The Mystery of the Marsh Malaise: Wonky Inn Book 5

by Jeannie Wycherley

  “All this time we thought we were alone, yet we’ve been walking through their nest,” I said, retreating from the door.

  “How many?” Silvan asked, calm and assured as always, his eyes sparkling with delight at the prospect of the fight ahead of us. He had been born for this.

  “Too many.” I spun around as the red globe in the cupboard buzzed with what sounded to my ears as smug delight. I zapped it again and it scuttled into the shadows.

  “Blasted things.” I looked at the front door. There were fewer places for the globes to hide out the front. We had to go that way. There was no other alternative.

  “The Land Rover,” I said.

  Finbarr, sweating profusely in his agony, shook his head. “The doors were locked.”

  “But I found some keys. Come on!” I urged them to follow me and I dashed for the front door and reached for the keys hanging behind the curtain. Four sets and no straightforward way to tell which ones—if any—would belong to the Land Rover. The vehicle was so old it didn’t even have electric locks.

  No time to worry about that now. I grabbed them all and drew back the door chain, quickly followed by the bolts top and bottom of the door. I gripped the handle and turned back, my heart thumping in my chest.

  “Are we ready?” I asked Silvan, who held Finbarr up, his wand raised and ready for action.

  “Always,” he replied with a dashing smile. I took that as my cue to throw open the door and launch myself out into the unknown.

  Wand raised, I whirled around rapidly, blitzing anything that moved, shooting arcs of light across the sky above me, or into the shadows around me. Nothing but a handful of charred moths fell at my feet. I skidded to a halt, Silvan behind me.

  “Easy,” Silvan murmured. His voice cut through the adrenaline that had me on the edge. “Remember all we’ve practised. Stay low, stay sharp.” He gave me a gentle push. “Now go.”

  I ran for the Land Rover, keeping my body as low as I could manage. I passed the cow barn and heard their murmurings of discontent, their feet heavy on the packed earth inside. A flash of red zipped past my ear, and I ducked quickly but kept moving, zig zagging my way towards the 4 x 4.

  The air exploded around me as I reached it. It had been parked facing the farm, meaning I had to move into the open in order to try the keys in the lock of the driver’s door. I fumbled with the first set as I heard the buzzing of a globe just metres behind me. A crack of Silvan’s wand and the thing was sent spinning into the hedge with an angry howl.

  Silvan joined me as I jabbed the key from the next set into the lock. It wouldn’t even go halfway in. I pocketed that and tried the third, as once again, Silvan shot at a globe heading our way. This time the rotten thing exploded, and I felt the heat of its energy scorch my cheek. I ducked again, somewhat after the moment, and then punched the key in my hand hard into the lock. It went all the way in. A swift twist and the door opened. I jumped in. Silvan tapped on the back door. I reached behind me to unlock it and he flung it open. Then I thrust the keys into the ignition.

  “Don’t be a Hollywood horror movie,” I muttered as I twisted the keys. The engine turned over but didn’t catch.

  “I said don’t be a Hollywood horror movie, you son of a—”

  The engine flared into life with a satisfying throaty chug, and an explosion of exhaust. “Get in, get in, get in!” I shrieked to Silvan.

  Silvan practically threw Finbarr onto the back seat, then jumped in after him. Before he’d even had a chance to close the door, I’d slammed the car into reverse and was hightailing it—backwards—down the lane, the engine protesting loudly at the speed at which I was forcing it to go.

  We’d had no time to pull on our seatbelts and now as the Land Rover rolled in and out of the deep potholes, we were thrown around and jolted about, but I hung onto the steering wheel for dear life, craning to look behind me so that we wouldn’t end up wedged in a hedge or impaled on a wooden fence.

  Silvan rolled his window down and stuck his head out, directing his wand at the stray globes that had chosen to follow us. Sparks flew as they sent missiles our way, bolts of energy hitting the body of the car.

  “Keep going,” Silvan called, sounding thrilled, but I didn’t need his encouragement anyway.

  George was still alive—and today was not my day to die.

  I pulled the Land Rover up beside the inn and tucked it in behind Jed’s van. As I climbed out I couldn’t help but marvel at the collection of Mori vehicles I was beginning to accumulate.

  Unfortunately, I was pretty sure I’d just broken the law by taking the vehicle and driving it without consent.

  Never mind. I had more important things to worry about for now.

  I burst into the inn ahead of Silvan, and then wheeled about to help him with Finbarr. We sat the Irish witch in one of the high-backed armchairs in front of the fire. The embers glowed orange, but Florence appeared as if by magick, and taking one look at Finbarr proceeded to stoke the fire and breathe life back into it.

  Gwyn was hot on her heels.

  “What happened?” she asked, tapping her wand against the wall and switching the lights on allowing us all to see a little better.

  “We’ve been at Piddlecombe Farm,” I explained hastily, “looking for signs of George. Unfortunately we ended up in an ambush.”

  “Our friends?” Gwyn asked and I nodded.

  “Don’t worry, we gave as good as we got,” Silvan said gleefully, and Gwyn shot him a look that was a mixture of scepticism and approval.

  “You’re okay?” she asked me.

  “I’m fine. It’s Finbarr. He got in the way of a little one.”

  Gwyn drew out her wand and scanned Finbarr’s arm with it. “Nasty,” she said. “We’ll need to get him to a hospital.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to be doing with that, now,” Finbarr protested. “Is there nothing we can’t be doing ourselves, like?”

  “Absolutely not,” Gwyn replied sternly, then half turned away before swerving back and directing a quick zap from her wand at Finbarr’s arm. He shrieked and she smiled, her eyes glinting with what can only be described as sadistic pleasure.

  “Put the arm in a sling,” she said to me. “That will do for this evening. We’ll get him to a doctor in the morning.”

  Finbarr whimpered as I crafted a makeshift sling from one of Charity’s gaily coloured shawl-scarves—the first thing I could lay my hands on. He did however confess that much of the pain had disappeared thanks to the ‘shot’ Gwyn had given him. We left him to rest, dozing in the chair next to the now roaring fire, with Zephaniah standing guard and providing company—and disappeared into the kitchen to huddle around the big table there.

  “What did you discover?” Gwyn asked.

  “Gilchrist had definitely been held there. I found traces of him in several of the store rooms in the cellar, but I could feel his presence most in the end room.” Silvan shrugged, his face grim. “We’d only missed them by a few days.”

  “I recognised his writing on some puzzle books that were left behind. Oh and we found his phone, I think.” I said. Who needed necromancy? I pulled it out of one of my pockets. “It needs charging.”

  “But he wasn’t there?” Gwyn asked.

  “We didn’t think anybody was there,” I replied. “We were wrong.” I narrowed my eyes. “There were dozens of them. I likened it to a nest at the time. I can’t understand why I can’t sense them.”

  Silvan’s eyes darkened. “I’ve been considering that too. I think when they’re in globe form, they don’t seem to emit any kind of trace until you see them or hear them.”

  “Tricky little blighters.” I breathed out hard, struggling to relax even now in the safety of the inn.

  Gwyn twitched. “Nothing else?”

  I knew why she was nervy. We had to find George so that I could appease Vance and cure the marshes of their malaise. I was about to apologise and answer in the negative when I remembered the letters and the paper from the printer
. I drew everything out of my pockets and created a small pile on the kitchen table.

  Silvan sifted through it, remarking on the stamps, and creating sub-piles according to country.

  “I have no idea whether these letters will help Penelope Quigwell,” I said, “but perhaps there are physical traces or clues within the content that will help her unlock access to new members of The Mori we have no prior knowledge of.”

  I picked up the sheath of paper that had been expelled from the printer. I was disappointed to see that many of the pages were blank, and several contained nothing but gobbledegook. However, it was in among those that I found a short email chain.

  ‘It has come to our attention that our local agent, D Pearce, has been storing some of our products at his allotment. We fear he may be attempting to dissemble. Naturally we are concerned that the products may be discovered and lead to untoward repercussions.

  Please advise.’

  The response was short and sweet.

  ‘Dispose of said agent and related evidence.

  Ensure he has not attempted to contact others.’

  “Derek Pearce.” I clamped my hand to my mouth. “This is his death warrant.”

  “You said the globe you saw that day had been waiting around,” Gwyn said.

  I nodded. “Derek had been dead for at least twenty-four hours. It looks like The Mori were waiting to see who would try and make contact with him.”

  “They thought he was a double agent,” Silvan remarked.

  “But as far as we know, he wasn’t. Nobody on our side was aware of what he was doing.” I frowned. “Unless somebody did know and has been keeping it close to their chest? But who?”

  Silvan scanned the contents of the email again. “Or maybe Derek had been working for The Mori, but at some point he had a change of heart. He kept back some of the chemicals to use as proof of what they were up to… but didn’t know who to share that information with.”

  Gwyn pointed at me. “The obvious person to share with would be Alf. He must have known of her reputation as a witch, and he knew all about the inn of course.”

  “We’d even met. Albeit briefly.” I took the letter back from Silvan. “Derek loved the outdoors.” I thought of his allotment and all the time he had invested there, and the beautiful front garden at his cottage. Charity and Millicent had often remarked upon all the walking he did with Sunny, his Yorkie. “He must have had second thoughts.” I felt sad for him. The Mori had enticed him with financial rewards, but sometimes your conscience gets the better of you. If he’d had an inkling that The Mori were planning to destroy the countryside around Whittlecombe, he wouldn’t have liked that. He’d lived in the village virtually his whole life.

  “When you take one step towards the darkness, you can easily be sucked in, Alf.” A familiar voice made me look up.

  Erik Daemonne, the ghost of my father, had apparated into the kitchen, looking tired but otherwise well.

  “Dad!”

  Gwyn sniffed. “Ah Erik. You’ve finally made it home, have you? I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”

  “Well I’m here now,” Erik smiled.

  “Not before time!” I said. I was mightily pleased to see him of course, but it might have helped if he’d been with us a little earlier.

  “I heard you might need some reinforcements. I’ve set up a team from the Circle of Querkus in Speckled Wood. They’ll camp out there and keep an eye on things.”

  He rubbed his hands together, another witch who loved a good fight. “So why don’t you fill me in on what’s been happening?”

  I made it to bed eventually and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. The clash and clatter of crockery jolted me from troubled dreams only a few hours later. Breakfast was well underway in the bar, and Charity was having to cope without me.

  I sat up and flung my legs over the side of the bed, acknowledging Mr Hoo’s continuing absence. Today I must make it a priority to get down to Millicent’s cottage and see how he was doing.

  Intent on grabbing a quick shower I jumped up but feeling wobbly and off-kilter I sat back down quickly. “Whoops.” I clutched my head. “This is no time to get sick myself.” I tried again, mooching gingerly into the bathroom and staring at my pale face in the mirror, black circles under my bloodshot eyes. “I need a holiday.”

  I hadn’t enjoyed a holiday in years. I’d never earned enough as a bartender, and then, even though I’d started managing my own bars, I’d been unable to find the time. It had to have been eight years since I’d made it on to an aeroplane.

  I stood under the shower for longer than was strictly necessary just to get myself clean. The water helped to revive me. Swaying beneath the flow, I imagined where I would travel to if I had the opportunity. Japan maybe? Or Egypt? Somewhere with lots of history.

  I padded barefoot back into my bedroom to dry my hair and spotted George’s mobile on my bedside table. I’d brought it up here so that I could charge it. Wrapping myself in a towel I scooted quickly through to the office—ignoring the curious looks from Penelope, Ross and the rest still hard at work analysing data—and plugged it into the charger I kept by my desk.

  Then I forgot about it for a while and continued with my day.

  After joining Charity to assist with the tail-end of breakfast and helping her clear up, I grabbed a quick bite myself—Monsieur Emietter makes the best scrambled eggs—before heading back to my office to hand over the papers and letters we’d taken from Piddlecombe Farm.

  Penelope was pleased, or what passed for pleased in Penelope’s world. She offered a tight little smile and murmured, “Wonderful” at me, before turning her attention back to her team of technical wizards. Ross kept his head down, spirit-tapping away at the keyboard and frowning in concentration.

  “Oh by the way,” Penelope called as I turned about, intent on taking a brisk stroll into the village to see Millicent and Mr Hoo, as I’d promised myself. “Wizard Shadowmender asked if you’d care to give him a call when you’re not too busy.”

  I nodded. She meant now. I couldn’t keep Wizard Shadowmender waiting.

  I retrieved the orb from its safe place in my bedroom, and perched on my window seat, holding it up to the light and watching it sparkle. “Paging Wizard Shadowmender,” I said to it, rather ironically, because it worked perfectly well simply by thinking of him. The globe grew hazy, filling with billowy white clouds, pricked through with tiny spots of silvery shininess, before clearing and allowing the elderly wizard’s face to emerge in front of me.

  “Alf!” he called as though I were far away. “How sweet of you to contact me.”

  I smiled. “As if I’d pass up any opportunity.”

  “Penelope has been filling me in on what her team are up to, and I understand you’ve been risking your neck to bring her fresh data and evidence.”

  “Kind of.” The past few days had certainly been hairy.

  “Ross Baines was a wonderful find, by the way.”

  I couldn’t help but agree. “More luck than judgement there, really.”

  “Nonetheless, credit where credit is due.” I nodded into the orb, waiting. There had to be a reason he’d wanted me to call. A couple of beats and then, “Alf?”

  Here it came.

  “About your dark companion.” I steeled myself. Of course he had heard all about Silvan by now, if not from Millicent or Gwyn, then certainly from Penelope. There was no way she’d withhold such information.

  “I can explain—” I began.

  “There’s no need.” The old wizard’s voice was soft, his face sympathetic. “I know how desperately you’ve been wanting to find DS Gilchrist.”

  “I do.” Tears pricked unexpectedly at my eyelids. I dashed them away impatiently. I had no time to get maudlin. “I didn’t think I could do it on my own with my limited magickal knowledge. Silvan is a great teacher.”

  Wizard Shadowmender acknowledged this. “I understand the reason for the choices you’ve made. The only thing I wo
uld suggest is that you take great care, Alf. It may be that you do not need to tread where he does. We all of us have our own path.”

  “I’ll remember that,” I said gratefully.

  He let the subject drop. “How is young Finbarr this morning?”

  “He went off to the hospital in a taxi first thing. Gwyn thinks his arm was shattered when we were attacked by our friends early this morning.”

  “Yes, she told me that.” So Gwyn had been in touch with Wizard Shadowmender since the previous evening. My, she worked fast at times. Probably while I slept. “I’m sure they’ll put him right soon enough, but I can always have one of our own see to him. If necessary I can arrange that for you.”

  “That would probably be a good idea,” I answered, relieved that Finbarr would get the best of care.

  “So what’s next for you, Alf? What about Vance?” Gwyn had filled him in on our meeting with Vance too.

  “I’m hoping Penelope will turn up something that will help me locate George. As soon as I have George back, then I can move on to Vance’s mission and we can fix the water situation.”

  One step at a time. This had become my mantra. Anxiety burned away at me with every minute that passed, and I seemed no closer to achieving anything.

  “You are doing well, Alf. Don’t doubt it.” I felt relief at being given the elderly wizard’s reassurance. He continued, “I understand Erik has re-joined you today, with some of the other members of the Circle of Querkus. They’ve been fighting a group of The Mori in Scotland. Given that they’ve finished up there for now, I’m going to send you some reinforcements. They’ll be with you shortly.”

  At last! “Thank you, Wizard Shadowmender. They are sorely needed here.”

  “You need never feel alone, Alf,” Wizard Shadowmender reminded me, and tipped a wink before waving and disappearing. The orb clouded over, sparkled and abruptly cleared. Just glass once more.

  I wrapped it in its velvet cloth and stowed it carefully away.