The Dave Hinchy Code

by Richard Ainsworth

  “My, my. These are rather excellent. Such powerful emotions, captured so atmospherically by the artist. Wonderful, simply wonderful.”

  She moved from painting to painting in turn, hands clasped behind her back, admiring each of them with an art lover's critical eye.

  “Tea?” bumbled the confused and surprised vicar.

  “Capital idea my good fellow, capital!”

  Ruby sat on the sofa while Reverend Phullaposi poured the tea, and declared earnestly that she was sorry she had not been a frequent, nor consistent parishioner, but that we all have differing paths to follow, both spiritual and otherwise.

  “However, I am here now. I have a feeling that you, and indeed the village, are going to need considerably more help than usual at the upcoming village fête – and I'd like to help if I can.”

  Reverend Phullaposi thanked her for her concern, but explained that this year, for once, he was singularly blessed. He had already had offers of assistance from many different quarters.

  Ruby listened with growing alarm as the Reverend continued. Normally, he explained, the Church Society would have to beg for help and funding, but this year, all his prayers had apparently been answered. The answer had come in the unusual and unexpected form of the postman, David. (God does indeed sometimes move in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform). David had approached the Reverend, suggesting that Doctor Hariman (such a busy member of the community) was willing to help the church and that the good Doctor's friends, though admittedly not members of the congregation, were nevertheless of quite a religious bent (in their own way) and were keen to help put Widdowshins on the map, so to speak.

  “I bet they were,” thought Ruby, suspicious of the picture the Reverend was painting.

  Anyway, David had introduced the Reverend to Doctor Hariman, Alice and Elizabeth, and the trio had suggested that a good way to really get Widdowshins noticed would be to do something 'spectacular'; something that would be guaranteed to make the local and national news. The idea was stunning in its simplicity, and everything had been going swimmingly, until –

  “Until three nights ago,” interrupted Ruby, tapping her teacup and pursing her lips at the vicar.

  “Um, yes, quite. How – How did you know?”

  “Never mind. Was the date of the village fête set by you? Or by Hariman and his little coven?”

  The Reverend paused, frowned, deep in thought.

  “Hmm, come to think of it, it was Hariman's suggestion. He remarked that the date had to be a significant one, a red letter day... I just thought he meant that he intended it to be memorable, that's all.”

  “I'm sure that if it were left to Messrs Hariman and co., the date would indeed live on in the village’s collective memory, long after we were all gone. Now... Tell me, Reverend... Do you perchance remember the time when Hariman first arrived in our village?”

  The Reverend paused and thought hard for a few seconds. “Not exactly... No, I don't.” His brow furrowed even further.

  “Precisely. Neither do I. Nor, in fact, does anybody else that I have posed the question to. Odd, isn't it? What have Hariman, Nutter and Devizes organised for this village fête 'spectacular', might I ask?”

  The Reverend shifted uneasily from foot to foot. He felt rather like a shy schoolboy telling tales to his schoolmaster. He confessed he knew a little of one part of the plan, and nothing of the other.

  “All I really know for certain is that it will be a surprise event, the exact nature of which will be revealed at the fête itself.”

  Ruby did not like the sound of that at all.

  “In that case, we need to organise a 'spectacular' of our own,” she mused. “Oh, and one other thing… You don't happen to have any urns, pearls or crabs hanging around your church by any chance?”

  Reverend Phullaposi looked deeply uncomfortable.

  “Um, well, yes, naturally, we have urns in the church. In fact, there are even a few sculptures of columns within the church… they do look exceedingly urn-like, they’re up above and near to the pulpit. Quite nice they are, too. As for pearls... Well, you know, it's strange, but ever since I was first appointed to this parish, I've always thought how... well, how pearl-like in quality the residual, err – for want of a better word – 'blobs' were in the glass of the old windows high up in the vestry and again above the beautiful window in the Lady Chapel. Especially at certain times of the year, when the setting sun illuminates them so captivatingly at a particular angle. No crabs, though… hmmm… No. No Crabs. Absolutely no crabs. Crabs are – crabs are... SECRET..Ive. Secretive creatures... but – but I fear I have said far too much already..”

  The Reverend fell stonily silent. He was visibly shaking.

  “I think that you are being evasive with me, Reverend,” Ruby snapped. “I think that somebody – a certain medical man, perhaps – has got you all in a fluster about something. Something mysterious and secretive, relating to crustacians, perhaps?”

  The startled cleric's mouth fell open in alarmed surprise and unconscious acknowledgement, but he shook his head even so.

  Ruby would not let it rest: “You think that the crab medallion is a powerful talisman, but it is a symbol primarily and symbols of such a nature only have power if you allow them to do so.”

  She was increasingly convinced that something pretty evil was afoot and that secrecy would only help it. Hariman was not to be trusted and neither were Nutter or Devises:

  “Ask yourself, Reverend: When was the last time any of these dubious characters were noted for their charitable works?” she demanded.

  “But my dear Ruby, surely you of all people should appreciate that it's unfair to judge a book simply by its cover. In any case, my faith has taught me that everybody deserves a second chance in life if they repent and are truly sorry for any prior misdeeds.”

  “Poppycock! Do you realise the significance of the date on Saturday? Think, Reverend Phullaposi, think! It may mean nothing to you, presently, but it is the night of the nativity of Nephthys! The Egyptian equivalent of Aphrodite, in turn coupled with the Virgin Mary and the Magdalene! Surely you must be aware of the links between this ground and the Magdalene? If not, you better get you’re an education… and be quick sticks about it! Devizes, Nutter and the Doctor wish to do something 'spectacular' in the churchyard on this night. And that really cannot be good news, I fear. Do the words hijack, usurpation and defilement mean anything to you? Oh, no. We must confront them and thwart their sordid plans. You must tell me the whole sordid story precisely as it was told to you, and you must tell me now. This may at least give me some indication of what despicable activities they have in mind.”

  The increasingly worried Reverend began to talk...

  “As I told you, it all started when David introduced Doctor Hariman to me as someone who might be able to help with funding the village fête. I went to Hariman's home for a chat, and while we were talking, quite by coincidence, Alice Nutter and Liz Devizes just 'popped round' to see their friend and medical advisor. He told them why I was there and they were very enthusiastic, suggesting that what the village really needed was something that would put it on the map... Buxton has spring water, Loch Fyne has kippers…. We needed something of our own; something to put Widdowshins on everybody's lips. Something unique. I said I would have a think and get back to them. Anyway, I thought and thought, I prayed and prayed, and then one evening, just as I had risen from the alter (after a prayer for a local who was infirm at the time), there it was. Staring me right in the face. The answer to my prayers. Right there, in the stained-glass window in front of me. Roses. Simple, beautiful, perfect roses. I mentioned the idea to the others, and they became most excited. Liz Devises professed to being a rather gifted horticulturist, albeit in a totally amateur manner. She offered to 'create' a hybrid rose. She suggested that it might be within her power to create a flower of such beauty, fragrance, delicacy and size that it would revolutionise the very way that people think of roses forever after. The Widdowshi
ns’ Rose would be famous; not just locally or nationally, but right across the world. So much so that we could franchise its growth and production, and the money raised could be used to repair the Church roof and then any other monies subsequently raised could be given to other worthy projects.”

  Ruby was exasperated by this revelation.

  “Within her ‘power’ to create a ‘rose’? Roses… Herne love us… Do you not see the further irony of the white rose in that? The further link to the Lady and the Magdalene??? I give up, sometimes I really do! And what, prey tell, did Alice, Liz and Hariman stand to gain from all this magnamity?” pursued Ruby.

  The Reverend thought hard, trying to remember exactly what the deal was.

  “Nothing... Save the satisfaction of knowing they were helping those in need. Their only request was that they be allowed to have a small closing 'display', within the Church grounds, at the end of the fête.”

  “A likely tale. What of David? Our banjo-playing postman protagonist? What were his motives in this charade?” The case against them all was building brick by brick in Ruby's mind. The more the Reverend spoke, the more she knew that something 'spectacular' was likely to be precisely that. Just not in a good way, that's all.

  The Reverend took another sip of tea to lubricate his dry throat and continued :

  “Doctor Hariman told me he had taken David under his wing; he was teaching him to be a bolder, stronger, more confident person. One who would make progress and gain stature in life. He wanted him to become an 'acolyte', no less. He said he wanted to put him on a new path…”

  Ruby sipped her tea, shook her head and tutted.

  “Hmm. Under his wing and on a new path indeed. Such a prosaic turn of phrase. Ahh, the usual suspects, wealth, power, fame, vanity. It's a very seductive cocktail, even for a man of the cloth...”

  Her words clearly hit home. The Reverend opened his mouth to object, but Ruby ignored him.

  “I'm assuming that your squabble with Hariman the other night was due to his threat to retract the hoped-for miracle of the rose? All of that hotly-anticipated global attention?”

  The Reverend looked crestfallen. He nodded.

  “I thought as much.”

  Ruby sighed and straightened herself up on the settee. She had come to a decision.

  “Reverend Phullaposi. We shall allow them their hour in the sun. We shall then be party poopers extraordinaire. This afternoon you shall go and see David and try to convince him, using all of your pulpit-honed skills of rhetoric and sermonising, to reject this false prophet Hariman and cast him out. This evening, no doubt, you will receive a visit from Hariman. He will pretend that nothing at all has happened between you – as indeed will you. He will then pump you for information, which you must not give him – taking care not to antagonise him in the process. You will pretend that everything is fine between you, and all is dandy.”

  “But....” began the confounded minister.

  “But nothing.” Ruby firmly squashed his stammer. “Everything is fine between you. All is hunky-dory. He knows this is a lie. You know this is a lie. And he knows that you know this is a lie. It is all a game to them at the moment. Until Saturday, it is all a game. When Saturday comes... Well, that is a different kettle of fish. Meantime, I need to do a lot more research into the symbolic significance of pearls and crabs. Roses, too, possibly, both real and symbolic... Now. Is everything quite clear to you – what you need to do?”

  Ruby glanced at the weak, sick-looking vicar, and knew that one of her stirring speeches was required. But what to say? She cleared her throat, stood up and tried to look as determined as an elderly, portly witch can.

  “Remember, Reverend... We are not beaten yet! This is not the end. It is barely the beginning. Indeed, it is not even the beginning of the end, but what it is... It is the end of the beginning! And we should be thankful for that, Courage man! Courage!”

  The image of strength and conviction she sought to project was not helped, however, by the cup of weak tea in one hand and the half-eaten jam tart in the other. So she quickly finished both, patted the confused clergyman on the shoulder, smiled at him reassuringly and then got ready to leave.

  In the hallway, she complimented him once again on his selection of watercolours and suggested that he should buy some of Marks and Spencer's own brand of tea and biscuits in readiness for the Doctor's visit, later.

  “He has a particularly gratifying reaction to them!”

  Chuckling to herself she bid the Reverend a fond farewell. On the doorstep, however, she suddenly paused.

  “One more thing,” she added, pretending it was something she had just remembered: “Is there any mention in the Parish Records of any spirit or poltergeist activity, or indeed of any other mysterious unexplained happenings taking place in Widdowshins? This would be... quite a while back?”

  The Reverend thought for a second and told her he didn’t think so, but he would check and get back to her as soon as he could about it.

  “Please. If you could. And remember, speed is of the essence in these matters. Tally Ho!”

  And with that, she was off; striding boldly away, back down the garden path of the vicarage.

  Chapter 10

  Parched and Parchment

  Back at the caravan, Pearl, Tobias and the others were anxiously awaiting Ruby's return, but she still managed to startle them all by the flamboyant manner in which she burst through the door and announced:

  “I feel we must prepare ourselves for a very eventful and memorable village fête this year! I expect there to be quite a lot of drama and excitement, and not a few fireworks!”

  She clasped her hands together conspiratorially and cast her eyes around the gathered throng:

  “Now, we must make ready. We have only twenty-four hours in which to concoct a couple of spectacular 'events' of our own to derail and thwart the nefarious plans of Hariman, Devizes and her grubby kin. If we are to catch our rats, we must bait a very tempting trap – and you can shut yours, before you get started.”

  Ruby glared at Eddy, who was just about to say something that he felt was particularly witty.

  He thought better of it in the circumstances.

  Ruby, meantime, had taken out her mobile phone, and was scrolling though her contacts.

  “I think perhaps I should give young Malcolm a call... We might have need of his particular talents... ”

  **********

  Malcolm Nicodemus Oldthwaite, or 'Malc The Weirdo' as he was more generally known around the village, was the proprietor of BOOKS FROM BEYOND; 'Specialists in the Occult, Pop Culture, Rock Memorabilia, and Arcane Esoterica'. It was, as might be imagined, a favourite port of call for Ruby. If one were ever to question Malcolm about his friendship with the elderly witch, he would probably have described himself as her 'Apprentice' or 'Acolyte'; but the truth was that, while he was good on the theory, he had no aptitude or feeling at all for practical magic, so in reality he was more of a 'Research Assistant'; and Ruby had often found his eccentrically encyclopaedic knowledge and ability to make unlikely connections extremely useful.

  Her call found Malcolm, as usual, behind the counter of his shop, supping tea from an oversized mug and pretending to read, while keeping a beady eye on the various customers browsing among the teetering stacks of books.

  “Hey Rube. What can I do you for?”

  “Malcolm... What do you know about crabs?”

  The bookseller shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where the question was leading.

  “Er... Do you need to see a Doctor, Rube?”

  “No, dear. I’ve already seen one – and he was of very little use. I mean crabs of the crustacean, water-dwelling variety. I'm particularly interested in any arcane symbolic meaning the creature might have outside of the zodiac, and in any 'crab cults' you can discover.”

  “'Crab cults'. OK, got you... Anything else?”

  “Pearl symbolism. And roses. What do you have on roses?”

  “You taking u
p gardening now, Rube?”

  “No. Again, I'm more interested in the symbolism.”

  “Hmm. Rose symbolism. That's quite a broad area. Pearls, too... I'll have a root around, though, see what I can dig up.”

  “Oh, and come to think of it, if you DO find any books on the cultivation of roses on your shelves, they might come in handy, too...”

  “OK, no worries. Funny thing, though, Beth was in here t'other week, after something similar...”

  “Beth? Beth...any Devizes?”

  “Well, yeah. How many other Beths do you think I'm going out with?”

  Ruby had no personal animosity to Bethany; in fact, much to her surprise, she generally thought of her with warmth and affection; but the girl was still Liz Devizes' daughter, and blood is thicker than water, and will out in the end. Thus, her response to Malcolm's question was somewhat prickly.

  “Your torrid private life is your own affair, my dear, but I WOULD be interested to know what manner of books your little playmate availed herself of.”

  “Pretty bog-standard, basic stuff. Nothing too heavy or in-depth. Kind of thing a lazy student might pick up, to do some last-minute research before an exam – assuming they actually do degrees in Gardening; but if you can can get a BA(Hons) for watching soap operas, then it's probably a safe bet. Though to be honest, most students these days just use the internet and then just do a bit of cutting an' pasting... Probably find better material that way, too...”

  “Assuming of course they actually know how to use the internet... And I'm sure young Bethany does?”

  “She's never off it. She's down at Glastonbury right now, far too busy facebooking me every ten minutes to actually see any bands.”

  “Hmm... The books were for her mother, then. That would explain their simplicity. Liz Devizes never was much of a reader... OK, thank you, Malcolm. You've been most helpful. And if you could, maybe, when you've a minute, give some thought to what you might have on the shelves about roses, pearls and crustacian cults, that would be even more so.”