‘Actually,’ replied Cassandra, ‘I was thinking, hasn’t he got a nice bum?’
Paris glared at her. She beamed back at him.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get to the staffroom.’
They walked down the corridor the opposite way to Fairclough, heading back into the bowels of the station. As they passed a room filled with officers manning phones, Cassandra stopped and peered through the open doorway.
‘So this is where it all happens?’ she whispered. ‘This is where people call in when they want to contact the police. I suppose you’re the first to find out about every crime in south Manchester. Well, apart from the criminal.’
Paris grunted. ‘You’d be surprised. Lots of people these days don’t ring us straight away. Their immediate concern is to go onto Twitface or whatever it’s called.’
Cassandra laughed. ‘I’m guessing you don’t do social media, do you?’
‘No,’ said Paris flatly. ‘I’ve got real friends.’
The witch turned to face him, scrutinising his expression.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you do. Some close ones. Dependable, and they can depend on you too. But not that many of them. Am I right?’
Paris frowned, keeping his eyes on the room full of policemen. Was there anything she couldn’t tell about him simply by looking? He tried to change the subject.
‘All this virtual networking stuff just doesn’t interest me.’
‘You mean you don’t know how to do it. You don’t know how to put up things like “Nick Paris is in a relationship”. Well, if you’re lucky, one day I might show you.’
Paris turned towards her. A benign smile greeted him. He considered for a moment. This woman was mad as a shop full of hatters, but very hard not to like.
‘Fair enough,’ he said. ‘Only wouldn’t you need to ask my star sign?’
‘Gemini,’ replied Cassandra.
Damn, thought Paris.
They carried on through the station until they arrived at the staffroom. The inspector opened the door and stepped in. Tergil was standing by one of the tables, with two of the dwarves sitting next to him. All three were watching Malbus in fascination as he stood on the other table, his beak moving up and down on something that looked like rubber. Their eyes turned towards Paris as he entered.
‘Morning, Mr Parrots,’ chorused the dwarves.
Paris waved a cursory greeting. ‘Eric, Sven. What’s he doing?’
‘Wine gum,’ spluttered Malbus. ‘I ain’t allowed fags in here, am I?’
‘Right,’ replied Paris. ‘Where’s Grarf?’
‘On guard outside Rocky’s cell,’ said Tergil. ‘As he has been all night. Or at least, as he has been since he found it.’
Paris nodded, seeing Malbus glug down the last of the wine gum as he did so. He felt pretty sure that swallowing worms would be easier. Then again, the vending machine didn’t sell packets of worms. He plonked himself down on a chair.
‘Anything to report?’ he asked.
Tergil shook his head. ‘We have kept watch all night. There has been no sign of any demonic activity.’
Cassandra tapped Paris on the shoulder. ‘See? Told you we could rely on Tergil and the dwarves.’
Eric and Sven beamed, while Paris pondered. “Tergil and the Dwarves” sounded like the support band at an early Pink Floyd concert. However, you couldn’t argue with their commitment. The elf had asked them for help and they’d responded instantly, pulling weapons out of their carrier bags. Paris glanced down at the two battleaxes resting on the table. They were the size of children’s toys – only much sharper and definitely not made of plastic.
‘So,’ he said. ‘You managed to work out what the Vanethria were doing here?’
‘Nah,’ said Malbus. ‘They might’ve tracked down Rocky, or these little guys. But they might’ve just worked out where to find you.’
‘You still reckon they’re after me?’
‘I dunno. But speaking as a cop, that’s what the evidence looks like. Don’t it?’
Paris didn’t want to answer. He frowned, uncomfortable with the premise. Being a demon magnet wasn’t exactly high on his list of ideal jobs.
‘What’s our next move?’ he asked.
‘I do not know,’ said Tergil. ‘I need to work out their intentions. And I have not yet been able to do so.’
Paris sat looking at him. The honesty was refreshing. Unfortunately, also not very useful.
‘So we just sit here?’ he asked. ‘Until they do something.’
The elf opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted when the policeman’s mobile started to ring. Paris pulled it out of his jacket as Bonetti burst in through the door.
‘Boss!’ he shouted. ‘Turn the telly on!’
Paris stared at him in surprise. The sergeant grabbed the remote control himself, banging his sausage fingers on the buttons. The TV flickered into life as the noise of more phones rang out from around the building. A BBC newsreader appeared on the screen, radiating enforced calm from behind her desk. The sound came on halfway through a sentence.
‘…reports coming in that a school in south Manchester has been taken over by armed men, disguised as some sort of monsters.’
‘Oh no,’ said Tergil.
‘Well,’ said Malbus. ‘You wanted to know their next move.’
25
Acorn Primary School was not somewhere Paris knew. It sat in the middle of a quiet Didsbury housing estate and he’d never previously had any reason to be there. The largest police presence it had ever seen was two mounted officers visiting the last summer fete. Until now. From the staff car park he could see the armed response unit taking up their positions and hear the loudhailers telling local residents to keep away. School’s out, he thought. But Alice Cooper only ever dressed up like a demon.
‘What do we know?’ asked Paris.
‘According to the people who got out,’ replied Sergeant Randall, ‘there’s four of them. All with hand-to-hand weapons. Swords and stuff.’
He let out a long, slow sigh.
The inspector rolled his eyes. ‘They just grabbed one lot of kids?’
Randall nodded. ‘Let everyone else run off. Took one class and their teacher.’
He clenched his hand tight around the barrel of his automatic rifle, accompanied by another exaggerated sigh.
Paris gritted his teeth and ignored him. ‘So where are they?’
Randall pointed towards the school. Paris’s eyes tracked along the dull grey building, settling on the first-floor classroom furthest away. He tried unsuccessfully to see past the pulled-down blinds.
‘Camped out up there now,’ said the sergeant. ‘There’s a corridor runs down the middle of the block, with classrooms either side. They’ve occupied the two at the very end. On this side there’s playing fields. On the other side you’ve got the playground. My men have surrounded the perimeter, but we can’t approach without being seen. The only way of getting there is to make our way through the building. And we’re not allowed to do that. Are we?’
‘No,’ replied Paris. ‘You’re not going in. So stop sulking.’
‘Can’t help it, sir,’ replied the sergeant. ‘I know you’ve brought in a “specialised unit”. But it should be my guys. That’s what we do.’
He jabbed a finger at the badge on his bulletproof jacket, an angry-looking cartoon bee.
‘We’re the SWARM,’ said Randall. ‘Special Weapons And Rapid Mobilisation. If we’re not Special, we’re just WARM. And that’s rubbish.’
Paris let out a sigh of his own. Not for nothing was Randall known throughout the force as Rambo. Or, sometimes, Dimbo.
‘Oh, you’re definitely special,’ he said. ‘This is a particular kind of threat, though. The people I’ve brought in are experts.’
‘What?’ asked Randall. ‘People like him?’
He waved his arm towards the short figure at Paris’s side. The inspector looked down. He had to concede it did seem rather od
d. You could pick Sergeant Randall – a big solid bloke in body armour and battle helmet – or Tergil, wearing corduroy trousers, a baggy green jumper and a red woolly hat. It was like choosing between RoboCop and a battery-powered tramp.
‘Yeah,’ Paris replied, with as much conviction as he was able to manage.
‘Well, I don’t get it. Exactly what is he an expert in?’
Fighting demons, for one thing, thought Paris. He didn’t dare leave this to ordinary cops, even ones with guns. They would have no idea what they were up against. Tergil and his merry men understood the enemy and how to fight them. Plus they were less likely to panic in the face of the unknown and start blasting everywhere.
He was about to reply when Tergil spoke up.
‘I do not doubt,’ said the elf, ‘that you are brave, skilled warriors. However, I have access to resources that you could not begin to imagine.’
‘Really?’ said Randall. ‘Like what?’
Paris groaned to himself. Please don’t say magic.
Tergil nodded towards the school. ‘They have pulled down the blinds so you cannot see in. Are you aware of what they are doing? Or where everybody is located?’
‘Not yet. We haven’t got any surveillance set up.’
Tergil fixed his eyes on the sergeant’s. ‘I do not need your equipment. I already know. All of the children are in the classroom on this side, with two of their captors guarding them. One guard is by the door, the second stands by the end window. The remaining two attackers are in the corridor, or occasionally looking out from the other room. The children are huddled around three tables in the middle of the classroom, where their tutor attempts to keep them calm. They are frightened, but thus far none have been harmed, or even threatened.’
Paris and Randall stared at him. The elf spoke with total confidence and unquestionable authority. Paris didn’t have a clue how Tergil knew all this, but he definitely knew. He shook his head, jolting himself back into life.
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You see? Specialists.’ He glanced at Tergil. ‘With slightly unusual areas of expertise. So you concentrate on guarding the boundary and keeping the TV crews as far back as possible. Leave it to us. Right?’
‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled Randall.
The sergeant wandered off, looking dazed. Paris watched him go for a moment, then turned back towards Tergil.
‘How the hell did you do that?’
‘Malbus has his agents in place,’ replied Tergil. ‘They have done their initial reconnaissance and fed the information back to him. They are a crack team.’
Paris raised an eyebrow. ‘They’re squirrels.’
‘Highly trained espionage operatives, if you do not mind. Who else would be able to climb the walls and peek in the windows without being spotted?’
Who indeed? decided Paris grudgingly. As usual, he couldn’t argue with the logic. And, as usual, he wished he could.
He pondered the elf’s reasoning a bit more as they walked towards the waiting police van. They’d sat in the station watching the news wide-eyed, trying to figure out what the Vanethria were up to. Why were they out in the open now? Why attack a target with no significance? Then Tergil said it must be a diversion, a ruse to split the princess’s defenders. It made military sense, as did his decision to lead the party going to the school. Even though the sense of it was probably ripping him apart.
Paris opened the van’s rear doors. Four pairs of eyes stared out at him: Cassandra, Eric, Sven and his brother Karl. This was his crack team. In total it comprised an elf, a talking crow, three dwarves and a witch. I must be mad, he thought.
‘Everyone ready?’ he asked.
‘Can’t wait,’ replied Cassandra. ‘Dying to try black ops instead of black magic.’
Paris looked at Tergil. ‘You sure we can do this?’
‘Quite sure,’ replied the elf, with absolute certainty. ‘Are you sure that you wish to come with us?’
‘Yeah,’ replied Paris, with somewhat less certainty.
Going in there to battle the Vanethria. The very notion filled him with dread. But he wouldn’t let magical creatures fight on his behalf. This was his city, his responsibility. He might get a posthumous medal. Whoopee.
‘I still reckon we should’ve brought Grarf,’ he said.
‘You know that we could not,’ answered Tergil. ‘He had to stay with Sergeant Bonetti to protect Rocky. Besides, he would not fit in the van.’
‘And anyhow,’ said Malbus’s voice, ‘he’d probably scare the kids even more than the demons they’ve got already.’
Paris looked up. The crow was standing on the vehicle’s roof, peering down with jet-black eyes. He’d flown on ahead, in order to round up his men. When he’d explained the plan beforehand it had sounded ridiculous. Now, having considered it properly, it sounded completely insane.
‘Is this idea of yours going to work?’ asked Paris.
Malbus snorted.
‘Course,’ he replied. ‘The squirrels climb up the walls, have a nosey, then go onto the roof. I fly round, collect all the reports, give the info to Cassandra here. She talks to you through your earphone thing. Dead easy.’
‘Yeah,’ said Paris. ‘Well, I suppose it’s okay so far. They’ve found where everyone is. You didn’t say if they’ve spotted any barricades or booby traps though.’
‘Actually,’ said Tergil, ‘I did not need to. There are none.’
‘Damn right,’ said Malbus. ‘Far as we can tell, the V ain’t even locked the doors.’
The inspector frowned.
‘If they haven’t made any defences,’ he said, ‘then they’ve got no interest in the kids at all. They’re just sitting there, waiting for someone to come in and fight them. This is definitely a diversion. Do you want to go back to Rocky?’
‘I do,’ replied Tergil. ‘However, I have sworn that we will save your children first. Now let us do so.’
He pulled off his hat and jumper, revealing two knives strapped across the back of his tunic. As he fastened on his sword belt, Paris marvelled once more at Tergil’s commitment. He still wasn’t sure he could trust him, but he could certainly rely on him.
The dwarves jumped down from the van, battleaxes and war hammers in hand. Cassandra was left sitting alone inside. The witch and the policeman stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
‘I don’t suppose,’ said Paris, ‘you’ve got any lucky charms going spare?’
‘Why? You don’t believe in magic.’
‘Right now I’ll take whatever I can get.’
Cassandra offered no potions, but gave him half a smile instead. ‘Just make sure nothing happens to you.’
‘Didn’t know you cared.’
‘I don’t. But I’ve got to get home eventually and I can’t drive.’
A wry grin crossed Paris’s lips. Briefly. It disappeared as quickly as it had come. His stomach was in a knot and he really needed a drink. He turned towards his troops. They looked up at him expectantly. He swallowed hard and steeled himself as best he could.
‘Right,’ said Paris. ‘It’s time to face our demons.’
26
The inside of the school looked slightly different from the outside. Drab grey concrete had been swapped for pastel-coloured walls covered in children’s paintings. Growling dinosaurs and smiling spacemen stared down as Paris got his bearings. To his right was the staffroom, with the main corridor stretching off past it. On his left stood the admin office, with the assembly hall and more classrooms beyond. In both directions the scene appeared basically the same: deserted, eerily quiet, with a liberal scattering of dropped coats plus abandoned rucksacks. He examined the walls again. Between the houses, farm animals and fairy-tale castles, one subject seemed to be missing. Demonic killers presumably weren’t on the curriculum. Well, not yet.
A gentle click sounded in his ear: the sign that Cassandra wanted to speak to him.
‘Hello?’ whispered Paris.
‘You’re in, then. What’s it like
so far?’
‘Looks as though everyone left in a rush. Can’t say I blame them. You got anything to tell us?’
‘Not much,’ replied Cassandra. ‘The two guards are still wandering round the upstairs hallway. Or, at least, they were. You do realise there’s a delay in this? By the time Malbus’s team report in, they might have moved somewhere different.’
‘Yeah,’ said Paris. ‘But it’s the best we’ve got. Any news from anywhere else?’
‘No, nothing. You expecting some?’
‘Kind of. Catch you later.’
He switched off the microphone and stood frowning at the paintings.
‘Is something wrong?’ asked Tergil.
‘No,’ replied Paris. ‘That’s the problem.’
‘I do not understand.’
‘We assumed they’d come here to split us up. Reduce the numbers guarding Rocky. Only they haven’t tried to get her. There’s been no attack on the station.’
Tergil thought for a moment.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘However, we can do nothing about that for now. Let us concentrate on the matter at hand.’
He turned to look up the main corridor. Paris followed his gaze, to where the dwarves had gone scouting ahead. Two of them now headed back. The inspector watched in fascination. They were solid, stocky and as aerodynamic as a sack of spuds. But made no sound whatsoever as they walked. He pondered. Compared to some things over the last few days, ninja potatoes sounded quite sensible.
Eric and Karl came to a halt in front of him.
‘What’s Sven doing?’ he asked.
‘Keeping watch,’ replied Eric. ‘That’s why he’s standing by the stairs, see. There’s another lot of them too, further down the passage.’
‘We will go up the second set,’ said Tergil. ‘They will take us closer to the classroom we seek.’
And closer to the demons, thought Paris. Not somewhere he wanted to be, even though he knew he had to. It felt a bit like visiting the dentist, except that today’s visitors owned much bigger teeth. Where the hell was Little Red Riding Hood when you needed her? More importantly, no Bonetti either. Whenever a situation required fighting, he relied on his sergeant to thump people. It was something he happened to be very good at. But Bonetti had stayed at the station, preparing for an assault which didn’t seem to be happening. Damn.
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