Mr Sparks

by Danny Weston

  ‘So, these Templars … where would you find them now?’

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t,’ said Sister Anne. ‘They were disbanded in the fourteenth century.’

  ‘Really? That long ago? Why was that?’

  Sister Anne frowned. ‘Well, it’s quite complicated …’

  ‘Try me,’ he suggested. ‘But er … keep it simple.’

  ‘Very well.’ She seemed to consider for a moment. ‘Well, when the Crusades to the Holy Land failed, the influence of the Templars began to weaken. Pope Clement had doubts about them and he voiced those doubts to Philip—’

  ‘Philip?’

  ‘King Philip of France? Because the King was already deeply in debt to the Templars, he saw an opportunity to wipe the slate clean. So he ordered that leading members should be arrested as “enemies of the faith” and their lands confiscated.’

  ‘Strewth. That’s a bit severe, ennit?’

  ‘Oh, it got worse than that, I’m afraid. They were put to torture and made to confess to all kinds of ridiculous things – that they worshipped idols, that they regularly spat upon the cross … all testimonies extracted under the most barbaric torture, you understand. Soon there were more arrests and many Templars were burned at the stake. The few who survived took whatever they could salvage and went into exile. Some to Scotland, some to Portugal …’

  ‘And some to England?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  Wilkins thought for a moment. ‘This one chap I was talking to, he said his ancestors came from around here.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah. He said they was the Dukes of Pont … Pant-something?’

  ‘Penthievre?’ suggested Sister Anne.

  ‘Yeah, that’s it! Pont … what you said! French royalty, he reckoned he’d come from. Bit stuck-up to tell you the truth. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not.’

  ‘Well, it’s quite possible,’ said Sister Anne. ‘And of course, there is a connection. To the Templars, I mean.’

  ‘Is there really?’

  ‘Oh yes, but it’s quite obscure. Only somebody who has read up on the subject would know about it.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Wilkins looked at her impatiently. ‘You er … gonna tell me what it is?’ he asked hopefully.

  ‘Oh yes, of course! You see, a man called … let me get the name right … Guillaume de l’Aigle was one of the dukes of Penthievre, back in the thirteenth century. He was also a Grand Master of the Knights Templar.’

  ‘You don’t say!’ Wilkins scratched his chin. ‘A Grand Master. That sounds quite important.’

  ‘Oh, it was! It was the highest rank a member could achieve.’

  ‘Right. And … what did he look like, this Gwilly … Guill … what you said?’

  Sister Anne smiled. ‘I really couldn’t say,’ she told him. ‘There don’t seem to be many portraits of him that have survived. Though I do seem to remember reading that his heraldic symbol was an eagle. An eagle with two heads.’

  Wilkins experienced a vivid recollection. The painting in Quinn’s house, the one that hung over the stairs. A knight in armour holding a flag – a flag that featured the image of a two-headed eagle. ‘Well, I’ll be jiggered!’ he said.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Er … nothing, Sister. Sorry. But I was just thinking. If you was to see a man wearing a badge with that design on it …’ He pointed to the image on the font. ‘I mean, in this day and age. What would that mean?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, it’s a long-dead society. But perhaps it would be a man who follows the beliefs of the Knights Templar. Perhaps it would mean that he was on some kind of a crusade,’ she suggested. ‘That was after all, their ultimate aim. To rid the world of evil and everything that challenged their belief in God.’

  ‘I see.’ Wilkins smiled thinly, recalling Quinn’s experiment with the rats back in England. He couldn’t help thinking that in many ways, Quinn was every bit as evil as the very thing he wanted to rid the world of. ‘Well, thank you, Sister,’ he said.

  ‘I hope I’ve been of some help.’

  ‘More than you could ever know. I’ll bid you good day.’

  He bowed his head to her and went out of the church, not even bothering to enquire about the boy and the dummy. Right now, he had other things on his mind. He studied the square and after a few moments, he spotted Quinn sitting at a wooden table in front of an inn, drinking a cup of coffee. Judging by the glum expression on his face, he hadn’t found any answers to his questions. Unlike Wilkins, who thought he’d found more than he’d bargained for.

  He crossed the square and took a seat opposite his employer. Quinn scowled at him. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘No, not really. Interesting church, though. Quite a history.’

  Quinn regarded him suspiciously. ‘Now why is that the last thing I’d expect to hear from you?’ he muttered. He lifted his cup of coffee.

  Wilkins ignored him. ‘Got speaking to a nun in there. English lady.’

  ‘Really. That was lucky.’

  ‘Yeah. She told me that back in the day, this whole area was a hangout for er … a sort of secret society. The Knights Templars.’

  That did it. Quinn nearly choked on his coffee. He glared at Wilkins across the table.

  ‘And another coincidence,’ continued Wilkins, enjoying this new-found power. ‘It seems that one of your royal ancestors was one of their Grand Masters. Old Guilly-what’s it.’ He reached across the table and prodded the silver lapel badge on Quinn’s coat. ‘What do you reckon to that, then?’

  Quinn’s scowl deepened. ‘I think you need to keep your nose out of my business,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t pay you to go snooping into my background.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t,’ Wilkins assured him. ‘It’s just something that came up. But it all makes sense now. That’s why you’re so intent on getting rid of old Sparky, ennit? See, all those things you’ve got in your collection back home, you know that they’re fakes and you’ve proved it. But this dummy … this thing that goes against everything you believe in, he’s something you can’t explain. He’s a … what was the word you used? Oh yes. An abomination.’

  Quinn set down his coffee cup and gave Wilkins a look. ‘You’re feeling very pleased with yourself, aren’t you?’ he observed.

  Wilkins shrugged. ‘It’s good to know that the old instincts haven’t left me,’ he admitted. ‘Kind of reminds me why I wanted to be a detective in the first place.’

  ‘That’s all well and good,’ snarled Quinn. ‘But I’m warning you, Wilkins, if you even think about using this knowledge to your advantage, I—’

  He broke off as he was interrupted by the sudden clamour of children’s laughter. He and Wilkins looked up to see that an old man had just wandered into the square. He was dressed in an outlandish outfit of multi-coloured patches and a bright purple top hat. But what really caught their attention was what he was carrying in his arms – a rather splendid ventriloquist’s dummy, dressed in a smart black suit. The old man took up a stance in the middle of the square and the children gathered eagerly around.

  He began to perform. It was all in French so Wilkins didn’t follow any of it but it soon became clear that the old man wasn’t much of a ventriloquist. Whenever the dummy ‘spoke’, the operator’s Adam’s apple moved up and down and gave the game away. And there was something rather comical about the way the old man clenched his large, horse-like teeth when he produced the voice. The children didn’t seem to mind though – they laughed delightedly at everything that the dummy said.

  Wilkins couldn’t help staring at the dummy. It was beautifully crafted, he thought, better than the average one you might see around the music halls of London, but wasn’t there something terribly familiar about the pale pink face with its huge blue eyes? On impulse, Wilkins reached into his pocket and pulled out the folded poster he always carried with him. He opened it and looked at the face of the dummy in the illustration. It was remarkably similar to the one he was
looking at now, not a complete copy, but in the same general style. He tilted the poster so Quinn could see it. Quinn nodded. He’d noticed the similarity too.

  After a little while, the old man finished his act and pulled out a little felt bag so he could go around asking for coins. The children scattered in all directions. Clearly they had no money to give him, so he started working his way around the square. When he finally approached the table where Quinn and Wilkins were sitting, Quinn pulled out a bundle of francs and waved them enticingly. The old man was clearly interested. He moved nearer and Quinn said something in his perfect French and indicated that he should take a seat beside him.

  The old man regarded him suspiciously. ‘Anglais?’ he muttered.

  Quinn nodded. He said something else and the old man smiled.

  ‘Oui, merci. Cognac, s’il vous plaît.’ Then he sat down, placing the dummy on his lap.

  Quinn glanced at Wilkins. ‘Go and buy our friend a glass of Cognac,’ he said. ‘The best they have.’

  Wilkins sighed but got to his feet and went into the bar to get the drink. When he came out again, Quinn and the ventriloquist were deep in conversation. As Wilkins approached, he could see that Quinn was smiling excitedly. Wilkins set down the drink in front of the old man, who nodded his thanks, picked it up and took a generous gulp of the contents. Quinn excused himself for a moment, so he could speak to Wilkins in English.

  ‘This is Monsieur Calvais,’ he said. ‘I complimented him on his wonderful ventriloquism skills.’

  Wilkins grinned. ‘Did you?’ he muttered doubtfully.

  Quinn nodded. ‘Don’t worry, he doesn’t speak a word of English. And yes, I lied through my teeth.’ He looked at the dummy, which was still slumped on Calvais’ lap. ‘I also said how superb his dummy was and mentioned that I was looking for somebody to make one for me. I asked him if he could recommend a place where I might buy one.’ Quinn’s smile stretched itself across his thin face. ‘He told me that there’s only one place to go to find that kind of workmanship. The same place he went. The shop of the celebrated toymaker, Gerard Lacombe.’

  ‘Lacombe?’ Wilkins gasped. ‘But … that’s …’

  ‘Exactly. A toymaker with the same surname as Sparks’ creator. And one who makes ventriloquist’s dummies? Too much of a coincidence, I think.’

  ‘So, this shop …’

  ‘It’s on the road to Paimpont, less than an hour’s drive from here.’ Quinn’s smile became a triumphant grin. ‘Well, don’t you see, Wilkins? That has to be where they were headed. Sparks is injured. Where else would he go but to somebody who can repair him?’

  ‘Well then, what are we waiting for?’

  Quinn nodded. He got up from the table, thanked the old man profusely and bid him farewell. Just before he left, he paused to place one hand gently, almost lovingly on the head of the dummy in Calvais’ lap.

  Then he and Wilkins hurried away in the direction of their car.

  24

  Breaking the News

  Owen stood by the back door of the cottage and watched as Da and Gerard climbed up into the carriage. ‘We won’t be long,’ Gerard assured him. He was taking Da into Paimpont to meet a friend he had there, a man who Gerard thought could organise safe passage for Owen and his father back to England.

  The three of them had sat up late the previous evening, discussing what they should do. Now that he had found Da, Owen had one intention uppermost in his mind. He wanted to get him home to Wales so he could take him to see Ma. He didn’t know what would happen after that. He realised he couldn’t expect a miracle cure for her, but at the same time, he was also aware that the main reason for her illness was Da’s disappearance. If he brought him back to her, who knew what might happen?

  But first, he had a difficult duty to perform. Mr Sparks had been left in the shop overnight, far enough away so that he couldn’t interrupt or overhear the conversation of his human companions. But having talked the situation through with Da and Gerard, there was now no doubt in Owen’s mind. After Mr Sparks’ recent confession, there was no way that Owen wanted to continue as his operator. The awkward bit was that Mr Sparks had yet to be told about the decision.

  Gerard snapped the reins and the carriage moved away along the track.

  ‘Help yourself to food,’ he shouted. ‘We’ll only be an hour or so.’ And Da looked back and waved, a warm smile on his face. It felt so good to see that smile. Owen instantly felt stronger, more in control. He turned and walked around the side of the house to the front of the shop. He took a deep breath. Then he opened the door and let himself in.

  Mr Sparks was sitting in a chair, looking rather sorry for himself. When Owen came in, he gave him a sullen stare. ‘Oh, here he is at last!’ he exclaimed. ‘They seek him here, they seek him there. They seek him blooming everywhere. Is he a saint or is he a liar? That darned elusive Owen Dyer!’ He waited for a reaction, and when he didn’t get one, he continued. ‘Well, I hope you’re pleased with yourself. I’ve been bored to tears sitting here all night. All night. Nothing to do, nobody to talk to.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Owen told him. ‘We … that is, me and my da, we had some things to talk about’

  ‘Oh did you now? And of course, you didn’t want me there, spoiling it! Well, let me remind you, Owen Dyer, if it wasn’t for me, your dad would still be sitting there looking like a great gormless nit. I’m the one who brought his memory back! And what thanks do I get? I get abandoned in this dump, that’s what. Well, thanks a million!’

  Owen frowned. He pulled over another chair and sat opposite Mr Sparks. For some reason, he didn’t want to lift the dummy onto his lap. That would somehow have made it harder to say what he had to say.

  ‘I should have thanked you before,’ he admitted. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t. I was a little … confused. But I’m saying thank you now.’

  ‘I should blooming well think so!’ Mr Sparks fluttered his eyes. ‘Oh well, let’s not hold a grudge. I can see it must have been a very exciting time in your life. Blimey, I only wish I could see old Lucien again! I mean to say, Gerard’s very nice, but nothing can beat your dear old dad, eh?’

  Owen nodded. ‘That’s true,’ he said.

  ‘Well, come on, don’t look so mournful! We need to draw up our plans.’

  ‘Plans?’ murmured Owen.

  ‘Yes. Now, obviously you’re going to want to go back to England.’

  ‘Wales,’ Owen corrected him.

  ‘Well, no, not Wales, because those two blokes that were chasing us, they got a bit too close for comfort, didn’t they? They could be waiting for us. So I was thinking London is a much bigger place to hide. We could—’

  ‘They weren’t chasing us,’ Owen interrupted. ‘They were chasing you.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose they were, but … you and me are a team, Owie Bowie. We go together, don’t we? Like peaches and cream. Fish and chips. Sausage and mash. We belong.’

  ‘No.’ Owen shook his head. ‘No we don’t. Not any more. I’m sorry, Charlie, but when me and Da leave here, you … you won’t be coming with us.’

  There was a deep silence then. Mr Sparks’ expression froze, his mouth slammed shut, his eyes widened until they seemed to be popping out of his head. When he finally said something, his voice was barely more than a croak. ‘Owie. You … you don’t mean that. You can’t …’

  ‘I do mean it. I’m sorry, it’s not something I feel good about but—’

  Suddenly, the grin was back. ‘Ooh, you devil, you! You really had me going for a minute there. Not taking me with you! That’s a good ’un.’

  ‘Mr Sparks, please …’

  ‘Yeah, see, what I thought we’d do, we’ll head straight for the old East End. There’s still some cracking music halls there, and I’m sure if we can just get one audition, we’ll soon have some bookings lined up and meanwhile—’

  ‘Listen to me! I’m not going to London. I’m taking Da back to see Ma.’

  ‘You are joking, I hope! That wo
man isn’t safe. She’ll most likely smash your da’s head in, same as she did mine. And it will all be your fault. You’ll probably go to jail.’ He snapped into another poem. ‘Owie Bowie isn’t well. They’ve gone and put him in a cell. His mother cracked his father’s head. He should have stayed with me instead!’ He gave a shrill laugh, which faded quickly away when he saw Owen’s grim expression.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Owen. ‘I really am. But you’ll be all right. You’ll stay here with Gerard. He’s promised me he’ll look after you. You just have to promise to be good for him.’

  ‘Here?’ Mr Sparks looked around and Owen saw to his horror that once again, the dummy’s eyes were filled with tears. ‘Here? I can’t stay here. What will I do? Gerard won’t even talk to me. He’ll lock me in a cupboard all day long and he’ll forget I’m even there. I hate being ignored! It’s the worst thing in the world! Please, Owen, give me another chance. This is all because of Otto, isn’t it? If I hadn’t let that slip, you’d still want to take me with you, I know you would.’

  Owen shook his head.

  ‘It’s not that. I just …’

  ‘Look deep into my eyes, Owie. Have I ever told you that one of them is slightly bigger than the other?’

  Owen turned his head away. ‘I’m not falling for that again,’ he said. ‘I know that’s how you got me to go along with you in the first place, but it’s worn off now. And there’s no point in going over this. My mind’s made up. I’ve talked to Gerard, he’s promised he’ll keep things interesting for you …’

  ‘But I’ll be stuck here in the middle of nowhere. I need a life, Owie. I need something to keep me occupied. Listen, what about if you just take me as far as Portsmouth? I’ll get Mr Nail to find me a—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Owen. He got up from the chair. ‘I’m not discussing this any more. Da and Gerard have gone to meet someone who reckons they can get us back to England, and from there we’ll find our way home. But we can’t take you with us. I’m sorry, but there it is. It’ll take a day or so to sort things out, but then we’re going and you’ll be—’