The Sprouts of Wrath bs-4

by Robert Rankin

  “They were attempting to raise a cone of power, of protection, if you like. But to do so one must be well versed and well protected psychically. Such is the product of years of training. These youths had not the wherewithal to protect themselves. The man that dares consult the dead expects in return to hear the truth. He that would conjure with the gods dares amply enough by any reckoning, he needs must seek protection.”

  “From what?”

  “From primal forces, elementals, old evil that can be conjured but rarely contained. That which is sought is not, by experience, always that which is found.”

  “It was the griffin,” said Jim, “the Brentford Griffin, they found.”

  “In as many words, yes, it was. Whether the griffin exists in flesh and blood reality is debatable, but in occult terms, in folk memory, in the subjective, the common consciousness, the imagination which is at the heart of all magic, then yes. It was called into objective existence. It is primal, uncontrollable.” The Professor rose suddenly to his feet. “And in all probability it is still out there.”

  “O misery,” said Jim burying his head.

  “We must get over to the island at once,” said Professor Slocombe.

  “You speak for yourself.” Pooley sought invisibility behind his glass.

  *

  The island was ablaze with lights. Several River Police launches were moored along the Brentford side, beacons flashing. Teams of constables and officers moved to and fro with torches and flares.

  The Professor, accompanied by two most dissenting dissenters, arrived in the scholar’s skiff. Here they were greeted by Inspectre Hovis, who helped the old gentleman from the boat and wrung his hand. “Professor,” he said, “I alerted the force at once. I fear this is a bad business.”

  Professor Slocombe greeted the policeman as an old friend, which didn’t surprise Pooley or Omally in the least, as John secured the Professor’s slim craft to the branch of a tree. “I am a little miffed that you did not contact me upon your arrival to the borough, Sherringford.”

  Sherringford? thought Pooley.

  “Professional pride,” the detective explained. “I had of course the wish to renew our acquaintanceship, but under happier circumstances than those I find myself in at the present.”

  “You are here upon a case then?”

  “The most important of my career. Such vexations as this I frankly have no need of.”

  “So what have you found?” Professor Slocombe strolled off up the beach, arm in arm with the detective, and their conversation went beyond Pooley and Omally.

  “I might say that there was safety in numbers,” John patted his pockets in search of tobacco. “But to be surrounded by such a force of the English Garda frankly affords me anything but security.”

  There was at least an ounce of optimism left in Jim, so he said, “Look on the bright side, the Professor spoke the truth, we are guilty of no crime.”

  John shook his head doubtfully. “I do not share your blind faith, Jim, give us a roll-up, will you?” Jim passed Omally his tin, John rolled a fat fag. “I suppose we’d better follow,” said he, pocketing Jim’s tin. Without any great enthusiasm the two men followed in the Professor’s wake, Omally humping a heavy calfskin case that the elder had packed specially for the occasion.

  Near the grove they halted. The place was now floodlit and thick with the fuzz. Characters in white coats took measurements and photographs. Constables stared blankly, shared illicit cigarettes and spoke in Neanderthal tones.

  Inspectre Hovis led the Professor to the centre of the grove. “I can surmise to a reasonable degree of exactitude what events occurred, though there are of course certain grey areas.”

  “Then what do you have?”

  “I have a dance of some sort and by the evidence of the discarded clothing, a naked dance.”

  “How many?”

  “Five, two men and three women, young and energetic. There has been an attack of some kind, there is blood, but no bodies.”

  “I see. Have any of your officers observed anything strange in the vicinity?”

  “Such as?”

  “Then no matter. What do you suppose attacked these people?”

  “That is one of the grey areas, Professor, whatever it was came down from above, there are …” Hovis hesitated.

  “There are …” prompted the Professor.

  “There are other footprints, very large, not human. I am having casts made.”

  “I would appreciate a set, if possible. I am currently following a line of research which might lead to interesting conclusions.”

  Hovis stroked his chin. “If you are prepared to confide your findings then, certainly, this is all a bit out of my line.”

  “You have my word on it. Now I would ask you a very great favour. Request that your men make haste with their operations and vacate the island as quickly as possible.”

  “You ask the impossible, Professor.”

  “Sherringford, I would most strongly recommend you to do as I say.”

  Hovis stared long and hard at the ancient scholar, sufficiently long in fact for Professor Slocombe to implant the concept of “immediate withdrawal for the sake of safety” firmly in his mind.

  “We will withdraw immediately,” said Sherringford Hovis. “I will speak to you later this morning, an answer or two in return would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Then so be it.” Hovis pressed his hand into that of Professor Slocombe’s, the handshake was unconventional but significant.

  John and Jim were sharing the remains of the hip flask and a single fag. They watched in no small wonder as at the Professor’s request the lads of the force withdrew from the island, mounted up their launches and motored away into the darkness.

  “Such power,” said John respectfully, “and he wastes it upon honest dealings.”

  “I heard that,” said Professor Slocombe. “The case, John, if you please.”

  Pooley peered around at the now all but deserted island. “Professor,” said he, “I was thinking to have a go at your rose-bed first thing, an immediate sojourn to my own might prove favourable.”

  “The tide is up, Jim, you’d best stay.”

  “But my work! Late nights do not agree with me.”

  “You are excused duties for tomorrow. John, the case.”

  Omally hefted the case. “Where do you want it ?” he asked.

  “Here, where the fire has been.”

  “All aboard,” said John Omally.

  “Kindly lay out the contents.”

  Omally applied himself to the locks but they would not budge.

  “My apologies.” The Professor made a profound movement with his fingers above the case. The catches sprang.

  “I think,” said Omally, “that Jim and I had best away. Leave you to your work.”

  The Professor did not dignify the remark with a reply. He flipped down the sides of the case, exposing a cluster of mysterious accoutrements, bottles, flasks, crystals, strange indefinable objects. Blowing on to his fingers, he withdrew something that resembled a folded table-cloth. This he shook out before him. The thing was dark, characterized by a circle enclosing a pentagram, the whole wrought with cabalistic symbols. The Professor laid the cloth before him and stroked out its creases, mouthing certain words and phrases. He stepped into the circle, which was only of sufficient size to enclose himself alone. “Hand me the case, John, do not cross the line of the circle.” Omally did so. “And now withdraw.” Pooley and Omally did so, at the hurry-up. They retreated to what they considered a safe distance and squatted amongst the bushes. An owl asked who, but Jim did not reply. “And now …” Professor Slocombe delved into the case and laid about him a strange collection of articles: a lamp, which he lighted, a rock of a colour yet uncatalogued, a silver dish into which he decanted a dark liquid which solidified on the instant of contact, an emerald sphere and certain small caskets which seemed to tremble, as if containing living forms.

  John drew Poole
y back into the darkness, powerful magic was at work here. “I can’t be having with this,” whispered Jim, “it is all most unfair.”

  And now the Professor stood up in the circle and raised his arms to the four cardinal points. For the second time in a single night the two men heard the words of power called forth: “SHADDAI EL CHAI ARARITA ADONAI TETRAGRAMMATON.” About the Professor the lamplight seemed contained, it ceased to reach beyond the boundaries of the circle, all else was lost in darkness.

  Omally crossed himself and began the Hail Mary. Jim crossed his fingers and said, “Feinites.”

  The ancient magician exhorted the ancient gods, those who were at one with the elements. The words flew from his mouth in rapid, well-practised succession, never faltering, each falling upon the last as part of a stream of consciousness, of understanding.

  It was old magic, old and tried and proven beyond the possibility of error or doubt. And the two men who looked on in wonderment knew, knew that those things the Professor understood, that the world he inhabited, was not their own.

  Many things passeth understanding and knowledge is given only unto the few.

  “OMNE AUM AMEN AMOUN.” Professor Slocombe slumped into the circle, worn, wasted and silent.

  John and Jim rushed immediately to his assistance. John cradled the old white head and pressed his hip flask to the parched lips. “Professor,” he said, “are you all right? Speak, speak.” The old eyes opened, the lips moved, John withdrew his flask and drained away the final measure.

  “There is nothing more,” said Professor Slocombe, his voice coming as from a great distance. “Nothing, it is gone, we are safe.”

  25

  “I have called this meeting,” said Jennifer Naylor, “to clarify procedure, assuage doubts and re-establish co-ordination.” The council members received her words without conviction, each in their own manner, each with their own assimilation of “the facts” as they saw them. “Rumour runs rife, truth is as ever its victim.”

  “How prettily said.” The words belonged to Mavis Peake. “Concern, however, exists regarding the bomb attack upon one of the sites and the talk of mass murder upon another.”

  “Mass murder indeed,” Jennifer laughed. “You are letting your imagination run riot, dear.”

  “Don’t patronize me.” Mavis smoothed down her vertical blouse. “My brother is a constable on the Brentford force, he told me that he spent half the night on Griffin Island, a blood bath he said.”

  Jennifer Naylor made a note in her Filofax. “And your brother is prepared to swear this in court?”

  “He isn’t going to get the opportunity, there is a cover-up, a conspiracy of silence, this new inspector “A conspiracy,” said Jennifer. “The masons, is it, or the illuminati?”

  “I will not be held to ridicule, I know what I know.”

  “You know nothing but hearsay. There was a small chemical fire upon the Cider Island Site. As to mass murder, who were the victims? Where are the bodies?”

  Mavis sat down, speechless with rage. Major Mac-Fadeyen lurched up from his seat. “Madam,” said he, “the facts of the case are evidently being suppressed, but do not think to pull the wool over our eyes. Brentford is a small borough, one man sneezes and we all catch a cold.”

  “How colourfully put,” said Jennifer.

  “Since the outset of this … this business,” the Major fumed on, “you, madam, have been in possession of facts otherwise denied to us. Things are going on here and by God I will get to the bottom of them!” He sat down, life-readings fluttering into the red.

  “Does anyone have anything factual to recount?” Jennifer asked. “Hearsay and conjecture have yet to prove themselves a reliable basis for informed opinion.”

  Paul Geronimo raised his “howing” palm. “Squaw utter brave words, but bravery alone insufficient to carry battle when greatly outnumbered by enemy.”

  Barry nodded in agreement. “Buffalo bullshit not always baffle brains,” said he.

  “You may scoff at speculation,” said Philip Cameron, “but it exists none the less. Factions are forming, the rule of the mob becomes imminent. Doubts are being expressed. If you cannot quell ours to any satisfaction what chance do you have with the plebs?”

  “That is exactly why I have called this meeting. We do not want dissenters, violence and uproar in the streets. We have been given the opportunity to host the next Olympic games. Do you not realize our responsibility, the importance of all this?”

  “That is all well and good,” said Philip. “We are all well aware of the benefits to the borough. But incidents have occurred. If you do not choose to confide in us then you must bear the full responsibility.” Jennifer turned her devastating gaze upon him, but for the first time it failed to devastate to any visible extent. “Listen,” Philip continued, “you believe absolutely in this project, we would be happy to, but anomalies exist. If you can clear these up to any satisfaction, perhaps we could share your optimism also.”

  Jennifer seated herself. “I will answer whatever questions I can.”

  Philip gazed about at his associates, their faces egged him on. “All right,” said he. “Firstly, who is financing the games?”

  Jennifer shook her head. “In truth, I do not know.”

  “Then I have no further questions to ask. It is clear from the outset that you are not prepared to furnish answers.”

  “I hold that this meeting is in disorder,” quoth Major MacFadeyen. “In fact, I press for an extraordinary general meeting to re-elect governing bodies and re-establish a respectable colloquium.”

  “I second this motion,” said Mavis Peake.

  “Gentlemen and lady,” said Jennifer. “There is nothing to be gained from such indecorum. As chairperson I reject the motion proposed. I have on my agenda several new proposals that I wish to have resolved. If I am opposed then I shall declare this meeting out of order and may possibly be forced to call each of its members before a board of my own choosing to discuss whether they be deemed suitable to continue in their offices or whether their replacement be considered necessary.” Amidst general uproar she raised her hand. “Anyone who feels that I am over-exceeding my authority has but to consult council doctrine. Under section five, subsection fifteen, paragraph seven, ‘the chairperson is empowered, during times of special circumstance to call for re-election any member of the council who performs an act or acts which are considered by he or she, in the body of the chairperson, detrimental to the public good, or welfare, inasmuch that …’”

  Philip Cameron shook his fist. “What you are saying is that if we don’t agree with what you’re saying you can sack us and get somebody else in!”

  “I am only quoting from textual doctrine, I hope that the need will not arise.”

  “Well, let me spare you the requisite paperwork. I quit.”

  “I also,” said Mavis. “Goodbye and good riddance.”

  The Geronimo brothers exchanged knowing glances. “Brave who see buffalo upon plain,” said Paul, “care not for buffalo’s thoughts, only for how many cooking pots be filled. White squaw care only fill own belly, buffalo die yet other braves starve.”

  Profound, thought his brother, dead profound. “Does this mean we quit too?” he asked.

  “It does,” said Paul Geronimo. “When waterhole dry, no good complain to desert, best seek river elsewhere.”

  “You’re all bloody mad,” said Major MacFadeyen. “I leave you to it, madam, but you haven’t heard the last of me.” With that parting shot he tucked his riding crop beneath his tweedy armpit and limped from the chamber.

  Jennifer Naylor surveyed the now empty room with evident satisfaction and turned her attention towards the computer print-out which lay before her upon the table. Everything had now run exactly to the letter outlined to her. Inclining her beautiful head towards the direction of the door she smiled sweetly and made her own departure.

  26

  Inspectre Sherringford Hovis paced the floor of the Professor’s study. �
�No,” he said, shaking his head fervently, “no, I will not be having with this.”

  Professor Slocombe offered a passive smile to the great detective. “Nevertheless I have no doubt that it occurred very much in the manner that I have stated.”

  Hovis sank into a fireside chair and spread out his long legs before him. “You are suggesting that these young people invoked some kind of spirit, in the form of a mythical griffin no less, and that it turned upon them?”

  “Not exactly, it is far more complicated than that.”

  “More complicated? Such a concept alone is surely enough?”

  “Do you have another theory then?”

  Hovis shook his head once more. “None immediately springs to mind. But my superiors will not buy ‘griffin’, Professor. They have little truck with the supernatural and even less with me at present.”

  “You have the plastercasts, you have the blood samples, I offer you the explanation, you must do with it what you will.”

  Hovis rose from his seat and resumed his pacing. “But it won’t do.” He worried at the knot of his tweedy tie and sought other things to do with his hands. “I can’t make a case of this. My superiors will fall on me from an impossible height. And what of the games? MYTHICAL BEAST STALKS OLYMPICS, FIVE DEAD SO FAR. This won’t do. It is disaster, spell it as you will.”

  “You have two witnesses,” suggested the Professor.

  “Ah yes, the nocturnal ‘bird watchers’ who just happened to be on the island.”

  Professor Slocombe flinched inwardly; Omally had been bound to come up with some explanation other than the truth for their being there. “Well, they would testify to what they saw, they have nothing to hide.”

  “Indeed?” Hovis took from his pocket a morocco wallet and from this a charred photograph. “And what do you make of this, Professor?”

  The sage examined the photograph. “It would appear to be a drunken holidaymaker in a foolish hat,” said he.

  “It would appear to be your Mr Pooley.” Hovis returned the snapshot to his wallet. “Well then?”