by Ian Martyn
‘Could be fun to watch though,’ Shirley said. ‘I mean, thousands of frogs trying to battle it out with little swords and helmets and stuff.’ She blushed as the others turned to stare at her. ‘Sorry, must stop thinking out loud.’
‘So what then?’ Kirby asked, turning back to Connie.
Connie glanced over to Harold, who shrugged. ‘Wait?’
‘And you’re convinced she’s still going to try and pull magic from this world with all that goes with that? Even if we don’t know what she’s going to do with it?’
Connie frowned. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘But not right now?’
‘No. She has to act soon though.’
Ignoring Shirley, Kirby dunked his biscuit. ‘Well, if something occurs to you, let me know.’ He turned to Harold. ‘Or if there’s is so much as a twitch in the ether, or whatever it is, I want to know. Understood?’ Harold nodded. ‘However, for now I think we’d better be going.’ He turned to Shirley. ‘Come on, Constable, before you have a chance to share any more of your invaluable insights.’
‘Sir.’
forty-seven
‘Well it all seems very quiet now, Jonah.’ The chief beamed at Kirby. ‘Nothing’s happened for a few days. No more reports of teenagers running amok or those idiot re-enactment people tearing up golf courses on their ruddy horses.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The smile faded. ‘You don’t seem happy about it, Jonah?’
‘I don’t think we’ve heard the end of it, sir.’
The chief twitched and started rearranging his pens, lining them up on one side of his blotter. ‘No? And what makes you think that?’
‘Er, my experts, sir.’
The chief relocated his pens to the other side of the blotter and lined them up there. ‘That’d be like the expert with the long leather coat with suspicious-looking bulges under it and the hat?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Kirby smiled. ‘The hat’s from John Lewis,’ he added, thinking a bit of normality might help ease the tension.
‘Really?’ The chief nodded as if wondering how much of what he knew to admit, even to himself. ‘Things get back to me you see, Jonah,’ he said in a tone that Kirby interpreted as him wishing they didn’t.
‘I understand, sir.’ Kirby took a deep breath, realising that any tension easing he’d achieved would now be reversed and then some. ‘At some point, sir, I might need back-up to ensure things don’t… er, escalate.’
‘Escalate!’ The chief’s hand spasmed, sending two of the pens skittering across the desk. One landed in Kirby’s lap. He smiled and placed it back on the desk.
‘I just need access to some of the units, such as in Alnwick and the like. And for them to know I’m acting with your authority, sir.’ He paused. ‘That way we can hopefully contain it.’ The chief’s fingers were now drumming on the desk and he wasn’t making eye contact. Kirby tried again. ‘We might even be able to keep it out of the press, sir. Avoid any sensationalism.’
The chief nodded as he clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘Avoid sensationalism, yes, yes.’ He looked up at Kirby and took a deep breath. ‘Very well, Jonah. I’ll make sure they know.’ He narrowed his eyes and pointed a shaking finger at Kirby. ‘No sensationalism remember. Sensationalism would not be good for any of us.’
‘No, sir.’ Kirby tried what he thought was a reassuring smile as he stood. The chief’s hand twitched again and more pens ended up on the floor.
‘I think tea, Jane,’ Kirby said, closing the door behind him.
‘On my way.’
As Kirby walked back to his unit, Shirley fell in beside him. ‘How’d the chief take it, sir?’
‘As well as could be expected.’
Shirley sucked in a breath between her teeth. ‘Ooh, that bad then?’
‘Yes, Constable. But at least we can count on support when we need it.’ Kirby paused. ‘Not that I have any idea what support we’ll need, where or even for that matter how much use it might be.’
Shirley smiled. ‘At least it’s something, isn’t it, sir?’
‘Well I suppose whenever it happens, whatever it is, we might be able to use it to keep the press out of it.’
‘The press, sir?’
‘Yes, to get that commitment I suggested that we’d avoid any sensationalism.’
‘Oh, what, like reports of fur-clad warriors brandishing swords riding over a golf course and scaring the locals?’
‘That sort of thing, Constable.’
Shirley pulled a lopsided ‘oo er’ sort of face. ‘I hear that a career in security isn’t all that bad, sir, even if it does mean working nights a lot of the time.’
‘Thank you for that, Constable.’
Shirley smiled. ‘Always glad to help. So what now?’
‘I think we need to catch up with our favourite shopkeeper.’
The bell tinkled and Kirby caught a flash of grey among the shelves near the back of the shop.
‘Afternoon, Jonah, Shirley.’
Kirby glanced at Shirley who didn’t even smile at the mention of his Christian name, so that was progress at least. He watched as her hand moved towards one of the tins on the shelf next to them, then stopped an inch away. She frowned as she let her hand drop.
‘Well done, Constable.’
‘Goes against the grain though, sir.’
Kirby smiled. ‘The greater good and all that.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
They walked down one of the aisles, stepping over what Kirby assumed was a display of, but looked more like a pile of, cloths and dusters. There was a sign on top, “Buy two get one free”.
‘Someone could trip over that,’ Shirley said when Harold appeared.
‘That’s the point, can’t miss them then. And they feels guilty so they tend to buy.’
Shirley frowned. ‘Isn’t that a bit underhand?’
‘It’s called marketing.’
Kirby put a hand on Shirley’s arm before she could dig herself in deeper. ‘It’s two days now, Harold, and nothing. Not so much as a minor misdemeanour.’
Harold scratched his head. ‘I know. It’s worrying.’
You, Enda or Geraldo sensing anything.’
‘Nope, not so much as a tremor.’
‘Perhaps she’s given up,’ Shirley said. ‘Realised she can’t recruit enough men and so there’s no point.’
Harold shook his head. ‘Not Marianne, you heard Connie. No, this is the calm before the storm.’
‘And I think the storm clouds have started building,’ came a voice from behind them. Kirby’s heart leapt and Shirley yelped as she stepped on the pile of cloths and dusters, kicking a few across the floor.
Harold raised a hopeful eyebrow.
Shirley scowled at him. ‘Forget it.’
Kirby put a hand to his chest as he turned to be greeted by the most hypnotic pair of eyes he’d ever come across. ‘Heavens, Edna, don’t do that. And how the hell did you come in without sounding the bell, some sort of trick?’
Edna grinned. ‘Was already here, idiot.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yes, well as I said, I think it’s starting.’
‘What’s starting?’ Shirley asked.
‘Whatever Marianne has in mind.’
‘We’ve had no reports of…’ just then Shirley’s radio chirped. She stepped over the cloths and turned away to answer it. She listened ‘Uh-huh,’ she said glancing back at Kirby and shaking her head She put the radio back in her pocket. ‘Hexam, groups of teenagers shoplifting and…’ it chirped again. ‘Morpeth this time.’
At that moment the shop bell gave a frantic, urgent tinkle. It was Geraldo. ‘It’s started.’
‘We know.’ They chorused.
‘Oh.’
‘You lot better get going then,’ Edna said.
‘Where?’ Kirby asked.
Edna grabbed him by the sleeve and dragged him outside the shop. The rest followed. She pointed to the north where storm clouds were, literally,
building. ‘Them’s not natural.’
‘Rothbury now, sir,’ Shirley reported.
Kirby looked at Harold. ‘Dunstanburgh?’
Harold nodded. ‘Got to be.’
‘How long have we got?’
‘Couple of hours maybe. Depends what she’s planning, how much power she needs.’
‘Blues and two I think, Constable,’ Kirby said as they opened the car doors. Harold and Geraldo got in the back. ‘What about you?’ Kirby said to Edna, who’d stayed on the pavement.
‘Nothing I can do to help there. I’ll keep an eye on things here.’
As he slammed the door, Shirley switched on the lights and siren and, in plume of grey smoke from the tyres, took off up the road. On reaching the dual carriageway outside Gosforth, Shirley put her foot down as cars pulled over to let them through. Kirby glanced behind. Harold seemed at ease as Shirley threw the car around a van that dithered in front of her. Geraldo on the other hand was wide eyed with fear as he stared out of the window at the world flashing past them. His knuckles were white as he gripped the handles of a bag he had on his lap.
‘What’s in the holdall?’ Kirby said, noticing it for the first time.
There was a rustling from inside the bag, which bulged and rocked. Then the zip flew back with a loud “zzziiippppp” noise. A voice called. ‘I am. And I’ve had enough of being thrown around like washing in a tumble drier.’ Following the voice, a pair of long white ears poked their way out to be followed by a pink nose and then the rest of the head of what was unmistakably one cross-looking, scowling white rabbit.
The car veered towards the central reservation and then twitched as Shirley brought it back under control.
‘Constable!’ Kirby shouted as he held on to the dashboard.
‘Sorry, sir. It’s not every day you meet a talking rabbit.’ She smiled. ‘And a crabby one at that.’
Roberto scowled. ‘You’d be crabby as well, young lady, if you’d been stuck in a bag and then thrown around like a ball at a children’s party.’ He then wiped a paw over his ears. ‘What’s more, the rabbit has a name, it’s Roberto. And you are?’
‘Keep your eyes on the road, Constable,’ Kirby said as he watched Shirley’s eyes flicking to the mirror every few seconds. He turned back to Roberto. ‘This is Constable Shirley Barker.’
‘I take it she’s trained to drive this vehicle at speed?’
‘You bet,’ Shirley said as the road cleared and the speedo climbed past ninety.
Roberto looked up at Geraldo, who was still clutching the bag for comfort. He tutted. ‘Well, let’s see if we can get there in one piece.’
forty-eight
As they pulled into the Alnwick police station car park, Constable Cuthbertson came running out to meet them. Kirby wound down his window.
‘Sir, it started kicking off here about half an hour ago and now there’s reports of disturbances coming in from all the surrounding villages, fights in pubs and…’ Cuthbertson glanced to the back seat of the car. His jaw moved a couple of times, but no sound emerged.
‘Look at me, Constable.’ Kirby said.
‘I, er...’ Cuthbertson’s eyes were once again drawn to the rear of the car.
‘On me! Constable.’
Cuthbertson blinked rapidly several times and shook his head before focusing on Kirby.
‘Now carry on.’
‘Er, yes, sir. As I was saying, pubs and supermarkets and the like, wherever there are large groups…’ he glanced to the back seat again.
‘Constable!’
‘Sorry, sir. Yes, it seems wherever there are large groups of people. There’s even a report from an old people’s home out on the Rothbury Road. Although to be fair, it’s not the first time.’
‘Right. Your inspector should’ve received word from the chief that I’m to be given all assistance, yes?’
‘Yes, sir. Although we’re a bit stretched dealing with what’s going on in the town. He reckons he can spare you a couple of squad cars worth, that’s all.’
Kirby glanced at Shirley, who shrugged. ‘Right, well get them moving.’
‘Where to, sir?’
‘Dunstanburgh.’ He pointed at Cuthbertson. ‘Constable, I want one of those cars in Craster and one on the road in from Embleton. If nothing else, they’re to stop any press and general gawpers.
‘Gawpers, yes, sir.’
‘Great,’ Kirby said as they sped north out of the town with the two squad cars following.
‘There again,’ Shirley said. ‘I’m not sure what use a group of flat-footed country bumpkin bobbies would be anyway, sir. If anything, the fewer who witness whatever is going to happen the better.’
‘Hmm, you might have a point.’ He glanced back to Harold, Geraldo and Roberto. ‘Equally, I’m not sure what you and I and this motley bunch will be able to do either.’
Harold shrugged in reply.
‘Great,’ Kirby repeated.
The further north they drove, the darker the sky became. What had been growing clouds became an unbroken blanket of claustrophobic, turbulent grey that oozed menace. As they approached Embleton, thunder rolled across the sky, booming over their heads. Lightning pitched the countryside and buildings into stark monochrome for a few seconds at a time. On the skyline, the castle lay beneath the dark centre of the swirling mass of cloud. When they turned on to the access track, a gust of wind bent the trees away from the castle and buffeted the car. As Shirley edged the vehicle up the track, the engine began to stutter. The lights flickered, and the windscreen wipers decided it was time for a bout of frantic waving. The siren increased in pitch until it hurt their ears and had dogs for miles around howling. The blue lights blazed for a few seconds before exploding with pops that sounded like gunfire. The car’s engine stopped with a final forlorn wail from the siren. Shirley tried to start it again.
‘Dead, sir.’
‘My God, it’s like Close Encounters,’ Kirby said.
‘Sir?’
Harold “ner, ner nered” the iconic notes. ‘The film, from the nineteen seventies, you know.’
Shirley motioned with her hands ‘Oh yes, the mash potato mountain. I never quite got it myself.’
‘Well…’ Harold started.
‘I think this can wait, don’t you?’ Kirby said, pointing towards the castle as he got out of the car. ‘I guess we walk from here.’ He wandered back to the squad car, which had come to a halt behind them. ‘Don’t let anyone past this point,’ Kirby said to the driver, who was now out of the car and standing transfixed by the light show illuminating the castle. It was as if the lightning was bouncing around inside the walls. ‘Did you get that?’
‘Yes, sir. No one past this point,’ said the officer, who looked relieved he wasn’t being asked to go up to the castle.
‘I’ll come with you, sir,’ Cuthbertson said. ‘Sort of a local representative.’
‘Fine,’ Kirby said.
Harold and Geraldo led the way.
‘They gets some wild storms out here,’ Cuthbertson said, leaning towards them to be heard over the thunder and the sound of the wind, which seemed to rising all the time, ‘but I’ve never seen anything quite like this, sir.’
‘I know,’ Shirley shouted back. ‘It’s magic.’
‘Well it’s different, I’ll grant you. Although I’m not sure I’d go that far.’
‘No,’ Shirley said, grabbing Eric’s arm in excitement and shaking it. ‘No, I mean it really is real magic.’
‘Constable,’ Kirby said in his best reprimanding voice.
By now they were all leaning, heads down into the wind which was whipping at their clothes. Shirley pushed a lock of errant hair out of her eyes. ‘Sorry, sir, don’t you think he should know? At this point, it’s a little difficult to hide.’
‘Fine,’ Kirby said as he tried to button his jacket.
‘Know what?’ Eric said, clamping a hand on to his helmet to prevent it being torn from his head.
‘Like I said,’ Sh
irley shouted. ‘Magic.’ She pointed towards Geraldo. ‘And he’s a magician.’
‘What? Like we get up there and he entertains us with card tricks and the like? Or is he going to saw you in half, Shirley?’ Eric glanced around. ‘Or perhaps this is being filmed and he’s going to do some David Blaine stunt and make the castle disappear.’
Shirley slapped Eric hard on the arm.
‘Ow! Don’t start that again.’
‘Listen, you big oaf. I mean, like real Gandalf-type stuff.’
‘Yeah right.’
Shirley pointed towards the castle as a huge gust of wind brought them to a halt and bolts of lightning danced around the broken turrets of the castle’s gatehouse. ‘What do you think that is?’ As she said it, three purple streaks of electricity arced out into the sea. The air crackled and clouds of steam rose into the air.
Eric stopped and stared as he looked up. ‘I have to admit that’s a good one.’
‘And that’s not the best of it,’ Shirley said. ‘You see the magician guy’s holding a bag?’
Kirby groaned, then he thought on top of everything else it hardly mattered. Anyway, in the howling gale Shirley didn’t hear him.
‘Yeah,’ Eric said.
A sudden gust made Shirley stagger and she grabbed hold of Eric’s sleeve. ‘You saw the big white rabbit, right?’ she said in a lull.
‘Uh-huh. Why’s he brought his rabbit with him? It’s not as if he’s got his top hat.’
Shirley shook her head. ‘That’s not just any white rabbit. It’s an actual talking white rabbit called Roberto.’
Eric leaned towards her and raised his voice. ‘Sorry, I thought you said talking rabbit.’
‘She did,’ Kirby shouted. ‘And she wasn’t kidding.’
Eric stared at the bag, then back at Shirley.
‘Honest, cross my heart and all that. And you heard it from the inspector.’
‘What the hell,’ Eric said, shrugging then shaking his head, which almost caused him to lose his helmet again. He clamped it to his head again as they battled on into the mounting tornado that seemed intent on sending them back down the lane.
