The Parliament of the Dead

by T. A. Donnelly

  Arthur thought she was thinking about her murdered ancestor.

  He was slightly disappointed when she finally spoke.

  “William wants to see you, and I really should go home; my mum will be worried,”she concluded, looking out into the fading light.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Spreading the News

  Morag andGibbs spent the evening drifting around London spreading the news of the exorcists’attacks. Gibbs told all who would listen that the time had come for them to attend the Parliament of the Dead.

  “You m-must come to the Parliament. Hff Hffnt Walfughn! None of us are safe until we deal with these b-breathers. Yeullfnt!”

  Morag followed and observed the proceedings with interest.

  The Parliament had been called for that evening. Morag and Gibbs took it upon themselves to try and encourage as many ghosts as they could to join them. At first it proved difficult to find any spirits who would do more than wail, clank their chains or laugh manically. However, those who were willing to have a conversation seemed sympathetic, and by ten o’clock they felt they had done enough. They found a nice quiet graveyard and Gibbs spent the next hour-and-a-half teaching Morag about life being dead.

  She found flying quite difficult, but she soon got the hang of moving small objects.

  “S-splendid!”cried Gibbs as Morag lifted up a rather startled-looking cat and gently set it down on top of a broken headstone. “You’re a n-natural. You’ll be terrorising towns with your head tucked underneath your arm in no time.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The life of the Dead

  Iona turnedaway from the window and looked at Arthur. Could he really be the ghost of a long-dead highwayman? Iona could feel the walls separating what she regarded as fact and fiction crumble. “All my life I’ve longed for some experience of the supernatural. Now one of my friends is a ghostand he’s not even the first ghost I’ve met in the last two days.”

  A smile flickered across Arthur’s face,“Another ghost; who would that have been, I wonder?”

  “It’s what I was coming to tell you when I ended up taking your walk. It said not to trust you.” Iona looked cautiously at Arthur, “And another voice in Hanbury Street during your walk told me not to trust you.”

  “Hanbury Street? Ah, that would be poor Miss Anne Chapman. She is not a trusting soul. But then if I had been eviscerated by Jack the Ripper I’d probably be quite bitter too.”

  Iona shuddered,“But why shouldn’t I trust you?”

  “Well, I was a highwayman,”Arthur answered airily,“not exactly a moral paragon.”

  “But surely that was a long time ago? Don’t ghosts let bygones be bygones?”

  “Alright,”Arthur sighed,“I suppose the real reason they don’t trust me is that they see me as a traitor.”

  “A traitor?”Iona rubbed her head, tousling her hair, the black dye making her scalp itch;“What did you do?”

  “It’s more a case of what I dodo,”Arthur replied wearily,“they think I am betraying them by leading my tours.”

  Iona nodded,“They think you’re giving away the family secrets?”

  “Precisely!”

  “I almost forgot,”Iona straightened her back as she remembered the reason she had called into Arthur’s house,“why didyou miss your ghost walk today? Your boss, William, said he was going to call in on you to make sure you were going to take your evening walk. Are you going to? What did you mean, it was your‘time to move on?’”

  “That’s a lot of questions.” Arthur glanced towards the door. “Ah well, young lady, it seems the Enemy is at the gate once more. I have been discovered and it is no longer safe for me to be here.”

  “Why?”

  “A grey monk, a rather untalented minstrel, and a charming Scottish lady, have all come to see me in the last few days. That’s more visitors than I usually get in a decade! All of them wanted my help, and all came with a warning.”

  “Warning about what?”Iona could not imagine what a ghost could fear.

  “There are some particularly militant exorcists roaming the country and dispelling any ghosts they can find. Apparently I am next on their hit-list.”

  Iona was astounded. “I always thought the exorcists were the good guys.”

  “At the risk of sounding patronising, when you’ve existed as long as I have, you realise that it is rarely as simple as‘good guys’and‘bad guys.’” He paused in thought,“If William is going to call here, perhaps I should call on him first; it would be safer to meet in public. And you, too, young lady, you should not be here.”

  “Hang on a minute,”interrupted Iona, “how old were you when you died?”

  “Thirty-three.”replied Arthur.

  “But you look like you are…”Iona stopped herself before she said‘ninety,’ “...em, older than that.”

  “Ah yes. I developed the knack of slowly changing my appearance to resemble the effects of aging.”

  “Why?”

  “Surely that is obvious? Some of my acquaintances wondered why I hadn’t grown old like them in the fifty years I’d known them.”

  “What happened?”

  “They thought I was some kind of evil wizard and I was forced out of town.”

  “That’s horrible.”

  “Well these things happened in the eighteenth century. Anyway,”Arthur nodded towards the clock,“if I am to meet William before I take my final walk we had better get a move on.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Weapons Ready

  The fourpriests slid further back into their hiding-places in doorways and behind walls, as they saw the front door to Arthur’s block of flats open. Father Pious’eyes widened as he watched Iona urging Arthur out onto the pavement.

  “It would be preferable to avoid harming the girl,”he whispered to the others,“but if she’s in the way...”he ran his fingers over his head,“...you can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs.”

  Father Thomas shook his head, but before he could speak all the clerics turned towards their target as Iona’s laughter echoed down the dark street.

  “Weapons ready!”hissed the leader. The four figures lurking in the shadows moved as one to remove safety-catches and hide their guns under their long coats.

  Their feet barely made a sound on the grimy concrete as they stepped stealthily forward to close in on Iona and Arthur. On Father Pious’signal one of the priests raised his shotgun while another removed the stopper from a small vial of holy water.

  The gun pointed at Arthur’s back. The priest took in a sharp breath as his finger tensed on the trigger.

  Before a shot could be fired a minibus full of chanting football fans turned into the street. The clerics hid their weapons in an instant and retreated into the night.

  * * *

  They stayed a block behind Iona and Arthur all the way into central London. The streets grew steadily busier and Father Pious grew increasingly agitated.

  “Stay close!”he hissed at his followers. “Keep alert, and seize any chance you can get to take him!”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Chase

  William was furious. Iona stood outside his small shed feeling embarrassed while Arthur and his boss exchanged angry words.

  Her eyes caught those of a man dressed entirely in black who was looking intensely in her direction. Iona felt that she was being watched. She wondered if she had seen right–had the man been wearing a white clerical collar? When the man saw that he had been noticed, he side-stepped behind a small group of people standing by a stall selling hot caramelised nuts.

  * * *

  Father Pious cursed under his breath. The girl had seen him. He clicked open his mobile phone. “We are outside the office of‘London Sightseeing Ghost Walks’on the South Bank. The girl spotted me. I’ll have to hang back. We’re going to need all of your men on this one.”

  He hated having to ask the monks of St. Cyril for help, but at least he would get a chance to see
them in action before their major operation at the Parliament the next day.

  * * *

  William had persuaded Arthur to take the evening tour. By the time the two men had finished arguing, the walk was almost due to begin. While Iona and Arthur rushed across Westminster Bridge she told him about the man in black she had caught watching them.

  “Do you think it was one of those exorcists?”She asked breathlessly, almost running to keep up with Arthur’s long strides.

  “I wish I knew,”Arthur replied looking over his shoulder,“I wish I knew.”

  The group of expectant tourists had already gathered at Cleopatra’s Needle by the time Iona and Arthur arrived. As soon as he reached them Arthur spoke without drawing breath.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen,”he began, and his dramatic voice and over-the-top performance transported Iona back to the simpler days of their first meeting. “Prepare to be astounded,”Arthur continued. “People have lived in this great city since before Roman times. There have been wars and plagues and fires. There have been murders committed in passion by wronged wives and husbands. There have been hangings and torture and disembowelling - all in the name of Justice. Serial killers have walked these streets, preying on the lowly, or on the wealthy, or even on those who just wanted a hair cut. Tonight you will hear about the tortured souls that were touched by these events, and whose spirits cannot find rest even in death. Tonight I will guide you through these haunted streets and tell you stories to chill your spine, rattle your nerves, and turn your milk sour.”

  The gathered tourists were totally enrapt.

  Two men with long overcoats and baseball caps joined the back of the group. Iona eyed them warily. When one of them took off his cap to adjust its tightness, Iona noticed, with a sense of growing unease, that he had a cross shaved into the back of his close-cropped hair.

  Instinctively she started looking around for an escape-route. At the corner of the next block she saw another black-clad figure. This one definitely was wearing a priest’s white dog collar.

  When Arthur had finished explaining about the ghosts of the many poor souls who had committed suicide at this place on the riverside, Iona managed to whisper a warning: “The exorcists,”she hissed,“I think they’re here; you need to get away.”

  “Don’t worry,”Arthur replied under his breath,“they won’t attack in public. I just hope they haven’t realised that you are with me. Just act like one of the tourists and slip away when you get the chance.”

  “No way!”Iona replied, her whisper considerably louder than before,“I can’t leave you with those psychos.”

  “I’m already dead; don’t worry about me young lady. Get yourself out of here.”

  Iona noticed the two men in long coats and baseball hats straining to overhear their conversation. She squeezed her way through the tourists to the opposite side of the group, as far away from them as possible. When she caught one looking at her she stared back defiantly with a look which she hoped said:‘I know who you are so don’t try any funny business!’

  They walked on to Somerset House where Arthur delivered another speech.

  “It was here, when the buildings were home to the offices of the Admiralty, that Nelson received his orders to engage Napoleon at Trafalgar. Those of you who know your history will remember that although Nelson led the English to an historic victory, he himself was mortally wounded.” Some of the tourists nodded in an exaggerated manner to show that they knew all about the Battle of Trafalgar. Several overweight tourists glanced up from their expensive cameras to look blankly at Arthur as he continued,“Nelson’s ghost is an unusual one. Usually ghosts come out at night, but Nelson likes to haunt the light summer mornings. His bright, glowing, transparent form is not at first obvious, as he skips over cobblestones, the empty sleeve of his right arm flapping by his side.”

  Iona sidled up to Arthur and started whispering again,“Does he really skip?”

  “Actually yes. But please, you must leave. I can take care of myself. You’re the one in danger.”

  Iona tutted and continued to walk alongside the rest of the group, ignoring Arthur’s advice.

  * * *

  As they walked on three more men in long coats appeared behind them. Iona coughed to attract Arthur’s attention and nodded towards them. He looked alarmed and quickened his pace.

  Two priests talking into mobile phones stepped out of a sandwich shop on the opposite side of the road and walked in step parallel with the tour group.

  Arthur started to walk even faster. Some of the tourists were struggling to match his speed.

  “Do keep up!”Arthur shouted over his shoulder to his increasingly irritated and breathless tour group.

  The grumbles of the tourists turned into shouts of alarm as they had to break into a jog.

  “Here, what’s goin’on?”called a bearded man with an Irish accent,“Why do we have to run?”

  “Ah yes. It’s the ghosts, my dear man,”Arthur replied without slowing down,“If they see us just stroll up to their haunts they’ll disappear, we need to make a lightning approach.”

  The wife of the Irish man spoke up,“Surely you’re not saying we could see a real ghost? What do you take us for?”

  As she spoke two monks in long coats turned into the path in front of Arthur, bringing him to an abrupt halt. The two who had been following on the opposite pavement started to cross the road towards them.

  The woman caught up with Arthur and tried to grab hold of him by the arm.“I said, what do you take us for?”

  Arthur tore his eyes from the approaching monks and looked in horror at the place where the woman had gripped him. He let out an anguished,“No!”as she tightened her grip and her fingers started to pass through his arm.

  Those tourists near enough to see gasped and recoiled.

  * * *

  A voice from the back of the group shouted into a mobile phone,“His cover is blown! Attack at once! I repeat, his cover is blown!”

  In an instant Arthur’s form dissolved and a cloud of dust swirled around the disbelieving tourists.

  Within seconds seven guns were pointing at the space where Arthur had been, and holy water was being flung over the crowd. The priests cursed with frustration, peering into the dust cloud for a focus to shoot at.

  * * *

  Father Pious was running to catch up, half a block behind the action. He hissed into his mobile,“Get the girl, she knows something!”

  * * *

  Seven guns swung towards Iona as the tour group scattered with screams and shouts. For a moment she was paralysed. The nearest thing to this she had ever experienced was being caught by two teachers on a school trip as she tried to set fire to the discarded clothes of two boys she had convinced to go skinny-dipping. As scary as the teachers had been, they had not pointed guns at her.

  * * *

  The dust cloud that had been Arthur still circled in the air. Suddenly an arm formed from the dust, grabbed hold of the barrel of one of the shotguns, and forced it backwards to knock a monk off his feet. The gun then spun through the air to land with a resounding crack on the head of one of the others. As his hand disappeared into dust the weapon fell to the ground with a clatter.

  The few remaining tourists, who had been too shocked to run, bolted down the street as fast as they were able.

  Two ghostly hands reappeared and knocked the heads of two monks together with such force that both fell to the ground. No sooner had the hands dissolved again into the dust cloud than a foot appeared and made contact with the groin of one of the priests. Dust flew into the faces of the two who were still standing, while a voice that was unmistakably Arthur’s, called out:“Run for it!”

  * * *

  In the confusion Iona ran.

  She ran as fast and as far as she could, finally ducking into a music shop when she could run no more.

  * * *

  She stood panting, leaning low over a rack of special offer CDs when she felt something stick into her rib
s.

  A voice uncomfortably close to her ear spoke, “the silver bullets in this gun are designed to deal with the supernatural. But they will do youan equal amount of damage. Don’t cry out or try to run or you’ll be joining your deadfriends.”

  The dark figure twisted one of Iona’s arms painfully behind her back. She looked at the shoppers milling around her, unaware that they were walking past someone whose life was being threatened. She didn’t think the man would really shoot her in this public place if she tried to break free; but she couldn’t be sure. She scrunched her toes in her Doc Martins ready to kick the cleric in the shins, aware that this could be the last thing she ever did. Suddenly another idea came to her, and with her free hand she slipped a CD by The Cure from the rack.

  When they approached the shop door Iona pretended to trip. As she steadied herself against her captor she slipped the CD into the pocket of his long coat.

  When they passed through the doorway an alarm sounded and a security guard held up his hand for them to stop.

  Iona’s captor gave her a dangerous look, but with several faces now turned towards them she seized the opportunity to pull away from him.

  “Uncle Tim!”she shouted at the surprised looking priest,“I thought you’d been cured of your kleptomania by the prison psychiatrist!”

  The priest looked through his pockets and, open-mouthed, took out the CD.

  Iona winked at her would-be captor and stepped back out into the street.

  * * *

  Iona was looking back at the commotion in the shop, congratulating herself on her cleverness, when she walked straight into Father Pious. He smiled maliciously as his hand dug painfully into her shoulder. He whispered,“You’re coming with us, we have reason to believe your mortal soul is in danger!”