Defiled Earth and other tales by Tom G. H. Adams

Author:Tom G. H. Adams [Adams, Tom G. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rivendell Publications
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

~ ~ ~

The following day was a Sunday. Not a traditional trading day, but then, this wasn’t a traditional purchase. Mandrake was accommodating to a tee and arranged for Cyprian to be delivered late morning. The papers Mandrake had drawn up contained a lot of legalese but, most importantly, three conditions:

One—Cyprian must never go out in public. If any close friends or relatives were exposed to her, they must be sworn to secrecy.

Two—if she was neglected or abused in any way, should I be unable to contain her carnivorous excesses or if she should escape—then the contract would be void and I would be liable for a redemption fee and recovery costs. Cyprian would return to Mandrake’s ownership and her bond with me broken.

Three—this last one was the humdinger. I was forbidden to have sexual relations with her.

“You will be tempted,” said Mandrake, “but once again I tell you—she is not human. Her only desire is to procreate and then feed on her offspring.”

There was one more peculiarity. The contract had to be signed in blood. A necessary part of the transferral of bond, Mandrake had said. It was done very clinically, using sterile lancets but, all the same, something at the back of my mind questioned how I had allowed myself to become embroiled. Then I thought of Cyprian again, and the voice of reason was buried in a rock fall of obsession. I left Mandrake’s bestiary a satisfied customer.

The sound of a Bedford van pulling into the drive brought me back to the present. A dense fog saturated the air and settled as a film on my cardigan. The atmospherics suited my mood and my purpose. Sunday meant that neither Mrs Halfin, the housekeeper, nor Bradshaw were around to see anything. The mist would pull a fortunate veil of secrecy over Cyprian’s arrival.

The van seemed an unfitting vehicle for the delivery of my treasure. But it provided the perfect cover, according to Mandrake. Be that as it may, I couldn’t bring myself to think of Cyprian as a delivery, despite Mandrake’s admonishments. She was a person in the truest sense. She had intellect, she had emotions. She might not be human, but I was damned if I was going to treat her as a commodity.

I signed the delivery note and Mandrake’s men lifted a long, oak box from the rear of the vehicle.

“Where would you like us to put it, squire?” said one of them. A man with social graces to match his pungent body odour.

“In the games room will be fine. Just watch you don’t knock anything over,” I said with barely concealed impatience.

“No problem. It’s bulky rather than heavy.” Indeed, the ease with which they lifted the box attested to this. Yet another thing to marvel at. The documentation I’d been given told of the Lamia having pneumatised bones, much akin to a bird’s. They also possessed a remarkable strength. I followed them all in, palms damp with anticipation.

After placing her on top of a covered snooker table, the delivery men hung back as if waiting for something.

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