Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  ‘But doesn’t it get to you?’ Trev asked. ‘The Custodians always seem to have way more work than they can handle.’

  ‘Of course it does, sometimes.’ Deacon shrugged. ‘It’d be great to be able to just fix everything with a wave of the hand. But as things stand that isn’t really an option, is it? So we carry on working to make things better, and we are making things better. I really believe that. It’s what keeps us all going, I think.’

  Trev nodded. He was a little taken aback by Deacon’s passion. All right, so we’ll never be bosom buddies drinking together in the pub, Trev thought. But could I work for this bloke? Yeah, I reckon I could. The rank-and-file Custodians’ respect for Deacon was now more understandable to Trev, having seen a glimpse of this side of him. Even so, he still didn’t want to make a decision right then and there.

  ‘OK,’ he said. ‘I promise I’ll give you a definitive answer soon. And I’ll abide by it.’

  ‘I’m willing to give you until the end of the week, Trev. It’s better for both parties that we get this resolved.’

  ‘That’s fair,’ said Trev, simultaneously relieved at being given a little more thinking time and annoyed at himself for being unable to commit one way or the other.

  ‘Good.’ Deacon gave a firm nod, signalling the end of the discussion. ‘Now before you go, we ought to mention Ezekiel Barker again. If B.B. calls you with any information I need you to relay it to me immediately. Will you do that?’

  ‘Sure, no problem,’ Trev replied. ‘Though can I make a request?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’d like to be on the team that goes to bring him in.’

  Deacon frowned. ‘Trev, what did we just talk about?’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Trev held up his hands. ‘But look, I’m the only person around who’s gone up against Barker and lived to tell the tale. More than once, in fact. And the person he’s holding hostage is a friend of mine. If she sees me with the Custodians, she’ll be more inclined to trust them.’

  Deacon paused to consider. Trev, in an unprecedented move, kept his mouth shut and waited for a response.

  ‘Let me put it this way,’ Deacon said at last. ‘I won’t veto you being on the team. But the final decision will rest with whoever the team leader is. If they don’t want you, then you’re not going. All right?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Trev said. He stood up. ‘If that’s everything, I’d better go and find Granddad.’

  ‘That’s everything,’ Deacon confirmed. ‘Don’t forget. A decision by the end of the week.’

  ‘No problem,’ Trev said. He headed for the door, thinking that all things considered he’d been let off lightly.

  He didn’t have to look far for Granddad. He was waiting in the corridor outside, arms folded, looking stern. Trev wasn’t sure whether the facial expression was for his benefit or if Granddad’s dodgy hip was giving him trouble again, but he suspected he was about to find out.

  ‘I hope you apologised,’ the old man said, settling the question.

  ‘I did,’ Trev replied. They set off down the corridor.

  ‘What on earth possessed you to do that?’ Granddad shook his head. ‘One minute you’re completely disinterested in the Custodians, the next you’re shoving yourself into meetings like you own the place. Can’t you chart some kind of middle course, for heaven’s sake?’

  ‘It was a stupid thing to do and I’m sorry,’ said Trev, feeling the déjà vu kick in. ‘I said the same to Deacon.’

  ‘I can’t imagine he was very happy.’

  ‘He wasn’t, but I think we’ve worked things out. I’m going to give him an answer about joining the Custodians at the end of the week.’

  ‘You mean you’re still undecided?’ Granddad asked, surprised.

  Oh bugger, Trev thought. ‘It’s just the whole thing with the traitor, you know,’ he said hastily. ‘Makes me a bit nervous about being here. Oh look, there’s Oscar.’

  They’d passed into the Ops Room. Oscar was sitting on a computer monitor, being stroked by a pair of female Custodians. He appeared to be enjoying himself, so Trev took no pleasure whatsoever in scooping him up as they passed.

  ‘Oh cheers,’ the kitten grumbled. ‘You get a bollocking from the boss man and decide to spoil everyone else’s fun too.’

  ‘We’re leaving,’ said Trev. ‘Unless you wanted an overnight stay?’

  ‘I’m surprised you’re not “leaving” on the end of Deacon’s foot,’ Oscar said. ‘I was expecting to see you ushered out at gunpoint.’

  ‘I apologised, he accepted it, we moved on,’ said Trev, giving Oscar a flagrantly inaccurate summary of his chat with Deacon.

  ‘Right,’ Oscar replied. ‘I can always tell when you’re lying, your lips move.’

  They left the bunker and made their way to the car park. Granddad’s little red Honda was waiting for them. Trev dropped into the passenger seat and commenced a losing battle with his eyelids, which suddenly seemed far heavier than usual.

  With the hour getting late and the biting cold, the streets were relatively quiet. Trev tried to drift into another nap but Granddad’s angry muttering wouldn’t let him.

  ‘What are you chuntering about?’ he asked, sitting up.

  ‘This van behind us,’ Granddad replied. ‘He’s been right on my rear bumper for a while now. If he doesn’t like the speed I’m doing, why doesn’t he go past?’

  ‘That’s white van man for you,’ said Trev. ‘He’ll tailgate you when he could easily get past and then he’ll go for a suicidal overtaking manoeuvre on a blind bend and run you into a ditch.’

  He’d barely finished the sentence when the van pulled alongside them, engine roaring.

  ‘About time,’ Granddad said. He opened his mouth to say something else but Trev wasn’t listening. He’d noticed something odd about the van. All its windows were blacked out and the doors were missing their handles.

  ‘Er, Granddad,’ he said. Whatever else he was going to say was cut off as the van swerved into their lane, running them off the road.

  Twenty-Five

  For a man in his late seventies, Granddad reacted with impressive speed. He braked hard, avoiding being side-swiped by the van. The tyres howled and Trev was crushed back into his seat. The car bounced up onto the pavement. A lamppost whipped past the passenger window, nearly taking off the wing mirror. Granddad just about held control, swerving the car into a side street.

  Trev risked a look behind and saw the van taking the corner behind them. The streetlights reflected off the windscreen, giving no sight of the driver.

  ‘They’re still on us,’ Trev said.

  ‘Who are they?’ Granddad’s eyes were fixed on the road ahead. Tall, red-brick buildings loomed on either side of them. They could have been warehouses or maybe factories. No lights showed in the windows; the van’s occupants had chosen a quiet area to stage their ambush.

  ‘No idea,’ said Trev. ‘Are you armed?’

  ‘My dagger,’ Granddad replied. ‘Left coat pocket.’

  Trev leaned across and retrieved the weapon. ‘Know where we are?’

  Granddad shook his head. The blank walls continued to pass by on either side. There were no parked cars and no pedestrians. It was as quiet a street as could be found in a busy city. They forced us down here on purpose, Trev thought.

  ‘I’m taking the turning,’ Granddad said.

  There was a side street coming up on the right. Granddad shed some speed, anticipating the manoeuvre, and another white van surged out of the turning and blocked the road ahead.

  ‘Shit!’ said Trev.

  Granddad stood on the brakes. Trev was snapped forwards against his seatbelt. The second van was identical to the first, its side windows blacked out and the doors missing their handles. The Honda skidded to a stop in the middle of the road. There was no room to squeeze past the van on either side. Craning around in his seat, Trev saw that the first van had swung across the road behind them, boxing them in.

  ‘Now what
?’ asked Granddad.

  ‘Better get ready for a scrap,’ said Oscar, from somewhere beneath Trev’s seat.

  The side door of the van in front slid open. Two men got out. They were both dressed in black military-style gear, with tactical vests and duty belts stocked with pouches and equipment. They were also very similar in build, being over six feet tall and well muscled. Continuing the theme, both of them wore identical grim expressions on their bland, forgettable faces. They looked like extras in a Hollywood action movie, the kind of bit-part players who are supposed to be elite soldiers but somehow get wiped out by the bad guys leaving the hero to fight back alone.

  Trev fervently hoped that these two fell into that “all the gear but no idea” stereotype, although the efficiency with which the ambush had been carried out was a strong argument against it. Just once I’d like to come up against a really incompetent enemy, he thought. Someone who makes me look good rather than lucky.

  The two men carried sidearms, but both of them drew and activated vapour weapons instead. One was a shortsword with a pulsing yellow blade; the other was a double-handed battle axe that emitted a soft white glow.

  ‘Out of the car,’ the swordsman called.

  ‘If they were going to kill us they’d be shooting by now,’ Trev observed.

  ‘I don’t think they’re here to invite us down the pub for a game of skittles and some chicken in a basket, though,’ said Oscar.

  ‘Now!’ shouted the swordsman.

  ‘Impatient, aren’t they?’

  ‘They’re worried their chicken in a basket is getting cold,’ said Trev. He looked at Granddad. ‘Lock yourself in the car.’

  ‘Wait, Trevor!’ the old man replied, but Trev was already getting out. He shut the door behind him and heard the clunk of the locks.

  He glanced around to see if more bad guys had emerged from the other van. There was no sign of anyone. The van was just sitting there with its engine running.

  ‘What do you want?’ Trev asked of the two men.

  ‘You’re coming with us,’ the swordsman replied. ‘No need for anyone to get hurt if you do as you’re told.’

  ‘There are less dramatic ways to invite someone to a meeting, you know,’ said Trev. ‘Where is it you want to take us?’

  ‘That information’s classified,’ said the swordsman.

  Blimey, they even talk like generic action movie extras, Trev thought. This is embarrassing. The man with the axe winced at his colleague’s statement, perhaps reconsidering the decision to make him spokesman for the pair.

  ‘“Classified”. Riiight.’ Trev gave the man a pitying look. ‘Is this your first day on the job?’

  The man scowled. ‘Put down your weapon and come with us.’

  ‘I don’t think so, chief.’ Trev activated the dagger and used it to point at the van. ‘How about you move your wanker-wagon out of the way and we’ll all pretend this didn’t happen?’

  The swordsman glanced at his partner for support and didn’t get any. He took a step forwards, raising his weapon. To his surprise, Trev found that he was relishing the prospect of a fight. It appeared he hadn’t got Bad Trev as tightly under control as he’d thought. The extra aggression had served him well at the pax party, though, hadn’t it? Maybe it was time to make use of his nastier side, rather than trying to suppress it?

  ‘This is your last warning,’ the swordsman began, going back to his script. Trev spared him the effort of coming up with any further B-movie dialogue by rushing him.

  He might not have been skilled at verbal intimidation, but the swordsman made up for it in fighting ability. He reacted sharply to Trev’s charge, parrying the first couple of strikes and following up with a counter-attack. Trev dodged, switching the dagger to his left hand and swiping at his opponent’s leg. The sword had better reach than his dagger, so he aimed to negate the advantage by keeping close. He had two opponents to worry about, so he needed to put one of them out of the fight as soon as he could.

  The swordsman stayed on the defensive, dropping back to bring his colleague into play. The man with the axe hadn’t joined the fight to start with, seeming content to watch. When it became clear that the swordsman had his hands full, however, he stepped up to outflank Trev.

  The axe was a slower weapon and couldn’t be used to fence like the sword. What it did have was reach and power. The first swing swished past Trev’s knees as he spun out of its way, and the overhead blow that followed it was also uncomfortably close. The swordsman pushed in while Trev was distracted, also going for a leg hit that would take him down. Trev parried the yellow blade and moved aside, putting the swordsman between him and the man with the axe. He switched the dagger back to his right hand and went for his opponent’s arm this time. He managed to get a faint nick, which wasn’t enough to disarm the swordsman but did send him scurrying back with a stifled curse.

  The threat of the axe was enough to prevent Trev from following up his advantage. It was good that he didn’t, as the two-handed weapon scythed through the air at the spot he would’ve been had he pressed the swordsman’s retreat. Trev fell back a few steps. He juggled the dagger from hand to hand and stared at the two men with as casual an expression as he could manage.

  ‘You could still drive away, you know,’ he suggested.

  ‘You cocky twat,’ spat the swordsman. He flexed his arm where Trev had caught him. ‘How about you stop being a dickhead and get in the van? You aren’t going to beat both of us.’

  ‘This really is your first day on the job, isn’t it?’ Trev said. ‘I can tell by the way your mate rolls his eyes whenever you open your mouth.’

  For all his flippant comments, Trev was secretly worried. The odds were very much against him. With better weapons he’d have fancied his chances against two opponents, but Granddad’s dagger was outmatched in this weight class. It was only suited to close-quarters fighting; out in the open, the longer reach of the sword and axe gave them a big advantage. All the two men needed to do was keep Trev at arm’s length and wear him down. He’d burn through his energy reserves long before they did.

  So what was the alternative? In practical terms, surrendering made the most sense. This wasn’t an assassination attempt, or Trev would already be slumped in Granddad’s car doing an impersonation of a colander. He had no idea who’d sent these men but they were obviously under instruction to bring him and Granddad in alive.

  On the other hand, though, he had to make it to SmoothMove in the morning or he’d lose his job. Helen wasn’t likely to take “Sorry, I got taken hostage by some B-movie henchmen” as an acceptable excuse for missing work. It was also possible that the bad guys were going to kill them, and just wanted to do it somewhere a bit less public.

  If I’m going to fight, I need to end it quickly. Trev eyed his opponents. They hadn’t charged at him, so he’d done enough to make them wary. His tactics so far had been to strike quickly and back off, which would prolong the fight but not in his favour. In order to win, he was going to have to take some risks.

  So he handed control to Bad Trev.

  The swordsman’s eyes widened as Trev abruptly ran at him, grinning. He raised his weapon to parry and Trev dropped into a shoulder roll, slipping underneath the yellow blade. The dagger snapped out as he went by, passing through the man’s thigh. The swordsman yelled out as his leg went numb and collapsed under him. Trev came out of his roll and jumped back, swinging a punch into the swordsman’s back as he fell and winding him. He went down in a gasping heap.

  Trev didn’t hesitate and went straight for the man with the axe. If he was surprised at his colleague being taken out so suddenly, he didn’t show it. He swung his weapon in a wide arc which would’ve caught Trev at waist height had he continued his charge. At the last instant, however, Trev danced to his opponent’s right, dodging the axe at the start of the swing when the man’s arms weren’t fully extended. It was still a very close thing, the axe’s head passing through the front of Trev’s jacket as he spun past.
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  Trev lashed out with the dagger and caught his opponent’s right bicep. No longer able to hold the axe with both hands, he was dragged around by his own momentum and finished up with his back to Trev, who took advantage by kicking him between the legs. Bad Trev wasn’t much for honourable combat.

  The fight had lasted a few seconds. Trev stood over his wheezing opponents and fought back the urge to lay into them with a few more kicks. Common wisdom held that you shouldn’t kick a man when he was down. Bad Trev’s attitude was that it represented the best possible time to kick someone.

  ‘That’s enough, Irwin,’ said a voice.

  Trev looked up. Another of the B-movie all-stars was standing next to Granddad’s car, holding a compact semiautomatic pistol to the old man’s head. Trev growled and stalked forwards.

  ‘I said, enough.’ The man pulled back the gun’s hammer.

  Trev stopped walking. ‘Bollocks. You’re not here to kill us.’

  ‘Our orders were to bring both of you in if possible,’ the man replied. He had the same sort of forgettable features as his colleagues, but he was older. His voice was calm. ‘If it wasn’t possible, one of you would do. So would you prefer me to shoot you, or him?’

  Trev looked at Granddad and felt his aggression falter. He pushed Bad Trev down again. It went unwillingly, leaving a wave of fatigue in its place. The dagger spluttered out and Trev let it fall from his fingers.

  ‘Thank you.’ The man frowned at his colleagues. ‘When you’re ready, get these two cuffed and in the van.’

  ‘Who the hell are you anyw–’

  Trev’s question was cut off as one of the two men he’d beaten slammed a punch into his kidneys. He went down on his knees, struggling for breath.