The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

“But how is it so sharp?” He stared in dazed confusion, making no attempt to protect himself.

  Ankerita raised the knife.

  “No need for more violence.” The familiar voice halted her blow. “It’s one of the treasures of Albion. Put it down. It won’t work, if used in anger, anyway. You know that.”

  “You are right.” Ankerita regarded the battleground, and felt her fury dissipate. “It can’t harm one of pure thought. I read that in the Book. Also, it cannot be used by someone with evil intentions, which is why I’m still alive. Fantasia couldn’t hurt me with it.”

  “And also why you can’t hurt your man, here. I was worried we’d be too late though... You keep still, ya bas,” George threatened Danny, “or I’ll whack ye wi’ ma chain.”

  “Don’t worry,” the broken man wheezed. “I can’t go another step. I think my ribs are gone.”

  “Better than the state of y’r mates,” said George. “They played wi’ big boy toys getting those knives out. The lads don’t like that sort of behaviour.”

  “George, you old rogue.” Ankerita finally relaxed, and hugged the man. “You saved my life again.”

  “But the knife.” Danny was bewildered.

  “Aye, but it only works on people with evil intentions; the more evil, the sharper the knife against them. A kind of ‘safety blade’ if ya like.”

  “Which is, I guess, why Ms Stanhope was so badly cut, earlier,” speculated Ankerita, “and why it wouldn’t have worked on you, Mr Keech, despite all your treachery.”

  “I need to explain.” Danny wavered.

  “You can shut the feck up.” George swung his chain. “You’ve done enough to the poor lassie.”

  “I need to tell you,” Danny protested. “Hear me out first though, please.”

  “Later.” Ankerita was trying to hold her robes together. George took off his trouser belt, wrapped it around her twice and tightened the buckle.

  “There ye go,” he said kindly, “decent again, Lassie.”

  “Thanks George.” Ankerita slipped the rondel into the makeshift belt. “I’m so glad you found me. How...?”

  “The crystal-ball,” said George, “and your aura. I could see it in the glass, shining out, showing me where to go.”

  “You saved me... Oh dear, can we help?” Ankerita indicated the carnage. Fantasia’s two thugs were lying motionless. One of Iliesca’s men was being patched up, a large gash in his side looking very nasty. “That man needs a hospital.” Ankerita shuffled up to them.

  “No hospital. Man get better, or he die.” His colleague was trying to stem the blood flow. “I know first aid.”

  “We know risks,” the invalid hissed, through gritted teeth. “My fault. Not move quickly enough.”

  Ankerita bit her lip. Iliescu strode up. “So, where is that bitch who was about to murder you?”

  “In the shower room.” Ankerita pointed. “By that wreck of a man over there.”

  “I thought he was playing on her side. If he had drawn a weapon, we would have finished him.”

  “I think he changed crews. Watch him, he is a snake.”

  Iliesca beckoned Popescu. He pointed at the shower-room. “Go and get her. Be careful when you go in. The caged tiger is worst when at bay.”

  Popescu smiled and knocked on the door. “Come out, lady, or I’ll come in and get you.”

  There was no reply. He turned the handle, but it refused to budge. He gave the door a sturdy kick, and then another. Finally, he turned sideways and thrust his foot out in a powerful karate move. The door shattered inwards. He peered cautiously inside.

  “Gone?” A quick search of the space revealed that, inside the shower cubicle, one of the side panels was swinging open into the far side of the warehouse.

  “She said there wasn’t another way out,” grumbled Ankerita. “I could have escaped at any time.”

  “That’s probably why she didn’t tell you,” said George.

  Leaving the uninjured men to clear up the mess in the warehouse, George led the way out to the people-carrier hired for the operation. Ankerita sat beside him in her ‘sacrificial’ robes, dagger in her belt, the precious book on her lap, and the ring back on her finger; the rich green stone set into it polished and bright again. Ankerita hadn’t realised that when it had been taken, the stone had lost its intensity.

  George drove the two original visitors and Danny to the house. Danny had his arms tied behind him. He did not struggle, but was moaning.

  When they drew up in the driveway, Ankerita was pleased to see that the front door had been replaced with one considerably more sturdy. “We are not being jumped again,” said Iliesca as he saw her looking. “Now Danny-boy, you have some explaining to do... before we take this further.”

  “I’ve got information to share.”

  “What could we possibly want?”

  “Evidence against Stanhope?”

  “Let’s hope it’s useful,” said Iliesca, “or you will find yourself included in Fantasia’s Mercedes, when it mysteriously catches fire with her men inside. A wiring fault I expect.” He tutted. “German cars; they don’t make them like they used to.”

  “No,” agreed Popescu. “They leave the bulletproof armour off these days, not like in the Old Country.”

  “We needed it there. This is a civilised country—do you know, they don’t issue guns to the police?”

  “We will change that,” said Popescu with a grin. “Give us time.”

  21. A Cat called Priah

  G

  eorge’s house was a whirlwind of activity. Iliesca and Popescu were directing what seemed like an army of workmen, fortifying the place. The garden was also in the process of being tidied up and landscaped, and the boundary fences were being replaced and strengthened. Extra security cameras were set on corners of the building, as the men turned it into a fortress.

  The tidy-up attracted a collection of street-urchins, who sat on the wall and watched, until Iliesca sent them on their way with a small cash handout to buy sweets.

  “You shouldn’t give them money.” George watched the latest donation. “They will keep on begging.”

  Iliesca grinned. “Spies,” he said. “I’ve got them patrolling the neighbourhood. The money is a kind of salary, in exchange for information; anything happens in the estate, I will get to know about it. This is now my territory. Tell me your plans. I’m afraid we will be here for a while, so we don’t need you to house-sit anymore, and for what we have planned, it is best you are not party.”

  “I was thinking about that,” said George. “It’s time I was moving on.”

  “You’ve done a good job,” said Iliesca. “We don’t forget. I’ll see you get some severance pay. No hurry to leave, of course. Find yourself somewhere else first.”

  “And you have my, and the lassie’s, assurance that nothing of the events of the other week will ever get told.”

  Iliesca smiled. “I would expect nothing less, but don’t worry. We have covered our tracks. The evidence has been disposed of, and I don’t think our friend, Ms Stanhope, will be reporting anything.”

  “I’d like to thank ye for helping save ma girl too,” said George emphatically.

  “It was our pleasure. It’s not often we get the chance for a good traditional skirmish. All too often these days, it’s legal this and legal that, with people hiding behind lawyers and stupid laws, to try to stop rude people from doing the things the Law can’t stop them doing anyway. It’s all wrong.”

  “I think I understand that... I’m sorry about your man though. He didn’t make it, did he?”

  “No,” said Iliesca. “But he knew the risks, and the others had such a good time, it was worth it. There are plenty of my people to take his place.”

  “I can see that,” said George, regarding the army of builders bustling over the roof. “Are they all here legally?”

  “EU passports let them work anywhere. It’s so easy to get people in
and out, and pickings are rich and uncomplicated here. The petty criminals, drug dealers and other scum have got it coming once we’ve finished our headquarters.”

  “Best I don’t know,” said George. “Do you still want me to manage the shop?”

  “Of course. Come to think of it, is the upstairs flat still empty?”

  “It’s a bit of a mess.”

  “I’ll have a word with the lads, and get them to sort it for you. How does a week sound before you can move in?”

  “Impossible,” said George.

  “Nothing is impossible if you throw enough men at it.”

  “How are you feeling, Pet?”

  It was a few days later. Ankerita had recovered from her ordeal, although she was still having odd nightmares that woke her, but she could never remember afterwards. Her memories of the Fantasia event were mixed and confused.

  She looked up from the Book. “The noise is driving me mad,” she said. “Doesn’t anyone speak English anymore? I need to move.”

  “Aye, we’re both going,” said George. “They need the house free for the rest of their crew. Something about headquarters. I’ve got a feeling they’re going to take Stanhope head on, with the information they got from your friend, Keech. It’s best we are out of the way.”

  “He’s not my friend.” Ankerita’s eyes flashed. “What have they done with him... not that I’m interested.”

  “I think they had a chat with him down in the gym, but he’s a poorly bunny. Poppy said they dropped him at the hospital afterwards. The lads don’t think he can be any danger, especially as bitch-woman will be gunning for him.”

  “Then it’s time for us to move out. I don’t want to be caught in any disagreements between these sides. Do you think I’m safe to travel? Will the harpy still be tracking me? She knows where I am, but I have to find my friend.”

  “Best keep a low profile,” said George. “I don’t know what Stanhope will be planning next. Maybe she’s learned her lesson, but you’re right, she could be simply licking her wounds, devising her next move.”

  “She said something about the cameras,” said Ankerita. “They are everywhere these days, watching everything.”

  “Aye, like Illy says, they are there to catch the few people who are causing the trouble, but end up persecuting normal law-abiders, who themselves become criminals, where they wouldn’t normally. It’s going to end badly, I can feel it. You only have to look at what’s happened in this estate to see how it will all turn out for the rest of the country.”

  “What about your beautiful country manor up north. What was it called?”

  “Torry.” George grinned. “Even there, the lovely law-abiding, flower-sniffing gentlefolk are becoming restless.”

  “I’ll have to walk on the wild side to keep out of sight.” Ankerita smiled.

  “Walk on the wild side? Where did you get that from?”

  “Heard it on the radio. Is that not the correct usage?”

  “Probably. So, what are you going to do about your friend, Jo?” George changed the subject abruptly.

  Ankerita looked perplexed. “I’ve got to track her down, but that’s not easy. She may have gone to New Zealand to be with her folks, especially if she is suffering. That’s what I told her to do, when we didn’t know she was sick.”

  “You think she’s still alive...? Sorry to be blunt, Hen.”

  “I’m hoping so. I’d like to think that if she wasn’t, I’d know. I’d hope she would come and speak to me, through the crystal or some other way. Also from that, Fantasia said she was still hanging on, otherwise the bitch wouldn’t have needed to stop me try to save her.”

  “Makes sense, I suppose.”

  That evening, the work was finished for the day, and the workmen were sitting in the lounge, laughing, chain-smoking, coughing, watching football and swigging continental lager, mostly all at the same time it seemed to Ankerita. The hubbub and smoke leached its way up the stairs. Despite the frost outside, Ankerita had her window open to keep the air clear, and an electric convector heater was doing its best to compensate. She was wearing a big furry coat, and gazing into the crystal-ball. It was difficult to concentrate. “Why don’t they turn in?” she muttered. “They work from dawn ‘til dusk as it is. I can’t concentrate, with all this going on.” Her breath fogged the glass as she tried to contact her friend. “Damn it all.” She climbed into bed.

  A clock struck twice. Ankerita heard the usual footsteps in the corridor, but none of the drumming. The rest of the house was quiet at last, but the room was cold; the heater had clicked its last. She knew the mirror was still in place on the landing, but Iliesca had insisted that it stayed, despite her warnings. He had moved rooms, and said he rather liked the idea of playing tricks on the men the haunted bedroom was allocated to. He added that he enjoyed the thought that it thoroughly bugged the spirit to have so many people about, changing the fabric of the place.

  The moon was up, and light glared in past the open curtains. Her breaths came in clouds as Ankerita stared about. Something other than the footsteps had woken her. She started, as she felt a weight drop on to her feet, but it wasn’t heavy. There was a dark shape on the end of her bed. “What? Not you again?” It was too small to be the old man. She kicked out gently, and the shape moved up her body. She gripped her knife. A soggy, whiskery chin was forced against her nose. The thing purred.

  “Cat.” Ankerita laughed. “I suppose you came in through the window. Silly me for leaving it open. If you think I’m getting up, you can forget it; if you want, you can settle here for the night. Just don’t crap on the floor.”

  The cat dabbed at her face, yowled, and jumped from the bed. It sat on the table with the covered up crystal-ball, and gave a chirrup.

  “Oh, please go to sleep, will you?” Ankerita was getting annoyed. Her brief rest had been disturbed, and she was becoming more awake. The cat jumped on to her bed and dabbed her face again. “Gerroff.” She pushed it away. In the dim light, she could have sworn it looked hurt. It went to the ball, and clawed the cover off. Ankerita stared. “That’s not a light inside it, surely?”

  The cat yowled again.

  “Oh for goodness sake.” Ankerita dragged herself out of bed, slipped into her dressing-gown and quivered her way to the table. She sat by the ball and stared into it, barely noticing as the animal jumped up on to her shoulder and watched the proceedings.

  As Ankerita focused on the glow inside the glass, she saw a room. There was a dim light. Slowly, furniture came into view. It looked like a bed-sit, not too different from that she’d briefly shared with Wesley. On the bed though, was a sorry figure of a girl. As Ankerita watched, she saw a hypodermic syringe. The girl plunged it into her arm, and sank on to the bed. In the vision, a small black cat jumped up beside the girl. She stroked it absently, a relaxed smile settling on her lips. With a start, Ankerita realised she was looking at her friend, Jo. This was not the tough blonde she remembered, but a broken remnant of humanity. “Oh my Lord.” Ankerita shook with horror. “Thank you for showing me this, Cat. I will come and help.”

  She went to stroke the animal, but it had vanished.

  The following day, Ankerita packed, and after a tearful departure from George, with promises to return as soon as she had seen Jo, drove the Escort out of the garage. Iliesca did little to conceal his relief. He had not insisted she move the car, but plans were to extend the garage and turn it into a workshop. Ankerita’s few bags were loaded, along with the crystal-ball and the other artefacts, and the music was loud on the sound system.

  She had decided to use the smaller roads, to avoid cameras. George had given her a heads-up so that she could tell the normal speed cameras, which, he said, were only triggered by honest citizens, from the real spy cameras. According to George, the latter were pretending to catch drivers who hadn’t bothered to insure their vehicles, but were surely there so that everyone could be watched and recorded by the security forces. His arg
ument was that if uninsured drivers were being taken off the roads, car insurance premiums would come down. This was not happening, he said, thereby proving that the cameras were simply there for the generation of revenue.

  Ankerita understood little of this, and drove away, planning to use the crystal to try to track her friend. George had programmed the phone he had given her with a navigation app, and had set a location which was as near as they could estimate to the area seen in the ball.

  If there was an instance where she couldn’t avoid one of the spy-cameras, George had told her to stop the car, cover her number plate with shiny duct tape and wrap a scarf around her face. He had brought her a pair of large sunglasses from the shop, so the disguise was complete. Once she was clear of the camera, she could reverse the procedure and carry on. There were no police patrols in the back-lanes, because, George said, they were all too busy completing paperwork. It was, what he called, the ‘traffic trolls’ that she had to avoid.

  After what seemed like a very short time, and a few resets of the navigation, Ankerita pulled up outside a dilapidated building in the outskirts of a grimy Midlands town. It seemed as though she had only been in the car for a few minutes. A last gaze into the crystal was enough to tell her she was in the right place, as was the black cat that leapt up on the bonnet of her car.

  Ankerita packed her precious items into a shoulder-bag, and picked up the cat. It purred and climbed on to her shoulder, sticking its claws into the thick coat. She pressed the doorbell. She had to ring three more times before hearing someone on the stairs inside. The door opened. She had been prepared for Jo’s new appearance, but the state of her friend was a shock, all the same.

  “Anna?” Jo’s blank expression slowly split into a confused smile of recognition. “And you’ve found Priah too. Come here, puss.” She took the cat. “He went out of the window this morning, and like wouldn’t come back.” Her eyes focused. “Anna, babe, you look great. What have you been doing? Where have you been? How did you find me? Come in and tell me all. Sorry, but the place is a mess.”