In fact, it ended up being a long three weeks we stayed in the charming little inn in New Galloway, consulting daily with Mairead and the local hunters. Nick and Tally wanted to make sure that Lirgon had fled the area before returning to America, which meant checking likely nests at night and waiting for news of missing humans during the day. It was tedious work, but had to be done.
There were more than enough hunters to help Tally and Nick with that chore. I took care of Riley during the day, along with my new ward, Nyanther. Because I remained behind and because I was the only one fluent in Latin, it naturally fell to me to ease Nyanther’s orientation.
Even in the 1980s, hunters had become more practiced at passing among humans undetected, which meant learning how to acquire false IDs and documentation as needed. The three weeks we stayed in Scotland were also the time we needed to acquire a set of American IDs for Nyanther, so we could return with him to New York.
That also meant putting him through a crash course of basic English. He would have to be able to read it and write it well enough to pass casual inspection. Mairead’s mother happened to be a local school teacher and supplied text books and teaching aids and that was how I spent my days, while Nyanther listened and watched me with his pale, almost colorless blue eyes, often while holding Riley in one big, muscled arm.
He picked up English at a prodigious rate. He understood how critical it was that he pass as normal among humans. He also took an oddly innocent delight in just about everything he heard or saw or could pick up. Clothes were endlessly fascinating. The TV was even more so. It took a few days for me to realize that he did not understand that the moving images were of real people. That was nearly a full day’s discussion, history lesson and basic technology primer just by itself.
I arranged for a hairdresser to visit the inn and cut his hair and trim his beard. With Nyanther wearing my jeans and Nick’s shirt and shoes, we took him shopping for more suitable clothing. The shoe store kept him occupied for an hour and I suspect he would be there, still, if we had not dragged him away wearing his first set of sneakers, which he kept looking down upon and bouncing up and down to test the ingenious idea of cushioned mid-soles.
It would have been amusing, except that we were under a deadline that couldn’t stretch indefinitely. Nick insisted on bringing him with us when we returned home.
“He lived when the gargoyles first worked with humans,” he pointed out. “He knows more about gargoyles than we’ve ever been able to put together since they re-emerged in the thirteenth century,” he argued.
“He can barely speak English,” I pointed out. “You’re going to have a hard time consulting with him. He would be better here among the descendants of his tribes.”
Nick turned to look at me. At the time, we were sitting at one of the tiny tables in the public bar, at the end of another fruitless day of searching for him and Tally and a day of diapers and middle school teaching for me. Even though we don’t get tired, I think we really were tired. Tired of the draining uselessness we felt.
“He comes back with us,” Nick said flatly, using the tone that told me that even I would not be able to talk him out of it.
I just looked at him. It had been a long while since that toned worked on me.
Nick relented. He leaned closer and dropped his voice. “Nyanther might be critical to our success,” he said. “Think about it, Damian. He was bitten by a gargoyle and survived.”
“If you call a coma that lasts for two thousand years surviving,” I said dryly.
Nick shook his head. “He’d still be there now if Valdeg had not scratched him. A tiny bit of toxin entered his blood steam and stirred whatever antibodies his own body had developed to fight off the effects of the first bite. It took two thousand years, but he did it. He cured himself. Whatever is in his blood, if we can somehow…I don’t know, distill it, or bottle it…it might work for us, too.”
I almost laughed. “All you have to do is kill Lirgon, Nick. Kill him and there won’t be need for antivenin ever again.”
Oh, how wrong I was about that!
Nick sat back. He didn’t cross his arms, yet I could almost feel his defense shields go up. “Carson died because I underestimated Lirgon. Don’t try to talk me out of this, Damian. I’m going back to the States, I’m going to track Lirgon down and I’m going to use every advantage I can pull together. I’ll ship Nyanther back there in another casket if I have to.”
I shook my head. “Fine. Take him back. While you’re busy totting up your tactical advantages, don’t forget Nyanther is one of us, not just a pawn on your chessboard. He’s entitled to build whatever life he can out of this new era he has found himself in. Or would you deny him even that much?”
Nick’s face darkened. “Of course I don’t deny him that! Only this is happening now. Today. He can have his life once Lirgon is gravel.”
Seven days later, Nyanther experienced flight for the first time in his life. He broke my hand, which was trapped under his frantic grip of the armrest, as he watched out the oval window as the ground dropped away, all while trying to look like he was a seasoned, modern traveler, just as we had coached him.
I barely noticed. I was too busy laughing while trying to pretend that I was as urbane as him.
Nyanther had a way of making me experience life as if for the first time. It was hard to take anything for granted when in his company. Heavier-than-air flying machines were worthy of a moment or two of sheer terror in appreciation of their power.
Then I saw Nick was watching us from across the aisle. He was scowling.
My amusement evaporated.