by Lucy Banks
He heard a slap in the darkness and leapt in fright before realising it was Pamela clapping her hands.
“This is excellent,” she exclaimed. The light shone down on her face and made her look unnervingly like a Halloween pumpkin. “I can pick the hag o’ the dribble up strongly! She’s very close.”
“Oh no,” Kester said automatically. Every hair on his body prickled in fright.
“That’s fantastic news!” Miss Wellbeloved said enthusiastically. “If we can capture the spirit today, that’s even better.” She rubbed her hands together, eyes twinkling in the beam of light.
“That’d suit us too.” Mr Smelter seemed completely unfazed by the events, which made Kester feel even sillier by comparison.
A low moan interrupted them, and Kester groaned. I knew it, he thought as he swung his head around, fighting the urge to run blindly in the general direction of the exit. I knew it would all kick off if I joined them. It always does. These spirits save their tormenting just for me.
“What’s the hag going to do?” he whispered, anxiously peering around.
“Don’t worry, mate,” Mike replied, in a reassuringly calm voice. “There’s no reason to be worried.”
“That’s easy for you to say, but it’s—”
“—I’ve picked something up,” Pamela interrupted suddenly. She grasped at the nearest person, which happened to be Kester. Kester shrieked in response, leapt backwards, and collided into Serena, who swore at him loudly.
“Goodness me, what’s going on?” Miss Wellbeloved said crossly, voice raised to make herself heard over the crescendoing moan of the spirit. “Can you all please compose yourselves whilst I try to converse with the spirit?”
“Blame this idiot here,” Serena snarled with a deft poke in Kester’s side.
“I really don’t like this at all,” Kester muttered, then yelped as a pebble struck him on the nose. At once, a shower of tiny stones pelted them all, mostly bouncing harmlessly off their hard-hats and onto the floor.
In the weak light, Kester could see Miss Wellbeloved frowning. “It seems that the spirit is frustrated,” she said and pulled herself straighter. “Hag o’ the dribble, tell me more. What is the problem? Are you lost in here?”
The moaning noise whirled around their heads, bringing with it a fresh fountain of pebbles. Kester clutched onto Mike, not caring what the others might think of him. Mike’s the biggest, toughest person here, he thought, and that’s all that matters right now.
“Good news, everyone,” Miss Wellbeloved said quietly, holding up a hand to deflect the next succession of tiny stones. “The hag o’ the dribble wants to return to the spirit world. She has had enough of being here, but she can’t find her way back. She’s trying to tell me something about a disturbance, some significant spirit activity that’s making her upset, but I don’t understand what she means.”
“That’s interesting.” Pamela’s voice floated through the dark, sounding almost ghostly. “Can you try to find out more? We need to know if there are any serious issues going on.”
“Not that we’d be able to do much about it,” Serena added.
Miss Wellbeloved whispered a few more sentences under her breath, then announced, “She mentioned a daemon, then wouldn’t say anything more. Goodness knows what that’s meant to mean.”
“Well, let’s not worry about that now,” Pamela said. “Let’s get this hag back where she belongs, eh?”
Miss Wellbeloved glanced at Kester, who was now practically under Mike’s armpit. “Kester, is there any chance you can summon a spirit door?”
“None whatsoever,” he squeaked. He burrowed against Mike’s chest as a fresh barrage of gravel hit his hard-hat.
Serena tutted loudly. “Kester, for goodness’ sake, can you stop cowering like a giant baby and at least have a go? It would make life a whole lot easier.”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have to take the spirit all the way to London to drop it off at Infinite Enterprises, would I?” Mike added, gently prising Kester away.
“Yes, but I’m scared!” Kester protested. The others looked at him with expressions of pity, embarrassment, and mild disbelief. “Remember I’ve only been doing this for a few months,” he added weakly.
“You’ll excuse our colleague,” Serena snapped. “He only stopped wetting the bed recently.”
Kester opened his mouth to retort, then promptly snapped it shut as a load of loose gravel hurtled through the air, landing directly on his tongue. Why in my bloody mouth? he thought incredulously as he spat on the floor. “Give me a moment,” he wheezed.
Miss Wellbeloved sighed, tapping her foot on the floor.
Finally recovered, Kester squinted into the darkness. It’s no use, he concluded with a gulp. I can’t even think straight in situations like this, much less concentrate on seeing a spirit door. He hated the pressure of it all, the expectation of the others weighing down on him. For the briefest moment, he thought he saw a glimmer in the air, but it disappeared in an instant. Not that it was probably ever really there at all, he thought glumly. I might as well admit it, I can’t conjure up this spirit door anymore.
“I can’t see anything, sorry,” he muttered, promptly feeling like a failure.
Serena snorted. “Mike, get me the spirit storage unit,” she said, clicking her fingers in his direction.
“You mean the water—”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.” Even though he couldn’t see it in the dark, Kester could well imagine her cross expression.
Mike paused. “What makes you think I’ve got it?”
“Because I saw you put the bottle in your bag! Didn’t you?”
“No. I put in a chocolate bar for later, but not a water bottle.”
Serena snorted. “Are you serious? How are we meant to trap this spirit, then?”
“I thought this was just a preliminary visit! Anyway, since when has it been my responsibility? You’re the one who—”
Pamela cleared her throat. “Luckily for you two, I’ve got my thermos flask in my handbag.”
“Everything alright?” Mr Smelter asked, sounding confused.
Miss Wellbeloved took the opportunity to deliver Mike and Serena one of her iciest glares, grey eyes glowing in the light. “Yes, absolutely fine. Don’t worry, we’ll have this sorted in a jiffy.”
Kester detected a rummaging noise in the darkness, then a low hiss; which he presumed was the sound of whatever liquid had been in Pamela’s thermos hitting the floor.
“At least someone came prepared, eh?” Pamela said with a chuckle and passed it to Serena, who promptly held it aloft and started to chant.
“Funny way to do it,” Mr Smelter commented, as casually as if he’d been discussing the weather. “Still, who needs fancy equipment when something basic will do the job, eh?”
“Yes, that’s what we’ve always thought,” Miss Wellbeloved replied. Mike let out a laugh, then quickly disguised it as a cough.
Only a minute or so later, the moaning ceased. The wall lights flickered back on, bathing the chilly cave in a welcoming glow. Kester massaged his brow. Now the lights were on, he felt even sillier than before. Okay, he conceded, aware that the others were looking at him with a vague blend of irritation and pity, perhaps that wasn’t as frightening as I thought it was going to be.
“If only all spirits were as easy to deal with as that one, eh?” Mike said. He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and gestured to the exit. “Shall we? I believe our work here is done.”
“That was marvellous!” Mr Smelter clapped his hands together, looking suitably impressed. “I can’t believe you dealt with it so quickly. Many thanks. I’ll be sure to give you all free passes to the cave. You’re welcome here whenever you like.”
“I’m sure Kester will be pleased,” Mike said with a nod in his direction. “He can swot up on the history of qua
rrying then. You were getting into it earlier, weren’t you, mate?”
“I found it very interesting indeed,” Kester retorted primly, refusing to be baited.
“Come on, everyone.” Miss Wellbeloved started to follow Mr Smelter back through the network of caverns. “Time to head back.”
It was a relief to emerge out into the open. The scent of cool, damp foliage hit them immediately—a welcome change from the still, suffocating air of the caves. After bidding Mr Smelter farewell and returning their hard-hats, they trooped down the hill to the van. Kester wasn’t sure if it was the shock of emerging out into the open or the worsening weather, but he felt sure the air was even colder than before; there was a crisp tang on the breeze that suggested snow wouldn’t be out of the question.
Mike threw open the van door and bowed to the ladies. “Job well done, I think.”
“I should say so,” said Pamela. “I wouldn’t mind a few more jobs like that, eh?”
Miss Wellbeloved climbed back into the van. “Yes,” she said uncertainly. “Though I’m still concerned about what the hag o’ the dribble said about the spirit disturbance.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Mike replied, sticking the key into the ignition. “You know what some spirits are like, they babble about any old nonsense.”
“Possibly.” Miss Wellbeloved rummaged in her handbag and pulled out her phone. “It was vibrating while we were in the caves,” she said, peering at the screen. “I wonder who was calling me?”
“Perhaps it was Dad?” Kester suggested over the rheumatic roar of the van’s engine.
Miss Wellbeloved pressed the screen, then frowned. “That’s strange,” she said. “It’s a London number.”
“Infinite Enterprises?” Mike suggested as he drove the van back onto the country road.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not them. Whoever it was has left a message. Be quiet for a minute whilst I listen to it.”
They sat, waiting patiently as Miss Wellbeloved pressed the phone to her ear. Her frown deepened. Kester glanced at the others. I wonder who it is? he thought. Whoever it might be, Miss Wellbeloved certainly didn’t look happy to hear from them. Finally, she put the phone down and turned around, biting her lip.
“Well?” Pamela leaned over, nearly crushing Serena in the process. “Who was it, love?”
“Curtis Philpot,” Miss Wellbeloved replied with a curt nod. “An emergency, apparently. I need to call him back as soon as we get back into the office.”
“What sort of bloody emergency?” Mike spluttered, driving against the hedgerow as a car attempted to squeeze past them on the narrow road. “Don’t say it’s something to do with the Scottish fetch. I’m done in with that case.”
“No, it was nothing to do with that,” Miss Wellbeloved said. She looked out of the window with a concerned expression. “I’m worried it’s more serious than that, actually.”
“Like what?” Kester asked with a sense of foreboding. He didn’t like the look on her face. It suggested something awful was going on—something so bad that she couldn’t even bring herself to tell them about it.
Miss Wellbeloved shook her head. “Let me get more information from Curtis Philpot,” she said decisively. “Then we’ll take it from there.”
Kester leant back, frustrated. No sooner do we solve one problem than another one crops up, he thought, feeling rather put out. And by the look on Miss Wellbeloved’s face, this problem wasn’t going to be as easily solved as the hag o’ the dribble.
Chapter 5: The Daemon and the Door
Upon returning to the office, Miss Wellbeloved immediately vanished into the quiet refuge of Ribero’s office to return Curtis Philpot’s call. The others waited fretfully, glancing at each other with growing confusion as the minutes ticked on.
She’s been nearly an hour, Kester thought, eyeing the clock for the tenth time, fingers drumming against the desk. What’s going on?
They attempted to get on with work, though they were unable to stop their gazes from continually flicking to Ribero’s door, expecting Miss Wellbeloved to emerge at any moment. To distract himself, Kester tried to read a few more paragraphs of Spirit Intervention for Beginners, but the words seemed to slide off the page without even coming close to making sense in his brain. The thermos flask containing the hag o’ the dribble sat on Serena’s desk, momentarily forgotten.
Finally, Kester closed the book with a sigh. It was no use. The words might as well have been written in Hebrew as far as he was concerned. “I wonder what they’re talking about?” he asked finally, to no-one in particular.
A flurry of sparks erupted from the pile of knotted wires on Mike’s desk. Mike swore under his breath. “I don’t know, mate,” he said tersely as he pulled his chisel out from the mess. “I’m not a psychic, am I? Ask Pamela.”
Pamela looked up from her computer. “What was that?”
“I told Kester to ask you what Miss Wellbeloved was talking about, as you’re the resident psychic.”
“Ah yes, very funny.” Pamela reclined in her chair, which creaked loudly in protest. “If only it worked like that, eh? Serena, are you going to pop the hag into storage? If you would be so kind as to move it into a water bottle, that’d be appreciated. I’d like my thermos flask back.”
“Can’t I just do it tomorrow?” Serena whined. “I’ll have to release it then get it back into another bottle, which is such a hassle.”
“I’m sure the hag o’ the dribble loved being trapped with the remains of your tea, Pamela,” Mike added. He yanked another wire free, then cursed as a blue flame blazed from the end.
“It was potato and leek soup, actually.”
“Oh, even better. Imagine being cooped up with the smell of leek and potato for hours on end. Poor thing.”
Finally, Ribero’s office door swung open. Miss Wellbeloved came out, wearing an expression of pure exhaustion. She leaned against the door-frame and shook her head in bewilderment.
“You were a long time,” Pamela said, rising from her seat. “What on earth was all that about?”
Miss Wellbeloved pressed her hand to her forehead. “Goodness,” she said faintly. “I don’t even know where to begin. Would someone please make me a cup of tea?”
“Why not make it something stronger?” Mike suggested. He pointed at the clock. “It’s already nearly five o’clock. Let’s head to the pub and chat there.”
“Well, if you’re all happy to do so?” Miss Wellbeloved looked at them all. Everyone nodded, desperate to find out what Curtis Philpot had said.
It’s obviously something major, Kester thought as he flung his coat on. I haven’t seen her looking this harassed in ages. And that’s saying something.
They ventured out into the cold. The city streets were unusually empty, apart from a few homeless people congregated in miserable huddles outside an empty shop. Kester scooped out a few coins and dropped them into a particularly dejected-looking man’s hat. The man grinned and offered Kester a salute in response.
Miss Wellbeloved patted him on the shoulder. “You’re a kind boy, Kester.”
He smiled. “I’ve seen you do the same thing many times.”
“Well,” she said as she leant in closer. “If you can’t be kind to those around you, who can you be kind to, eh?”
He thought about it, then nodded. “And of course, you mean being kind to spirits too.”
“I do. And regardless of what the others might say, I won’t change my view on the matter. Spirits may be very different to us, but they have feelings too—of that, I can assure you.”
Kester thought back to all the spirits he’d encountered so far. They had all been so bewilderingly diverse that he found it hard to form an opinion on the matter. However, he did agree with Miss Wellbeloved that every creature should be given respect, regardless of where they were from or how sinister he might find them
.
The pub was pleasingly deserted as they went in, not to mention deliciously warm. Bill the barman was in his usual position behind the beer taps, reading a newspaper. Apart from the sound of the pages turning, it was completely peaceful.
“Shut that door after you, if you would be so kind,” he said with an affable wink. “It’s bitterly cold out there.”
“There’s going to be snow on Dartmoor, apparently,” Pamela said, looking longingly over the wine list.
“How are things, Bill?” Mike surveyed the draft ales, then pointed at the one closest to him.
“Picking up for the festive season, my good man,” Bill replied. With expert precision, he pulled a pint, removing the head with a flick of his pocket knife. “And yourself?”
“Busy and bonkers,” Mike said.
Bill stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It’ll calm down after Christmas. It always does. What can I get the rest of you?”
The others placed their orders. Mike leant over the bar and nodded deliberately. “We’re actually here to discuss business, you know.”
Bill gave him a knowing look. “Ah yes, and that means you’d like to be left to chat in privacy, right?”
“That would be ever so much appreciated,” Miss Wellbeloved said, sipping at her drink.
“Anything for you,” the barman said. “Though I’d still love to know what you lot all do for a living. It’s all very mysterious.”
“We’re double-agents for the government,” Kester said.
Bill studied them all, then laughed. “Forgive me for saying this, but you’re not exactly James Bond, are you?”
“Oh, I don’t know, love,” Pamela chimed as she picked up her glass of wine. “I was quite a looker in my time, I think I could have given Ursula Undress a run for her money.”
Mike spluttered, spraying ale over the bar. “Undress? Undress? You’re thinking of the wrong sort of film, love!”
“What? What did I say wrong?”
“It’s Andress, you mad woman. I don’t want to think of you undressing, thank you very much.”