Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  Granddad gasped. ‘I’ve just remembered something. The journal entry that Jane and I found, the one that mentioned The Eyes of Nona. The author mentioned being employed to find a small brass wheel, didn’t he?’

  ‘I think you’re right,’ Trev breathed. ‘Bloody hell. So that could mean that they’ve been looking for Grindhelm’s Key since, what, the eighteenth century?’

  ‘Perhaps longer, for all we know.’

  ‘Granddad,’ Trev said, ‘do you get the feeling that there’s a lot of shit going on in the background here that we know absolutely bugger-all about?’

  ‘I agree with the sentiment, though I probably wouldn’t have expressed it in those terms.’

  ‘And do you also get the feeling that the aforementioned lack of knowledge is going to bite us pretty badly on the arse sometime very soon?’

  ‘Regrettably, yes.’

  ‘Right. So it’s not just me being paranoid, then.’

  ‘It doesn’t look like it.’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘I have to talk to the Custodians,’ said Granddad. ‘I think it’ll be a good idea for you to come with me when I go up to Birmingham tonight.’

  Trev mentally waved goodbye to his hopes for a quiet, relaxing evening followed by a good night’s sleep.

  ‘I was worried you were going to say that.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up from work, shall I?’

  ‘OK, fine. I’ll see you then.’

  ‘Good. I have to make some more calls. Bye for now.’

  ‘Bye.’

  Trev ended the call and looked down at his sandwich. His appetite had deserted him all of a sudden. He swore and threw the thing in the bin.

  Twenty-One

  Granddad arrived on time, as usual. Trev’s afternoon had been much less productive than his morning. Before lunch he’d been able to compartmentalise his non-work-related thoughts. After lunch, however, they’d filled his brain like angry wasps looking for a picnic to ruin. As he’d said to Granddad, he was stuck with the uneasy feeling of significant events taking place somewhere out of sight. Things long hidden, and plans long made, were beginning to be revealed, and all Trev could see were the shadows they cast. This was made all the more frightening by the fact that, somehow, he was deeply involved.

  It wasn’t an arrogant thought. Trev wished quite fervently that it wasn’t true. But it was clear to him now. The traitor in the Custodians; Dorothy Walcott’s warnings and predictions; and now the re-appearance of Grindhelm’s Key, in the possession of Ezekiel Barker no less. And in the middle of it all, one Trev Irwin, as clueless as a man wandering across a battlefield just as the two opposing armies sounded the charge. He was going to end up dead, and he’d probably never have any idea why.

  He went to the staff room to dump his mug in the sink and grab his coat. Helen was in there, rummaging in the fridge.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said.

  Helen closed the fridge and straightened up. ‘I hope so,’ she said. ‘I haven’t had the chance to speak to you today, but you look very tired. I hoped your long weekend would give you the chance to get some rest.’

  ‘Just a bit of insomnia,’ Trev said, conscious that Granddad was waiting outside. ‘It’ll pass. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘All right, have a good evening.’ Helen gave him an appraising look but didn’t push the conversation any further. I’m pretty sure she thinks I have a drug habit, Trev thought. In some ways I wish it were something that simple.

  He left the office and slumped into the passenger seat of Granddad’s car.

  ‘Evening,’ he said.

  ‘Good evening,’ Granddad replied. He pulled away from the kerb and set them on their way. ‘How was work?’

  ‘Fine, until lunchtime,’ said Trev. ‘What’s the latest?’

  ‘If the cat wasn’t among the pigeons before, it certainly is now,’ said Granddad.

  ‘That saying just reinforces a negative stereotype about cats,’ said Oscar, strolling along the centre console before settling himself into a cup holder.

  ‘Oh good, the gang’s all here,’ said Trev. ‘Anyone else?’

  ‘I am also present,’ said another voice. Trev looked back to see Agatha perched primly on the rear seat.

  Trev raised his eyebrows. ‘Blimey, all we need is Scooby and Shaggy and we really would have the whole gang.’

  ‘I asked Agatha to come with us because she has previous experience of the Key and its abilities,’ Granddad explained.

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Trev. ‘Anything I need to know before we get to Birmingham?’

  Granddad frowned. ‘I don’t think so, why?’

  ‘Because I’m going to take the chance to grab a nap,’ Trev replied. ‘I’m absolutely spannered.’

  On arrival they were shown straight to Feargal Deacon’s office. Trev had managed to grab forty winks in the car but it hadn’t done him much good. Not only did he still feel like he hadn’t slept for a week, he now also had a crick in his neck from the car seat. Life just kept on getting better.

  Deacon wasn’t the happiest of bunnies either. He was unusually agitated, fidgeting behind his desk. Trev and Granddad seated themselves, with Oscar sprawled on Granddad’s lap and Agatha standing alongside them.

  ‘Thank you for coming,’ said Deacon. He drummed his fingers on a sheaf of printed pages. ‘I had Jane dig out the original reports on the Brackenford bridge disaster and this “Key”. Agatha, would you run through what happened?’

  Agatha nodded. To Trev’s eye she seemed a little ill at ease, but she went through the story concisely and without hesitation. Despite his tiredness Trev listened closely. It was possible there was some insight or clue he’d missed the first time he heard it. The Key and the Cycle; he was beginning to think that those two things were the hub around which all the other events revolved. If he could get hold of the Key, and get rid of it, destroy it somehow, would all the other stuff just fade away?

  Agatha finished her tale, relating the destruction of the bridge, her own death, and her return as a ghost. Deacon had been quiet throughout, confounding Trev’s expectation that he would bombard her with questions.

  Deacon leaned forwards. ‘So, we know the Key can open portals into at least two other planes of existence,’ he said, ‘and both are dangerous. And the fact two clandestine groups are trying to get hold of the thing is further evidence that we need to get to it first.’

  ‘Agatha,’ said Trev, ‘did Ewart give any clue about this “Cycle” he wanted to break? It’s a guess, but I reckon that someone out there wants to continue his work.’

  ‘He did not,’ Agatha replied. ‘All he said was that he intended to “free” us. What he meant by that was not elaborated.’

  ‘Did the Custodians conduct an investigation at the time?’ Trev asked Deacon.

  ‘They did.’ Deacon riffled the stack of pages on his desk. ‘A fairly extensive one, considering the limitations they were working under. One of the Custodians working in Brackenford, Henry Dimmock, seems to have been obsessed with the disaster.’

  ‘Oh, he was.’ Granddad shifted in his chair. ‘Old Henry worked with my great-grandfather, Garrett Simms. I’ve read quite a lot of his papers. Henry was meticulous with his reports, wrote almost everything down.’

  ‘He spoke to me at some length,’ said Agatha. ‘An earnest man, as I recall, and conscientious. The disaster bothered him very much. It wounded him that such a thing could happen “on his patch”, I think. He was determined to get to the bottom of it.’

  ‘Did he find anything?’ Trev asked.

  ‘It doesn’t look like it, although he certainly tried,’ said Deacon. He tapped one of the pages. ‘When the wreckage was pulled from the river he searched it himself, looking for the Key. He also tried to trace Prescott Ewart’s movements prior to his arrival in Birmingham.’

  Granddad was nodding. ‘I’ve read those reports. He did most of the research in his spare time, such as it was. Brackenford was
a very busy beat in those days.’

  Trev looked at Agatha. ‘Didn’t you say there was an upsurge in supernatural activity in Brackenford around that time?’

  ‘Indeed I did,’ she agreed. ‘The Brackenford office had petitioned Barnaby Flint for more men, but he had few to spare.’

  ‘Sounds familiar,’ Trev observed. Deacon grunted but didn’t argue the point.

  ‘And things in Brackenford have become much more busy lately too,’ said Oscar. ‘Without the Colonel’s men keeping an eye on things, Bernard and I would be overrun by now.’

  ‘How does this relate to the Key?’ Deacon asked.

  ‘Well, we don’t know what the Cycle is, but we do know that the Key needs to be in Brackenford for it to be broken,’ Trev said. ‘And the last time someone tried to do it, supernatural activity in Brackenford increased. Now the Key’s turned up having been lost all that time, and supernatural activity in Brackenford is on the rise again. Do you think that’s a coincidence?’

  Deacon shrugged. ‘It’s impossible to say for sure without further information, but it seems unlikely.’

  ‘So what are we doing about it?’ Trev said, with more aggression than he’d intended. Bad Trev was niggling at him, hitching a lift on his worry, tiredness and confusion.

  ‘We?’ said Deacon, folding his arms. ‘If by that you mean the Custodians, then “we” are going to find Ezekiel Barker and retrieve the Key before anyone else does.’

  It was a slightly petty response, and Trev bit back a sarcastic comment of his own. He’s a dick, but he’s right, he was forced to admit to himself. I’ve been dipping in and out of the Custodians as it suits me. Can’t blame Deacon for pointing out my unreliability.

  ‘Look, if you want my help, I’ll make myself available,’ Trev said. ‘I’ve tangled with Barker before, so I know what I’m getting into.’

  Deacon nodded. ‘Noted. Did you learn anything at the pax party last night that might give us an idea what Barker will do next?’

  ‘Granddad and I were talking about this earlier,’ Trev said. ‘If Barker stole the Key from Fisher’s, then he must know it’s valuable. But he doesn’t necessarily know why it’s valuable. He may have no idea whatsoever what it does.’

  Deacon inclined his head. ‘Go on.’

  ‘We know he was trying to get it appraised last night. Why? He already knows what it’s worth. And he’s not an idiot, so he must also know that Fisher’s will have put the word out about their missing item. I mean, who’s going to be stupid enough to buy it off him? All he’s doing is putting a target on his own head. He’s basically standing in a room full of enemies and shouting “Yoo-hoo, here I am! Come and get me!”’

  ‘And why would he do that?’

  Trev leaned forwards, warming to his subject. ‘What if he stole the Key in order to attract someone’s attention?’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘We know there are two secret groups – at least two – who want the Key. Maybe Barker has some unfinished business with one of them. He’s had to keep a low profile, for obvious reasons, and the secret groups are, well, secret, so he can’t just look them up in the phone book. But by stealing the Key and making it known he has it, he’s forcing them to come out of hiding and find him. He’s baiting them.’

  ‘How would he have known which groups were trying to buy the Key in the first place?’ Deacon asked. ‘How would he have known about Fisher’s selling it?’

  Trev deflated a little. ‘Short of guessing wildly, I don’t have any idea. I just don’t see any other reason why he’d advertise that he’s got it, unless he’s ended up with it by accident and he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s got.’

  ‘The Eyes of Nona must’ve known he had it long before last night’s party,’ said Oscar. ‘They sent Sarah to steal it from him, didn’t they?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Trev conceded. ‘Maybe it’s the other group he’s trying to bait, then. The ones that are running Jack Smith. And the traitor in the Custodians.’

  Deacon gave him a sharp look. ‘Why are you linking Smith with the traitor?’

  ‘Just a feeling,’ Trev replied. ‘Someone’s been feeding Smith information, right?’

  ‘I think that might be one wild guess too many,’ said Deacon. He sighed. ‘There’s far too much we don’t know. I think we need to start by pulling in Berndt Bumberger for questioning. He actually spoke to Barker, and saw the item he was trying to sell.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ said Trev, shaking his head. ‘B.B. said he’d put the word out among the black market guys and let me know when Barker pops up again. If we lean on him too much, he might decide helping us is too much hassle.’

  ‘There’s that “we” again,’ Deacon observed. ‘Are you asking me to trust the good nature of a convicted criminal?’

  Trev shrugged. ‘He seemed like a pretty genuine bloke to me,’ he said. ‘He also said that the whole stolen goods thing was a frame-up arranged by Fisher’s to put him out of business. From what I’ve heard about them, that seems pretty credible.’

  ‘How about this,’ said Granddad, chipping in before Trev and Deacon could start baring their teeth and barking at each other. ‘If B.B. doesn’t come back with something in the next twenty-four hours, then we pull him in.’

  ‘Barker could be long gone by then,’ said Deacon.

  ‘I hate to admit it, but I’m tending to side with Trev on this,’ said Oscar. ‘If Barker is trying to draw out his enemies, he’s going to stay nearby. There’s no point otherwise.’

  Deacon swept his gaze across the group. ‘Agatha?’

  ‘We know that the Eyes of Nona have a long history,’ she said, ‘so it is hardly unreasonable to presume that the other group – whomever they might be – are similarly long-standing. I have no evidence to support it, but my feeling is that Prescott Ewart was working with one of these groups. If their history goes back to my time, then it is quite possible that Mr. Barker has some unfinished business with them. Like Oscar, I am inclined to agree with Trevor’s assessment. Barker is deliberately presenting himself as a target.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Deacon. ‘All right then. As it happens I know B.B. reasonably well, and I don’t think strong-arm tactics are the best strategy with him, or I’d pull him in regardless of the opinions in this room. But we can’t afford to wait too long. Twenty-four hours is the absolute maximum I’m willing to give him.’

  Trev blinked. He’d been expecting Deacon to put up more of a fight. ‘OK, cool,’ he said. ‘If I hear from him, I’ll let you know straight away.’

  ‘Good.’ Deacon gathered up the paperwork on his desk. ‘Bernard, Nichola Fisher is due to arrive shortly and I need to speak to you about the interview and how we’ll conduct it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Granddad.

  ‘If my presence is no longer required, I shall return to Brackenford,’ said Agatha.

  ‘Thank you for your time,’ said Deacon. ‘If you remember anything else about the Key, please let Bernard know.’

  Agatha gave him a nod and winked out of existence.

  ‘Anything I can help with?’ said Trev.

  ‘As it happens, yes,’ Deacon replied. ‘Ruby and Franz have been bouncing some ideas around about how we deal with Jack Smith. As you’ve actually been in contact with him, your insight is going to be useful. Please could you go down to the lab and speak to them?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Trev. He’d hoped to be invited to join the interview, but he was one hundred percent behind any plan to slap Smith down to size. He got to his feet.

  ‘Maybe take Oscar with you,’ said Deacon, pulling a fresh set of papers out of a drawer.

  ‘Nah, I’m good here,’ said the kitten. ‘The ambient temperature in this office is spot on.’

  Deacon looked at Trev. ‘Take Oscar with you,’ he said.

  ‘If I have to.’ Trev plucked the protesting cat out of Granddad’s lap and carried him out of the office.

  ‘Did you just let them give us the bum’s rush?�
� said Oscar, once he’d finished struggling.

  ‘For the time being,’ said Trev. ‘But at the moment Deacon needs us as much as we need him.’

  Oscar snorted. ‘Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, champ.’

  Twenty-Two

  Trev hadn’t been to the lab for a while. It wasn’t far from Deacon’s office, situated at the opposite end of a long corridor from the training room and armoury. Trev strolled along with Oscar perched on his shoulder like a furry, sarcastic parrot. He passed a couple of Custodian staff scurrying about on errands but otherwise the corridor was quiet. He stifled a yawn and wondered when he’d next manage a quiet evening to himself and a full night’s sleep.

  The lab’s door was open. Trev knocked and walked in. It was a large space and little of it was wasted. Workbenches lined the walls and stood in rows across the floor. Every single surface was covered with clutter, including bottles of chemicals, strange Heath Robinson-esque contraptions, and a menagerie of caged animals. It looked a lot like a classroom at Mad Scientist University.

  Dr. Ruby Gretchen looked up from her clipboard and gave Trev a smile. She was a petite middle-aged woman with curly dark hair that framed an angular face. She wore rimless glasses and a pristine white lab coat. On the other side of the room, Ruby’s ex-husband Franz raised a hand in greeting. He wasn’t her ex by way of divorce; he’d left the marriage by means of the “till death us do part” clause of the vows. Unwilling to let his various research projects go unfinished, he’d simply come back as a ghost and returned to work. He appeared to be around sixty years of age, with short grey hair worn in a side parting and a fussy little bureaucrat’s moustache. He had the kind of pallid complexion one can only get by spending every waking hour in an underground bunker and then dying. In stark contrast to Ruby’s immaculate lab coat, Franz wore one that was a Technicolor patchwork of burns and stains.