by Steve Feasey
Trey imagined what he must look like through Charles’s eyes, sitting there with his mouth hanging open like a fish hooked out of the river by an artful angler.
‘Charles,’ he said with a little shake of his head, ‘you are a complete and utter loser.’
The young sorcerer stopped in the doorway and looked back at him.
‘Well, that’s one step up from being called a tool, I suppose.’ He nodded and left, closing the door of the room behind him.
The numerous bags that Trey was carrying managed to wedge themselves between his legs and the open doorway of the kitchen, forcing him to turn sideways and shuffle in like some crab-like beast of burden. Once inside he unceremoniously dumped his cargo, allowing the bags to fall into two untidy islands of coloured paper and plastic – a higgledy-piggledy mess of shop names and logos. He wandered over to the fridge, pulled open the door and peered into the starkly lit interior, not at all sure what he wanted, but feeling the need to look anyway. It seemed to him that he spent a good proportion of his days gazing into the refrigerator not knowing what it was that he hoped to find there. Eventually he grabbed a can of iced tea and, pulling the ring on top, went to sit at the table.
He looked across again at the piles of shopping bags on the floor and smiled derisively. They were nearly all Alexa’s, and he wondered again at how anybody could gain so much pleasure from buying clothes that they really didn’t need. But he knew that it was one of her ways of coping with what was happening so he’d gone along with her today, agreeing to the suggestions that she made for kit and clothes that they might need in Iceland.
‘Where’s Tom?’ Alexa asked as she entered with her own set of carrier bags, all jostling for position around her knees.
The telephone rang as if in response to Trey’s shrug, and Alexa snatched up the receiver.
She listened briefly to the voice on the other end before answering, ‘OK, we’ll be right down.’ She replaced the handset in its cradle and turned towards the table, tiny lines creasing her normally smooth forehead.
‘What now?’ Trey sipped the cold drink from the can and looked back at her.
‘That was Tom. He wants us to go downstairs again. They think they’ve found something a little odd. He sounded pretty worked up.’
Tom momentarily looked up from behind one of the small partitioned booths that divided the open-plan office on the first floor of the building. He beckoned them over before returning his gaze to whatever was being displayed on the monitor screen perched on top of the wooden desk. A man Trey knew simply as Martin – some kind of data-analyst-computer-geek type – was leaning over the desk, pointing out something to Tom, who puffed out his cheeks and shook his head in response.
‘Tom.’ Trey nodded at the Irishman and was concerned at the anxious look on his friend’s face. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘We’re not completely sure,’ Tom said, and ushered the two of them forward so that they could get a look at the screen. ‘But I’m certain that it’s going to have some influence on our trying to get hold of Mynor’s Globe.’
The screen showed a graph. The dot-to-dot line of data tacked along quite steadily across the bottom of the graph to begin with, and then about halfway along the x-axis it leaped suddenly, creating a jagged incline like a steep and dangerous rock face.
Trey turned slightly to face the Irishman. ‘Never was much cop at maths, I’m afraid. What is it?’
‘Me neither,’ Tom replied. ‘This graph shows the energy signature for a particular form of magic. The energy signature represented here happens to be quite unique so it’s easy for us to keep track of it. As it happens, the magic shown on the graph is considered to be a benign form so we don’t usually worry too much about it. However, as we are about to attempt to try to obtain the object that creates this particular energy signature, we—’
‘It’s Mynor’s Globe,’ Alexa interrupted. ‘The graph is showing the usage of the Globe over the last three months.’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘Why is there such a huge and sudden increase, Tom?’
‘That’s just what we were wondering. We’ve looked back on our records and these little jumps and dips here are the usual pattern.’ Tom said, pointing at the left side of the graph. ‘The Globe is generally used sparingly and sporadically. Gwendolin is known for the destruction and chaos that she surrounds herself with, not for her compassion and healing, so it might be that she only ever uses the Globe if one of her minions gets injured, or maybe she just uses it on herself occasionally. But this massive rise is simply unprecedented. Yesterday they began to use the Globe in a way that we’ve never seen before. Whatever is going on in Iceland, it centres around the use of Mynor’s Globe. And that for us is nothing short of a bloody disaster.’
Trey frowned over at him. ‘Why does it make a difference? Our plan was to go over and try to take it from them, wasn’t it? How does this change things?’
‘We were planning an operation that relied on us getting in and out of the country undetected. We hoped that we would be able to steal the Globe without them noticing that it was gone until it was too late and we were far away. I for one really do not want to even consider the idea of going up against Caliban and Gwendolin on their home turf. Especially without Lucien around. But if they are using the Globe as regularly as this data suggests, it will be impossible to get it away without them noticing.’
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ Alexa said. ‘The Globe only has one use – to heal and restore. Why would they be using it so much so suddenly?’
‘Perhaps Caliban has seen the error of his ways and decided to turn over a new leaf,’ Trey said. ‘He might be using it to heal demon lepers as we speak.’ He had been trying to lighten the mood, but judging from the baleful looks that he was getting from Tom and Alexa he guessed that his attempts were not particularly welcome. ‘Sorry …’
‘There’s another possibility,’ Charles said. He had crept up silently. In his right hand he was carrying an old scroll that looked as if it might disintegrate completely if he decided to brandish it any more violently than he was already doing. ‘I’ve been looking for this since discovering that we were going to try to find the Globe. It was misplaced in the library.’ He held the rolled-up parchment out to Alexa and pushed a stray strand of hair away from his eyes with his other hand.
‘What is it, Charles?’ she asked, taking it from him and smoothing it out.
‘I think it might be the answer to what Gwendolin is doing with the Globe. Every mage knows how the Globe was used in the Demon Wars to heal creatures of the Netherworld. But there is also an ancient story about how it was misused. That scroll,’ he said, nodding his head in Alexa’s direction, ‘describes the power that the Globe had when it was used in conjunction with another lost artefact – a staff that had been owned by the demon lord Skaleb the Unforgiving.’
‘That’s just a load of old tosh!’ Alexa snorted. ‘It’s the kind of thing that we get told when we are young.’
‘Yes? And who told you about it, Alexa?’ he asked.
‘My mother, but—’
‘Whoa, hold your horses, you two,’ Tom said, raising his hands and looking between them. ‘Would somebody please like to explain to Trey and me exactly what it is that you are babbling on about?’
Charles glanced across at Alexa and received a little shrug of her shoulders followed by a nod.
‘I think that Gwendolin has somehow found this staff and united it with Mynor’s Globe,’ he said. ‘The manuscript in Alexa’s hand is a copy of the one that my father alluded to and, while it is scant in detail, it does describe the power that the Globe might now have if my fears are correct.’ Charles looked around at the group of people, his eyes moving quickly across all of their faces. Trey noticed how his usual cocky, arrogant look was now replaced by a nervous, almost frightened expression. ‘If I am right, and I have the most horrible feeling that I am, Gwendolin now has the power to bring the dead back to life, and she is using that power as
we speak to try to raise an army of revenants.’
There was a silence as they all let this last statement sink in. The rest of the office continued working as normal, unaware of the drama that was unfolding among the small group in their midst. Tom was the first to speak. ‘Are you telling me that Caliban has the power to create and control an army of friggin’ zombies?’ he said through his teeth.
Charles met the Irishman’s eyes and nodded. ‘I believe so, yes.’
‘Great. Just bloody great!’ Tom spat. He quickly looked around the office and then turned his attention back to Martin, who had been silent throughout. ‘How many other people besides you and the four of us know about this?’ he asked him.
Martin Tipsbury was a small, rodent-featured man with wild, curly hair that looked as if it was trying to escape from his head. With his neatly pressed trousers and corduroy jacket he reminded Trey of an eccentric physics teacher that he had once had.
‘N-nobody, Tom. I called you as soon as I found it.’ He peered over his glasses, blinking rapidly at the people around him.
‘Good lad. And thank you for that. I know how things can slip out in this place.’ He put his arm over Martin’s shoulder conspiratorially. ‘When was the last time you had a holiday, Martin?’
‘I went on a hiking trip with my walking group last February – why?’
‘I’m putting you on vacation leave, Martin. Effective immediately.’ He gently steered the man away from his work station before clamping his arm around his shoulders again and walking him over towards one of the meeting rooms. ‘I’m going to ask you to wait in this room and stay there until my colleague Mr Ellington from security arrives. He will take you to the airport and escort you to the company villa in the Seychelles – you can pick up some clothes and your passport on the way. You’ll be staying there as our guest until we call you back. Don’t worry about money; all your costs and expenses will be covered by the company.’
‘But, my daughter … she can’t just take time out of school … Besides, I—’
‘She’ll love it there – it is one of the most beautiful places on earth.’
The look on Martin Tipsbury’s face was not that of a man who has just been told that he’s been given an all-expenses-paid trip to a tropical paradise. Instead he looked as if Tom had just informed him that he had only a fortnight to live.
‘Mr O’Callahan,’ he stammered, ‘it’s a very kind gesture, but I really don’t see how I can just up and go away like this. I have work to finish and, as I said, my daughter’s schooling is of the utmost importance at the moment – she has her final exams next year.’
‘We can sort out a tutor for your daughter while you are out there. We’ll find out what she might miss at school and cover it all. I’m sure that she’d jump at the chance of some private tuition while sitting on a white sandy beach. Lucien entertains some of his most important clients at the villa, and it is about as sumptuous a place as you could possibly imagine.’ Tom opened the door to the meeting room and clapped his hand on Martin’s back, gently shoving the flustered little man into the room and quietly closing the door behind him. He was on the phone to security as soon as he’d turned his back on the room and had finished the call by the time he got back to Charles, Trey and Alexa.
‘What was all that about?’ Charles asked.
‘Just making sure that we keep a lid on this,’ Tom said, nodding towards the monitor screen. ‘We still have a rat in this organization and I don’t want news of this discovery getting back to Caliban and his goons.’ He looked around the room to see who might be watching. Nobody was.
‘Alexa, I’d like you to get rid of that data and look into removing any sign that these files have been accessed from our network. Can you do that?’
‘Sure, Tom.’
‘Good. Then I propose that we all meet upstairs in two hours to discuss exactly what we are going to do about this mess. I’ll have Mrs Magilton cook us a meal and we can sit together and come up with a plan. Right now though, I’ll have to wait for security and make sure poor Martin Tipsbury and his daughter get away safely.’ He nodded to them all, his lopsided smile now back on his face, before striding off in the direction of the meeting room and the bemused-looking Martin Tipsbury.
The Necrotroph looked over the top of the low, fabric-covered divide that separated it from its nearest co-worker, and watched as the four of them nodded in agreement to whatever it was that the vile Irish human had suggested. Its fingers hovered over the keyboard on the desk, but it paid no attention to the manuscript that it was supposed to be editing. Instead its eyes greedily took in the scene in front of it, darting between the four people gathered together on the other side of the office and the lone figure of Martin Tipsbury, who was pacing nervously in the meeting room where the Irishman had placed him.
The demon needed to discover why Martin had been put in that room, and it needed to find out what the four of them were talking about and report back to its master. It sensed that this meeting was about something important – something very important. It could see from the expressions on their faces, and from the way that they kept looking around them to check that nobody was observing. They were extremely nervous, and this merely added to the delicious feeling of anticipation that was building inside it at the thought of unearthing their secrets and reporting them back to Caliban. He would reward the demon handsomely for the information, if it was as important as it suspected.
The Necrotroph suppressed the urge to wander over to their side of the office to see if it could, in passing, glean some small clue as to what they were discussing. But it would not be wise to bring any suspicion upon itself at this time – the Irishman was being extra careful since the kidnapping of Lucien’s daughter from under his nose, and the demon had been warned not to jeopardize its position within the company unless it was absolutely necessary.
Its eyes flicked back towards the pathetic creature still pacing back and forth within the confines of the meeting room. A small shudder of excitement rippled through the demon as it started to formulate a plan. In allowing itself this brief moment it dropped its guard for a split second, giving the former owner of this body the tiniest sliver of control again. Memories and emotions that belonged to the woman called Ruth – the one-time owner of this human carcass – surfaced momentarily. The Necrotroph had imagined that the host body’s original inhabitant was utterly crushed by now, and this unexpected re-emergence was irksome. However, it was little more than a minor irritation; the demon quickly took complete charge of its host again, shutting down any areas of the brain that might have been responsible for this glitch. It silently chided itself for allowing even this temporary slip, and reminded itself of where it was and the dangers it faced if it was ever discovered.
The demon considered what was to be done next and felt something akin to regret that it would soon have to leave the body that it had inhabited for so long. It had grown comfortable inside this host and while it relished the prospect of another possession (it tired of these pathetic creatures so very quickly) it knew that the dangers in transferring between hosts without the proper preparations were not inconsiderable. The Necrotroph cared nothing for the fact that, as a result of this impending transference, the current host would be rendered either dead or insane – in its long life it had moved between countless organisms, using all their skills and knowledge before discarding them to move on to another, more useful, body. But it knew that to be successful in its plans it would have to possess at least two people in a short space of time, and that was fraught with difficulties.
The office worker on the other side of the partition looked up as Ruth Glenister let out a small gasp, reached down and clutched her abdomen as a knifing pain shot through her stomach.
‘Everything all right, Ruth?’ Brian asked.
Ruth Glenister let out a deep sigh. ‘To be honest, Brian, I’ll be glad when today is over,’ she said with a frown. ‘I’m really not feeling myself, you know.’
/> ‘Why are we eating in here?’ Trey asked Tom, looking at the table that had been laid out for dinner in the dining room. ‘We eat all our meals in the kitchen.’
‘Because, young Trey, I thought that it would be nice for the four of us to sit around as a group and talk like adults over a nice meal.’ Tom lit the candles in the centre of the table and stood back, checking that everything was in place.
Trey shook his head. In the six months that he had lived here, he couldn’t remember eating in this room more than a couple of times – Mrs Magilton’s birthday dinner and Christmas. He reached forward and straightened a knife that had been knocked askew at one of the place settings.
‘Besides,’ Tom continued, ‘“The cat’s tail is in the hot ashes”, as my dear old mother would say, and I want us all to bond a little before we throw ourselves into the fire along with it.’
‘Tom, I love you to bits, but sometimes I don’t have a clue what you are banging on about.’
‘Are you going to get changed before we eat?’ Tom asked.
‘Why?’ Trey looked down at the T-shirt and jeans that he was wearing. ‘What’s wrong with what I’ve got on?’
‘Nothing, nothing. I just thought that you might want to get into something a bit more … you know.’
Trey looked at Tom and considered telling him to get lost. His friend was flouncing around the table like some debutante on the eve of her first formal dinner, and he guessed that, for whatever reason, this was a big deal for the Irishman. He blew out his cheeks and turned towards the door. ‘Fine,’ he said, pushing it open. ‘I’ll go and get something on that’s a bit more … you know.’
‘Grand.’ Tom’s smile was open and genuine. ‘Oh, and, Trey – try not to antagonize Charles tonight. He’s not a bad person, and God knows we will want him where we’re going. I need the two of you to work things out between yourselves.’
Trey nodded and left the room, leaving Tom to fuss about the table some more.