"Don't expect much," the troll grumbled.
She'd felt bad about abandoning George; she'd been the one at the time who'd suggested going back to help. But Joseph's view had been to get away and then get help. Now the roles were reversed and it was Maureen who didn't want to help. She couldn't. Rofen wouldn't understand; he'd sack her. Besides, she thought a man who could blow up half of Mullen's farm and create giant whirlwinds probably didn't need much in the way of assistance.
"Adam Troll?" a man at the counter called.
Maureen snapped out of her thoughts as Joseph stood up. "Yes," he said. Maureen had suggested they give false names, and since troll names were unpronounceable, all trolls tended to be known by the surname Troll.
Maureen stood up and followed Joseph to the counter.
A small man stood on the other side. So small in fact that Maureen's first thought was that she was dealing with a dwarf. The counter almost reached his shoulders allowing him to cross his arms on it, level with his chin.
"I'm Inspector Thackery. I understand you've got some trouble with elves." The man's bushy toothbrush moustache drew Maureen's eye, its jet black in stark contrast to the middle-age sliver of hair.
"That's right," she said.
"We don't tend to get involved with racial disputes as a matter of course."
"This isn't a racial dispute, they took us and a wizard prisoner."
"Prisoner?" The inspector picked up the folder under his folded arms and started filing through the pages.
"Yes, we told all this to the desk sergeant."
Thackery didn't look up from his notes. "Well," he said as he flipped through the pages, "we don't tend to get involved with wizard disputes. They deal with all those things internally. On account of," he held up a hand and wiggled his fingers, "the magic. Can get a bit messy if my boys get involved."
"Inspector," Maureen said, finding herself becoming more irritated, but determined not to have Joseph say 'I told you so', "we suspect these elves have murdered a wizard."
"There you go," the inspector responded looking up from the notes, "the 'w' word. I wish I could help, I really do, but it's outside of our jurisdiction. I can point you in the direction of the Friary, if that helps?"
"No," said Maureen. "I would just like you to do some policing."
"I appreciate you're frustrated Mrs..." he looked down at his notes and turned a couple of pages, "...Smith, but we have limited resources and an entire city to police. And from what you say, this took place, outside the city. I've not got enough men to do a proper job inside New Salisbury, let alone worry about what happens outside it."
"But..."
"I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do, except point you in the direction of the Friary." He held up the folder.
"People's lives might be at stake here. They might be planning to attack the city."
Inspector Thackery shrugged. "Until they do, there's nothing I can do. I'm sorry. Now is there anything else I can help you with?"
"I severely doubt it," Maureen mumbled under her breath as she turned round and headed out the building.
"I told you they were useless," Joseph said with a smirk.
Maureen said nothing.
They walked out of the police station and into the square its Victorian building sat in. Rows of market stalls, topped by red and blue striped canopies, surrounded a large market cross in the centre of the square. Apples, pears and a strange fruit that looked like a watermelon called a seff were all on offer. Maureen would have been tempted to buy a seff to take home with her and try if it wasn’t for the fact that she didn’t have any Venefasia money. Besides, she had no idea whether the market seller was offering her a good deal or not.
Maureen wandered aimlessly around the stalls as the traders began bringing in their trucks and carts to load up their stock for the homeward journey. A clock tower in the corner of the square sounded out the hour.
"Where we going?" Joseph asked.
Maureen turned around and threw her hands in the air in frustration. "I don't know Joseph, I really don't know."
She was still fuming from her encounter with the police and didn't mean to take it out on Joseph, but why should she have all the answers? It seemed no-one in this realm wanted to actually do anything about Ernest's murder, and she was starting to feel the same. Maybe it was something in the air? She'd tried to do what she considered the right thing, but now she was in way over her head and didn't know where to turn. The police had wasted a couple of hours for nothing, and if she went to Rofen ...
She turned to look at Joseph. "We don't know that George didn't escape?"
"We don't know that he did."
She sighed. What was the wizard even doing there anyway?
"If we hadn't been there, he'd still be in the same predicament," she said. That made up her mind. Yes, their being at the farm had not put George in any further danger. He'd got himself into that mess, and so she had to presume he'd taken sensible precautions and told someone where he was going. It wasn’t going to sit on her consciousness. She had done all she could.
Sensible precautions? What a hypocrite you are, Maureen, she thought to herself.
"He went there on his own accord," she said, arguing as much with her nagging doubt as with Joseph. "He can't expect us to save him, directly or indirectly."
Joseph shook his head. "You said when you went to Ernest's house that someone cast a spell to save you?"
Maureen nodded.
"What if that was George? What if he's been following you, and that's how he ended up at the farmhouse?"
Maureen was silent for a second. There was sense in what Joseph said. "But why would he be following me? Was he even a friend of Ernest's?"
Joseph shrugged. "Ernest worked in Magical History, George is a biologist. They didn't know each other as far as I knew."
"None of this makes any sense, Joseph."
"Life rarely does," the troll shrugged.
Joseph turned out of the market and out through an arch. Maureen followed, assuming that they were heading back to the Friary. There was silence between them as they walked along the busy road until Joseph said, "of course, there is another explanation."
"Oh yes?"
"Maybe there isn't a wizard watching your back. Maybe you're not being followed at all."
"I don't understand."
"Maybe, you're the one creating the magic."
Maureen scoffed. "Joseph, don't be so stupid. Even if the notion wasn't so ridiculous, women can't do magic."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" Maureen repeated. "The same reason trolls, and centaurs and dwarves can't do magic."
"But that doesn't make sense. I mean, I can sort of understand that one race might be able to do magic and another be unable, but having one gender of a race able and yet the other unable?"
"You'll find there are a lot more differences between men and women than whether we can do magic or not."
"But still..."
"But still nothing. It's a ridiculous idea. I'd have to know the spells for a start."
It wasn't until she uttered that lie, that the possibility entered her head. But you do know the spells, she thought. You've known them for years. She tried to think back, had she been thinking of spells at the time they had happened? Had there been plants around to fuel the spells?
Possibility opened to her, like a bud blooming into flower. Don't get carried away, she told herself, you know this is impossible.
Yet still she found herself looking around for some kind of plant to test Joseph's theory.
"This is stupid, you know," she said as she led Joseph down a narrow alley toward a little park she spied.
"So you keep saying," smirked the troll.
She was going to end up looking like a fool, she knew it. Then Joseph would laugh and tell her what a silly old dear she'd been. Yet she couldn't shake the idea that Joseph's theory wasn't without merit.
The park was quite small, hemmed in on all sid
e by buildings and permanently in shade. Raised brick flowerbeds ran round the outside, save for the entrance and directly opposite where there was a wooden bench. In the centre a very weathered statue to some long forgotten hero stood having seen better days.
Maureen reached into the nearest flowerbed and picked the first flower she saw. She rolled the stem between her fingers, thought of a small fire spell, and then muttered the words.
She gasped as the head of the statue sparked into flame, whilst the flower in her hand disintegrated into dust.
The world froze for a second as the enormity of what was happening tried to sink in. She could do magic, actual magic. This wasn't possible. Those times, in Ernest's house and on the farm, had they really been her?
Her astonishment was broken by a thump to the back of her head. Disorientated, she fell to the stone slab floor, twisting as she did so. She landed awkwardly but thankfully not too heavily. She blinked to focus, and when that didn't work, blinked a further two times before making out what looked like Joseph fighting off elves.
"Maureen," he shouted. "Run!"
Her head hammered and she felt like the courtyard was spinning around her, but she managed to force herself to stand. Joseph had one elf by the neck. It may have been the dark haired one from the farm, but Maureen couldn't be sure. Joseph threw him across the courtyard and into the bench, splintering it on impact, whilst the other one clambered up his back and proceeded to try and choke the life out of him.
"Get out of here," he screamed, pulling the elf from his back, only for the dark haired elf to run back from the bench and resume his attack.
Maureen made an effort to move, as Joseph lunged at the dark haired elf heading in her direction. The world continued to spin and her head felt wet. No time to worry, thought Maureen, they want to kill you. Get out of here.
She found an inner strength she didn't know she had, her dizziness causing her to bounce off the walls of the alley that led out of the park. She didn't turn back, she didn't dare. Behind her she could hear the scuffles of the fight continue. She emerged onto the street and immediately did her best to blend in, following the flow of pedestrians heading home for the day whilst trying not to fall over.
Once or twice she saw someone run past from the corner of her eye, but didn't get a good enough look at them to know whether it was one of their attackers, or indeed, even an elf. She dare not raise her head up to look, partly out of fear they would see her, and partly out of fear that her nausea would overcome her.
As she progressed from street to street, the crowds began to thin out. Either people were reaching their homes or the pavements were widening. That meant she was more exposed, but if anyone had been following her they did not make their presence known to her. Hopefully she had now lost them. Not that it made Maureen any less panicked.
She reached the Friary, more by luck than judgement, just as the sun was painting the city a golden evening orange. Despite her fragile state, the blood pouring down the back of her head and staining her clothes, she managed to slip into the building unnoticed.
With the sanctuary of the Friary all those feelings she'd been blocking out in order to will herself on to safety hit her at once. Nausea, dizziness, pain and fatigue all hammered her at once. She fell against a four-legged display case, her legs buckling under her. The case scraped along the floor, its content of an odd shaped sword rattling inside.
No, she told herself, don't collapse here. Here isn't safe. Get home, get to the safety of your own house. Gritting her teeth under the mounting pain, she used the display case to pull herself up. She staggered on, praying that she not run into some acolyte or wizard. She just wasn't nimble enough tonight to dart out their way if any came along.
Thankfully the passageways of the Friary were quiet this evening, and she made it back to the gateway without incident. She gave silent thanks for the Friary's poor security. By now, the corners of her world seemed to be darkening and she thought she was about to pass out. She managed to get through the gateway and close the door, before slumping next to it.
She breathed hard, a mixture of relief and a want to just close her eyes. She wanted to try and block out the world, and with it her pain. She felt dozy and it was only the wetness against her arm that made her open her eyes.
She was bleeding... heavily. She gingerly felt the lump on top of her head, her fingers coming away red. She couldn't stay here, she thought, she might bleed to death. If Joseph had been here, she would have turned to him for help, but he wasn't, which left her only one course of action.
She wanted to sit there and worry about Joseph. Had he been captured like George or was he dead like Ernest? Why did she feel so guilty about running away when it was what he instructed? And what about that magic? Had she really cast that, or was it some cruel joke by the elves?
No, she had to flush all of that from her mind. She had to take care of herself first, and worry about everything else later. After a count of three, she pushed herself to her feet, the very act making her head feel like it was about to implode. Stumbling forward - she noticed that she was stumbling a lot worse than she had been before coming through the gateway - she made her way to the stairs, and on all fours climbed to the top. They could have been Mount Everest for the effort it took.
The draft from the door to the hallway brought with it a coldness that seemed to sap what remained of Maureen's strength. Whilst in New Salisbury, she'd felt young and sprightly. Here she felt she was on a slow climb into a grave.
She was greeted by two cat-shaped silhouettes meowing a welcome home in the darkness. Maureen grabbed the doorframe and used it to steady herself as she rose back to two feet. She took a step forward, then plodded toward the front door like Frankenstein's monster. She unlocked it with the spare key, and stumbled out into the night.
The snow had melted into a crust of ice, but the winter chill had not fled the air. Maureen welcomed the shivering. It stopped her wanting to curl up and bury her head in her hands. She crossed the front garden, the frosted surface cracking like an egg shell as she stumbled across the garden to another door. Maureen took hold of the door knocker and banged it three times.
Lights were on, yet still she worried no-one might be home. Had she been more coherent she would never have embarked on this course of action. She'd rather of bled to death. But, as she kept telling herself, Ernest had been murdered, Joseph might have been, and right now, she needed help.
She felt her knees buckle, thought she might topple over into the snow, but as her back slid down the door and black seemed swarm in to cloud her world there was the sound of a bolt being unbolted and a key being turned.
Maureen stayed conscious long enough to see Sally staring down at her in horror.
"Help me," said Maureen, and with that she passed out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - Echoes From The Past
The only sounds in the minibus as it drove along the narrow lane were the hum of the engine, the indicator and the sound of low hanging branches scraping against the vehicle. Obviously this road didn't get a lot of traffic.
Darwin only saw the building when Cassidy turned into the drive, the scraping replaced by weeds growing up through the gravel brushing the underside of the vehicle. It was a large detached Victorian building, one half blackened by the fire that had caused it to be abandoned, roof supports jutting up like exposed blackened ribs. The other half seemed to take on a sickly green hue, either from the moss that coated the remaining roof or the algae covered windows.
It stood on a slight rise, surrounded by woods on three sides and enough foliage on the other that the building couldn't be seen from the road anywhere other than the gateway.
"Park round the back," Darwin instructed, pointing to where the drive split and lead to the rear of the property. Cassidy said nothing but did as she was asked.
She's still pissed at me, he thought. She'd been adamant that she didn't want to go to Swindon, but had given no more reason than "because". What's wrong with
Swindon? he thought. Besides, this was so on the outskirts, he wasn't sure it counted at all.
She seemed to be failing to grasp the importance of this trip. Cassidy could whine and moan all she liked, but she had to realise he was trying to repair things with his people. The vampires were in trouble and he was in a unique position to help. Heck, with the minibus, he could take them all to safety. There would be legends written about him; he'd have his own Naya Vestu.
If he was honest, he was slightly annoyed at how her attitude had dampened his excitement. This was a big deal, couldn't she see that? He even wondered on that long, silent journey down the M4 whether she resented him re-establishing ties with his people. No, that was unfair, he told himself. She might have complained, but she'd still come along.
Cassidy parked outside a large door in the centre of the back of the building. Darwin went to help her with the handbrake, but she swatted his hand away and with both hands and a lot of effort managed to engage it.
He sighed. Why was it always so hard to do the right thing?
"Are you coming in?" he asked as he unfastened his seatbelt.
She ignored him at first, staring out the front window, her brow furrowed. But just when he was about to ask again, she turned to him and shook her head. He sensed sadness in her eyes but decided against deteriorating the situation between them any further.
He reached for the door handle. "I won't be long," he said half hoping for a reply or acknowledgement. None was forthcoming.
He sighed to himself as he got out the minibus and made his way to the entrance. He'd rather she shout at him than the silent treatment. At least then he'd have something to respond to. He decided to push it to the back of his mind and concentrate on finding D'Toeni.
The back door had long since come off its hinges and hung open at an odd angle, graffiti covering the cracked turquoise paint. It opened into a hallway that dissected the house, running from the back door where Darwin had entered through to the front door. A large wooden staircase ran up one side and along one wall, many of the treads rotten, many of the balusters broken, presumably by the same people who had tagged the back door.
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