Dark Rain

by Tony Richards

  Which begs the question, Who thought that whole notion up?

  There were more people about, in cars and on the sidewalk, as I headed back toward the office. And I studied them whenever I slowed down at an intersection or a set of lights.

  A few of them were going about their business exactly as usual. Hardy souls, battle seasoned, who were used to taking what the Landing threw at them and simply getting on with their lives. Living proof that human beings can adapt to almost any circumstance.

  Most of them, however, the majority …

  It wasn’t the case that they were doing anything out of the ordinary. It was far more that they seemed to be doing it at a slightly warier, slower pace than they had yesterday. Eyes were a touch wider, faces stiffer. And the near distance was being studied constantly, to see if there was anything wrong. Brief glances were being thrown at corners, over shoulders, or at rooftops, at the sky.

  A whole town on edge, in other words. Worried and – with no small justification – paranoid. Everyone had to have heard what had transpired down in Garnerstown last night. And they were starting to form small huddles now, on street corners and before storefronts, at bus stops and park benches. And the question being asked – I didn’t need to be able to hear it to know what it was.

  What had happened last night … might it happen once again?

  I kept on thinking about what the Little Girl had told me, regarding Saruak making his presence known and gaining power that way. And, although these people didn’t even know that he was here, I felt sure that I was watching the start of the whole strange process she’d described. People were afraid of something, even if they couldn’t put a name to it as yet.

  And once they could. How strong, then, would our visitor grow?

  I took a right at the lights at Firmont, past a shoe store with a half-price sale on, heading down to Union Square. Everywhere I looked, it was the same. It occurred to me – consciousness of Saruak’s evil might be seeping through the town the same way Salem’s magic had once done. Would insects soon hum with the knowledge of him, and the night winds moan his name?

  It ground at me, the whole thing, almost to the point of sheer infuriation. Because there was nothing I could think to do about it. Not yet, anyway.

  There’d be parking restrictions on Union Square by this hour of the morning. So I stopped the car in a little alley off behind my office, and then went in the back way.

  Cass had been trying to tidy up – fairly unsuccessfully, she’s not much good at stuff like that. In fact, she’d already given up. And was crouched over the pile of matchwood that had been my desk, with her cell phone to her ear. Apparently, she was on the line to her half-sister, Pam. Her tone was light and comfortable – she obviously didn’t want to freak the woman out. But she made her excuses quickly and hung up when I walked in.

  Her expression was an apprehensive one. But not for the same reason as the people on the street. She always hates me going to 51 Bethany. Has only ever met the Little Girl one time. And got so upset by the experience, she’s never ventured back.

  “Jesus Christ! You trust that aberration?” she was fond of asking me.

  The real reason for her abhorrence, it has to be said, was probably a good deal closer to home. Cass had once, exactly like me, had a family of her own. Three little kids, to be precise. And she’d lost them to magic too. One – I’d seen the photos, many times – had been a girl of the same appearance and age, except her hair had been a few shades darker. And so going into that blue-lit nursery had to be – to her – like seeing the ghost of her own baby, still in the world and floating there. It had startled her far worse than all the monsters we had fought put together.

  “So?” she asked me, her features rearranging themselves gently. She was trying to look unconcerned. “That weird kid have anything to tell you?”

  I arranged my thoughts as best I could, then started in. And Cassie became more and more subdued as I conveyed it all. Until, by the time that I was finished, she was not even looking at me anymore. Still squatting on the floor, she’d put her elbows on her knees, and was staring at the bare boards with a tired exasperation.

  “He’s really that much of a threat?”

  I was forced to clear my throat before I answered.

  “If everything that I’ve found out is true, then he’s the worst kind by a long chalk.”

  “The way that he gains his power? If we just ignored him …?”

  “My guess is, he’s going to make that pretty difficult.”

  Cassie finally looked up, her eyes filled with a quiet dread. “There’s going to be more like last night?”

  “I’d reckon. Or perhaps worse still.”

  She peered at me questioningly.

  “You weren’t there, Cass, talking with him face-to-face. Didn’t see the way he really looked at me, the way he gloated. He’s malevolent to the core, and very cruel. I think that it’s embedded in his nature.”

  She absorbed that, her lips parting a slight crack. But all she did was gnaw her lower lip. The muscles in her shoulders had bunched tight. She was preparing herself, mentally, for whatever was coming our way.

  “What now, then?” she asked in a hollow whisper.

  “First? We pass this information on.”

  There were plenty of figures of authority in our town. Hierarchies, powers-that-be. And if they didn’t know the full story already, then they at least needed to be warned.

  It wasn’t exactly the longest walk to the Town Hall. We took it slowly all the same, wondering how the information that we’d gathered up was going to be received. Edgar Aldernay – our esteemed mayor – was a good administrator, but not precisely famous for his bedside manner. He was as likely, we both knew, to blow up in our faces as to listen to us sensibly. The only consolation was, he was only a mouthpiece, any way you looked at it. A figurehead or, if you wanted to be cynical, a puppet. There were other forces, far more savvy and intelligent, lurking in the shadows off behind his throne.

  Union Square was busier than it had been before. At the northern end, two huge flatbed trucks had pulled up. One was loaded with dismantled scaffolding, the other with big stacks of wooden boards. Burly guys in hard hats were carefully bolting it all together. The stage for this season’s Reunion Evening was already taking shape.

  Down at the opposite end, two pale blue vans were parked, their rear doors open. Guys from these were paying out long reels of cable and attaching loudspeakers to the lampposts round the square.

  It might work. Probably wouldn’t. But the authorities were making sure this year’s Reunion Eve was going to be an impressive show.

  We went up the steps, under the huge clock and past the big stone lions. There was nobody to stop us, when we went inside. It’s pretty much a come and go as you like kind of place, with no real need for security. People were stood around talking in the lobby, some of them with files under their arms. But all they did was glance at us, then go back to their conversations.

  We knew the way and headed up toward the second floor, the ornate ironwork of the stairwell taking us in broad ascending circles. A mailroom boy was going along the main corridor, when we reached it. From the office doorways that we started passing, electric typewriters chattered, photocopying machines let out a busy hum. As I’ve already said, computers have never really caught on here. The whole building smelled of ink and aged oak and history.

  The mayor’s personal assistant for these past twenty-five years – Mrs. Dower – wasn’t at her desk when we went in. But beyond it was a double-doorway, open just a fraction. We could hear the great man himself, shouting on the phone.

  “No, goddamn it, I do not accept that this could happen again! It was a one-off and that’s all it was! A freak accident – that’s the official line! Everybody’s panicked quite enough, thank you! If the slightest word to the contrary slips out from anyone in your department, I will have your goddamn badge!”

  So I imagined he was yelling at Saul Hobart
.

  We went in as he slammed down the receiver. When he saw that we were there and looked up, he was florid faced. Which is not an unusual complexion for Mayor Aldernay. There are days when he seems barely capable of staying calm at all.

  He was a man of mediums, both in terms of height and stoutness. But impeccably dressed as ever, in a sharp Brooks Brothers suit. His slightly greasy brown hair reached down almost to his collar. And he sported what I’ve always thought of as a rather thin moustache. His eyes were rather dull and far away. His nose had a few pink blemishes that might be down to alcohol. I’d never seen him drink too much in public, but who knew.

  The man eyed us fiercely. He was either wondering what we wanted, or just wishing we would go away. He didn’t look in the mood to be bothered.

  “Don’t people even knock these days?” he asked. “I’m still the goddamn mayor, you know.”

  I murmured, “No offence intended.”

  All Cassie did was look away. She’s as much time for officialdom as she has for the adepts – namely, none.

  To give the man credit, he seemed to figure out pretty quickly why we were here. The fire in his gaze eased off a little. Aldernay tented his knuckles underneath his chin. Glanced down for a second, then puffed out his cheeks.

  “Let me guess? You have your own two cents to put in about what went on last night.”

  “Might do.”

  “Well?” he said. “I’m listening.”

  “That ‘happen again’ part you mentioned on the phone? That’s what we need to talk to you about.”

  “A what?” he exploded, several minutes later.

  Well, so much for him being reasonable. His fingers pressed down on the desk. I thought that he was going to stand up, but he didn’t. Just sat there, his knuckles going white.

  “Have you gone insane, Devries? An ancient spirit? That is simply horse manure!”

  I stood my ground, unimpressed by his show of anger. It was pretty much what I had been expecting, after all. There’s a theory as to why our mayor descends so often into such atrocious moods. Only gossip really, but …

  Edgar Aldernay hailed from one of the most distinguished families in the Landing, when it came to the practice of magic. His late father was the renowned Rufus Aldernay, so skillful at his craft he earned the title of Grand Adept. His grandmother was Beatrice Bratt, who had ended the drought of 1931, when the Adderneck ran almost dry. And the Salem witch who started his line was Constance McBryde, cousin and close friend to Sephera herself.

  And rumor had it that – in spite of all of that – Edgar here was no good in the slightest at the hocus-pocus stuff. He tried and tried during his early years, but couldn’t find it in himself. He couldn’t get so much as a puff of smoke out of a cheap cigar, much less fill a river up.

  Maybe that is why he’s clung onto his job so fiercely all these years, when others would get tired of it. It makes him believe he’s in control, and good at something. And it would certainly explain the way he acts – like the whole world knows his guilty secret.

  You had to sympathize with him, on one level. But his manner was exasperating, all the same.

  “I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” I tried to explain to him.

  But he was having none of it.

  “Oh really? And what are you going to tell me next? Ghosts are going to come along and rob our banks?”

  If he could get annoyed and shout, then I could do the same.

  “You’ll have to come to terms with this sooner or later, Edgar! Saruak was responsible for what happened yesterday evening!”

  And that slowed him down a little, although the red glow in his cheeks remained.

  “He could be some new adept that we didn’t know about,” he finally conceded.

  “That’s what we first thought. But there’s one problem with that theory. He came from outside town. Surely that has to tell you something?”

  He had been immune to Regan’s Curse, in other words. He had not shied back, or turned away. Which made him rather special, rather different from normal humans.

  Aldernay’s gaze met mine sharply. “Even that’s not totally unprecedented. Look at your friend Willets.”

  Now, I wouldn’t call Willets a friend exactly. I don’t think he has any of those. But the mayor did have a point. Could Saruak just be someone who’d gained power, and then adopted this whole ‘spirit’ persona? Not the first time something of that kind had happened. We’d had a self-taught adept, once, who’d thought that he was actually Merlin.

  Things round here were often not quite what they seemed to be at first. It was possible that all of us, even the Little Girl, were being suckered by some lunatic or fraudster.

  Except I couldn’t get that moment out of my mind when he had revealed himself. My head might try to deny what I had seen, but my instincts couldn’t. I was certain it was real.

  So I went on to explain to the mayor what the Little Girl had said, about the way that Saruak drew his power. Aldernay looked more and more confused, his gaze becoming darker.

  “First he’s a spirit. Now he’s a nightmare. Lord, can’t you make your mind up?”

  “We need to find some way to stop it happening,” I persisted. “Maybe your friends on the Hill …?”

  “Goddamn it, Devries, you still haven’t convinced me. And I’m quite busy enough as it is.”

  “With?”

  The man went noticeably sweaty at that point. He picked up a pen, for want of anything better to do.

  “Reunion Eve, of course!”

  Was he kidding? I asked my next question as politely as I could, which wasn’t very.

  “You seriously think that’s more important?”

  “I’d thank you to keep that tone out of your voice.”

  “This guy is planning to take over the whole Landing. He’s doubtless going to harm more people, plenty more. You seriously think your magic show is a priority, compared with that?”

  The mayor stared at me, frozen with embarrassment.

  “Well,” he grumbled finally. “If what you say is true, it might be our best bet. Since – if it works – then we can all get out of here.”

  Cassie’s eyes rolled, at that point. I took a slow step forward. Aldernay was almost in denial by this stage, trying to pretend that there was really nothing to get too concerned about. So I explained the facts to him as firmly as I could.

  “Reunion Evening hasn’t achieved anything – the last time I counted – on two hundred and eighty-four separate occasions. And you’re putting all your faith in that? What in God’s name are you thinking of?”

  The mayor, though, had another odd trait, apart from his volatility. When shouting at people didn’t do the trick, he simply ignored them and switched off.

  He stared down at his desk again. Scribbled something on a pad. And refused to even look at me.

  “Well, it might work this time,” he murmured, talking to thin air.

  We were obviously dismissed. Frustration boiled through me. But we’d had this kind of attitude from Aldernay before, and had gotten along perfectly well without his help.

  We were about to turn away when the phone on the man’s desk rang. He glanced at it surprisedly, then snatched it up.

  All the color on his face drained away within the next half minute. He was silent, merely nodding, listening carefully to whatever he was being told. Cassie and I exchanged glances. You didn’t need to be a psychic to figure who was on the other end.

  As I’ve already mentioned, there were shadows massed behind that chair of his. Bright eyes back there, which watched intently. I could spell out some of the names, but you will hear them later anyway. Not Woodard Raine, in case you’re wondering. Woody – it’s been pointed out before – is too far gone, aloof.

  But there were others, peers of his, who took a far more active interest in the business of the Landing.

  By the time he set the handset down a second time – far more gently this time – Aldernay’s face l
ooked like a balloon with a puncture in it. All I did was stare at him. He cleared his windpipe, then leaned forward in his chair.

  “I’ve been asked to tell you –”

  His voice was hushed, almost croaky. He swilled the next words around in his mouth before finally spitting them out.

  “— that your observations have been duly noted, and are receiving proper and intent deliberation.”

  Which was all I’d really come here for. The powers-that-be knew everything that I’d discovered now.

  I thanked him. And he nodded briefly, his dull eyes going rather glazed.

  And then, without another word, me and Cass were out of there.

  TWELVE

  The bearded missionary stepped up …

  It was all there in his mind’s eye, as clearly as if it had only happened yesterday. Nearly four hundred years had passed since the event. But it had altered Saruak’s existence so completely he could still smell every odor and hear every tiny sound. Some finches had been chirping in the trees. A gentle wind blew through the branches.

  He – as usual – had been perched up on a high one, gazing down.

  The bearded missionary stepped up through the tree line, entering the vast New England forest with a taut expression on his face. You would have thought that he was stepping off the very edge of the world. He had on a black hat, a coat of the same color, britches. A large wooden crucifix was clutched between his fingers. The dense carpet of leaves beneath him crunched with every step he took. In comparison with the local tribesmen, this was an extremely clumsy individual. And he was mumbling to himself as he progressed. Saruak listened closer. He was mumbling a prayer.

  This man’s name was an extremely plain one – John Jones. John, son of John, in other words. And was that all? When you compared it with the poetry of some Iroquois names … how odd.

  He was unmarried and twenty six. Had come here from a place named Cardiff, in a far-off country simply known as Wales. The religion that he practiced was a version of this one-god nonsense that the newcomers had brought with them. But a newly founded version, known as ‘Baptist.’ They believed – the more Saruak read this human’s mind, the harder he found it not to laugh – in throwing people in a river, cleansing them of sin that way. Was John Son of John really planning to do that to any of the Iroquois? They’d take his ears to remember him by, then feed him to the dogs.