by Ian Martyn
Kirby downed a good quarter of his pint and licked his lips as he glanced from Shirley to Harold. ‘Now, Constable, this is Harold. You can think of him as a consultant, an expert in his field. Or at least the nearest we’ve got to one.’
Harold frowned above the glass at his lips.
Shirley smiled briefly at Harold then turned to Kirby. ‘Sorry, Sir, no disrespect and all that, but why do we need an expert for a missing girl? And an expert in what?’
‘Both excellent questions, Shirley.’ Kirby put down his pint so he could hold her gaze. ‘However, I want you to listen to what I’m about to tell you without comment, understood?’
Shirley paused and sipped at her pint again, glancing at Harold, then giving Kirby a suspicious sideways look. ‘Yes I’m sure I can manage that, Sir.’
Kirby held an index finger in the air. ‘Right, hold on to that. Because what I’m about to tell you will test that ability.’
Shirley narrowed her eyes, but said nothing as Kirby started his story. At the mention of another world she put her pint down. Her jaw dropped when it came to the stones. Kirby was impressed – so far she hadn’t tried to interrupt. However, the Mephisto episode caused a bark of disbelieving laughter when Roberto was mentioned. Kirby paused and raised his eyebrows. The laughter subsided and Shirley took a long draft of her drink instead. She was in mid sip at the mention of goblins, which had her wiping dribbled beer from her jacket as Kirby finished.
‘Well done, Constable, a commendable effort in the circumstances. So?’
‘I…’ Shirley paused and gazed into the bottom of her now empty glass as if looking for answers. She burped and clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Sorry, Sir, don’t normally drink pints and certainly not that fast.’ She burped again. ‘Pardon.’
Kirby smiled. ‘Granted.’
Shirley shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Sir. I really don’t. I think I’m still waiting for the Hobbits, Elves and Gandalf to make an appearance.’ As she said the name Gandalf she stared across at Harold.
Kirby shook his head. ‘No, Constable,’ then he too looked across at Harold. ‘Or at least I don’t think so.’
This time Harold shook his head and tutted. ‘Damned Tolkien.’
‘So what now?’ Shirley asked.
Harold shook his empty glass.
Kirby stood and took Harold’s glass from him. ‘Constable? Half perhaps?’
‘Well, Sir, I am on… oh what the hell, thank you, Sir. And make it a pint if that’s OK?’
‘You two getting to know each other each other?’ Kirby said as he returned with two more pints of IPA and a Coke for himself. ‘Driving,’ he explained as Harold looked at him.
‘Turns out we’ve met,’ Shirley said. ‘I’d kind of forgotten until he told me where his shop is. I used to live just around the corner. He kept selling me stuff I didn’t intend to buy.’
‘Harold?’
‘I don’t know what she means.’
Kirby shook his head. ‘So come on, Harold.’ He glanced across at Shirley. ‘What’s going on? My priority is the missing girl. And on one level the rest is just… just a distraction. However, this distraction involves things I don’t like the sound of, threatening things. And when I hear of things becoming threatening I start to get a little upset. So then, as a copper, if I feel people aren’t helping me or I feel they’re holding back I start to use phrases like “obstructing the police”, “withholding information” and “we can continue this down the station”.
Harold sipped at his second pint as if considering his words. Kirby employed the waiting trick and Shirley joined in. It’s hard not to fill the silence.
‘Fine,’ said Harold after a few seconds. ‘You accept that there is another world sort of connected to this one?’
Kirby glanced across at Shirley and nodded. ‘Let’s assume we do.’
‘And you’re happy with the idea of goblins and magic and the like?’
This time Shirley managed not to spill her beer.
‘Not exactly happy,’ Kirby said. ‘But go on.’
‘So what do you need to know?’
Kirby could see the indecision in Harold’s eyes. For the first time since they’d met he seemed unsure. He waved the arm that wasn’t holding his glass to take in the road, the pub and the other groups of people. ‘Look around, Harold. Tell me what you see.’
Harold shrugged. ‘Folks having a drink, enjoying themselves in the warm weather. The pub, houses, a few trees, a blue sky, fluffy clouds. Oh and some dark ones coming in from the west. Reckon it might rain later.’
Kirby nodded. ‘Right, what you might class as a bit of normality, at least for the vast majority of people. With the possible exception of the warm weather, after all this is Newcastle. Agreed?’
‘Sure.’
Now Kirby looked around, taking in the people, the pub, the trees, the sky, the gathering clouds and then back to Harold. ‘Well, this is my world. And as a policeman it’s my job to ensure these good people can continue to enjoy it. So, Harold, the answer to your question is everything you know. You are going to help me join the dots, is that understood? Because if not I’ll start using those phrases I mentioned earlier.’
‘You might struggle with the charge sheet.’
Kirby put his drink down, leaned across the table and narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ve been doing this a long time, Harold. I’ll find something. Or maybe I’ll just get health and safety to check out that shop of yours.’
Harold’s fingers drummed on the bench as Kirby leaned back, waiting. He glanced at Shirley who was smiling. ‘OK, but you’re not going to like it.’
‘We don’t have to like it,’ Kirby said patting his chest. ‘We’re coppers remember. We get paid not to like things.’
Harold took a breath. ‘Well Sisillius, as I’ve said is, for want of a better word, a king, who has ambition that goes way beyond his ability. He was defeated some time ago and since then has kept himself to himself. Yet now it appears he’s on the move again and I’m thinking he’s been put up to it this time. Someone is making him promises.’
‘This Mephisto?’
‘Last time I reckon Mephisto couldn’t handle it, which is why it failed. A bit all-show-and-little-substance that one. This time I’m guessing it’s Marianne who’s taking the lead.’
Shirley put her drink down and leaned forward. ‘You mean Marianne as in Sarah’s mother?’
Harold nodded. ‘The real power. One wild child, that one.’
‘So why does she need Mephisto?’ Kirby asked. ‘I thought you’d said they’d fallen out?’
Harold shrugged. ‘The world of Sisillius is what these days you might class as a bit male chauvinistic. My guess is Marianne just wants him to be the acceptable mouthpiece.
‘And I take it none of this is good news?’
Harold shook his head. ‘No.’
Shirley waved a hand in front of them. ‘Whoa, let me catch up here. This world is supposed to be what?’ she asked, ‘our past?’
Harold shook his head. ‘Only sort of. More like an alternative past.’
Shirley leaned back and smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. ‘Well that’s alright then. I mean an alternative past, why didn’t you say before?’
‘Take your time, Constable,’ Kirby said. ‘Pause, breathe.’
Shirley closed her eyes for a second, took a deep breath then opened them and breathed out slowly. ‘Sorry, Sir. Thank you.’
‘That’s alright, Constable.’
Shirley smiled across at Harold. ‘So changes there can’t affect what is happening here, now. I mean it’s our past right?’
Harold scratched his head and glanced at them both. ‘Yes and no.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well your history is your history, it’s happened. Changes there are not going to alter it. Although if they did you wouldn’t know of course because that would now be your history, if you get what I mean?’
‘Not re
ally. But tell me then, why we should be concerned with what goes on there?’
Harold finished off his beer and glanced around as if expecting another one to magically appear. ‘It’s all a question of balance,’ he said, waggling a hand from side to side to emphasise the point. ‘The two worlds rub up alongside each other and although it may not directly be your own past it can have an effect. Things travelling between the worlds have an impact, although you may not realise it.’
‘Such as?’
‘Those riots a few years ago. That was the last time, when Sisillius and Mephisto let their avarice get the better of them. With Marianne’s help they tried to suck the magic out of this world to use in theirs.’
Kirby kneaded his eyes with his fingers before glancing at Shirley who was gripping her glass so tightly Kirby was afraid it might shatter in her hands. He took his own advice and breathed. He focused on Harold again. ‘Okaayyy. So you’re telling me those riots of a few years ago were down to magic?’
Harold smiled. ‘Well, to be more precise, the removal of magic. As I said, it’s all a question of balance.’
‘But you’re here,’ Shirley said. ‘So is this Edna and Geraldo and the rabbit, what’s he called, Roberto. Then if I’m to believe you, there’s these goblins. Does all that not have an impact on the balance?’
Harold nodded then shook his head. ‘A little. Think ripples in the ocean, they don’t do any real harm. What they’re trying to do is cause waves. Big magical ones.’
Kirby had his elbow on the table, hand supporting his head as if all this information was weighing it down. ‘Magic? I’d like to say I don’t believe in magic.’
Harold helped himself to the last of the crisps. ‘Doesn’t matter what you choose to believe, it’s there and here.’ He moved a hand over the table. ‘In your 21st-century world it’s thin, spread out so it has little effect. But that just means in the other world, if they want to get at it, they have to take it from over a large area and that…’
‘Upsets the balance,’ Kirby said.
Harold grinned. ‘Exactly.’
Kirby nodded towards Harold’s empty glass. ‘Another?’
Harold nodded. ‘Wouldn’t say no.’
‘Constable?’
Shirley looked at her half-full glass and burped again. ‘Sorry. Better not.’
Kirby stood and grabbed Harold’s glass. ‘So what about Sarah Cooper, Marianne’s daughter?’
‘Ah. Edna and I reckon being Marianne’s daughter she’s old magic living in your world, even if she doesn’t know it. That’s what they’re looking for, a seer, a diviner, a conduit, if you like. Think of her as a lightning rod for the magic in your world.’
Kirby shook his head. ‘She’d use her own daughter?’
‘Especially her own daughter.’
Twelve
‘You wouldn’t think it, would you, sir,’ Shirley said as they watched Harold enter the front door of his shop. The bell tinkled a greeting. ‘I mean a corner shop and the grey cardigan and all. It’s…it’s…’
‘All so normal,’ Kirby finished for her.
Shirley shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, sir, I’m struggling. Do you believe all that?’
Kirby set off and turned on to Clayton road. ‘So where do you live, Constable?’
‘Just off Bridge Street in Wideopen, sir.’
‘I’ll drop you off.’
Shirley pointed back over her shoulder. ‘Er, I should really go back to the station. Things to do.’
Kirby kept driving in the same direction. ‘Go home, Shirley. Crack open a bottle of wine, put your feet up and watch some trash on the telly and let your subconscious have a go at this. If there’s a problem, blame me.’
Shirley grinned. ‘I’ll take that as an order then, sir.’
‘Excellent.’
Kirby watched the young constable’s grin fade and lines appear on her brow. He didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know what she was thinking about.
Shirley turned to him. ‘Sorry, sir, but you didn’t answer my question.’
He smiled. ‘I know. What do you make of Harold?’
Shirley nodded and puffed out her cheeks. ‘Difficult. One minute you think he’s just some slightly dotty old geezer in a grey cardigan and then the next time you look at him he’s six inches taller, straight-backed and those eyes, it’s like… it’s like they’ve seen more than you could ever imagine.’
‘Exactly and this Edna woman, grey cardigan and the same eyes if not more so. It’s as if you can’t not believe them. And of course I did meet Geraldo and Roberto.’
‘The talking rabbit.’
Kirby sucked in air. ‘Yes, I know. You had to be there.’
Shirley laughed. ‘I wish I had been.’ She pointed to a bus stop a hundred yards ahead of them. ‘Here’ll do, sir.’
Kirby pulled over. ‘Remember, wine and telly.’
Shirley smiled as she got out of the car. ‘Will do, sir.’
As Kirby drove the rest of the way home he knew he hadn’t answered Shirley’s question. It was as if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He did wonder if he should have involved her in the first place. But then part of being a good copper was knowing when you couldn’t deal with something on your own. Many a nearly good copper had got into serious trouble one way or another dealing with things on their own. And Shirley was good. Others by now would be hiding behind walls of disbelief and scepticism, whereas she was prepared to give her instincts a go. With a mental sigh he pulled into his drive.
Opening his front door he still half expected to hear, ‘That you, Jonah?’ It had always made him smile, who else could it be at the time he got home? If he mentioned it, the usual reply was, ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ He bent down and picked up all the leaflets and junk mail and put them unopened on the recycling pile. Why do they bother? He wished he could do the same with the brown envelope, a tax reminder. That went on the ‘to be dealt with’ pile.
In the kitchen, Kirby slung his jacket over a chair and removed his tie. Jeanie was still everywhere, pictures, mementos of past holidays, a pottery little girl with ducks at her feet that she’d had since a child. All those feminine touches, as she liked to call them. He took a bottle of beer out of the fridge, carried it through to the lounge and sat down. Then with a grunt and a sigh he got up and went back to the kitchen for a bottle opener. Returning to the sofa he took a sip from the bottle, turned the telly on and flicked through the channels, soap, soap, documentary on… the police force. Forget that. He flicked to Sky, maybe there was some footy. Man Utd, why was it always Man Utd? Ugh, and it wasn’t even live. He turned the telly off and gazed instead at a photo of Jeanie on the mantelpiece. As always, she smiled back at him.
‘What do make of it, love?’
‘Have you eaten?’
Smiling to himself he went back into the kitchen to see what was in the freezer; he couldn’t be bothered to cook. Ah yes, wrapped in foil was half a lasagne his mother had made him bring home last time he’d seen her, perfect. He looked at the oven and shoved it in the microwave. He could almost hear the tutting. ‘So?’ he said as he sat down again and looked at her picture.
‘Talk to your mum.’
‘After I’ve eaten,’ he said. Jeanie had always got on well with his mum even if she reckoned she was a bit weird. He suspected his mum played on it. She was the seventh child of a seventh child, which in her world meant she had “the sight”. Not that he ever really understood what “the sight” was. It was just something she quoted whenever she said something a bit strange, which was fairly often.
Five minutes later, having put the empty plate in the dishwasher, he picked up the phone. ‘Hello, Mum.’
‘Hello, dear. You alright?’
‘Yes why?’
‘Oh just a feeling that’s all. You know.’
The sight, Kirby said to himself and sniggered.
‘What’s funny?’
‘Nothing, Mum. Thought I might pop over tomorrow aft
er work, if that’s OK?
‘Yes, dear. Do you want something to eat?’
‘Er, not sure what time it’ll be.’
‘Not to worry. I’ll do something that won’t spoil.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
‘Then you can tell me all about it. Bye.’
‘Bye.’
Tell me all about it?
thirteen
Sarah Cooper opened her eyes, although at the time she didn’t know her name was Sarah Cooper, nor did she even register that her eyes had been closed. Her mind refused to work beyond what was in front of her at that particular moment. It was dark, well not quite as she could see dim outlines of… she didn’t know what.
She half expected to see people feasting in a hall. Her mind was stirring again and had decided to throw in a memory of the last thing she’d been aware of before being wherever she was now. Having located one memory, her brain seemed pleased with itself and went looking for more. A picture of the hall formed in her head. It was a large room, no building, built of wood. It had weight but not just the physical kind. It carried its age and importance, it held its head high, walked tall in its surroundings, at least that was the impression it had left her with.
The lighting there was also dim, but not as dim as it was here. There had been a large fire in the centre. Most of the smoke drifted out through a hole in the roof, although some failed to make it and billowed around the rafters in thin clouds, looking for eyes to sting. There were also burning torches in sconces around the wall, which seemed to add more to the smoke than the light. It had all made her eyes water. Not that the other occupants of the hall seemed to notice. She assumed they must be accustomed to it. They were sitting on benches at crude wooden tables eating and drinking, with the aim, it seemed, to eat and drink as much as was humanly possible. As a result they were shouting, singing and grabbing at the women who served the food and drink. Some of the women seemed expert in dodging the grasping hands. Some responded with playful slaps which earned roars of approval from those sitting next to the recipient. Others apparently welcomed the attention to the degree that behind those at the table were several couples, well, coupling.
