I risked taking a hand from my pocket so I could slap myself on the forehead. ‘Welcome to Melbourne, the city of intimate and characterful bars.’
Rani’s smile was appropriately wintry. ‘I thought I’d read something about that.’
Near the apartments, we had a choice of three bars. We settled on Wimsey’s, which had a 1930s murder-mystery vibe going on, suiting Rani’s headwear well enough. I didn’t really care, because warm beats freezing to death, especially since just as we found the place, rain began to bucket down.
Rani had a wistful glance at the wine list, but in the end we both ordered coffee, being on duty and all. Maybe Rani could afford it, but I knew that I wanted to be at my sharpest if we were going to have any encounters with anyone or anything this evening.
We didn’t have any competition for a window table. A few other couples had found their way to the bar, some of them in pretty authentic 1930s outfits, but they gravitated to the gloomier inner reaches of the place.
Rani and I talked. At first it was all professional. We pawed over the printouts that Bec had provided: info about Stacey Evans’s possible revenge targets, and some more stuff about the background of the Evanses that had the effect of making me sorry for a potential serial killer, which was quite an achievement.
What she’d been through.
Rani told some hair-raising tales about her training, and she made it sound like a combination of boot camp and torture chamber. She then revealed an appreciation of London’s museums, from the grand halls of the British Museum to the more homely Garden Museum on the other side of the Thames. ‘Who did you go museuming with?’ I asked her after she lingered describing the Portrait Gallery. ‘Company buddies?’
She looked startled. ‘Myself. I went by myself.’
‘That can be best. No interruptions.’
‘I suppose so.’
She faltered then, I told her some more about Dad and his troubles with not having the family gift. I described Mum and what I could remember about her. That, of course, led to telling Rani about Carl. Then I got on to Aunt Tanja again, and Rani was really interested. Not that she was uninterested in the rest of the family stuff, it was just that she now had this connection, knowing Kommander Krazy as she did. She admitted, though, that she couldn’t imagine her as young and in love.
‘And hot,’ I reminded her. ‘Hard to imagine that.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Rani said. ‘You haven’t seen her stripped down and sweating after a fencing session.’
‘No. No, that’s true. No I haven’t. Not planning to, either.’
You hear about soldiers, in wartime, in the trenches and foxholes, sharing intimate details of their lives because death is just around the corner. I don’t think it was like that for Rani and me, not totally. We’d been through a lot in a few days, and that broke down barriers.
‘I want to be a guardian,’ she said solemnly after I told her the joke about the shoemaker and the optometrist. ‘A sentinel for humanity against the dangers of the ghost world, and I don’t care if it sounds pretentious.’
‘Doesn’t sound pretentious to me.’ I toyed with my coffee spoon. ‘It sounds like one of those things worth doing.’
‘But I’m over the “don’t ask questions, just follow orders” expectation.’
‘Okay.’
‘And this is where you can help. I want to understand ghosts, not just destroy them.’
‘I support that.’
‘Where do they come from?’ she asked, as if she hadn’t heard me. ‘What are their motives? Can we truly determine their origins? Oh, there’s so much we don’t know.’
‘Hidden, lost or never discovered. We should be in a better state of understanding than we are.’
She stared into her empty coffee cup for a while. ‘Where did you go for your summer holidays?’
I dropped the coffee spoon. It bounced off the saucer and fell in my lap. ‘That’s a conversational tangent if I ever heard one.’
‘I’m curious.’
‘The beach. Different beaches, different summers.’
‘You remember your brother there?’
‘He was only little. He loved seagulls.’
‘Tell me more.’
So I told her the story that Dad loved telling me, about the car trip we took to the Sunshine Coast. She laughed so much at the famous breakdown outside Albury that I had to grab napkins from another booth for her tears.
‘I want to share something special,’ she said after she’d composed herself. She didn’t take sugar, but she’d spilled a packet on the dark wood of the table in front of her. She was using her coffee spoon to make trails and hills in it as she talked. ‘Something that Commander Gatehouse told me before you arrived yesterday.’
I sat up straight. ‘Are you sure?’
She rubbed the side of her nose. ‘She told me that it was one of the Trespasser cliques that killed my parents.’
‘These same Trespassers who are congregating on Melbourne?’
‘She wasn’t sure.’
‘So it’s a possibility that the people responsible for the death of your parents are coming here, right now?’
‘The organisation responsible, maybe. The actual killers? I don’t know.’
‘Let me take a guess – you don’t feel terribly kindly towards them?’
‘These Trespassers, by and large, are dangerous, bloodthirsty and callous, which is good enough reason to oppose them.’
‘But you have an extra reason.’
‘I do.’
She flattened out the sugar, erasing all the lines she’d made, and then she drew a spiral in it, starting at the middle and working outwards.
A good sign.
She glanced through the window, then looked harder. ‘We have movement.’
‘At the station?’
‘What?’
‘Australian reference. I’ll explain later.’
I paid the bill and we hurried out into cold that slashed at us. The row of shops and cafés opened out onto the waterfront so Rani held me up at the corner, a souvenir shop that was having a sale on both opals and pearls. ‘This is strange,’ she breathed while peering around a concrete pillar. ‘Five people, all armed, black coats that nearly touch the ground, flat hats with wide brims.’
‘Doesn’t sound like Stacey Evans. What are they doing?’
‘They’re standing with their backs to the water, and they’re looking at the same apartment block we’re interested in.’
I joined her. The five figures were black and bulky, but the wind that whipped a few stray pieces of paper along the walkways didn’t affect their coats at all. It was as if they were carved out of one piece of dull black material.
Water dripped from their hats and their hands and was pooling around their feet, which looked far too narrow and long for such blocky guys. ‘You’re thinking Trespassers, aren’t you?’
‘I hope not, but I fear so.’
‘They’re armed, you say? Guns?’
‘Possibly, but from the way they’re holding themselves I think it’s more likely to be bladed weapons like mine.’
‘What is it with you violent ghost-fighting types and swords? What’s wrong with a nice handy Uzi?’
‘Apart from the dangers to bystanders, you mean?’
‘Good point, but bad guys don’t usually care about stuff like that.’
‘Guns don’t work on ghosts. Bullets move too fast to interact with ghostly substance. Something slower, like a good blade, is just right.’
I’d never call Rani’s blade action slow, but everything’s relative, I guess. ‘You learn something every day. So we watch the watchers?’
‘Until they move. Now, tell me, where should we position ourselves? Where could their reinforcements come from? What can we use for cover?’
‘Um.’
‘Too late. They’re not watchers anymore.’ They’d started to move along the promenade in a bustling, urgent way that reminded me of rats o
ff to spread some bubonic plague. They rolled along, up a side street and stopped at a large roller door. A loading bay? Rubbish bin drop-off? They clustered around it and, within seconds, it was opening. They disappeared inside.
Rani set off after them. I followed, squinting against the wind. Call me the one-man back-up team.
Rani was unbuttoning her coat as she ran, which signalled that things could get a bit slashy in the near future. I caught up with her at the entrance of the apartment building. ‘Yes, it’s complicated,’ she said as she drew her sword. She grabbed my arm with her other hand. ‘I know I’m conflicted, I know that I’m being pulled in different directions, and I know that what I do over the next few days could determine the course of my life, but let’s not worry about that right now. I’m about to launch into doing something that I’ve been trained for, that I’m actually very, very good at. For now, that’s enough.’
Then she was off and I ran after her.
The loading bay was a cold, flat, concrete holding area lit by some big LEDs that were struggling to illuminate the storage bins, the rubbish skips, the empty shelves and racks. When LEDs struggle, I find that the light goes slightly fuzzy, making everything look soft, including the dripping Trespassers who, as one, swivelled when Rani and I entered.
The Trespassers, with almost identical moon-like faces and swords drawn, had cornered a dark-haired, wild-eyed woman who just happened to be standing behind a tall and frothing Rogue, up on the loading platform, in front of a locked door that must lead into the apartment building proper.
The newcomer bad guys had bumped into Stacey Evans, who was also up to no good, and it was a whacky time in the old town tonight. So embarrassing.
Without a word, two of the Trespassers broke off and confronted Rani. The other three closed on Stacey Evans and her ghostly charge.
That’s when it started getting hectic. Rani moved like a cat, and soon the two Trespassers were wondering why they hadn’t phoned for reinforcements before they jumped in.
And speaking of reinforcements, even though none of the combatants were shouting, the sound of blade on blade and the painful howling from Stacey Evans’s Rogue was bound to get someone calling the police. I figured we had about ten minutes, tops, before the civilian authorities turned up, and that was something I’m sure everyone wanted to avoid.
So, remembering that I should always consider optimal deployment of forces, I sidled up to the recycling bins and starting lobbing bottles at the bad guys.
I don’t know much about sword fighting, fencing or hand-to-hand combat in general, but I do have a good arm. I can throw long, hard and accurate. I don’t care how committed you are to your Dark Overlord, having a bottle conk you on the forehead is going to ruin your day just a little. I was hoping for distraction, at least, or even disablement. And with the range of ammunition I had, the latter was a possibility. The people who lived here knew a thing about drinking from the top shelf and, let me tell you, a genuine French champagne bottle was heavy enough to do some real damage.
I threw bottles, alternating head shots with body shots, while Rani closed on them.
I couldn’t help it. I broke the silence of the battle. ‘Booyah! He shoots, he scores!’ I crowed when a Taittinger bottle cracked one of Rani’s assailants on the side of the head. He staggered, and Rani slid forward and bodychecked him into the concrete wall. He didn’t get up.
She rounded on the other guy in time to meet his blade with hers. They grappled long enough for me to find a nice heavy Mumm bottle. I took it by the neck and pinged the guy right in the middle of the back. He grunted and folded. ‘It’s a sausage roll!’ I danced around, punching the air, while Rani thumped him on the back of the head with the hilt of her sword.
Down and out.
Okay, so maybe I’d got carried away. Up on the loading platform, it was like a kids’ party. A violent kids’ party, maybe, but not much more so than some I’ve been to. It’s that red cordial. Or the weapons, one or the other.
Stacey Evans had disappeared, but the Rogue was still there. He was strikingly tall and thin, with a huge armspan, dressed in funeral black, with hair like a silver skullcap. The three bad guys surrounded him, forcing him to turn in circles, snarling, darting forward only to be driven back by their weapons.
The Rogue wasn’t happy about this situation. I mean, I know that Rogues aren’t happy about anything, but this clever arrangement by the bad guys was making him wild. He howled and slashed with ragged fingernails, and when he twisted he went around so hard he nearly turned into a corkscrew.
A quick head gesture from one of the bad guys and the other two stepped closer to the Rogue and engaged him twice as hard, blades doing the old snicker-snack, vorpal style. The third bad guy, the head nodder, sheathed his sword and – I swear – pulled a big old hessian bag out from under his coat.
With a well-practised movement, while the Rogue was roaring at the other two guys, he stepped forward, and bagged the ghost.
So it was ‘I don’t believe what I’m seeing’ time, because as soon as the bag went down over the Rogue’s head and shoulders, the ghost started to shrink. When the bad guy dragged the bag down to floor level, twisted, and scooped it up, he was holding nothing larger than a small, struggling puppy inside.
Job done, they turned to us. I was hoping for one of them to make an offer, say, ‘Our quarrel is not with you’, but the bag guy slung the sack over his shoulder like a bizarro Santa while the other two jumped off the platform and menaced us in silence.
That was uncanny, and more than a little bit unsettling. Some boasting, some taunting, some sort of villainous cackling would have been almost comforting, given the circumstances, but this deadly silent attacking was chilling.
These guys must have been keeping an eye on us while they were bagging Mr Rogue. One went for Rani and the other went for me.
Aiee.
Turning and running was a definite option. These long legs, once they get going, can cover the ground – but that would mean leaving Rani.
I sconed my guy with a Jim Beam bottle (a bogan must have been visiting the apartments) and missed the other guy with another Mumm bottle. He was fast, and things were getting serious when a bunch of vehicles squealed to a stop outside and I was trapped in a good news/bad news joke. The good news was that the police would stop the bad guy from chopping me up with a sword, but the bad news was that I’d have involved the civil authorities in a ghost-world matter and, oh, my friend was carrying a really offensive weapon too.
And I’d probably get charged with littering. So much broken glass.
The sword-wielding bad guy stopped about five metres away from me. He didn’t lower his weapon, though. He smiled, despite me brandishing a bottle in either hand.
I risked a glance over my shoulder and that’s when I knew I wasn’t in a good news/bad news story, I was in a bad news/bad news story.
The police hadn’t responded fast enough. A couple of dozen more identically clad Trespassers were pouring into the loading bay.
CHAPTER 19
The Trespassers drove tow trucks and vans and were very polite. For kidnappers, that is – kidnappers who went around bagging up dangerous ghosts for who knew what.
Rani and I were tossed in the back of a white van that was towed by one of the trucks. They apologised as they threw us, but it didn’t stop them throwing.
‘You know more about these guys than I do,’ I said to Rani after I tried the doors. Locked. The van smelled of sawdust and grease. ‘Who are they?’
‘I knew I should have brought my Spotter’s Guide to Trespassers.’ She kicked the wall of the van. ‘At a guess, they could be the Keepers of the Mysteries, or the Vitalarians, or any of a dozen others. These fellows do seem a little more organised than most, though, which is unfortunate for us.’
‘Mm. The sort of unfortunate that could end up with us in mind-numbing danger, but I suppose you can’t have everything.’
They’d taken my backpack and phon
e, and they examined my pendant for some time before, surprisingly, giving it back. They’d taken Rani’s sword, the dagger she kept at the small of her back, and her phone. They let her keep her bracelet, though.
‘Did you see what they did to that Rogue?’ I asked. Better to talk than to brood. ‘What’s that about?’
‘I saw.’ She made a fist and thumped the wall of the van. ‘Some of these groups don’t want to destroy ghosts. They use them for their own awful purposes.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe they’re like Japanese whalers, just hunting those pesky ghosts so they can study them. Scientific ghost hunting instead of scientific whale hunting.’
‘And you know that most of the whale meat from those scientific tests ends up being eaten in restaurants, don’t you?’
I had a vision of these bad guys tucking into a nice plate of ghost stew and I couldn’t unthink it fast enough.
We were driven around for a while. Even though I tried to listen, to get some sense of where we were going, all I heard were generic city noises – traffic, clicketty pedestrian-crossing sounds, snatches of music from who knew where.
Just before we pulled up, I did feel us head downwards at quite a slope. The big truck engine shut off, signalling that we had arrived. The doors were flung open.
‘Out, out, out,’ one of the Trespassers ordered. He had a pistol, which suggested that we comply.
‘Please,’ he added, and then – amazingly – did a quick look around, like a naughty schoolkid hoping that no one had noticed his lack of courtesy.
Rani and I climbed out, and we were surrounded by Trespassers in a standard-issue underground garage, empty apart from the concrete pillars that held up the roof. They stared at us without hostility, and with open curiosity on their bland faces. Gun Boy waggled the pistol. ‘This way. The elevator. Please.’
It was clear that English wasn’t his first language. He was correct enough, but staccato, as if he had to think each sentence through in his own language before saying it. His accent was North Asianish. Mandarin or Japanese or Korean, maybe, with an extra touch of -ish. Lots of muscles, big shoulders, thick neck. The others were a mix of builds and heights. Even their skin colours were an assortment, ranging from deep brown through dark brown and into a paler mixture of brown and pink.
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