‘Oh,’ said Hannah, shaking her hand. ‘Hannah Drink— sorry, Willis.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ she said with a smile. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘You have?’ said Banecroft.
She turned back to face him. ‘Yes, Vincent. Of course I have. Grace keeps me fully informed.’
Banecroft’s eyebrows ascended so quickly that for a millisecond they looked in danger of breaking free from his face entirely. ‘Our receptionist is your spy?’
‘Oh, do calm down, Vincent. Such a drama queen. Grace informs me of all the goings-on in the office in a daily email. She is not spying on anyone. If you’d asked her, I’m sure she would have told you exactly what she was doing. Did you ever take the time to ask her? Or, indeed, have a civilized conversation with her of any kind?’
‘No, he hasn’t,’ came Grace’s voice over the intercom.
‘Grace, dear, you’re slightly undercutting my point,’ said Mrs Harnforth.
‘Oh. Sorry.’
‘I told you to go home!’ barked Banecroft.
‘No, you didn’t.’
‘Well, I’m telling you now.’
There was a loud beeping noise.
‘When this is done, she and I will be having words.’
‘No,’ said Mrs Harnforth, ‘you will not.’ She turned to Hannah again. ‘I don’t blame you at all for hurling that vase at him. Vincent has a penchant for being beastly.’
Banecroft drew a cigarette from the packet on his desk. He stopped with the lighter in his hand as Mrs Harnforth gave him a certain look. Hannah did her best to appear not to notice as the pair locked eyes wordlessly. Banecroft removed the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it on the table. He glared at Hannah, daring her to mention it.
‘So,’ continued Mrs Harnforth, placing her finger on the newspaper that now sat on the table in front of her.
‘Right,’ said Banecroft. ‘I know it seems unbelievable, but—’
‘Oh no,’ she replied. ‘I believe every word of it.’
‘But if you’ll just let me— Wait. What?’ Banecroft’s eyebrows were getting more exercise than possibly his entire body had experienced in quite some time.
‘Yes. The creature in this picture is what is known as a Were. The “werewolf” thing is a complete nonsense. Nothing to do with wolves. For a start, Weres always hunt alone, while wolves are, of course, pack animals.’
‘What?’ said Banecroft.
‘What?’ said Hannah.
Mrs Harnforth looked at them each in turn. ‘I appreciate that the last few days will have been a big culture shock for both of you. The world is not what you thought it to be.’
There was a long moment of silence, followed by everyone who wasn’t Mrs Harnforth saying ‘What?’ again.
In lieu of an answer, Mrs Harnforth turned to Hannah and touched her on the knee. ‘Can I ask, did you really burn down your cheating husband’s house?’
‘Well, I …’
‘Hang on,’ said Banecroft. ‘Don’t change the subject. You knew about this?’ He slammed his hand down on the paper to emphasize his point.
‘No,’ said Mrs Harnforth. ‘I mean, I knew such creatures had once existed, but they are not supposed to any more. In fact, to be precise, they are not allowed to exist any more.’
‘At some point, are you going to stop talking in riddles? It’s really getting annoying now.’
Hannah nodded in agreement.
Mrs Harnforth uncrossed and recrossed her legs. ‘Sorry. I shall endeavour to be clearer. There’s a lot I can’t explain to you – at least not now – but I shall tell you what I can.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’m afraid I have little time.’
‘Well,’ said Banecroft, ‘thank you for squeezing us in to your busy schedule.’
Mrs Harnforth spoke as if addressing the room rather than any one individual. ‘Who was it that said sarcasm is the lowest form of wit?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Banecroft, ‘but I guarantee they’d not seen the internet before they said it.’
Mrs Harnforth smoothed the line of her skirt as she spoke. ‘Before we begin, trust me on this: things will be easier if you can embrace the idea that what you have known as myths, fairy tales, legends – much of it is, well, not true per se, but it does contain echoes of the truth.’ She gave them a weak smile.
A voice in Hannah’s brain wanted to dismiss this all as nonsense, but then the image of the creature she had seen with her own eyes just a couple of hours previously came back to her.
Mrs Harnforth continued. ‘The world has always contained what can be thought of as, for want of a better word, “magic”. In centuries past, it was an everyday thing. Humanity, as we now know it, lived side by side with many creatures who, to a greater or lesser extent, were “other”. Notice I don’t say lived peacefully. Sadly, such is human nature that peace is a rarely achieved ideal. The others have many names and come in many shapes and sizes, but can loosely be referred to as “the Folk”.’
‘Hippy claptrap!’ blurted Banecroft, who was not used to staying quiet while others spoke.
‘Really?’ said Mrs Harnforth calmly. ‘So, do you have an explanation for the creature you encountered tonight?’
‘Well, I mean, I … but … what I …’ Banecroft gradually ran out of steam.
Mrs Harnforth nodded and continued. ‘So, humanity and the Folk lived side by side, if not entirely in peace then at least in what could be termed balance. Then mankind, ever the striver, slowly evolved. Villages became towns, stone became metals, and slowly the world bent to man’s will. It is important to note that humanity and the Folk were not entirely separate. Far from it. I’d imagine both of you have some Folk blood in your ancestry – almost everyone does. Why it all started to change is attributed by most people to the tale of Alexander and Isabella.’
‘Oh good,’ said Banecroft. ‘Story time!’
Mrs Harnforth sighed. ‘Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. This will go so much more easily if you try just a little not to be so, well, you. Now, where was I?’
‘Alexander and Isabella,’ prompted Hannah.
‘Ah, yes. Thank you, dear. As the story goes, Alexander was a great and wise king, beloved by his people. The lands he ruled were known for their peace and prosperity, places where the pauper and the prince were equal in the eyes of justice. The king, however, was a lonely man. It was rumoured that he had been cursed at birth to be unable to feel love. Princesses from far and wide came to call, but none could capture his heart, and he vowed he would not – could not – marry without love.’
Banecroft pulled a face, which everyone else ignored.
‘And then one day, while out riding, he came upon a poacher on his land hunting a stag. He chased down this hooded figure and they fought to a standstill. The king’s private guard wanted to kill the interloper, who had the temerity not only to defy the king but also to stand up to him in single combat. The king, however, was impressed. He offered the figure clemency in exchange for learning the identity of such a fine warrior. The figure removed their mask to reveal they were …’
‘Isabella,’ said Hannah.
‘Isabella,’ confirmed Mrs Harnforth with a sad smile. ‘So the story goes, she was the most beautiful woman the king had ever seen. So beautiful that he fell off his horse. In a matter of weeks, they were wed. They made a wonderful couple and the kingdom rejoiced. Then, almost immediately, she fell ill. The king called forth the greatest doctors and healers, but nobody could save her as she faded away before his eyes. He was inconsolable. The cruellest love is that which is granted late and taken early.
‘He had all but given up hope when, as he kept vigil by his love’s deathbed, a sorceress came to him. She told him that there was a way. By stealing the life from three of the Folk, his queen would live. Blinded by his own grief, the king gave the order and three members of the Folk were duly taken. The sorceress performed the ritual which took their lives, and it did indeed save Alex
ander’s queen. But at the final moment, the sorceress laughed a cruel laugh, for she knew what she had truly done. She had granted Isabella eternal life.
‘But in that moment Isabella had seen what would happen if it were ever taken away: a vision of hell – a very real hell – to which her soul would be committed if she ever did pass. The king, while meaning well, had stolen his bride’s soul from her and she could not forgive him for it. You see,’ continued Mrs Harnforth, ‘the sorceress had not explained it all. What she had done would keep Isabella alive, but only for ten years. After that, the blood of more of the Folk would be required, or else she would be doomed to suffer the eternal torment she had seen in her vision. And so, good King Alexander became something else. The Folk became his enemies, because only through their deaths could Isabella continue to live. The Folk tried to kill her—’
‘Hang on,’ interrupted Banecroft. ‘I thought you said she was immortal?’
Mrs Harnforth shook her head. ‘No, she could die, just not by natural means. Her body was impervious to illness, but the well-placed blow of a sword could still end her. She became terrified, haunted by the fate that awaited her. Alexander swore to protect her for all eternity and so, in an act of misplaced love, he too underwent the ritual and embraced eternal life. He and Isabella became the first two of what have been known by many names over the ages but these days are most commonly referred to as “the Founders”.’
‘These days?’ repeated Banecroft disbelievingly. ‘These days? Are you telling me that this fairy story is supposed to be real?’
Mrs Harnforth shrugged. ‘There are many versions of the tale, of course, but yes, the Folk and the Founders are very real. The Founders grew in number over time. It is the most human of human emotions to fear death. If given the opportunity, who wouldn’t want to live for ever? Over time, they gathered people of power to their side, and with this power they hunted the Folk, because they needed them to ensure their survival. The Folk were much greater in number, but they had none of the power the Founders enjoyed. The only option open to the Folk was to run, to hide, but the Founders had ways of finding them.’
‘The Were!’ exclaimed Hannah.
Mrs Harnforth turned to look at her. ‘That’s right: the Were. It is not size nor strength that makes the Weres so useful – it is their sense of smell. They can use it to detect members of the Folk. You see, not all Folk are the same – far from it. There are many different “species”, to use a scientific term, and only certain ones can be used to make a Founder.’
‘So, that Were thing,’ said Banecroft, jabbing at the picture on the front of the paper, ‘is immortal too?’
‘No,’ said Mrs Harnforth, shaking her head. ‘Quite the contrary. Think of it as a weapon, and a temporary one at that. It will have been an ordinary man or woman that a Founder has transformed into that beast. They cannot be controlled for long, though. Soon, the human’s mind is subsumed and they become a wild, rabid, thoughtless beast, of use to no one.’
‘So why would they do it?’ asked Hannah. ‘Why become one of them?’
‘Well,’ said Mrs Harnforth, ‘they were generally men who had been condemned to death – back in ancient times, at least. When the choice is certain death or anything else, many people will take the other option regardless. As for this poor soul you met tonight – who knows? Now that the knowledge of such things has faded from human memory, this poor man almost certainly will not have known what he was signing up for.’
‘Wait,’ said Banecroft. ‘Say I do, for a second, believe all of this. You said earlier that this Were thing should not exist?’
Mrs Harnforth nodded. ‘There is an accord: an uneasy truce of sorts between the Founders and the Folk, which has been in place for over a hundred years now. As part of that, Weres should be a thing of the past.’
‘They’ve been decommissioned?’ asked Banecroft.
‘In a manner of speaking. For centuries, the Folk ran and the Founders hunted. That was the way it was. The Founders were always selective, of course, as to who they’d let in. Any new member meant yet more of the Folk were needed to keep them all alive.’
‘Wait,’ said Hannah. ‘Sorry, but … you said that all the myths and stuff were true?’
‘Well, many of them,’ replied Mrs Harnforth. ‘I’m not saying there’s a Loch Ness monster.’
‘Right, but, does that mean … One of the names the Founders are known by, is it … vampire?’
Mrs Harnforth nodded. ‘That name isn’t used much by the Folk, and it is detested by the Founders, but yes, the vampire myth can be seen as an allegory for the Founders.’
Banecroft blew a loud raspberry.
Mrs Harnforth sighed. ‘Vincent, do you have a point you wish to make?’
‘Yes, I do. If these Founders, as you call them, were running about sucking the blood out of people, I’m pretty sure we’d know about it.’
‘Now, Vincent, I know you know what an allegory is. They do not do that, at least not directly. Don’t think of fanged figures in cloaks. Think of what you know from your Fleet Street days. You’ve seen it. Certain stories quietly killed? The hidden hands of power? Some of that is just how the world works, but some of it is the Founders. Think about it: the Folk don’t want themselves known to the quote-unquote “ordinary world”. Would you, if the fountain of youth ran through your veins? And the Founders want their existence kept quiet for the same reason. They’d rather live in this world and guide it from the darkness than stand in the light.’
‘All right,’ said Banecroft. ‘If all of that is true, then how on earth is this “accord” in place now? Who achieves total victory and then negotiates a truce?’
‘Ah,’ said Mrs Harnforth, ‘now you are asking the right questions.’
‘Whoop-dee-do.’
There was a moment’s pause and the briefest of looks exchanged between the two – just enough for Mrs Harnforth to allow Banecroft to remember the nature of their relationship.
‘What changed things was, shall we say, an unintended consequence of man’s inhumanity to man. Or, to put it in simpler terms, when the twentieth century rolled around it became a lot easier to kill. Guns, bombs, artillery. Suddenly the Founders, despite all their power, were vulnerable. Castle walls couldn’t protect them any more. The Folk – or rather, a small but dedicated band of them – were able to find ways to kill Founders, and that is their one great, collective weakness: their absolute terror of death and the tortured eternity that awaits them afterwards. Remember, as part of the “making”, every Founder experiences a vision of the certain terrifying hell that awaits them should they ever die. Once modern warfare was conceived, even they did not have the power to put that genie back in the bottle.’
‘Ah,’ said Banecroft, ‘speaking of which.’ He pulled a bottle of whiskey and a glass from his desk drawer. ‘The two of you can keep going, but I’ve no intention of listening to this stuff sober.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Hannah.
Banecroft barked a laugh that caused the amber liquid to spill from his glass on to the table.
Mrs Harnforth turned to face her. ‘Sorry, dear. Which part?’
‘This … accord?’ Mrs Harnforth nodded to indicate Hannah had got it right. ‘You said the Founders could stay alive only through these Folk people dying?’
‘Ah,’ she replied, ‘yes, I did, didn’t I? My apologies – I left out a crucial point there. You see, that was the case, but then certain Founders – the more progressive of them, if you will – began doing some research. They discovered that it was possible to extract what they call “life force” – but, for simplicity, think of it as the “magic” for the moment – from the Folk without killing them.’
‘Right,’ said Hannah. ‘Doesn’t that mean it’s all sort of fine, then?’
Mrs Harnforth wrinkled her nose. ‘Not exactly. It comes at a terrible price. The procedure is brutal and it greatly shortens the life of any member of the Folk who goes through it. The Folk
themselves refer to it as “the cost”. Effectively, Folk lives are still taken so that the Founders may live, but it is done in a less immediate way. It is merely the best bad solution. There’s a lot more to it than that – but for the moment, think of it in those broad terms.’
‘So,’ said Hannah, ‘this Were thing – does that mean that the Founders have broken the Accord?’
‘Yes and no. Unless I’m very much mistaken, I’d imagine it means that one of the Founders is breaking the Accord. A rogue element.’
Banecroft snatched the paper and held it up, showing Mrs Harnforth the front-page image. ‘By any chance are you referring to this little slaphead thunder-anus in the background?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have put it quite so colourfully, but yes, that gentleman. I may be wrong, but I believe the most logical explanation is that he is breaking one of the three guiding principles of the Accord. Rule number one was that the Folk agreed to cease all attempts to kill any of the Founders. Rule number two was that the Folk would pay “the cost” in exchange for the Founders no longer hunting them. And rule three?’ She looked at Hannah and Banecroft expectantly.
‘No new Founders?’ said Hannah.
Mrs Harnforth gave a smiling nod, like a proud parent. ‘No more “makings”, as they are known. This gentleman is breaking that rule. Your report identified him as an American. I would imagine he has come here hoping to do whatever he is doing in secret. The mainstream press and the general public will, of course, dismiss your headline as hokum.’
‘Oh, terrific,’ bristled Banecroft.
‘But when this evidence is made public, those who need to know will see it for what it is and deal with it accordingly. That is exactly the purpose that this paper was intended to fulfil.’
‘Well,’ said Banecroft, ‘we won’t be doing it again. The police are shutting us down, unless your lawyer can pull something pretty damn spectacular out of the bag.’
Mrs Harnforth looked taken aback for the first time in the conversation. ‘Lawyer? What lawyer?’
Banecroft stared at her for a long moment and then tilted back his chair to a precarious angle and shouted up at the ceiling, ‘Oh, you are kidding me!’
The Stranger Times Page 26
