Bitter Moon

by R. L. Giddings

  The meeting was being held in the library which was fairly easy to find because, like the chapel, it’s location was indicated by little brass arrows arranged all around the house. The library itself was on two storeys and had the same high arched windows I’d seen in the ballroom. The interior of the room was Georgian but the first floor landing had been completely refurbished in steel and glass. The staircase consisted of a series of suspended girders. It was the kind of design guaranteed to polarise opinion whilst being a magnet for any number of design awards.

  Several reading tables had been grouped together in the middle of the room and, standing to one side I saw Marcus deep in conversation with Igor the bearded Battle Mage from the church. They were furiously debating some issue or other and at one point Igor it looked as if it was about to turn physical but nothing more came of it and eventually the taller man strode off.

  There was a lovely pewter bleeding bowl at my end of the table along with a collection of surgical pins. I used one to prick my thumb then squeezed a couple of drops into the bowl. It’s a common enough practice with a large meeting like this where you’re not familiar with everyone at the table. The pricking of thumbs has deep roots in witchcraft and everyone is familiar with a blood oath of fealty. I recognised a few faces but by no means all of them.

  The one person that I was delighted to see was Valeria who was sitting at the head of the table checking her phone. Kinsella was nowhere to be seen.

  Valeria had been tasked with chairing the meeting. I remembered a time, not long ago, when it would have been Helena Lawson. How quickly things change. She had on a much darker lipstick than usual which highlighted her perfectly shaped, bow-like lips. I found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying but I was still half asleep. Things might have been different if I’d managed to get some breakfast but, unfortunately, that hadn’t happened. The meeting lasted for just over an hour and told me little beyond what I already knew.

  There were photographs of the three helicopters that had been commandeered from one of the companies which operated out to the Scottish oil industry. They’d been seized from a secure unit but none of the witnesses had been able to offer anything more than rudimentary descriptions of the men involved. The attackers had acted quickly and purposefully and, because they were so well armed, no one had thought to challenge them. As a result, no one had been hurt. It could be the only good news we were likely to get.

  When we broke for coffee I briefly considered going back up to my room to retrieve my cigarettes but changed my mind when I saw Valeria coming towards me. We shared a brief hug.

  “How are you holding up?”

  I let out a long sigh. “I’ve been better.”

  “Sorry to hear about Silas.”

  I raised a hand to my mouth then tried to flap the tears away.

  “I’m okay, just so long as nobody’s nice to me.”

  I looked away, out towards the main doors. Standing to one side was Marcus. He was talking to Dominic Szabo but his eyes never left me. I turned back to Valeria.

  “What are those two up to?”

  “Nothing good, if I know Szabo. They’ve taken over part of the stables.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m not sure but Szabo’s been in and out of there most of the morning.”

  “Is that where Kinsella’s hiding out? I thought he’d at least be at the briefing.”

  “I’m not sure what’s going on. I’ve been too busy trying to arrange accommodation for your Novices.”

  “Any luck?”

  Valeria threw out her hands in exasperation. “Yes and no. Thing is: I’m not supposed to talk about it.”

  She clearly didn’t want to offend me but she also couldn’t be seen to be breaking protocol.

  “That’s okay. I understand.”

  I didn’t think she believed me but I was telling the truth. I was far more interested in what was going on with the Dark Team. Something was up and I intended to find out what it was.

  A steward came over then and started making inquiries about the arrangements for lunch. While they were discussing that I took the opportunity to slip away.

  I made my way around to the rear of the house and out into the cobbled courtyard where I’d spotted Lady Laing the previous night. There was no one about and so I went directly around to the front of the stables. The stable door was wide open and I slipped in, checking from left to right. It was very dark inside. Though the place did have windows they were high up and thick with grime. There were six stalls on either side and I hesitated, mindful of the fact that once I had committed myself to a search I would be denied a quick exit if anyone should come in after me. But, having no other choice, I started in on the left hand side.

  All but one of the stalls was empty. The one remaining occupant paid me no notice as he munched his way through a sack of oats. There was nothing else of any interest so I turned back intending to search the far side.

  I was nearly level with the door when I heard the creak of floorboards above me and the sound of voices. I stopped what I was doing and strained to listen but the voices stopped as quickly as they had started.

  The air was dry and still, smelling of damp straw, old leather and sweat. I was just about to see if I could find a way up to the loft area when Szabo walked past the door. After a count of five, I went after him, just in time to see him disappear around the corner. I followed him around to the back of the stables and watched as he climbed a flight of steps up to the clock tower.

  It was dazzlingly bright outside after the gloom of the stables and I had to close one eye in order to focus on the door. The idea of following Szabo up there was becoming less appealing by the second. Because of the voices, I had to suppose that there were at least three of them up there now. Climbing the steps was a risky proposition: it would only take one of them to look out and I’d be seen. Even if that didn’t happen it would be far too easy to give myself away by simply standing on the wrong step. But, I also knew that if I didn’t investigate, I’d spend the rest of the day regretting it.

  Flattening myself against the wall, I started to inch my way up the steps, testing each one before committing my whole weight to it. There was a stiff breeze from the east which quickly whipped away what little body heat I had. Not only was I cold but I was also getting steadily more anxious the closer I got to the top. As luck would have it, there was a small casement window on this side of the doorway. Although it was a good metre above my head, I found that by climbing onto the handrail I could get a decent look inside.

  There were in fact four people in there. Szabo himself hadn’t strayed far from the doorway and seemed so intent on what he was watching that I thought it highly unlikely that he would be leaving anytime soon.

  The room was little more than a rudimentary wooden shell which appeared to be used for storage judging by the heaps of electrical equipment arrayed about the floor. The middle of the room had been cleared and right at the centre was a chair with a corpse tied to it.

  You couldn’t say that it was sitting because it lacked any pretence of life.

  But that wasn’t the worst part of it. The worst part was that I recognised it.

  It was Mr Plaid-shirt.

  Though the shirt was darker now and gaped open revealing the stark contrast of the corpse’s weathered face with the whiteness of its gut. He also seemed to be missing his front teeth and this fascinated me. I couldn’t work out whether he’d lost them in the impact from the crash – the crash that had killed him – or whether he’d worn dentures previously. It was a largely irrelevant detail but my thoughts kept being drifting back to it, as if my mind couldn’t process the actuality of what it was that I was watching.

  Every now and then the corpse would speak.

  There were two men standing either side of him, one of whom appeared to be questioning him whilst the other held a notepad. He used this mostly to swat at the cloud of flies circling the corpse’s head. The man with the pad I didn�
�t recognise, but the other one I did.

  Kinsella.

  I wasn’t close enough to catch what was being said. Kinsella was speaking so quietly that I could only make out the odd word. He sounded tired, they appeared to have been at this for some time. The questioning had developed its own innate rhythm. Kinsella would ask the corpse a question followed by a very long pause. Most of the time nothing happened and then another question would follow. But every now and then the corpse would rouse itself before thrashing wildly about. On rarer occasions something much more disturbing happened. The corpse would attempt to speak.

  The simple act of its drawing breath was repulsive to watch. It would gulp at the air like a drowning man, actively working to inflate its lungs. When it did speak it did so in a series of guttural coughs and barks which were unlike any language I had ever heard. The thing was that Kinsella seemed to understand what it was saying. He would nod his head or point to the man with the notebook who would jot down a particular piece of information. At one point Kinsella squatted down in an attempt to better hear what was being said. As he leaned forward the corpse lunged at him, snapping its jaws like a dog.

  Szabo stepped in then, pulling Kinsella clear. Although nothing was said it was enough for Kinsella to acknowledge him. He kept his distance from then on.

  I’d seen enough. I climbed down off the stair rail, hurried down the steps and away.

  *

  Valeria wasn’t in the meeting room when I got back and so I spent vital minutes searching for her. In the end I ran into the steward who she’d spoken to about lunch. He directed me towards the Summer Room. It was a long, bright room laid out with pine shelves and a selection of sofas and easy chairs. It was a good deal warmer than out in the yard.

  A few people looked up from their tablets and phones when I walked in but then turned back to their devices. Valeria was sitting on a leather sofa at the far end of the room checking her phone. I went up behind her and drummed my fingers on the sofa back. She flinched and spun around, her eyes wide. I thought for an instant that she about to lose her temper but then her anger dissipated.

  She turned off her phone but not before I got a good look at her screen.

  “Erasmus? That place in the Cairngorms? I didn’t know you went there.”

  “Long time ago,” she said, slipping her phone into her bag. “Is everything alright?”

  “Not really, no.”

  I sat down beside her and quickly told her what I’d seen.

  When I’d finished Valeria just sat there looking straight ahead.

  “And this guy with the plaid shirt: you’re absolutely sure that he was dead?”

  I didn’t know how to respond. Having seen him lying in the field with his head twisted half off it was obvious to me that he was dead but Valeria hadn’t seen him like that. She needed to be reassured.

  “I saw him just after the crash. His neck was definitely broken.”

  “But you can’t be sure.”

  “I’m sure. There was a plague flies all around him. Plus, the language he spoke. I’ve never heard anything like it and I’ve studied my fair share of languages. He made these barking noises. Like how you’d imagine dogs might communicate.”

  Valeria drummed her fingers on the top of her bag. “I’d have to hear it for myself but that sounds a lot like Opos, one of the dialects of Hell.”

  I looked at her askance. “Are you talking Necromancy?”

  She made a sudden, reproving, shushing noise, loud enough to cause others in the room to look over in our direction. Valeria gestured for me to be quiet.

  “You have to be very careful with that word,” she said.

  “I’m telling you what I saw.”

  She edged closer to me on the sofa. “I was afraid that this might happen. I should have spoken to Kinsella sooner.”

  “You suspected this?”

  “In a way. I knew how frustrated he was getting and how persuasive Szabo can be. I suppose it’s only natural when you see the way Kohl operates. You’re tempted to cut corners yourself. You tell yourself that it’s okay. That in certain circumstances it’s almost acceptable.”

  “Which it isn’t.” But then I thought about the faces of the women as they were being ushered towards the helicopters. How would they have felt about what Kinsella was doing? Would they thank him for it?

  “The thing is, once you start going down that road…” she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Necromancy – conjuring the dead – it’s still a capital offence. If the Inner Council even suspected what he was doing ...”

  Her voice trailed off. For all that The Bear Garden dealt with the supernatural, it was still a government agency. As such, it had to conform to code of ethics. If it flaunted the code then someone would be held accountable.

  I said, “We need to speak to him about this.”

  “Confront him?” Valeria’s eyes looked wild.

  “It’ll be better if there’s two of us. At least then he’ll know that the secret’s out.”

  “I don’t know about that. What’s he going to say? How is he going to react?”

  I didn’t know and I didn’t care. All I knew was that the longer we left it the harder it was going to be. Kinsella had been such a formative influence on me that it was going to be very difficult broaching the subject: he had been conversing with the dead. It had to be addressed.

  I stood up and started towards the door unsure of whether Valeria would follow. As it was I was nearly out the door before she called after me.

  *

  “Wait up!” it was Marcus. “You can’t go up there.”

  The wind had picked up quite considerably by the time we got outside and neither Valeria nor I was wearing a jacket.

  “We need to talk to Kinsella.”

  “What makes you think he’s up there?”

  I didn’t even look at him, just kept going. “We know what’s going on, Marcus. No point denying it.”

  I think that if I’d been on my own he would have thought about stopping me but with Valeria in tow he appeared much less confident.

  “Just wait here and I’ll see whether he wants visitors.” He sprinted past me up the stairs.

  The temptation just to keep going was huge; I wanted to get this over and done with. But I forced myself to wait, resting on the hand rail.

  “Two minutes or we’re coming up anyway,” I shouted.

  Marcus couldn’t have been in there for more than thirty seconds before he called for us to come up.

  The corpse was gone but the chair was still there. The carpet it stood on was badly stained. I found myself wondering what they’d done with the body. Did Marcus even know what was going on?

  There was no sign of the man with the notepad but Szabo and Kinsella were still there, checking out a crate of armaments. Valeria stood behind me, her eyes searching the room for any clues that might help verify my story.

  “What can we do for the pair of you?” Kinsella didn’t look up.

  “I have a question.”

  Marcus moved forward as if our interview was over before it had begun.

  “Get lost,” he whispered. “No one’s interested.”

  I made to dart past him on the right and he fell for it, dropping his hip down as if to body-check me. But I didn’t go right, I pivoted on my heel and slipped past on his left. Nonetheless, he managed to grab my wrist.

  “Just one question,” I said.

  Kinsella looked up from the crate. With a motion of his head he placated Marcus before turning his attention back to me.

  “What is it, Bronte?” he sounded unruffled. With the corpse gone, the burden of proof now lay with me and he knew it.

  “I take it from this that you intend to take no direct action against Kohl.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “The clock is ticking, sir. If we don’t find these women soon then we’ll probably never find them. I was just wondering: are we to believe that there are no new leads?”


  Kinsella turned to Szabo. They had a quick, whispered conversation. In the meantime, Valeria moved up to stand alongside me.

  Kinsella came over and addressed me directly.

  “Look Bronte, I shouldn’t be telling you any of this but we’ve received information suggesting where Kohl might be hiding out. The size of the place suggests its capable of providing shelter for a small army. Frankly, it’s too tempting to pass up.”

  “That sounds very promising,” Valeria said. “Might we be told whereabouts?”

  Kinsella smiled, “I can’t discuss that.”

  I said, “I assume that a task force has been put together to investigate?”

  Szabo laughed at that.

  “That’s correct,” Kinsella said. “There is a team and I will be leading it.”

  “But I’m not a part of it?”

  Marcus couldn’t resist, “Doesn’t look that way does it?”

  Kinsella ignored him. “This isn’t the job for you, Bronte. This isn’t about subtlety, more along the lines of Shock and Awe. No, you’ve done your job. We’ve organised for you to take some time off after all you’ve been through. Valeria’s made the arrangements.”

  Valeria squeezed her eyes shut. At least when she opened them again she had the good grace to look embarrassed.

  “I thought you’d be pleased,” she said.

  “Wouldn’t it be better to let me reconnoitre this hide-out? I know how Kohl operates; perhaps I can spot something you’ve missed.”

  He glanced at Szabo who gave him a sceptical look.

  Marcus cut in. “Sir, I would strongly advise against it. I’ve worked with Bronte before. She lets her emotions get in the way of her decision making.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No one’s asking you.”

  “Sir, if she can spot Kohl then the reverse is also true. Plus, his men have all seen her up-close. She’d rob us of the element of surprise.”