.'

On the ring finger of the hand was what appeared to be a misshapen signet ring. Nate took his bloodstained handkerchief and rubbed some of the dirt off it. He gasped at what he saw. The ring bore the Wildenstern crest. His father wore the same ring, given to him by his father before him. This corpse… this man, whoever he was, had been a Patriarch.

'Well, I'll be damned,' Gerald breathed.

There was another flash of lightning, making them blink. Nate saw another glint of metal; this time it came from between the dead man's bared teeth. Squeamish about touching the cadaver with his bare hands, he pressed down the teeth of the lower jaw and reached into the mouth with his hankie.

'There's something in here,' he whispered.

Sticking his fingers down into the throat, he felt a hard shape and pulled at it. It came away and he held it up, gripping it with his handkerchief. It was a grimy gold coin. They both exchanged looks and Nate peered into the mouth.

'There's more,' he said.

Sliding his hand in again, he pulled a second and then a third coin from the throat. The dead man's gullet was full of gold coins.

'He didn't do this himself Gerald muttered softly. 'Somebody stuffed those in. It might even have been what killed him. Imagine that! Imagine how much somebody would have to have hated him to ram gold down his throat…'

'And not take it out again when he was dead,' Nate finished for him.

Thunder cracked and rolled outside. Rain lashed against the glass, running down it in streams.

He could still see metal in there. Slipping his bare fingers between the teeth, he tried to reach it. The coin was far down in the throat, but he almost had it-