by Lucy Banks
Kester brightened. He liked research, even under pressurised circumstances. It’s much better than being dragged around somewhere sinister looking for spirits, he thought. Miss Wellbeloved caught his eye and smiled faintly, reading his thoughts.
“It’s strange though, isn’t it,” Kester said suddenly. He blushed as everyone looked at him. “I mean, nothing really adds up, does it?”
“Go on?” Cardigan urged him gently.
“Well,” Kester continued. “For starters, breaking into Infinite Enterprises. We all presumed they were trying to get to the spirit door you’ve got there. But there was no evidence to suggest that was the case. Instead, all you found was some disturbed files in the basement.”
“That’s because security is so darned tight around the spirit door,” Larry retorted, his chins wobbling almost entirely of their own accord. “Presumably, Hrschni had a bloody good attempt to break in and found he couldn’t do it.”
“Really?” Kester said incredulously. “Then why go down to the archives and mess around with the papers?”
“Maybe he wanted to let us know he’d been there?” Serena suggested.
Kester shook his head. “I don’t buy it. I think there’s more to it than that. He was looking for something.”
“The whole thing about leaving clues in the song lyrics is most odd too,” Ian added. “Especially as Hrschni seems to have been doing it since the 1970s.”
“Well, that’s no time at all to a daemon, is it?” Higgins snorted. “The damned creatures are virtually immortal.”
“Yes, but still,” Kester interrupted, sitting up in his chair. “Why would he bother? And who are the clues for?”
They all leaned back in their chairs, thoroughly stumped. Kester pushed his fringe out of his eyes and frowned. I know we’re missing something here, he thought earnestly. It’s all in front of us like a jigsaw. The songs. The break-in. Anya’s kidnapping. Barty Melville’s behaviour in Whitby. We just need to start piecing it all together.
“What were you thinking, Kester?” Pamela asked quietly as she touched his arm.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I just think the answer might be glaring us in the face—we just haven’t been able to see it yet.”
“Well,” Cardigan said loudly as he gave them all a significant nod. “Let’s hope we start seeing it very soon. For all our sakes.”
Chapter 15: Exploring the Archives
Dazzling winter sunshine poured through the windows of the Infinite Enterprises reception as Ribero’s team went through the necessary security checks to permit them access to the expansive vaults below.
Kester felt excited in spite of himself. He’d heard a few snippets of information about the archive department at Infinite Enterprises: a vast cave of information, containing every file on every spirit creature, not to mention all the agencies in operation, in the country. Sounds like my sort of place, he thought as the lift doors slid shut, blocking out the last of the sunlight. Just the kind of place I can bury myself in research.
The artificial glow of the fluorescent lamps made the lift feel otherworldly. Pamela yawned loudly just as the lift doors slid open again.
“I must say,” she muttered as they stepped out into the vast, subterranean space, “I couldn’t be less in the mood to rifle through old paperwork if I tried. That breakfast is repeating on me a little bit.”
“Lovely,” Mike said, prodding her side. “Are we going to have to endure your stomach gurgling all morning? Mind you,” he added with a gentle pat to his own stomach, “I think four sausages at breakfast was a bit much, even for me.”
Kester gazed around with amazement. It’s like an endless warehouse down here! he thought as he took in the long desks with people hunched over laptops, the eerie blue glow of the lights, and the rows of shelves disappearing into the distance. How far does it go on? It must stretch right under the whole street!
Ribero leant his crutches against the nearest table. “So,” he said, casually slipping his hands into his pockets. “Where are we supposed to start? I presumed someone would be down here to help us, no?”
A rattling noise caught their attention, and they all looked over to see a thin, pale young man with huge bottle-top glasses scurrying in their direction. He was clutching a file to his chest like a drowning man clasping a life-ring.
“Hello, everyone,” he said, left eye twitching uncontrollably. “I’ve been asked to show you around this morning, though quite why they picked me, I have no idea, it’s really not something I’m very good at and—”
“—Ah, so you are one of the boffins who works down here, right?” Ribero guessed, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Can you can tell us where all the files are?”
The young man shook his head. “Actually, I don’t work in the archives,” he mumbled and shifted his collar uncomfortably. “I’m normally on surveillance, and I’m due to head out in a moment—but Cardigan and Lili asked me if I would be able to show you the—”
“—You’re Tinker, aren’t you?” Kester interrupted. He remembered Ian Kingdom-Green making some comment about moles, and with Tinker now in front of him, he fully understood why. Tinker’s round, thick glasses and twitchy, panicky demeanour was very much like a little animal more used to living underground than interacting with others.
Tinker pushed his glasses up his nose and peered earnestly in Kester’s direction. “Yes, that’s correct,” he murmured. “And you’re Kester, Dr Ribero’s son. I saw you the other week, in Whitby, when we were—”
“Did you?” Kester said. “I didn’t see you.”
The other man blushed so violently that his hollow cheeks seemed to glow. “Ah, yes. Well, I was in one of the neighbouring buildings, undertaking a surveillance of the Whitby Thelemite lodge, and I watched you walking down the street towards our van, so I—”
Mike slapped Tinker on the back so hard that his glasses jolted to one side, leaving him looking mildly dazed. “That’s a bit creepy, if you don’t mind me saying,” he said jovially. “You shouldn’t be spying on people, you know.”
“Oh, I must assure you, I wasn’t—”
“—It’s alright, as long as you’re not using your surveillance equipment to peer in on ladies when they’re taking a shower,” Mike guffawed. The noise echoed loudly before petering off into silence. Tinker squirmed.
“Anyway,” Miss Wellbeloved said with a stern glance in Mike’s direction. “If you could show us where we need to be, Tinker, that would be most kind.”
He smiled, then blushed even more deeply. “Of course, if would be my absolute honour, not to mention privilege, to—”
“—Yes, yes, just show us, eh?” Ribero interrupted. He caught Kester’s eye, then smiled apologetically. “Well, we have to get on with things, don’t we?”
“Just ignore my dad,” Kester said comfortingly as he spotted Tinker’s crestfallen face. “He’s a grumpy old man—he can’t help it.”
They followed the young man past shelf after shelf of towering files and folders. There were plenty of other workers down there, either reaching for books on shelves or tapping away at their keyboards. For the most part, they completely ignored the team’s presence.
Kester stared, open-mouthed, at their surroundings. He felt more enthusiastic than he had in a long while. I could spend years reading through all this material, he thought, itching to get started. I wonder if they’ve got any jobs going down here?
Finally, Tinker halted in front of a large table, an impressive piece of furniture constructed of concrete and polished metal. A huge pile of folders lay in the middle, and there were three spare laptops positioned neatly beside it, fully charged and humming gently.
“Um, so this is pretty much everything you should need today,” Tinker began with another nervous cough. “These are all the main files we have on the Thelemites, and of course, anything else you need, you ca
n look up its whereabouts on the system. If you need to ask any questions, just ask any of the people down here, I’m sure they’ll help you.”
Ribero grunted. “They all look like big nerds to me.”
“Shut up,” Kester hissed. He looked up and nodded. “Thank you very much, Tinker—you’ve been really helpful. Are you off to assist with the surveillance now?”
Tinker nodded. “Yes, I just need to collect my camera from the equipment department.” He pointed in the other direction. “It’s all the way down there, so I’ll have to persuade one of the maintenance guys to give me a lift on their buggy and—”
“—Woah,” Mike interrupted as he peered in the direction of Tinker’s finger. “You mean, it’s so big down here that you need a vehicle to get from one end to the other?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mean that, Mike,” Serena corrected.
“Well, that’s pretty much what I do mean, actually,” Tinker said, then looked panicked when Serena narrowed her eyes at him. “Otherwise it takes a very long time to walk, you see. I once timed it, and it took exactly twenty-four minutes and thirty-three seconds to walk at a fast pace from—”
“—Thank you ever so much for your help,” Miss Wellbeloved said with a hint of a smile at the others. She gestured over her shoulder. “I presume that’s one of the buggies over there, isn’t it?”
Tinker peered over, then beamed. “So it is! What a good bit of luck that is, otherwise I would have had to set aside twenty-four minutes and—”
“—Better hurry up, he’s heading off,” Mike said with a jerk of his head. Tinker gasped, grabbed his bag, then leapt off in the direction of the buggy.
“I thought he would never be silent,” Ribero muttered as he waved his hand towards the ceiling. “He was an even worse talker than you, Pamela.”
“Thank you very much!” Pamela squawked, then clutched her stomach. “Oh dear. I do hope it’s not twenty-four minutes and thirty-three seconds to the toilet, I’m feeling quite urgent . . .”
Miss Wellbeloved rolled her eyes. “Why didn’t you go before we came here?”
“I didn’t need to go then, did I?”
“Hurry up and go then,” Ribero spluttered, eyes wide with righteous indignation. “Women and their toilet habits. I will never understand them.”
Pamela gratefully bustled off, clutching her stomach. They watched her go, then they turned to the mountain of files in front of them with a mixture of dismay, depression, and, in Kester’s case, unbridled excitement.
“I suppose we’d better make a start then,” Serena said moodily as she reached for the uppermost folder. The rest followed suit.
Kester selected a particularly ancient-looking book, which was nearly as wide as he was. Thumping it down in front of him, it released a pleasingly musty cloud of dust, which then proceeded to settle cross the surface of the desk. He opened it and began to read.
“The Thelemites: A Hidden History,” he said aloud, then peered at the others over his glasses. “That sounds interesting, doesn’t it?”
“If you say so,” Mike grumbled. He already looked bored.
“Written by Aloysius Peverall. What a wonderful name!” Kester exclaimed. “First edition, printed 1875. A Victorian writer, how marvellous. Victorian writers are always so creative with their words.”
“Kester, will you shut up?” Serena snapped. “I can’t concentrate with you wittering on in my earhole.”
He pursed his lips together and carried on reading. In typical nineteenth century fashion, the book was filled with lengthy sentences, not to mention considerable waffle, but it didn’t matter to Kester—he was in his element. He ploughed through the pages, jotting down occasional notes; he wasn’t convinced that he’d found anything useful, though.
After half an hour, Pamela finally returned, wearing an expression that was both sheepish and disgruntled.
“Where have you been?” Miss Wellbeloved asked as she glanced up from her folder. “You’ve been gone a very long time!”
“I couldn’t find a toilet,” Pamela whispered as she slid into the nearest available seat. “Oh, it was ever so embarrassing.”
“Dear Lord, don’t tell me you’ve soiled yourself,” Serena said, wrinkling her nose.
“No, I have not! The cheek of it!”
“Why was it embarrassing, then?” Mike asked, then leant back in his chair, clearly glad of the break.
Pamela reddened. “I managed to find the gents’ toilets, but not the ladies’.”
“Why’s that such a big deal? I’ve had to sneak into the ladies’ toilets plenty of times,” Mike replied with a lurid wink in Serena’s direction.
“Because Curtis Philpot was in there too!”
Ribero whistled. Miss Wellbeloved shook her head in disbelief. Mike roared with laughter.
“Don’t tell me—he was waiting to use the toilet too and heard everything?”
Pamela’s face turned the same shade as an overripe tomato. “Yes. You should have seen the look on his face when I came out. It was awful.”
“What did you say?” Serena asked.
Pamela held her head in her hands as though reluctant to relive the event. “I didn’t know what to say, did I? I mean, there was me, in the men’s toilets, with a very upset stomach . . .”
Mike laughed even harder. “Go on.”
“I just told him that he might want to leave it a few minutes before using it.”
The entire team burst into giggles.
“That’s such a blokeish thing to say,” Serena said as she wiped her eyes. “Oh, Pamela. That’s dreadful. But hilarious.”
“Yes, alright, well, let’s forget about it now,” Pamela replied stiffly, rearranging her blouse. “I shall never be able to look him in the eye again.”
Kester chuckled, gave Pamela a comforting pat on the arm, then returned to the book. It was proving to be a fascinating read. Aloysius Peverall, whoever he might have been, had clearly researched the Thelemites thoroughly. Kester relaxed back into the pages, allowing the words to wash around him, soothing his spirits and calming his emotions. Who needs a therapist when you’ve got an author to help you instead? he thought dreamily as he turned to the next chapter.
An hour slipped away. They continued to read, silent apart from the occasional scratch of pen against paper as they took notes. Kester finished the page he was on, then raised a finger.
“I’ve just read something quite interesting,” he announced, more loudly than he’d intended. The others looked up at him immediately, each fighting to snap themselves back into reality again.
Kester waited until they were ready, then prodded the page with great deliberation. “This whole chapter,” he began, “is very curious. Apparently, the Thelemites we attempting to open an illegal spirit door in a secret location. Or that’s what they were accused of, anyway.”
“Really?” Serena said, with a raised eyebrow. “How come we’ve not heard of it before, then?”
Kester inhaled deeply. “Well, I suppose because it was never proven. Shall I fill you in on what it says?”
“If you think it is important, then yes, you must!” Ribero exclaimed as he shut his own book with a loud bang.
“It says,” Kester began, clearing his throat and flicking back to find the relevant page, “that in the eighteenth century, certain members of the Honourable Infinite Spirit Organisation—”
“—Also known as Infinite Enterprises, before they had to change their name,” Miss Wellbeloved added.
“—had grown suspicious about the Thelemites’ activities.” He scratched his head, then flicked forward to the next page. “Hang on, let me find it. Yes, here it is. ‘The gentlemen in question declared that they had unveiled evidence, which pointed most assuredly to—’”
“Just translate it for me, mate,” Mike begged. “I don’t speak gobbledy
-gook.”
“That’s debateable,” Serena muttered.
“Okay.” Kester squinted down at the book. “Basically, it says that a group of people from Infinite Enterprises accused the Thelemites of trying to open a door to the spirit world. However, when pressed, they couldn’t provide much evidence, and said their lives would be in danger if they revealed what they knew.”
“Well, that’s not much use, is it?” Pamela huffed.
Kester went on. “All they would say was that the Thelemites had a secret lodge . . . somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere where no-one would think of looking. And that’s where they were planning to create an illegal spirit door.” He looked up. “Typical. It had to be somewhere dark, didn’t it? Just to make it scarier.”
“What happened next?” Serena asked. “Did anyone take them seriously?”
Kester scanned the page. “It says here that their accusations were widely disregarded. The Thelemites protested their innocence and the Honourable Infinite Spirit Organisation—”
“—Infinite Enterprises, let’s not give them an even more pompous name that they’ve got already,” Mike growled, then peered hastily over his shoulder to check none of the archives workers had heard him.
“Alright, you’ve made me lose my place now,” Kester said. “Here we are. The accusers had to apologise to the Thelemites, though one person refused, remaining convinced that his suspicions were correct. His name was Ethelred Bunting.”
“Now that’s a name,” Pamela said approvingly.
“What happened to this Ethelred, then?” Ribero asked, leaning across his book like a languishing leopard. “He got into trouble, right?”
“Even worse,” Kester replied with a click of his fingers. “He disappeared.”
The others sat up straighter at the news. “That’s a bit mysterious,” Miss Wellbeloved said. “What else does the author say about it?”
“He comes up with a few theories about where Ethelred went to. The most popular idea was that he’d fled abroad.” Kester slouched backwards and rapped his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder,” he began, “if I look him up on the system, whether anything would come up?”