by Jenna Grey
“Well, to be honest with you, we aren’t entirely sure because the accounts give us different versions of what the Vikings believed happened after death. But it’s thought that if someone died an ignoble death, they had failed the gods in some way ‒ those were the unfortunate souls who went to Helheim or Hel. It wasn’t like the Christian notion of Heaven and Hell, though; you weren’t necessarily sent to Helheim as a punishment for wicked deeds or admitted to Valhalla if you were good. It was far more complicated than that. Suffice it to say, Helheim if it exists, has a very diverse and interesting population.” Polly gave a wry little smile.
“Helheim doesn’t sound like a great place to spend your eternity; I’m not surprised people want to escape from it.” Bert laughed. “I’ve heard of the goddess Hel – isn’t she the one whose face is half beautiful and half a corpse? Her good hand gives life, and her rotting hand can kill people?” “Indeed, the daughter of the god Loki. It’s said she lives in a great hall called ‘Icy Cold and Sleet’, her throne is called Sick-bed, and the curtains around it, Misfortune. Her dining table is Hunger and her knife, Starvation.” Polly giggled.
“So not someone you want to invite to dinner then?” “Most definitely not,” Bert said. “Legend says the entrance is guarded by a huge dog named Garm, a Hell Hound – that’s not dissimilar to the Greek myth of Hades being guarded by the three-headed dog, Cerberus. Garm howls at all the new people that arrive. A great dragon sucks the blood from the bodies of the dead; once they’re drained, the goddess Hel will make them into her army of the dead. It’s said that one day, the army of the dead will destroy the world – Ragnarök.” “I’ve heard of that. It seems to come up a lot in action films these days,” Polly said, “Pity we don’t have a superhero to save the day.” Bert didn’t smile.
“Indeed. I wish we did. If your uncle has the Hellstone, he can open the floodgates to that place and unleash anything on the world, perhaps even Ragnarök.” “You really believe it exists then? Helheim?” Polly asked, willing to believe almost anything now.
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that, but I do believe that there are dimensions around us filled with beings who have taken the wrong path. Some of them are undoubtedly intrinsically evil, and if they should ever get through into our dimension, it would be a cataclysm.” Polly felt a shiver run down her spine, her scalp prickling.
“I can see why you didn’t want to help him. The thought of something like that falling into the wrong hands is too terrible to think about. You really think they might have found it?” Bert shrugged.
“It’s not impossible. I don’t believe that Gaunt stopped looking for it. I’ve heard rumours over the years that he was still searching for the stone. If you look long enough for something with enough diligence, then there’s a good chance you’ll find it in the end. I should very much like to find out, for all our sakes,” he said. Polly couldn’t help but detect real fear in his voice.
“We have to find out,” she said, her voice firm. “He can’t be allowed to have something like that.” Bert forced a meagre smile.
“You believe me, don’t you, believe everything I just said?” Polly mulled it over for a moment.
“I think I do, although I know it’s hard to believe. My grandmother would have believed you, so I have to. I do know my uncle would use this Hellstone to do terrible things if he gets his hands on it.” “I hate to say it, but I think that by the sound of it, he already has.” Polly nodded. She had sensed that something was going on, that there was some difference in her uncle’s behaviour, a certain cockiness and even more arrogance than usual. She’d heard him on the telephone as well, speaking to Winchard, cautious exchanges that were definitely meant to keep eavesdroppers, namely her, in the dark. Now it was starting to make sense.
“Of course, you don’t know whether or not I have the best of motives, do you?” he asked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I could be as interested in finding it as your uncle is, for exactly the same reasons. How do you know you can trust me?” Polly gave him her best smile.
“Because you are a kind, good man, and auras don’t lie. I’d trust you with my life.” Bert looked touched, his eyes glassing over a little with unshed tears.
“You know, my dear, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me – and you’re right to trust me because right now I am probably the only person in this part of the world that can help you.” “I believe that,” Polly replied. She hesitated, then said, “There’s something else.” Polly reached into her pocket and pulled out the fish earring, holding it up for Bert to see. “When I went down to clear up this morning, after my uncle’s gathering last night, I found this earring under a table. When I went into the corner shop, there was a ‘missing’ poster, and the boy on it was wearing this sort of earring, precisely the same. The boy had only been missing a couple of days – it seems a bit of a coincidence. That design isn’t commonplace.” She laid it on the table in front of him, and he looked down at it with a strange expression on his face.
“I think that we both know what this could mean, my dear. You didn’t see any of your uncle’s friends wearing this? Think back; try to remember.” “I don’t think it’s the sort of thing they would wear, but I only saw Winchard, none of the others, one of them could have been wearing it.” “Well, there’s one sure way to find out,” he said.
And he reached out and picked it up.
The moment he did, a dreadful look came over him; he made a horrible noise deep in his throat and looked as if he were in physical pain, clutching his chest. Polly leapt up and went around to him, steadying him in case he fell. He had slumped forwards slightly, the earring tumbling from his fingers onto the table. When Polly saw his face, she really thought that he was having a heart attack and would drop dead in her arms.
“Are you all right?” Polly asked, the panic showing in her voice. He gently eased her away and sat back, looking a little better. Polly went and got him a glass of water, and he downed it gratefully.
“I’m all right my dear, really. This earring did belong to the boy – and he’s not missing, he’s dead. I felt him die.” “They killed him?” It was a stupid thing to say – of course they did.
Bert shook his head.
“No, they didn’t, something far worse did. I couldn’t quite see how he died, but I felt it, and it was terrible. There is something evil in your house. Oh, my dear, you really do need to leave that place. Don’t go back.” Polly went and sat back down again, her head spinning and her legs refusing to hold her any longer.
“I’ve got nowhere to go. I would if I could. I have no job, no money. How can I leave? That’s why I wanted to find my grandmother’s will so that I can get away.” Bert nodded his understanding. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were trying to drag some thought or memory from the recesses of his mind, a slight frown creasing his forehead. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked sad.
“I wish I could give you better news, but I think that your grandmother’s will has been destroyed. I am quite certain it’s not in the house, at least. I’m so sorry. But listen. I have a spare room upstairs, it’s not much, but you are welcome to come and stay here until you can find somewhere else. I can’t let you go back to that place. If anything happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.” Polly was so very tempted, the thought of going back home now made her bladder weaken. She hesitated, seriously considering it, but then said what she knew she had to say: “It’s a lovely offer, and I do appreciate it, but I think I have to go back. If they have found the Hellstone, then we have to find where they are hiding it and take it from them. Liam said that he saw me holding it in my hands, so I have to believe that I can find it. Even if we’re on the wrong track and it isn’t the Hellstone, then I know they’re doing something awful, and I have to stop them before they murder someone else. Apart from anything else, if I don’t go back, they’ll know that I’m onto them and they might move the object, whatever it is. I can bluff it out a bit longer. I’m sure that whatever they’re h
iding is in Uncle’s study somewhere.” Bert gave her a heart-warming smile.
“You are a brave, good, girl. Liam was right; you have great inner strength. Granite through and through. Your grandmother would be very proud of you.” Polly felt a blush hurrying to her cheeks.
“I’m not brave at all, I’m terrified, but it has to be done. Can you help me?” she asked.
His smile broadened.
“I’m sure I can, but I need to be in the house. If the object is there then I know I can find it – I can’t do it from here. Your uncle will have hidden it too well with protections and spells of all kinds. We need to find a time when your uncle’s not likely to disturb us. When is he likely to be out of the house for a few hours to give me time to come in there and search?” “He’s going up to London tomorrow on business; he’ll be gone all day. You could come in and search then. It’s perfect.” It seemed the gods were with them.
Bert slapped his hands down on the table, making Polly jump.
“Then, by George, we’ll do it! Go back, just for tonight, pack your things and be ready to move here as soon as he goes. We’ll go and find what we need to find and you can come back with me. You’ll be safe here.” Polly suddenly realised what she’d agreed to, and a little shiver ran down her spine, spreading through her entire body; it sent out ripples of terror that cramped her stomach and made her want to throw up.
“I’m so afraid,” she said. Bert’s hand closed over hers again, and the fear seemed to disappear almost instantly; it felt as if someone had wrapped a warm, soft blanket around her shoulders and given her a cup of hot cocoa to drink. She could almost believe that nothing could hurt her while he was taking care of her.
“I can protect you, trust me. I may look like a doddery old fart, but I’ve forgotten more parlour tricks than your uncle and Winchard have ever known. But my dear, you must be very careful, lock your door tonight, and if you sense any danger at all, just get out and come here. I’ll leave a key under the mat by the back door, just in case we have to go out for any reason. There’s a little alley around the side that leads to the back of the shop. Just come in and make yourself at home.” “You’re very trusting,” Polly said, raising an eyebrow. “I could come in and clear the place. How do you know I’m not a criminal?” Bert chortled.
“If anybody burgled this place and found anything worth taking, they’re welcome to it, my dear – and if you’re a criminal, then I’m the Archbishop of Canterbury. What time is your uncle leaving tomorrow?” “He usually leaves early. Could you get there by nine?” She rummaged through her bag and found a stump of a pencil and a till receipt, hurriedly scribbling down the address and handing it to him.
“I promise I’ll be there. And I’ll bring my son with me, just in case there’s trouble.” Polly looked up as Liam came back into the room. He’d changed his clothes and was now wearing a tight white tee shirt and clean jeans, his hair brushed and tidy. He looked a great deal better than when she’d seen him last, less... psychotic, in fact, he seemed quite at peace with the world. He hesitated as he stepped through the door, looking a little disarmed.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise we had company. I’ll come back later,” he said, flashing a slightly nervous, but lovely smile at her.
Polly just stared at him, her mouth open slightly, hardly able to make sense of what she was seeing and hearing. This couldn’t be the same person that had fled from the Tarot reading as if demons were chasing him. Even his voice had changed; it was softer, warmer somehow, his words pronounced with far more care. Bert chuckled when he saw the expression on Polly’s face.
“No, please come in, Finn, allow me to introduce you. Finn, this is Polly, Polly Finn – or perhaps that should have been the other way around – anyway, this is my other son.” Polly gave a nervous giggle, feeling just a little silly, although there was no reason for her to be embarrassed. It was apparent now it had been pointed out to her.
“Pleased to meet you,” Finn said, his voice uncertain, his gaze fixed on Polly’s feet. He looked as if he were just about to be marched out to face a firing squad. He shoved his hands in his back pocket and fidgeted awkwardly. Polly’s heart went out to him because she felt exactly the same.
“I didn’t realise you were a twin, well, I wouldn’t have I mean... never mind,” she burbled. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” She was going to hold out her hand for him to shake it, but changed her mind at the last second. Finn looked up at her then, and their eyes met. His eyes were a lighter hazel than his brothers, warmer, with a kindness and wisdom that made him look far more like his father than Liam did.
“Come and sit down, my boy, I’d very much like your opinion on something. Polly here needs our help. Is Liam all right?” Finn seemed relieved to have an excuse to avoid any further interaction with Polly. She wasn’t offended; she recognised painful shyness when she saw it.
“He’ll be fine; he just needs to sleep. He’ll be okay in a couple of days, but I doubt we’ll see him for at least 48 hours, you know what he’s like when he gets one of his episodes.” There was a look exchanged, which was obviously intended to convey far more than the words. Finn still looked awkward and sidled around the armchair to sit on one of the other hard-backed chairs. Polly couldn’t believe how different his whole demeanour was to his brother’s. Apart from their looks, which were more or less identical, there seemed to be no similarities at all in character. Now she tuned into his aura she could see that it was a lovely clear blue, nothing like Liam’s purple-black. Where there was an almost immobile intensity about his brother, a stillness, a lion ready to pounce on his prey; Finn looked more like the prey, fidgeting in his seat with his hands pressed between his knees. Polly felt an instant affinity with him.
“Polly here has rather a serious problem we need to help her with. It involves Dalbert Winchard.” Finn cast his eyes heavenwards and gave a little groan.
“Oh, God, not that reprobate. What’s he been up to now?” Finn seemed more at ease now, but he was still focusing all of his attention on his father.
“Something monstrous, I fear,” Bert replied.
And Bert explained everything that Polly had related and what had happened so far that day. Finn sat and listened attentively, not interrupting, his face a mask of intense concentration. As the tale progressed, he began to look concerned. Hardly surprising.
“I can see what you mean about the problem,” Finn said, when Bert had finished. He paused, turning to Polly, still trying to avoid looking her straight in the eye. “How was Liam? I mean did he freak out during the Tarot reading?” Polly sighed.
“A little I’m afraid. Well, a lot really. I was a bit concerned he was having a fit or something. I felt sorry for him. It was good of him to try and help me.” She was being as diplomatic as she could be; Liam had truly terrified her, and she really didn’t want to see him again. The problem was that if she moved in here, even for a few days, she’d have to see him, and it wasn’t going to be fun. Having Finn around might be. She was pulled out of her reverie by Bert’s gentle voice.
“I’m going to visit Polly’s house tomorrow to see what’s going on there,” he said. “Would you mind coming with me? It doesn’t look as if Liam will be around, although truthfully I would prefer it to be him in some ways. Liam is much better at handling himself if there’s trouble; you know that he’s a better fighter.” Bert didn’t sound too condemnatory, but Polly thought that Finn looked hurt, even though he tried to hide it. She supposed there was bound to be sibling rivalry.
“Only in some ways,” Finn said, looking just a little peeved. “If there are dark things in that house, he’ll be far more susceptible to their influence than I am. I might not be able to throw a punch as well, but I am much better at handling psychic attack.” “I know, but all the same...” Bert replied.
“Well, it’s hypothetical, because he’s not going anywhere for a few days,” Finn said, his voice a little pinched. “You’ll have to put up with me.” “I’d like t
hat,” Polly found herself saying, before Bert could defend himself. She felt a blush rush to her cheeks. Finn blushed back. Bert just sat there grinning between the two of them. Polly gave an embarrassed cough and picked up her bag.
“So, I just go home now and act as if nothing’s happened?” she said.
Bert gave her an appraising look.
“Can you do that? Are you going to be able to act normally around your uncle and Winchard?” he asked.
Polly thought about it, but not for long.
“I know I can. My uncle knows that he terrifies me; I act like a scared little monkey around him the whole time anyway. I don’t think this is going to make any difference in real terms. I’m always on the verge of wetting myself when he’s around.” She suddenly realised what she’d said and quickly changed the subject. “What do I do with the earring, though – it’s material evidence of a murder.” Bert pursed his lips thoughtfully.
“Well, my advice would be to put the earring close to where you found it, but hidden slightly, so that you could have overlooked it when you were cleaning. In other words, my dear, you never found it.” Polly could see the wisdom in that. She could do that easily enough.
“See you tomorrow then,” she said, standing up.
“I’ll see you to the door,” Finn replied, following her back through the shop.
They reached the door, and as Polly put her hand on the catch to open it, his hand came over hers.
“Don’t take any chances,” he whispered, his face close to hers, his breath warm on her cheek. “Please, if there is any sign of danger, run for it.” Polly just stared at him for a moment, into his soft eyes, and found it hard to look away.
“Trust me; I can break the four-minute mile when I need to, I’ll be out of there like a whippet with its bum on fire.” He laughed, and let her open the door.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, as she walked out into the warm September sunshine.
CHAPTER FOUR
