The Last Resort Read online

  “Working too hard,” Eleanor muttered to herself. “Must take it easy. Crazy imagination.” She yawned and stretched. Now that the adrenaline was leaving her system, she felt exhausted. She carefully locked the door of her room behind her, and tiptoed back to bed. She peeled back the bedclothes to reveal…

  A skeleton. The bone man rolled great glass eyes towards her and began chanting with a reggae beat. He snapped off one of his hands and shook it in her face like it was a maraca.

  Eleanor screamed, and screamed, and didn’t stop screaming through the rest of the night and on into the morning, and all through the boat ride back to the village, where Blake left her on the wharf, with a note attached to her jacket, asking the villagers to kindly look after her.

  Chapter Five

  Eleanor Davies had not been in contact with the company for over a week. Hugo Dixon, her boss, was worried, although not about Eleanor’s safety. He was worried about the hefty commission Dixon Realty would lose if Trevor Romanoff decided to sell his castle and furnishings through another agency. The last he had heard from Eleanor, she had been on a train, somewhere in Eastern Europe, heading for the castle, confident and upbeat. She had been due to phone him again two days later – and that was now six days ago. He had tried her mobile phone several times. The first time it had rung, and rung, with no answer. After that, he had got a signal indicating that the phone was out of service. Eleanor’s flight home had been scheduled for yesterday evening. Hugo had his secretary call the airline, and was not particularly surprised to discover that Eleanor had failed to check in for the flight. So what had happened to her?

  It was definitely out of character for Eleanor to have vanished like this. She was a real estate shark, almost as money-hungry as he was. Hugo considered his options. He could of course call the police in Mortavia, but he doubted they would take his concerns seriously. Besides which, that would start a paper trail, and news could get back to Trevor Romanoff that things had gone awry. Already Trevor had called this morning, knowing that Eleanor had been due to return to work, and wanting to know what his castle and furnishings were worth. Hugo had put him off, saying that Eleanor had been held up, but Trevor wouldn’t be put off for long.

  There was nothing else for it. He picked up the phone and dialled through to his secretary. “Sonia, I need you to put a hold on a ticket on the next available flight to Bucharest. No… wait… make that two tickets. I’ll confirm in half an hour.” He hung up on her, then immediately began dialling another number. The call was answered with a guttural grunt. “Jim? Hugo Dixon here… Yes, I need you for a special job, out of the country, for the next few days. Mortavia. No, not many people have heard of it – it’s in Eastern Europe. Usual fee, usual conditions, usual equipment required. You available?” There were several more grunts. “Good, good,” Hugo said.

  #

  Lisa Mayer pressed the disconnect button on her phone, lay her head down on her desk and wept. It had been over two weeks since she’d last had a cry, and all the pent up frustration now came out in a torrent. Her body heaved as the gentle flow of tears turned to racking sobs. Once more she allowed the hated image to enter her head. It hurt, but it was the only way to strengthen her resolve – picturing her husband Rod in bed alongside Margaret, his face a mask of shock at being discovered, hers calculating, a slight smirk about the lips.

  It was five months ago that Lisa had cut short her trip to her parents and arrived home unexpectedly to find the pair. Five months of pain, and turmoil, of feeling betrayed, and wondering why. She had just come to a slow acceptance of her situation, made a plan for her future, and now Rod’s phone call had stirred everything up again. The affair was over, he had told her. He had made a mistake and he wanted her back. Everything could be as it had before. Lisa was sorely tempted, but she knew it was a lie. Everything wouldn’t be as it was before, because the trust was gone.

  Her mother had been right, which was particularly galling. The age difference had been insurmountable and they hadn’t much in common beyond their love of history. But, new in town, friendless and vulnerable, Lisa had fallen for the professor’s charms. She’d first met him at a dinner thrown by her PhD supervisor, the now-hated other woman, Margaret. Rod had been attracted by Lisa’s youth, her energy, her tangle of strawberry blonde hair and smattering of freckles. It had been a whirlwind courtship, long-stem roses every day, poems of love, and finally a proposal in a hot air balloon. The marriage had been good, Lisa had thought, although she was always busy with her PhD research, and he spent long hours at the university. And then she came home to the scene in the bedroom and her life fell to tatters. She fled their new house, abandoned the PhD, and ran home to her parents.

  Another mistake. Her father wanted to help, but didn’t know how, and her mother couldn’t move beyond “I told you so.” Her teenage brother Craig became her rock. He’d been eleven when she’d left home, and she hadn’t known him that well, but now at sixteen, she was delighted to discover that he was interesting and intelligent. He took her out to movies and brought her books to read.

  She had to leave home though, and took the first job she could find that seemed relevant to her love of history – as a guide on a European bus tour company catering to 18 to 30 year olds. She faked perkiness through the interview and training process, but once the job started for real, she found it impossible to maintain. Shepherding shambling young Australians and Canadians from one ancient ruin to another, Lisa found they were more interested in hearing about the locations of pubs than her historical insights. She managed two tours, then quit.

  So now she was back at her parents’ house, sitting in a makeshift basement office, snuffling into tissues. Why did she let Rod affect her like this? She had a plan now. Forget him, she told herself, drying her eyes. She jiggled the laptop mouse to wake up her computer and checked the advertising copy one more time. Satisfied, she clicked to send the images and text to the magazine, thereby launching the Living History Company into existence. Take that, Rod, she thought.

  #

  Hugo Dixon was regretting his decision to drive. The rented Mercedes was responsive, certainly, and it gripped the road in a manner that justified the phenomenal rental fees it attracted. The problem wasn’t the car, it was the navigation system – otherwise known as Big Jim. Jim couldn’t read a map. Truth be told, Jim could barely read anything. As they drove on twisting back roads through dark fairy-tale forests, Hugo briefly considered swapping roles and letting Jim drive, so that he could control the map. However, this would invalidate the insurance, and although Hugo could bill the expense of the rental car to his client, Trevor Romanoff, he couldn’t bill him the cost of a replacement Mercedes should Jim crash it. Hugo stole a sidelong glance at the large man in the passenger seat. Although the luxury car had a generously spacious interior, Big Jim’s bulk was squashed awkwardly into the seat. His sharp black suit did not match his steel-capped Doc Marten boots, nor his floppy bowl-cut hairdo, nor his neck tattoos. Hugo suppressed a shudder. Jim had almost no neck, small squinty eyes and droopy jowls like a bulldog. His lips were moving as he tried to sound out the place-names on the map. Hugo nodded to himself, reassured that he had made the correct decision. He doubted Jim would have been able to cope with driving on the wrong side of the road. With fat, stubby fingers, Jim roughly folded up the map, ignoring the original creases which, if used, would have concertinaed the paper neatly. He shoved the map into the glovebox, and slammed the door on it with a grunt. Then he stabbed a finger at the sat-nav system. Once more it spurted into life, yammering at the two men in rapid unintelligible Mortavian.

  Hugo was relieved to note they were approaching a village. He suggested they stop at a pub for a quick drink and toilet break. Jim agreed. Once they had pulled over, Hugo sent Jim in ahead to order, and then spent a frantic few minutes refolding the map so he could fit it in his suit jacket unobtrusively. He was embarrassed by this show of weakness – after all, he was Jim’s employer on this trip – but when he
had earlier in the day pulled over and politely asked to see the map, Jim had thrown a tantrum, turning purple with rage and smacking the dashboard hard. Now Hugo walked into the pub, spotted Jim sitting at a corner table, drinking a large beer and scowling at the locals, waved at him, and scurried into the toilets, where he locked himself in a stall and examined the map. Pulling out a pen, he painstakingly copied some place-names and directions onto the palm of his hand, where he hoped Jim wouldn’t see them. Then he stood in front of the mirrors, smoothing his suit and re-spiking his hair. “Looking good,” he murmured to his reflection.

  Chapter Six

  As the Mercedes purred its way over the cobbled streets of the village, Hugo could almost feel the heat from the hostile glares it was attracting. Everywhere, villagers were scrambling out of the way, pulling in their wares, shutting blinds and shutters, closing up shop.

  Hugo stopped the car next to an old lady and her dog, which was tied to her with a short piece of twine. The dog was mangy, and mean-looking. It curled a lip at Hugo and snarled. The woman was hunched over, seemingly weighted down by layer upon layer of ragged clothes. Hugo got out of the car, keeping a wary eye on the dog. In one hand, he held a picture of Eleanor, torn from a page of his company’s annual report, and a pile of money. In the other hand was a sheet of paper with some Mortavian translations on it. He sounded out the words, hoping his accent was appropriate. “Excuse me.”

  The woman said something that Hugo took to mean “Yes,” but did not look up.

  Hugo thrust the photo and money under her nose, and continued. “You have seen this woman, yes?”

  Now the woman did turn her face upwards. Hugo was horrified to see that her eyes showed only the whites. She was blind. The woman spat on the street, and then began to laugh, while the dog growled. She extended her hand, expecting Hugo to give her a coin, but Hugo had already leapt back into the car. He slammed the door shut, started the engine and pulled away.

  “The castle is on a island, right?” Big Jim said.

  “An island, yes,” said Hugo, who couldn’t help correcting the larger man. He winced, hoping Jim hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t.

  “Well, then she’d have got a boat, right? So we should go down the docks.”

  Hugo marvelled at Jim’s reasoning. Of course, he was right. Hugo turned the powerful car towards the waterfront. Here, fishermen were working at unloading their boats, and although they looked warily up at the Mercedes, they did not run and hide. Good.

  Again, Hugo pulled over. He approached one of the fishermen and repeated the exercise with the photo and the money. This man clearly recognised the photo, his eyes bulging out and face tightening when he saw it, but his response to Hugo’s question was “no.”

  Hugo let it go, and walked over to the next fisherman along. Again, it was obvious that the man recognised Eleanor, but again, his answer was “no.” Well, Hugo, reasoned, this is what he had brought Big Jim along for. He turned to the Mercedes, and beckoned. The passenger door opened, and Jim flowed menacingly out, all six feet three inches of him. Now all the fishermen stopped their activities and watched the unfolding drama. Jim opened his jacket slightly to show his holstered gun to the man who had just given Hugo a negative answer, then stood quietly beside him and folded his hands. Hugo asked again. “Have you seen this woman?” The man looked at Jim and swallowed. Then he looked at the money in Hugo’s hand. He did not look at the photo again – he didn’t need to.

  “Yes, yes,” the man said.

  “What do you know about her?” Hugo asked, reverting to English. The man shook his head, shrugged and said something in Mortavian. Jim moved closer to him and laid one meaty hand on his shoulder. The man became more frantic, his Mortavian faster, his arms gesturing wildly.

  “It’s okay, Jim,” Hugo said. He searched through his Mortavian phrases and finally came up with “A person, speak the English?”

  “Yes, yes,” the man said. He pointed and led Hugo and Jim back to the Mercedes. Jim climbed in the back, where he loomed over the fisherman in the passenger seat. With pointing and the words “yes” and “no”, the man directed Hugo through the narrow streets to a slim, pastel blue building. They got out of the car, and the man pointed at the building, then turned to go, but Jim caught him up by the collar, causing his legs to momentarily dangle in thin air. Jim set him down and shoved him towards the building, indicating that he should enter first.

  Inside, Hugo was surprised to find shelves of books. It was a library. A small dark-haired woman looked up at them sharply as they entered, took the measure of Jim, and before they could stop her, scuttled into her office. Hugo was alarmed to note that the office appeared to be behind toughened, bullet-proof glass. Why would that be necessary in a quiet seaside Mortavian village? The fisherman approached the glass and began talking rapidly, gesticulating at Hugo and Jim. The librarian’s eyes widened as she listened. Finally she held up a hand, and spoke in English. “Yes, the woman was here. She hired a boat and rowed out to the castle.”

  “Did she come back?”

  The woman looked at her feet and shrugged. “I don’t know.” Hugo was sure she was lying.

  “I bet she did come back,” he told the woman. “But then where did she go? Answer me!” The woman just shook her head.

  Hugo swore, and then nodded at Jim. Grinning from ear to ear, Jim removed the gun from his jacket, and pointed it at the fisherman, who froze stock still. The woman stared at the picture in front of her. Jim moved closer to the fisherman, placing the gun now at his temple.

  “Well?” said Hugo.

  “She’s at the convent,” the woman said meekly.

  “A convent?” Hugo couldn’t believe his ears. “Eleanor? At a convent? Explain.”

  “She came back from the castle. She was… what’s the word? Historical? No… hysterical. She was shaking and crying. We couldn’t get her to talk. There was a paper pinned on her with words. It said to look after her. So we took her to the convent, where the nuns can look after her.” The woman shrugged again.

  Hugo rubbed his jaw, scraping his fingers over stubble. He couldn’t imagine Eleanor in such a state. But he was sure now the woman was telling the truth. He debated for a moment the pros and cons of tracking Eleanor down at the convent, but decided that if she had recovered, she would have made her way back to England, and that if she was still a quivering wreck, she was of no use to him. Better to forget her, and get to the castle to see what caused her distress. One thing was for certain: he was now very, very glad he had brought Big Jim.

  Chapter Seven

  Harriet had bundled up most of Eleanor’s belongings, and Blake had put them in the boat and towed them to the dock in the village, where he left them, with a note attached. A fashion magazine had been left behind, however, and this was eagerly snatched up by Callie. One photo in particular fascinated her. It showed a hairstyle called cornrows. The model’s hair was plaited close to her scalp, and each plait was secured with a bead at the end. It held distinct possibilities for Callie. She’d spent a whole day searching the paddocks around the castle looking for suitable stones, and then had painstakingly drilled through each one using a hand drill. Then she put on a pair of thick gloves to avoid the inevitable bites and began to plait snakes together in threes, securing each trio with a rubber band and placing a bead over the end of each head like a little helmet. Remarkably, once they were covered up, the territorial snakes forgot all about the existence of the others, and calmed down, lying flat and still. It was bliss for Callie, apart from the odd day when she had to remove the beads and feed the snakes.

  She was sitting in the library re-reading the fashion magazine, looking for new tips, when Blake ran in. Although he usually swam the sea naked, he had the courtesy to don a pair of speedos every time he came into the castle. Today he had been in too much of a hurry to remember. Every inch of his pale blue scaly skin was exposed to Callie, Barbara and Harriet, who all looked up, startled when he burst in. He stood for a minute, p
anting, the gill-flaps on his neck sucking noisily in and out. It always took a moment for him to make the transition from gills to lungs when he emerged from the water. While they waited, Harriet looked politely down at the floor, Callie peeked curiously over the top of her magazine, and Barbara Yaga openly stared. “That reminds me,” she said. “I need a new supply of chicken necks.”

  Blake looked down at his naked body, saw what she was staring at, grinned, spread a webbed hand in front of himself to spare his modesty, and said, “Sorry, ladies. But it’s an emergency. Three guys in a fishing boat, out on the sea heading this way. One guy looks like a local, from what I could see. Two guys with him might be English. They’re in suits. One guy’s big. Not Norm-big, but big.” He looked to Harriet for direction.

  She stood up. “Alright – we knew this would probably happen. Trevor Romanoff is not going to give up so easily. He’s sent a couple more guys to deal with us. And I expect these guys will pack a bit more punch. Still,” she smiled tightly, “they’re no match for us, right?” Blake grinned again, Callie nodded, and Barbara cackled. “Okay, Blake – back to the water, see what else you can find out. Barbara, inform the sisters. Callie, see if you can dredge up Norm. Oh – no offence, Blake. I mean ‘rustle up Norm’. If you see Skully or Ankh on the way, warn them. I’ll go inform Viktor.” With that, the group went their own ways.

  Viktor stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I think, once again, it would be best if I saw them alone.” Harriet frowned. “My dear girl,” Viktor said, eyes twinkling. “Do you imagine I can’t handle two human mortals? Bring them to the library. No refreshments this time I think.” Harriet took the order and trotted efficiently away to open the massive front doors of the castle. She wondered for a moment what would happen if she left them closed. The castle did have a few weak points, but was pretty solid. They could prevent a couple of humans from entering easily. But then more would come. This whole issue had to be settled once and for all, she realised, otherwise they’d all better start looking for a new place to live. Absentmindedly, she rubbed her chin, and felt a thick growth of beard. The full moon was due in just a few days, so she was hairier than usual. Well, maybe the beard would at least discombobulate the pair for a few minutes.