by Alan Baxter
‘Right.’ The seer’s voice was tiny.
‘We’d better find a good camping store or something,’ Silhouette said. ‘The weather on Lewis is going to be hideous. It’s December for fuck’s sake. Nearly Christmas. What idiots go somewhere like the Outer Hebrides in December?’
‘A camping store?’ Alex asked.
‘For some serious all-weather gear. The stuff we got before we left isn’t going to cut it. Give that Armour credit card the Commander gave you a workout, eh?’
Alex smiled, put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Yeah, let’s use us some expenses. Anything you want, baby.’
She twisted her mouth ruefully, but popped up on tiptoes and kissed him. ‘Let’s be really careful, eh?’ she whispered.
He nodded and led her to the door. ‘Let’s go.’
Claude Darvill landed at Stansted airport and glowered his way through Customs and into another hire car. He had slept most of the flight but still a leaden tiredness hung from his shoulders. All the travel and magic took its toll. He needed to recuperate, but it would not happen any time soon. He drove to a cheap hotel on the outskirts of the airport and paid for a room. Sitting cross-legged on the floor where the bed had been, runes and icons inked onto the carpet as before, he took a deep breath, braced himself for the physical and mental drain of his spell.
The mug still held the resonance of Caine, though it grew weaker. Conversely, his previous connection with his quarry helped to strengthen the bond. Hopefully it would be enough. Muttering the spell he let his mind drift out, the etheric cloak of his consciousness spread softly across the land.
It took hours to get a hit, Caine and his little band far to the north. Darvill’s meditation nearly broke when the strike came, but he held on, let his awareness tag along for the ride. They were moving again. An air of nervousness, expectation, fear and excitement swamped them. What the hell were they doing?
Words drifted in, snatches of conversation.
Been before? No, you? It’s ridiculous … going to be so cold … will we even get there? Ullapool ferry … be fucking horrible … freeze to death … Armour book us to Stornaway … why you’re so … better not be bullshitting us … Hungry?
Darvill gasped, the connection dragging like an anchor, pulling him down into frozen depths. The magic was strong, but incredibly hard to hold on to. He sank his face into his palms, so drained. After a moment he pulled a pad and pen from his bag, scribbled notes before they were lost in his mind like a dream on waking. Within seconds sleep swept over him and he drifted to the rough carpet, oblivious.
A sharp drill drove through the slumber. The phone vibrated as it sang, dancing subtly. ‘Darvill.’ His voice slurred with sleep.
‘It’s Jean. Everything okay?’
‘Depends on your definition of okay.’
‘You didn’t check in when you landed.’
Claude smiled. He was beginning to like this one. Maybe she would prove to be a valuable asset after all. He wanted his father back at the helm of Black Diamond. When that had finally been sorted out, he might keep this Chang as a field liaison. ‘I’m fine. You got anything for me?’
‘Not really. I’ve been gathering information on Armour, but it’s all circumspect. Guesswork and conspiracies. They’ve certainly had an impact for centuries, but it seems they also have a very good handle on suppressing any information about themselves. I can pass this stuff over to you if you want to read up on it, but it’s all pretty pointless. It won’t do much to help you find them now.’
‘Doesn’t matter. Look something up for me, will you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
The scribbled notes were evidence of his fatigue, the writing like an old man’s fragile scrawl. ‘Look up Ullapool and Stornaway. What’s the connection?’
‘Just a sec.’ Tapped keys and the sound of breathing over the line. ‘Oh, there’s a ferry line. Stornaway is on the Isle of Lewis in the Outer Hebrides. The most common route is a ferry from Ullapool on the mainland.’
Darvill squeezed the bridge of his nose. ‘That would be it. Fucking hell!’
‘Everything all right, sir?’
‘Get me a driver, Chang. I want someone to pick me up at Glasgow and get me to Ullapool. I want a ticket on the next ferry to Stornaway and I want a plane to Glasgow by the time I get back to Stansted airport. Which will be about half an hour.’
‘Sir?’
‘Yes?’
‘I could get a plane to take you directly to Lewis, instead of driving and getting ferries.’
Why hadn’t he thought of that? The tiredness was addling his brain. ‘Of course. Commercial airport?’
More tapping. ‘Yep. Not a problem. I’ll get Mr Hood’s jet to pick you up at Stansted. It’ll take a few hours to organise, but then you’ll have your own plane on standby. No need to charter any more flights. After all …’ Her voice trailed off.
‘After all, my father isn’t using his jet right now?’ Darvill suggested.
‘Well, yes.’
‘It’s okay, Chang. Speak your mind and keep suggesting things. I respect someone who takes a proactive approach.’
‘Thank you.’ She seemed genuinely touched. ‘You sound … well, you sound really tired. Are you okay?’
Definitely keep this one around. ‘Yes, I’m fine. Keep up the good work, Chang.’
‘Yes, sir.’
6
Alex drove the black Land Rover up a metal ramp onto the Stornaway ferry, the last deep blue of day disappearing on the horizon. ‘Bloody pitch dark and barely after five o’clock,’ he said, following hand signals to a parking bay. ‘We’re lucky to have made the last ferry.’
‘This is a ridiculous part of the world.’ Silhouette did nothing to disguise her disdain. ‘You have any idea how cold it’s going to be out there.’ She gestured with her chin.
‘You are such a whinger about the cold, Sil.’ Alex leaned over and kissed her cheek as he pulled on the handbrake. ‘Just think of the adventure.’
‘I’d rather have an adventure in the Bahamas.’
Jarrod rumbled soft laughter from the back seat.
They left the car and went up to the passenger decks to get something to eat and drink. Alex kept a close eye on Rowan. The seer had been acting ever more antsy the further north they travelled. He had been a bundle of nerves in the car and seemed positively terrified now. Jarrod was a quiet, stoic fellow. Alex liked the man, though he was still bothered by whatever it was between Jarrod and Silhouette. He needed to know, to put his mind at rest. They acted awkwardly around each other. The closeness of both being Kin was evident, but something else made them ill at ease. The four of them sat, eating in silence, the bustle of the cafeteria a dull noise around them.
‘Nearly three hours,’ Alex said, to break the mood more than for any particular need to impart information.
‘What is?’ Silhouette asked.
‘This trip. Two and three quarter hours to Stornaway.’
The others nodded, kept eating. No one took much comfort from the situation they found themselves in. ‘What happens when we get there?’ Alex asked.
They looked to Rowan, who squirmed in his seat. ‘I’ll have to divine again. It’s hard to keep track of exactly what’s happening.’
‘What happens when you do that?’ Alex asked. He watched the small man’s face carefully.
Rowan shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
‘Try.’
Rowan scanned the group, brow creased in a frown. Alex watched his shades, saw the nerves and confusion. And the guilt again. Something the seer hid was preying on him. He tried to conceal it, but his skills were lacking.
Jarrod growled, deep in his chest. ‘Fucking trouble. I told you. Where are you leading us?’
Rowan shook his head, his hands twisted together. ‘I said, it’s hard to explain! When I divine, things come to me, sometimes images, or words. Sometimes just vague impressions I have to interpret.’
Alex sat back, paid atten
tion to the shades and aura around the seer more than to his words. Jarrod and Silhouette pushed their awareness at Rowan as well, all three of them pressing against him with magical vision, prying. Rowan squirmed again.
‘Stop it!’ He sounded like a child.
‘You feel it?’ Jarrod asked Silhouette.
She nodded, put a hand out to Rowan’s face. He flinched away. Jarrod, beside the small seer, grabbed him and held him steady. Rowan whimpered as Silhouette pressed her palm against his forehead. Her magic washed over him. Alex, his arcane vision far better than Silhouette’s or Jarrod’s, observed while they worked. After a moment, with a sound of annoyance, they all let go, mentally and physically. Silhouette looked to Alex, one eyebrow raised.
‘He doesn’t know what he’s hiding. Do you, Rowan?’
Rowan stared at his hands. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Alex leaned forward. ‘Yes you fucking do,’ he growled. ‘You know there’s something wrong here. You know you’re seeing things, or feeling things, you usually don’t. But you don’t know what they are. You don’t know why.’
Rowan looked up, his eyes hard. ‘Maybe so.’ His voice was suddenly steady. ‘But beyond that, I know something really serious is going down. I don’t want any part of this, but I have no more choice than you do.’
Alex sat back with a sneer. ‘There’s always choice, little man.’
‘This is bigger than all of us,’ Rowan said, disconsolate.
‘You think he could be ridden?’ Silhouette asked Jarrod.
The big Maori nodded. ‘It’s my first thought too, but I can’t feel it. Can you?’
Silhouette shook her head.
‘Ridden?’ Alex asked.
‘It’s a Fey thing,’ Silhouette said. ‘Ridesprites. Often, when someone is considered mad, they’re actually ridden by a Fey ridesprite, an insubstantial spirit thing, easily controlled by its masters from afar. It convinces the person to do things, say things, act strangely. Some of the most fucked-up humans in history have been ridden. I’ve told you before, anything Fey is evil. It’s just another way the Fey fuck with the world. He’s acting in some ways like someone ridden, but we can’t feel a sprite in there.’
‘Could it hide from you?’
‘Possibly. I don’t know enough about them.’
‘And besides,’ Jarrod said, ‘what difference would it make? If he’s ridden or not, we still have to find out what’s going on. Follow the trail.’
‘And we just have to be more careful than ever,’ Silhouette said. ‘Fucking Fey.’
Rowan looked from one scowling face to another, his eyes haunted. He wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.
They spent the rest of the trip wandering the ferry, browsing the on-board shops. Alex refused to let them separate. Rowan was right — something bigger than all of them was happening. He didn’t want anyone off on their own.
Silhouette and Jarrod sat for a while, talking quietly with their heads close together. Their shades were concerned, tight, emotional, even under the masks of mundanity they wore.
They arrived at Stornaway and Alex drove the Land Rover off the ferry while Jarrod checked in with Armour HQ. He arranged two rooms at a hotel, offered to be Rowan’s room-mate, by which he meant guard, while Alex and Silhouette shared the other.
‘Lewis isn’t very big,’ Jarrod said after he had given Alex the name of the hotel. ‘We can use the place as a base of operations.’
‘First thing is to get Rowan here to do his thing. We need more information.’
The adjoining rooms were small but clean and tidy. They gathered in the one Jarrod and Rowan were to share and Alex crossed his arms. ‘Off you go then.’
Rowan looked around the group, fidgeting. He shook his head. ‘I can’t do it with everyone watching.’
‘What is it? Like some kind of public toilet thing? You can’t piss with another man standing beside you at the trough?’
Rowan’s face hardened. ‘Yeah, something like that.’
Alex sat on the corner of the bed. ‘You guys wait outside,’ he said to Silhouette and Jarrod. ‘But I’m staying here.’
When he was alone with Rowan he said, ‘I’m not going anywhere. Do your thing.’
‘It won’t work.’
‘Do it anyway.’
Rowan shifted from foot to foot, looked everywhere but at Alex. Eventually he sighed and sank to the floor, crossed his legs. Rummaging in the pockets of his heavy new coat he pulled out a tattered box, worn and faded designs etched on the surface. He opened it to reveal a well-thumbed deck of tarot cards. The seer shuffled them, closed his eyes, began laying cards in front of himself.
Alex relaxed, opened his vision. He saw a variety of shades. The nervousness and guilt gently drifted away and a kind of calmness settled. For the first time Alex saw a level of control, some peace, sink over the seer. Rowan’s magic swelled, his colours both familiar and unfamiliar simultaneously. Alex again cursed his lack of experience. He had a vision greater than anyone he knew, yet so little understanding of how best to use it.
Waves of frustration rose from Rowan. He turned cards, muttered to himself, shuffled and dealt again. Alex watched the man’s magesign as it swarmed about his hands, but it appeared empty, impotent. After three attempts Rowan looked up, eyes haunted.
‘Nothing,’ he said quietly.
‘Nothing?’
Rowan shrugged, distraught. ‘I told you, I can’t do this when I’m watched. It just doesn’t happen.’
Alex leaned back on his hands, annoyed. ‘You know something’s wrong, right?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Admit it!’ Alex shouted.
Rowan jumped, a flicker of panic crossing his face. ‘All right. Yeah, something seems different. I haven’t had visions or perceptions like this before. I’m getting a different kind of vibe with this.’
‘That doesn’t bother you?’
‘Of course it does! But what should I do about it? There’s no doubting the authenticity of what I’m seeing.’
‘Do you think you’re being played?’ Alex asked. Ever since Welby had darkened his changing room door, a lifetime ago, control had slipped further and further from his grasp. Even now, trying to create a new purpose and direction for himself, he had little or no control over anything that happened. He couldn’t help feeling like he was being played. But why? By who?
Rowan looked at his hands, nervously twisting together as they so often did. ‘Maybe,’ he admitted. ‘I’ve wondered what the hell is going on, but what can I do about it? I can’t ignore it. We can’t ignore it.’
Alex stood, glared down at the seer. ‘Maybe so. But you come clean with me about every little thing you even suspect might be up, right?’
‘Sure.’
‘I mean it.’
Rowan nodded, not looking up from his hands. ‘I know.’
Alex opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. ‘Do your thing. Find us what we need.’
He left without waiting for an answer and went next door to his own room. Silhouette and Jarrod sat side by side on the bed. They stopped talking abruptly as he entered, looking guilty.
‘Talking about me?’ Alex asked with a grin. Inside he felt like doing anything but smile.
‘Sort of,’ Silhouette said. ‘We’re just trying to figure some stuff out.’
‘Really? Anything I should be concerned about?’
‘No. Kin stuff.’
Alex frowned, vulnerable. He immediately hated the feeling. ‘You keep saying that.’
Silhouette came to him, kissed him. ‘Really, it’s fine.’
He wanted to press her for information, but Jarrod’s presence made him uneasy. He would get her to talk to him later when they were alone. He shouldn’t have to stand for this strange secrecy.
‘Rowan?’ Jarrod asked.
Alex snorted. ‘He tried, but nothing happened. Psychic performance anxiety.’
‘He doesn’t make it any easier to trus
t him.’
Alex put a hand on Jarrod’s shoulder. He genuinely liked the man and had a sense they would all need to rely on him at some point. ‘I appreciate your concern, I really do. He just admitted to me that something is suspect with this whole situation, but he honestly doesn’t know any better than we do what it is.’
Jarrod stood, strode to stare out the window. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Neither do I. But whatever is happening here, we can’t ignore it. That’s our job, isn’t it?’
Jarrod grunted.
The door opened and Rowan looked in, face concerned.
‘Well?’ Alex asked.
‘I can’t find anything. I get misty images, they’re nearby, but I can’t pin anything down. I think they’re sleeping.’
‘Sleeping? It’s not even nine o’clock. Bit early for bed.’
Rowan shrugged. ‘I get a sense of ancient stones, maybe a henge, and something to do with timing. It’s all so hazy. When they’re awake I’ll be able to focus more on them.’ He closed the door and sank down against it. ‘They’re doing something … invoking something. That’s the danger.’ He buried his face in his palms. ‘It’s all so bloody indistinct.’
Alex filled a plastic kettle, switched it on. ‘Well, we’ll have a cup of tea then. And every hour from now on you’ll try again until you get something.’
‘Every hour?’
‘Yep. If they’re sleeping now, it seems to me like they’re getting rest in before doing something tonight, or very early tomorrow. Why else go to bed so early?’
Rowan looked distraught again. ‘I could be up all night!’
Alex shrugged, dropped tea bags into cups. ‘Then you’re going to be one tired fucker tomorrow.’
7
Nicholas Haydon dreamed of darkened corridors and dead ends. He staggered over soft floors that flexed and sank, turned his ankles, sent him sprawling. Hands reached from shadows to grab and clutch at his clothes and hair. He woke with a jerk and a gasp, stared unseeing into a gloomy room. The watch on the beside table had phosphorescent hands, two glowing lines marking twenty minutes to midnight.
He sat up with a cry. My god, we’ve slept in!
