The Dave Hinchy Code

by Richard Ainsworth

  Ruby ignored the scowl and went back to helping Pearl, who now resembled a Technicolor version of the mummy.

  “I need a cuppa,” Pearl wheezed.

  “Too true. We're both far too old for this.”

  Ruby took a quick look round, and saw that, thankfully, everybody else was far too engrossed in their own do-it-yourself stand-building nightmares to notice what she was up to. She plunged her hand into the drawstring bag that hung by the side of her cassock, threw a quick circle of powdered bay leaves onto the ground, sprinkled on a couple of drops of lavender oil, then raised both arms and, as quietly as possible, clapped her hands together and whispered...

  “Quod superius est sicut quod inferius et quod inferius est sicut quod.

  Superius ad perpetranda miracula rei unis.”

  Zip! The tent was up, and the lamps and candles were hung and lit, providing a hazy, purple-blue stage-mystical atmosphere. The samovar was bubbling away, contentedly hissing wisps of steam from its silver lid; the table was up, and the cloth was spread; Chen was on the table, as were the tarot and Beidermier cards; and the cups were filled with a perfectly-prepared brew.

  Everything was set.

  “Tea?” offered Ruby.

  “I thought you'd never ask,” breathed Pearl.

  Just as they were getting cosy, enjoying their well-earned refreshments, the Verger stuck his head through the flap of their tent.

  “Blimey. That didn't take you long. How'd you manage it? I hope you've not been up to anything funny, like... And you both know what I mean by that... If you have, I'll have you removed instantly, and report you to the Reverend, or even to a higher authority. Do you understand?”

  His tone was suspicious to say the least. The two weird sisters smiled at him as though butter wouldn't melt.

  “Organisation, co-operation, experience and good, old-fashioned know-how,” Ruby replied drily, sipping tea and circling her little finger in the air as she did so.

  The Verger removed his head with a decidedly theatrical “Harumph!” and wandered off, chunnering to himself about how it was much better in the good old days when there were still ducking stools, stocks, and stakes in the centre of every village green.

  “Odious little pleb. If I wasn't so strictly right-handed, I'm sure that I could find one spell, just one teensy, weensy little hex that would...” seethed Pearl.

  “Now, now, Pearl. It doesn't do to mock the afflicted. Remember, we should pity them.”

  Ruby smiled and continued to sip sedately on her most welcome cup of tea.

  In less than a couple of hours, the sounds of construction, swearing, howls of pain (from mis-aimed hammer blows during aforesaid construction) and shrieks of fear (from tumbling ill-fitting and ill-fixed woodwork), had subsided, and the majority of stall holders were busily milling about, tottering from this stall to that, comparing their own efforts with that of their neighbours; some pleased that their achievements were greater, others embarrassed by the fact that bits of their own stalls fell off with tedious regularity. On the whole, though, it was a very credible and jolly-looking village fête. The stalls were bright, the bunting was up and the people were colourful (not least due to their exertions while erecting their various stalls).

  Over a tannoy system the quality of which would make a railway station announcement sound crystal-clear, the Reverend summoned all stall holders to the bandstand for a brief speech before the Mayor opened the fête proper. Nobody had really understood a word, but everyone duly went over to the stand to see if he would either repeat it, or at least offer some vague indication of what he had just said.

  “I won't keep you long…” (They had all heard that one before; it usually meant a three-hour sermon) “But I just wanted to say thank you, and jolly well done, for making the event look so splendid. Indeed, if the funds raised by this fête reflect only a small percentage of the effort you have all put in, we shall have achieved a great deal. So... In short, I wish you all the best of luck. Now, if you will all return to your stalls, I’d like to call on Mayor Whittle, here, and his two lovely secretaries, Trixie and Bubbles...”

  At this point, Whittle snorted and frowned angrily at him, likewise the two girls.

  “Oh. I'm sorry. Miss Swanson and Miss Savage...”

  The two young women put on their most plastic, cutesy smiles, curtsied and waved coquettishly at the crowd.

  “Dear me, yes. Such eager, committed young ladies, who always work so tirelessly for their employer, no matter what the hour; hard at it, sometimes, seven days and nights a week, with the kind of stamina and dedication you rarely see these days…”

  Here, there were a number of giggles, and more than a few quizzical eyebrows were raised, but the Reverend continued, unaware and unabashed.

  “And all, I might add, without any word of complaint... Truly, they are an example to us all... Anyway, as I said, I’d like to call on Mayor Whittle, Miss Swanson and Miss Savage to follow me now over to the churchyard gate to cut the ribbon and officially mark the opening of our fête. Once again, thank you and good luck! OK, so...Mr Mayor? Ladies?”

  Neither Whittle nor his two personal assistants moved a muscle or said a word.

  There was an uncomfortable minute or so of silence.

  The Reverend hesitated, then he returned to the microphone.

  “Oh. Oh, yes. Just before we go... This evening, at the end of the fête, our main sponsors have asked if they might give a small presentation... Doctor Hariman and his associates have done a lot of work behind the scenes this year to make certain things possible. Have you noticed the marvellous roses? So large, so colourful, so fragrant too. They are truly amazing, aren't they? Quite, quite splendid. These are no idle signs, no idle signs indeed. They grow so quickly. They offer a soft sign of Spring, a soft sign of Spring and seem to bloom and grow, bloom and grow, forever!”

  It was true. The roses seemed to have spread, somehow. Ruby hadn't even noticed them on the way in, but now they seemed to be everywhere, and their scent was cloying, intoxicating, nearly overwhelming.

  “Such a special gift from Doctor Hariman,” continued the Reverend. “Did you know that we have the exclusive rights to sell this strain of rose to raise money for good causes? The paperwork isn't quite finished yet, but more of that later. Anyway, I did promise the good Doctor and his colleagues a few moments of your time at the end of the day to show you what they are all about, so I'd be most obliged if you'd stick around and, um, indulge me in this small matter.... And, err... That's it, really. Thanks!”

  With that, he clambered down from the stage along with the skimpily-dressed Miss Swanson and Miss Savage and the portly, balding, heavily perspiring Mayor Whittle.

  Ruby and Pearl exchanged a knowing glance.

  “Alea acte este,” murmured Ruby.

  “Indeed,” agreed Pearl.

  Chapter 14

  Ruby Meets A Bad Driver

  There was a great flurry of excitement and activity as people went to their stalls. Ruby donned her headscarf, adorned herself with a couple of silly-sized gold hoop earrings, wrapped a long, and incredibly loud, paisley shawl around her shoulders and started practising what she considered to be a series of impressively intense and mystical facial expressions, until Pearl asked her if her old toothache had come back again.

  Suitably chastened, Ruby turned her amateur (melo)dramatics down a few notches.

  As Pearl was leaving the tent to take on her role of the 'average body at the fête', she turned to her sister, smiled, and stage-whispered:

  “Showtime!”

  “Quite. Let's give 'em the old razzle-dazzle,” Ruby agreed, then added under her breath: “I just hope it's not a farewell performance.”

  **********

  Pearl had just left the Women's Institute Cake Stall, when she noticed Tobias skulking furtively amongst the trees at the edge of the field. He was wearing sunglasses.

  Pearl made a bee-line towards him.

  “What in the name of Sam Hai
n do you think you are doing?” she hissed.

  Tobias peered over the top of the sunglasses.

  “I... am being... inconspicuous,” he replied imperiously.

  “Inconspicuous!!!??” Pearl nearly self-combusted. “Pray tell me how a common or garden moggie can be remotely inconspicuous wearing 1970s sky-blue-lensed aviator shades and skulking from tree to tree like some kind of – of hairy midget ninja? If anything is going to attract unwanted attention, it's a pirouetting pussy-cat with a James Bond fixation! Now get rid of those foolish glasses and go and do what cats do best. Why not hang around the Hoop-La stall where there are plenty of goldfish up for grabs? That's an ideal vantage point, and exactly the kind of place where people would expect a feline with a yen for the piscean variety of nourishment to be hovering about.”

  Pearl held her hand out and Tobias begrudgingly gave up his beloved sunglasses. She popped them into her drawstring bag and watched him slink away towards the Hoop-La stall as directed, chunnering something under his breath about “witches having no sense of style.”

  **********

  Back at the colourful Fortune Teller's tent, 'Gypsy Rose Lee' had her first enquiry of the day:

  “My name is Driver. I make springs. I wish to know what the future holds for me; primarily business and financial. I shall answer just yes, or no to your questions for I am well aware, via the television and other such media, of the various sneaky tricks and underhand methods charlatans such as the likes of you are prone to stoop to. Now tell me my future.”

  Mr Driver sat before her, glowering at her through thick, black-rimmed spectacles, with lenses as large and lumpy as cubes of ice. His hair was greased down, shiny and completely flat. His voice was a nasal monotone drone, that reminded Ruby of an electric drill going into a brick wall. A job as a spring manufacturer suited him – she could have predicted something of the kind, even without consulting her crystal ball or tarot cards. If not a manufacturer of springs then he would most likely have held one of the less imaginative accountancy posts in a large conglomerate company, or maybe even found job fulfilment as a self important council worker.

  He offered her his dry, spidery palm. Ruby declined it, placed a carefully-measured teaspoon of leaf tea into a teacup, and began:

  “Very well. Now, you must be completely silent. Concentrate on the question in your mind, and listen exceptionally carefully to each and every word that I say.”

  With a show of great concentration and consideration, Ruby picked up her tea-cup and drained the remaining liquid, save for about a teaspoon's worth. She then held the cup in her left hand, and slowly and meaningfully swirled the contents anti-clockwise three times, intoning sonorously:

  “Parum Tommy Tucker,

  Sono pro suus supper,

  Quis should nos tribuo him?

  Tamen frons panis quod butter.”

  Then, with great ceremony and a theatrical flourish, she inverted the teacup and emptied the contents onto a saucer. After a minute or so, she lifted the tea-cup back up, gazed at the contents and began to read the shapes and images left by the remaining tea-leaves, emitting the occasional “ooo”, “hmm” and “I see” to add gravitas and atmosphere...

  “And....?” Mr. Driver shifted irritably and anxiously on his stool.

  “Nothing, nothing at all... Apart from the odd death...”

  “Death!!!?” squeaked the all-too-easily-alarmed spring-maker, suddenly achieving a greyer pallor than even nature had gifted him with.

  “Only joking, my dear.”

  It had always been Ruby's view that one has to have a sense of humour when performing such parlour tricks as tea leaf readings and other such 'non meditative' forms of divination.

  “My reference to death was merely metaphorical in nature.”

  By this point, Ruby had had time to take a quick look at the imagery the leaves had created at the bottom of her teacup. Her curiosity had been aroused.

  “Mr. Driver... You are a married man?”

  Mr. Driver's face wrinkled in distaste:

  “That I am, madam, but, as I have told you, I wish to enquire about my company, and not my private affairs. Now... kindly do as I have asked, and, I might add, as I have paid for.”

  Ruby eased herself further into the cushion on the stool. This was going to be a tough customer.

  “Mr. Driver... The leaves will only tell me what THEY wish to. The company you keep and the affairs external are fatally and irreconcilably interlinked. To save one, you must sacrifice the other.”

  Ruby peeped over her teacup to discover a furrowed-browed, sour-faced Mr. Driver.

  “A little advice from someone a tad older, and, if I may hazard a guess, a good deal wiser. It is neither healthy nor, in the long term, satisfying to feast on hamburger at a corner kiosk, when there is good, wholesome, rump steak at home.”

  Ruby raised her eyebrows, staring hard at Mr. Driver until she was certain that he had understood the analogy.

  Driver bridled angrily under her gaze. “Madam, I do not like your tone, or your dubious innuendoes regarding hamburgers. Please tell me what I have asked, or I shall bid you good day.”

  Ruby was in no mood to be lectured in her Craft by a man whose sole mission in life was to make springs. She sat back, folded her arms and frowned:

  “Young man. I am only telling you that which the ethereal and eternal spirits deem suitable for our consumption. Now, if you do not care for their revelations, please, kindly... buzz off!”

  “Well - !”

  Mr. Driver's face was mulberry-purple with indignation. He leapt up, turned sharply on his heel and took his leave. As he was smartly exiting through the purple curtains, he suddenly glowered back at Ruby, and to her surprise, blew a rather long, wet raspberry.

  “Charlatan! Boob! Nosey Parker!” he shouted. And in a swish of the curtains, he was gone.

  Ruby sighed, poured herself another cup of tea, shrugged her shoulders, leant over to Chen, and whispered:

  “We get them all, don’t we Chen? If they don’t call going, they call coming back!”

  Chen said nothing; he just floated in the centre of his bowl, blinking his large round eyes, with a rather bored look on his face.

  Chapter 15

  Vicar in A Two, Two

  Outside, the fête was well under way and everybody was having a fine old time. The sun was up, the air was warm, and the scent of beautiful early spring roses was filling the air. Pearl was busy shadowing Devizes and Nutter; who luckily were staying together, which made tailing them somewhat easier, on the whole. She followed them from this stall to that; all three of them pretending to be 'just one of the crowd', simply out to enjoy the fête and the bright, hot, Summery day.

  From his vantage point in the trees, Magpie Jack could see Dave Hinchy clumsily trying to win a coconut at Mr. Atkinson's stall. He watched, as Hariman came into view, and glided over. He whispered something in the Postman’s ear, nodded, looked directly into Dave's eyes – and instantly Dave abandoned his pursuit of coconuts and quickly hobbled off towards the refreshments marquee.

  Inside the marquee, Elise was selling home-baked buns, scones and cakes along with hot steaming cups of tea and coffee. Everyone was complimenting the Reverend on the quality of the cakes and he was accepting the praise as if it were his, rather than his wife's due, all the while helping himself to the occasional slice of date and walnut loaf or Victoria sponge.

  Dave sidled up to the door flap of the tent.

  “Ssssst!”

  As he hissed, he gesticulated at the Reverend in a most amateur-dramatic way.

  “Sssssst!” he uttered again, this time more insistent.

  Dave's attempts at 'subtly drawing the Reverend's attention' (as he had been told to do), had borne fruit. Not only had Reverend Phullaposi noticed him, but due to his melodramatic antics, Dave had also drawn curious, and, more often than not, quite disturbed looks from the rest of the people in the tent. More than once the phrase, “It's a shame for the poor b
oy”, was whispered from one villager to another.

  The Reverend could put it off no longer; he let out a sigh, put down his tea, turned his eyes heavenward and proceeded across the floor of the marquee towards the entrance where Dave was waiting.

  “Yes, David?” he asked, wearily.

  Dave began delivering Hariman's message with glee.

  “Doc H says not to forget who your mates are. He who pays the piper calls the tune, remember, and you've still not signed that agreement yet. Doc expects you to do so before he makes his speech at the end of the fête. He wants you to go and see him as soon as poss., if not sooner, for your own good – and so that you don't blow everybody else's fate into the bargain. He says you'll know what he means.”

  Dave nodded as sagely as he could and his face took on an expression that he considered to be serious.

  The Reverend swallowed hard. He had to think fast. He needed to speak to Ruby before meeting Hariman, to see if she had any last minute ideas or instructions that could help him in confronting this increasingly loathsome creature.

  In order to buy time, he sent Dave back with a message of his own:

  “As you can surely see, David. I'm a very busy man here today. But have no fear: I shall find a moment as soon I can to go and see Dr Hariman. In the meantime, you may assure him that I know exactly who my friends are, and that I shall deal with our contract as is most fitting at a more appropriate hour.”

  With those words, he waved Dave away and with a look of confidence that he most certainly did not feel, he strode off in the direction of Ruby's fortune telling tent.

  **********

  “Any chance of a cuppa and a spot of clairvoyance?”

  Reverend Phullaposi stuck his head briskly between the curtains of Ruby's tent, and smiled hopefully. Such was his sense of urgency that the possibility that she might be mid-consultation did not even occur to him.

  As luck would have it, however, Ruby was between appointments