Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  ‘Still waiting for the magic lamp.’

  Oscar sighed. ‘Anyway, in the end someone suggested summoning a demon and making a deal with it. Jack knew that demons collect souls, but obviously he didn’t fancy offering his own. However there was a local hero called Fergus who Jack particularly disliked; he was everything Jack wasn’t, and he travelled the area protecting people from supernatural threats.’

  ‘An early Custodian?’

  ‘Something like that. So Jack summoned a demon and offered it a deal: he’d bring Fergus to the demon so that it could take his soul, and in return the demon would make him immortal. They came to an agreement and Jack lured Fergus into the woods where the demon ambushed him and, after a fight, took his soul. Jack demanded that the demon fulfil its side of the bargain, and it did. But not the way he’d hoped.’

  ‘OK, this is where the magic lamp comes in, right?’

  ‘Yes. The demon pulled Jack’s soul out and trapped it in his lantern, allowing it to touch his body only very, very faintly through his hand, which was fused to the lantern’s handle. Fully separating a soul from a body is fatal, of course, so that faint touch was important. It was just enough to keep the body alive while slowing the normal ageing process to a virtual stop.’

  ‘In that case, why’s he got a face like last week’s meat loaf?’

  ‘I said it slowed the ageing process to a virtual stop. It can’t be prevented altogether. After hundreds of years the wear and tear has to show. The body’s efforts are withdrawn into preserving the vital organs, and the less important stuff – epidermis, hair, some soft tissues – gradually degrades. Jack wanted to be immortal, and he is, more-or-less. But he isn’t pretty.’

  ‘Hang on, isn’t that the same thing that Francis Ducrow did?’ Trev asked. Ducrow was an insane Victorian scientist who’d tried to kill him a few months previously. He’d prolonged his lifespan by storing his soul in a complicated apparatus strapped to his back, limiting the contact between it and his body. Like Smith, his skin had deteriorated way past the point where any age-defying miracle cream on the market could salvage it.

  ‘Yes, but Ducrow’s system was more convoluted and less effective. He only gained himself an extra hundred years or so before his body started to pack up on him. Demons can manipulate souls with much more skill than any human.’

  ‘So Smith can just go on indefinitely?’

  Oscar cocked his head. ‘In a way. His body will still degrade, there’s no way of stopping that. It’ll take a long time, but there’ll be a point when movement starts to become difficult. Eventually he’ll be completely immobile. But he still won’t die.’

  ‘The moral of the story is: don’t do deals with demons,’ said Trev with a shiver.

  ‘Solid advice,’ said Granddad, placing a huge plateful of fried food in front of Trev. It was piled high with bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, mushrooms, fried bread and baked beans. The meal could only have been less healthy if it had been laced with strychnine.

  ‘Eating that will knock about two years off your life expectancy, I reckon,’ said Oscar.

  Trev stared at the food, then shrugged. ‘Worth it.’

  ‘Does Smith have any known associates? People he’s worked with before?’ Granddad asked Oscar, taking up the conversation while Trev commenced hostilities with his dinner.

  ‘He’s always been considered a lone wolf type,’ Oscar said. ‘Though whether that’s through choice or just because he’s such unpleasant company, I don’t know. He’s a bit of an enigma.’

  ‘He is an agent of the Shadow,’ said a new voice.

  Trev looked up. There was a woman standing in the doorway, although “standing” was perhaps the wrong word given that no part of her was actually touching the floor.

  ‘Evening, Agatha,’ Trev said, speaking around a mouthful of charred protein.

  ‘Good evening,’ Agatha replied, wrinkling her nose at Trev’s table manners. Her apparent age was late thirties or early forties, which was how she’d looked back in eighteen seventy-nine when she’d fallen off the Brackenford rail bridge along with thirty-seven other people. And a train.

  ‘What were you saying about Jack Smith?’ Granddad said.

  ‘I said that he is an agent of the Shadow,’ Agatha repeated. The ghost floated into the room, her flat-soled shoes hanging a few inches above the floor. She was dressed in typically conservative Victorian attire; a full-length skirt which almost covered her shoes and a high-necked blouse which was buttoned all the way up. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail and secured with a dark blue ribbon. ‘He is capable of nothing but evil.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s capable of being a good guy, he just doesn’t choose to,’ Oscar said. ‘I’ve never come across anyone who was a hundred percent bad or a hundred percent good. People are more complicated than that.’

  ‘One serves the Light, or one serves the Shadow,’ Agatha said. ‘It is no more “complicated than that”.’

  ‘I’m not having this bloody argument again,’ Oscar muttered.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that Smith is with the opposition, so to speak,’ Granddad said, stepping in. ‘The more pressing questions are what he wants with Sarah and whether he’s working alone or on behalf of someone else.’

  Trev put down his fork. ‘I definitely got the impression he was working for someone else. It didn’t seem personal. You know, more like a bloke just doing a job.’

  ‘But he isn’t working for The Eyes of Nona, whoever they are,’ Oscar said. ‘Which means there are at least two factions looking for Sarah and this item she was trying to steal.’

  ‘She still hasn’t called me back,’ Trev said, checking his phone. ‘I feel like we should be doing more to find her. Just waiting around and hoping she’ll call seems a bit, well, passive.’

  ‘I’m going to go and call the Custodians,’ said Granddad. ‘They’ll want to know about Jack Smith turning up. He’s been on the Most Wanted list for a few hundred years now.’

  ‘I hope they do better at catching him than they have with Ezekiel Barker,’ Trev replied, referring to Francis Ducrow’s henchman who had managed to elude a Custodian manhunt for months and was still at large.

  Granddad grimaced but didn’t argue the point. He left the room.

  ‘You should have a little more faith in the Custodians,’ Agatha said.

  ‘Should I?’ said Trev, scooping up some baked beans with a slice of fried bread. ‘They haven’t even found that traitor yet, and he or she bloody works for them. Although I suppose Smith won’t be too hard to find. Bloke walking about with a glowing purple lantern tends to stand out a bit.’

  ‘If it was that easy, he’d have been caught long before now,’ Oscar said.

  ‘He had some kind of disguise, so he looked normal when I first saw him,’ said Trev, chewing thoughtfully. ‘But when he cut loose with the lantern it just… melted away.’

  ‘Psychic projection, most likely,’ said Oscar. ‘Having his soul outside his body means that he can use it as a sort of amplifier. He’s effectively broadcasting an image of his original self that your brain picks up and transposes on top of what you’re really seeing. I suppose he couldn’t maintain that illusion and pummel your soul at the same time, which is why the mask slipped.’

  ‘Would that work on someone who doesn’t have the Sight?’

  ‘I don’t know. Smith’s pretty unique. The only person who knows the full scope of his powers is him.’ Oscar scratched behind his ear. ‘He must have some way of hiding himself from the public, though. As far as I know he hadn’t been spotted for years before this evening.’

  ‘What does he do all day?’ Trev wondered. ‘Your options for recreation must be fairly limited when you’re a hideously-disfigured immortal with a magic lamp stuck to your hand.’

  ‘He has always spread mischief and misery wherever he goes,’ said Agatha. ‘Perhaps it makes his own life more bearable to see others suffer.’

  ‘He’s a charmer, all rig
ht,’ said Oscar. ‘You don’t usually see him, but you do see the results of his actions. If he’s responsible for even half of the crimes attributed to him, he’s one of the nastiest bastards in the supernatural world.’

  ‘And he’s now keeping an eye on me,’ said Trev. ‘Yay. Who the hell told him about me, anyway?’

  ‘Presumably the same people that sent him after Sarah,’ said Oscar. ‘It suggests a level of pre-existing knowledge on their part, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Our old friend, the Custodians’ traitor?’ Trev offered. ‘Though if they had a bloke like Smith at their beck and call, surely they’d have just had him kill me?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Oscar. ‘Or maybe finding Sarah is now more important to the traitor than killing you.’

  Trev finished the last bite of his meal and set down his cutlery. ‘If it is, we need to find out why. I’m already getting the feeling that it’s important somehow.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Oscar. ‘Though until we hear from Sarah we’re just wandering about in the dark.’

  Trev sighed. ‘We’re supposed to be working for the Light. It’d be nice if they threw us a bone now and then. Or is that against the rules?’

  When Trev’s Sight had first shown itself, Granddad had explained to him about what he called “the Eternal War” between the Light and the Shadow. He’d made it sound like a simple good versus evil struggle, but what Trev had seen in the few months since didn’t really match that explanation. As Oscar had said, things were more complicated than that.

  ‘That isn’t how it works.’ Oscar fixed Trev with his mismatched gaze. ‘The Light and the Shadow aren’t a pair of celestial meddlers shuffling their pieces around a board and occasionally intervening in mortal affairs, although that tends to be how you humans see it. Your religions mostly have that good-slash-bad binary split. It’s nice and straightforward, but not that plausible.’

  ‘And what would you find plausible?’ Agatha asked, bristling. As a Victorian she had rather rigid views on the subject.

  ‘I see them as forces, rather than personalities,’ said Oscar. ‘Think of the sea smashing against a cliff. It’s noisy and destructive, and you could say that the sea is “attacking” the cliff. But it’s not thinking about it. It’s not forming sneaky plans to bring the cliff down more quickly. It’s just a natural force acting on another natural force. And that’s how I see the Light and the Shadow: two natural forces. One creates, the other destroys.’

  ‘Piffle,’ said Agatha. ‘That would be like saying the War was being conducted by gravity, or the phases of the moon. Nonsense.’

  Oscar sighed. ‘It’s not really a War, though, is it? It’s not like there are two armies lined up on a battlefield somewhere, with clear objectives, structure and conditions for victory.’

  ‘So you are claiming that there is no good or evil? Merely two conflicting forces?’

  ‘Oh, there’s good and evil all right. But it doesn’t come from a pair of mysterious overseers. It comes from people. Do good stuff and you’re working for the Light. Do bad stuff and you’re working for the Shadow. But they don’t make you do those things. You’re good or bad because you choose to be. No excuses.’

  ‘But if that’s the case, how does the Light win? How do we win?’ asked Trev.

  ‘We don’t, as such,’ said Oscar. ‘We’re basically just working to preserve that balance. Eventually, though, the sun will burn out and this world dies. No stopping that. But elsewhere in the universe, new things are forming, being born. Something is created, something is destroyed. Balance.’

  He jumped down off his chair and stretched. ‘That’s just my take on it, though. Feel free to believe in your own version of reality if it makes you happy. Because let’s face it, we’re all doomed one way or another, so you might as well take what comfort you can.’

  He walked out of the room without looking back. Trev turned to Agatha and shrugged. The ghost was staring after Oscar and didn’t notice his gesture; her expression was troubled.

  ‘Well, that was cheerful,’ Trev muttered, and headed to the fridge for a beer.

  Eight

  Trev stayed overnight in the spare room. A trip back to his flat in the cold and dark, with Smith lurking somewhere out there, hadn’t really appealed. The wind had been rattling the windows, bringing with it more heavy snow. One look outside through the curtains had been enough to convince Trev to take up Granddad’s offer of a bed for the night.

  He awoke tired and irritable. His sleep had been interrupted by nightmares of a purple light pursuing him relentlessly across a blank field of snow that dragged at his legs as he tried to run. Interpreting dreams had never been Trev’s speciality, but he reckoned he had a good idea of what had caused that particular one. The feeling of helplessness stayed with him, adding to his dark mood.

  Having stayed at Granddad’s numerous times before, he’d left a couple of changes of clothes there for emergency use. He put on some worn jeans and a chunky blue jumper and wandered downstairs to hunt for breakfast. Oscar was lying on the landing; it was one of his favourite spots.

  He looked up at Trev as he stumbled down the stairs. ‘Morning.’

  ‘Morning,’ said Trev. He was about to say something else but at that moment his foot slipped and he had to grab the banister to stop himself from falling.

  ‘Steady,’ said Oscar.

  Trev frowned at the kitten. ‘All right, what’s going on?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You. Your pessimistic speech last night was out of character, for one thing. And you just missed the chance to take the piss out of me for slipping. I was expecting you to say “Enjoy your trip?” or something.’

  Oscar sniffed. ‘I hope my material is a bit fresher than that.’

  ‘Not usually,’ said Trev. ‘But you’re being much less annoying than usual. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Oscar. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘If you ask someone what’s wrong and they say “I’m fine”, it means the opposite,’ Trev observed.

  ‘No, what it means is that they don’t want to talk about it,’ said Oscar. ‘Bloody humans. Why do you seem to think that everyone’s problems are public property? Mind your own bloody business.’

  Trev folded his arms and gave Oscar an expectant look.

  ‘Stand there all day if you like,’ the kitten said. ‘You’ll get bored long before I will. Studiously ignoring humans when they want attention is page one of the Cat Manual.’

  ‘What’s on page two?’

  ‘The section on climbing all over humans when they’re trying to concentrate on something else,’ said Oscar. ‘There are sub-sections on getting under someone’s feet while they’re cooking, walking in front of the TV screen at crucial moments, and sitting on computer keyboards.’

  Trev nodded. ‘I can well believe it. So, are you going to tell me what’s bugging you, or not? Maybe I can help.’

  ‘Stop pretending you care. It demeans us both.’

  ‘How can something so cute be so bitter?’

  ‘Don’t call me “cute”. That’s even more demeaning than your faux sympathy.’

  ‘You are though. Look at yourself! You’re adorable.’

  ‘Which is why nobody will consider me a suspect in your imminent murder.’

  ‘All right, I give up,’ said Trev. ‘I’m going to see what’s for breakfast.’

  ‘Probably another fry-up. That’s pretty much the only thing the old geezer can cook.’

  Trev patted his stomach. ‘I hope not. I think it’ll take me a week to digest the one I had last night.’

  He left Oscar on the landing and made his way to the kitchen. Granddad was busy making himself a cup of tea.

  ‘Morning,’ he said. ‘Cuppa?’

  ‘Please,’ said Trev. He rummaged in the cupboard and found some cereal and a bowl. ‘What’s the plan, then?’

  The upshot of Granddad’s call the previous night was that they’d been asked to present themselves at the Custodians’
secondary headquarters in Birmingham and give the details of Trev’s encounter with Jack Smith. There was also the possibility of getting some help tracing Sarah, though Trev wasn’t holding his breath on that score. He checked his phone again. Still nothing.

  ‘We’ll go after you’ve had breakfast,’ said Granddad. ‘I don’t think Feargal was too pleased to have another problem thrown into his lap, but on the other hand I think he’d be very pleased to get Jack Smith behind bars.’

  Feargal Deacon was the Custodians’ Operations Co-ordinator, which made him second in the chain of command behind the Director of Operations, Jeannette Nicklin, who was based in London. Trev had never really hit it off with Deacon, whom he found to be inflexible and somewhat humourless, although he couldn’t deny that the man was a very competent organiser and pretty handy in a fight. Deacon was also one of the few people who knew of the existence of a traitor within the Custodians’ ranks. He’d been conducting a covert investigation aimed at uncovering the traitor’s identity which had met with little success.

  ‘I think they’ll need more than just bars to hold Smith,’ Trev said. He crunched a mouthful of cereal.

  ‘I’ll leave that to Feargal to work out,’ Granddad replied. He brought Trev his cup of tea and sat down at the table with a sigh.

  Trev frowned at the old man. ‘You OK?’

  Granddad gave him a weary smile. He was seventy-eight years old but had always worn his age well; this morning, however, he looked drawn and tired. Trev felt a flash of guilt. He’d been too preoccupied with his tale about Jack Smith the previous night to ask Granddad how he was. He’d barged in, unloaded his problems, been given a free meal and bed for the night, and all without as much as a “How are you?”

  ‘I’m all right,’ Granddad said. ‘It’s just been rather busy around here lately.’