Ivoria by Tanith Lee (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

“No.” The man stayed flatly reasonable. And to explain further, he moved his right hand slightly, to reveal more clearly the little handgun he held, pointing at Laurence’s head.

Laurence took a moment – thoughtless, instinctual - to evaluate if it was worth trying to send the window back up. But obviously it was not. This was not the telly recreation of some threatful act from the past. They had not had guns then either. What gun was it? Like a movie gun, certainly, a James Bond gun, the Walther PPK, best friend to the Nazis - No. Better not try any…

“All right.”

“Not like that. Open the passenger door by hand,” the man said.

Slowly Laurence leant across and undid the door, letting it swing wide. The terror hit him then. Everything had gone too fast until that instant for it to catch up.

And had he been right, before…?

He sat back, and told himself, He only wants money, or the car. And then, If he wants those why not just take them?

The man was already in the Volvo. Despite first appearances, he could move like lightning. He shut the door himself. He did not do up the belt. He was turned half way towards Laurence, the gun resting but not sleeping in his grasp. Now it only pointed at Laurence’s thigh - or his crotch. No, no advantage that way.

“Now what?” Laurence said. He had thought he might be able to sound authoritative, still in command of himself. But he had only sounded bolshie and nervous.

“Now you drive to Richmond Park,” said the man.

“Am I allowed to ask why?”

“You can ask,” said the man.

Laurence gestured at the road. “Your car’s in the way…”

“Go carefully. You’ll manage.”

Laurence said, “Look, if you want money, I’ve got plenty on me…”

“No.”

“…and I can get you more. Quite a lot…”

“I’ve told you I want you to drive. I’ve told you where.” The voice was stony now, detached. Implacable. “Get on with it.”

The drive from Kensington to Richmond seemed to take a long time, but not by the watch on Laurence’s wrist, (the stupid watch Angela had bought him, and which he had switched, preparatorily, with the good one when still at Nick’s.) By the stupid watch then, the drive lasted only half an hour, which was not bad considering the traffic by Putney Bridge.

Laurence knew Richmond somewhat, though not the area of it he now entered at his passenger’s direction.

The journey had passed for him in a sort, of watery, wavering, waking limbo. He had not tried to talk to his captor again, only obeyed his occasional driving instructions.

Laurence was running on auto anyhow, he believed. But the drink was wearing off too. He was starting to tremble in an irregular if rigid way. He felt sick and, in dismal inappropriate horror, prayed he would not piss himself from fear.

Almost certainly his abductor was mental. (There was some bloody loony bin round here was there not - or was that Putney?) Why else wanting to be driven here? And yes, he probably was some kind of warped fan, the kind who had made a study of every book Laurence had written, and TV project Laurence had been involved in, and now wanted to take issue with him about something. Perhaps he was a Harold-Last-Saxon-King fanatic, with a personal grudge against William the Conqueror - Laurence had once been cornered on location in a Sussex pub by two of those. Or there had been the guy who thought the Roman legions had never visited Britain - that cornering had been at Hadrian’s Wall. Madmen though could sometimes be talked round if you went along with them. Admittedly the TV crew had also both times been on hand. Now Laurence was alone. And this lunatic was armed. But there had to be some way out… Laurence was firm with himself. However grim the situation, it was survivable - his body did not believe him. It went on trembling, and nausea and urgent pressure roiled in his bowels and bladder.

“Turn left here.”

Laurence turned the Volvo left.

“If you want the park,” Laurence said, his voice coming out too loud, rather too high - why - why does this psycho want Richmond Park? - “the best car park is by the…”

“No. Not there. Now right.”

They swerved right.

A narrow by-road unwound, lit only sporadically by four or five cold whitish lights. “Up there.”

Presently a shoulder of what must be parkland showed, bulging over a high gateless fence. Above massed the tangle of skeleton trees, but they had come out past the fencing too, down to meet the road. Darkness clubbed the car.

“Stop.”

Through the first line of trees this side of the fence ran a square of beaten earth. Two other cars sat there, well tucked into the dark. They were banged-up old jalopies, one with a nearly flat back tyre. Perhaps even abandoned… No lights on them, or anywhere. Just that icy moon fighting its slow way through the towering branches above, seeming clawed at by them, sometimes snagged, impeded.

“Turn the engine off.”

Laurence did so. Heat ebbed at once from the car. Ice entered his chest. Confused, he saw that, although the fence was gateless, it was broken back in one place, allowing entrance after all to the inner regions of the park. There was a track as well, cutting straight up the hill and in under the higher trees. A crazy memory of other parks by night veered through his mind. Purposeless, it did not help. “Look, I…”

“Shut up,” expressionlessly said the man with the gun. “Get out of the car when I do.”

Laurence did as he had been told.

Now the freezing night clutched him. Conversely his head throbbed with heat. He considered running, attempting to run, but his legs were leaden.

“Can we talk about this?” he said. What did he even mean? Could this have anything to do with the Augusta Pin? But how could it? Not like this… He said, “Is it you think I have something -