‘I’m coming with you.’ Calque stepped quickly to Sabir’s side.
‘What for? To hold my hand? To make sure I don’t get lost in the dark?’
‘I want to make sure that Lamia’s all right. That was an uncomfortable experience to witness back there. You were screaming, Sabir. Like they were really squeezing out your eyes.’
‘They were.’
‘But you just told us it was bullshit. Get your story right, man.’
In the dim light of the pre-dawn Sabir could just make out that Calque had his head cocked to one side, as if he were talking to someone with a particularly low IQ. This was a specialty of Calque’s. Something he’d clearly perfected over thirty years of questioning obstreperous – and often none-too-bright – suspects.
Sabir bitterly resented being on the receiving end of that particular look. Especially now, when he was feeling more than a little fragile. ‘Well maybe I was wrong. I can still feel pain there, for Christ’s sake. Like someone slammed a car door on my head. Then pulled it back and slammed it again for good measure.’
Calque sighed. ‘That happened years ago, Sabir. It’s been obvious to me for a long time. There has to be some rational explanation for the way you behave.’
The Halach Uinic raised his hand placatingly. He was keen to put as much distance between himself and the smart-talking ex-policeman as possible. ‘We all need some sleep. We’ll see you both in the morning. At breakfast. Much will have clarified itself by then, I am sure. And Ixtab will be able to explain the rest to you. How the datura works. Collective visions. Things like that.’
‘Well I’m glad somebody will be able to.’ Sabir’s head was about to burst. He felt desperately thirsty. He wanted to skulk off and drink a gallon of cold water, take three Advil, and then escape into Lamia’s arms. It was with considerable relief that he watched the silhouettes of the four figures disappearing into the murk.
As soon as they were safely gone, Calque grabbed Sabir by the shoulder and started hurrying him in the opposite direction.
‘What the heck’s the matter, Calque? Why are we in such a rush? You’re behaving mighty strangely all of a sudden.’
Calque hustled him towards the great tree. ‘Listen. I’m probably about to make the biggest mistake of my life. But just bear with me, Sabir. If you’ve ever felt one iota of friendship for me, then now is your chance to prove it.’
96
Lamia wasn’t waiting for them at the lean-to.
Sabir grabbed his head in both his hands in an effort to ward off his migraine. ‘She’s lost. It’s still dark as hell out there. And everyone’s asleep. There’s nobody to ask for directions. She’ll not have wanted to disturb anybody.’
‘That’s nonsense and you know it.’
‘I don’t know it. What are you trying to tell me, Calque? What’s this great call you intend to make on our friendship? You’re not going to tell me that Lamia has somehow moved from being your blue-eyed girl to being one of the enemy again?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Where are your car keys?’
Sabir slapped his pockets. Then he looked blank. ‘They were in here.’
‘But she needed them for something, no?’
Sabir nodded slowly. ‘Yes. She wanted a change of clothing before the ceremony. Access to her toothbrush. That sort of thing. That still doesn’t put her back in the Corpus camp. Come on, man. What are you thinking? That after all they did to her she’s still loyal to them?’
‘But what did they do to her?’
‘You tell me. You’re the one that found her. You’re the one that brought her along on this trip. You’re the one that tipped me the wink that she was attracted to me. Christ, Calque. You’re the best friend she has in the world. You’re going to feel like a total asshole when she comes skipping back in from wherever she’s managed to lose herself. I’ll do you a real favour, though. Give you a real proof of our friendship. I won’t tell her what you suspected.’
Calque stared out at the gradually lightening sky. ‘They tied her up, put her on a table, and gave her a tranquillizer. That’s all they did to her.’
‘That would be enough for most people.’
‘There’s something else.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Her name.’
‘Her name?’
‘She lied to us about her name.’
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake.’
‘She told us that Lamia was the daughter of Poseidon and the mistress of Zeus. That that was her only significance. That Zeus accorded Lamia the gift of prophecy as a down payment for her services to him in bed. That she was unimportant in the general scheme of things.’
‘So?’
‘So I thought about it. And then I thought about it some more. It niggled at me. All the other adoptive names – except for our old friend Achor Bale, aka Rocha de Bale, who was adopted at far too late an age for a name change – which in the case of a teenager like him would have had to have been referred to a juge des affaires familiales anyway…’
‘Calque, for crying out loud. You’re not on the police force any longer. You’re not making out a case for the prosecuting judge.’
‘The examining magistrate, please.’
Sabir slapped his forehead in frustration, and then instantly regretted it. ‘What about the names? Tell me.’
Calque sighed. ‘All the names of the Countess’s adoptive children are specific to some sort of demon or other. To one of the Devil’s henchmen, maybe, or to some other freak out of hell. Lamia explained all that to us. It’s categorical. Another of the Countess’s endearing little tics. So why should Lamia be any different?’
‘Why indeed?’ Sabir was beginning to look rather sick.
‘So when you were both up in your room doing whatever you were doing in that motel at Ticul, I phoned an old friend of mine in France. Got him to consult Lempriere’s Classical Dictionary. And one or two other books he happened to have to hand.’
‘Don’t tell me? Lamia was the Devil’s handmaiden, code name 666? Or maybe the Countess gave her the name of some famous female serial killer? The Countess Bathory, maybe?’
‘Nothing like that. The Countess Bathory’s given name was Erzsebet – Elizabeth to you.’
‘Come on, Calque. Don’t keep me in suspense. This is Lamia we’re talking about. The woman I happen to be in love with.’
‘That’s why I’m finding it so hard.’
‘Then make a superhuman effort and get over it.’ Sabir’s face looked livid and tormented in the fractional light of the early dawn. He looked as though he wanted to tear Calque apart with his bare hands.
Calque cleared his throat. ‘Lamia was indeed Zeus’s mistress. But she wasn’t unimportant. Far from it. In fact Zeus’s wife, Hera, became so jealous of Lamia’s sway over her husband that she killed all Lamia’s children and deformed her.’
‘Deformed her? How?’
‘She turned her into half woman, half serpent. She became a child-murdering demon. Her name means “gullet” in Ancient Greek. She’d kill other people’s children in revenge for her own, and then suck their blood and eat them. Zeus tried to placate her by offering her the gift of prophecy. He even gave her the ability to pluck out her own eyes, the better to see into the future – a little like your Vision Serpent, no? Horace writes about her in his Ars Poetica: “ Neu pranse Lamiae vivum puerum extrabat alvo.”’
‘Go on. Translate it for me. You’re dying to. My everyday Latin’s a little rusty.’
‘“Shall Lamia in our sight her sons devour, and give them back alive the self-same hour?” Forgive my English accent. That’s Alexander Pope’s translation. The best, really.’
‘There’s more. I can smell it on you. Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying this?’
‘I’m not enjoying it, Sabir. It’s making me sick to my stomach.’
Sabir looked up quickly. The expression on his face underwent a brief transformation, as if a searchlight had shone across it. ‘I’m sorry, Calque. I must be feeling a little rattled. That was unfair. I know how fond you are of her. Go on. Tell me the rest. I promise not to murder the messenger.’