Ancient Appetites

'But you can't see that until the morning either,' he said, getting to his feet. 'Now you go to bed, and I'll see you before breakfast. And don't sit up late, reading – you'll strain your eyes. Go straight to sleep.'

'Oh please. I'll never sleep now! You're so mean!'

'It's for your own good,' he retorted as he opened the door, imitating their old nurse in one of her favourite phrases. 'You'll thank me in years to come.'

A pillow hit the door as he closed it behind him.

His room was on the next floor; he took the stairs up. His door was open, and Clancy was inside with Nate's trunks and cases from the ship. The manservant already had most of the clothes put away. There was a nightshirt laid out on the bed, which had been freshly made.

Apart from the new clutter, Nate's room was exactly as he had left it. It was still a boy's room, really; full of sporting trophies, framed daguerreotypes and lithographs of wild engimals; shelves of adventure books and penny dreadfuls. That would all have to change.

Clancy was looking over some of the shoes Nate had bought in Capetown, obviously unimpressed with the stitching. As he noticed his master, he stood up straight and gave a stiff bow of the head.

'Welcome home, Master Nathaniel. You're looking well. Africa seems to have suited you.'

There was pride in the older man's eyes. Nate was different now, a grown man, mature for his eighteen years. His shoulders filled his jacket and his body was strong and agile; his hands had been roughened by work that did not befit a gentleman, his skin darkened by long days in the sun.

Nate had known Clancy all his life; this short, ugly man had served as his manservant and bodyguard for several years, and had been Marcus's before that. Nate had done most of his martial training with him, including boxing and wrestling, fencing and shooting, as well as many of the other skills a young man needed in an increasingly complicated world. Clancy had been his mentor, his guide and his shadow as he grew into manhood, but Nate had left him behind when he had escaped his family to travel the world.

'Thank you, Clancy. It's good to be back.'

He sat heavily in one of the armchairs, feeling all the aches and bruises of his night's adventure. His tongue was slightly swollen, and the dull pain in his groin was still there.

'What would you like done with these, sir?' Clancy asked, pointing to a number of packages laid out on the floor.

'Just leave them.' Nate waved his hand dismissively. 'Just leave everything. It'll all wait till the morning.'

'Yes, sir.'

The man sensed that his master was not finished with him and so he hovered for a minute by the door.

'Clancy,' Nate said at last, 'if there is any word among the staff about… about my brother's death, you'll let me know, won't you? If you hear anything at all.'

'Of course, sir,' Clancy replied. 'Am I to take that to mean that you don't believe Master Marcus's death was an accident?'

With some of the predators in this family, Nate thought, you can't take any chances.

'It's just a feeling,' he said out loud. 'There's still too much I don't know. And now there's going to be the funeral too – it's going to bring all the dregs out of the woodwork. This house is full of people who'd do anything to-' Nate stopped himself. Sometimes he forgot that Clancy was only a servant. This was no business of his. Another thought occurred to him. 'What's the word on the rebels?'

'The family is facing a great deal of unrest in the countryside,' Clancy began, the faint Limerick accent just detectable beneath his cultured tones. 'After the Famine, and the failure of the last rebellion, people have grown ever more discontented with their lot. They are giving more sympathy to violent men. There is a new breed of rebel appearing, better organized this time, and there are rumours of funds and arms from America. But I've never believed that one should allow fear to dictate one's actions, sir. I think most people would rather talk out their differences than resort to violence.'

'Not in this family' Nate snorted. 'And Marcus's funeral is going to have everyone gathered together in one place – along with every important figure this side of the country. You're telling me the rebels wouldn't be tempted by that kind of target?'

'With the number of guns being carried at this funeral, sir,' Clancy replied, 'I think the rebels will be the least of your problems. Would you like me to arm the booby traps on the way out, sir?'

'Yes, please.' Nate nodded.

All the key members of the family had their bedroom doors and windows booby-trapped. It didn't pay to take chances. As he flopped back on the bed, Nate reflected on the fact that he had felt no need to take such precautions when he was away from home. After all, none of his relatives were in Africa at the time. He turned onto his side, intending to relax for a few minutes before undressing. But his exhaustion finally conquered him, and moments later he was drawn down into a deep but disturbed sleep.

IV

TEA AND TOAST

Francie did not go straight to bed when he reached the Wildenstern estate. One of his father's friends had taken him on his drayhorse, riding at a canter to get him back before he was missed. He was running across the grass towards the stables when he saw the mysterious gentleman ride in on a monstrous velocycle. Francie ducked in under the stairs that led up to the grooms' quarters and peered out at the courtyard. Old Hennessy had come out to greet the stranger and inspect the magnificent engimal.

He heard Hennessy call the man 'Master Nathaniel' and he knew immediately who it was. The third son, the one who had disappeared off to Africa before Francie had started work at the stables. Nathaniel must have heard of his brother's death and hurried home. Could he really have come back so quickly? Maybe on a beast such as this one. A mighty African berserker that could eat up distance.

Francie watched as they led the velocycle into the stables, and waited until Hennessy had filled the engimal's water trough and gone back to where he lived in the cottage at the bottom of the gardens. With his heart pounding in his chest, Francie crept up to the door of the huge stables, lifted the latch and slipped inside. A single lantern burned near the door – Hennessy must not be finished here. He'd have to be quick.

There were a couple of other engimals in the stalls of this wing, along with the most of the coach-horses, but he ignored them all. The deep rumble of the new machine's engine could be heard throbbing at the far end. He tiptoed to the door of the stall and looked over. The thing was guzzling water, sucking it up through its vented nostrils.

'Lookit you, yeh beauty,' he whispered. 'I've never seen nothin' like yeh!'

Its flank was just within reach, and he reached out tentatively, stroking his fingertips along the smooth metal. The engimal flinched and twisted round to look at him, and Francie whipped back his hand for fear of losing it.

A sharp smack to the back of his head knocked all thoughts of the creature from his brain, and he turned round in time to catch another blow on the ear.

'Ow! Jaysus!' he cried.

'Jesus wuz born en a stable, son,' Hennessy growled at him. 'So ah'll have no blasphemin' on sacred grind!'

'I was just lookin'!' Francie protested.

'You look wuth your eyes and not wuth your hands, yeh wee gastral,' Hennessy lambasted him, smacking him around the ear once more. 'That's the master's beast and don't you go touchin' it again! An' whut have yeh done to yer clothes? Git up thar nye and clean yerself up 'fore I take a crop to yer arse!'

The old man aimed one more blow for good measure, but Francie ducked and darted to the back door, flipping up the latch. He stole a last glance at the velocycle. The creature regarded him for a moment, and then turned its attention back to the water. Francie let himself out through the door and closed it behind him. Hurrying round the building, he climbed the stairs that led up to the loft. The stable boys slept at one end of the space, in