Inside the bar, everything seemed perfectly calm and normal. All the ghosts were gone. But from outside there still came the roar of the storm and the sound of two giant things crashing together. JC looked quickly around the main bar, then up at the ceiling. He pointed a triumphant finger at the long, exposed, oaken beams.
“There! That’s it! Brook said those beams were the oldest surviving parts of the pub . . . I’m betting they were taken from the original oak tree the Druid priests used for their sacrifices, the bastards. God knows how much death and blood that wood soaked up in its time.”
“So if we destroy the beams, we destroy the one remaining physical link between Past and Present!” said Melody.
“Seems a bit obvious,” said Happy. “Are you guys sure about this?”
“Of course I’m not sure!” said JC. “I’m guessing! It’s a wild stab in the dark, which is what you’ll be getting if you don’t stop arguing! Have you got a better idea?”
“Never liked those beams,” said Happy.
The storm was growing louder. JC moved quickly over to the nearest window and looked out. The great circling storm was descending out of the night sky, lowering onto the great heads of the Wicker Man and the god Lud as they crashed back and forth in the clearing. JC didn’t wait to see what would happen when the storm reached them. He turned away from the window, glared about him, and gestured for Happy and Melody to help him drag one of the tables beneath the oak beams. The three of them pulled it into place, clambered up onto it, and tried to pry the old beams loose. Only to discover the beams had been very firmly fastened in place long ago, with heavy copper nails. They all tugged and pried at the beams but couldn’t budge them.
Kim ghosted up through the table and hovered above it, studying the beams at close range. And then she smiled coldly, and wagged an authoritative finger at them.
“Behave yourselves and stop being a pain. Or there will be trouble.”
There was a slight pause, and one by one the copper nails rose out of the beams. They squealed loudly as they rocked back and forth, forcing themselves out of the wood. JC looked at Kim.
“Another little trick that you picked up on your travels?”
Kim smiled dazzlingly. “You’d be amazed what I can do when I put my mind to it.”
The last of the nails fell away, but the beams remained stubbornly in place. JC and Happy jumped down from the table, grabbed up heavy fire-irons from the open fire-place, then scrambled back up onto the rocking table again. Melody nodded approvingly as Happy handed her a heavy iron poker. The three of them attacked the oak beams with their new tools, forcing them deep into the wooden sides; and one by one they prised the heavy beams loose and sent them crashing to the floor.
By the time the last one fell away, JC and Happy and Melody were soaked with sweat and breathing hard. They had to help each other down from the table and lean on each other for support as they got their breath back.
“I did not sign up for manual labour,” said Happy. “If I wanted to work hard for a living, I’d have my head examined.”
They all looked round sharply. The storm was upon them. The roar of wind and rain was suddenly deafening, almost drowning out the sounds of battle still going on outside. The glass in the windows shattered as the wind ripped the wooden frames out of the old stone wall. The main entrance door was blown right off its hinges and fell clattering to the floor. Heavy rain blasted into the inn through the ragged openings where windows had been, almost like a storm at sea. For the first time, there were great long rolls of thunder, and jagged bursts of light from heavy forked lightning. The storm had arrived; and it wanted in. That old rage, which would not be denied.
“All right!” said Happy, flinching away from the rain spraying in. “We’ve got the beams! What now?”
“I say we take a tip from the Wicker Man,” said JC. “Burn the bloody things and destroy the physical link forever!”
“In here?” said Melody. “We light this much wood up, and we’ll all go up with it!”
“Not if we set a few alight, to get the pile started, then run like hell,” said Happy, judiciously. “I’m really very good at running like hell.”
They all looked up suddenly, open-mouthed despite themselves, as the ceiling lights rocked madly back and forth. And then, with a great creaking and groaning, the whole upper floor of the King’s Arms was torn away and thrown behind the inn, landing with an impact that shook what was left of the building. And then the whole ceiling was ripped away, revealing the Wicker Man standing over them, holding what was left of the disintegrating ceiling in his great green hands. The fires that were its eyes blazed fiercely. The wind and the rain blasted into the bar, immediately soaking JC and Happy and Melody to the skin. And then two massive hands grabbed the Wicker Man from behind. The Wicker Man dropped the ceiling and staggered backwards, as Lud hauled it away from what was left of the King’s Arms.
“Out!” said JC. “Everybody out of here, right now, before this mess collapses on us!”
“Way ahead of you, boss,” said Happy.
* * *
Back out in the clearing, the storm no longer hung overhead. It had come down to earth, at last, unleashing all the rage it had contained for so long. Gale-force winds blew so hard, JC and Happy and Melody could barely stand up straight and had to cling to each other to keep from being blown away. Rain hammered down with such force, it bounced back from the bare-earth floor of the clearing. Thunder roared, and forked lightning split the sky.
Lud had forced the Wicker Man to its knees and was happily tearing it to pieces. He’d already ripped off one of its arms. It lay twitching on the ground. Lud grabbed the square, featureless head with both hands, digging his clawed fingers in deep. The Wicker Man lurched back and forth but couldn’t break free. Lud roared triumphantly and ripped the head right off the green shoulders, crushing it beneath his hands. The two flaring eyes went out. The body stopped struggling and was still. And it seemed to JC that some of the strength went out of the storm.
The ghosts fell away from the motionless body of the Wicker Man, no longer needed. They stood in long ranks, unmoved and unbothered by the wind and rain, glowing fitfully like candles in danger of going out. They looked at the Ghost Finders. Waiting to see what they would do. Lud threw away the crushed wicker head and nodded familiarly to JC.
“So much evil done, in my name,” he said. His voice wasn’t all that loud, but it rang out easily over the storm. “All because I wanted to be worshipped . . . Nothing like dying to give you an appreciation for life. All life. I am leaving this world now, and it is only right I take some of this old evil with me.”
He disappeared, with a great flash of otherworldly light; and when the glare died away, he was gone, and so was the Wicker Man. The wind dropped away, some, and the rain wasn’t as bad. JC grinned. He’d suspected that the storm had placed a lot of its power in the Wicker Man.
Happy looked at JC. “What do we do now?”
“Give me a minute,” said JC. “I’m thinking . . .”
“I don’t think we have a minute!” said Melody. “The oak beams are still back in the inn. Should we drag them out here and burn them?”
“In this rain?” said Happy.
“Oh, I think they’ll go up easily enough,” said Melody.
“No,” said JC.
Melody looked at him. “No? What do you mean, no? It was your idea!”
“I think I’ve had a better one,” said JC. “Fire is the old way. The Druid way. And I have had enough of that old evil.”
He looked out across the clearing. Where the Wicker Man had been, the blonde woman stood in her white shift, untouched by the storm. JC walked over to stand before her, smiling reassuringly.
“Go,” he said kindly. “Go. There’s nothing holding you here any longer. This is still a place of power, the local power source; so use it to do something right, at last. Let your rage go. Let the storm go . . . And be at peace, at last.”
The bl
onde woman considered his words; and then nodded slowly. She rose into the air, light as a moonbeam, until, finally, she hung in the night sky, high above the clearing. Glowing bright as any star. One by one, the ghosts rose after her, taking the rain with them. The rain-drops reversed direction, falling upwards. The wind slowed, and calmed, and died out. The storm was gone. After so many years, only the rage had kept it going. One by one, the ghosts winked out, like blown-out candles. Until only the blonde woman remained. She looked around slowly, saying good-bye to the land and people she had looked over for so long, then . . . quietly and without any fuss, she was gone.
* * *
JC looked slowly around him. The car park was back, and not a drop of rain or breath of wind anywhere. The King’s Arm was still a ruin, though.
“How about that?” said Happy. “After everything we’ve been through, all it took to put things right was the quiet voice of reason.”
“Shame that doesn’t work more often,” said Melody.
“One big tick in the win column, I think,” said JC. “Pity about the King’s Arms, but then, it’s not like Brook’s around to complain about it.”
“To save the inn, it was necessary to destroy the inn,” Melody said solemnly.
“Cold, Mel,” said Happy. “How are we going to explain what’s happened to the townspeople?
“Lightning strike,” said JC.
“What about the local power source?” said Happy. “Is it still here? And what was it, originally?”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,” said JC. “It’s a bad place, that made bad things possible. Hopefully, it will lie quiet now; so long as no-one’s stupid enough to disturb it. I’ll put a note in my report, for the Institute to keep an eye on things, just in case.”
“Let’s go home,” said Kim. “We’re not needed any more.”
“Good idea,” said JC. “I think we’ve done as much damage here as we can.”
TEN
HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN
JC lay on his back, on his bed, back in his own apartment. Legs crossed, eyes half-closed, every muscle so relaxed he felt practically boneless. There’s nothing more comfortable than a mattress that knows you and fits the shape of your body like a glove. It was good to be back home, and good to have Kim home with him again. JC lay there and watched happily as Kim fluttered cheerfully back and forth around his new apartment. Clapping her hands, oohing and aahing all over the place, as she checked out absolutely everything. She even stuck her head through closed doors to see what was on the other side. JC couldn’t keep from wincing every time she did that.
In the end, Kim stood at the foot of his bed and shook her head firmly. “You’ve changed the colour scheme!” she said loudly. “I don’t like it! And honestly, darling; this room is a mess. Men shouldn’t be allowed to live on their own. They don’t know how.”
“If I’d known you were on your way back, I’d have made an effort and tidied up a bit,” said JC. “Sorry it’s all a bit of a dump, but . . . I live here.”
Kim sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. Or at least, she did her best—hovering as close to the bed as she could manage.
“Have you phoned Catherine Latimer yet, JC?”
“Not yet,” said JC. He linked his hands together over his chest. “There’s no hurry. We finished the job way ahead of schedule, so she can wait for her official report.”
“I thought you wanted to ask her whether she really did send you there on purpose because of the encounter you had with Lud in London Undertowen?”
“Why bother?” said JC. “I think we already know the answer, don’t we? She’s playing games with us, running us around like rats in a maze, as part of the bigger game she’s playing with The Flesh Undying.” JC looked thoughtfully at Kim. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course you can, sweetie!”
“Did I really die, down there in the London Tube system? Am I only here because some unknown force from Outside took an interest in me, and brought me back to life, for purposes of its own?”
“Of course you’re not dead, silly,” said Kim. “I mean, I’d know if anyone would, wouldn’t I?”
“Yes,” said JC. “But would you tell me?”
Kim looked down her nose at him. “You’ve been spending far too much time listening to Happy, in my absence. Have you been looking after yourself while I was away? Eating properly, and all that?”
“I’ve been keeping busy,” said JC. “Where have you been, all this time, Kim? What have you been up to? You can talk to me.”
“What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” said Kim. “Possibly quite literally. I will tell you everything, JC, when I can. Now hush. You’re tired. Go to sleep.”
“I’ve been . . . having trouble sleeping, all the time you were gone,” said JC.
“Well, that’s all over now,” said Kim. “I’m back, so there’s nothing to worry about any more. Close your eyes. Don’t worry about the dark, or the job, or the Boss, or anything else. You can sleep now. Because I’m here with you, and I will watch over you, all the hours of the night.”
JC smiled and closed his eyes, and was almost immediately fast asleep. For the first time in a long time, sleep embraced him easily, and the cares of the day fell away, and were gone. Kim smiled fondly at him, leaned over, and kissed the air very near his forehead.
“Sleep well, my love. You’re going to need your strength for what’s coming.”
* * *
Happy and Melody sat side by side, on matching chairs, before the big desk in their study. All the usual electronic clutter had been pushed to one side, so Happy could lay out and sort through all the various pills and potions and special mixtures he’d accumulated. He explained their various uses and side effects to Melody, who wrote it all down in her special note-book. Happy paused, to take a drink of water from the glass before him. He’d been talking for some time, and his mouth was getting dry.
“Do you really need to know all this?” he said mildly.
“Yes,” said Melody, firmly. “If I’m going to be a part of . . . this, I need to know everything you’re doing. No more secrets. Since it’s clear to me now that you can’t cope without all this stuff, I need to be able to keep an informed eye on you. How else can I look after you properly?”
“Then don’t bother with all the long names,” said Happy. “I don’t. Go by the numbers. If I’ve marked something with a low number, that means it’s a downer. A high number, an upper. If there’s a letter alongside the number on the label, that means it’s one of my special mixes.”
“I need to know what they all do,” said Melody, glaring at the row upon row of bottles and boxes laid out in neat ranks before her.
“It changes,” said Happy. “According to my mood, my need, and the circumstances. It’s not easy being a drug fiend. What matters is that I know what I need to be able to function.”
“How long have you been taking this stuff?” said Melody.
Happy smiled, briefly. “Too long.”
“Doesn’t your body chemistry . . . adapt to all the changes you keep making in it?”
“Of course,” said Happy. “I need larger and larger doses all the time to achieve the same effects.”
“But isn’t that dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Then . . . what happens when even the largest doses can’t help you any more?”
“Then I’m screwed,” said Happy. “Hopefully by then, you’ll have come up with some kind of tech to help me. Something to shut me down. Close my eyes and ears to the hidden world. So I can walk along in blinkered ignorance, like everyone else.”
“I’ve already explained the dangers involved in that,” said Melody.
“They’re not dangers,” said Happy. “They’re comforts.”
“I could burn your brain out!”
“You see?” Happy said gently. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. For me, it’s something to look forward to. An end to suffering.”
“I’m tired, Mel. Can’t we finish this tomorrow? I want to go to bed and get some sleep.”
“I need to get the basics down now,” said Melody. “I need to know what I’m doing, if I’m going to be able to help you. I have to be methodical; it’s how I do things.”
“I’m so tired,” said Happy. His eyes were closed.
“I could make you something to eat,” said Melody.
“I’m too tired to eat.”
Melody sniffed. “You’ve never liked my cooking.”
Happy opened his eyes and smiled at her. “Cooking is an art. And you have always been all about the science.”
Melody closed her note-book, and sat back in her chair. “All right. That’s enough for now. You’re going to have to take me down to the Institute and introduce me to these clever chemical friends of yours. See if we can put at least some of this on a firm scientific footing.”
She looked at Happy and saw that he was no longer listening. He’d nodded off in his chair, his chin resting on his chest. Melody’s heart went out to him. Because she knew that for all her promised support, and all her great intentions, there really wasn’t much she could do for him. The only things that made life bearable for him were the same things that were killing him by inches. And both of them knew it. All she could do was keep him company.
And hold him while he lay dying.
* * *
Catherine Latimer, great high Boss of the ancient and eminent Carnacki Institute, sat alone in her office at the end of the day. She’d sent everyone else home. She sat in her chair, behind her desk, thinking. She should have gone home long ago, except . . . it wasn’t as if there was anyone there, to go home to. There had been loves and lovers, down the years; but either she or the job had always driven them away.
Is this what my life has come to? she thought. After everything I’ve done and fought for? To sit alone in an empty room?
Her head jerked up suddenly, as she pulled herself back from the edge of sleep through an effort of will. How long had she been sitting there, thinking? About all the people and Things that threatened not only the Institute but the whole world? The burden is always so much harder when there’s no-one else you can trust, to bear it with you. She smiled briefly. Well, except for the odd person, here and there. She became aware there was indeed another person in the room with her, standing patiently on the other side of the desk, waiting to be noticed. Catherine looked up and smiled.
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