The Slime Beast Read online

  The Slime Beast

  Guy N Smith

  Guy Т Smith

  The Slime Beast

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE Wash. Miles of flat, dark green saltings, adjoining the mud-fiats which lie further out than the eye can see. Some has been reclaimed from the sea by man. Much is just the same as it has always been. Peaceful, friendly, and treacherous! Its moods change along with the shifting whispering quicksands. Safety here. Death there. No warning.

  It was late October when the party set up camp along by Shep White's, a mile or so east of Sutton village. The old farmhouse on the other side of the big dyke was long gone, and just a crumbling ruin remained. Shep White wasn't around any more either. Desolation, utter and complete. The only company was the warbling curlews and the clamouring geese which flighted over the sea-wall night and morning.

  The blockhouse was the obvious choice for a camp-site. It had weathered a quarter of a century of winters; built for a war in which it had played no part; solid to the last square of concrete. It needed little preparation. Sacking on the floor. Boards over the windows to keep the draught out It smelled of stale urine and excretion.

  There were just the three of them. Professor Lowson was small and wiry, and it was hard to tell his age, for a bushy black beard flecked with grey hid the wrinkles in his face. In a month's time he would be 55, but he felt ten years younger.

  Gavin Royle was in his mid-twenties. Handsome, smiling, well-built and with long dark hair of which the Professor was constantly disapproving. Royle's recent appointment as an assistant curator at the British Museum put him on an equal footing with the leader of this small expedition, but the Professor could not recognise equality.

  Liz Beck, who completed the party, was the Professor's twenty-year-old niece. Ever since her parents had been killed in a road accident almost ten years ago she had had to rely upon this crusty old archaeologist for her needs. In his own way he was kindly enough even if he was lost in the past. She had graduated to university, under his guidance, and had consequently developed a strong interest in archaeology.

  It was a shame she couldn't spend the vacation how she would have preferred: just lying on some beach allowing the sun to tan her beautifully proportioned body to a rich brown. Still, Uncle did need somebody to keep an eye on him when he set off on these expeditions. King John's treasure, indeed! Men had been searching for it ever since it had sunk into the briny! The most up-to-date equipment in the world had been employed and still it refused to yield its secret resting-place. And now one more search party...

  Gavin carried the last carton across from the Land Rover beyond the sea-wall and set it down in the doorway of their chosen headquarters.

  'Well, that's the lot!' he breathed. Somehow he had the feeling that he was just the work-horse of the party. The labourer. Brought along to do all the digging.

  'Mind how you handle that metal-detector!' the Professor's voice whined from the interior of his own quarters. 'You're handling valuable equipment here, my boy. Not just provisions, you know.'

  'I'm the only one who handles bloody anything around here,' Gavin thought, but aloud he said, 'All right, all right. Keep your hair on. I know what I'm doing.'

  The muttered reply was incomprehensible.

  'Don't be too hard on Uncle.'

  Liz Beck appeared in the doorway of the 'room' which she had allocated herself. 'He's not a bad old stick really.'

  'I suppose not,' Gavin eyed her appraisingly, noting her petite body with its curves in just the right places. Perfect features, long raven-black hair. He sighed. They had only known each other a few hours since they had set out from London and already his mind was spinning; he wondered if she was a virgin and then forced himself to think of other things. It wasn't any of his bloody business whether she was or not

  'Give us a hand to unpack these few last things,' he said. 'A woman's always that much better at arranging a house than a man.'

  'You think we're crazy coming here to look for a treasure which was lost seven hundred years ago and everybody's been looking for since, don't you?' he asked as they worked.

  'Don't you!' she countered.

  Tm being paid for it.' He tried to appear mercenary In an attempt to disguise his true feelings. 'Besides it's a break from the routine of the Museum. It gets pretty deadly there at times.'

  'Same goes for me. Besides, Uncle Jack really is a bit of a daydream. He needs somebody around to keep reminding him that he's still living in the twentieth century.'

  They worked in silence. Eventually she lit the primus-stove and placed a kettle of water on it.

  'I suppose I'd better think about preparing some tea,' she said. 'No doubt Uncle will prefer to eat in his own little den. He never does like company at meal-times.'

  Gavin Royle was relieved at this prospect but refrained 7

  from saying so. The more time he had Liz to himself the better he would like it.

  They washed up in silence. Apart from the clinking of crockery the only other sound was the constant scraping of matches on emery paper as Professor Lawson lit and relit his massive blackened briar pipe.

  'It'll be light for another hour yet,' Gavin commented as he dried the last of the plates. 'What say we go for a stroll along the sea-wall? It's a nice evening. Too good to waste sitting in here.'

  'Fine.' She smiled with enthusiasm. "There's no point in telling Uncle. He won't miss us anyway.'

  The air was fresh and clean, spiced with the smell of the sea. For some time they walked in silence. High above them small skeins of wild geese honked as they headed back to their roosting grounds on the distant mud-flats.

  'Do you really think there's any chance of ever finding this treasure?' Gavin shook his head.

  'Who knows?' The Wash is an awfully big area. Half of it you can't get at anyway, shifting mud and tides can cover up things for centuries.'

  The sun was dipping behind the horizon and suddenly it seemed much colder, reminding them that it wasn't summer any more. They began to retrace their steps.

  Gavin glanced at Liz. He began thinking about her again. He wondered if she had a chap back at the university. Most girls there had, and for a variety of reasons.

  He dropped his hand and felt for hers, closing his fingers over hers, gently, casually, as if it were the most natural thing to do. It was. His heart pounded. He half expected her to draw herself away, embarrassed, but she didn't. For some time she did nothing. Then, as if she had been deliberating on a course of action her small delicate fingers jostled for a position of more comfort and squeezed her reply. Two hundred yards further on he released his hold and slipped an arm about her waist Her body nestled against his. Neither of them spoke,

  Dusk was falling when they arrived back at the blockhouse. They paused at the entrance facing each other. Neither of them could think of anything to say. Words seemed superfluous. Gavin drew her towards him and they kissed. Gently at first. Then more fiercely as they pressed their bodies together. Gavin thought about his hardness which was boring against her thighs. He longed to caress the curves beneath her sweater but managed to control himself. A step at a time. At the moment he was doing just fine.

  'Liz!' Professor Lowson's voice caused them to spring apart. 'Liz! How about lighting these lamps?'

  They sighed with sudden relief. The old boy had only just noticed that it was getting dark. He obviously had not even left his quarters during the whole time they had been away.

  'Coming.' Liz called and went inside to look for the matches.

  Gavin and Liz tried to read for a while, gave it up and made some coffee. Concentration seemed impossible, so they sat and talked.

  A sudden pounding on the improvised door crashed through the quietness.

  Liz wa
s trembling a little. "This isn't exactly the place where one would expect callers. And we don't know a soul, round here. Whoever can it be?'

  'Well, there's only one way to find out,' Gavin Royle's smile reassured her as he got to his feet and made for the door. He tugged at the wooden framework and with a grinding and screeching it was forced open.

  'Good evening.'

  The man on the threshold was tall and austere-looking, with an aquiline face with bushy eyebrows and a moustache which suggested he had been in military service at some time or other. The completely bald head seemed to add a sinister aspect, yet his tweed jacket, plus-fours and Wellington boots were in keeping with the surroundings.

  'Do I have the honour of addressing Professor Lowson?' His voice was cultured, firm.

  'Er—no.' Gavin was perplexed for a moment. 'But I'll fetch him for you. Would you care to step inside a moment?' 'Thank you.'

  Gavin turned, but Professor Lowson was already in the 'hall'.

  'Who is it?'

  He wrinkled his nose, a habit of his when he was annoyed at being disturbed, and peered over the top of his spectacles at the newcomer.

  Their visitor seemed equally surprised at the appearance of the Professor. 'My name is Haywood, Manton Hay-wood. You must have noticed the small lighthouse at the place where the road joins the sea-wall. I live there. I am an ornithologist.'

  'A bird-watcher!' There was a faint note of contempt in Professor Lowson's voice.

  That's right. I'm working at the moment in a survey to find out the number of pinkfeet geese which use the Wash as a wintering ground.'

  Professor Lowson sneered. 'Very interesting I'm sure. But I fail to see how I can help you.'

  'You can help me,' said the ornithologist, annoyed by the other's attitude, 'by keeping off the mud-flats. I was talking to Ramsey Keen the doctor in Sutton. He's a bit of an archaeologist himself. Knows all about you. Well, the mud-flats are the main roosting grounds of the wild geese in this area. Disturbance would scatter them and make my job ten times more difficult Therefore I must ask you not to go further than the edge of the saltings.'

  Lowson's beard twitched. Liz knew the signs only too well. The storm clouds were gathering within.

  'Oh yes,' the Professor thrust his head forward and glowered at their visitor over the top of his spectacles. 'Well let me tell you something Mister ... Mister...' he never could remember names, 'Mister-whatever-your-name is. The mud-flats are the property of the Crown. That means anyone who wants to can walk on them. Dig on them. Do what you like on them. Got it.'

  Manton Haywood drew himself up to his full height, towering above the Professor. His fists clenched until his knuckles showed white. His complexion took on a purple tinge. His lips were white and bloodless.

  Then without a word he turned on his heel and stalked outside. For some time the three of them stood there in silence. Nobody spoke until the last squelching footstep had died away.

  'Damn the impertinence of the fellow!' Lowson adjusted his spectacles and smoothed his beard. 'Just who does he think he is? I think that tomorrow we shall begin our search on these very, mud-flats. A mission such as ours shall not be thwarted by the likes of man such as that'

  He stalked back to his quarters and Liz put the kettle on again.

  'Your uncle's determined isn't he?' Gavin laughed.

  'When he's got a bee in his bonnet nothing'll stop him,' Liz smiled and added, 'me too!'

  But hardly had they poured their coffee before another heavy knocking came upon the door.

  'Who the hell.. .' Gavin struggled to his feet but Professor Lowson was already on his way to answer it, muttering angrily to himself.

  'Confound the man!' he snarled. 'I thought I made myself perfectly clear.' He dragged the door open. 'Now for the last time.. .'

  His words trailed off. It was not Manton Haywood who stood on the threshold.

  This man was small of build. Several days' growth of beard covered sharp features and his deep, sunken eyes darted suspiciously in all directions. He wore a camouflaged army-surplus combat jacket and thigh-length waders. A tattered cap, several sizes too small, vainly tried to cover unruly locks of long grey hair.

  'What d'you want?' Professor Lowson was in no mood to be amicable.

  'That's just what I've come to ask you,' the other replied. 'Who the hell d'you think you are to move into this place just as though you bloody well owned it? You bloody shooters are a nuisance from the time the season opens until it doses. All you do is scare off all the ducks and geese so that there's none left for a feller like me who has to make a livin' out of 'em! '

  'Firstly,' Professor Lowson took a step forward, 'we are not shooters. Secondly, as I've already told another of you locals, we shall do just what the hell we please while we are here. And thirdly, who are you to come banging on my door at this time of night?'

  'Mallard Glover's the name.' The wildfowler stood with his hands on his hips, 'and what I say on this part of the marshes goes! I've been fowlin' and whelkin' here for nigh on thirty years. Never 'ad no trouble till you blasted tit-shooters from the cities started comin' 'ere. I ain't 'avin' none of it mate. I got me a livin' to make and I ain't 'avin' it mussed up by the likes of a bearded old bastard like you!'

  The thunder clouds which had been building up inside Lowson suddenly burst. Rage replaced reason. His clenched fist swung in a wide arc and crunched with all the force of his body behind it on Glover's jaw.

  The wildfowler seemed to become airborne and then he crashed full length into the mud. For some moments he lay still and then very slowly he forced himself up on to his knees. His features were completely hidden beneath a layer of thick marsh ooze.

  'Uncle Jack!' Liz darted forward and placed a restraining hand on her uncle's arm in case he was thinking of following up the assault. 'Uncle Jack! You shouldn't have done that.'

  'You're damn right he shouldn't 'ave.' Mallard Glover spat out mud as he spoke. 'That's assault that is. I could go to the police. But I won't. I'll get even just the same though. You see if I don't.'

  'Clear off!' Gavin decided it was time that he took a hand. 'You only got what you asked for. Now clear out and don't come back. Otherwise you'll get my boot up your arse to help you on your way.'

  Mallard Glover picked himself up, shook himself like a dog and without even a backward glance sloped off into the night.

  'Christ!' Gavin forced the door closed and followed the other inside. 'It seems we're not exactly popular, to say the least!'

  'Lesson number one. Never get involved with locals when you're on a job like this. You'll never get any help out of them. Only hinderance and trouble. They always think you're out to pinch something which is theirs by right. Now we'd better turn in and get some sleep. We've got a busy day in front of us tomorrow.'

  He stalked back to his quarters,

  Gavin looked at Liz.

  'Well that's a jolly start to our stay on the Wash. I wonder why everybody wants us out of the way. Is it really just because we're likely to disturb the birdies ?'

  'What do you mean, Gavin?' Her expression was puzzled.

  'I don't know,' he replied, 'maybe I'm tired and just letting my imagination run riot.'

  Their lips met in a lingering kiss. This time his hands caressed her breasts through her sweater. She did not draw away.

  He watched her enter her room. His hardness and his instincts told him to follow her. Reason advised him to wait Just a little while.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE following day was warm. Too warm, Gavin reflected as the three of them trudged out on to the mud-flats.' Each carried a small spade and enough provisions to. last the day. The Professor carried the metal-detector. His would be the decision to dig if necessary.

  'Strewth! ' Liz commented, 'it's just like summer.'

  'Too hot for this game,' Gavin replied. 'We should have come in the winter.'

  The further out they went the more difficult their progress became. Twice they were instructed to
dig. The first excavation revealed the remains of a motor-launch less than three feet below the mud. The second turned up a rusty iron bedstead. On the latter occasion they were forced to go down seven or eight feet.

  Professor Lowson was unruffled.

  'It will not be easy,' he told them as he methodically filled and lit his pipe. 'We shall have to dig many times, I have no doubt, before we stand any chance of success. Nothing can be ignored.'

  'You wouldn't say that if you bloody well had to do the digging,' Gavin thought as he drained the dregs from his last can of beer.

  The sun was past its zenith. The Professor consulted his watch and then his compass.

  'We must start back towards the mainland,' he snapped. 'The tide will be flowing in in less than two hours. It can creep in and fill the creeks ahead of you before you realise it and then you're trapped.'

  They began the long trudge back. Sticky squelching mud, and every step was an effort. Twice the detector chattered but there was no time to dig. The tide is a merciless foe. It waits for no man.

  Eventually they saw the dark green of the spike-grass hi the distance. Gavin looked at his watch. It was four o'clock; another three hours or so of daylight He wished the Professor would put that damned metal-detector away. They had shifted enough mud for one day.

  The saltings were a relief after the monotony of the mudflats. Liz looked expectantly towards her uncle but still he trudged on. He was not prepared to rest until darkness fell.

  'I hope we're not going to have this caper every day.' Gavin muttered aside to Liz.

  'Leave it to me,' she gave his hand a quick squeeze. 'I'll try and persuade him that we ought to search the sea-wall tomorrow. The treasure could've been dredged up and buried in it when the wall was built.'

  Professor Lowson stopped and held up his free hand, the detector crackling again.

  'Ah!' his bright eyes danced with anticipation. 'We are afforded yet another chance. Gavin, Liz, this patch of soft mud amongst the spartina grass. This is where we must dig.'