The Summoning

by Robert Wingfield

  Ankerita lay awake that night, listening to Jo’s uncomfortable breathing in the other bed. The story of the covered bottles was intriguing her. She had detected something as she stood near them. The condition was familiar to when she had previously carried her beautiful dagger from the abbey. Holding it had brought normally unseen entities into sharper definition. Even without the dagger, though, she was sure she had felt something.

  “I wonder if my augury is coming back?” she mused. “Maybe something to do with that ritual of Fantasia’s. That would be in good earnest.” She heard a sound and sat up in bed. “Who’s there?”

  An area of blackness in the dark seemed to drift and cross the room.

  “Jo, wake up.” She reached across and prodded her friend. Jo did not stir; in fact, she felt solid. It was like poking a log.

  The shape drifted towards the end of Ankerita’s bed. She clicked the bedside light on. It didn’t help.

  “She will not wake.” The voice was low and harsh.

  “Who are you?” Ankerita was disturbed, but not afraid. “You can’t harm me, so go on your way.”

  “Don’t think you’re safe, o Lady of the Past,” came the rasp. “I can see your great age, and it would be but a small task for me to return those years...”

  “`What do you want? Away with your empty threats, you doddypol.” Ankerita felt the chill in the room. She pulled the blankets more tightly around her. As she did so, she cupped the ring on her index finger. Instantly, the room came into focus. She saw a middle-aged man, craggy, and dressed in an old-fashioned outfit. “You look like a highwayman I used to know, only scruffier.”

  The man took a step backwards. “You have powerful magic,” he said. “I thought you were not a casual visitor.”

  “What do you want?” repeated Ankerita. “Tell me, or return to wherever you came from, and let me sleep.”

  “The bottles,” said the man. “You must smash the bottles to set me free.”

  “You mean those old cursed things downstairs?” Ankerita felt irritated. “They are antiques: been with the pub for years.”

  “They are also holding me to this place. You have to smash the big one at least, to free me.”

  “I’d never get away with it.”

  “That is your problem. If you don’t do it, I will claim your life as reparation.”

  “You are threatening me?”

  The man moved his head from side to side and held his palms out. “If you like.”

  “And if I do what you want, what’s in it for me?”

  “The Coat.”

  “Coat?” Ankerita decided to feign ignorance.

  “You seek the Coat of Padarn Beisrudd. I can find it.”

  “How do you know? What trickery is this?”

  The man looked surprised. “Nothing special,” he said defensively. “I simply overheard you talking about it downstairs.”

  “So where is it?”

  “That’s for me to know...”

  “Can you tell me, please? You will also know that I need it to save my friend. Have you any humanity?”

  “That is a merry jape,” said the man. “You asking me about humanity. No information for you, until you have done my bidding.”

  “Think on this,” said Ankerita. “The moment I break the bottle, you will be free to go, vanish into wherever it is planned for you to end up, and therefore you can’t tell me where the coat is.”

  “I could make a point of hanging around afterwards.” The man was looking thoughtful.

  “I don’t think it works that way.” Ankerita warmed to the argument. “As soon as you are free, it will be as though I’d fired a crossbow. It is impossible to stop the bolt before it flies into the armoured chest of the Next World.”

  “Mixed metaphors, and curses. I should have thought of that.” The man punched the end of the bed. It shook.

  “So, if you tell me where the coat is, I’ll do what I can to get rid of that bottle afterwards. Are they indeed cursed? Tell me the truth.”

  The man glanced guiltily downwards. “I’m afraid so. It was the wife who put the curse on; actually, her coating the outside of the bottles with a contact poison might have helped. If you touch them, it will be the end of you.”

  “You perhaps should have mentioned that?”

  “I was going to,” he protested guiltily. “Will you help?”

  “I’ll have to think about it,” said Ankerita. “I might tell the landlord and see if he can do anything. I’ll warn him about the poison of course. That was a sneaky trick you tried to play. How does that make you feel?”

  “A complete heel, actually,” the man said. “I was only thinking of myself. What is the next life like?”

  “I truly don’t know,” said Ankerita. “I’ve heard good things about it, but why not consider your position here?”

  “What position?”

  “Why, resident ghost of course. With a bit of effort, you can improve your manifestations, and have loads of fun spying on the ladies, and scaring the men shitless, if that is the correct use of the word.”

  “I never thought of that.” The man gave a lecherous grin. “I suppose I have been hiding so far.”

  “Don’t shroud yourself,” said Ankerita. “Use your talents. I once knew a man who’d been suspended on the end of a rope for two-hundred years, and he made the best of a bad job. He had lots of fun.” Ankerita didn’t mention that she had released said highwayman, and he had stayed around until he was able to find his lost boots. She didn’t want to confuse this shade.

  “Wonderful,” said the ghost. “Great plan. I’ve got ideas already. Suppose I try this on the ladies?” He dropped his trousers. Ankerita pulled a face. “That’s what I shall be practising,” he said triumphantly. “What do you think?”

  “It looks like a pillicock,” said Ankerita thoughtfully, “but a lot smaller. Put it away.”

  The man scowled, but replaced his clothing, all the same. “You don’t mean that, really?”

  “In due course, you can check and compare for yourself,” suggested Ankerita, “so don’t be downhearted. Now, about that coat?”

  The ghost’s face twisted. “I don’t have to give it to you,” he said.

  “No you don’t, but I’ve given you a reason to live, or whatever it is you do. Fair’s fair; it would be the decent thing.” She held her breath.

  “Oh go on,” the ghost said at last. “I do owe you one, even if you wouldn’t free me. It’s over there in the closet.”

  “There’s no closet.”

  “Press the panelling, top left corner. Give the bottom right a shove. It’s hidden. You weren’t expecting a sign, ‘Storage for the Thirteen Treasures of Albion’?”

  “Don’t be mordant.” She got out of bed and slithered over to the panel. “This one?”

  The ghost sighed. Ankerita leaned and pressed where she had been told. After a few tries, the panel creaked backwards on ancient hinges. She peered into the black space inside the wall.

  “I think they used to store Catholic priests in there,” said the man casually. “Look to the back.”

  Ankerita stood to one side, and let the meagre light into the space. Hanging on a peg at the rear of the small cupboard was what looked like a string of rags.

  “You’re not serious.” She looked over to where the apparition was still standing.

  “Time might have not been so kind,” apologised the man. “You can take it if you want. I’ve got no use for it.”

  “I suppose not,” said Ankerita. She reached in, trying not to imagine the centuries of spiders waiting to grab her hand and sink their fangs in. Her fingers closed over the softest of materials. It reminded her of a line of feathers on a string. There was no substance. She unhooked the rags carefully and brought them into the room.

  “I can’t see any use in this,” she said disappointedly. “Not much of a coat is it?”

  “Wait,” said the ghost.
>
  “Oh.” Ankerita dropped the item. As it floated downwards, the wispy material solidified and slowly formed into the shape of a coat, a modern coat, black leather, lined and trimmed with purple-dyed lambs-wool.

  “It’s gorgeous,” said Ankerita with disbelief.

  “What’s gorgeous?” Jo’s voice came blearily from her bed. “Turn the light off. I’m trying to rest here.”

  “Sorry Jo.” Ankerita smiled at her friend. “Thank you,” she said to the man. He nodded, and walked straight through the wall.

  “Is it time for breakfast yet?” asked Jo. “I could do with a shower. Do you want to use it first?”

  “I don’t think I’ll bother, this morning,” said her friend, with a grin. “Go back to sleep.”

  23. Headless Earl

  F

  antasia M W Stanhope stared with frustration at her personal physician. “I’ve been under your exclusive care for a week, Halliday, and you can’t stop the bleeding. Look at the state of my hand.”

  “I’m sorry Ma’am,” said the doctor, “but all the usual things I can try haven’t worked. It’s as though the skin doesn’t want to heal.”

  “It’s not a deep cut,” said Fantasia. “That knife must have been cursed.”

  “I can’t say, Ma’am, but it seems rather unlikely. I truly can’t work out how to stop the seepage. I would recommend we get you into the private clinic for tests.”

  “Can’t you see I have work to do? I have lost that little bitch. The cameras are all connected again, but she simply doesn’t show up. I need to find her.”

  “Have you any trusted deputies you can leave in charge?”

  “Sorry Doctor, but you’ve known me for a long time. Do you think I can trust anyone? If I put one of my clowns in charge, they would be sitting here, and the creature could pass right under their noses without them seeing. No, it’s something I have to do myself.”

  “Don’t you think you’re getting a bit obsessed?” said Halliday tentatively.

  “What?” Fantasia stared at him in amazement. “How dare you say that to me?”

  “Fanty!” The man sternly reverted to the name her father used to call her when she was pulling the heads off grasshoppers. “You are not in the best of health. If you don’t have some proper treatment soon, you could lose the hand... or worse. I’ve been with you all your life: Hell, I delivered you from your poor mother, God rest her soul.”

  “You can forget using words like that in this house,” said Fantasia. “You know my opinion on religions.”

  “Sorry, but if I can’t give you advice, who else can you trust? Listen to what I’m saying. The girl will still be around when you are better. Leave her for the moment. She will get cocky and give herself away if you’re not permanently on her heels. Turn off the monitors and let me book you in to the clinic.”

  “Damn you, but you’re probably right.” Fantasia sighed. “I’ll have to leave Jenkins in charge. He’s trustworthy and loyal, but a bit lacking in imagination.”

  “Best kind of deputy.” The doctor picked up the telephone. “May I?”

  Fantasia switched off the big screen.

  “Look Anna, we’ve got to, like, stop for petrol soon,” said Jo as they traversed yet another country lane. “While I admire your faith in the supernatural, this is a normal car, and it doesn’t go if you don’t put fuel in it.”

  “It’s The Chariot,” insisted Ankerita. “It doesn’t need petrol—look, the gauge still says ‘full’.”

  “I expect it’s broken. Look, humour me. At the next garage we see, stop the car, and put some in. If the tank is full, no more will fit. Do we have a deal?”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “We could get some sandwiches too. That way we don’t have the risk, or the waste of time, stopping at a pub or café.”

  “I suppose it makes sense. Okay, plot us a course to the nearest garage that’s not on a motorway.”

  As they approached the service station, Ankerita suddenly slammed her foot on the brake. “Cameras,” she said. “They always have cameras in these places, don’t they?”

  “That’s to catch people driving off without paying. They won’t be linked into the Web.”

  “But Bitch-woman said that she was watching all the cameras.”

  “Event those in gas stations?” Jo was incredulous.

  “All of them. This woman is powerful. I don’t want to take any risks. I’ll get out here. You drive in and buy the petrol, sandwiches and drinks and anything else.” She handed Jo a wad of notes. “Will that be enough?”

  “I think there will, like, be some change.” Jo smiled.

  Ankerita pulled the coat tightly around her against the brisk sea breeze. She felt small and alone as she watched her car drive off towards the petrol station. The smell of salt from the ocean tickled her nostrils, and as she gazed across empty fields towards the grey haze of the sea, her eyes lighted on a ruined tower. It was lit starkly against the dark sky by a brief shaft of sunlight. “Lord, we were going the wrong way,” she muttered. “Forget Edinburgh; over there is where Clydno Eiddin hid his treasures. The witch has given me poor directions.”

  She stared at the tower in the distance, and as she looked, it seemed to grow and reform into an impressive fortress, with flags and coloured bunting. “Yes, that is where we must go.”

  “Alright Doll?” Jo stopped the car next to her. Ankerita jumped; she hadn’t noticed it returning. “As I suspected, the tank was nearly dry,” Jo said. “I had to fill it right up. We couldn’t have gone much further. Let me drive for a bit. You can lie low in the seat as we go past the garage again. The cameras won’t pick you up. We’ve still got a long way to go.”

  “Good idea, but you won’t have to drive for long. That’s where we’re going.” Ankerita pointed across the fields.

  “I can’t see anything.”

  “It’s there, trust me.”

  “Always... now, like, get in and tell me where to go.”

  “It says the place is like closed until April.” Jo climbed into the warmth of the Ford. They had stopped at a field gate, and the castle was occasionally visible in the distance as the wind and rain battering it off the sea gave a respite.

  “Is the gate locked?”

  “Yes, it’s a wild place.”

  “That’s a shame.”

  “What do we do, turn back?” suggested Jo. “I guess we could walk, but we would be soaked in minutes. You might have a new coat that, like, turns away the weather, but mine isn’t so good.”

  “I’ll go and open the gate.”

  “I don’t see how. It’s locked.”

  “Leave it to me. I’ll open it. You drive through.”

  Ankerita got out of the car, and forced her way through the gale. There was a large padlock on the gate. She got out the rondel, and pushed it into the keyhole. It took only a single twist, and the lock sprang open. She swung the gate wide, and beckoned to Jo to drive through. Before re-joining, she closed it again and clicked the latch into place.

  “I didn’t know you could pick locks,” observed Jo, as her friend settled beside her again.

  “I didn’t need to,” said Ankerita. “The blade has many uses, as, you will find, do the other artefacts.”

  “Yeah, right. It’s still a load of mumbo-jumbo to me. The thing must have already been broken.”

  “You saw the monk. You felt what he could do. Does that not convince you?”

  “It could have been a dream. I might only be in remission.”

  “And what you saw in the shower at the pub?” prompted Ankerita, smiling as she remembered her friend’s outrage at the appearance of the ghost.

  “That could have been my imagination... or wishful thinking. It’s been a long time... You might have warned me.”

  “You do take some convincing.”

  “I’ll take some convincing that this is a good idea,” said Jo ruefully, as she coaxed the Esc
ort across the bleak clifftop. “We will be wiped out in this weather. Are you sure this is like where we should be?”

  “Where else should we be?”

  “That fire last night was wonderful. I’d love to be there after another good meal.”

  “Humour me,” said Ankerita. “I promise that if there is nothing to find, we will go and get a nice cosy room for the night. We can dry out there.”

  “I hate this game.” Jo pulled the wheel sharply to avoid a hidden gulley.

  “You can stay in the car if you like. I’ll climb over the wall and see if I can find anything inside.”

  “You expect to like find something? How will you know what to look for?”

  “I’m sure it will all make sense, eventually.”

  “You optimism does you credit.”

  “That’s how life works. Expect something to be, and if you have no doubts, it will certainly be.”

  “One day, I might begin to understand. This will do, I guess.” Jo parked the car on grass next to the ancient walls. “I’ll come with you,” she decided. “You’ll need help getting over, and it will be nice to do some climbing again. I haven’t had a proper adventure since I was in NZ.”

  “Apart from the wraiths you attracted at the hotel we worked at.”

  “I prefer to forget about them.” Jo shuddered. “Are we getting out?”

  The wind almost took their breath away as the girls stood beside the castle wall. “This looks to be the lowest point,” shouted Jo over the gale. “I’ll give you a leg up.” She locked her hands together and bent down.

  “Thanks, Hun.” Ankerita reached for the top, as Jo lifted her effortlessly by the foot, and almost threw her over. The stone was cold and slippery, but the drop on the far side was much less. Ankerita sat on the top, and was going to reach down to Jo, but her friend had already climbed up beside her.

  “That was easy,” said the girl. “I’ll lower you down this side. Hang on to my wrist.”