by Nick Moseley
‘And you want me to keep an eye open for it? Feargal, how many times do I have to tell you? Fisher’s does not deal in stolen goods.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Deacon replied. ‘We understand that the artefact was stolen from Fisher’s. A small brass wheel. Ring any bells?’
Trev was watching Fisher’s face. It barely flickered. Either she had guessed what the interview was about and was prepared for the question, or she had iron self-control. Either way, it was clear that she wasn’t going to just crack under questioning.
‘We did have a theft recently, yes,’ Fisher said. ‘Our own security team is investigating.’
‘And why wasn’t the theft reported to us?’ asked Deacon. ‘Stolen psychic artefacts are definitely within our remit.’
‘Are we talking about the same item?’ Fisher’s expression was now one of exaggerated puzzlement. ‘The brass wheel we lost was fully tested before sale and found to have no psychic properties at all.’
‘Then why did it sell for such a high price?’ wondered Granddad, finally chipping in. ‘Does the item have some other significance?’
Fisher shook her head. ‘Not that we’re aware of. There was a bidding war between two patrons that pushed the price up, but I couldn’t say why they wanted it so badly. It’s not our place to question a buyer’s motives.’
‘I still don’t understand why you didn’t report the theft.’ Deacon wasn’t easily deflected. ‘Psychic properties or not, surely you’d report such a high value item being stolen?’
‘To be honest, Feargal, we really didn’t see the point.’
‘And why’s that?’
‘Everybody knows the Custodians are stretched almost to breaking. We didn’t think you’d have the available resources to conduct an investigation. Our security teams are experienced and well qualified. It made sense to leave it in their hands.’
‘We are stretched, yes, but not as badly as most people seem to believe. And anyway, what harm would just reporting it do?’
‘All right, Feargal. Yes, we should have reported it. I’ll speak to the people concerned and we’ll see that all thefts are reported in future. Is this really why you dragged me all the way up here?’
Deacon ignored the question. ‘I have to say, that if I had lost an item worth over a million pounds, I’d definitely report it to the relevant authorities. Unless there was something about the item I didn’t want made public.’
‘Are you accusing me of a crime, Feargal? If you are, I suggest you tell me what it is and show me your evidence.’
‘How did you come by the item?’ asked Deacon.
‘From a private seller,’ replied Fisher. ‘We completed all the usual due diligence. I can provide you with copies of the paperwork if you want them. I’m confident the item wasn’t stolen or otherwise tainted.’
‘So how did Ezekiel Barker end up with it?’ Trev threw in.
Fisher’s composure finally wavered, if only a little. ‘What?’
‘Ezekiel Barker has the item now,’ said Trev. ‘I was just wondering how he got it. Any ideas?’
‘Ezekiel Barker is a myth,’ said Fisher.
‘He’s tried to kill me a couple of times, so you can take it from me that he’s real,’ said Trev.
‘What were the circumstances of the theft?’ asked Deacon, following up while Fisher was off balance.
‘It was stolen by a member of staff,’ said Fisher.
‘Really?’ said Deacon. ‘I’m starting to see why you didn’t report it.’
‘Ezekiel Barker was working for you?’ said Trev, raising his eyebrows.
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ Fisher folded her arms and glared at him.
‘Perhaps you could give us some more details of the theft, Nichola?’ said Granddad, in his most reassuring voice.
There was a pause. Fisher sighed. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘The two buyers drove up the price. After the sale had been agreed, the losing bidder caused a scene near the table where the lots were on display. In the commotion one of the security guards took the item and left. He went to Hyde Park and passed the item to someone else.’
‘So there were three people working together,’ Trev mused. ‘Doesn’t say much for your security though, does it?’
‘The sale was for low-value items, or so we thought,’ replied Fisher, ‘otherwise security would’ve been tighter. And from our investigation, we actually don’t think the three of them were working together.’
Granddad frowned. ‘Because?’
‘Best we can make out, the failed bidder and the security guard were acting against their will.’ Fisher tapped a finger on the table. ‘We’re still not sure how it was done, but it appears to have been some type of hypnosis. Both of them passed out after they’d played their parts in the theft and were confused about what had happened when they came to.’
‘And you believe them?’ said Granddad.
Fisher nodded. ‘As it happens, yes.’
‘So who was the third party? The person in Hyde Park?’
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’
‘And in all of this intrigue, you never once thought to report this heist to the Custodians?’ asked Deacon. ‘I’m sorry, Nichola. I just don’t find that credible.’
‘Why would anyone within the community bother reporting anything to the Custodians these days?’ shot back Fisher. ‘Up and down the country people are taking matters into their own hands because you aren’t protecting us. You don’t have any expertise I can’t find for myself on the open market.’
Deacon was unmoved by her outburst. ‘You told us the item had no psychic properties whatsoever. We have reason to believe that it was used to cause the Brackenford bridge collapse of 1879 and is, in fact, a highly dangerous artefact. I think you knew that, and that’s why you didn’t report its theft.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Fisher was annoyed now, and by Trev’s reckoning, more than a little worried too. ‘We tested it. It’s a lump of metal. It doesn’t do anything. Is this a story you’ve concocted so you can shut us down? Because if it is, I tell you now that we’ll fight you every step of the way.’
‘If we wanted to shut you down, we could.’ Deacon’s voice was cold. ‘And we wouldn’t need to make up any stories to do it. Now listen to me. There is a highly dangerous psychic artefact out there in the possession of a highly dangerous man, and I want both of them found before something like that bridge disaster happens again. The artefact was stolen from your organisation, Nichola. If you’re withholding information that will help us find it, I will find out and I will make you take responsibility. Am I understood?’
Fisher clenched her jaw and didn’t say anything. Finally, she nodded. On the other side of the table, Trev swallowed nervously. He hadn’t been expecting Deacon to go full Bad Cop on her, and now he’d seen it he was imagining the bollocking he was going to get for forcing himself into the meeting. They were not happy thoughts.
‘Good.’ Deacon reverted to his usual calm tone. ‘Firstly, who was the buyer?’
‘I can’t tell you that,’ said Fisher, ‘because I don’t know. They were bidding by telephone through an intermediary.’
‘That sounds a bit suspicious,’ said Trev. The thought had occurred to him that he could mitigate Deacon’s displeasure by making a useful contribution to the proceedings. Somewhere between his brain and his mouth, however, that suggestion had become “say something really quite unnecessary and obvious”. He cringed inwardly.
‘Why?’ said Fisher. ‘We deal with anonymous buyers all the time. There are a lot of collectors out there who value their privacy.’
‘And the failed buyer?’ Deacon pressed.
‘Stanley Beaufort.’
‘Stanley?’ Granddad sat up.
‘Another old friend?’ Trev said.
‘I’ve known him a good few years,’ Granddad replied. ‘I must say, I really can’t see him willingly involving himself in a theft. He’s older than I am, and c
ompletely harmless.’
Fisher pursed her lips. ‘We didn’t think it was likely either. He’s a regular customer of ours and never given us any trouble. His confusion afterwards seemed genuine as well.’
‘And the security guard?’ asked Deacon.
‘Toby Lincoln,’ said Fisher. ‘He’s been with us for sixteen years, and has a clean record of service. That doesn’t necessarily rule him out, I know. But he handed himself in after the exchange in Hyde Park, and like Beaufort his story was convincing. He couldn’t remember who he’d given the item to, but he said he’d felt like a spectator in his own head. He was there, but someone else was at the wheel.’
‘Weird,’ said Trev, having another go at a telling contribution and failing for a second time.
‘Your people have taken witness statements?’ Deacon asked.
‘Yes.’
‘We’ll want to see them. We’ll probably also want to conduct our own interviews. I’m sure you have CCTV footage of the sale, and we’ll also want that. And it goes without saying that we’ll want to see the paperwork for your original purchase of the artefact.’
‘All right, Feargal.’ Fisher was striving for her original businesslike demeanour but she couldn’t hide her unhappiness. Deacon continued to ask for clarification on certain points; Trev found himself tuning out. He was annoyed with himself. Had he really crashed the interview simply to spite Deacon? He thought back to the moment when he’d made the decision. It had been so clear then, an urge that he couldn’t ignore. Where did it come from? he pondered.
The answer struck him in a burst of decidedly un-Trevlike clarity. Bad Trev. He’d been thinking of it solely as a force of anger lurking in his chest, but it was more than that. It was an amplifier for the worst parts of his personality. Anger was just one part, and although it was perhaps the most noticeable it wasn’t alone. He’d allowed his annoyance at Deacon to manifest itself as a stupid act of pettiness, Bad Trev quietly overriding his common sense and impulse control. Great. It was another thing to worry about besides his volatile temper, his impending unemployment, and, of course, the various nutcases – supernatural and otherwise – who were trying to kill him.
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Fisher, gathering her things.
‘Yeah,’ Trev said, making one last grab at a useful contribution. ‘Just to be sure. You really don’t know how Ezekiel Barker got hold of that artefact?’
‘I really don’t,’ Fisher replied.
She spoke evenly and looked him square in the eye. And he was one hundred percent sure she was lying.
Twenty-Four
‘Trev,’ Deacon said, gesturing to his office door, ‘a word.’
Trev winced. He’d feared the worst when Deacon had asked Granddad to see Fisher out of the building after the interview finished. There wasn’t any other option but to go and take his medicine. He walked into the office. Deacon followed him in, closed the door, and folded his arms.
‘Trev,’ he said quietly, ‘what the hell are you playing at?’
‘I thought I might’ve had something to contribute,’ said Trev. ‘As it turned out, I, er, didn’t. Sorry.’
‘I’m not just talking about the meeting, though we’ll get to that.’ Although Deacon spoke in a level tone, Trev could tell the man was angry. ‘I mean your whole attitude to this organisation. Do you think the Custodians exist purely for your convenience?’
‘I don’t understand what you’re asking.’
‘I think you do. We’ve done all we can to accommodate you, because we need people of your ability, and you’ve taken advantage of that good faith.’ He ticked points off on his fingers. ‘You make use of our records. You train with one of our best weapons instructors. You call on us for backup when you’re in trouble. And what have we had from you in return? Disrespect. Evasions and half-truths. Flat-out contempt, on some occasions.’
‘Come on, that isn’t true,’ Trev said.
‘It isn’t?’ said Deacon. ‘Was it your evil twin who just gate-crashed an important and confidential meeting with a suspect? Who deliberately undermined my authority in front of said suspect? Or was it you?’
Evil twin? You’re not far off the mark with that, Trev thought. Bad Trev was tickling at him again, lining up a succession of sarcastic, self-justifying quips he could throw back in Deacon’s face. He took a deep breath and forced them down. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. Antagonising Deacon further would be pointless and self-defeating.
‘No, it was me.’ Trev held up a placating hand. ‘To be honest I don’t know what I was thinking. I just wanted to get some answers out of Nichola Fisher. I screwed up and I apologise.’
Deacon eyed him with some suspicion. In light of their previous working relationship, Trev could hardly blame him for wondering whether the apology was genuine. As stiff and humourless as Deacon was, he’d been consistently fair. Trev just wished he could warm to the bloke.
‘Screwed up? That’s an understatement.’ Deacon went to his desk, waving for Trev to sit in the visitor’s chair. ‘Bernard and I had a plan for that interview, which went out of the window as soon as you blundered in.’
‘She was lying about Ezekiel Barker, I can tell you that much,’ said Trev.
‘Of course she was,’ Deacon replied, exasperated. ‘Lying is second nature to Nichola Fisher. She’ll feed you enough minor truths that you miss the big lie in amongst them. With people like that you have to keep on asking them questions until they trip over their own bullshit. Which is difficult when you have someone in the room who shouldn’t be there and could blurt out anything at any time.’
‘I understand and I can only apologise again,’ said Trev. ‘It was a stupid, spur-of-the-moment decision, all right? It won’t happen again.’
‘No, it won’t.’ Deacon leaned forwards. ‘I have to take my share of the blame in this, I suppose. I’ve indulged you too much. A combination of wanting to bring a promising candidate into the organisation and making exceptions for you because you’re the grandson of a man I respect highly. That ends now.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I need a decision from you, Trev. Are you joining the Custodians, or not? “I’m still making up my mind” isn’t an acceptable answer any more. If you want to join, we’ll be glad to have you, but there won’t be any preferential treatment. If you don’t want to join, then fair enough. But you won’t continue to get free use of this building and its facilities.’
Trev shifted in his seat. He’d known this ultimatum had to come sooner or later and he’d given it some serious thought, turning the options over and over in his head until his brain got motion sickness. So why did he still feel so completely unprepared to reply?
‘I wish I could give you an answer,’ he said. ‘It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about it. Some days I’ve hardly thought about anything else. But I still… I still just don’t know.’
‘What’s holding you back?’ Deacon asked. His tone had softened somewhat.
‘I’ve had a lot thrown at me in a short space of time,’ Trev said. ‘I had a nice, safe, ordinary life and I liked it that way. Now I’ve got all this supernatural crap smacking me in the face and I just miss being, well, normal. And joining the Custodians would be waving goodbye to any chance of getting that old life back. Burning bridges, crossing the Rubicon, the point of no return, et cetera, et cetera.’
‘Trev, your life ceased to be normal the moment you developed your Sight. You might not like that fact but I’m afraid you have to accept it. If you’d taken more time to speak to the people here you’d find that there are a lot of Custodians who’ve had the same feelings. Change is difficult. It always is.’ Deacon looked him in the eye. ‘But constantly putting off the decision isn’t going to make it go away.’
‘I know that,’ Trev said. He couldn’t argue with Deacon’s point. Trying to live with a foot in two different worlds was making him miserable and stressed. Wouldn’t it be better to just bite the bullet and th
row in his lot with the Custodians? There was still the issue of the traitor to be dealt with but unless he went into hiding he’d be at risk whether he was inside the organisation or not. ‘I just don’t think I can live up to the reputation I seem to have now. People here talk to me like I’m some fire-breathing badass when most of my achievements were just dumb luck. I’m not a hero. I’m not even sure that I want to be a hero.’
‘Good,’ said Deacon. ‘You look surprised, but I can tell you that people who come to me with fantasies about being a hero are the last sort of recruit I want. Chasing individual glory puts yourself and your colleagues at risk. That isn’t what this organisation is about. Heroism isn’t something you go looking for; heroism is the by-product of doing a dangerous job to the best of your ability.’
‘All right, I can see that,’ said Trev. ‘People still look at me funny when I’m here though.’
‘Because you’ve kept yourself aloof,’ Deacon pointed out. ‘It’s created an air of mystery about you. People won’t treat you as “one of the gang” if you only join the team when it suits you.’
Again, Trev found himself struggling for a counter-argument. He’d had more support and help from Granddad and the Custodians than he’d any right to expect, and for the most part he’d repaid them with varying levels of disrespect. He’d spent so much time drinking in the Self-Pity Saloon he hadn’t considered the effects of his behaviour on others.
And then, of course, there was Bad Trev. He couldn’t hide from that. Even if he cut himself off from the supernatural world, the knot of negativity in his chest would continue to grow, feeding on his worst emotions and thoughts like a dark parasite, until one day his mind would snap and he’d spend the rest of his life gnawing at a straitjacket in a padded cell. Maybe the Custodians could help him. He was sure Ruby and Franz would do all they could, if he was willing to put his faith in them and just ask for help.
‘I’m not going to give you an air-brushed vision of your future career,’ Deacon continued. ‘Being a Custodian means hard work, long hours and little recognition. We’re always fighting for resources and we’re resented by a sizeable proportion of the community we’re expected to police and protect. The world is a mess, quite frankly. It isn’t something that any one organisation can fix. But I believe that shouldn’t stop us from bloody well trying.’