motorcycle clubs, the so-called One Percenters, a title derived from a claim by the American Motorcyclist Association that only one percent of all bikers were outlaws, and which had come to be accepted by the gangs as a badge of honour. They were founded in 1963 in Maidstone, County Kent, partly as a response to the formation of the Blue Angels in Scotland a month before. Their motto was "Blood, Honour, and the Sword", and they identified themselves with the stereotypical Anglo-Saxon culture of ancient Britain. That included an obsession with never backing away from or turning down a challenge. They had unofficially disbanded by 1976 after most of their leaders were sent to prison on drug, racketeering, and murder charges, and had pretty much disappeared by 1980, but during the sixties they ranged throughout southern and central England, perpetrating crimes and generally making nuisances of themselves.
"Our parents defended themselves, but that only made the situation worse. Finally they tried to call for help, but the Dragons had cut the telephone line. They then rounded us all up and put us here in the pub. They said they would loot our village, rape our mothers and sisters, then kill us and burn the village to the ground, in fine Saxon tradition."
He paused long enough to take a long gulp of ale. "Retelling it now years later, it's hard to say how serious that threat was, but at the time we thought we were in mortal danger. They were all in the pub with us, so our parents attacked them and killed them all, losing a few of their own in the fight."
He took another swallow, and she noted that his hand shook slightly. "After it was over they panicked. They didn't believe the authorities would acquit them on the grounds of self-defense, since they were not in imminent peril of their lives, and they were afraid other members of the gang would come looking for revenge. So they collected the bodies of the bikers, put them in an abandoned farmhouse, and burned it to the ground, letting the ashes scatter on the wind, then got rid of the bikes."
As he took another drink, she realized he must have only been a child at that time, perhaps five or six. "Our parents prayed it was over, but one year to the night after their deaths, the ghosts of the bikers returned, to terrorize our village and kill one of the people who had taken part in killing them." A look of horror came over his face. "They have done the same every year on the same night for the past four decades. Our village has suffered as a result, as people moved away to flee the ghosts."
He drained the last dregs in his glass, and he trembled so he had to hold it in both hands. "Tonight is the fortieth anniversary of their deaths, and I fear something especially terrible will happen. Last year the last of our parents was killed, my own father. I'm certain that when they arrive before midnight, with no one to take revenge upon, they will carry out their old threat to destroy the village."
He hesitated, but she reasoned what he would say next. "We want you and your servant to destroy them, once and for all, before it's too late."
She nodded her head. "I understand. I'll need a few minutes to think about this, and discuss it with Vlad."
The landlord returned her nod and left the booth. She followed him, then headed outside again with Vlad in tow.
She took a moment to light a fresh cigarillo. "What do you think? Is there anything we can do to help them?" The problem was, being as ghosts were supernatural entities, they were invulnerable to firearms and bladed weapons, including her greatsword Caliburn.
"There might be a chance, Director. Based on his tale, the White Dragons are not ordinary ghosts, but revenants, a form of undead."
She understood he was using that term loosely. In popular culture, the undead were all entities that were deceased but acted as if they were alive. Technically, that covered everything from ghosts to zombies, but most people limited it to beings with corporeal bodies.
"They return to seek revenge, but to do so they must take corporeal form, using some surviving physical object they were attached to in life, such as their bodies. Destroy that object, and the revenant will be dispelled, unable to return again."
She gave him a puzzled look. "But their bodies were destroyed."
"Indeed, so it must be a personal possession or memento they cherished in life."
That made sense. "Possibly; follow me."
She went back inside and up to the bar. "Did your parents keep anything that belonged to the Dragons? Clothing, patches, badges, anything like that?"
"No, nothing, I swear it. They wanted to forget the entire incident even happened."
"Bugger." She stepped away towards the far wall. That left her in a quandary: without knowing how the revenants were able to return, there was nothing she could do to help them.
{Then you should leave, My Master. No sense in putting yourself in danger for the likes of them.}
What he said sounded reasonable. The village's trouble was a direct result of its own folly, and nothing in her job description required her to correct other people's mistakes. And yet...
These people are not to blame. The deed was their parents', and that generation is now gone. Even so, for all their error, they were simply trying to protect themselves against an enemy that claimed it would kill them. Besides, I took an oath to protect the people of Britain from paranormal threats, and it said nothing about whether those threats are self-inflicted. If I abandon these people, I violate that oath, and that is something I will not do. In any event, the Dragons are the real villains, and they need to be stopped.
{Yes, My Master.}
She turned and gazed at the landlord before walking back to the bar. "I want my motorcycle."
A look of despair, fright, and desperation settled on his face. "You are leaving us."
"On the contrary, I will do everything I can to protect you, but I will need my bike."
He didn't appear to believe her, but she could see he also realized he had no choice. "Very well. It will be out front in five minutes."
From "In an Octopus's Garden"
I don't know if anyone will find this testament. I've already split and cleaned out the coconut, dug the hole, and gathered the stones; all I need to do is finish writing. The problem is they may find it, but if I hide it too well no one else will. So I have to take the chance.
I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning. Vicki and I had been married for five years, but we could not conceive any children. Not that we weren't trying; we made love three times a week and twice on weekends. But nothing seemed to work. We went to our doctor to ask about alternatives. He wanted to give us a physical before he discussed that, but afterwards he pronounced us in perfect health. He thought it might be stress. We were both rather busy with our respective professions, so it made sense to us. He suggested we take some time off; if that didn't work, then he would be willing to try fertility drugs.
We had always wanted to take a sailing tour of the South Pacific, but to do it right we would have to take several months. We didn't have enough vacation time accumulated, but we talked it over and decided to each take a leave of absence, since we had enough savings to cover it. So we arranged with our respective employers for a six month sabbatical. After that it was a simple matter to rent a boat and set up our itinerary. One thing we really wanted to do was find some place where we could rent an island or something. While we didn't plan to waste any nights on the boat, we wanted to spend some time in a romantic location where we didn't have to wear anything except suntan lotion and we didn't have to do anything except have sex. However, that proved more difficult. Fortunately, our travel agent knew of a realtor on an island called Ponape in the East Caroline Islands that could rent us a small atoll. So we made a reservation and paid a retainer.
The boat itself was a single-masted schooner with an inboard motor, an onboard computer and GPS tracking system, and a radio with a satellite phone. It had a single spacious cabin, a galley, and a lavatory, plus an expansive afterdeck. Both Vicki and I were experienced yachtsmen in college; in fact, that was how we first met, as rivals in a regatta. We tied for first place. So while it had been some time since
we last did any sailing, it was the kind of boat we were used to, and we doubted that we would have any problems.
We left San Francisco at the beginning of March and headed towards Hawaii. We took our time crossing the Pacific; we weren't in any hurry. We intended to cut ourselves off from home entirely, but the one concession we made was to our parents. They were worried that we might run into trouble being on our own for so long, so we promised to call them not less than once a week. We spent a week touring the Hawaiian Islands, then swung south and west towards the Marshalls. We spent another week working our way up the chain before heading west and south again towards Ponape. We finally arrived after the beginning of April in the mid afternoon. The island was a round, low volcano that looked more like a mound of dirt. It was surrounded by a barrier reef, but there were several passages through. We used the Mwand pass, then made our way west around the north end of the island to the smaller Sokehs Island. We sailed down the west side into the Sokehs Harbor and finally moored at a marina run by the South Park Hotel.
We went ashore into Kolonia, which was the capital town, and went straight to the realtor. We paid the remainder of the rental and she gave us a map and navigational
The Adventure of the Golden Mushroom Page 8