The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

  “I did?” Ankerita looked horrified. “Forgive me.”

  “Delirium,” said George. “You don’t need forgiveness.”

  “But how am I alive? I felt so bad that I wanted to die.”

  “I’ve been feeding you,” said the man. “You’ve been a bit like a zombie. I say ‘eat’ and you eat. I say ‘toilet’ and dump you in there, and you do the business. You seem to have been cleaning yourself too, but I got the feeling you were somewhere else.”

  “I’m glad it’s only you, here. Imagine what a less trustworthy carer would have been tempted with.”

  George grinned. “You might want to look at these.” He placed a small rolled-up towel on the bed. “I cleaned them up.”

  Ankerita unwrapped the material, and saw the rondel, the real one this time. “It’s certainly the Sword!”

  “Careful, kid,” said George. “It’s not totally blunt. Ah cut ma finger on it while I was getting the mud off.”

  “That’s great.” Ankerita smiled.

  “It didn’a feel great.”

  “No, I mean, if the knife is sharp for you, it is because you have a pure heart. Either that or you come from noble stock.”

  “Noble stock, aye, the Scott Clan from Torry, our country estate amongst the rolling hills and fairy pools of Aberdeenshire.”

  “Sounds enchanting,” said Ankerita.

  “I was being ironic,” said George. “Torry is awful, and if I’m from noble stock, I’m a Dutchman.”

  “Is there a large community of people from there...?”

  “Ah’m still being sarcastic. Why don’t you stop quizzing me, and look at the other thing in the towel?”

  Ankerita gave a low whistle as she unwrapped the second artefact.

  “I thought you’d be impressed.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “Aye it is. A bit girly for me, and it wouldn’t fit on my finger if I wanted it to.”

  “It has to be The Ring.” Ankerita turned the silver band over in her hands. Set into the white metal was a vivid green stone. “Gorgeous.”

  “It’s certainly ‘a’ ring,” said George. “It looks expensive.”

  Ankerita flicked through more pages of the Book. “There. It is the Ring of Eluned,” she affirmed. “It is said to grant invisibility to anyone who wears it.”

  “Ye’d better put it on,” said George with mock seriousness. “See if it works.”

  “I will.” She slipped the band on to her right index finger. It fitted perfectly.

  “Where did you go, Pet?” George waved his arms around and peering theatrically into corners of the room.

  “I’ve disappeared, and I can still see my hands. How cool is that?”

  George laughed out loud at her expression, and flicked the end of her nose. “I’m joking, lassie. Of course you haven’t vanished. Yer talking a load o’ keech.”

  Ankerita looked hurt. “You must admit there is something unusual about these things though?”

  “They’re old, it’s true.” George became serious. “They are probably treasure-trove, if you were going to hand them in, but as to magical powers, that doesn’t happen.”

  “It is said this ring once belonged to Myrddin, the sorcerer.”

  “He must have been a little bloke. It looks as though it would be tight on a normal man.”

  “It changes to fit the wearer, and it belonged to Genet. You must believe that. You saw Genet. She spoke to you.”

  “Aye she did,” mused George. “But she’s not come through to me since.”

  “And she did send me to that deserted village.”

  “Aye, something did, ah suppose.”

  “Otherwise I wouldn’t have found these things, would I?”

  “You could be right.” The man smiled at her enthusiasm. “But what are you going to do with them?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping that once I’d got the set, Genet was going to tell me. Oh...”

  “It’s okay. The crystal-ball is safe. I cleaned that up too. It’s downstairs, in the games room.”

  “Would you get it for me, please?”

  “Not until you’ve had a good breakfast.”

  “Not porridge though. Please, no more porridge.”

  “Aye, so you remember that?” George grinned. “I’ll let you get something on. Give me a call if you need helping downstairs. Oh, and Anna...”

  “Yes George.” Ankerita looked up from admiring the ring that fitted her so perfectly.

  “It’s great to have you back,” he said. “Ah wis pure worried.”

  “Awa’ wi’ ye.” She laughed, and waved him out of the room.

  14. The Drum

  G

  eorge and Ankerita sat together, eating a sausage omelette that Ankerita had prepared for lunch. He stared self-consciously, over his loaded fork. “I’m going to have to leave you alone, tonight, Hen.”

  It was a cold, but sunny day. Ankerita had been up for a while, and was starting to rebuild her strength after too much time in bed. She gazed out at the unkempt garden, and marvelled at the dew on the spiders’ webs. “Sorry?”

  “I’ve got to go out this evening, to earn the rail fare home.”

  “Right.” Ankerita swung her dark gaze towards him. “Sorry, I was dreaming. Did you say you were going home?”

  “Aye, I want to be with the bairns for Christmas... I could take you with me.”

  Ankerita laughed. “And how’s that going to look to your poor Eileen, you turning up with a girl half your age, and trying to explain why you are living with her down here? If it be true, I’m that much like thy Anna, then I’ll freak that lady out, into the bargain.”

  “I suppose I could get one of the family to put you up.”

  “You are very kind, but I’m a big girl; I can take care of myself.”

  “Like you did the other week?” said George. “You might have died.”

  “Don’t worry. Brother Francis is still looking out for me.”

  “Thanks very much,” said George, mocking hurt. “I suppose I had nothing to do with caring for you?”

  Ankerita stood up and put her arms around his shoulders. “George, you’re right. I couldn’t have done it without you. Forgive me for my arrogance. I promise not to do anything stupid like that again, if you promise me you won’t worry. You concentrate on having a good Christmas.”

  “But what about you?”

  “We didn’t celebrate the occasion that much in my day. Too much else to do. And of course, once I was in the anchorhold, every day was like every other. I’ll be fine.” She squeezed his hand. “You go, and enjoy yourself. Oh... would you show me how to use the machines downstairs again please? I need to ‘work out’, as you call it.”

  “Of course,” said George, “but I’m still not happy about leaving you. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” said Ankerita, her mind racing. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be back tonight, after the clubs are finished,” said George. “And I’ll have to do Saturday night as well. I’ll catch the train on a cheap fare on Sunday, so if anything bothers you, we’ve got tomorrow to sort it out.”

  “I’m sure I’ll manage.” The girl gazed back out of the window. A blackbird hopped into view, searching for grubs in the fallen leaves. For some reason, her mouth started to water.

  In the early hours of the morning, Ankerita awoke with a pounding in her head. As she struggled to work out where she was, the pounding turned into a slow drumming,

  Boom boom boom.

  It continued, dull thuds in the darkness. She pulled her duvet up under her chin, and curled up in a ball. She was freezing. The room felt colder than usual, as though there was a window open. She knew there wasn’t.

  Boom boom boom. The drum sounded louder, and the house seemed to vibrate.

  “It must be something in the street.” Ankerita grabbed her dressing-gown and shivere
d her way across to the window. The road outside was deserted. In the house, the sound remained.

  Boom boom boom.

  “Fen-sucked fustilarian,” she swore, starting to feel very worried. This was not a natural sound. “What in God’s breeches is going on?” She shivered again, listening to the drumbeat.

  Boom boom boom.

  “But, why is it so cold?” Ankerita’s breath made clouds in the dim light. “I’m going get a hot water bottle, and a plague on the night-time drummer. I’m not leaving my room, be the whole host of Hell playing a symphony on the kitchen table.”

  She checked that her bedroom door was still locked, went into the bathroom, and sat on the toilet. For a while, she watched the tap running. Once it was hot, she filled her latest present from George, a warming bottle with a fluffy, mock leopard-skin cover, and retreated to bed.

  Boom boom boom.

  “Peregre abeo,” she muttered. “Is there to be no peace? Go away. For the Lord’s sake why don’t you leave me alone?”

  She heard footsteps in the corridor outside.

  They seemed to be coming towards her door. She held her breath and hugged her knees, the water bottle between them and her chest, trying to keep herself warm.

  The sounds paused at the door. She heard heavy breathing, which continued on past, and faded.

  Ankerita let her own breath out, slowly, in a cloud of vapour. The treads returned towards her room. The door handle twisted and rattled.

  The girl reached under her pillow and withdrew the rondel, now her constant companion. “This time it’ll be different,” she mumbled. “Enter, and I’ll stick you for the hell-hound you are!”

  The door handle shook again, and slowly the key on her side of the door turned in the lock. There was a click.

  Ankerita pulled the covers right up. Her eyes peered fearfully over the top. The dagger gave her some comfort, but would it be effective against this ‘thing’, whatever it was?

  The door opened slowly.

  As she expected, there was nothing there.

  Heavy footsteps came across the room. The floorboards creaked as the thing passed her bed and went towards the bathroom door. That too opened as she watched in fascination. The boards creaked inside for a short while. The toilet flushed. The footsteps returned, heading for the four-poster this time.

  “Mater Dei,” she mumbled, trying to cross herself under the covers. She rocked from side to side.

  In the distance, the drum was still beating.

  Boom boom boom.

  “What do you want?” She tried to sound confident.

  There was no reply. The footsteps halted.

  A heavy weight landed on the end of the bed. Ankerita could see the indentation where someone or thing was sitting. The weight shifted and began to work upwards towards her.

  “Who are you?” she shouted. “Keep back, I’m armed.” She waved her dagger before her.

  The weight was on her toes. She squeaked, and pulled them from under it. She clasped her hands together, covering Genet’s ring. The room came into sharp focus.

  Kneeling before her, head bent downwards, was the shape of an old man. He reached to grab the covers, and his face turned towards her.

  It was blank. An empty dark space.

  Ankerita yelped, and thrust her dagger hopelessly through the shape. The drumbeats became louder.

  Boom boom boom.

  The house shook, and from downstairs came two chimes from a clock.

  The thing on Ankerita’s bed turned away from her. It vanished, but she could hear the creak from the floorboards as it plodded towards the door. Then, the door itself closed and the footsteps faded away.

  Boom boom boom, one last time, and the house was again silent.

  Ankerita let her breath out. How long she had been holding it, she had no idea. The room was normal temperature, and she realised she was still hugging the hot water bottle, and was soaked with sweat.

  She leapt out of bed and checked her door. It was still locked.

  “What in the name of Lord Christ was that?”

  Downstairs, the front door opened, and steps came up to the landing, pausing at Ankerita’s door. “A good night, Pet,” George said quietly from outside.

  “Hi George.” Ankerita tried to stop her voice shaking. “Did you make any money?”

  “People are getting generous for Christmas. I was able to finish early,” he replied. “Everything okay? Ye sound a bit shaky.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, feeling anything but. “I couldn’t sleep. I’m going to have a bath.”

  “Aye, me too,” said George. “I’m got to get the stink of these old clothes off me.”

  As she cuddled into her duvet after a long soak, Ankerita started to wonder. “Is this going to happen every night that George isn’t here, or is it a Friday special?” She shuddered. “And how am I going to stop it?”

  “I’m going to change rooms,” Ankerita announced over a late breakfast the following morning.

  “Why?” George looked up from scanning the Saturday newspaper. “That’s the best room in the house.” He peered at her suspiciously. “Have things been happening again?”

  “I guess so.” Ankerita lowered her gaze.

  “Like the other night? I thought that was a one off, perhaps a dream you had.”

  “It was no dream.” She outlined the events. “It is definitely supernatural, and it seems to focus on my room.”

  “Say no more. I’ll help you shift your stuff.”

  Later that day, George again showed Ankerita how to use the machines in the gym. This time she took better notice, and had a go on each one. “You look good, Pet,” he observed, as the girl worked on the cross-trainer. She had discarded her usual jeans and was wearing trainers, shorts and a T-shirt George had brought from his latest visit to the shop. “The kit is a good fit.”

  “Are you going out again tonight?”

  “I guess one last venture. When it gets this close to festivities, people become more generous. Once they leave the clubs, any shekels left over seem to find their way into ma cap.” He drew out a wad of notes. “See what ah mean?” He paused, thoughtfully. “Have you got enough cash of your own for while I’m away?”

  Ankerita laughed. “Och aye, ah have. You haven’t yet let me buy anything with the money I got from Tristan.”

  “And how are you going to eat?”

  “You’ve got the freezer packed to bursting; I’ll be fine... I can always nip out to the corner shop if I start to run out.”

  “You be careful,” said George. “In case those hoods are still looking for you.”

  “I’m sure they will have forgotten me... won’t they?”

  “Have a lovely time with the family, George.” Ankerita gave the stocky man a hug, as he stood with his suitcase in the front hallway. “You smell nice,” she said.

  “Aye, some of your training’s wearing off on me,” replied George, sheepishly. “What state I’ll be in when I get home after the railway journey is anyone’s guess, though.”

  “You’ll be fresher than you’ve ever been,” said Ankerita with a laugh.

  “The guid-wife will be suspicious,” said George. “She’ll accuse me of having a fancy-woman.”

  “Mmmm, fancy.”

  “Awa’ wi’ yr comedy,” said George. “Stop pretending. I can see that you’re worried.”

  “How so?”

  “I can see you’ve got a light brown aura around ye. That’s what it means.”

  “You can see auras?”

  “Not all the time, but when I can, it helps. I can tell straight away which folks are likely to hand out the money; saves me wasting my jokes on others. Since I met you in the squat, I’ve been getting better at reading them. At first I thought it was my eyes going, but now I know better.”

  “Could I do it, do you think?” Ankerita had wondered how she was going to pass the time while George wa
s away. Now, she knew. She would practise reading auras. It would certainly have helped with some of the people she had met on her travels: that policeman, Danny Keech, for one. She had trusted him, but all the time, he was delving into her non-existent past, trying to find out about her. Finally, he tried to send her to prison on trumped-up charges of theft. “I suppose,” she admitted to herself. “The charges weren’t actually trumped-up. I was caught with an amount of stolen goods that the demon got for me. Not a good defence in Court: I’m innocent, it was the warty little lad from the Dungeon Dimensions, that you can’t see.” She shook her head. “Being able to have seen his deception from the start would have kept me out of trouble that time at least, and a few others to boot.”

  “Doll, are ye dreaming again?”

  “Sorry?” Ankerita started. “What?”

  “You went blank on me for a moment.”

  “Sorry George. I was thinking; thinking that if I could read auras like you, it would help me for the future... I’d know who I could trust, I mean.”

  “It’s not too difficult, lassie. I’ve got to go to catch my train, but have a look in the tray by my printer in the library. I’ve run off some internet stuff that might help.”

  “And I’ve got the Book. Thanks, George. Have a great trip. Will you let me know when you get there?”

  “If I can. I expect it will be busy though, with the bairns trying to tell me everything they’ve done since I last saw them, and all that.”

  “And Eileen,” said Ankerita, “Don’t forget her. Take her something nice... Don’t worry if you can’t call.” She gave him a hug. “Off you go. I’ll hide in the kitchen while you leave, in case anyone sees me.”

  “Bye, Hen.”

  The front door closed behind her guardian. Ankerita was alone.

  Sunday lunch was a lonely affair. Ankerita decided to make a proper dinner for herself, but her cooking was never a strong point. “I mean, why do I need to cook, when I have a house full of servants?” was her original plea, and once in the anchorhold, food was provided from the abbey kitchen, or via grateful parishioners.