The Two men shook hands for what was surely longer than comfortable. As they broke, Crom wasted no time, and got right to the point. "A'rite, candy-arse. What'cha got?"
Wyland ignored the angry face of Crom Cunninghill, and steeled his gaze at Ollie. He said "they know. They know all about you. You've been implicated in the deaths of McAlerod, Steins and Petrovik. They're coming for you, and soon."
Ollie's eyes darted back and forth, surveying Wyland's eyes. Ollie's face remained as steeled as Wyland's. It was like a duel at high noon in some hokey old western, each man waiting for the draw, a soft, dusty wind blowing between them, both men's lips a narrow thin line, both eyes narrowed to slits, and both hearts thundering in their chests.
The look on Crom's face, however, clearly showed what was going through Ollie's mind, as Crom's face fell from anger, to recognition, and then to fear.
Ollie asked "How do ya know all this?" His accent was suddenly lessened, as he spoke in a more formal business tone. "Who are ya? How did you know about us? And why do ya not tell The Council directly?"
The sudden surprise in Wyland's face told Ollie he had just fucked up. He didn't know about the council. Shit! But he knew about curses, and their father... Shit! Ollie had played a hand too early, and he could only hope Wyland didn't capitalize on it. He didn't.
Wyland smiled thinly, looked at the ground, and softly said "I've been cursed. I'm sure of it. I'm a lawyer. I've been researching a death curse back in The States. Everything fits. I've been cursed to fail. I always fail, at damn near everything I do. I don't know anything about The Council."
Ollie and Crom both breathed visible sighs of relief at Wyland's admittance of ignorance regarding The Council. His curse was still working then, he could of gotten them both murdered in no time at all, and instead said that, that beautiful admission of ignorance! Whew! Another bullet dodged for the Cunninghill boys!
Ollie knew he was back on top of the negotiations. Red and Blue, and probably Pinky and Greenie would all have to report this back to The Council. Pinky had probably already contacted his man in Edinburgh. The Professor was in Lanark this week, and might already be on his way to the quarry. Ollie figured now that Wyland didn't know about the Professor, since he hadn't shown any knowledge about the Council.
Oliver Cunninghill now engaged the politician side that he had learnt well from his father. He smiled big, and moved closer to Wyland, then, with a look of genuine concern on his face. "Aye" he started, "a curse, by the sounds of it. Nasty business, 'tis. So, who cursed ya?"
Another look of blank and innocent recognition on Wyland's face. This boy was miles out of his league here, and hadn't a clue. Wyland stammered "I... I don't know. I just know I'm cursed."
Ollie smiled even bigger now. "So, who's after us 'n all? The Brits? Scotland Yard? Is that it?"
Wyland nodded sheepishly. Ollie, serious now, followed with "How do ya know?" Wyland, the wind now completely out of his sails, thought of Connie. He was betraying her. The thought made him a little sick. Ollie watched the color drain from Wyland's face. Ollie quickly manuevered to keep Wyland here with him. "Never ya mind, then, boyo! Come on then, what's their plan?"
Wyland regained his composure, and suddenly felt like he was being railroaded. He returned with "So can you cure a curse?"
Ollie sighed, and looked at Wyland side-wise, like he would look at the sun. "I dunno, 'tis a toughie, that." He was back to a thick, northern accent. "There's quite a bit'a work we could do there. We 'ould need to know teh curse used, teh origin of teh curse, the dialect of Truespeech used, and on 'n on. Could'n take awhile."
Truespeech? Wyland had never heard of this, and filed it away in his mind.
Wyland looked back at him, also a bit sidewise, and casually asked "What about the Professor?" Ollie's face fell immediately. Blue's eyes got as large as dinnerplates. Red slapped a hand over his eyes and said "Oh, Jesus titty-fucking Christ, ya idiot." Crom who had been staring at the ground, kicking dust, now looked up, furious, and trundled towards Wyland.
"You feckin' liar!" Crom screamed. "Yeh dirty, fud fizzoged cunt sneffer!" Wyland felt that negotiations had fallen apart.
Ollie tried to calm Crom, hands outstretched, saying "No, no, no, no, no...don't go radge..." Crom shoved his elder brother, knocking him off balance, and forcing him to the ground on his ass. Crom barely even looked at his brother as he did it, his eyes were set on Wyland, covered in a blood lust that turned Wyland as cold and immobile as mountain granite in winter.
Apparently, he shouldn't have mentioned the Professor.
"Ya dirty wizened hakkit!" "Ya feckin' tube!" Crom screamed. The words, while mostly gibberish to Wyland, still scored home as to their meaning. Crom was pissed. Then, just as quickly, Crom had a sudden change in his attitude; He shut up, calmed down, and just looked at Wyland with a smile that Stephen McAlerod would have recognized all too well.
He stood only a few feet from Wyland now. He opened his mouth from that hideous smile and spoke.
"Kentu Alva"
Wyland's knew immediately what he was hearing. Before he could even think, he felt his left hand flying out of it's pocket, tightly squeezing the Taser. Time felt like it had slowed down. He could feel his finger slip the interlock back, exposing the On switch. He could see Oliver Cunninghill getting up as fast as he could, running towards his brother, a look of fear and anger on his face, and his mouth pursed in a silent "NO!"
"Rerok Morthen"
Wyland did not feel the curse sound as he thought he should, as he had read about and as he had heard Jonathan report it. He felt a tightening around his neck, ankles and wrists, like there was rope binding him in those spots. He could feel a presence to his left, like feeling the sun when your eyes are closed, except this presence felt cold, colder than anything he had ever felt. Like he was standing next to a glacier. He pictured the strange picture of Alva in the "Star of Solomon" book, a raven with cloven hooves and a skeleton for a face. But it was different than the picture. It was LARGE. Even from a distance, it felt as large as the moon. It had gravity to it. He saw it in his mind's eye, like a fever dream. Blacker than the depths of space and as cold as nothingness could be. And it had a strange head. It was still a skull, like the picture, but it looked more like an alligator skull, only meaner. He couldn't place the name (Therapsid?), but he remembered seeing the skull in the natural history museum somewhere. He thought that that giant mouth could swallow the whole earth with room to spare. But it wasn't looking at Wyland, it was looking at Crom. Wyland knew this to be true.
"Prex..."
The taser connected with Crom's right shoulder just as the first potent "Click" rushed through Wyland's arm as the On switch depressed. The electricity bound Wyland's arm to Crom's shoulder, as he watched the pulse surge through Crom's body, first bringing his arm up at a weird angle, then driving his eyes back in his skull. "Click, Click, Click" went the taser, as Crom's body responded in kind, dancing awkwardly to each "Click" demand from the Taser. Wyland felt himself smiling, watching this lunatic piece of shit get electrocuted. The sensation of the god of death sitting to his left was gone, although he wasn't sure he would ever forget that feeling.
Suddenly, there was an arm in front of Wyland's face. Bunched into a fist, swinging towards him roundhouse style, was Red's bulky, calloused fist, covered in a forest of ginger-red hair. Wyland felt like he had an eternity to move out of the way, but as he attempted to move, he suddenly felt the tightness around his wrists, ankles and neck bind up, freezing him in place. They felt odd, like they were moving, clenching and loosening as a Boa Constrictor might, advancing it's slowly tightening grip on it's prey. It was almost as though there were snakes binding him in place.
He felt a frown grow on his face as the back of Red's meaty fist closed in. He felt the Taser, still clicking its maddening clicks. He could smell that Crom has pissed and shit himself.
He felt his nose crumple and then finally, a deep and oddly satisfying Crunch as his nose gave way, then a flash of white, then nothing.
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