Pilgrim

by Devon De'Ath

  Vicky drew in a lungful of fresh, damp air. “Do you think he’ll paint the church at Redcliffe tonight? Shouldn’t we get going if we don’t want to miss his follow-on, ultimate act off the Devon coast?”

  “Let’s see what Raven’s pal, Tawny, turns up first.”

  Chickens pecked at the ground nearby as they reached Raven’s metallic blue Peugeot. Vicky slid behind the wheel. “I can’t believe Raven told us to load our packs in the car, in case of an emergency.”

  Bill closed the front passenger door behind him. “She’s got a wise head on her dinky shoulders, that one.”

  Vicky started the engine. “You’re just saying that because she made favourable comments about your arse and male reproductive equipment.”

  Bill clicked his seatbelt home with a faint grin. “My opinion may not be unbiased.”

  Vicky pulled out of the farmyard. “Thank God for her.”

  The Peugeot reversed to park near the five-bar gate at the end of Raven’s lane. Vicky and Bill climbed out. Vicky locked the car. “I wonder if she’s back yet.”

  Bill moved towards the house. Raven caught sight of him through the living room window and ran to open the front door. Her facial expression swam with a mixture of hope and concern. “How did you fair at Temple Bruer?”

  Bill stood aside to allow Vicky in before him. “Our boy was there all right. Same shit, different day. Or night, in his case.”

  Raven closed the door behind Bill after he wiped his feet. “Any police about?”

  “Not a peep, thank goodness. We met a site employee or volunteer, scrubbing a sigil from one interior wall.”

  Vicky sat on the sofa. Morpheus hopped into her lap and settled down. She stroked his fur. “What happened with Tawny? Is she okay?”

  “I’ve never seen her that flustered. A guy from Carlton le Moorland contacted her with knowledge of cult activities at a country house nearby.”

  Bill sat down. “That’ll be where our pilgrim is getting his head down, for now.”

  “It seems logical,” Raven replied. “The informant’s girlfriend split up with him after getting involved with a group at the house. He wanted to say more, but the guy’s scared.”

  Bill grunted. “Sensible chap, if he’s an inkling who he’s dealing with.”

  “Tawny told him she knows a person looking into the cult’s activities.”

  Bill frowned. “You gave her our names?”

  Raven sighed. “She was talking about me, not you.”

  Vicky moved to the edge of her seat, careful not to dislodge the now sleeping cat. “How did the man respond?”

  “Reluctant, at first. He told Tawny he would only say more in person. A meeting in a public place. His anxiety must have rubbed off on her. She’s acting the same way with me.”

  Vicky winced. “Could the cult have threatened Tawny?”

  “I don’t know. It was all I could do to calm her down.”

  Bill folded his arms. “Does this guy know anything useful we’ve missed? Much as I’d like additional information, it’s a colossal risk for any of us to show up if he only says, ‘I reckon that lot up at the house are devil worshippers.’ Whoopee-do. Give the man a cigar.”

  Raven touched one hand to her chest. “I know you’re on the clock, so I said the meeting must happen today or her contact could forget about it.”

  Bill and Vicky responded in unison. “And?”

  “And she got him on the phone for me. At first he didn’t want to know. Once I told him I knew people with first-hand experience of the cult, his anxiety eased. He wouldn’t meet me, but he’s agreed to speak with you.”

  Bill gritted his teeth. “I don’t like it. Did you tell him who we were?”

  Raven cocked her head at him. “Give me some credit, Bill. Look, the choice is yours. If you want to meet the guy, he’ll be at ‘The Guthlac Inn’ on the outskirts of Carlton le Moorland at nine this evening. His name is Jeff.”

  Vicky peered at Bill. “That’s a huge delay. How long will it take to reach Bristol by train from here?”

  “Too long,” Bill replied. “A good five hours once we’ve caught the bus back to Lincoln. We’d never make it before the last train tonight.”

  Raven pulled out her laptop from the cupboard again. “Why don’t you check the tracker to see if your guy is on his way southwest? If he is and you want to ignore Tawny’s contact, I’ll run you into Lincoln.”

  “And if the car hasn’t moved?” Vicky asked.

  “Take your pick. You can meet Tawny’s contact, then I’ll run you to Lincoln for an early train tomorrow morning. You’ll be in Bristol by lunch. Or you can ignore the guy and make a head start whenever you’re ready.”

  They adjourned to the kitchen where Bill checked the SLK’s last reported position.

  “As of ten minutes ago, the Mercedes was still parked at Carlton le Moorland. What do you want to do, Vicky?”

  Vicky fiddled with her hair. “What if he knows more about Lundy or the upcoming ritual? We’re walking into that whole situation blind.”

  Bill puffed out his cheeks. “If there is an upcoming ritual. We don’t know that for certain. It’s supposition.”

  “Okay. One last chance to nab the pilgrim,” Vicky replied.

  Raven leaned across the table. “How about this? If you want to meet the informant, I’ll drive you both to Bristol myself once you return from the pub. Then it doesn’t matter what time you’re done. Nor if the pilgrim has left. You’ll be in Redcliffe first thing, to scope the church when it opens. It’s Sunday tomorrow.”

  “Holy Cross Church is a ruin, so it makes little difference.” Bill’s statement came out flat.

  Vicky’s brow creased. “How do you know that, Bill?”

  “When I first wound up on the streets, a group of us bummed around from place to place. I suppose we were seeking some down-and-out Shangri La. Or a new town where life felt better. Anyway, I spent two freezing nights dossing in the empty walls of Holy Cross, one January. It was bombed during the Bristol Blitz in 1940. That won't stop our guy. Even old foundations at Dover were enough for him.”

  Raven nodded. “It’s the locations that count, not what they look like now. They have significance to him because the cult have imbued them with significance. That’s why they formed their sigil from a map.”

  Bill looked from Vicky to Raven. “You’d be taking a massive risk driving us. If we’re stopped by curious rozzers…”

  Raven sat upright. “Then we’re all up the creek. You seem to have reached a consensus on meeting Jeff?”

  Vicky and Bill nodded.

  “Any crumbs of information are better than none. Are you sure you don’t want to come along?” Vicky asked.

  “To scare him off or wait in the car park? No thanks. Take my car again. I’ll be ready when you get back.” Raven stood up. “I’d best fix a decent meal, now. We won’t have time later. Are you two all right for money? I didn’t ask before. I’m not flush, but-”

  Vicky stopped her, eyes glistening. “We’ll be fine.”

  Raven enveloped them both in her wild, enchanting stare. “You'll get through this. Have faith.”

  * * *

  A road sign announcing ‘The Guthlac Inn’ reflected in the Peugeot 206’s headlights. Bill drove this time. He spun the wheel and decelerated into an empty gravel bay of the country pub car park. Force of habit led him to reverse, leaving the car ‘nose out’ like he’d done at Hirsig House. All that seemed an age ago as he pulled up the handbrake.

  Vicky leaned across to study the well-illuminated public house. Crowds milled about near the windows. “It looks busy. Bill, are we using our cover names again?”

  “Try to avoid using any last names if you can. The less we give up while finding out what this guy knows, the better. Truth or fiction. But, yeah, we’ll be Jenny and Chris.”

  They left the car to enter a wide porch. A set of double doors gave access to the main bar. A wall of noise and heat assaulted their senses upon entry. Th
ree loud youths gathered around a flashing electronic quiz machine, egging each other on to bid higher sums. Bill supposed it a quest to cover the cost of a curry, later. Patrons occupied most tables, dining on simple fare like scampi, or chicken in a basket. Vicky assessed the crowd to see if anyone had made an obvious note of their entrance. She saw Bill rotate in a hurry, then face back towards the quiz machine, away from the bar.

  “What’s up?”

  Bill tugged at his collar. “That’s all we need, right now.”

  “What?”

  “Do you see that loudmouthed geezer with his gaggle of thick-necked pals across the room?”

  Vicky took a quick look. She didn’t allow her attention to linger. Already those wide boys had noticed this stunner of Scandinavian extraction, who’d strayed onto their turf. Such leering, unwanted attention made her uncomfortable. “An acquaintance?”

  “Tim Ransley. He was the intimate partner of a female bank exec who hired me to look into suspected infidelity.”

  Vicky coughed. “He was with a bank executive?” She rolled her eyes. “Please. That’s taking the whole ‘bit of rough’ thing a tad far. I assume her suspicions were correct?”

  “Yep. Tim had a nice hustle going on. He spent his days lounging in her luxury home, driving one of two prestige motors, while she worked long hours. All the fool had to do (if we wanted to keep riding the gravy train) was fix Alison a reasonable meal and give her some attention when she got home. But no, the bastard was banging every youthful bit of skirt he could lay his hands on. Often in their bed.”

  “Until Alison got wise and hired you?”

  “Uh-huh. I couldn’t bring myself to show her the worst images. Tim wasn’t discrete while Alison was at work. But she was an assertive woman. Kicked him out on his ear and threatened to call the police if he ever came back. He didn’t like that. He found out who I was, through some dubious links. Were it not for the fact he got nabbed for tax evasion, the bruiser might have rearranged my features. When he got out of prison, the families of three adolescent girls he knocked up came after him. Tim left Kent.” Bill rubbed his chin. “If he spots me here and has been following the news…”

  “Say no more. Let’s move into the adjoining room. I’ll mingle and bring Jeff to you, if he’s here.”

  They slipped between the crowds, Bill keeping his face angled away from Tim Ransley in the most subtle manner he could manage. When they stepped down into a quieter room of tables, a tall, wiry fellow rose from his seat. He swept a mop of thick, charcoal hair away from his brow, eyes darting to a wall clock.

  Bill and Vicky hesitated. The man left his table to approach. “Are you Raven’s friends?”

  Bill read a measure of discomfort in the man’s body language. He wrestled with whether that was a positive sign.

  “Jeff?” Vicky asked.

  “Yes.” He waved at his table in one corner. “Can I get you something to drink? You appear to have missed the bar.”

  “It was busy, and we were conscious of the time.” Bill sat down on a padded settle. “Jenny?” He remembered to switch to the cover name at the last second.

  “I’ll have a cola. Ice and a slice. Thank you.” Vicky joined him.

  Jeff lifted his nose to Bill.

  “A pint of lager shandy, if you please,” Bill added. He waited until Jeff was out of sight. “What do you think?”

  Vicky studied the other patrons nearby: three separate couples and a group of four men. She judged the men to be business types, back from a few busy rounds of golf or desperate to escape fussy housewives for the evening. “I don’t know. Let’s see what he says.”

  Jeff returned five minutes later, clutching their drinks. He deposited himself on a wooden chair across the table from his guests. “I didn’t catch your names. Well, not other than ‘Jenny’ for the lady here.”

  Bill flicked a quick hand between himself and Vicky. “I’m Chris. As you’ve already gathered, this is Jenny. Given what we’re about to discuss, you’ll understand if we don’t lay out the full family history.”

  “Chris and Jenny.” Jeff spoke the names to himself. “Raven said you’ve first-hand experience of the Baphomet cult?”

  Bill rested his forearms on the table. “Not through willing participation, you understand. How about you?”

  Jeff took a pull on his half-empty, straight glass of lager. “Chloe, my girl-, I mean my ex-girlfriend is embedded deep inside it now. When I discovered they were meeting at a place up the road, I snuck out for a peek. I thought maybe I could confront her afterwards. Try to win her back, you know?”

  “Through blackmail?” Vicky asked.

  Jeff’s head lowered. “Stupid, huh? That’s love for you. It makes people do crazy things, sometimes.”

  Bill tasted his shandy. “Raven told us you have information. Is it something to blow their secret society wide open?”

  Jeff leaned closer. His motion drew Bill and Vicky in, as if connected by unseen wires. “There’s a Grandmaster who's been travelling the country. He’s paving the way for what they call a ‘Quickening of Power.’ I'm aware he’s staying at the house. But he doesn’t live there.”

  Vicky and Bill fought a bizarre urge to punch the air at this confirmation. Both let slip a subtle, involuntary spasm. Jeff said nothing.

  “Do you have any more details about what this ‘Quickening of Power’ entails? Or what it’s designed to accomplish?” Bill asked.

  “It’s a ritual to extend their reach. I heard Chloe is entertaining the Grandmaster as we speak. Then he’s off somewhere else on his sacred journey.”

  Vicky almost dropped her glass of cola. Fine hairs rose on the back of her neck. “That’s an unusual turn of phrase: sacred journey.” She dug the fingernails of her free hand into Bill’s leg beneath the table. “You almost sound like one of their initiates.”

  Jeff cast a glance back at the group of four men and nodded. They rose to walk across the room, pulling free chairs closer. “Something you might have been yourself, once upon a time, Miss Lambert. Or should I call you Miss Hanson?”

  Vicky clenched her teeth so hard her jaw locked.

  Bill made to stand. He halted at the sight of a compact automatic pistol, poking discretely at him from one man’s hand.

  Jeff wagged a finger. “No sudden moves, Mr Rutherford. Let’s enjoy a nice public chat, before we adjourn to more… private surroundings.”

  Bill growled. “Why the charade? Why all the bullshit about your ex-girlfriend, Chloe?”

  Jeff grinned. “Bullshit? Chloe is my ex. In our circle, monogamous attachment is a somewhat antiquated idea. Chloe’s servicing the Grandmaster for an hour or two. A great honour for her.”

  Bill sneered. “What’s the matter? Crumbling stone walls not popping his cork anymore?”

  One of Jeff’s eyebrows raised. “Ah. I see the Grandmaster’s activities have included an audience. The two of you make a habit of spying on our devotions, don’t you? It’s most vulgar.”

  Bill didn’t move his furious gaze from the snivelling punk’s face. They were around the same age. Right then, he’d take great pleasure in ensuring this creep didn’t grow a day older. “And murdering the innocent and vulnerable isn’t? Why tell us about your quickening nonsense?”

  “Nonsense? Such a cynic. You’ve both been pebbles in our shoe, far too long. We’d hoped the authorities would have apprehended you by now, but you’ve demonstrated an annoying capacity for evasion. It’s time to draw a line under this debacle.” Jeff addressed Vicky. “Besides, you’ve denied Baphomet an offering for too many years.”

  Bill leaned closer, his tensed body halting to comply with a jerk from the gun barrel. “You were only a kid, Jeff. What do you know about it?”

  Jeff shrugged. “Enough. What the elders have told me.”

  “Well I hope they also told you I’m going to kick your arse. Do you believe this won’t come out?”

  Jeff stroked his right cheek. “Perhaps you refer to your interfering accomplice,
Raven? Don’t worry, Miss Fearnley is enjoying a ‘visit’ as we speak. She won’t be talking to anyone else about us.”

  Vicky clenched her fists as she fought down a low whimper of anguish and frustration. “No.”

  Jeff drained his glass, then set it down with a pronounced bang. “Right then. Why don’t we take a nice, quiet stroll out to the car park, like old friends?”

  The seven figures rose.

  Out in the bar, Bill and Vicky emerged with a front and rear escort. Bill knew if they were bundled into a vehicle and taken elsewhere, it would prove terminal. Tim Ransley looked up from his pint. The chunky lads surrounding him roared with laughter at some lurid comment or other. Bill forced his eyes to pop across the barroom until Tim took notice. Facial muscles contorted into a twisting recognition of the private investigator who’d led to his downfall. Once he was sure he had Tim’s attention, Bill winked and flipped him the bird.

  “You fucking arsehole,” Tim bellowed as he stormed around the bar to cut off the group’s egress.

  Jeff - a thin beanpole by comparison - held up his hand to halt the approaching beefcake. “Hey, he’s with us.”

  Tim landed a fist square in Jeff’s face. The bone crunching impact of that punch sent him reeling across a circular table for two, spilling drinks and scattering plates of food. Tim shouted. “If you’re with Rutherford, then none of you are any good.”

  Jeff’s older companions squared up to Tim, whose buddies now rounded the bar ready for a brawl.

  Bill jerked a thumb across his shoulder at the man he knew had the gun concealed in his pocket. “Hey, Tim. This one claimed Alison said you were hopeless in the sack.”

  Tim’s already crimson cheeks darkened to a deeper shade. “Bloody well shut your face, Bill. I’ve waited an age for this. Get em’, lads.”

  Tim launched himself at Bill, who allowed him to knock them both into a rolling heap on the floor. Furious as the few raining blows he allowed to pass would be, they trounced a bullet in the back, hands down.

  One of Tim’s group exchanged knocks with the gun-toting figure. He bested him in a sequence of left-right jabs to the face. The fellow went down with a bloodied and broken nose, unconscious on the floor.