Murderer in Shadow

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  Vogt thrust again, taking advantage of Ravyn’s weakening arm. This time, he felt the blade sink into flesh, but it was far from the man’s heart, nearer his shoulder, too high for a killing blow. He had broken through whatever magical barrier protected Ravyn. His next thrust would pierce the man’s heart. Then the arcane skills of this hidden adept would be his for harvesting.

  Vogt heard a bang and dimly realized it was the door in the side of the barn. It did not matter. Nothing mattered but ending this man’s life and bringing restoration to his own. Once all the magical beings had been propitiated, balance would return and he would be an even more powerful magician than…

  Something smashed into Vogt. He lost his grip on both Ravyn and the knife. He cried in dismay as his would-be victim fell away, taking with him the knife still buried in his shoulder.

  Vogt scrabbled after the weapon, crawling frantically, but he could not reach it. A nightmarish creature reared up between him and his quarry. With the lantern behind it, the hellish being was as black as the abyss. Its arms and legs were longer than any human’s. It reached for him with talons that flashed in the glare of the lamp. With mounting terror, Vogt realized that even in his weakened state Ravyn had managed to summon a protective demon.

  “Away from me, evil spirit!”

  The demon surged toward him.

  Vogt screamed containment and banishment spells in the Elder Tongue, but still the fiend came after him. Finally, terror triumphed over his illusion of power and he ran. He crashed into Ravyn’s imp. For a moment he was held fast by those impossibly long arms, but the strong smell of brimstone gave him panic-driven strength. Breaking free, Vogt ran shrieking into the night.

  Stark kneeled beside Ravyn. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. After him!”

  When Stark was gone, Ravyn crawled to a post. He tried to pull himself up, but fell. He pressed his back against the rough wood and waited. Turning his head, he saw old magical symbols chalked on the wall.

  “Nonsense,” Ravyn breathed. “Dangerous nonsense.”

  Vogt’s wild cry still sounded in his ears, faint but clear. He was, Ravyn realized, heading directly for the sinkhole at the centre of the stone circle. Then the screaming ceased, and an oppressive silence settled over the farm.

  Ravyn knew he must have fainted from pain because Stark was suddenly before him, kneeling and pressing a handkerchief on the wound. He helped Ravyn to his feet and mostly carried him to the car at the foot of the rise.

  “Vogt,” Ravyn whispered. “The sinkhole. Did he…”

  “Ran smack into one of those standing stones,” Stark said. “Out cold and trussed hand and foot. We’re meeting the ambulance in the village. Ware is on her way to take custody of Vogt for us.”

  Ravyn nodded, then passed out.

  Epilogue

  “It’s not so bad as it may appear,” Ravyn said. “As they say in the cinema, it’s merely a flesh wound.”

  “Sure it is,” muttered the paramedic tending him, cutting away Ravyn’s Savile Row suit. “You keep telling yourself that, mate.”

  Stark scowled as the paramedic removed the knife, which Stark transferred to an evidence bag, and staunched the flow of blood. Stark knew very well – and so did Ravyn, damn him! – that ‘flesh wounds’ only existed in the cinema and in trashy novels.

  “I’ll have to send a note of appreciation to Aegis Engineering about the efficacy of the stab vest.” Ravyn winced as the paramedic bandaged the wound.

  “Sutures when you get to A and E, mate.”

  “But I think I shall suggest increasing the width of the Kevlar plates in the shoulder area,” Ravyn added.

  “It was a good idea wearing it,” Stark said.

  “It seemed a reasonable precaution.”

  “A better precaution would have been to call in back up.”

  “Vogt would have been chased off by it.”

  “Or at least you could have told me.”

  The paramedic checked Ravyn’s bandage not too gently. Ravyn gritted his teeth. With Stark on the verge of smirking, he was not going to let the pain show. Much.

  “Considering what transpired, I’d be a fool to argue,” Ravyn said. “I am glad you came by when you did. How did you know?”

  “I asked myself what was the most idiotic thing you could do.”

  “Dangerously close to insubordination, Stark.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But not without reason, I’ll allow.”

  “I’m glad you realize that,” Stark said. “I would rather keep you as my guv’nor than have to learn to tolerate someone else.”

  “You know how I hate that word.” Then Ravyn smiled. “I feel we have developed a good working relationship. I prefer to keep our partnership as well. But I am disappointed.”

  Stark frowned. “By what?”

  “When I suggested to Vogt the Crone was whispering to him, I counted on his faith and fear,” Ravyn said. “When you provided the voice, I hoped you had analyzed Vogt’s motivations and psyche. Instead, you were there because you followed an idiot.”

  “It all works out the same.”

  Ravyn did not think so, but held quiet.

  “I heard most of what he said, but I still don’t understand his motivations, much less his psyche.”

  “I totally underestimated his delusional state,” Ravyn said.

  “He really thought he was a magician?”

  “Whole-heartedly.”

  “And he thought you were one too?”

  “Thanks to Mabel Link.”

  “And he kept the knife for thirty years…why?”

  “It was the symbol of his power and his tool for obtaining more magic, at least in his mind,” Ravyn said. “He had no proper training, dared not ask for help, so what he did not know, he imagined. And he got it all wrong. Very little of what he believed was real magic.”

  “Real magic?”

  “Reality resides in the mind.”

  “We’ll see how he deals with the reality of prison.”

  “If he lives that long.”

  Stark looked puzzled.

  “Mabel’s curse.”

  “That’s not any more real than his magic. All just flummery.”

  “It’s as real as Vogt thinks it is,” Ravyn said. “He returned to Stryker Farm to repair the chaos in his life. After such a long time, he could not understand why everything was falling apart. It became clear, however, when he learned of the curse. It provided a reason why pandemonium overwhelmed him, but it also told him he was fated to fail, perhaps to die.”

  “A self-fulfilling prophecy,” Stark said.

  Ravyn smiled. “Glad you listen to me from time to time.”

  The paramedic pushed the gurney into the ambulance. “You going to ride in with your guv’nor, mate?”

  “Yes, I thought I…”

  Stark’s mobile chimed.

  “Yes, Aeronwy, what…” All colour drained from his face as his wife gave him the news. “Call Mrs Tierny, grab your bag and as soon as the cab… Damn it! I am calm! Yes, I’ll see you there.”

  “Is it time?” Ravyn asked.

  “God yes!”

  “Steady on, mate.”

  “His wife is having a baby,” Ravyn said. “Their first.”

  “You’re in no fit state to drive, mate.” The paramedic pushed Stark roughly into the back of the ambulance and slammed closed the doors. “We’ll be in Stafford in two shakes.”

  The paramedic crushed the accelerator to the floor and turned on siren. The skinny one howled in protest as the ambulance leapt into the clotted night. How he envied his friend Andy. None of his passengers ever uttered a single complaint about his driving.

  * * *

  “Yes, Chief Constable, that is certainly good news, an excellent result for us,” Superintendent Giles Heln said. “Yes, we can all be very glad that Inspector Ravyn and…” He paused as he listened to the voice at the other end of the line. “Yes, a very good job by Chief
Inspector Ravyn and his team.” He listened again. “Yes, a very good choice for resident constable, as it turned out.”

  Heln leaned back, put his feet up and let his gaze drift to the ceiling. The old fool blathered on. Heln paid scant notice, grunting or murmuring at appropriate moments. Then he realized the Chief Constable had asked a question.

  “I don’t think a news conference would be a good idea,” Heln said. “You know how he is about such things. I’d be more than happy to… Oh, I see. Do you think I should be there with Chief Superintendent Henderson if there is a query from the press… Well, whatever you think best, sir.”

  He listened until Sir Geoffrey brought up Ravyn’s post-hospital duties and assignments.

  “I am very concerned about Ravyn’s health, sir,” he said. “Very traumatic, affecting him in ways we cannot truly appreciate. Then there are issues of his age.” He waited a moment. “No, sir, I am not saying anything of the sort, but I was speaking to Dr Lehmann just the other day, and it’s his opinion…”

  When the Chief Constable finished and the connection clicked in his ear, Heln hung up the phone. “Whatever you think best, sir.”

  Heln listened to the silence of the building. He was probably the only person left behind, except for the custody staff and several miscreants on the ground floor, including Peter Vogt, the fool.

  He opened the top of his uniform shirt and took out a leather pouch on a thong. It had rested just above his heart. He lifted it over his head and held it up, suspended level with his eyes.

  A worthless piece of hokum it had turned out to be. A waste of money. He should have known better, he told himself. He tossed it into the waste bin.

  He threw himself back, nearly falling out of his chair as a blue-white fire rose from the bin. The office was filled with brilliant light, but only for an instant. When the glow faded and the only source of illumination was once again the desk lamp Heln looked into the bin.

  It was totally empty, even of ash.

  Britishisms for the Bewildered

  Winston Churchill, saviour of Western civilisation, spoke no truer words when he said Americans and Britons were “two peoples separated by a common language.” Since linguistics and language is one of the five great themes in the DCI Arthur Ravyn Mysteries, I thought I would include this appendix for those readers wondering what Stark and Ravyn are talking about at times. Words and phrases peculiar to Hammershire are marked with an asterisk (*). I’ve left out words that are nothing really more than spelling variations.

  A4 Paper – A paper size used in England, much as “letter sized” is used in America. It is 210 mm X 297 mm (8.27” by 11.69”).

  A&E – Accident & Emergency; an Emergency Room in an American hospital.

  Afore* – Before, but time related, not positional or spatially.

  Anorak – A waterproof jacket

  Arse over tip – head over heels.

  Bairn – Baby (a Scottish import).

  Bampot – Idiot.

  Barmy – Crazy.

  Barney – An argument or a fight.

  Beer and bob* – Compensated with either the goodwill of a drink (beer) or hard cash (bob). Often said of informants.

  Bell, give a – Call on the telephone.

  Berk – Idiot.

  Biccy – Biscuit (i.e., a cookie to Americans).

  Bird – A young girl, or an older one if you’re trying to flatter a woman (not always successful).

  Biscuit – Cookie, sometimes appearing like a cracker.

  Biro – A pen, usually a ballpoint, but occasionally used to describe a fountain pen. Was once a trademarked brand, but now used to refer to pens in general.

  Blighter – A man, and not a very nice one.

  Boffin – Any kind of technician or technical expert. Derived from a proper name of a smart chap who worked at Bletchley Park.

  Boot – The truck of a car.

  Bracelets – Handcuffs.

  Brown bread – Dead, from rhyming slang.

  Bugaboo tales* – Ghost stories in general, monsters in particular.

  Bugger – Used as an interjection, it means “Oh drat!” (sort of); used as anything else, it’s not very nice.

  Bully-boy* – A bully, either a mean yob looking for trouble or a hooligan working for someone else.

  Canteen – A cafeteria, especially in one’s workplace.

  Cello – Cellophane or plastic wrap.

  CID – Criminal Investigation Division.

  Cock up – A blunder or mistake, usually resulting from a failure to do things properly.

  CRO – Criminal Records Office.

  Char – A charwoman, a domestic cleaner.

  Charlie* – A guy.

  Charity shop – Thrift store.

  Choccy – Chocolate, as in a choccy biccy.

  Chokey – Jail, especially a county lock-up.

  Cleaner – A charwoman, but could also be used for a janitor in a commercial or industrial setting.

  Comprehensive – A secondary school, like a junior high or middle school.

  Coney* – Rabbit.

  Cow – Woman, often used derogatorily by other women and “silly cow” by everyone else.

  Cross-eyed bear* – A burden; a play on words.

  Cuppa – A cup of tea.

  Dabs – Fingerprints.

  Divvy* – A clod or idiot.

  Dog’s dinner – Something that has been made into a mess.

  Dorp* – A village or hamlet. A really small one might be referred to as a “one-horse dorp.”

  Dragon – Harpy, though it might at times be used as a term of affection, a sign of respect or a recognition of authority.

  Dram – A drink (shot) of whisky.

  Dressing gown – Robe or housecoat.

  Fascia panel – Dashboard of a car.

  Fag – Cigarette.

  Filth – Police.

  Game, the – Prostitution as a business.

  Gaspers – Cigarettes.

  Geas – Keltic word for spell or curse.

  Geezer – A man, usually older, but not always.

  Git – Unpleasant or contemptible man, but sometimes used as a term of begrudged camaraderie.

  Gogglebox – Television.

  Gran – Grandmother.

  Gormless – Lacking any common sense.

  Grass – To inform upon someone or to bear witness against a fellow member of a group; a “grasser” is an informer.

  Guv’nor – Boss, or someone having some measure of control or authority. Sometimes shortened to guv.

  Hard man – A tough guy, a hood, more professional than a yob.

  Head Table – The raised, separate table at a school where the instructors and guests eat. You saw it in all the Harry Potter films. The little beasts eat at common tables.

  Hovering* – Collective noun for a group of old men in a pub who have nothing better to do than drink, gossip and boast.

  Jadoo* – Magic, voodoo or obeah.

  Jack Ketch – Notorious executioner under Charles II, often used to designate anyone in the now-obsolete profession.

  Jelly Babies – Soft candy with jelly or jam in the centre.

  Ken* – To know or understand.

  Kenning* – Understanding.

  Kinky geezer* – Pervert, though sometimes used humorously.

  Kit – Overnight bag, but could also be a uniform.

  Knock up – Go by someone’s house (knock on the door).

  Lift – Elevator.

  Litter bin – Trash can.

  Local – The nearest pub, or the closest one willing to run a tab.

  Lorry – Truck; articulated lorry would be a semi to Americans.

  Manky* – Disgusting.

  Mare – A young girl.

  Mare’s nest – A silly or fanciful idea.

  Mates – Friends.

  Mental – Crazy.

  Met, the – Metropolitan Police or Scotland Yard.

  Mobile – Cell phone.

  MoD – Ministry of
Defence.

  Mooncalf – Idiot.

  Mum – Mother.

  Muppet – Someone controlled by someone else or a person thought to have so few brains he can’t talk for himself.

  Nick – Jail.

  Nicked – Arrested.

  Number plate – License plate of a car.

  Nowt – Nothing.

  Nutter – Crazy person, or just plain silly.

  “Oi!” – “Hey you!” or “What the hell are you doing?”

  Panda car – Marked police car.

  Paper knife – Letter opener.

  Paraffin – Kerosene.

  Pensioner – Retiree or a senior citizen in general.

  Pillock – Idiot.

  Pissed – Drunk.

  Plodder – Policeman.

  Plonker – Idiot.

  Ponce – Idiot.

  Pong – Smell or odour, and not a nice one.

  Pony – £25.

  Popped his clogs – He died.

  Porkies – Lies, from rhyming with porkie pies.

  Prat – Idiot.

  Pub – Public house, a place where drinks are served, often the social hub of a village.

  Public school – Private school or a preparatory school.

  Put the arm on (someone)* – Arrest someone, probably from the old tradition of having the suspect stand while the policeman put his hand on the left shoulder and said “I arrest you for…” Now, more a saying than an actual deed.

  Queer – Odd (same as it used to mean in the States).

  Queer fish* – Weirdo.

  Quid – The British pound (money), despite the Euro.

  Replow the furrow* – Do something again with no expectation of different results.

  Rise to the axe* -- To stick one’s neck out in dubious situations.

  Rozzer – Police officer: rozzers in the plural.

  Saloon – A sedan, a motor car with four doors.

  Scarper – Run off.

  Scouser – Someone from Liverpool.

  Secret Squirrels – Spies, undercover police, but widely used for members of any group with secrets, such as Freemasons.

  Shirty – Abrupt or short-tempered.