Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  The luminous dial of Trev’s watch told him it was just before midnight. He reached into his inside pocket and clicked a button on a small radio transmitter. There was a microphone under his lapel.

  ‘I’m going in,’ he said softly. ‘Smith and Granddad both here. Can’t see anyone else.’

  There was no reply. Trev hadn’t wanted to risk wearing an ear-piece in case Smith saw it. He had to trust that his allies were listening and would react when they needed to.

  He inhaled deeply and let the breath steam out into the night air. Then he stepped into the clearing.

  Granddad looked up. Trev saw several emotions flicker across the old man’s face. Relief, hope, fear. Trev clenched his fists. I’m not going to let you down, he thought. He stopped walking, leaving a gap of perhaps thirty yards between himself and Smith.

  ‘On time, boy,’ said Smith, finally moving. His eyes gleamed in the shadow under his cap. ‘Good. I was beginning to tire of Bernard’s company. He was so chatty earlier, too.’

  ‘Are you all right, Granddad?’ Trev asked.

  He got a nod in response. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ the old man said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  ‘I thought he’d be happier to see you,’ said Smith. ‘Still, you know what they say: you can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family. I bet Bernard wishes that weren’t true, eh?’

  ‘Can we skip the bullshit attempt at mind-games and cut to the chase?’ said Trev. It hadn’t escaped his attention that one of Smith’s flaws – aside from being a ruthless, immoral psychopath with a face like fire-damaged Lego – was his tendency to grandstand. It wasn’t enough for him to have the advantage over an enemy; he needed them to know he had it.

  ‘Have a care how you speak to me, boy,’ Smith growled. ‘If you want to walk out of here you ought to show me some respect.’

  ‘Just trying to move things along,’ said Trev. He kept his voice casual, though it took considerable effort.

  ‘Did you come alone?’ asked Smith.

  His lantern began to pulse a little more rapidly. It was a subtle change, and Trev might’ve missed it if he hadn’t been watching for it. At the same time, he felt the faintest touch of something playing across his thoughts. He pretended he hadn’t noticed.

  Trev spread his hands. ‘Can you see anyone with me?’

  ‘Are you unarmed?’

  ‘Of course I’m not. You didn’t say anything about weapons. And to be honest, you haven’t given me much reason to trust you so far.’

  Smith gave him a tolerant smile. ‘Do you have the Key?’

  Trev patted his pocket. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good, boy. Very good. Now, take out your weapons and throw them as far as you can.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Trev shook his head slowly. ‘I’m not here for a fight, but if you think I’m chucking my weapons away you’re dreaming. Let’s just do the exchange and go our separate ways.’

  Smith sighed and tutted. ‘I didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve forced my hand.’

  His lantern flared with purple light and Granddad convulsed with pain, the chair’s legs rattling against the frozen ground. Smith continued staring right at Trev while this was going on, his expression bland. Granddad didn’t make a sound, the pain too intense for him even to breathe.

  ‘Stop,’ shouted Trev, taking an involuntary step forwards.

  Smith ignored him.

  ‘All right, all right!’ Trev pulled Granddad’s dagger out of his pocket and hurled it into the trees. He opened his coat to show he wasn’t carrying anything else. Deacon had offered him a gun, which Trev had refused point blank. With his wayward marksmanship, it was quite possible he’d hit Granddad by accident if he tried to shoot Smith. ‘Stop it!’

  The lantern’s light died away. Granddad slumped in the chair, unconscious but breathing. Bad Trev made a concerted effort to take control, demanding that Trev rush Smith and throttle him. He swayed on his feet but held firm. Furious as he was, Trev was still rational enough to know that charging Smith would get Granddad killed immediately.

  ‘Is that all of your weapons?’ Smith asked. The lantern had gone back to pulsing softly.

  Trev swallowed. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Do you understand who’s giving the orders now?’

  Trev didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded.

  Smith’s face spread into a broad grin. ‘Excellent. Now bring me the Key. Slowly, now. I might do something regrettable if you startle me, boy. Hold it out so I can see it.’

  Trev dug the Key out of his pocket and held it up for Smith. Then he began to walk forwards, maintaining a slow, steady pace. His eyes were on Granddad, who still appeared to be unconscious. Beneath Trev’s anger he was deeply concerned. Granddad had clearly been struggling with the cold and Trev knew from personal experience the agony Smith could inflict with his lantern. He hoped the old man hadn’t suffered any permanent damage.

  The gap closed. When Trev was about six feet away, Smith held up his hand.

  ‘That’s close enough,’ he said.

  ‘Want me to throw it to you, or what?’ said Trev. He shifted from one foot to the other. His plan involved getting closer to Smith than this.

  ‘Put it on the ground,’ Smith instructed.

  Trev did as he was asked.

  ‘Good. Now step back.’

  Wasn’t expecting him to be this cautious, Trev thought. He retreated a few steps.

  ‘Stay there, boy,’ said Smith. Keeping his gaze on Trev, he strode to the Key and gathered it up. Trev tensed, but he was just too far away to put his plan into action. He’d have to rely on his backup.

  ‘You’ve got the Key. Now what?’ he said this for the benefit of those listening, although he was wary of Smith’s intentions as well.

  Smith held up the Key and studied it. ‘You’ve done well,’ he said, ‘but I need more. Tell me how it works.’

  ‘I agreed to bring it to you, not give you lessons,’ Trev snapped, his nerves getting the better of him. ‘Let me take Granddad and go.’

  ‘You’ll go nowhere until I give you permission,’ said Smith. ‘Unless you’d like to watch while I tear old Bernard’s soul out of his body, you’ll do as I ask. Don’t challenge me, boy. There’ll be one winner, and it won’t be you.’

  Trev narrowed his eyes. ‘And if I tell you how to use it, we can go?’

  Smith nodded. ‘You have my word. I’ll release you both.’

  ‘Right. Well, it’s a bit like tuning in an old-fashioned radio,’ Trev began.

  ‘You and I have very different definitions of that phrase,’ said Smith. ‘Things have to be very ancient indeed for me to see them as “old-fashioned”.’

  Trev was momentarily nonplussed by Smith’s rather whimsical comment. He remembered his previous assessment of the man: when he thought he held all the cards, Smith liked to talk. Having spent his whole life as a fugitive, the opportunity for a conversation – however one-sided – was something he appeared to relish.

  ‘Yeah, well, anyway,’ Trev went on, ‘you charge the crystal with psychic energy and then you turn the Key until you sense the destination you want.’

  ‘And where can it take you?’

  ‘Nowhere nice,’ said Trev. ‘Dark Limbo, a roaring void, and some empty place with a lot of dead people in it.’

  ‘Anywhere else?’

  ‘Maybe, who knows?’ said Trev. ‘Those were the only three destinations I was able to access but I suppose there might be more.’

  Smith stared at the Key. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘Thinking of doing some trans-dimensional tourism?’

  ‘Don’t mock me, boy,’ Smith said. ‘If you were hunted for hundreds of years, the idea of going somewhere you couldn’t be found might appeal to you too.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier just to be… you know, a bit less of a bastard in the first place?’

  The comment was just Trev’s mouth free-wheeling, which it tended to
do when left unattended. He winced, expecting an angry response. Smith, to Trev’s surprise, took the question at face value.

  ‘I tried that, boy, I did,’ he said, ‘and it was thrown back in my face. By those same people who sat in their pews on the Sabbath and listened to stories of forgiveness and charity, and prayed for guidance. But they decided it didn’t apply to Jack the Smith, none of it. So I saw each and every one of them into the ground, and who remembers them now? No-one but me.’

  Trev blinked. As utterly improbable as it was, it seemed that Smith somehow saw himself as the victim in the trail of despair, misery and cruelty that he’d left behind. It was more believable when Trev reminded himself that Smith had probably been selling himself that narrative for so long he wouldn’t have known the truth if someone had written it on a brick and smashed him over the head with it.

  ‘You reckon that leaving this dimension will allow you to escape… judgement?’

  Smith stared at him and Trev worried he’d asked a question too many. If Oscar’s version of the story was accurate, Smith had spent centuries as a walking corpse to avoid being condemned to Hell. That fear drove him. However soul-crushingly awful his existence was, he saw it as preferable to facing the ultimate penalty.

  Trev wasn’t religious and had no idea what awaited him after he died. He had his fingers crossed for peaceful oblivion, as the thought of some part of him going on forever, whether “upstairs” or down, sounded unappealing in the extreme. Had Smith seen enough in his extended life to convince him his fears were genuine? Or had he been running for so long that it had become an end in itself?

  ‘I have no intention of being judged,’ Smith finally replied. ‘By you, or the Custodians, or the creator of the bloody universe himself. I want to find myself a nice, quiet spot and await eternity.’

  ‘Sounds like fun,’ Trev replied. ‘Granddad and I will leave you to it then, if that’s all right?’

  He stepped towards Granddad, who was still slumped in the chair. His route would, by happy accident, take him closer to Smith as well. If he could get within arm’s reach…

  ‘I didn’t say you could go anywhere,’ said Smith. He raised the lantern, inviting Trev to stare at the churning light within. ‘You know what I can do with this. Don’t push me.’

  ‘What do you want from us, then?’ said Trev. ‘You’ve got the Key. You obviously have plans for it. Let me take Granddad home.’

  ‘And you believe it’s as simple as that?’ said Smith.

  ‘I don’t see why we need to make it any more complicated.’

  Smith shook his head. ‘You’ve caused me a lot of trouble in these past few days.’

  ‘You came looking for me,’ Trev pointed out. ‘Any “trouble” I’ve caused you is the direct result of that. If you’re looking to point the finger at someone, try the nearest mirror.’

  Smith chuckled. It was a grating, ugly sound, with no humour in it whatsoever; a reminder to Trev that he was dealing with a man who lacked even the tiniest shred of decency or empathy. If he’d ever believed that there was a chance Smith would let them walk away from the meeting, he didn’t now. The end was coming.

  ‘Idiot,’ said Smith. ‘There’s one rule in this life, boy: do, or be done to. I’ve never let anyone get the better of me, because I don’t give them the opportunity. If you believe in some objective standard of fairness or morality then you’re a fool.’

  He flipped the Key in his hand and dropped it into a pocket. ‘Anyway, don’t stand there and tell me that you’re acting in good faith. You came here to end me, did you not?’

  Trev shrugged. ‘If necessary.’

  ‘Oh, it’s necessary,’ said Smith. ‘It’s the only way you’re going to leave here.’

  He let the lantern swing in his hand. Behind him, in the darkness beneath the trees, a burning orange oval appeared. A barghest’s eye. It was joined by others, more and more, dozens of them, until there was a semicircle of glowing orbs surrounding Smith.

  ‘And your promise to release us?’ said Trev. He’d expected the barghests, of course. But perhaps not quite so many of them.

  ‘Release you I shall,’ said Smith, ‘from the bonds that tie you to this world.’

  ‘Well, bollocks,’ said Trev.

  After that a number of things happened very quickly.

  Forty-One

  The first thing that happened was completely unexpected, both for Trev and Smith. Granddad, moving faster than Trev had ever seen, leapt from his chair and threw himself at his captor like an elderly Exocet. The lengthy period of unconsciousness had obviously been a feint, allowing Smith to become distracted with Trev. Granddad had been listening in and had taken his chance.

  If Smith had been standing just a step or two closer, the attack might’ve worked.

  On leaving the chair, Granddad never quite got his feet under control. He’d been sitting still for a long time, and the ground didn’t offer secure footing. As a result, what he’d intended as a full-body tackle turned into a stumbling sprawl. He had sufficient momentum that he still made contact with Smith, but instead of bundling him to the ground he was only able to grab at him as he fell.

  Smith’s reflexes were impressive. He instantly reacted to the sound of the chair clattering over and dodged aside as Granddad came at him. The old man got a handful of Smith’s coat and for a moment it looked like he might drag him down. Smith lashed out with a fist, catching his assailant on the side of the head. Granddad grunted and slumped to the ground.

  Trev wasted a moment just watching, dumbfounded. His paralysis didn’t last long, however. He reached into his left sleeve and pulled out the kris from its hidden sheath before charging Smith.

  To that extent, Trev’s plan had worked. Past experience had told him that Smith relied on the power of his lantern to determine if someone was lying. Trev had felt it used on him several times, and he knew its touch. With Bad Trev’s help he’d found he could repel a blunt-force psychic attack from Smith, but fooling the much more subtle effect of the lantern’s lie detector was a different challenge. Trev had gambled that he could do it, and he’d been successful. He’d lied about being alone and unarmed, and Smith had believed him. Such was his confidence in the lantern’s abilities, he hadn’t bothered to search Trev to double check.

  Trev lunged forwards, closing the distance while Smith was distracted with Granddad. He was a fraction too slow. Having felled the old man, Smith pivoted and swung his lantern at Trev. It struck him on the right shoulder with enough force to numb his whole arm. The kris spun from his hand and skidded away across the ground.

  Smith followed up his initial attack and Trev was forced to dodge away, putting to good use the evasive tactics he’d learned from Mishti Desai. Smith opted not to pursue him. He stopped and raised his lantern. From the woods behind him came a bowel-loosening chorus of growls, snarls and barks. The glowing eyes of the barghests bobbed and flickered as the beasts moved through the trees towards the clearing.

  ‘Looks like plan B,’ Trev said into his lapel.

  ‘A kris?’ spat Smith. He was clearly furious. ‘You really did think you’d assassinate me?’

  ‘Technically you’re already dead,’ said Trev, quite happy to stall for time. ‘I just thought you’d appreciate a bit of help in working that out.’

  ‘So much for the Custodians and their grand ideals of justice and fair play,’ said Smith. Having boasted earlier about how often people tried to kill him, he seemed unaccountably aggrieved at this latest attempt.

  Trev shrugged. ‘I’m not a Custodian, mate.’

  ‘I’d wager they gave you that knife.’

  ‘Well, yeah, maybe,’ Trev conceded. ‘But let’s face it, you were going to kill us both. You can’t blame me for trying to get in first.’

  ‘You would’ve died quickly,’ said Smith. ‘Now, I’m going to drag it out a little.’

  He stared down at the kris. Instead of picking it up, he aimed a kick at it. It bounced across the frozen mud bef
ore pinwheeling into an icy puddle. Trev frowned. Why didn’t he pick it up? he wondered. The answer came to him a second later. Smith didn’t want to touch it. He was afraid of it. That also explained his anger at Trev’s attack; he recognised that it could actually have been successful. He knew that kris knives were demon-made and therefore might hurt him.

  Despite Smith’s best efforts the kris hadn’t gone far. The uneven ground had bounced it slightly closer to Trev, if anything. He knew, though, that if he went after it Smith would retaliate. Granddad was still prone and helpless. Trev didn’t think the old man was faking it this time.

  The first of the barghests loped into the clearing, quickly followed by several others. The creatures had been terrifying the first time Trev had seen them, and back then he’d been well armed and supported by a group of combat-hardened Custodians. Standing there alone, with no weapons, he was gripped by the kind of all-consuming fear that froze the muscles and made grown men cry. He might’ve cried himself, but his tear ducts appeared to have succumbed to the same paralysis as the rest of him.

  Smith wasn’t taking any chances. He’d summoned more barghests than the pervious time. A lot more. Trev was too scared to be able to count them – simple arithmetic being as beyond him as brain surgery at that point – but he guessed there were perhaps twice as many. The beasts formed themselves into a loose semi-circle across the clearing, unblinking eyes fixed on their prey.

  ‘They’ll tear you apart, but slowly,’ said Smith. He’d regained his composure and spoke with his usual arrogance. ‘First, though, you’ll watch it happen to old Bernard here.’

  Where’s my backup? Trev’s eyes scanned the trees, searching in vain for a sign that the cavalry was riding over the proverbial hill to his rescue. A nasty thought wriggled into his mind. What if they weren’t coming? Maybe the barghests had already found them and killed them? Or perhaps one of the people in whom he’d put his trust was the traitor after all, and he’d been left to die?