The Little Country by Charles de Lint
Her jacket dropped to the floor, quickly followed by her skirt. A glance at Gazo showed her that he already had his pants off, his penis standing at stiff attention as he crossed the room towards her. She fumbled with the buttons on her blouse in her hurry to get it off but then Gazo was standing in front of her. He tore it open, popped buttons spraying across the room.
Pushing her bra up from her breasts, he pressed his face in between them and started backing her towards the bed. Lena could hear herself making small moaning sounds in the back of her throat. She reached down and grabbed his penis, wanting it inside her, wanting—
Her ankle twisted badly as Gazo backed her up—the sudden sharp pain momentarily clearing her mind.
“Wha—”
Gazo pushed her back onto the bed. His hands were all over her.
Her ankle felt like it was on fire.
She tried to push him aside.
He had his penis in his hand and was roughly pushing its head against her vagina.
That hurt too. Her need for him had fled and she wasn’t wet enough. It felt like he was trying to stick a roll of sandpaper up inside her.
“Stop it,” she said, trying to wriggle out from under him.
But he was too big for her. His weight alone was enough to keep her pinned to the bed, never mind his superior strength.
Panic set in.
“Stop it!”
She drummed her fists against his back, but that just seemed to excite him more. And then he was inside her and she shrieked from the agony. Her arms flailed. One hand brushed up against the lamp on the night table beside the bed. Her fingers grabbed hold of it and smashed the lamp alongside his head.
He stiffened, pulling partway out of her.
She hit him again. This time the lamp broke.
He rolled from on top of her to lie on the bed, curled up now, hands clutching his head.
Lena backed up against the headboard, still clutching what remained of the lamp. Her breathing came in short, ragged gasps. Pain moved in waves from the hollow in between her legs and her ankle. She lifted the broken base of the lamp as Gazo straightened up and turned his face towards her.
“Don’t touch me!”
But his eyes were different. The blow to his head had cleared his mind as well. He sat up, looking shocked and confused, but no longer dangerous.
“What. . .” he began. He shook his head and winced at the pain. “What the hell. . . happened?”
Lena started to shake her head as well. How should she know? One moment they were all sitting around in the room and everything was normal. The next . . .
She remembered Madden’s eyes.
The low buzz of a headache sharpened in the back of her head to join the rest of the pain.
And then she knew.
“Madden,” she said.
“What?”
“Madden—he did this to us.”
Gazo just looked more confused.
“His will’s that strong,” Lena said.
A dull anger was building up inside her. He’d used her and Gazo like they were his sheep. She thought of her father’s sudden migraine. That had been Madden’s doing as well. If it suited his purposes, he’d use even his most trusted colleague as though he were nothing more than a servant—less than a servant. Servants at least got paid. It was a job, for them. They knew what it entailed before they ever hired on.
But this. . . .
When she thought of all of Daddy’s migraines, she realized that they must have come from exactly this kind of a situation. Madden forcing his will on Daddy. Who did Madden think he was, playing around with their heads like this? With her head.
Lena knew exactly what he was. A monster disguised as an old man. But a very dangerous old man.
“What do you mean his will?” Gazo asked.
Lena looked up at him.
Of course, she thought. He wouldn’t know. He wasn’t an initiate. He was part of Daddy’s security force. He knew all about the cutthroat practices of the business world, stood in as a bodyguard sometimes, but he knew nothing of what the Order really stood for. That secret wasn’t trusted to outsiders. If Gazo knew about it at all, he would simply think of it as some kind of an exclusive country club, though what he’d thought of some of the conversations he’d overheard—like when Madden and Daddy were discussing this thing of Dunthorn’s—Lena didn’t know.
Maybe it was time he learned, then. Time everyone learned.
“He got inside our heads,” she said. “Got in there and manipulated our thoughts so that we’d do whatever he wanted.”
“You mean . . . this . . . ?”
Gazo indicated their state of undress.
Lena nodded.
“He hypnotized us?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
Gazo shook his head slowly.
“I don’t know,” he said. He looked around the room at where their clothing lay scattered on the floor. “Jesus, I’m sorry, Lena. I . . .”
He got up and collected her skirt, jacket, and what remained of her blouse. Passing them to her, he went to put his pants on. Lena dressed as best she could. Her ankle screamed when she was slipping her skirt on. She pulled her bra down. With the buttons torn off her blouse, all she could do was pull it closed. She put her jacket on overtop and buttoned it up.
Being dressed helped—but not enough. When she thought of what Madden had done to them, how he had manipulated them . . .
Suddenly an intense feeling of revulsion came over her.
Felix.
My God. When Felix thought of her . . .
Knowing how she now felt about Madden, she realized that Felix must really hate her. And there was nothing she could do to make it up to him. It wasn’t the kind of thing that could be forgiven, that you could make better, because the memory of it was always going to be there, sitting in the back of your head just like this headache was sitting in the back of her own mind.
He would never forgive her.
She didn’t deserve to be forgiven.
But she could warn him. About Madden and Bett and the kind of power they had behind them. Not just their wealth and influence, but this other thing. The ability to crawl right inside your head and manipulate your thoughts.
She’d never dreamed that the Order’s tenets concerning the power of the will could be taken so literally. She’d always thought of it as a kind of psychological edge. Not a physical reality.
It was like magic.
“Maybe I’d better go,” Gazo said.
She looked up to find him watching her. His features were guarded, embarrassed.
“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “Madden made you do it.”
“Maybe. But maybe I . . . maybe I’ve always been . . . interested in you. In that way. Not forcing myself on you,” he added quickly. “But, you know. Attracted to you.”
“There’s no law against being attracted to someone,” Lena said.
“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be working for you. Your father hired me to protect you. Instead—”
“Read my lips,” Lena said firmly, “I’m telling you it wasn’t your fault.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Maybe I’ve thought that way about you, too. Are we supposed to feel bad every time we see someone that turns us on a little?”
“I suppose not.”
Lena smiled wearily. “Could you bring the phone over? I need to make a call.”
She had the operator connect her with the Little household. A man’s voice answered, but it wasn’t Felix. It was an older man—probably Janey Little’s grandfather.
“May I speak to Felix?” she asked him.
“He’s just stepped out.”
Tom Little’s voice was heavy with suspicion. Must be the American accent, Lena thought. She couldn’t really blame him. With all that had been going on lately, he wouldn’t be feeling too kindly towards Americans at the moment.
“Can you t
“He didn’t say.”
“It’s very important. When will he be back?”
“He didn’t say.”
Wonderful. Tom Little’s voice sounded like a recording.
“Could I leave a message then? Would you tell him that—”
Tell him what? That Lena Grant called? That would certainly make Felix eager to get back to her.
“Yes?” Tom Little prompted her.
“Never mind. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
She hung up.
“What were you just trying to do?” Gazo asked her.
She set the phone aside and gave him a considering look. “Warn Felix about Madden.”
“He wasn’t in?”
“No. That was Tom Little I was talking to.”
“So why didn’t you just warn him?”
Lena sighed. “I didn’t think he’d listen to me. Felix might. I’m sure he hates me, but I think he’d still listen. Especially about something that might hurt Janey.”
“Do you want to drive over and wait for him?” Gazo asked.
“I don’t think so. I think we should tell Daddy about what Madden’s been doing to him.”
“I’m still not sure about that myself,” Gazo said. “This hypnotizing business . . . I thought they had to, you know, move a watch back and forth in front of you until you fell asleep—or something along those lines. I’ve never heard of someone being able to do it just”—he snapped his fingers—“like that. It’s like . . . I don’t know . . . like . . .”
“Magic.”
Gazo smiled. “Yeah, right.”
“It takes a leap of faith,” Lena told him, “but that’s about the best description I can come up with.”
“Magic.”
Lena nodded. “Would you help me up? I want to go talk to Daddy.”
“He’s going to be angry when he finds out.”
“I hope so,” Lena said.
6.
Bett arrived at his vantage point behind the wall fronting the Methodist Chapel a little later than he had planned. He’d had a lot to take care of and it all took longer than he’d thought it would. The whole damn country seemed to close up on a Sunday.
He settled down where he could see the house easily and tuned in his radio transmitter just in time to hear the Little woman and her friends saying good-bye to the old man. He removed his earplug when they came outside so he could hear what they were saying.
“How far is the Men-an-Tol?” Gavin was saying.
“Just a little ways past Madron,” the Mabley woman replied. “It won’t take us that long to get there.”
Gavin said something else that Bett couldn’t hear over the sound of them opening their car doors.
“I doubt we’ll get lost,” the Mabley woman said. “There’s a footpath that goes all the way from the track. Didn’t Janey ever take you out there?”
“Yeah, but not at night.”
The doors closed and the Little woman started up the car, effectively muting any further conversation that Bett might have been able to overhear.
Maybe he should have had Dennison wire the cars, too, he thought.
He ducked down out of sight as the car’s headbeams washed over the chapel’s low wall, lighting up the side of the chapel itself with a bright glare. He waited until the car had passed him and was going up Mousehole Lane to Paul before lifting his head again. He saw the Reliant’s taillights go up the hill then disappear as the car went around a corner.
The Men-an-Tol, Bett thought. That was one of those stoneworks that Madden was so keen on. Now why the hell would they be going out there at this time of night?
He looked back at the house.
Didn’t matter. He needed only one of them—the old man or his granddaughter. Made no never mind which of them he got. The woman would have been fun, but a man screamed just as shrilly as a woman if you knew how to coax it out of him.
He stowed away his earplugs and the radio receiver in the knapsack that hung from his shoulder by one strap and started to rise, only to be forced to duck down again as another set of headbeams hit the wall. These came from a small red Fiesta that rolled up from the harbour. It stopped in front of the Little house, its engine idling, the headlights no longer aimed at the chapel. With the cover of darkness, Bett peered above the wall. When he dropped back down behind the wall this time, it was with a curse on his lips.
Madden was in that car.
Bett had been hoping to get the night’s work done without Madden’s interference, but he’d prepared to deal with his mentor if the need arose.
He looked above the wall again to see Madden just sitting there in his car, eyes closed. When Madden lifted his head suddenly, Bett was sure that his mentor had spotted him, but Madden wasn’t looking in his direction. Instead, Madden gazed up the hill to where Janey Little and her friends had driven off. Putting his car into gear, Madden drove off in the same direction.
Bett waited until the Fiesta’s taillights had disappeared around the same corner that the Littles’ car had before he stood up and brushed himself off.
Looked like Madden was walking on the edge tonight as well, he thought. Got himself locked onto Janey Little’s wavelength and he wasn’t going to let go.
Bett wasn’t happy with the complications this was going to bring to his own carefully orchestrated plans.
He jumped down to the street and crossed over, slipping in through the hedge behind the Littles’ house so that he was approaching the building from its own tiny backyard. He could see Tom Little in the kitchen, cleaning up dishes.
That made it nice and easy.
He pulled a gun from his knapsack, then slipped the loose strap over his other shoulder so that the knapsack was hanging against his back.
He didn’t have to do this himself. He could have hired someone to pick up the old man or his granddaughter for him. But the more people you brought into this kind of thing, the more problems you made for yourself. Besides, he liked the look of shock that came over a victim’s face when they knew they were screwed.
It sharpened the edge and brought everything into focus.
He didn’t waste time pussyfooting around. He just kicked in the door and leveled the gun at the old man. The look on Tom Little’s face was everything he could have hoped for.
“Hi there, pops,” he said. “Mind if I use your phone?”
The old man was holding a pot and looked like he was ready to throw it.
Bett shook his head. “Uh-uh. That’d be a bad move. Just put it down.”
“I don’t have what you’re looking for,” the old man said.
“Maybe, maybe not. But you’re going to tell me where I can find it.”
The old man’s face just shut in on itself.
Bett smiled. Like the old geezer wasn’t going to tell him anything Bett wanted him to. Not now, maybe. Not here, for sure. Bett was saving that bit of fun for when they had a bit more privacy. For when the old man could scream his head off and nobody would interrupt them.
And he was going to scream. No question of that.
“The phone,” he repeated.
He stepped in close, the gun never wavering in his hand. Giving the old man a rough shove, Bett spun him around and walked him into the living room where he spotted the telephone. He sat the old man down in a chair.
“This won’t take long,” he assured Little as he dialed.
Grimes completed the connection on the other end of the line halfway through the first ring.
“Yeah?”
“The job’s on,” Bett told him. “Madden’s driving a red Fiesta.” He gave him the license plate number. “Last time I saw him he was driving up to the Men-an-Tol stone.”
“What the hell’s that?”
“Some kind of old rock stuck in a field somewhere.”
“I need more than that.”
“It’s near Madron,” Bett said, remembering what the Mabley
“Jesus, Bett. Why don’t you make it a little easier?”
“Would if I could. There’s some topographical maps in the glove compartment of the rental car I got you. Look it up on one of them. I’m kind of busy right now.”
“You’re a real sweetheart, Bett. If I didn’t want Madden this bad, I’d just—”
Bett hung up, cutting him off. He took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and laid it on the mantel where it could be easily seen as soon as someone entered the room.
“Okay,” he told the old man. “Time to get our show on the road. On your feet.”
When Tom Little refused to budge, Bett just sighed. He stepped over to the chair and, holding the gun against the old man’s stomach, hauled him to his feet and shoved him back towards the kitchen.
“We’re going to have some fun, you and me,” Bett told him as he steered him into the yard, back through the hedge, then down the lane to where Bett’s own rental car was parked.
He walked close to the old man, shielding his weapon from the chance view of anyone looking out a window. When they reached the car, he opened the passenger’s door and pushed Little inside.
“Scoot all the way over,” he said. “You’re driving. And don’t think of playing any games on the road. You might think you’re feeling real brave and decide to kill us both in a crash, but if something happens to me . . . well, I’m not alone in this deal. Be a shame if my friends had to take it out on your granddaughter. . . .”
“I won’t do anything foolish,” the old man said.
Bett smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.”
But the possibility still hung there between them, and Bett relished it.
It made the edge he was walking all that much sharper.
7.
“What if there really are two different groups after the book?” Clare asked from the back seat of the Reliant Robin.
Janey and Felix were sitting in the front, Janey actually driving carefully for a change. They entered Newlyn from a back road, turning left at the A3077 that they followed until it connected with the A3071 that would take them northwest to Tremethick Cross. There they turned right, heading north to Madron. They passed the National Trust gardens of Tregwaiton House on their left, the Boscathnoe Reservoir on their right, before they reached the village where they made another left onto the B3312.