Breaking the Lore

by Breaking the Lore (retail) (epub)

  Tergil squeezed his way through the crowd, concern for his adopted daughter making him ignore the activity and noise. The inspector forced himself to be equally oblivious. He needed to stick with the elf for now; he had no idea what Tergil would do if Rocky was harmed.

  They raced through the station, towards the old cells. Some of the walls bore spatters of blood, human red mingled with demonic green. Pieces of furniture had been smashed and doors were dented. Only three dead? Paris couldn’t help thinking they’d got off lightly.

  The pair reached the cells to find Grarf waiting, head held low as if weighed down by his own private cloud of depression. He spotted Tergil and looked even gloomier.

  ‘My friend,’ he said. ‘Please forgive me.’

  ‘What happened?’ asked Paris.

  ‘Eight Vanethria soldiers attacked thy building. The dwarves and I didst slay four, though the other half evaded us. I didst pursue them. One more was slain in this very passageway.’ He paused. ‘Although ’twas too late.’

  Tergil said nothing. He stood in the open doorway, examining the room. Paris moved next to him, puffing and panting after the run. The scene made him catch his breath.

  Rubble lay strewn across the floor of the cell, like the aftermath of a bomb blast. The metal bed and the toilet had disappeared, covered by dust and shards. Bloody hell, thought Paris. What kind of magic is this?

  The inspector raised his head with a sigh. The flickering light bulb in the ceiling caught his attention. He stared at it. If there’d been an explosion, how could it still be working? He lowered his head, checking the walls for any sign of damage. There was none. Paris frowned, peering at the floor. Tergil had knelt down, with one hand resting on the debris.

  ‘It is safe now,’ said the elf.

  The rubble quivered and started to move. Tergil stood up and watched it rise, slowly taking on a familiar form. Paris gaped as the hulking shape of Rocky reassembled itself before him.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Tergil. ‘But not today.’

  The rock troll’s arms wrapped around the elf like a hug from a mountain. He patted her side and extricated himself carefully.

  ‘I taught her to do this,’ he said, beaming. ‘They cannot take her if they cannot find her.’

  ‘Right,’ said Paris, looking up at Rocky. ‘Good move, kid. Remind me never to play hide and seek with you.’

  The huge grey lump stared back at him, her slab of a face as blank as ever. Paris wondered. If you peered very closely and used your imagination a bit, was that possibly a smile?

  Grarf’s sulphurous breath interrupted his thoughts as it blasted against the back of his neck in a snort.

  ‘Praise to Xaxx!’ bellowed the demon.

  Amid the euphoria, Paris felt suddenly uncomfortable. With Grarf behind him and an enormous troll in front, he resembled the tiny filling in a badly made sandwich. And if the two of them decided to hug, he would be even tinier. He glanced over his shoulder.

  ‘We should go,’ he said. ‘Let them have a family reunion in peace. Besides, for some reason I’m starting to feel hungry.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Grarf, sounding much more cheerful than earlier. ‘Methinks ’tis a good plan. I have yet to break my fast this day. My friends, I will return ere long.’

  Paris gave a thumbs-up to Tergil, who smiled broadly in reply. The inspector set off down the corridor, with Grarf lumbering behind.

  ‘Well,’ said Paris. ‘We thought the attack on the school was a diversion. I reckon we called it right this time. Just as well you were here.’

  ‘I be nought but a soldier,’ replied Grarf. ‘I do nought but my duty.’

  ‘Yeah. You do a good job of it, by the sound of things.’

  ‘It be part of my training, Nipparis. I hath learnt to focus mine aggression.’

  Paris pondered. This terrifying brute, the biggest and strongest demon he’d encountered, also happened to be the most highly skilled. Compared to the rest of them, he wasn’t bad-tempered, nasty or obnoxious either. In fact, compared to the others you’d call him charming. Nearly. Right now, though, it wouldn’t matter if Grarf behaved like the most horrible creature on the planet; Paris was simply glad to have him on their side.

  ‘Whatever it is you do,’ he said, ‘thanks. To be honest, I’m surprised we didn’t suffer more casualties.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Grarf. ‘The Vanethria be only interested in the princess. Humans in their path were dispatched, but they wouldst not hunt thy people down. Time be of the essence for a raiding party.’

  Paris nodded. ‘Makes sense. How did they find her, anyway? Comb through the whole building?’

  ‘Mayhap ’twas simpler than thou imagine. Likely they didst follow the scent of rock troll.’

  ‘Scent? I couldn’t smell anything.’

  ‘Nay,’ said Grarf. ‘But thou be not a demon.’

  The inspector sighed. ‘That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,’ he replied. ‘And yes, that is a bit sad.’

  They stopped at a junction, faded blue walls heading off to left and right.

  ‘I must go this way now,’ said Grarf, pointing. ‘Towards thy canteen. Verily, I do yearn for the human delicacy called “bacon butty”.’

  He bowed his huge head and stomped off, hunched over but with his horns scraping along the ceiling regardless. Paris watched him in silence for a moment.

  ‘I know he’s one of the good guys,’ he said eventually. ‘Still scares the hell out of me. Doesn’t bother you, though, does he?’

  He turned to look up the other corridor. He had no idea how he knew she’d be there. But she was.

  Cassandra leant against the wall, arms folded. She smiled.

  ‘I think he’s wonderful,’ she said. ‘How’s Rocky?’

  As always, she asked questions as if she already had the answer, and as if she knew everything Paris did just by looking at him. How did she do that? Also, how had she appeared without Grarf’s nostrils sniffing her scent? He decided not to ask. His happiness at seeing her prevented him from worrying over minor details like telepathy, magic powers or general deviousness.

  ‘She’s fine,’ he said. ‘Went to pieces for a while, but she’s okay now. What about you?’

  Cassandra stood up straight and ambled towards him.

  ‘Never better,’ she said. ‘Of course, I was on the first floor during all the fighting, so I didn’t actually get involved. But I helped out on the phones after the remaining baddies ran off. We got calls from lots of frightened people who’d seen “monsters” sprinting along pavements or climbing over their garden fences. You can plot a route from here to the portal, using the back roads.’

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Paris. ‘I guess they must’ve worked out the directions last night when nobody was around. I saw some demons run out of a side street, only I figured they were part of the group I’d been fighting.’

  ‘Sounded like you had enough to fight without them,’ said Cassandra, now standing right in front of him. ‘You obviously won, though. And I bet you were the one who worked out how to do it. What did you use?’

  Paris gazed down into her goth made-up eyes, struggling to keep his composure. However, this wasn’t the same as Tergil and Rocky’s reunion. It wouldn’t be appropriate to hug her. Especially with junior officers walking past and saluting him. Play it cool, he thought.

  ‘The usual,’ he said. ‘Flying cars and German football teams.’

  Cassandra laughed. ‘That’s not what I meant. You used your brain. And you didn’t have any whisky to help you think, did you?’

  Paris frowned. ‘It was a bit early in the morning.’

  ‘Yes, but you don’t need booze. You never do. Haven’t you worked it out yet? You just need you.’

  Paris stared at her. Although they’d only met a few days ago, he felt absolutely certain that she knew him better than he knew himself. She’d been right about everything she’d said so far: his age, his hobbies,
his friends. Could she be right about this too? It required some serious contemplation.

  ‘For your information,’ he said, ‘I need a drink now. This minute. Do you fancy a cup of tea?’

  38

  According to Human Resources, senior officers were supposed to represent something that the junior ranks could aspire to. With his feet up on his desk in the middle of the afternoon, Paris knew he probably wasn’t giving quite the right impression. He didn’t care. Finding time to think always counted for more than the opinions of management. And, right now, he had a lot to think about.

  He’d spent the morning being far too busy to do anything except rush around. Cassandra took a rain check on his offer of tea, saying she needed to get back to the clean-up operation. Paris wanted to help as well, although five minutes’ rest after battling demons hadn’t seemed like too much to ask. Somewhat against his better judgement, he’d pitched straight in with carrying the wounded, checking the other staff were okay and supervising repair work. Lunchtime arrived before he knew it; time to grab a quick sandwich and, finally, a cup of tea. Then, at last, a chance to sit down and work through the questions lining up inside his head.

  How did the Vanethria learn Rocky was at the station? Why steal some guns, if demons aren’t supposed to know about human weapons? How did their army get here so much faster than Tergil expected? When would they be back? And what the hell could he do to stop them?

  No answers were forthcoming. Paris’s gaze moved down from his crossed legs to the desk drawers below. The bottom one lay open, with his bottle of whisky on view. It nestled among the commendation letters, old photos, name badges from training courses, and other accumulated junk of his career. He saw no need for decoration, so everything got shoved in there, unwanted and unloved. They at least had a purpose then, serving to stop the precious bottle from rolling around. It was much more important to him than anything else in the drawer, like a prize orchid in a field of cabbages. But was it that important? Normally it would be out on the desk so its contents could assist the mental process. Not today. The biggest question to be considered: did he really require alcohol’s help? Or had he been fooling himself all these years? Cassandra told him he only needed himself and, looking back, he had worked out most things on his own. Drink provided the final push to get him over the finish line. Would he have got there eventually without it? Paris deliberated. Maybe he simply employed experience to solve cases, experience that the “junk” in the drawer represented. After all, he reasoned, if you’re trying to grow cabbages, a prize orchid is just a weed. And if I stretch this analogy any further, he thought, I’m going to disappear up my own metaphor.

  He was saved from having to try it when the office door opened.

  ‘Hi, Boss,’ said Bonetti. ‘I’m back.’

  ‘Right,’ said Paris. ‘Let joy be unconfined.’

  Bonetti looked puzzled.

  ‘Who’s Joy?’ he asked. ‘And why is she locked up?’

  Paris sat gazing at his sergeant for a moment. Peaceful thinking time had obviously ended. This also meant no intelligent conversation for the immediate future. He lifted his legs up off the desk and lowered them to the floor, pushing the bottom drawer shut with his foot.

  ‘Never mind,’ he said. ‘Everything alright?’

  He watched Bonetti grimace, raising his left arm.

  ‘Not sure,’ replied the sergeant. ‘Might’ve twisted a muscle. The soldiers asked me how I managed to pick up a car. So I tried another one.’

  Paris sighed. ‘Did you succeed?’

  ‘No, Boss. This one felt heavier.’

  ‘The first time,’ said Paris slowly, ‘that was magic.’

  ‘Was pretty special, wasn’t it? Still don’t understand how I did it.’

  The inspector thought about explaining. He decided not to bother. Bonetti’s brain would conclude “adrenaline” eventually and be satisfied. Paris, meanwhile, had a deeper concern over the situation. He didn’t know what the Vanethria made of it either, or how they now regarded humans. They’d been stopped in their tracks for a while, but doubtless wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. Besides, he had no fairy dust left. That caused him to think of something else: after all his efforts trying to be logical and convince himself magic couldn’t exist, he’d used it to fight them. Did this mean he’d turned into a mystical creature? He groaned.

  ‘What’s up, Boss? You got a bad shoulder as well?’

  ‘No. A pain in the neck. What’s happening back in Lange Road?’

  ‘The demons have cleared off again. Just like with that rabbit; everything goes sparkly around them, then they vanish, then the sparkly stuff does too. And just like the rabbit, there’s nothing to see afterwards. No sign they were ever there. Apart from great big clawed footprints on the grass, anyway.’

  ‘So what are the army doing? Guarding the area, I suppose?’

  ‘More than guarding it, Boss. I heard their Captain Montrose on the phone to some bigwig. She’s bringing in loads of extra men with all sorts of gear.’

  Paris nodded.

  ‘I’m waiting to hear the official announcement,’ he said. ‘What happened to the people who live there?’

  ‘We checked all the houses,’ replied Bonetti. ‘Lot of folk had already got out. Rounded them up a few streets away, some still in their pyjamas. The others hid in their bedrooms. Everyone’s safe. Well, everyone except Stone, the guy who owned the house with the portal. He’s dead. Found him lying by eight sacks of gold, with this big axe in his head.’

  Paris tried hard not to smile. In general, members of the public being killed by demons shouldn’t be amusing, but in this case it was poetic justice. Plus yet another item to think about. Time to jettison Bonetti so he could start thinking in earnest.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll go over there later. Check out what’s going on. I’ve got a couple of things to do first. And you must have reports to write or something.’

  ‘No, Boss. Probably do with a lie-down though. Didn’t get much kip again last night.’

  Paris frowned. ‘Really? Some of us slept here. At least you were in your own bed.’

  ‘I know, Boss, only there’s a new baby in the house, remember? I managed about an hour. Had this weird dream too.’

  A long silence hung in the room. Paris rolled his eyes.

  ‘I’m sure I don’t want to know,’ he said. ‘But I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘Well,’ said Bonetti, ‘I’m in this sort of art gallery place, right? Pictures and stuff. There’s nobody else there, just me and this load of giant letters. A’s and Z’s and W’s and the rest, as big as people, all walking round talking to each other.’

  ‘Sounds a bit unsettling.’

  ‘Yes, Boss. Only that’s not the worrying part. See, most of them ignored me. But the I’s followed me round the room.’

  Somewhere deep inside Paris’s brain, he could almost hear the sound of sensible conversation waving a white flag.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘I’d love to help analyse how your mind works, I really would. I bet there’s a scientific prize waiting to be won. It’ll have to keep until we’re not being invaded. Okay?’

  ‘Okay, Boss.’

  Bonetti turned towards the door. It opened before he could grab the handle. Tergil came in, with Malbus on his shoulder. In the back of Paris’s brain, intelligent conversation let out a cheer, although peaceful thinking groaned. In the front of his brain, Paris wondered what the hell had been in that lunchtime sandwich.

  ‘Hello,’ said Bonetti. ‘How’s Rocky?’

  ‘She is well, thank you,’ replied Tergil.

  ‘Why don’t you go visit her?’ Paris suggested, aiming the question at his sergeant.

  ‘Nah,’ drawled Malbus’s cockney voice. ‘Stick around a while. Ain’t seen neither of you since yesterday.’

  That was true, Paris realised. After he’d worked out the Vanethria were invading, the crow had disappeared from the station.

 
‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked.

  ‘Spreading the word,’ replied Malbus, as Tergil walked over to sit on the couch. ‘See, if the V wanna take on the human army, then there ain’t much point any magic creatures going through the portal, is there? Just get stuck in the middle of the fighting. I’m telling folks to keep out the way.’

  Paris nodded. This was actually quite sensible. ‘So what are they doing instead?’

  Malbus jumped off Tergil’s shoulder onto the desk.

  ‘Good question,’ he said. ‘And here’s another one. Got any fags?’

  Paris gave him a hard stare. Malbus shrugged.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘So what are folks doing? Well, some turned back to where they’d come from. Others are stopping with friends or family round here. Like the fairy king and queen; they’re gonna be staying with a cousin who lives in Stenner Woods, down by the river.’

  Paris’s relief that the fairies were safe came with a large dollop of surprise. Evidently more of their kind lived in Manchester itself. How many mystical beings were there in his world?

  ‘There is a problem, though,’ said Tergil. ‘Some magical creatures have travelled a long way. Not all have relatives they can stay with. We must offer them refuge.’

  ‘Damn right,’ said Malbus. ‘A minotaur can’t just turn up at a B&B, can he?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Bonetti.

  ‘He ain’t got any money.’

  Paris sat back in his chair, looking at the three of them.

  ‘They can’t stay here,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting for official confirmation of what’s happening.’ A movement at the window in the office door caught his eye. ‘And I think I’m about to get it.’

  The door opened again and Thorpe appeared. Paris’s small office was as packed as it could be.

  ‘You’re here,’ said the superintendent. ‘Good. You all need to know that the incidents this morning have raised the stakes. Martial law has been declared in a three-mile radius around the portal. The army will be arresting any magical creatures they find. Also witches, warlocks, druids and anyone else who might be deemed sympathetic to enemy agents. Then they’ll be looking for somewhere to lock them up, so I expect they’ll want to use our cells. This means the magical creatures here can’t just keep out of sight. They have to get away completely.’ She fixed her eyes on Paris. ‘We need to find somewhere else to put them.’