by TJ Green
“I feel like shit,” Alex said to the others when he re-entered the living room.
The girls sprang apart from where they had been conferring, heads together on the sofa, as Avery said, “So do we.”
Alex continued through to the kitchen. “I need beer. Anyone else?”
“Me, please,” El called.
When he returned, carrying two open bottles, El was pacing, and she gratefully accepted the drink. “Thanks. Now I’m going to be worried about him all night.”
“Sorry,” Alex repeated, feeling doubly guilty. “I swear I didn’t summon Gil.”
“I’m not blaming you, you twit! Gil was always generous and helpful. It makes sense he still would be after death. But this has just brought everything flooding back for Reuben.”
“Of course it has,” Avery agreed. “For all of us! I dreamt about Gil last night. Just weird, random stuff. And I know it’s unexpected, but I’m so grateful that he helped Alex.”
Alex dropped into the squishy armchair. “I’m sure Reuben needs time—just like he said. We need to respect his space. In the meantime, we’ve got plenty to think about. Like who our mysterious spirits are, and who the witch could be.” He looked at Avery. “Any news from Oswald?”
“Not yet. We should go to the Jamaica Inn Smuggling Museum. I’d actually love to know a bit more about smuggling. I’ve lived here all my life and heard so much about it, but I know so few details!” She flopped back, huffing. “What a day. You know, I upset Sally today, too. She looked so cranky about Gil.”
“It’s hardly surprising though, is it?” Alex said, wishing they could change the subject. “It’s one thing to meet with a random spirit, but it’s totally different to hang around with someone you know!”
Avery looked offended. “She said I was blasé! I was anything but!”
“We do take this stuff for granted,” Briar pointed out, and then added hurriedly, “not that you did it intentionally, I’m sure!”
El clapped her hands like a tour guide, as much, Alex thought, to distract her than anyone else. “Come on! Let’s make a plan. That will cheer us up. Tomorrow is Tuesday, and I can definitely spare a few hours to go to Bodmin.” She looked at Avery hopefully. “Shall we go together? It’s only half an hour to get there.”
“Absolutely! We can grab lunch, too.” Avery turned to Briar and Alex. “Do you two want to come?”
“Not me, sorry,” Briar said, shaking her head.
“Nor me,” Alex replied. He groaned at the thought of his busy day. “I’m interviewing a couple of new bar staff with Simon, just to tide us over the summer.”
El winced in sympathy. “Ooh, fun.”
Briar settled herself into the corner of the sofa. “You know, you haven’t shown us the knife that came out of the spirit world. I’d like to see it.”
“Great idea,” Alex said, rising to his feet. “It’s upstairs, give me a sec.”
He bounded up to the attic, grabbed the knife and quickly returned, examining it again before handing it to Briar. It was made of a dull metal, with two sharp edges, and a bone hilt with no discernible markings on it. “Here you go. It doesn’t give us a clue as to where it came from, unfortunately.”
“I don’t feel any magic in it,” Briar said as she examined it. “Looks horribly sharp, though. El?”
She held it out and El took it from her, heading to the window to see it better in the fading evening light. “It’s simple and cheap, so clearly not belonging to a rich man. And it’s quite dirty. Would you mind if I cleaned it up?”
“Not at all,” Alex said. “Whatever you can find out about it would be good.”
El wrapped it up in her cotton scarf and tucked into her leather bag, while Briar asked, “Did the spirits do much damage?”
“Everything was tossed off the shelves,” Avery said, still cross. “Fortunately, nothing was broken, but some of our books were damaged. Bloody heathens! At least the grimoires were too heavy to be lifted by them.”
Briar cradled her glass of white wine, rolling it between her hands. “And you said they wore rags?”
Alex tried to remember what he’d seen as they whirled around the attic. “I think so. I’m pretty sure they were male, and I think they wore long, loose trousers—“
“No,” Avery interrupted. “A couple had three-quarter trousers, and one wore a kind of bandana.”
“How many were there?” El asked.
“Four,” Alex said, very sure.
“They looked unkempt,” Avery added, “with long hair and scraggly beards. I mean, Helena always looks clean and wears her long dress, despite the manner of her death, so I presume this means they were unkempt in life?” She wrinkled her nose. “Am I making assumptions?”
Briar laughed. “Maybe. But the three-quarter trouser is interesting. They could be sailors.”
“True! That would fit with smuggling!” Avery agreed.
“Or it could be that they were wrecked sailors, killed by pirates, who are seeking revenge,” El suggested. “Yes! Maybe they are seeking revenge on the townsfolk who abandoned them and let them die!”
Alex tried to recall what he’d sensed of them in the spirit realm. “They smelt sour—like I could smell their breath. That was horrible, actually. I could feel them pressing around me.”
“Ugh!” Briar shuddered.
Alex rubbed his cheek, feeling his stubble and realising he needed a shave. It felt more like a beard. “I can’t see how one spirit can imprison another, but I guess it comes back to the other witch who walked the spirit realm.”
Avery looked distracted and worried. “Dan said I should consider Zane and Mariah, seeing as they are openly resentful of us.”
“Unfortunately,” Alex said, hating to admit it, “I think he’s right.”
“I bet it’s freezing here in the winter,” El said to Avery as she exited her Land Rover on Jamaica Inn’s car park.
Jamaica Inn was actually a collection of grey stone buildings in the middle of one of the highest points of Bodmin Moor, situated on the main road with a large car park and a sign with a scowling pirate on it. Outside the main pub was a cobblestoned area filled with tables and benches, and hanging baskets were overflowing with flowers, bright against the grey building. It was full of ‘olde world’ charm, and huge cartwheels were propped in plant beds to add to the theme, as well as a set of stocks.
Avery nodded. “Yeah, I bet the wind howls over the moor.”
“It’s very atmospheric. Maybe I should persuade Reuben to stay here one night.” She said his name lightly, but she was actually worried sick about him, and didn’t want Avery to know. They had avoided the subject in the car, talking about anything else.
“Have you heard from him?” Avery asked.
“Just a text,” she admitted. “Saying he’s fine. I’m just giving him some space.”
“That’s good.” Avery hugged El briefly as they found the entrance to the museum. “It was inevitable he’d take it hard—especially considering the timing.”
“I know.”
El was grateful she didn’t ask any more questions. They headed through Pedlars Restaurant to get their tickets, and she admired the low roof with dark timber beams and stone walls. It was cosy, and because it was mid-week, not too busy.
“Did you know it has a farm shop,” El said, “and a gift shop, too? We must go before we leave. And get a pub lunch, of course!”
Avery laughed. “I’m sure we can manage that. They’re advertising cream teas, too!”
The museum focussed on the smuggling scene of the late 1700s and early 1800s, and was filled with wooden and glass cases displaying weapons, examples of smuggled goods, and even small scenes depicting wrecking crews. For a while they split up, and El drifted around on her own, fascinated by the displays and the history. Smuggling was a cutthroat business. While it may have originally been opportunistic, started by looting wrecked ships on the shore, it quickly escalated, and soon looters were luring ships in with false
lights instead. El shivered to think of the poor men drowning or being murdered by the bootleggers. But, she had to admit, it was a hard life. The crown had increased taxes on brandy, gin, tea, silks, and salt in order to fund expensive wars, and it came to a point where ordinary folk couldn’t afford them. The museum also had old wanted posters on the wall, and a couple caught her eye. They mentioned the names of bootleggers who were wanted, and rewards were offered, but from what El could tell, most of the locals were involved.
She found a display about the Carters of Prussia Cove, and she called Avery over. “Have you seen this?”
Avery nodded and started to laugh. “John Carter, the King of Prussia! Self-styled, I guess. He and his brother, Harry, really put smuggling on the map here. They had two huge ships, and plenty of crew. I wonder if these could be our spirits?”
El shook her head. “Doesn’t sound like they came to a sticky end, though, so maybe not.” She moved on to another display. “What about this guy? Cruel Coppinger. His gang was ruthless, and his ship was called Black Prince.” Her eyes widened as she scanned the text. “Wow. He sounds like a nightmare. There aren’t many details here, though.”
Avery took her phone out and snapped a few pictures. “Something to look into though.”
“And this inn was the central hub,” El said, “to store all smuggled goods before they were moved out of Cornwall. Apparently, they estimate that there were potentially a hundred hidden routes to get here from the shore.”
Avery’s mouth dropped open in shock. “A hundred!”
“Yep. It was totally isolated in the eighteenth century, and the moor was boggy and wild. Can you imagine how dangerous this place would be?” El had a vision of the moor under moonlight, clouds scudding across the sky and the wind flattening the heather as men made their way with their goods. Were they excited or scared? Did their blood race, or were their feet like lead in their boots, the threat of pursuit ever present. “And the inn is rumoured to be haunted. Why the hell don’t I come here more often?”
“Good question,” Avery had to acknowledge.
El spun on her heel, looking around the room. “This has been really fascinating, but I don’t feel any closer to finding out about any mysterious buried treasure.”
“Me neither.” Avery pointed to Daphne Du Maurier’s memorial room. “Come on, let’s have a look at that before lunch. I love the book, Jamaica Inn.”
“I love Rebecca more,” El admitted, heading across the room. “Lots of gothic mystery!”
She was almost on the threshold when she realised she’d lost Avery. El turned, wondering where she’d gone. Avery was staring at a poster and plaque on the wall, and El hurried to her side, curious as to what had caught her attention.
“What’s up?” And then she too stared at the picture of a middle-aged man standing next to a familiar figure, and her mouth fell open in shock.
“El, it’s Mariah! And that’s Ethan James, the man who had oversight of the modernisation of the museum!”
El was still reading the text. “It says that Mariah donated an old ledger that belonged to Zephaniah Job, the smugglers’ banker.” She scanned the room again. “I saw those, but didn’t see Mariah’s name.” She grabbed Avery’s arm, tugging her to where a collection of papers were displayed in a glass cabinet, and squinted at the writing on a card. “No wonder I didn’t see her name. The writing is tiny.”
“According to this,” Avery said, reading it too, “Job was based in Polperro, and most of his records were burned after his death. No wonder they were excited to find one of his ledgers.”
El straightened up, biting her lower lip as her mind raced with possibilities. “Intriguing. This was several years ago, but it means Mariah has a link to smuggling that we can’t ignore. Come on, let’s see this memorial room and then have lunch. I can’t think on an empty stomach.”
Almost two hours later, after they had eaten lunch in the Smugglers Bar, stocked up on local produce in the farm shop, and indulged in the gift shop, where Avery bought a couple of interesting-looking books on smuggling, they headed home, still musing on their findings.
Avery’s phone rang, and she quickly answered it. “Hi Oswald, any news?”
El focussed on the road, half listening to Avery’s conversation, and half wondering if Reuben was feeling any better. She’d wanted to call him many times but had resisted, knowing that Reuben hated being crowded, and she was desperately trying to respect that. But she also knew that underneath his devil-may-care exterior he could be incredibly vulnerable, and she hated knowing that he thought he was letting them down. She was glad when Avery broke her train of thought.
“Oswald said there have been some unusual incidents around Fowey lately. Strange, paranormal events such as lights on the moor and unusual noises,” she told her without preamble. “Some of the older folk are talking about piskies and spirits haunting the town, too.”
“For how long?”
“Just the last few weeks, from what he could tell.” Avery laughed. “Good old Oswald. He just sat in a pub and started chatting. He said the locals were intrigued, especially the older ones, thinking it was part of Cornwall’s charm, but they do admit something odd is happening.”
“I guess the advantage of being old is that you can gossip with impunity!” El said. She noted the moors streaking past, still wild and remote once away from the road. “And what about the death?”
“The victim had been spotted in the area a lot, hanging around St Catherine’s Castle with another man who no one has seen in days.”
“Wow.” El glanced across at her. “That’s great. Any local theories?”
“He said that everyone knew about the doubloon, and they reckon he’d found a hoard of gold that had been cursed. No specific spot was suggested, though.”
“Ha! More gossip!”
“They found the victim’s car, though. Did you hear?”
“No. Where?”
“On the National Trust car park, just out of the town. The Goddess knows why he ended up on the beach,” Avery said, and she fell into a thoughtful silence, allowing El to start worrying about Reuben once again.
Chapter 8
Avery wound through the stacks at Happenstance Books, greeting some of the regulars, before heading to the counter to talk with Dan and Sally.
“Hi guys, anything thrilling happen while I was away?” she asked.
“Haven’t you heard the news?” Sally asked, surprised. “There’s been an incident in Looe.”
“Looe?” Avery shook her head. “We weren’t listening to the radio. What happened?”
“There was a cave-in on the cliffs above the town—”
“A sinkhole, really,” Dan corrected, and Sally shot him an impatient look.
“Whatever. Anyway, it’s lucky no one was killed, because this massive area just collapsed, revealing this huge cave beneath.”
“Oh, wow! Was anyone hurt?” Avery asked. Looe was a beautiful Cornish town situated on the south coast, further north than White Haven. It was a popular spot for tourists, too.
“Fortunately not,” Dan told her, “but it was what they found at the bottom that had more interest.”
There was a speculative look on his face that worried Avery, and warily she asked, “What?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Three skeletons, rotting casks, and a few empty chests.”
“Holy shit! Smugglers’ remains?”
“Looks like it!”
“Well let’s hope so, or it could be their victims,” said Sally. She still looked disgruntled, but Dan was trying to suppress his excitement—probably so as not to annoy Sally.
Avery sank onto the spare stool as she considered the implications, and it was Dan she addressed next. “Do you think this is linked to—”
Dan didn’t even wait for her to finish. “Absolutely! Something has been set in motion, Ave!” He lowered his voice. “Something wicked this way comes!”
“Oh, good grief!” Sally said, exaspe
rated. “How can you be excited about potential disaster?”
Dan just rolled his eyes dramatically, and Avery had the feeling she had arrived in the middle of a bigger discussion. “Get over it, Sally! A man died in Fowey! Horribly, yes, but why? What was he doing? He—and others—are meddling in something that should have been left alone.” He crossed his arms like an old fish wife. “You mark my words.”
Now it was Sally who rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”
“Slow down, you two,” Avery said, interrupting their squabble. “When did this happen?”
“Middle of the night, apparently,” Sally said. “Not far from the coastal path.”
“The police and the council have been onsite to secure it,” Dan added. “Once they made sure it was safe, a couple of climbers headed down there. But guess what was more interesting!”
“There’s more?” Avery said, surprised.
Dan nodded. “Oh, yes!”
Sally butted in, her excitement now clearly overriding her irritation. “Someone was in there recently! It looks like whatever was stored down there had been recently stolen.”
“But how can they tell?” Avery asked. “Surely the fall of rock and earth would have covered up all the evidence.”
“Something about specific damage to the chests,” Dan said. “They were to the side of the cave, beneath an overhanging bit of rock, so they were relatively protected. And there’s a passage leading off the cave that shows signs of recent use.”
“Wow. I wonder why the cave suddenly collapsed?” Avery mused on her earlier conversation. “You know, Oswald phoned me this afternoon. Apparently, Fowey has been experiencing paranormal events recently. I wonder if Looe is as well.”
Sally opened the drawer and pulled a pack of biscuits out, took one, and then offered them around. “Is there someone representing the council in Looe?”
Avery knew she meant the Witch Council, and nodded as she accepted a cookie. “Mariah. She’s a sour-faced puss. Well, with me at least.”
“One of Caspian’s old cronies?” Dan asked.