Void: Book Five of the Nightlord series

by Garon Whited

  Their house was a row house, a nice-looking fieldstone building in Keswick. It was a two-and-a-half storey building—two storeys and an attic with gable windows—and had a short walk through a tiny front yard, almost entirely obscured by garden plants of various sorts. James skipped up the walk and pulled the chain while I waited in the car. The gentleman of the house answered the door, frowned at James’ request to visit his sisters, and reluctantly allowed it.

  Two minutes later, the three of them came running out of the house, followed by a pair of shouting adults. I got out and opened a rear door for them. With the kids safely inside the vehicle, I closed the door and turned to face the double-barreled shouting coming from their self-styled owners. Fingers pointed and hands waved.

  Oddly enough, I didn’t have any feelings about them at all. They were simply a pair of noisy creatures, jabbering almost incomprehensibly. I didn’t want to kill them. I didn’t want to hurt them. I simply wanted to get in the car and leave to have some quiet. I consider this change in my viewpoint to be a good thing. Maybe this vacation has been good for me in ways I don’t yet understand.

  I got in the car and tried to close the door. The male seized my door and held it open while the female tried to open the rear door. Luckily, James had the presence of mind to lock his door as soon as I closed it.

  Ignoring the open driver’s door, I dropped the car into gear and pulled smoothly away from the curb. The shouting intensified briefly, then faded into the distance. I closed the door.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, James?”

  “We didn’t get their clothes.”

  “Thank you for the reminder. We’ll deal with that later,” I informed him. “First, we go see your brother, then we’ll see about unimportant things like goods and chattels.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve also forgotten to introduce us.”

  “Maddy, this is Duncan Kearne. Mister Kearne, this is my elder sister, Madeline Dreyfus.”

  “A pleasure, Mister Kearne,” she said, formally. In the rear-view mirror, it was hard to judge, but I guessed she was about ten.

  “Charmed, Miss Dreyfus. And the youngest?”

  “This is Jennifer, sir. Jenny? Can you say hello to Mister Kearne?”

  Jenny was about four or five and refused to be distracted from watching the world go by through the window. I doubted she ever rode in a car before and was entirely too interested.

  “We’ll excuse her,” I decided. “Maybe when we’re home.”

  “Mister Kearne?”

  “Yes, Miss Dreyfus?”

  “Oh, please call me ‘Maddy,’ Mister Kearne.”

  “I can do that, but you’ll have to call me ‘Duncan’.”

  “Uhm. Yes, sir.”

  “I look forward to it, Miss Dreyfus. Did you have a question?”

  “James said he found a home for us all, but he didn’t have time to explain.”

  “I assure you, he is quite correct.”

  “Does it have much washing-up to do?” she asked, nervously.

  “Yes, but I doubt you’ll be allowed. Mrs. Gillespie will want to handle it all herself. She might let you help if you ask nicely.”

  Maddie sat back in the rear seat and relaxed. Spend most of a month washing and scrubbing and beating out rugs and the question of who is doing the cleaning may be the only relevant question.

  By contrast, the eldest of the four, Richard, was entirely at home. Mr. and Mrs. Thwaites were darn near the ideal of British citizenry. They were willing, even eager, to treat Richard as a son. Their own son, five years older, was already off to join the Army, so they had not only room but inclination. Richard, after discussing matters with them and with his siblings, decided to accompany us to Applewood Hall. The Thwaites were sad to see him go, but agreed with his decision to remain with his younger siblings. It was as amicable a parting as the previous family was acrimonious.

  They helped Richard pack his things, including a few things he hadn’t arrived with. Mrs. Thwaites hugged him goodbye, teary-eyed, and Mr. Thwaite shook his hand, expressing the wish he could have taken in all four. People like the Thwaites are the bright spots of humanity. Most people annoy me when I notice them. Not the Thwaites. If their son was made of similar stuff, he would be a prime candidate for a knighthood.

  I had Richard sit up front with me so he could watch me drive. He was tall for twelve. If he could reach the pedals, I might teach him to drive. Then he could visit the Thwaites as he liked. Or maybe bicycles would be appropriate for three of the four. A tricycle, perhaps, for Jenny, and at least one large tricycle so someone could drive it while Jenny rode in a passenger seat…

  Later.

  We stopped by a number of shops for wardrobe and accessories. Seven changes of clothes, complete with socks and undergarments, along with new shoes for indoors and out, hairbrushes, combs, towels, toiletries, five ice creams (one for me) and a candy sucker (for Jenny)… I was glad the car had a big trunk. Excuse me: a big boot.

  It was hours later when, suitably equipped to survive the rigors of a new home, we prepared to set off. Spirits were high and morale was excellent. Then one of the local constables caught me. He bicycled right up to me as we were loading the car.

  “Mr. Kearne?”

  “Yes?”

  “Constable Henderson, sah. I’m right sorry about this, but there’s been a complaint lodged against you.”

  “Is there? Of what sort?”

  “Well, sir, I don’t like to say so, but there’s an accusation of kidnapping, and that’s a fact.”

  I looked at the kids. They looked at me, then at the constable. He looked uncomfortable. Jenny waved at him smiling around her candy-pop.

  “I’m not sure allowing children to accompany me is kidnapping, Constable.”

  “Yes, sah, and I can see they’re hardly suffering under your care, but they’re minors, sah, and they’ve got guardians already, forms all filled out proper. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to come with me down to the station to sort it.”

  “Of course. I see you’re on a bicycle. Would you care to strap it on behind? I’d be delighted to give you a lift. Or should we wait for you there?”

  He appeared puzzled for a moment, as though recognizing the silliness of the transportation situation. He rallied wonderfully and with flawless practicality.

  “Very understanding of you, sir. I would enjoy a little drive.”

  We were a bit crowded, but we got to the police station without trouble. It was housed in the same grey, fieldstone building as the town council. I wouldn’t have guessed it was a police station. If it hadn’t been for the sign on the door and the constable’s directions, I wouldn’t have found it, either.

  What does it say about a place when it doesn’t have a busy police station?

  We all piled out of the car and I locked it up before we followed the constable. Once inside, I could see the station was set up for more than just Constable Henderson. So the place had more than one policeman; until then, I wasn’t sure. It still didn’t have many. Assuming they took it in shifts, all day and all night, they might have six to a dozen or thereabouts, certainly no more.

  Jenny was obviously getting tired, but she was determinedly sucking on her lollipop. Richard picked her up and carried her. I wondered if she missed a nap or if it was just a long, hard day.

  Mr. and Mrs. Noisy were already waiting. They immediately launched into another session of shouting. I ignored them and smiled expectantly at the constable. He did his best to be a calm, gentle soul and quiet them down. He was persistent. My respect for him rose considerably. I wouldn’t have been so patient. Still, even his patience wore thin. He finally snapped at the Noisemakers and ordered them to be quiet.

  I decided I liked him.

  He then proceeded to extract from them an account of how I’d lured their two urchins into my car by using their brother as an enticement, before driving away—maliciously driving away—and spraining—cruelly sprain
ing—Mrs. Noisemaker’s wrist as she attempted to extricate—to heroically extricate—the children from my clutches. My evil clutches, to be precise.

  She might be right regarding some of those qualifiers, but I’ll never tell which.

  “Well, Mr. Kearne? Would you like to explain?”

  “With respect, sir, I would not. These two will shout and argue and interrupt—”

  “I resent your implication, sir!” shouted Mr. Noisemaker. Hallsley, I think his name was. I didn’t pay attention. At his outburst, I stopped talking and smiled at the constable. After a pause, I continued.

  “Constable, may I suggest taking the three older children—one at a time—into another room and asking them what is happening? Somewhere they won’t be contradicted and interrupted and shouted at?”

  “They’re children,” argued Mr. Hallsley. “They can’t testify! And I still resent your implication!”

  “They have eyes and ears and they remember,” I argued, calmly. I very deliberately used a calm tone. “Ask any parent who has ever had a small child repeat a word they shouldn’t even know.”

  “This is a legal matter!”

  “Great. Hire a solicitor, if you want to spend the money. I’ll send to London and hire a firm.” My calm tone slipped a little.

  “Gentlemen,” Constable Henderson interjected. “I think I would like to hear from the children. And only from them, Mr. Hallsley, if you please.”

  “James,” I suggested, “please go with the constable. Tell the truth.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I sat down carefully on one of the wooden chairs. Jenny squirmed and fussed and insisted on climbing onto my lap. Since she was tired and grumpy, I let her. She put her head on my shoulder and I rocked her, humming low and deep, like a musical purr.

  “I don’t know what you’re playing at,” began Mrs. Hallsley, but I held up a hand. She paused when I caught her eye. I thought back to long ago, reminding myself who I was, who she was talking to: I am deeply wounded. I am half a soul. I am weary of mankind’s foolishness. Even so, I am still the Demon King of Karvalen, and I do not answer to you.

  “If your noise disturbs the tired child,” I told her, softly, and with as much ice in my tone as I could manage, “I will silence you.”

  Mrs. Hallsley glared at me, but her husband blinked and his mouth fell open. He stared at the wall behind me. Between the electric lights and the sunshine from the windows, I didn’t have much of a shadow, but he must not have liked what it was doing. He took his wife’s arm and they sat down as far away from us as the room permitted.

  Jenny’s head stayed on my shoulder while she napped, undisturbed.

  The good constable returned with James, saw the snoozing child, and spoke softly when he summoned Madeline and then Richard. Another constable came in. I put a finger to my lips. He nodded at me and quietly went into the back of the station.

  Small-town informality. I think I love this place. In a modern police station, you don’t get this kind of human service. It’s more an impersonal, by-the-book, no exceptions, stand in line, toe the mark sort of thing. I’m used to long waits, jaded policemen, fourteen forms, show your ID, sign in triplicate.

  Constable Henderson returned Richard after only a few minutes and ordered us, still quietly, to wait while he fetched someone from the town council. He was gone for longer than I expected, considering it was all in the same building. Jenny woke up and Maddy took her to visit the toilet. I mean, “water closet.”

  Henderson returned to fetch the Hallsleys and I. Nobody spoke until we were in the office of a Mr. Weatheral, seated and awaiting his attention. I noticed Mr. Hallsley sat in the chair farthest from me. It made me wonder what my shadow did earlier. At a guess, it looked at him. That’s as unnerving as seeing your reflection blink.

  “Mister Kearne,” began the councilman, “I am given to understand you are an American?”

  “That’s correct… sir? I’m sorry, what is the proper form of address?”

  “Councilman Weatheral.”

  “Yes, Councilman Weatheral, you are correct. I am an American.”

  “And you currently own and reside in Applewood Hall?”

  “Also correct, Councilman Weatheral.”

  “According to what I’ve been told, young James sought you out for assistance in reuniting his family. May I ask why he selected you?”

  “I’m not certain,” I admitted. “I think it’s because his Pied Piper family is in Applethwaite, and Applewood Hall is the biggest manor in the immediate area. He tells me he was looking for a lord or noble—someone to whom he could appeal and plead with to reunite his family. A local… what? A baron? Or something? Forgive me, but the structure of English nobility isn’t my strongest subject.”

  “And you simply agreed to help a strange boy on your doorstep?”

  I hesitated, thinking about how to phrase my response.

  “Honorable Councilman, may I ask a question?”

  “This is an informal hearing, not an interrogation. By all means.”

  “Thank you. Councilman, if a child rings your doorbell and says he’s hungry, what do you do?”

  “I suppose I’d ask his name and return him to his parents.”

  “A wise and reasonable course, Councilman. My own thought is a little different. My answer is, ‘Feed him.’ Everything else can be negotiated, but a hungry child asking me for food will find himself fed. I may or may not feed an adult; adults should be responsible for themselves. Children are another matter. They need to be fed, clothed, sheltered, educated, and defended so they can become adults—adults capable of being responsible for themselves.

  “It is simply a fact that any lost and lonely child who knocks on my door will find any sort of trouble I can remedy will be remedied. Whether he or she is an orphan, a runaway, or a Pied Piper participant separated—or escaping—from his custodians is immaterial.”

  “Now you just wait!” snapped Mrs. Hallsley. “You can’t just take in any urchin of the street!”

  My first thought was, The hell I can’t! My second thought was, You better watch it with that word, “can’t.” Neither one was a diplomatic thought. I took a deliberate breath before answering.

  “Isn’t that what Operation Pied Piper proposes you should do?”

  “You’re not a subject of His Majesty!” she snapped. “And I already picked out the two I wanted.” Her tone oozed into the self-righteous range. “I bought ’em clothes and bedding and such already, so I’ve an investment to recover!”

  “I’ve seen the hands of those little girls,” I snapped back. “They’re red from hot water and strong soap. The youngest is four, Mrs. Hallsley, and that particular subject of His Majesty is being worked like a slave. British subject or not, I will not stand for it.”

  “It’s my house!” she shrieked at me. “I’ll do as I please about them!” Her husband patted her arm, trying to quiet her down. I answered softly, staring into her eyes.

  “They will return to your house shortly after you return from the frozen slopes of Hell.”

  “Quiet, please,” said the councilman. Mrs. Hallsley subsided. She seemed to be mulling over my statement. Her husband gripped her shoulder and whispered in her ear, intent on keeping her from fussing any further. What did my shadow do? It couldn’t have been anything too obvious or the wife would have seen it. I wish I could ask it.

  “Mr. Kearne,” Weatheral continued, “you make a passionate argument, as well as some rather disturbing accusations. On the other hand, the Hallsleys have invested, as Mrs. Hallsley points out, both time… and… money…” he trailed off.

  I fished out my wallet and pulled out cash. It does tend to derail the train of thought. I counted out ten of the one-pound notes and put the rest back in my pocket. I offered the ten to Mrs. Hallsley and she snatched it out of my hand.

  “I assume the Hallsleys have no objection to relinquishing custody of the Dreyfus children?” asked Councilman Weatheral, dryly. He eyed with some dist
aste the way Mrs. Hallsley flicked through the notes, re-counting them.

  “No objection, Councilman,” Mr. Hallsley assured him.

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Hallsley. You may go. Mr. Kearne, there are some papers to go over, but I think we can get through them quickly.”

  James was amazingly pleased with himself as he showed the others around the manor. They went off to explore while I unloaded the car. There was no point in getting them to help until they decided which rooms they wanted.

  Mr. Gillespie took their luggage and goods while I drove the car around back to the carriage house. Turns out Mr. Gillespie doesn’t know how to drive and doesn’t approve of motor carriages. He likes his horses and I can’t say I blame him.

  Once in the manor, I made more calls with the help of the operator. I had no intention of being in loco parentis to four displaced minors. I only wanted them reunited and safe from the abuses of the workhouse. I certainly wasn’t going to take them back to Apocalyptica! While Apocalyptica does have a few rural communities, the residents are all evacuees from holocaust-level events—and each community is from a different holocaust event, each in a different world! Making children vanish from worlds where they still have families is very different from telling shell-shocked survivors of a nuclear war they can bunk over at your place.

  On the other hand, once you rescue the kitten, you assume certain obligations. While Mr. and Mrs. Gillespie would make decent grandparents, they weren’t qualified to be governor or governess or whatever. For that, I needed professional nannies or governesses or tutors, preferably a married couple.

  By phone, I placed newspaper advertisements in several cities and hoped.

  All that pretty much killed my day, but it also dealt with the future disturbances and distractions from houseguests. Mrs. Gillespie saw to dinner and bedtime, bless her, so I retired to my rooms to sort out the sunset. I did my dying and cleaned up.

  The knocking on the door to my wing seemed a trifle odd. Aside from the hour, it had an odd sound to it. I checked my amulet’s automatic disguise spell—yes, it activated at sunset, just as it was supposed to—before I opened the door. It was Jenny, standing there in a little nightgown and a pair of new shoes. She didn’t knock; she kicked the door repeatedly. Well, it was louder than her mistreated hands could manage. She peered up at me with one eye and rubbed the other, looking tired.