The Gorgons Gaze # 2 (Companions Quartet) (9 page)

Antonia shuddered. “You’re very brave, Connie. I mean, living in the knowledge that he could grab you again at any moment. I’d be terrified.”

“I am. But what choice do I have? I can’t change the fact that I’m a universal just because I’m scared.”

“I s’pose not. But I still think you’re brave.”

By an unspoken agreement, the girls chatted about lighter matters for a few more minutes before going to the kitchen. Uncle Hugh and Grandpa Little were talking amicably, reliving their youth spent on the high seas.

Horace reached inside his jacket pocket. “I’ve got something here that might interest you and Connie, Hugh. I was given some free tickets to the boat show at Olympia by my old commander. Would you like to come with us?”

Hugh’s face lit up, then dimmed as he remembered his sister.

“I don’t know, Horace…”

“We’re going back to London tomorrow. You could come with us on the train. It is Connie’s summer vacation, after all.”

Hugh glanced at Connie. “Would you like to go, my dear?”

“Yes, please.”

He sucked his teeth for a moment, his eyes gazing hungrily at the tickets. “I’ll see what I can do. A trip to London won’t do any harm, surely? I’ll explain to my sister that you’ll be safe from corrupting influences from Hescombe.”

“But, Uncle, I’m not sure…” began Connie. She didn’t like lying to him. He should know the truth if he was to brave Godiva.

“And,” Hugh continued with a wink at Horace, “she only said to me that she didn’t want you to have anything to do with the Society people from Hescombe. Horace here is from London—that’s quite another story.”

Connie, Uncle Hugh, Horace, and Antonia were standing in front of the subway map at Paddington Station in London.

“I’d better just check the tickets again,” said Horace. He clapped his hand to his forehead. Antonia grinned and
squeezed Connie’s arm. “Would you look at that! I must be losing my marbles. I should’ve read the small print. The special offer is for navy veterans only—an exclusive preview.”

Hugh shuffled his feet miserably. “Well, I suppose we should see when the next train back is then.”

“Don’t be silly, Uncle Hugh, you must go now that we’re here,” said Connie, sensing this moment had been planned all along.

“Yes, yes, it’s all my fault, my dear chap. Why don’t you go on ahead to Olympia, and I’ll drop the girls off at the library. They’ll be quite safe there—we can collect them later this afternoon.”

“A library, you say?” asked Uncle Hugh shrewdly. “What sort of library?”

“One with books,” said Horace smiling. He knew what Hugh suspected.

“And nothing will happen to her there?”

“What do you think could happen in a library, Hugh?”

Hugh scratched his chin, torn between his desire to feast his eyes on boats all day and his duty to shield Connie from Society influences. “You promise you’ll stay there, Connie, and not go on any foolish expeditions?”

“Of course, Uncle Hugh.”

“What’ll you do all day?”

“Read, I guess.”

“Hmm. All right. I’m trusting you to keep your word.
And don’t tell my sister I let you out of my sight.”

“I won’t.”

Relieved of his responsibility, Hugh stabbed his finger on the map. “Olympia it is, then. I’ll see you there, Horace.”

“Where’re we going?” Connie asked happily as she made her escape with Horace and Antonia to the Bakerloo line.

“Charing Cross,” Horace replied.

“Charing Cross? That’s right in the center of town, isn’t it? Why are we going there?”

“Well,” began Horace, casting a look over his shoulder to check they could not be overheard, “when the Trustees heard that you were not allowed to continue with your practical training, they decided that we should try to start you on the theory side. That’s why we’re taking you to the Society’s headquarters—there’s something rather exceptional there that you should see.”

Leaving the train at Charing Cross, Horace led the girls up the escalators and through the crowds pouring onto Trafalgar Square. Sensing Connie’s arrival, a flock of pigeons flew in from the park. They spiraled into the sky, forming a column over Connie’s head that rivaled the famous statue of Lord Nelson in the center of the square. She nodded up to them, acknowledging their welcome, then waved her hand to scatter them before too many people noticed. Horace and Antonia said nothing but smiled at each other.

Horace picked up his pace and guided the girls down the side of a large church with an impressive portico and onto the fume-filled bustle of the street called The Strand before any more of London’s wildlife decided to mark Connie’s arrival with flamboyant displays. After walking down the street for five minutes, he took a right-hand lane between two shops. There they entered a different world from the traffic-clogged Strand, a backwater where old London clung on. The buildings were so close together that the pavement at their feet was in deep shade, cold and unwelcoming.

Horace turned sharply to the left and pushed open an ornate double gate that Connie would have missed if he hadn’t directed her toward it.

“Down here,” he said, beckoning Connie through an archway and into a cobbled courtyard, leading her out of shadow into the sunlight.

In front of them stood an elegant building, its walls mellowed by age to the color of ripe barley. Light glanced off the high, mullioned windows, which were set symmetrically on three stories around the pillared entrance. To Connie’s eyes the building looked like a cross between a church and a small palace. It was crowned by a lantern dome with a weathervane in the shape of a compass.

“Here we are,” announced Horace, “the headquarters of the Society for the Protection of Mythical Creatures.”

5
Snake

C
onnie had never been anywhere like this before. It felt very private and very old. She hesitated, doubtful that she would be allowed to go in. It did not look the kind of place to welcome children. Horace, however, was already striding determinedly across the cobbles. Antonia gave Connie a nudge.

“Go on. It’ll be fine,” she said. “I felt like that, too, the first time.”

With this encouragement, Connie abandoned her doubts and followed Horace. She lifted her eyes to the roof. Water sprite gargoyles supported the guttering, ready to spout through rounded mouths as if they were singing rain. As she crossed the courtyard, she saw over every window a frieze of creatures: centaurs jousting with pegasi; dragons flying just out of reach of a writhing mass of Kraken tentacles;
sirens singing on their rocks while griffins whirled in the sky; rock dwarfs hammering on an anvil with a weather giant working the bellows. Each was like a carved advertisement for the Society’s secret purpose laid out for all to see, but in a way that only members would understand.

She paused before a magnificent pair of stone dragons crouched before the front doors, teeth bared at intruders, half the size of the real thing, and carved in polished dark green granite. She would have liked to linger, but Horace ushered her straight on. As she entered, she caught a glimpse of a compass motif in the circular window over the entrance and felt a tingle of excitement. That was her symbol. She belonged here.

They came into a marble-floored foyer. A vaulted ceiling rose two floors up, creating a pillared space with the same echo and respectful hush of a cathedral. Antonia smiled at Connie’s wide-eyed expression of wonder.

“It’s amazing!” Connie exclaimed in a whisper.

“I know,” agreed Antonia.

“Do non-Society people ever find it?”

“Of course,” Antonia said. “You can’t hide a great big building like this in London! But if they come, they’re told it’s a ‘members only’ club and are turned away. Grandpa says there are private clubs everywhere, so no one’s surprised.”

Horace had been signing them in with the porter on duty in the lodge while the girls had been talking.

“Come along—we’ve been given the green light,” he said cheerfully. As they passed the porter’s hatch, Connie noticed that the man had put down his newspaper and was staring after them—after her to be more precise. She hurried up the red-carpeted stairway.

Reaching the second floor, they were faced by a set of ebony doors with “Library” in gold lettering over them. So they really were going to the library, after all. Horace pushed the right-hand door quietly open and stood back to let the girls pass.

They were in a large circular room with every inch of the walls covered in books. In the middle, a round desk for the librarians was flooded in pale sunlight streaming in from the windowed lantern set in the center of the dome overhead. The light spilled out to the rows of tables that radiated like wheel-spokes from the hub. The room was divided by a low wooden partition into four sections—two rows of desks to each segment. The curved roof above each quarter left no doubt as to which Company each belonged: to the north, a mural of creatures of the four elements intermingled in a riotous dance—the Company of the Four Elements; to the east, creatures flew in a great burst from the central symbol of a pair of wings—the Company of Winged Creatures; to the south, sea creatures played among the waves while dragons spouted flames in the sky—the Company of Reptiles and Sea Creatures; to the west, two- and four-legged beasts and beings processed
through a garden studded with flowers—the Company of Two- and Four-Legged Creatures. The air was heavy with the scent of beeswax and book-dust.

Horace led the way over the gleaming wooden floor to the librarian’s station. A thin man with sparse white hair and spectacles perched on the end of his nose looked down at the girls curiously.

“Mr. Little, what can I do for you today?” the librarian asked in a reedy voice, his watery eyes turning to Horace. “I’m afraid I still haven’t tracked down
Selkies of the Hebrides
for you.”

“No, it’s not that today, Mr. Dove. I want to sign in a new reader.”

“Oh, yes? And which of the young ladies is that?” Mr. Dove smiled pleasantly at Antonia and Connie, opening a great ledger on the desk in front of him with pages coded in four colors: green, brown, orange, and blue.

“Antonia—my granddaughter here—already has her pass for the Elementals,” Horace replied, resting his hand proudly on Antonia’s shoulder. “The new reader is Connie Lionheart. I think the Trustees have sent the Senior Librarian a letter on her behalf.”

Mr. Dove did the smallest of double-takes before closing the ledger with a thump and putting it to one side. He took a minute silver key out of his waistcoat pocket, retrieved a battered wooden box from a drawer in the cabinet behind him and used the key to unlock it. He drew out a slim black book.

“The Universals’ Register,” he explained. “We’d forgotten where it was—the letter from the Trustees sent us into quite a panic, as you might imagine.” He pushed it across the counter to Connie and handed her a heavy, goldnibbed ink pen. In front of her lay a nearly blank page ruled into columns. It had only a few entries:

Suzanna Caldicott, 1703

Gilbert Hollingsworth, 1742

William Blake, 1793

Martha and Millicent Applethrop, 1850

James Proud, 1899

Reginald Cony, 1921