‘I know,’ said Paris. ‘Look, if he is an elf, we’ve got no idea what their death rituals are – and I really don’t want to find out. But if he is just a nutter, I’m sure all your data and findings are backed up. So what’s the worst he can do? Eat the body? That would actually help with keeping things quiet!’
Paris placed his back against the dull blue wall, while a muttering Williams sat down on one of the anonymous grey chairs opposite. Paris gave the seats his regular scowl of disapproval. Put there for grieving family members or other people identifying the deceased, they were intended to be as unobtrusive as possible. They succeeded. Someone was getting paid good money to design things which not only showed no redeeming features, but no features at all. The mind boggled.
The policeman said nothing as he waited for his friend’s irritation to subside. Sometimes, protocol needed to take the day off.
He didn’t have to wait long. A sigh of resignation drifted across the corridor.
‘Here we are then,’ said Williams. ‘Me evicted from my own workplace – and I gather you’ve been having fun in your house.’
‘Oh yeah,’ replied Paris. ‘Everyone should get a troll to smash through their living room. Barrel of laughs.’
He winced at the memory. Genuine magical creature or not, Rocky had generated a very real mess. With any luck, Bonetti might make some attempt at tidying up. Paris lived in hope. He’d already phoned Mrs Doherty, telling her to stay away for a while. No chance of keeping things quiet if his cleaner found out. Although the expression on her face would be worth seeing.
Williams gestured towards the door.
‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Is he an elf?’
Paris pondered.
‘Definitely got the ears for it,’ he said. ‘You haven’t seen them yet, so you’ll have to trust me. Put it like this: if you imagine everybody’s an elephant, then he’s Dumbo. He evidently does sorcery too. Sent the rock troll to sleep by mumbling a few words. Plus he said they travelled under a “spell of concealment”, whatever the hell that means.’
‘So are we going to offer him political asylum?’
‘Yeah,’ replied Paris. ‘Even if it’s just so we know where he is and we can keep asking him questions. I’ve still got no idea if there are demons running wild – or why it’s happening in Manchester. Why did the crow say we needed his help? What did he want to tell me before he flew off? Our friend in there is my best chance of getting any answers. Which reminds me: when we arrived, it looked like you had something to tell me too. What is it?’
Williams drummed his fingers on his knees.
‘You don’t believe all this weird stuff, do you?’ he asked. ‘You’re not sure if he’s a mystical being or a human being. What if I add to the confusion? He may be both.’
‘Come again?’
‘I’ve examined the fairy, as I said. Very carefully, using the smallest implements I could manage to hold. I’ve analysed and tested. I’ve checked the findings several times. So I can say, with a fair degree of certainty, that what we’ve got is, essentially, a person. Internal organs, muscles, skeletal structure, reproductive system – almost identical to ours.’
He pushed his glasses back on his nose in his usual absent-minded way.
‘And,’ he said, ‘I’ve put a rush on her DNA sample. Top priority. Because initial results suggest it’s human. So when you called Tergil “next of species”, that probably isn’t true. It might be us. Put it this way: as of now, our closest relations are no longer chimps.’
Paris stood motionless. He sucked in his cheeks then blew his breath out through his teeth.
‘Well, I’ll be!’
‘You’ll be what?’ asked Williams. ‘Please don’t say a monkey’s uncle.’
‘She can’t be a person,’ said Paris. ‘Apart from being fifteen centimetres tall, she’s got bloody wings!’
Williams nodded. ‘I’ve examined them as well. She has four, in the same configuration as a butterfly’s. Every bit as fragile too; they wouldn’t support her weight. And if they were able to carry her, she couldn’t use them anyway. These aerial appendages grow out of her shoulder blades but aren’t connected to any of her muscles. Hence there’s simply no way for her to make wings flap. Not even ones as apparently redundant as these.’
Paris frowned. ‘So what’s the point?’
‘Exactly,’ replied Williams. ‘They must provide some function. Presumably, you would imagine, to fly. But if she wanted to achieve flight using them, then there’s only one way to do it.’
‘Which is?’
Williams’s eyes twinkled. ‘Magic!’
Slightly flustered by this revelation, Paris tried to come up with a suitable response. Nothing sprang to mind. Damn. Pathology was supposed to help him crack cases, not make things more baffling.
The door opened beside him. Tergil emerged from the lab, totally unflustered. He’s used to death, thought Paris. No doubt about it.
The elf studied him for a moment.
‘It is my turn to ask,’ said Tergil. ‘Are you “okay”?’
‘Fine,’ said Paris, attempting to recover his composure. ‘Just mulling over everything that’s going on.’
‘I understand. There is a lot to absorb. However, we need to press on. I have now paid my respects to Daffodil. Thank you. Is it possible to also see Malbus?’
Paris and Williams exchanged glances. Between all the talk around elephants and monkeys, they didn’t actually have a crow. The body hadn’t been recovered, and whoever reported finding his head on a spike hadn’t considered bringing it to the police. His DNA was probably being digested by scavengers as they spoke.
‘He’s not here,’ said Paris. ‘We never found his remains. But we will want to ask you more questions about him.’
‘Certainly,’ said Tergil. ‘Do you wish to know his next of kin?’
Paris had to admit, this offered an interesting scenario. “I’m sorry, Mrs Crow, your son’s dead. Died a hero. And no thanks, I wouldn’t like to stay for a cup of tea and a worm.” The inspector shook his head. Maybe it was time to get away, to really mull over things. Plus lubricate his brain.
‘Later,’ he replied. ‘Right now we’d better go get Rocky.’
‘Why?’ asked Tergil. ‘Are you going to grant us refuge?’
‘We are. No guarantees over your safety, though.’
Tergil smiled. ‘I am sure whatever you offer us will be safer than where we reside currently. Everything is relative.’
Yeah, thought Paris, it is. Cousin.
7
Agreeing to put Tergil and his daughter somewhere safe was one thing. Actually doing it, Paris realised, posed a different problem altogether. Moving Rocky when people might spot her wouldn’t be a good idea. So they’d waited until dark.
Paris went back home in the interim, taking the elf with him. Rocky had been very happy to see them, according to Tergil. How you detected any expression on her slab of a face remained a mystery to the inspector. Then everyone occupied themselves in various uneventful ways until the evening. Paris shaved, put on clean clothes and managed to find something left in the kitchen which Bonetti hadn’t eaten. His sergeant disappeared off to his own family for a while, probably glad to escape. Tergil fell asleep, proving that walking throughout the night even catches up with magical beings. And Rocky watched the DVDs Paris kept on standby for when his nephews visited. Troll children, he observed, are just like human ones. They all love dinosaurs.
Now night-time finally approached, as the street lights around Paris’s house shone down on an almost deserted scene. He stood alone in his driveway, with only his thoughts for company. Pretty confusing company too.
The fairy possessed human DNA. Did it make her human? What about Tergil? If they were both related to people, you certainly couldn’t say the same of Rocky. He’d studied her in more detail now and it definitely wasn’t a man in a costume. This was a pile of stones. A pile of stones who lived. Rocky met every criteri
on Paris required: she moved, she breathed, she ate. So far, thank heaven, she hadn’t wanted the toilet. Then you’d got the demons, whatever the hell kind of creatures they might be. Malbus had been killed by someone. Or something. With his head put on a spike, the Vanethria punishment for talking. But who did they think he’d talked to? Paris himself was still alive; he could be reasonably confident on that front. Surreptitious questioning of the neighbourhood hadn’t turned up another body either. He needed more information. Tergil had said nothing else before crashing out in the spare bedroom, leaving Paris unsure what to make of it all. Partly because he wasn’t sure what to make of Tergil. He’d worked as a cop long enough to recognise when somebody, elf or otherwise, wasn’t telling him the whole truth.
He pulled his cigarettes from his shirt pocket, the main reason for coming outside. Paris believed you should never smoke in front of impressionable children. Even if they were two-metre-tall heaps of rock. He raised a cigarette up towards his mouth – and froze with his lips in mid pucker.
It may have been instinct, or police training, or sixth sense. Paris didn’t know what alerted him. But he did know, with absolute certainty, that he was no longer alone. He hovered by the side of his Saab, his eyes flicking up and down the street. He saw nothing. He listened for the sound of a neighbour walking a dog, or people going out for the evening. He heard nothing. Whoever he’d perceived was not simply a casual passer-by. Somebody lay in wait, out there in the dark, watching him. Someone, or something. His nostrils twitched. A faint smell. Brimstone? He swallowed hard as he weighed up his options. Stomping out into the shadows to confront them wouldn’t be a sensible plan. Besides, he had no idea what to look for plus no great desire to find out. He couldn’t stay in this location, though, standing in a pool of light like a target. He could hardly go back into the house either; doing so would put Rocky and Tergil in danger as well.
The sound of an engine broke into his deliberations, getting louder as it drew nearer. A white Transit van rumbled to a halt at the end of the drive. Its arrival introduced Paris to a new experience: being glad to see Bonetti.
‘Alright, Boss,’ called the sergeant. ‘What you doing out here?’
Paris didn’t reply. He was too busy scanning the street. He knew, in some way, that the lurker in the shadows had gone. Maybe they’d been spooked by the vehicle’s arrival, or perhaps they’d run off after sighting his reinforcements. Whatever the reason, he wasn’t going to complain.
Bonetti climbed down from the van. He ambled towards Paris, oblivious to any trouble. Wearing jeans with a sweatshirt in place of his normal jacket and tie, for once he didn’t look like a bouncer going to court. He looked like a bouncer on his day off.
Towering over the inspector, he jerked his thumb towards the road.
‘Will it do for moving Rocky?’ he asked. ‘It’s the brother-in-law’s. I said I wanted to shift some boulders, but he reckons I’m dumping a body. Suppose it’s fifty-fifty, really.’
Paris still said nothing. He gazed blankly at the great lump in front of him. Bonetti beamed a grin back down.
‘It’s okay, Boss,’ he said. ‘There’s nobody around to see. No need to be nervous.’
As usual, thought Paris, Bonetti had got completely the wrong end of the stick. In fact, he’d got completely the wrong stick. He regained his composure, glaring up at the sergeant.
‘Bonetti,’ he said quietly, ‘shut up. Listen. They’ve been here. Demons.’
Bonetti’s eyes widened. ‘Where are they?’
‘Gone. The van scared them off.’
Bonetti’s eyes widened further. ‘My driving’s not that bad.’
‘Never mind,’ said Paris, shoving the cigarette in his pocket. ‘We have to move. Before they come back.’
The pair marched up the drive into the house. Paris bounded up to the spare bedroom. Tergil was already awake when he went in.
‘What is the matter?’ asked the elf.
‘Problem,’ replied Paris. ‘I think the Vanethria were here.’
Tergil leapt up in a flash, shoving his feet into his boots.
‘How did this happen?’ he asked as he fastened the laces.
‘Good question. You said they don’t know about me!’
Tergil stopped tying and looked up. ‘You told me Malbus is dead. But you have not recovered his corpse?’
‘There’s a head,’ said Paris. ‘On a pole.’
The elf returned to his laces with renewed vigour.
‘This is unfortunate,’ he said. ‘They must have tracked you down.’
‘What?’
‘They obviously surmised that Malbus conversed with a human. I imagine they saw the general area he flew off from, although without determining the exact house. If they tortured him before killing him, he may have given them a name. Then it would simply be a matter of finding you.’
‘Oh, marvellous,’ said Paris. ‘So how did they do that?’
‘There are a number of ways,’ replied Tergil. ‘Runes. Divination. The telephone book.’ He stood up and strapped on his sword belt. ‘Whatever method they used, it matters little. We must go.’
Paris viewed the elf in a new light. Tergil had changed somehow. This was no longer a little man with a sword. This was a warrior, ready for battle. Although, decided Paris, not quite ready for walking round Manchester. He pointed towards the dressing table.
‘Don’t forget your red woolly hat.’
They ran downstairs into the living room, where Bonetti and Rocky stood waiting. Tergil went over to the troll. Putting his hand on her arm, he spoke in a language Paris couldn’t begin to grasp. He didn’t bother trying. Instead he walked past them to the gaping hole where the French windows used to be.
‘We’ll go out here,’ he said. ‘We know Rocky’ll fit, so there’ll be less noise than if she ploughs through the rest of the house.’
Plus, he reasoned, he might have some house left.
Tergil crouched down by the side of Paris. He pulled the tarpaulin aside a fraction, peering out into the back garden and the woods beyond.
‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘How many demons were there?’
Paris considered the question. He didn’t relish the answer.
‘I haven’t actually seen any,’ he replied, aware of sounding a bit stupid. ‘I just kind of… sensed something.’
Tergil turned to face him. Paris waited to be called the pillock he felt like. Tergil, however, nodded.
‘Trust your instincts,’ he said. ‘I will lead the way.’
He drew his sword. Paris groaned. He’d tried hard to make the elf appear normal. Waving a metre-long weapon around wouldn’t help.
Tergil looked down at the blade, then up at Paris.
‘Do not worry,’ he said. ‘I am quite capable of defending us. Even against Vanethria soldiers if I have to.’
Paris didn’t doubt it. However, obviously Bonetti wasn’t the only one misunderstanding him tonight.
‘I’m sure you can,’ he said. ‘But wandering the streets with a sword is going to attract attention. It’s not really that sort of neighbourhood.’
‘Good,’ replied Tergil. ‘I prefer to attract the attention of your neighbours than that of the demons. Also, lights coming on may keep them away.’
He set off into the garden, crouching low and moving quietly. Paris crept along behind him, making as little noise as he could manage, though realising it was much more than the elf. Bonetti and Rocky brought up the rear. Paris listened, surprised to hear hardly a sound coming from them. He looked round. The pair were stepping gingerly over the flagstones, like the Himalayas walking on tiptoe. Paris watched for a moment. Despite all the weird things he’d witnessed so far, this image, he thought, would be the one which stuck with him. It was a very strange thought.
The group moved along the back wall, around the corner, then down the side of the house. When they reached the front, Paris and Tergil scanned the road for signs of life. Nothing to see. Or to smell. Paris breathed a si
gh of relief. The four of them shuffled down towards the kerb, with Paris’s eyes fixed on another potential catastrophe. Luckily, Rocky managed to get past without bashing his car. Paris breathed a slightly louder sigh of relief.
Bonetti opened the side door of the van. Rocky clambered in, graceful as a clog-dancing buffalo. Paris assessed her bumping and banging about. The noise might attract a few extra twitching curtains, but he didn’t mind. He’d tell people he’d been shifting some boulders.
Paris, Tergil and Bonetti climbed into the three seats in the front of the vehicle, with the elf sitting between the two policemen. Paris stared into the passenger-side wing mirror as they drove off, watching his home getting smaller behind them. He almost relaxed. Then he jumped. Could he see a figure in the gloom? A figure shaking a fist?
‘What is it?’ asked Tergil. ‘One of the Vanethria?’
Paris maintained his stare at the reflection. He couldn’t make out a shape any more. He must’ve imagined it, he supposed. Or maybe not. He moved round to face Tergil.
‘No idea,’ he said. ‘You haven’t told us what they look like. You haven’t told us anything about them.’
Tergil gazed back at him for a moment.
‘Perhaps,’ said the elf, ‘it is time I did.’
‘Right,’ said Paris. ‘I want to understand what I’m dealing with. I want to know what the hell is going on. So when we get to the station, you are going to tell me.’
He shifted his position again, glaring out through the windscreen. Waiting until they reached the station would, he knew, give Tergil the chance to elaborate his story. But it would also give the inspector some much-needed time to collect his own thoughts. Despite everyone else’s best efforts, Paris was quite determined to get the right end of the stick. And if he really had to, he’d use it to hit demons with.
8
Bonetti waved his pass at the sensor and the car park gate trundled open. Tergil leant toward the dashboard as he peered out through the windscreen.
‘Are you sure that nobody will see Rocky?’ he asked.
The elf didn’t sound anxious, thought Paris, more like calm and relaxed. He, on the other hand, felt far from tranquil. Ideas flew madly round his head, as if air traffic control had taken the day off and just left them to it. The plan, such as it was, kept changing all the time, and he didn’t know if he could keep up.
Breaking the Lore Page 4