Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  ‘Trev, please!’

  He surrendered and opened one eye. The night sky was still there, though the glowing streamers had gone. Trev felt a little sad about that. They really had been beautiful. He saw flickers of light around him, but they were artificial. Torches.

  He opened the other eye. A face appeared above him, framed with curly blonde hair. Sarah.

  ‘There you are!’ she said. ‘I was getting worried. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’ve been worse, but not often,’ Trev rasped.

  With Sarah’s help he managed to sit up. She passed him a bottle of water and he took a few big gulps from it, soothing his dry throat. Immediately he felt better. He looked around the clearing, getting his bearings.

  Deacon was standing a short distance away, talking to a group of solemn-looking men and women wearing long white robes with winter jackets on top. He spotted Cled among them; the Welshman saw him looking and gave him a sly thumbs-up.

  ‘How are you?’ said Desai, walking over. She crouched next to him.

  ‘Still alive,’ he replied. ‘Unless this is the afterlife. If it is, it’s a bit of a disappointment. Where’s the pizza?’

  ‘You think they have pizza in Heaven?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Wouldn’t be Heaven otherwise,’ said Trev. He had another swig of water. ‘What did I miss?’

  ‘Not much,’ said Desai. ‘You’re lucky you’d burned through all your psychic energy. Those wisps of light weren’t drawn to you like they were to Smith.’

  ‘What was all that?’ Sarah wanted to know. ‘What did the Druids do?’

  ‘The Greenweave,’ said Trev. ‘Plants absorb psychic energy. Trees, particularly. The Druids can… weaponise that energy, under certain circumstances.’

  ‘Why did it kill Smith and the barghests, and not you?’

  Trev shrugged. ‘I don’t understand it a hundred percent. But those wisps of light are drawn to sources of psychic energy. The barghests are composed of demonic essence. Smith had his soul trapped outside his body. They drew all the attention, I think. I’d gone through all my reserves so I didn’t show up on their radar much.’

  ‘There were a few gathering around you after Smith died,’ said Desai. ‘But the Druids ended the ritual before anything happened to you.’

  ‘Glad they turned up, then,’ said Trev. ‘I wasn’t totally convinced they would.’

  ‘Feargal’s pretty happy about that,’ Desai replied. ‘This is the first time Custodians and Druids have worked together for, well, quite a while.’

  ‘Is he hoping to make it more regular?’

  It was Desai’s turn to shrug. ‘It wouldn’t hurt to have them to call on, that’s for sure. So something good might come out of this evening, after all.’

  ‘Smith’s dead, that’s a good thing,’ Trev pointed out.

  ‘I’m glad to see the back of him, but I’d have preferred to put the bastard on trial,’ said Desai. ‘And yes, I know that wasn’t possible and I stand by Feargal’s decision. I just don’t like the idea of the Custodians staging assassinations.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ Trev said, though inwardly he was remembering Bad Trev taking control and making him charge at Smith with murder in mind. These… incidents are getting more common, he thought. How long have I got left before I disappear over the edge and can’t get back?

  This was a wholly depressing line of thought, so he abandoned it. With Sarah’s help he got on his feet. He felt battered, bruised and exhausted. Behind those feelings, though, was a sense of great relief. Death had come knocking and once again he’d been able to hide behind the sofa until it went away. Smith was dead; and although his employers were still at large – and unidentified – the immediate threat was gone.

  He glanced across the clearing to where Smith’s body lay, partly covered by someone’s coat. The someone in question appeared to be Deacon, who was still talking to the Druids. Their leader was a burly, red-faced man in late middle age with curly black hair and a large beard. He reminded Trev of Bluto in the old Popeye cartoons. As he watched, Deacon put out his hand and, after a pause, the bearded man shook it. The Druids then turned and filed away, heading out of the clearing along the path.

  Deacon strolled over to Trev, Desai and Sarah. He was smiling, which was an expression Trev hadn’t seen often on his face. He clapped Trev on the shoulder and shook his hand.

  ‘Good to see you’re all right,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Trev, taken aback by this unusual ebullience. ‘Everything OK with the Druids?’

  ‘Yes,’ Deacon replied. ‘I suggested maintaining a line of contact between us, you know, to share information. The Primal Druid said he’d consider it.’

  The beardy guy must be the famous Arthur Vale, then, Trev thought. ‘That doesn’t sound like he was very enthusiastic.’

  ‘His predecessor, Simon Alder, wouldn’t speak to the Custodians at all,’ said Deacon. ‘This is a very mild thawing in our relations with the Druids, but it’s progress. And it helps that you’ve got a contact in their ranks, Trev.’

  ‘Cled’s not a “contact”, he’s my mate,’ said Trev. ‘But yeah, I see what you’re saying.’

  ‘Even more important than that,’ Deacon went on, ‘is this.’

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Key. As usual, it looked completely unremarkable. Hard to believe people have been killing each other for centuries over that little brass wheel, Trev thought.

  ‘I’d be grateful if you would return my property to me,’ said a voice.

  Ezekiel Barker was walking up to them. He moved with a slight stiffness to his posture, and one sleeve of his coat had been torn open. Blood showed on his shirt-sleeve beneath. He held out a hand for the Key.

  ‘I agreed not to arrest you,’ Deacon replied, ‘and I’ll honour that. The Key stays with me though. It’s not yours. It’s stolen property and an important piece of evidence.’

  ‘Evidence against whom?’ Barker asked. ‘The dead fellow over there? Do you intend to put his corpse in the dock?’

  ‘I’m not going to discuss our ongoing investigations,’ said Deacon. He put the Key back in his pocket. ‘We’re grateful for your assistance this evening.’

  ‘But not, it appears, grateful enough to return to me something that was loaned in good faith,’ said Barker. He cast an eye across the group, one hand straying to his coat pocket.

  ‘It’s too dangerous to leave in private hands,’ said Deacon. If he was concerned by Barker’s aggressive tone, it didn’t show. ‘And anyway, if you were to keep it, someone would kill you for it before long.’

  ‘No doubt they would try,’ said Barker. ‘Return it to me.’

  ‘I can’t do that.’

  Barker frowned. Again he looked at the people in front of him. Trev tensed. If Barker decided to take the Key back by force, things would get very ugly, very quickly. He glanced nervously to his right. Deacon showed no sign of backing down. Desai stood alongside him. Trev noticed that she’d drawn her gun at some point. She was holding it in a casual fashion, the muzzle aimed at the ground, but Trev knew how good a shot she was. If Barker tried anything he’d find himself full of holes in short order.

  ‘And what do you say, Mr. Irwin?’ Barker said. ‘Are you a man of your word?’

  Trev shuffled his feet. ‘Look, I promised you the Custodians wouldn’t arrest you,’ he said, ‘and they won’t. If it was my decision I’d give you back the Key as well, but I can’t force the Custodians to hand it over.’

  Barker stared him down. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But do not think I will forget this.’

  He turned and limped away. Sarah gave Trev a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ she whispered, then followed Barker.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Trev, when the two of them were out of sight. ‘I thought for a moment he was going to kick off.’

  ‘If he wasn’t injured and low on psychic energy, he probably would’ve,’ said Desai. ‘He got swarmed when Smith fren
zied the barghests. To be honest I don’t know how he survived.’

  ‘He’s a very dangerous man,’ said Deacon. ‘I didn’t like to let him walk away but a deal is a deal.’

  ‘What next?’ Trev asked.

  ‘The clean-up crew should’ve arrived by now,’ said Deacon. ‘I told them to wait in the field. Didn’t want to spook the Druids by having another bunch of Custodians arrive.’

  Trev looked at his phone, which had miraculously survived the evening’s ordeal. ‘You’ve got a signal out here?’

  ‘Satellite phone.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Come on, let’s go and fetch them.’

  They left the clearing and picked up the path. Desai was watchful and still had her gun out, apparently concerned that Barker might try to ambush them. Deacon appeared more relaxed, though he had his vapour weapon in his hand. Trev shuffled along at the back.

  ‘Hey Feargal,’ he said. ‘How come it took you so long to rescue me?’

  ‘We had to hang back because of Smith,’ Deacon replied. ‘As we expected, he was using his abilities to give himself early warning of anyone approaching the clearing. What we didn’t expect was his range. Oscar used his senses to keep us far enough away from Smith that he couldn’t detect us, but it was a lot further out than we’d hoped. When the action started we had a long way to come to reach you.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Trev. ‘There was a minute there I thought you weren’t coming.’

  ‘Yeah, we weren’t sure we’d get there in time either,’ said Desai. ‘You did well to stand up to the barghests like you did.’

  ‘Dumb luck,’ said Trev, automatically.

  ‘I’ve heard you say that a few times,’ said Deacon. ‘When I first met you I might’ve believed it. I don’t now.’

  Trev shrugged. Secretly he was quite pleased at the praise. He knew Deacon had a vested interest in making him feel accepted, but even so… it was good to hear those things from people as skilled and experienced as the two Custodians. He was walking slightly taller as they left the trees and entered the field.

  One of the Custodians’ white vans was parked there. A team of five, three men and two women, was standing around it, looking impatient. One of the women was talking to Granddad. He was pointing towards the path as if he wanted to go back to the clearing. The Custodian had planted herself in his way and was doing her best to calm him. He glanced past her and saw Trev and his companions approaching.

  ‘Trevor!’ he said, his face alight with relief. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I got nibbled on a bit but I’ll pull through,’ Trev replied, accepting an awkward hug from the old man.

  ‘And Smith?’

  ‘He’s… no longer a threat.’

  ‘Good.’ Granddad adjusted his glasses. ‘I’m not a vengeful man, but in my opinion Jack Smith was irredeemably evil. I’m glad he’s gone.’

  ‘No argument here,’ said Trev. ‘Where’s Oscar?’

  ‘Asleep on the back seat of my car.’

  ‘There’s a surprise.’

  Deacon gave some instructions to the clean-up squad. They grabbed their kit and hurried off into the woods.

  ‘All right,’ he said to Trev and Granddad, ‘I don’t think there’s anything more you two can do here. Get yourselves off home. I’ll need you both to come in and give statements, but that can wa–’

  ‘Drop your weapons and put your hands up,’ said a commanding voice.

  Three men, dressed in black combat gear and ski masks, had appeared from behind the Custodians’ van. All three were armed with submachine guns fitted with long suppressors.

  ‘I’m not asking again,’ said the man who’d spoken. He stood in the middle of the three, and was a little smaller than the men flanking him. Desai dropped her gun and Deacon let his vapour weapon fall. Trev had lost all his weapons so he just raised his hands and put on his most harmless expression.

  ‘Who are you?’ Deacon asked.

  ‘This isn’t a Q&A,’ the spokesman shot back. ‘The Key. Hand it over.’

  ‘We haven’t got it,’ Trev said. ‘Ezekiel Barker took it.’

  The spokesman sighed and nodded to the man on his right, who stepped forwards and slammed the butt of his gun into Trev’s stomach. All the air left his lungs with a startled whoof and he went down like a broken deckchair.

  ‘Don’t piss me about, son, I don’t have the time or the patience for it,’ said the spokesman. ‘We know Barker doesn’t have it, or we wouldn’t be here. So, the Key. Now.’

  There was a pause. From his position on the ground, Trev could see Deacon’s jaw tensing. There was no way he’d want to give up the Key, but Trev didn’t see that he had any other option.

  ‘Who are you?’ Deacon asked again.

  ‘Look, there are two ways we can do this,’ said the spokesman, sounding irritated. ‘You can hand the Key over and we leave, and none of you get hurt.’

  ‘What about me?’ Trev wheezed.

  ‘None of you get hurt any further,’ the spokesman clarified. ‘The second option is that we shoot you all and then search your bodies for the Key. In both scenarios we get the Key, so it’s no skin off my nose if you feel suicidal.’

  All three men made a show of releasing the safeties on their weapons and aiming them. Trev had managed to get some air back into his lungs.

  ‘Deacon,’ he said.

  Deacon ignored him, continuing to stare at the three gunmen as if he could make them leave by force of will alone. The gunmen weren’t noticeably intimidated as far as Trev could tell.

  ‘Feargal,’ said Desai.

  Deacon hissed out a breath through his teeth and reached slowly into his pocket. He pulled out the Key and held it up.

  ‘Throw it to me,’ said the spokesman. ‘Underarm.’

  Deacon did as he was told. To say he looked unhappy was an understatement of colossal proportions.

  ‘Thanks,’ said the spokesman. ‘Right, we’ll be off.’

  There was the sound of a diesel engine and a white van with blacked-out windows backed in through the gate. The side door slid open and a fourth gunman stepped down, covering his comrades’ retreat. Trev hauled himself into a sitting position and watched them go. As soon as they were all aboard the van drove out of the gate and disappeared.

  Deacon stood for a moment, his face a mask of suppressed rage. Without saying anything he turned and marched away into the trees. Nobody was brave – or foolish – enough to try to stop him.

  Oscar jumped down from the open door of Granddad’s car, stretched, and wandered over. He took in Trev sitting on the floor, Granddad staring after Deacon, and Desai picking up her gun.

  ‘What did I miss?’ he said.

  Forty-Five

  There was no question of Trev going to work the following morning. He phoned in sick, which necessitated a brief, and rather awkward, conversation with Helen. Trev was too tired and sore to worry about it much. He needed more sleep. For a change, it came easily. He buried himself under the covers and let the morning pass.

  It was early afternoon by the time he hauled himself out of bed. His torso was a patchwork of bruises and just sitting up was enough to make him wince. The Custodians had cleaned and bandaged the barghest bite on his arm; it throbbed dully, adding one more note to the symphony of pain. Trev ran a bath and lay in it, thinking. There were a lot of thoughts charging through his brain. He chased them around for a while and then made some decisions.

  When he’d dressed and eaten some lunch, he switched on his phone. As he’d expected, there were a couple of messages from Granddad. He called the old man back, settling into his armchair and steeling himself for an ear-bashing. After pleasantries had been exchanged, Granddad got straight to the point.

  ‘Those men last night who took the Key,’ he said. ‘They were from the Eyes of Nona, weren’t they? I recognised their spokesman’s voice.’

  ‘Yeah, I thought the same,’ said Trev. ‘Liszt, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Strange
that they should turn up at just that moment,’ Granddad went on. ‘It was almost as if someone tipped them off.’

  Trev didn’t reply.

  ‘But who would’ve done that? I certainly didn’t, and nor did Deacon. I can’t imagine Mishti would’ve either.’

  Trev remained silent, waiting for the inevitable question.

  Granddad sighed. ‘Trevor, did you tip them off?’

  ‘Maybe they were just driving around and got really lucky,’ Trev offered.

  ‘Trevor.’

  ‘All right, yes, I made a deal,’ said Trev. ‘The Key in exchange for Sarah’s safety.’

  ‘I guessed as much,’ Granddad replied. He was affecting the “I’m disappointed but not surprised” tone of voice that Trev had heard many times before. ‘Trevor, I think that was a very bad decision.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Trev said, ‘and maybe not. Look, if it’s locked up by the Custodians then there’s a chance the traitor could get hold of it. Whoever they are, they seem to have some pretty high-level access to the Custodians’ network. On the other hand if Nona uses it to transport herself back to her own dimension then the thing’s gone for good and none of the bad guys get it.’

  Trev could almost hear Granddad shaking his head. ‘I really don’t like it,’ he said. ‘What if Feargal finds out what you’ve done?’

  ‘Why would he?’ asked Trev. ‘He doesn’t know we’ve spoken to Nona. I even got them to rough me up a bit last night to make it look good.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed that. A clever touch, I must admit.’

  Trev gingerly touched the huge bruise on his stomach. ‘Odds are the bloke who hit me was the one I hoofed in the plums the other night.’

  ‘Quite possibly. So now what?’

  ‘I’m planning to cross my fingers and hope Deacon never finds out about it. I might get a will made up, just in case he does.’

  ‘He’ll have suspicions,’ Granddad warned. ‘He isn’t a stupid man.’

  ‘I think he’s more likely to assume a connection between the gunmen and Barker, or even Smith,’ said Trev. ‘Even if he does think it was me, how’s he going to prove it?’