“After you, just mind your step.”
Hunter frowned and stepped into the dark. Immediately before him was a set of steps leading down, faintly lit from far below. Hunter had taken a few steps when he heard the door clang shut behind him, blocking out all daylight.
“The MMC has gone underground. Literally.” Jack said as he squeezed past to lead the way.
The faint light grew stronger as they neared the bottom, until they came to its source - a single oil lamp next to another door. Jack paused to pull out a key and quietly opened up.
On the other side there was more light provided by extra lamps. Hunter could see a desk set up with a man and woman quietly discussing some dreary matter. They both looked up at Jack and Hunter’s entrance.
“ID?” The woman asked automatically.
“Jack Lowe, 1st gen.” Jack replied, handing over an old driving licence.
“Lowe.” The woman mused, glancing down at the desk. “You’re not due to return for another week. Is there a problem?”
“Not exactly. I had to escort someone here.” Jack said. Hunter had the strange feeling that Jack was relishing the moment. “Mr Hunter Astley.”
The effect was immediate and a little unnerving for Hunter. The expression on the woman and man’s face were identical. Hunter doubted if they could have looked more shocked if Jack had brought along the Shadow Witch, or even Father Christmas.
“H-Hunter? Astley?” The woman gasped. Her eyes flicked over Hunter hungrily, matching the actual person to the name.
She suddenly turned to the man standing gawping behind her. “Go - tell the Council. Go now.”
The man staggered away then, with one more disbelieving look at Hunter, he broke into a run and disappeared down the far end of the corridor.
“Um, radios don’t work, so the fastest way to send a message is with a runner.” The woman explained.
“I know, I remember.” Hunter said with a smile.
The woman blushed and looked rather breathless; Hunter wondered whether it was his sudden appearance that caused this reaction, or was his old charm still in perfect working order? It would be flattering if it were the latter.
“Y-you’re really him, Hunter Astley?” The woman breathed. “I never thought… I’ve heard so much about you, we all have-”
Jack coughed in the background, breaking the woman’s rambling.
“Oh, sorry. Why don’t I take you through to the Council?” She offered with a glowing smile.
“It’s ok Lesley, I know the way.” Jack said softly to the woman. He clapped Hunter on his back. “Come on, it’s this way.”
Hunter politely bid the woman goodbye then followed Jack down the corridor.
The underground base was like a warren with numerous corridors and rooms, Hunter could only marvel at the scope of it. As they walked along the empty corridors gradually filled with the faces of people wanting to see Hunter with their own eyes. Obviously gossip and rumours still travelled fast. He heard his name being passed in whispered voices and he felt the energy and excitement that was connected to it.
There was the sound of rushed footsteps and Hunter saw several people rushing towards them. One man pushed in front, limping heavily, but smiling widely.
“It is you! How the hell?!” He laughed and grabbed Hunter, wanting physical confirmation. “You are a bloody miracle.”
It took a second for Hunter’s brain to process that the person before him was someone he knew. “Toby? Christ, I never expected - I thought you were dead!”
“Likewise, Hunter, likewise.”
“It’s good to see you again, Mr Astley.” A reserved voice broke through.
Hunter looked past his old friend Toby to see another familiar face. “Sergeant Dawkins? It’s good to see you too.”
“Actually, it’s General now.” Dawkins commented with a wry smile. “Not that that matters here.”
Hunter took a moment to look at his old acquaintances. They looked so worn and aged since he’d last seen them, they had obviously had a rough time these last couple of years, and Hunter felt guilty over his own safe life.
“So, where have you been?” Toby asked.
“Ahm…” Hunter hesitated, aware of all the keen eyes and ears in this cramped corridor. Even after all he’d done, and all he’d learnt, he was still uncomfortable sharing information on his almost-magical abilities. Especially to strangers. And especially in the official witch-hunter base.
There were obviously stories told about him, but Hunter didn’t know how accurate they were.
Dawkins accurately read the hesitation. “Come through to the Council rooms, Mr Astley.”
It was a relief for Hunter to follow the General to a quiet, empty room. It was lit by the yellow light of an oil lamp on the wall, casting shadows from the table and chairs.
Toby limped over to a chair and dragged it out, dropping into it heavily. Hunter sat opposite him, glancing enquiringly at the leg that stuck out stiffly.
“Broke my leg pretty bad.” Toby explained, hitting his thigh with frustration. “Got caught by witches a week before Salisbury Plain - was so mangled I missed the mission. Two years and I’m still limping.”
Hunter shook his head, “I still can’t believe you’re alive! I thought all witch-hunters over the 2nd gen status had been hunted down - especially those unlucky enough to have met the Shadow Witch during her time undercover.”
Names and faces of those that had been on the list of the Shadow Witch came to mind; Brian Lloyd, Matt and Dave Marshall… James Bennett. They had made the mistake of making themselves known to Sophie Murphy. Toby Robson, as a 4th gen was also on the list and it was a miracle that he’d survived.
“I can’t explain it, I’ve been lucky.” Toby said with a shrug. “Besides, you’re still alive and kicking, surely you top every list!”
“Yes, how did you survive?” General Dawkins broke in, the army man leaning against the table. “Where have you been, and why?”
Hunter glanced briefly at Dawkins, before staring resolutely at the wall. “I thought there was no one left. I saw the last of our men fall before I resolved to leave to continue the fight. I was on the run for months, trying to shake any followers.”
Hunter paused, taking a deep breath. “You both know what I’m capable of, well I went to find the Benandanti…”
Hunter went on to tell of his meeting with the Donili and explained all the time he’d spent with them and all he had learnt.
Chapter Twelve
“So, you’ve finally returned to us?” Dawkins asked after Hunter had finished.
“I had to find out what was going on.” Hunter replied, somewhat off-topic, not wanting to admit that re-joining the MMC wasn’t on his list of priorities.
“What do you want to know?” Asked Toby.
“Everything.” Hunter said with a shrug. “What’s the current status of the MMC and its allies. Even what the witches have achieved - I’ve been out of it for so long.”
“Well, the witches are consolidating their position, so we’re busy protecting our last strongholds and trying to find their weaknesses. It’s not easy. You’re right about the MMC, we’ve hardly any real witch-hunters left, most of the people here are 1st gens. As for the army, well…”
Toby broke off and looked to Dawkins, allowing the General to take over.
“The army is split in two.” Dawkins sighed. “The majority are with us, integrated as 1st gen witch-hunters. But there is still a standing British Army - working for the person running Britain.”
“The Royal family?” Hunter asked, vaguely hopeful.
“In a secure location in Scotland.” Toby said with a shake of his head. “I’m afraid our country’s leader is the Shadow Witch and her council.”
“That’s not good.” Hunter muttered.
“No, it’s not.” Dawkins agreed. “Look, I have rounds to do. Can I leave this to you, Toby?”
Toby assented and the General left with a brief goodbye.
<
br /> Hunter stared at the closed door. “I remember him being a lot more fun.”
“We all were.” Toby said bleakly. “Colin was the natural successor after General Hayworth, but he still feels like he has to prove it.”
Hunter looked about him at the bland room. “So, what is this place?”
“An abandoned RAF base. We can only guess why there’s such an extensive underground run, we can’t find any record of its existence - it was either above top-secret, or completely forgotten. It’s a miracle we found the place.” Toby explained. “We’ve been using this place for nearly a year now. I miss windows and daylight, but at least it’s safe.”
“How can it be safe against witches? How can you put the MMC in danger by staying still so long?” Hunter felt his temper rising, angry at his old friend’s complacency. Hunter didn’t think he had to tell Toby of all people how the witches had chased them out of Astley Manor; out of their bases in Manchester and Newcastle.
“Relax Hunter, it’s ok.” Toby said, smirking at Hunter’s expression. “The witches won’t find us here.”
“How? How can you know that?” He demanded.
“It’s… hard to explain.” Toby said with a sigh. “You wouldn’t understand unless you saw it for yourself. Then again, I’d love to see what she says to you.”
“You are not making any sense at all Toby.” Hunter said curtly, very aware that the other witch-hunter was laughing at him.
“Come with me.” Toby said, suddenly standing and hobbling to the door.
Toby walked down the corridor with a pronounced limp, and Hunter could feel his excitement.
“I’m going to introduce you to someone very special, Mythanwy Elspeth Lughnasa - but everyone calls her Mel.” Toby explained. “She’s not a witch, as far as we can tell, but I want you to keep an open mind.”
“This isn’t filling me with confidence.” Hunter warned. “Nor is it explaining anything.”
“Look, Mel is… Mel. She found this place, swore it was safe.” Toby said, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “And don’t look at me like that, Hunter. You just have to meet her to understand. She’s very truthful, I don’t think she knows how to lie, actually.”
Hunter frowned, not liking this, but said nothing as he followed Toby through the warren of corridors and doors. They eventually stopped at a door guarded by a witch-hunter, as they approached, he nodded them through, closing the door behind them.
The room was exactly like the one they had just left, except there was a sofa along one wall, with a neat stack of folded bedding beside it. A table took up most of the space of the room, and at it a young woman was sitting alone, with pale blond hair held back with a blue ribbon. When she looked up, it was with big blue eyes, and seeing her guests she smiled widely.
“Hi Dave!” She gushed, jumping up eagerly.
Toby, smiling in fond response to her enthusiasm, turned to Hunter and explained quickly and quietly. “We don’t know who Dave is, she calls all men Dave.”
Then he turned back to the girl. “Hello Mel, it’s nice to see you again. But my name is Toby, remember. Now, I have someone I’d like you to meet, Mel, this is my good friend Hunter.”
Hunter felt his scepticism suspended as he faced the mysterious Mel. It was hard to tell her age, she must have been at least twenty years old, but her open and innocent expression made her look younger. She wore a pale blue blouse, and knee-length white skirt, her outfit modest and old-fashioned. Mel’s face lit up as she saw Hunter.
“George!” She gushed, then pouted. “You’re late.”
Hunter saw that Toby was as confused as he was. So much for every man being called Dave, he could only assume someone had told Mel about his unused Christian name.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Mel.” Hunter said slowly, “I didn’t mean to be.”
Mel smiled again, obviously satisfied with his apology. She stepped up close to him, her blond head barely reaching his shoulder. Mel reached out and gently placed one small, cool hand in his. She bit her lip and rocked up on her toes, so very excited that he was here.
“Sit down, sit down, we shall have tea and cake and all things nice.” Mel rambled on, drawing Hunter to the table and chairs.
Mel danced around the table, making sure her two guests were seated before skipping to the door and yanking it open.
“Hello Dave.” She trilled to the witch-hunter on sentry. “We’re having a tea party. Can you bring the tea? Mother doesn’t let me use the kettle; she says I’m clumsy.”
“Sure thing Mel.” The witch-hunter chuckled, and to Hunter’s surprise, the guard left to fetch tea.
“Is she sane?” Hunter whispered to Toby.
Toby shrugged in response, smiling and relaxed. “It doesn’t matter.” He murmured back.
“Rustle, rustle, little mouse.” Mel suddenly popped up between them, joining in the whispering. “We shall have our party, but quietly, quietly, for papa is working and cannot be disturbed.”
“Mel?” Toby said, trying to gently get her attention. “Hunter wants to know about this place, why it’s safe from witches.”
Mel frowned, as she obviously tried to work out who Hunter was. Finally, she looked at Hunter with a vague understanding.
“Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie; killed the witches, made them cry. When the truth came out to play, Georgie Porgie ran away.”
“That’s very nice Mel, but we came to talk about this place. Be a good girl and tell Hunter.”
Mel beamed at Toby with her bright blue eyes and white smile. “Yes, I am a good girl, I always eat my greens and brush my teeth before bed. But witchy-witches aren’t always good; sometimes they stay up past their bedtimes, or spill blood on the floor.” Mel looked momentarily scandalised at the thought. “Naughty red stains make mother so angry.”
Mel got to her feet and moved about the small room, almost with a dancing step, she tilted her head to skywards.
“Starlight, star bright, first star I see tonight-”
“Mel, that’s the ceiling.” Toby interrupted with the first sign of impatience. “And it’s daytime.”
“They can hear me.” Mel promised. “But the witches can’t. Their ears are deaf, their eyes are blind they cannot see, they have not found their specs with me. And in their hidey-holes, the mice are safe and have tea.”
As if on cue, the door opened and a witch-hunter entered, carrying a tray of tea. Hunter enjoyed the sight, having been without this very British custom for so long. He leant forward to share a private word with Toby. “You know, I’m not too keen on being referred to as a mouse.”
“Me neither.” Toby concurred. “But it’s just her way of seeing the world.”
Mel acted the good little hostess and served the tea, before sitting next to Toby. She gazed unflinchingly at Hunter with those strange, innocent eyes.
“Mel, how do you know that you are right?” Hunter asked carefully.
“I…” Mel hesitated, looking uncomfortable. “I open the book and read the words where no lies can be written. But not everyone likes it. People are scared of me and shoo me away.”
Mel took a sip of tea and beamed again, her moods so very changeable, but also infectious. “But Dave is nice to me, and I have so many friends here.”
Chapter Thirteen
They left shortly afterwards. In the narrow corridor, Hunter found himself wishing he was outside, just to be able to breathe again.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Toby asked casually.
Hunter shook his head in disbelief, struggling to find words. “Definitely. I mean… all that nonsense. At least, it seems like nonsense except I felt like she was trying to communicate something to us.”
Toby smiled wryly at his friend’s attempts to understand. “You see what I mean though, once you hear her you cannot doubt her honesty.”
“I know, you’re right, I don’t think she can lie.” Hunter said, pausing and looking back down the corridor. “She’s so innocent, childlike even.
Yet enigmatic - I swear I’d do anything to keep her safe.”
“Don’t worry, she has that effect on everyone.” Toby said, almost guiltily. “Just be careful. She’s an emissary of the truth. The Truth. Something beyond good and evil, right and wrong. She can be dangerous.”
“Dangerous? But you told me to trust her.”
“I told you to trust what she says to be true, nothing more.” Toby countered.
Hunter sighed, finding this all a little bit hard to assimilate. “So that’s why she has a guard, to keep everyone safe? She’s effectively a prisoner?”
“No, no, the guard is to keep her safe, and to keep track of who sees her.” Toby hurried to explain. “We could never keep her prisoner. She comes and goes as she pleases.”
“Isn’t that a risk to security?” Hunter asked.
Toby sighed. “We tried to force her to stay once, she got upset and refused to talk to anyone for days. Then one evening she’d vanished, we couldn’t tell how, but she wasn’t on base and no one had seen her leave. She turned up a week later, as happy and chirpy as though the whole thing hadn’t happened.”
Toby saw the doubtful look on Hunter’s face. “I know, it sounds bloody dodgy, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Hunter sat in council with half a dozen witch-hunters. The only people he recognised were Toby Robson and General Colin Dawkins. The rest were senior members of the MMC, though none were more than a 1st gen status.
Hunter sat there, listening to them go over the boring fine detail of missions he had no knowledge of. He’d never been a fan of fine detail, of paperwork and dull updates; Hunter used to give such menial tasks to his right-hand man, a very capable 1st gen called James Bennett.
“So, Mr Astley.” A stern woman addressed him, “To get straight to the point, what are your intentions? Are you here to help? To assume a role of leadership?”
Hunter felt all eyes descend on him. “I’m not here to take over.”
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