Wicca

by James Follett

  The jury were noticeably surprised.

  `What is so remarkable about it?' asked Roscoe.

  `It's an extraordinary collection. It contains some rare volumes such as the Book of Shadows, and a complete set of the Equinox -- an occult magazine published by Aleister Crowley between 1909 and 1913, and all of his other works including a first edition of his Book of the Law.'

  `Aleister Crowley, members of the jury,' said Roscoe, spitting the name with venom, `was the most notorious Satan worshipper that has ever damned the face of this planet. He called himself the Great Beast 666 -- the creature from hell referred to in the Book of Revelation.' He turned to the witness. `You will, of course, be destroying these infernal works?'

  The idea of destroying books appalled Dennis. `The collection may be the only complete set of Crowley's works in existence. They are--'

  `They are the works of Satan!' Roscoe thundered, his eyes blazing with the intense blue of Cherenkov radiation. `It's unthinkable that Pentworth has the only complete set! And that daughter of Satan sought to spread the obscene word of her Prince of Darkness master by putting those books in the library where they would poison the minds of all decent men, woman and children and turn them against God! Is it any wonder that the Almighty has damned us with His Wall? And we will remained damned for eternity unless we destroy this evil that we are nurturing to our innocent breasts!'

  Judge Hooper had to use his gavel to stop Roscoe's outburst. He spelt out in blunt terms that he would not tolerate such behaviour in future. Roscoe bowed and apologised, looking pleased at the impact his tirade had had on the jury. Several were now staring at Ellen with a mixture of loathing and contempt.

  `Is there any doubt,' Roscoe continued, `that the collection is the property of the accused or is it possible that it came from someone else?' `None whatsoever. I collected it myself from her flat over her shop with a handcart after she told me about it. A wooden crate.'

  `Thank you, Mr Davies. No further questions, your honour.' Roscoe sat, pleased with his witness and even more pleased with Diana's shaken expression. She rose.

  `No questions, your honour.'

  The rest of the day's hearing consisted of a string of witnesses that Roscoe had unearthed, all of whom testified that Ellen had sold them books on potions and spells after she had taken over the shop. Diana did her best to challenge their memories but what little success she had was overshadowed by a witness who produced a belated exhibit -- a ten-year-old receipt, signed by Ellen, for several witchcraft publications.

  At 4:00 Judge Hooper decided that everyone had had enough and adjourned the trial until the next morning.

  Diana angrily gathered up her papers, stuffed them in her briefcase and marched out of the emptying court with David following in her wake.

  Outside blackshirts and morris police kept the placard-waving group back as the Commer van returning the defendants to the police station nosed out of the narrow entrance that led to Government House's stables. The demonstrators were a small group but they compensated for their size with a barrage of insults and catcalls. Some managed to bang on the side of van. David ran after it, waving frantically, and was rewarded with a brief glimpse of two frightened faces at the rear windows before the vehicle sped away. He joined Diana at a table outside the Crown and ordered two ciders.

  `I'm sorry,' he said lamely.

  She shook her head. `It's not your fault. Ellen should've told me.'

  `How was anyone to guess that her handing over a crate of her mother's books that had been kicking around for years could have such repercussions?' David complained. `I mean -- it's so damned absurd. I've donated some Inspector Frost whodunits to the radio drama group. R D Wingfield is the equal of Agatha Christie at keeping one guessing. I enjoy his books, but does that make me an advocate of murder?'

  Diana regarded David steadily. `Is there anything else I should know? Anything at all? It doesn't matter how inconsequential it may seem.'

  David wondered if he ought to tell her about the crucifixion of Thomas but decided that there was no point. There was no evidence as to who had carried out the terrible act, and making unfounded accusations would be unlikely to help Ellen's case.

  `I can't think of anything offhand,' he said.

  `I just have this uncomfortable feeling that something's being held from me. Something vital that Roscoe knows... Well... I shall have to give both my clients a good grilling this evening.'

  Her assertiveness surprised David. But he was constantly being surprised by the change in Diana Sheldon over the months. She was no longer the shy, retiring woman he remembered when he had first joined the town council. `Give Ellen my love,' he said. `I only wish to God I was allowed to see her.'

  `She understands. Not even Vikki's mother is allowed to visit. I think that's hard. The poor kid's scared out of her wits. Still -- at least they're being well looked after.' Their drinks arrived. They were silent for a few moments as they quenched their thirst.

  `Roscoe worries me,' Diana said at length. `When he first started with all those silly exhibits, I thought he was going to blow his case. But he was merely playing all his weak cards first. He's doing well for someone with no legal training. He's a shrewd operator.'

  `He's a bigot,' said David bluntly.

  `A bigot with a following. Have you noticed how the jury always seem to perk up when he speaks?'

  `It's his voice. Appropriate in his case that it should be as rich as a fruit cake.'

  `Perhaps. It makes me very uneasy. And there's something else that worries me... So far he hasn't come up with a shred of his so-called evidence to implicate Vikki Taylor. There's an exhibit in an envelope that he hasn't referred to yet. So what sort of nasty rabbits has he got up those monk's garb sleeves for us tomorrow?'

  It was as well for their chances of a night's sleep that Diana and David didn't know just how nasty Roscoe's rabbits would turn out to be.

  Chapter 41.

  MALONE KNEW HE WAS being followed but was not unduly concerned, nor did he make any attempt to shake off his pursuer. There was little point because he was decked out for his daily jog in his florescent-striped white tracksuit and was as conspicuous as a chimney sweep on a glacier -- especially now that a crescent moon had risen.

  The mysterious figure had been following him across country for two kilometres. Young, whoever it was because they been able to keep up reasonably well even when he had put on a spurt -- it was the pursuer's panting that had been one of several giveaways. By the time he was skirting Pentworth Lake he decided to allow whoever it was to catch up. Few people in Pentworth were in as good physical shape as he was therefore they were unlikely to be in any condition for a scrap. Also the pursuer was much smaller than him. A clump of trees and shrubs ahead would serve his purpose. He veered towards them.

  The runner did likewise, losing speed on the slight rise, breathing hard, skirting the trees, stumbling on roots, and then saw Malone about 100 metres ahead, standing quite still under a willow -- probably taking a pee -- the safety chevrons on his back showing up clearly in the moonlight.

  The runner slowed to a walk, and then crept towards the still figure. At 10 metres the follower seemed uncertain and stopped, peering at the quarry under the willow and looking furtively around before moving closer and then calling out in tentative whisper.

  `Mr Malone?'

  `Right here,' said a voice from close behind.

  The pursuer gave a yelp of surprise and spun around. Malone was standing arms folded not two metres away, and was naked.

  `You frightened me,' the girl gasped.

  Malone had spoken to her on only one occasion but he remembered the educated voice. `Good evening, Claire. Claire Lake, isn't it? One of Adrian Roscoe's Pentworth House dairy maids. If I recall, you were collecting information on children in the area on the morning that the Wall appeared.'

  `Yes.'

  `A clever move by our Adrian,' Malone observed. `Supplying free milk to children. It won him and his l
ooney brethren lot of support, and solved the problem of what to do with the stuff.'

  The girl continued to gape at the naked man.

  `You're a great disappointment to me, Claire. It's taken you six months to decide to follow me in order to have your wicked way with me. But I must warn you that I'm no pushover -- I'll put up a struggle.'

  Consorting with naked men in the woods at night was outside Claire's experience. `I wanted to see you, Mr Malone,' she stammered.

  `Well you're certainly doing that.' He moved past her and removed his underpants from inside his tracksuit that he had hung from the willow. He pulled them on, the girl watching bug-eyed as a formidable battery of male artillery disappeared under white cotton. `You must forgive me for taking off all my kit, Claire. I usually insist on keeping my underpants on during a first date, but being white, you would've seen them.' He donned his tracksuit and sat down, patting the grass beside him. The girl accepted the invitation.

  `So you knew I was following you all along?' she asked.

  `Your breath control needs work. Your dark pants and top were effective enough but you forgot that lovely blonde hair. And slapping at mozzies now and them wasn't a good idea.'

  `But I was a long way behind you.'

  `They emit telepathic screams when they die.'

  Claire gave a little laugh that failed to cloak her nervousness. `I used to have good breath control when I did a lot of running. This was the only way I could think of talking to you -- by getting permission to go out jogging. There are so many eyes in the town.'

  She glanced uneasily around at the hungry stomach of the waiting woodland shadows.

  `And it has the advantage of making it impossible for those blackshirt heavies to follow you,' Malone added. `They're all pretty well out of condition. So what's on your mind, Claire? Let me guess. Being a member of the Bodian Brethren is losing some of its charm?'

  `It was wonderful when I first joined. I felt secure. Wanted. And Father Roscoe seemed the kindest man in the world.'

  With a little prompting from Malone she went on to recount a story of an unhappy marriage, being abandoned by her husband, losing a baby that she had ached for, and a drift into homelessness, hopelessness, and alcohol before she saw the brethren's recruiting Winnebago in Brighton and fell under Roscoe's influence.

  `He gave me a job in the dairy and then promotion because he said I was a good organizer. There was company. Real friendship. Everyone sharing their problems. I didn't even mind the sex -- sometimes three or more altogether. Sometimes just girls together; sometimes a mixture.' She hesitated. `God forgive me, but I got to enjoy it, Mr Malone, and never felt used because it was like everyone was sharing their love around. I began to realize the way things really were underneath last Christmas. One of the girls hung some mistletoe in the temple. Father Roscoe went mad, really mad. He said that we had a witch in our midst and that the punishment he would mete out was nothing compared with God's punishment we could all expect unless whoever did it came forward. Ella owned up. She was stripped in front of everyone and whipped by the chief sentinel -- Nelson Faraday. Do you know him?'

  `I know him,' said Malone tonelessly. He was listening to, not only the girl's story, but paying close attention to her voice -- registering every little hesitation and change in timbre, and even the occasional unconscious shudder and catch in her throat -- audio clues, almost impossible to fake, that told him Claire was telling the truth.

  `It wasn't a hard whipping,' she continued. `More ritual, but it was terrifying at the time. Then there was the Wall and we all had to work twice as hard. There were all those security men to look after. Then when they became blackshirts, Father Roscoe wanted the girls to keep them sweet. There was no feeling of love after that. Some of them are okay, but they're mostly brutes. One girl had a nipple almost bitten off. Another ran away and hid in the park. They used the hunt hounds to track her down. You know that the Chiddingfold and Leconfield Hunt have got their kennels in Pentworth Park?'

  `Yes,' said Malone. `I do know. Do you know what happened to Cathy Price?'

  `Well -- not much. Some of the blackshirts were boasting about what had happened...' `Tell me.'

  `I don't know any details. Something about her going to a party in the blackshirts' room in Government House. I didn't know her -- only heard her name -- but for her to go looking for them -- to seek them out deliberately. Mr Malone -- she must've been a real nympho. I heard a blackshirt telling a mate what he'd missed...' She shook her head. `I don't believe them... They're all mouth, some of them.'

  Malone did believe and said nothing. He stared through the trees at the lake and the patterns on the water made by clouds drifting across the moon. Bats flitted in ghostly silence over the water. The plaintive cry of a nightjar. He thought about Cathy Price, the terrible scene at the gates of Seaford College and the speed she must have been travelling at when her Jaguar hit the stone pier. `Tell me about Nelson Faraday,' he asked at length.

  There was no faking the girl's sudden stiffening. `He's the worst,' she said quietly. `When I first met him I was physically attracted to him... I must've been mad. Now my blood freezes whenever he touches me -- thinking that his hands hanged that boy... just as they'll hang Ellen Duncan and Vikki Taylor. Roscoe wants Ellen Duncan and Nelson wants Vikki. He likes them young. He likes the youngest-looking girls to dress-up in schoolgirls' uniforms... To shave themselves...' She gave an involuntary shiver.

  `They'll have to be found guilty first,' Malone said casually.

  `That's bound to happen -- the way that Vikki Taylor grew a new hand.'

  Malone gave no outward sign that he was shaken but Claire sensed it and turned to him. `Didn't you know about her hand?'

  `I knew,' said Malone grimly, thinking fast. `I didn't know that Roscoe knew.'

  `That was my fault. It was just after the Wall appeared. I saw her getting out of her swimming pool using two hands when I was delivering milk... God -- if only I'd kept my stupid mouth shut.'

  There was an uncharacteristic urgent note in Malone's voice when he spoke. `If Ellen and Vikki are found guilty, they'll be handed over to Roscoe for sentencing and for the sentence to be carried out. Do you have any idea of what he's planning?'

  `No... No -- wait a minute. Some of the sentinels had to make torches in the workshop yesterday.'

  `What sort of torches?'

  `Torchlight procession torches. Sacking wound around the end long sticks and left to soak in old engine oil. About a 100 of them. The girls were complaining that they couldn't get the smell of oil off their hands.'

  `Anything else?'

  Claire shook her head.

  `Can you find out? Faraday's certain to be the organizer.'

  She remembered the bedside drawer in Faraday's room that was full of papers. But he kept his bedroom door locked. `Well... I could try.'

  `You must, Claire. Do you know the Temple of the Winds?'

  `Yes.'

  `Go jogging tomorrow night -- tonight, that is, as it's gone midnight. Meet me there at eleven. Can you make that?'

  `I'll try.' `Don't make any attempt to contact me if you can't. I'll wait an hour and I'll be there at eleven the night after.'

  `I'll be there tonight,' Claire promised. She tilted her watch towards the moonlight. `I ought to be getting back... They said I could be gone a couple of hours.' She looked uncertainly at Malone.

  He smiled and touched her cheek. `Thank you, Claire. Okay -- go ahead -- I'm still listening.'

  The girl looked puzzled.

  `You want to tell me the real reason why you followed me, and I'm listening.'

  Claire's expression changed to that of surprise. `Can you read minds?'

  `That would be useful. Sadly, I have to rely on less reliable clues.'

  `I'm six weeks pregnant,' Claire blurted. `May God forgive me, Mr Malone, but I don't even know who the father is but the chances are that it's Nelson Faraday.' She suddenly seized his hand and gripped it with passionate intensity. `It do
esn't matter who the father is -- I want this baby. I want it so very much, but not with the Bodian Brethren, and not with Nelson Faraday claiming it as his. Please, Mr Malone -- will you to help me escape?'

  Chapter 42.

  MALONE'S FOUR HOURS of sleep got the better of him. He actually had to pause a couple of minutes outside the police station to get his breath back.

  `You're bright and early, Mike,' observed WPC Carol Sandiman, looking up from her typewriter when he went in. She glanced at the duty roster. `Four hours early.'

  `Early -- yes. Bright -- no. Good morning, Sandy. Marry me, my beloved -- I need a woman to keep my shirts as white as your blouses.'

  That the police officer found Mike Malone quite devastating made it difficult for her to sound severe. `I turned you down last week. Don't you ever give up?'

  `How are our detainees?'

  `So. So. I took them their breakfast half an hour ago.'

  `I'd like to see them please. Ten minutes.'

  `You know that would be in breach of the court order. Only their lawyer--'

  `We were ordered to keep them in a secure place. I ought to check that it's secure. Ten minutes, Sandy. No one's due in for an hour, and you never saw me nick the keys.'

  `Mike -- I shouldn't.'

  `I'll allow you to subject me to relentless sexual harassment for five minutes a day for a week.'

  `Ten minutes a day for a month.'

  `Done. You drive a hard bargain, missy.' Malone pecked her on the cheek and took the keys from her desk drawer that she had obligingly opened while studying her typing.

  He climbed the stairs to the disused two-bedroom flat on the third floor that had been hastily prepared for the prisoners, the double-glazed windows framed with heavy gauge chainlink fencing on the outside. He turned the double mortise key, calling out as he entered, and locked the front door behind him.

  `Mike!' Ellen in a dressing gown rushed into the tiny hall and threw her arms around him. She tried not to cry as she kissed him and clung to him with a strength borne of desperation and misery. `Mike -- by all that's wonderful -- I thought you'd deserted us.'