“Cool,” John Fortune said. “Do you live here?”
“Sure do,” the gnome said. “I keep on eye on the place at night. You folks in trouble or something? I heard some gunshots earlier, but that’s not too unusual around here. At least in hunting season, which this ain’t.”
“Uh—” Jerry began.
“You bet,” John Fortune said. “Kidnappers are after me. They have guns, but we don’t.”
“Kidnappers!” the gnome exclaimed.
“Uh—” Jerry said.
“Yep. I’m John Fortune. I just became an ace. My Mom’s Peregrine, the ace. You know, she has a TV show, Peregrine’s Perch, but she and my Dad also make movies.”
“I guess you do need help,” the gnome said. He pressed a button on the floodlight control panel, then shut off the light.
Jerry felt as if he were drowning in darkness. “What’d you do that for?”
“No sense lighting up our location if guys with guns are looking for you.”
“Good idea,” John Fortune said. “Are you going to help us?”
“Sit tight,” the gnome advised. “I rang for the boss. He’ll be here in a minute.”
“The boss—” Jerry began.
“He owns this land,” the gnome said, waving airily about. “And he don’t allow no hunting. Not even of kids.”
They stood silent for what seemed a minute. Maybe two. “Where is he?” Jerry asked, getting impatient.
“Right here,” a low, deep voice said, not six feet from Jerry’s side. A light suddenly flashed in his eyes, strong enough to almost blind him. He automatically threw up a hand and turned his head aside. The light went from Jerry’s face to John Fortune’s, who let out a plaintive, “Hey,” and blinked.
“Say,” said the garden gnome, “you’re not the boss.”
The man with the flashlight looked down, surprised. “Shut up,” he said when he saw who had spoken, “before I stomp you flat.”
No doubt about it now, Jerry thought. Dagon’s men had found them, damn it. Again. They were infuriatingly competent. There were actually two of them this time. The man with the flashlight and a silent companion.
“You won’t be talking so big in a minute or two, fella,” the gnome said.
“I said, shut up.” The man raised a hand canon with a gigantic bore, spotlighting the blinking gnome with his flashlight.
“Hey—” Jerry said. He knew the man was going to shoot. Even a glancing hit would tear the gnome to pieces.
From nowhere there was a sound in the night as if the mother of all mosquitoes buzzed past them. The tough guy with the pistol grunted, like someone punched him in the gut. He swayed on his feet, staring at the aluminum arrow shaft planted directly in the center of his chest.
“Jesus Christ,” his companion said.
The man with the flashlight looked at him. Jerry could see that the arrow had gone nearly all the way through his body. Half a foot protruded from his back and blood dripped off the razor-tipped four-bladed head.
“Son of a bitch,” Dagon’s man said, and he fell on his flashlight, bringing darkness again to the night as his companion wildly sprayed bullets into the trees all around them. Jerry felt a shock burn across his forehead like a blow from a red hot poker. He fell to the ground and with a frantic last effort dragged a bewildered John Fortune down with him. He held him tightly, covering him with his own body as best he could as his consciousness faded away.
Jerry woke with the feeling that he was being watched. Closely and relentlessly. He was in a strange but comfortable bed in an unfamiliar room. He was laying on his side, looking right at a wall so he couldn’t see much of the room, but Jerry was certain that he’d never been in it before.
He turned suddenly away from the wall, and immediately regretted it. A wave of pain rushed through his head, accompanied by a swarming nausea that was even more distressing. He swallowed hard and put his hand to his forehead, which he discovered was swathed in a soft, thick bandage. He looked into the room and saw his audience and suppressed an urge to groan aloud.
Two kids stood by his bedside staring at him. One was a boy, maybe ten. The other, a girl, was four or five years younger. Jerry wasn’t sure. He hadn’t had much experience with kids, other than John Fortune. The boy was tall and lean. He was blonde with delicate, almost elfin features. The girl was darker and stockier, but there was a certain familial resemblance between the two that marked them as brother and sister.
The girl looked at him solemnly. “Make your face do that again,” she said to Jerry.
“Do what?” Jerry was surprised that his voice sounded so weak and scratchy.
“Go all funny and wriggly,” the girl said.
“Jeez, shut up, will you?” her brother interrupted. “You’re not being very polite.”
She made a face. “I’m telling Mom you’re harassing me.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Go ahead. Tell her our, uh, guest, is awake, too.”
The girl ran from the room, yelling, “Mommmmmm!!!” in a voice loud enough to make Jerry wince.
The boy seemed to notice his discomfort. “Sorry about that. She can be a real brat sometime.”
Jerry suppressed his notion to nod. “Where am I?”
“Our house,” the boy said, unconsciously uninformative. “Dad brought you home last night. He found you in the woods. Said you were shot in the head, but nothing important was hit.”
Shot, Jerry thought. He remembered it all, suddenly. “Did he—was anyone else with me?”
The boy shook his head.
Jerry lurched upright, doing his best to ignore the whirling as the room pirouetted around him. John Fortune, he thought, was still out in the woods. Or—maybe Butcher Dagon had gotten him! He tried to stand, but couldn’t make it to his feet.
Chapter six
“Give me a hand, would you—” he asked, reaching out for the boy, but a voice interrupted from the doorway.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mr. Creighton.”
Jerry swiveled his head drunkenly towards the doorway. The woman standing there smiled at him. The little girl was pressed against her legs, watching Jerry as solemnly as before.
Jerry sat back weakly. “How’d you know my name?” he asked.
She smiled. It looked good on her elegantly-featured face. She was tall, lean-hipped, and long-legged. Her hair was blonde, her eyes a light blue, and her cheekbones, mouth, and nose exquisite. She could have been a model. She was a little old for that game now, but her features were of a classic delicacy that aged well. Her shorts and sleeveless pullover revealed that she took great care of her body. She was lean and lithely muscular, despite the two kids, who had to be hers. Somehow, she seemed familiar. Maybe she was a model and he’d seen her picture somewhere. Maybe she’d even been in the movies.
“My husband owns the land the camp is on, so we have an intimate interest in what goes on there.”
Jerry almost nodded again, but caught himself in time. So, he’d finally discovered the identity of the anonymous benefactor whom Father Squid always talked about. Or, he would when he actually met him.
“The boy—” Jerry said, and she nodded.
“I know. He’s still missing. My husband’s out looking for him now. Don’t worry. If anybody can find him, he will.”
“I’ve got to get to a phone,” Jerry said with some urgency. He wondered how much he should tell her. “If you know my identity, then you must know that I’m a private detective. The boy is under my care. Someone attempted to kidnap him last night.”
“We pieced together as much,” the woman said. “My husband... took care of the men who assaulted you last night. But the boy apparently slipped away while he was busy. Daniel couldn’t do much in the dark, but he went out at first light to try to track him.” She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at Jerry. “I think I hear him coming in now. I hope he has good news.”