by Jordan, G R
“How does a little dancing make her a witch? Just because she got a bit jiggy with it.”
“Churchy, she was naked, exposing herself like a top shelf magazine. It’s occult dancing. It’s very intoxicating and it calls up things from hell.”
“She’s probably being used.”
“No, Churchy, she’s the core, she’s the one who started this, and now she’s riding like a hooker on the arm of a spirit. And a right bastard of a one at that.”
“Damn, I was an alarm call from bedding her.” The room fell silent as they stared at him.
“I guess the time with your wife did not go so well, then?” proposed Havers.
“It’s complicated,” rallied Kirkgordon, but he hung his head in shame. “It’s bloody complicated.” I know my sins will find me out, thought Kirkgordon, but a witch? That’s just unfair, damn well unfair.
Plans
There were six of them assembled in the living room. A government agent, a former protector, a historical building curator, an expert on the occult and all things fantastical and a priest with his twelve-year-old daughter. Outside, outwith the grounds of the church whose manse they were sitting in, was a horde from hell, devilish ghostly pirates led by a captain with his naked lover in tow, a lover who had been a nurse at the town’s care home before summoning the captain and draining life from the home’s residents. It isn’t the craziest situation I’ve found myself in, thought Havers, but it’s close.
“We need to pool our knowledge and thinking on this matter, everyone, as I don’t believe any of us have a full picture on what is happening yet.” Havers scanned the assembly, seeking any discontent. “Let’s start with our expert. Mr Austerley, tell us what you know.”
“I know I’m a lot older than I should be! You could’ve intervened a bit quicker, Havers.” Austerley shook his head at his treatment so far.
“One, Mr Austerley, that doesn’t help. Two, you find me anyone else who could have extracted you from such a horde armed only with some wooden sticks and I will hire them immediately and head for the Costa del Sol and a happier life. And three, kindly answer the question and show these good people why I felt it necessary to save your precious skin in the first place.” Havers held his stare.
Austerley looked annoyed. “Well, if that’s the—”
“Four, I refer you to point three. Now, what do you know?”
Austerley glowered at Havers but focused on the task at hand. “Not a lot, if truth be told. When I was in the care home, one of the nurses, specifically Kirkgordon’s naked chick—”
“Hey, that’s unfair!” interjected Kirkgordon.
“Enough, Mr Austerley. The details please,” insisted Havers.
“Well, she wore a rather peculiar necklace with a swirling symbol that looked familiar. So I asked Havers to get a certain book from a Swiss library so that I could learn more about it. I was drugged before I could read the book, and I woke up on Gibbet Point having the life drained from me before Havers kindly took matters into his own hands.” Austerley nodded his appreciation at Havers.
“Continue,” said Havers.
“Well, I have now been able to study the book and can say that earlier assertions are correct. She is a witch, and a dangerous one. But also a possessed one.”
“Possessed?” asked Kirkgordon, “How?”
“Generally by a spirit coming into the body and setting up house. What sort of detail are you looking for?”
“There’s no need to be like that, Indy.”
“Who’s Indy?” asked the priest’s daughter.
“Sorry, just a name for Austerley. Because he’s so Indiana Jones. Can’t keep his nose out of any artefact,” responded Kirkgordon.
Havers took charge of the conversation again. “Enough, everyone, let Mr Austerley continue.”
“It’s the design, you see. It’s very old and comes from a line of witches who passed down their knowledge through the generations. I suspect that Captain Smith’s bitch—” Austerley saw Havers’ eyes flash fire and his face indicate with a nod that there were ladies present. “Sorry, his lady, was probably part of the line, as is the nurse.”
“She’s only eighteen, Austerley. How do you get into a line of witches at eighteen?” demanded Kirkgordon. “There didn’t seem to be much of a witch about her at all.”
“On the contrary, Mr Kirkgordon,” said a passive Havers, “she almost seduced a married man who should have been alert to outside influences. She also appeared in Austerley’s room just as I was about to discover evidence. Oh, and she danced an erotic, blasphemous dance and stared right at me with eyes shining with hellfire. And I know hellfire! So, for an eighteen-year-old, she showed a number of signs.”
Kirkgordon folded his arms like a spoilt child. I didn’t even sleep with her, he thought.
“Now, if we can continue,” said Havers. “After all, it’s only the lives and souls of this town that are on the line. Mr Austerley?”
“My difficulty is in pinpointing the branch of witch lore she comes from. There are fourteen possible options, although three of those are so little used that I find it unlikely they would be employed here. The necklace symbol, although rare, is too vague. It shows witchery in general but not the specific type. Was there anything else she touched or was concerned about?”
“I don’t know if it means anything but there was a brooch,” offered Kirkgordon. “It was on the bedside of a patient. One of the older ladies was complaining about it but Tania shifted her on smartly.”
“A brooch?” asked Havers. “What sort?”
“Emerald, I think, with diamonds and some writing.”
“That was beside Mr Austerley’s bed too. It was there when she hurried me out of his room,” said Havers.
“Get it for me. I need to see it,” demanded Austerley.
“Okay,” said Havers, “time for a little walk, Mr Kirkgordon. Maybe Nefol, too.”
“Who?” asked Kirkgordon.
Havers pointed at the twelve-year-old girl.
Shaking his head, Kirkgordon railed, “Why the hell would you risk a child’s protection by taking her out there?”
“Mr Kirkgordon, it’s no risk. She’s going for your protection.” Kirkgordon looked at the priest in desperation but all he got in return was a smiling nod. Sitting back into his seat, Kirkgordon despaired at the madness his work involved him in these days.
“Search the building,” said Austerley, “and bring anything else interesting you find.”
“It’s not like we have loads of time, Indy,” complained Kirkgordon. “If you hadn’t noticed, the place is crawling with ghosts and I’m just guessing this sanctuary doesn’t cover the care home. And as it stands, apart from Havers’ sticks, we are low on weapons.”
“Mr Austerley is right though, Mr Kirkgordon. We need to search the place. And as for weapons, I suspect our priest has something lurking in his cupboards.” Havers was clearly agitated by Kirkgordon’s continued interruptions. “The other matter we need to address is our lack of knowledge about the history of these episodes. Miss Goodritch, I believe you can be of some help in consultation with Mr Austerley, but he would like to go further than a mere verbal exchange.”
“Miss Goodritch,” began Austerley.
“Jane, please, just Jane.”
“Ah, Jane. Havers said you were the local expert on the town’s history. I’ll need to tap into that expertise in order to understand where this Captain Smith is coming from. But, more than that, I’ll need to see and touch any artefacts you have.”
“Really,” said Jane, fascinated.
“Oh, yes. When one has a disposition such as mine, the mere presence of a device or memorial of power will alert my occult senses. I am what they call attuned. It’s why they fear me.”
Kirkgordon burst out laughing.
“Mr Kirkgordon, this is not the time,” snapped an angry Havers. “Kindly contain your juvenile one-upmanship with Mr Austerley. There is work to be done.”
“So who’s going to get these artefacts, Havers?” countered Kirkgordon. “Again, there’s a load of ghosts running around the neighbourhood and Austerley’s one foot short of a sprint.”
“Just concentrate on your job and leave that to the experts, Mr Kirkgordon. Your candour is becoming quite annoying.”
“One important point,” announced the priest, standing. “If you get into difficulty you can run into any sanctuary I have set up. All the houses, garages, coffee shops, whatever. However, you will then be trapped. I couldn’t risk the general public leaving their abodes once I had set up the refuges. Only I can let you out. And I need to be with you to do it. Are we understood?” There was a murmur of agreement. “Good. Now, a moment of prayer.”
Kirkgordon watched Austerley roll his eyes when the priest bowed his head. Finding it hard to focus, Kirkgordon made the motion of closing his eyes, but in his head he was addressing God directly: You couldn’t have pointed out she was a witch? I mean it’s not like I’d have just ended up having an affair. I would have been her demonic lover if it had all gone to plan. Great job of looking out for me.
Then another voice entered his head: Sanctuary. You seem to be in the right place despite your stupid actions. I guess someone else was doing my job!
When the prayer was finished, Kirkgordon stood up and approached Havers. Havers’ eyes warned that the next question had better be sensible.
“Havers, are you sure you’re covered? I mean, taking Austerley with his foot and the woman as well. She’s no athlete.”
“If I needed help, I would have asked. Understand this, Mr Kirkgordon. When this place was getting dragged, flown, dropped or whatever the verb is for it, the only one who stopped it was Mr Austerley. He is an extremely potent weapon, like so many of the people in this room. You need to stop bemoaning their faults and start building them up and using them. They are all terrified underneath, and with good cause. So I need you to start being a leader and a source of unity or I will drop you. And I use drop in our professional sense. Am I clear?”
Damn it, Havers, you’re as clear as you are cold, thought Kirkgordon. Ice to the core. Consummate professional. I hope Her Majesty is proud of her employee. Despite the inner turmoil, Kirkgordon just nodded.
The priest led Kirkgordon out of the room and took him to another door in the corridor. It led to a flight of stairs which descended into the depths of the manse. At the bottom of the descent, Father Jonah flicked a light switch. Kirkgordon gasped at the sight.
The room was dimly lit but Kirkgordon could see that it housed four rows of racks, each just over a man tall. On the racks were weapons of all shapes and sizes. Each row was at least twenty feet long. It looked like no manse basement he knew. Slipping past him from behind came Nefol. Kirkgordon noticed how nimble and balanced she was. Walking to the end of the first row, she jumped onto the top rack and lifted a small shield and what looked like a dainty swinging mace.
“Doesn’t she want something more substantial?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Well,” said the priest, “she is only young and cannot lift the heavier items effectively. But she has balance and guile. As Havers said, she is there for your protection. Do not worry about my daughter.”
Kirkgordon nodded. Things were never how they seemed in this game.
“Oh, and Mr Kirkgordon,” added the priest, “He is there and He saw you to here.”
“Who?” asked Kirkgordon.
“The one you blame for all this. Don’t worry, He can take the anger. But remember, you cannot!”
For a moment, Kirkgordon started to respond, but the truth of the statement prevented any crevice from being prised open. Arse, thought Kirkgordon, even halfway to hell He’s got an eye on me.
“One would think that comforting,” said the priest. Then Father Jonah shook his head slightly, as if coming out of a trance, and looked quizzically at Kirkgordon. “Did that make sense? Made absolutely no sense to me.”
Should Have Read the Manual
Been a while since I ran through the sewers, Nefol. It never gets any more pleasant.” Kirkgordon pushed the manhole cover to one side. They were blasted heavy and there was no way the girl could have lifted it. Maybe I’m just the muscle, Kirkgordon pondered, before dismissing the thought with a shake of the head.
Nefol sprang out of the sewer and ran swiftly to the corner of a house. Looking back, she waved Kirkgordon on. It seemed bizarre to him having a little green dwarf running point for him. She was dressed in an olive-coloured khaki jacket and wrap leggings with her pigtails hidden under a loose hood. Her soft tight green sports slippers made no noise as she stepped. In a child’s way she looked cute, except for the mace.
Kirkgordon quickly replaced the manhole then joined Nefol at the edge of the house. The sky continued to burn, and beyond the shadows everything was clear as a sunny day but the darkness provided a solid cloak which the pair used as cover.
The house across the street had the image of a cross burning on its door. At the window, oblivious to their presence, stood a man with eyes red from crying and a worn face. He was looking up and down the street anxiously, causing Kirkgordon to believe he had someone left outside and didn’t know whether they were safe. How could one know? The mobile signal didn’t work here. Televisions, radios, all gone. In that house, all would be quiet on the information highway, and wasn’t that really a hell in itself? Sanctuary wasn’t always comfortable. Especially when it was imposed.
Nefol tapped Kirkgordon’s hand and pointed ahead. Two ghostly deckhands were standing guard on the main road. Each carried a short sword and they were slumped up against lamp posts on either side of the street.
“We’ll scout round them,” said Nefol. “No need to engage them at the moment.” Kirkgordon nodded. There was still some distance to be covered before the care home, and the quieter the journey, the better.
Before he could move, a car engine roared into life. A black saloon reversed from a driveway three houses away and sped towards the two guards, who had sprung back into a more defensive pose. One took a horn from his side and blew, but Kirkgordon heard no note despite the immense level of exertion. The car raced past the two guards and a young man showed two fingers to them.
In the wind was a noise, like a stuttering helicopter but sounding much more powerful. Kirkgordon cocked his head to try to hear more clearly. Judging by Nefol’s reaction, she could hear the sound too, for she began to tense up slightly. And then a streak of black flew before their eyes. It was a winged beast with the body of a snake. Enormous fangs protruded from its mouth and a flicking tongue shot back and forth. Almost immediately the image disappeared as the beast flew after the departing car. Some fifteen seconds later the car was thrown onto the street from a height and the winged snake dived to the ground. Both guards had run to the car. It had rolled badly, smashing the windows and crumpling the roof. Inside, the young man was not moving.
One of the guards reached inside and pulled the man out of the car. He slapped his face, drawing the man back to consciousness. Kirkgordon’s first instinct was to rush into battle, but he thought about the way Havers was always calm and collected, never jeopardizing any mission for the sake of an individual. Nefol was looking hard at Kirkgordon and he bowed his head slightly in regret. Shaking her head in disbelief, Nefol turned and ran towards the guard.
Oh crap, thought Kirkgordon.
Nefol was already swinging her small mace when she reached the guard, whom she caught with a blow right to the forehead. As its ghostly green presence dissipated, the man it was supporting fell to the ground. Nefol ignored him as the winged snake started to attack her with quick, lunging strikes, its teeth exposed. Nefol was nimble on her feet and moved with the grace of a professional acrobat. Her mace struck the beast several times but seemed to be having little effect.
From behind Nefol, the other guard approached with his sword pointed at Nefol’s back. Kirkgordon saw the danger and fired off one of Father Jonah’s arrows. The shot was true, but
just as he fired, Nefol swung the mace behind her and it caught the ghost on the top of its head, knocking it sideways while Kirkgordon’s arrow flew past harmlessly. However, the guard paid for that good fortune as Nefol swung the mace again and finished off the ghost with a blow to the side of the skull. The whole time, Nefol’s eyes had never left the snake.
She’s good, thought Kirkgordon, but that snake’s not going down so easily. And where the hell did they get it from?
Rising back into the air, the snake held itself some six feet off the ground and used its length to reach down and try to grab Nefol. She was avoiding the strikes but was struggling to connect with the beast’s head. Kirkgordon looked into his quiver at the arrows he had taken from the manse basement, noting their different thickness and the markings on the flashings. They could have told me what each one is and what it does, he thought. Oh stuff it, the last one seemed alright, just pick one.
Nefol saw the arrow depart Kirkgordon’s bow and screamed. She turned and ran away from the snake, heading towards one of the houses. The arrow buried itself in the beast, which began to hiss in anger. A small black hole appeared in the side of the animal, drawing in the rest of the creature with a sound like a child emptying the last dregs of juice through a straw. It folded in on itself for several seconds and then there was a silence. Kirkgordon was beginning to turn his back when he saw the hole erupt, spewing bits of snake all around with a thunderous cracking sound.
It was like getting caught in the spray of a muck spreader in the countryside, and it smelt just as bad. As he tried to straighten up, Nefol appeared, looking extremely angry.
“Why did you fire that one? They will have heard it. We need to go. And you need to lose your clothes. They won’t miss the smell of the snake guts.”
Kirkgordon was about to argue. He wanted to say that no one had told him what any of the arrows did. No one had given him a brief. No one had warned him about potential flying snakes. Oh, and actually, he had just sorted out their winged beast problem. But she was right. Well, she seemed to know as much as anybody about how this place and these ghostly creatures worked. So he stripped. Right down to his underpants. The crying man who had been looking out the window still looked out. He still had tears in his eyes. But he was now crying with laughter at the snake-splattered, near-naked warrior with bow and quiver strapped around him.