The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

  “I don’t mind a mess,” said Ankerita. “You should have seen where I was staying, once the builders moved in.”

  Jo’s hands shook as she made tea for her friend. “It’s really like wonderful to see you. I’ve missed you. What’s been happening?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Ankerita, “but I’m back. And I’m here to help.”

  “What do you like mean, help? I’m fine, thank you.”

  “So, the cancer and the drugs are ‘fine’ are they?”

  “What?”

  “I know all about it.” Ankerita fussed the cat. “I’ve seen the state you’re in, and I was told by a devil about your affliction.”

  “Devil?” Jo looked up from her tea. “You mean that little annoyance, Didiubas, is back again? I thought he’d like returned to the Dungeon Dimensions, Hades, Wolverhampton or somewhere.”

  “No, not him.” Ankerita smiled. “I do believe he’s truly gone, to wherever he came from, no doubt causing mayhem there as usual. No, this one is much more evil, and she is growing in influence all the time; this is a bitch called Fantasia Stanhope.”

  “I’ve heard of her.”.

  “She tried to sacrifice me,” said Ankerita.

  “What?”

  “Apparently she thought my blood held the key to immortality.”

  “Stupid cow.”

  “She nearly succeeded. If it hadn’t been for a friend and a few hoodlums, I wouldn’t be with you. She runs a big corporation though. I’m afraid she’ll come after me again.”

  “She needs to be stopped.” Jo seemed to regain some of her old verve.

  “She does, and I need you to help me.”

  “What good can I be?” Tears started to run down Jo’s face. “I am in continuous pain, and can’t think straight half the time.”

  “Haven’t you been to hospital?”

  “Of course,” said Jo, “but they wanted to pump me full of drugs, make my hair fall out and keep me in a bed until I died. It’s easier this way. At least I have my own space and Priah here to keep me company. I can’t let him down.”

  “You’ve been pumping yourself full of drugs, instead?”

  “I started on hash, and that dulled the pain a bit, and then I had a visit by a dude in a monk’s outfit; he made it a bit better.”

  “A monk. Brother Francis?”

  “I think so, but I was too ill to take notice.” She clasped Ankerita’s hands. “I’m like so glad you’re here.”

  “And where will it end?”

  “When the pain gets too great, or the money runs out, I’ll take one last dose, and that will be it. I already nearly did.”

  “No, I’m not letting that happen.” Ankerita shook her friend. “You are needed in the world.”

  “For what?”

  “I, er, don’t know, but maybe that will become clear, later. You can’t let yourself go.”

  “There is no cure.”

  “Isn’t there? Let me show you...” Ankerita got the Book out of her bag. “In here are spells for just about everything, including healing the sick. Look.”

  Jo squinted at the picture and the unintelligible writing. “Hokey pokey,” she said. “I tell you, there is no cure. I spent too much time in the open in NZ, rafting, canoeing, sunbathing and everything. The blight got into my skin and it has gone to my brain and everywhere else. At the hospital, they reckoned I’ve got like only a few more weeks, but it might be months after the monk’s visit. They say they can keep me going a bit longer, but I say bugger that. What’s the point of delaying the inevitable? I’ve only like got the same thing to look forward to.”

  Ankerita skimmed the pages of the book. “There must be something here to help with the pain. I wish I could read it.”

  Jo stood up. “I’ll see about food,” she said. “I usually like get a takeaway sent up. Can you stop?”

  “Until you are cured,” Ankerita avowed. “Yes, order something. I have money. Let me concentrate on the crystal to see if I can get through to someone for help.”

  “Like the genie of the ball?” said Jo, but Ankerita was not listening.

  Jo called through an order to the local Chinese takeaway and lay on her bed again. She was soon snoring gently. Ankerita put the crystal on a table and stared into the glass.

  “Genet, are you there?”

  Slowly, the witch’s face took shape. “Yes, I’m here. About time too. Where have you been?”

  “Where have you been, I might ask,” Ankerita challenged. “I’ve been trying to connect, but nothing, since I visited your old village.”

  “Some old fart was getting in the way,” said Genet. “Do you know who I mean?”

  “I guess that was the guy in the mirror.” She sighed. “I didn’t think he was all that bothered.”

  “He is strong,” said Genet. “He needs to be moved on.”

  “Can’t we simply break the mirror?”

  “Of course not! Don’t you realise that would release him to go out in the world. We don’t want free spirits loose. No, all you have to do is take it somewhere else. He is obviously drawing his power from the building. Somewhere different, he may still be trapped, but apart from giving people the odd shock, when they realise how old they are looking, a trick on his part, he can’t do any other harm.”

  “That’s all wild boar past the hunting lodge,” said Ankerita. “I’ve got Jo here, and I need to cure her. What have you got for that?”

  “Once you’ve found the artefacts, I’ll help. You’ve got three so far?”

  “Yes, Chariot, Sword and Ring. Pah, sounds like a fool-born adventure game, the sort of thing Wesley would play.”

  “If you can find two more,” said Genet, “you will be clear for the healing spell. You’ve seen the page already, I know. I would suggest the coat and the halter, which will save you trekking around Lakeland looking for less tangible items.”

  “I love that part of the world.”

  “I don’t mean the area,” said Genet. “I mean the kitchen goods supplier. Most of the other treasures are crocks and bowls. They are out there, but finding them amongst all the other stuff in the shops will be nigh on impossible.”

  “Unless you like buying bits for the kitchen.”

  “Don’t play me for a fool.”

  “So, what do I do; where do I go?”

  “Go and find the Halter of Clydno Eiddin.”

  Ankerita pouted. “According to the book, that will supply a horse. What the hot-cockles would that be any use for, except to trample her to death?”

  “It will help your friend, too. When she wears it, some of the pain will go away. Not a cure, mind you, but something to give her strength.”

  “And where might it be?”

  “Clydno Eiddin used to be a ruler in Hen Ogledd, so I would start there.”

  “Where, by God’s Blessed Will, do I find Hen Old-leg?”

  “It means the ‘Old North’, and as Clydno gave his name to Edinburgh and the river the other side of the country, that would be a good place to start.”

  “One thing... Why are you helping us?”

  Genet smiled enigmatically. “I will claim my fee in due course.”

  “And what might that be?” Ankerita had a very bad feeling inside. She stared into the ball, but the witch had vanished.

  22. The Coat

  J

  o stowed her bag in the boot of the Escort. “What’s all this about treasures?” she asked.

  Ankerita leaned over to inspect a piece of paper in a plastic bag affixed to the front windscreen. “There are a number of hidden items that we need, to perform the spell to send thy affliction away... or so Genet says.” She peeled off the notice. “Is this a dodgy area? Someone’s stuck some paper on my car. What’s all that about?”

  “It’s a parking ticket. You have to, like, pay a fine.”

  “Ah,” said Ankerita. “A pox upon that. Perhaps this driver will pay it ins
tead.” She crossed the street and stuck it to a car parked in a legal bay opposite.

  “But it’s you who have to pay.”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “They will track you down. The might of traffic enforcement is feared throughout the cosmos.” Jo laughed as her friend returned.

  “I managed to keep out of Fantasia’s way,” said Ankerita, “well mostly. I don’t expect the parking people will have that sort of dedication. When we get back, I’ll have George change the number plates again.”

  “You said ‘we’? How many of us are there?”

  “If I’m going to cure you, I have to get Genet back, and to do that, I need to find the remaining objects, and to do that, I need your help.”

  “It sounds logical the way you say it.” Jo slammed the boot lid shut. “You genuinely think you can cure me?”

  “We won’t know if we don’t try, will we? Come on, get in. We need to go to Edinburgh, whichever direction that is.”

  “North,” said Jo. “Have you got a satnav?”

  “On this phone.” Ankerita handed it over to her friend. “Can you set it to avoid motorways?”

  “You serious?”

  “Best way to dodge the spy cameras, George told me. I’ll need you to watch, though. If you see one, we can either find a way around, or I’ll put tape over the plates.”

  “Isn’t that illegal?”

  “Only while we pass the camera.”

  “It’s an adventure?”

  “Isn’t it always, when you and I get together?”

  “Like old times, like.” Jo laughed. “I’ve missed you, kid.”

  The journey was long and tortuous. The Chariot couldn’t make it seem to go any quicker. As darkness fell, Ankerita stopped in a remote village. The local pub said ‘Accommodation’.

  “This will do,” she said. “I’m tired out. We can stop here at this inn for the night.”

  The landlord looked up from polishing glasses at the bar as the two girls entered the room, carrying their travel bags. “Sorry, we’re not open yet,” he said, a little gruffly. “Come back at seven.”

  “We were like looking for a room,” said Jo. “Just for the night. It does say you have some. They’re not all taken, are they?”

  “Fifty pounds,” the man squinted at the girls, “for a double. We’ve only got a double. Cash in advance. I don’t accept credit cards or cheques.”

  “Fine.” Ankerita peeled notes off the wad she still had.

  The landlord stared. “That’s a lot of money to be carrying around, miss,” he said accusingly.

  Ankerita bristled, and took a breath, planning to tell him to mind his own business, as she was a lady, and he a mere malt-hook of a tavern keeper.

  “We won it on the lottery,” interjected Jo, knowing exactly how Ankerita was going to react. “We’re on a celebratory tour.”

  “Congratulations.” The landlord’s sour expression faded. “I expect you’d like dinner. Twenty pound each, set menu.”

  “Please,” said Jo. “I’m starving. What do you think, Anna?”

  “I’m so hungry I could eat a scabby horse between two bread vans.” She clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. “Oh my God, where did that come from?”

  Jo giggled. “I guess you haven’t forgotten everything that Tox shared with you, during your body swaps.”

  “How are you feeling?” Ankerita ventured, as she and Jo relaxed in expansive armchairs after a substantial meal. The landlord had stoked the fire and turned the lights down for them, and the warm glow was the main illumination in the room. The wind whistled around the old building, and occasional squalls of rain battered the windows. Jo was sipping a lager, but Ankerita had asked for a drink containing a cherry on a stick. She wanted to see what its appeal was for evil business magnates.

  “Very comfortable, considering,” replied Jo. “It takes me back a few months to when I felt better. I can barely detect the twinges, but at that time I put them down to age. I had no idea. It was only when I collapsed at work, and they took me away in an ambulance did I like realise that something was wrong. Will it get worse?”

  “I’m afraid so. From what you told me about Brother Francis, and what I know myself, it appears he survives by taking the life essence of others. He is basically a good man, so those lives are usually given freely; I don’t think he steals them, although he could if he wanted to. For some reason the transfer went the other way with you, and you took from him rather than the other way round.”

  “He must have like aged a hundred years,” agreed Jo. “Does that mean I’ve gained a hundred?”

  “I don’t think so. He has given you some life back, and from what you are saying, and how long you’ve known, that could be six months.”

  “He looked so ancient afterwards,” said Jo. “Six months for fifty years or so. Not a great conversion rate. A bit like buying your currency from a bank.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” said her friend. “But, it gives us time to find more artefacts, and release Genet to do the spell for us. Fantasia told me that you would have had a great future if she hadn’t arranged to have you killed.”

  “Hey, but she couldn’t have arranged for this disease, could she?”

  “I don’t know, but that’s what she said.”

  Jo took another sip of her drink and gazed thoughtfully at the flickering flames. “What can someone like me do?”

  “Fantasia said that anyone can make a difference if they want to. Do you want to?”

  “She told you a lot, didn’t she?” Jo avoided the question. “A bit helpful for an evil bitch anti-Christ wasn’t it?”

  “She was about to sacrifice me and, she thought, give herself eternal youth. I expect she wanted to boast; get it off her chest as it were.”

  “Like the clothing,” said Jo obtusely. “Is that what you have to do in witchery, I mean strip off and dance round like butt naked?”

  “It’s supposed to free the soul, and the body. Clothing restricts the flow of energy.”

  “And you believe that?” Jo grinned.

  “Fantasia did, and she’s the evil nemesis, after all.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t hear from her again.”

  “At least until I’ve released Genet. Then perhaps, we’ll retaliate on our own terms.”

  As they said goodnight to the landlord, Ankerita noticed a set of ancient bottles, festooned with cobwebs and dust. There was a pane of glass in front of them. They looked very old, and she felt that familiar prickling, the sensation she used to get when there was something arcane nearby.

  “Am I getting my old talents back?” she wondered. She pointed. “Why are those fastened away behind the glass?”

  The landlord gave a sly smile. “You noticed, did you? They are maybe three-hundred years old: part of the fabric of the pub. I don’t disturb them.”

  “You could clean them up,” pressed Ankerita. “They might look better. You know, get rid of some of the spiders.” She shuddered.

  Jo tutted, and tried to drag her away. “Not again, Anna. There’s like no ghosts here. Leave it.”

  “Oh there are ghosts,” said the landlord. “The bottles themselves are cursed.” He raised his eyebrows for effect.

  “I’m interested,” said Ankerita. “Tell me more.”

  “She doesn’t mean it,” groaned Jo. “We’re tired. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

  “Yes, cursed,” repeated the landlord, as he saw that Ankerita was lingering.

  “I’m exhausted,” said Jo. “You stay, Anna. I’m off to bed.”

  “Goodnight. Sorry, please go on, my good man.”

  The landlord squinted at her. “Are you having a laugh?”

  “Not that I’d noticed.”

  “Are you sure you’re not going to be scared?” he said smugly.

  “Believe me, it would have to be bad to scare me now.”

  He gave a knowing smirk. “Right
then, missy...” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. The firelight flickered around the darkened bar as rain now lashed continuously at the windows.

  “The story goes,” he began, “that these bottles have been left up here on the shelf since before anyone could remember. Nobody knew why. One stormy night, a bit like tonight it was,” he looked around the empty bar, “the regulars had gone home to their beds, and the landlord was finishing tidying up. His wife comes out of the kitchen and tells him it is about time he threw them away. She wanted to use the space for flowers or ornaments or something.”

  “Go on. You retain my interest.”

  The landlord scowled, but Ankerita seemed to be following his words, so he continued. “Despite his misgivings, him being a superstitious man and all, he gets them out on to the bar. He’s only thrown the first one into a bucket and is picking up a hammer to smash it, when, would you believe it, he drops down dead: dead as a side of mutton.”

  “Oooh.” Ankerita pretended to be impressed.

  “So, his missus hears the crash, comes rushing in. She calls the doctor, but it’s too late. They have to take him away. Not one for letting a death prevent her from opening the pub, she finds another gent, whom she apparently had been seen with on occasion, know what I mean, to help her the following day, before her poor old man is barely cold. They get the pub ready, and she asks him to put the bottles back on the shelf. Blow me if, soon after he’s tidied the bar, he doesn’t drop down dead too.”

  “There’s a coincidence.”

  “Isn’t it. So, the landlady declares it a curse on the bottles and vows to seal the shelf, so that nobody else should suffer. Oddly enough, history says she inherited this second man’s farm, him having no family and all, and eventually sold up and went to live somewhere on the continent with a male ‘cousin’ of hers that nobody knew of.”

  “At least it had a happy ending.”

  “That’s how the story goes.” The landlord peered at the girl to see the effect of his tale. Instead of being impressed, Ankerita was looking thoughtful.

  “There is something on those bottles, you’re right,” she said, after a pause. “I can feel it. Best not to disturb them. I bid you goodnight sirrah.”