by Icy Sedgwick
Chapter 21
Fowlis’s voice came from the doorway but the cavalier was nowhere to be seen. Sarah looked at the pendant lying on the table and reached forward to pick it up. Her father pressed his fingertips against the top.
“What’s wrong? Where did you go? Is everything okay?” asked Sarah.
“I was speaking with my assistant, Handle. I believe I told you about him,” said Fowlis.
“You have an assistant? This just gets even bigger, doesn’t it? So what does he do? Where is he? Is he here too?” asked Dr McKenzie.
“No, he is not, and I shall explain in more detail at a later juncture. However, now is not the time. As I was saying, I was speaking with him through your mirror, and please, sir, allow me to come to the end before you ask questions,” said Fowlis, pre-empting Dr McKenzie, who closed his mouth again and sat back in his chair. He scowled.
“I told you that haunters were going missing, and it seems that the situation is getting worse. Not only that, but those sent on enquiry missions are also disappearing. My assistant believes it to be somewhat fortuitous that my own anchor is in mortal hands and thus beyond the control of HQ. Furthermore, this particular circumstance means that my anchor is therefore beyond the control of whoever is recalling these ghosts. However, he urges my return to HQ. To do so via my anchor at the successful completion of my haunting is out of the question,” said Fowlis.
“I don’t want to sound dense, but how do you get back then?” asked Sarah. Visions of secret portals and hidden doorways danced through her mind.
“It seems that Handle managed to discover the secret back entrance to HQ that exists upon the mortal plane. It has a physical twin in your world, and if I were to walk through its door right now, I would be back on my own plane. Not only that, but I would be in possession of my own anchor, and therefore beyond the power of our mystery villain,” replied Fowlis.
“That’s great! So where’s this entrance?”
“London. Dalrymple Street, to be precise.”
“That’s not exactly round the corner,” said Sarah. She wracked her brains to picture such a street but London was just too big for her to know every road.
“I am aware of that, and I understand that what I am about to ask is an incredibly large favour, but this is my proposed new plan. If someone could travel to London with the anchor on their person, I could walk straight into HQ, and start getting to the bottom of this whole mess. You would never see me again and I would make it my personal business to have Cransland House, or indeed any future dwellings of yours, struck off the haunting list,” replied Fowlis.
“So there would be no more hauntings?” asked Dr McKenzie.
“None whatsoever.”
“But you wouldn’t be able to stay and scare all the journalists? People would still think that we were making it up?” Hot tears pricked the back of Sarah’s eyes.
“Unfortunately I would not, although I feel confident that they will move on swiftly enough. The media is a fickle creature, as are mortals, so I do not feel that you will mourn the loss of the local society for long,” replied Fowlis.
“I’d better go and discuss this new development with your mother,” said Dr McKenzie.
He left the room. Sarah fiddled with her dragon ring and stared at the table. She knew Fowlis had to leave, but she’d only just gotten used to having a friend again. Besides, the investigation had given her something to do.
“Sarah, I know what you are thinking, but new people will move into the area just as others will move out of it, and I am sure both you and your mother will find new companions in time. I do not want you to feel sad that I must leave,” said Fowlis.
Sarah’s cheeks burned as she fought the urge to cry.
“I do hope your father discusses this with your mother. And I hate to rush you all, but the sooner I get to HQ, the better. Time moves differently there and a few hours on this plane could be a whole day up there. Who knows how many more haunters could have vanished?” asked Fowlis.
“Don’t worry. If they don’t take you to London, then I will.”
Sarah picked up the pendant and dropped it into her pocket. Fowlis briefly appeared then vanished again when the cold metal left her hand. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought the cavalier smiled at her.
* * *
They sat around the fire in the morning room. Sarah knew that Fowlis stood beside the hearth, gazing into the flames with a curious expression of nostalgia. He showed himself to her for a fleeting moment as she and her father sat near her mother, before disappearing into the warm air by the fire. He didn’t think Sarah’s mother would welcome his presence, and he chose to remain invisible for the meeting.
“Your father and I have discussed the situation and we don’t think it’s right that you have so much upheaval in one go. We’ve only just moved here, so going gallivanting back to London on what could be a wild goose chase is just upsetting any kind of routine you might build up before you go to college,” said her mother.
“But we have to help Fowlis!”
“Your father will take the anchor the day after tomorrow. This is our house, Sarah, not his, and we can’t simply drop everything to suit these whimsical tales.”
“Why the day after tomorrow?” asked Sarah.
“I’ve got a conference call with the team tomorrow, and it’s already been postponed twice. I’ve got to go into town to get a decent internet connection for it. I can’t postpone it again just for this,” replied her father.
“I have the architect coming tomorrow, so it’s not convenient for me either.”
“Okay. Fine. The day after tomorrow it is then. I’ll tell Fowlis.” Sarah gritted her teeth and stood up.
“You’re not upset?” asked her father.
“It’s like you said, it’s our house.” Sarah tried her best not to flounce out of the room but she couldn’t stop herself balling her hands into fists. She understood how important the conference call was, but her mother could easily rearrange the architect. No, Fowlis couldn’t wait until the day after tomorrow. Who knew how big the mess would be by then?
She retreated to the library where she threw herself into her favourite chair. Anger made her whole body shake. Sarah was so intent on her fury that she barely noticed the intense cold coming from the mirror.
“Am I to assume that you will take me to London?” Fowlis’s voice drifted across the room from the door. The cold subsided.
“Yep.”
“Forgive the obvious question, but are you all right?”
“Just mad at them. Don’t worry about it. Get some sleep and we’ll be out of here in the morning.”
The door rattled, possibly Fowlis’s way of letting her know he’d left. She stalked across to her laptop and brought up a new browser window. She needed train times to London.
* * *
Fingers of early dawn light inched across the hallway floor. Sarah crept down the stairs in her bare feet, a backpack slung over one shoulder. She skipped over the second step from the bottom to avoid its tell-tale squeak. The hard lump of the pendant provided a comforting bulge in her pocket.
She sat on a chair near the door and pulled on her socks and trainers. Peering out of the window, she spotted a makeshift camp across the lawn. No smoke drifted from their campfire, so she guessed they were all asleep. Still, there was no sense in waking them.
Sarah unlocked the front door and cracked it open. She checked her mother’s phone; according to the app, the car she’d booked sat at the end of the lane. She left the phone on the table in the hallway. Sneaking out early was one thing, taking her mother’s phone was quite another. She closed and locked the door behind her.
Her trainers crunched on the gravel path and she winced. She tiptoed across to the drive, a long straight swathe of gravel bounded on one side by the lawn, and a drystone wall on the other. A large tree leaned against the wall halfway along the driveway, its branches casting fluffy shadows across the flecks of stone. Sarah cursed
whoever had had the brilliant idea to cover the stretch of track in gravel.
Rustling and the sound of movement against nylon drifted across the lawn to Sarah. She swore and hurried towards the tree. If she could just get behind it, the journalists might lose interest and go back to sleep. She had every right to be out on her driveway but she didn’t doubt they’d make a nuisance of themselves. The ensuing noise would wake her parents, and she’d be confined to her room. Fowlis was counting on her.
Sarah slipped behind the tree as the first zip slid downwards. A head poked out, tatty red curls pointing in all directions. Bleary eyes peered at the driveway. Sarah risked a glance at the tents. A second head appeared below the first, a camera already held up to the face. Sarah bit her lip. A tired journalist might not see her, but one with a telephoto lens surely would.
She counted the seconds, convinced they’d turned into minutes. How long would the car wait for her?
The two heads disappeared back into the tent. Sarah broke cover and clambered back over the wall. She sprinted along the driveway, aware from the sudden chatter that the two heads had reappeared. Someone called out for her to stop but the momentum carried her forwards.
Sarah burst out onto the lane at the top of the driveway, emerging from the hedgerow just as the waiting car moved to pull away. The driver caught sight of the dishevelled teenager and paused. She hurried across to the car and threw herself in.
“You going to the station?”
“That’s the one.”
She fastened her seatbelt and sat back in the seat. The driver took in her backpack and winded breathing but said nothing. He flicked on the indicator and pulled away from the kerb. Sarah risked a look over her shoulder as they accelerated along the country lane. Two photographers ran out onto the grass verge, snapping the car as it drove away.
Sarah finally allowed herself a small sigh of relief.
Chapter 22
The early dawn light gave way to the warmer shades of morning that hauled the new day beside them. The train slid out of the station and the golden rays reflected off the windows around Newcastle Central. Sarah remembered what it felt like to leave London just over a week ago. When she had sat in the back of the car, surrounded by bags and boxes, she had never dreamed she’d be heading back so soon.
Sarah yawned for the eighth time since they had boarded the train. Loneliness and dread had kept her awake all night. Fowlis was the closest thing to a friend she had, and she wasn’t simply saying goodbye to him, she was actually helping him leave her. She yawned again. Her exhaustion wasn’t helped by the fact that she had woken at 4am so she could sneak out. It was a pity the car cost so much – it would take her weeks to earn that money back in chores, if she wasn’t grounded for three centuries first.
Sarah didn’t know where Fowlis was but she had his anchor in her pocket so she assumed he must be sleeping somewhere nearby. Her tablet lay in front of her. She’d posted a status on the social networking site last night to tell everyone she was paying a short visit to London. The ‘0 comments’ taunted her. Even Jamie had fallen silent. She’d sent several more messages, giving him a summary of what was going on with the haunting, although she left out the things Fowlis had told her. Sarah couldn’t work out why Jamie wasn’t replying.
Unless he thinks I’ve actually gone mad. Who knows? Maybe I have.
Sarah tapped away from the site and browsed several of her favourite blogs. One of them often featured old photographs and the last entry was no different, displaying black-and-white documentary stills taken on the docks of Southampton in 1912. The mammoth beauty of the Titanic filled the frame behind the tiny, excited people. The photos were chaotic and grainy—so unlike the elegant portraits of her great-grandparents that her mother showed her.
Sarah sat back in the uncomfortable window seat. Her great-grandfather had paid for the photos as an engagement present to her great-grandmother in 1936. They looked happy in their pre-War finery. Nazi Germany had only just broken the Treaty of Versailles, but there was no fear of war in the eyes of her great-grandparents. Sarah wondered if they haunted anyone now. Maybe a family in Warwick would leave their cramped council flat tomorrow after being terrorised by her great-grandfather. Her great-grandmother might be stalking the corridors of Whitehall right now.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Sarah snapped out of her trance. A ticket inspector loomed over her. A kind smile hovered around his lips but suspicion clouded his eyes.
“Oh sorry, was I asleep?” she asked.
“Miles away, at any rate. Have you got your ticket?”
Sarah stared at him, convinced he’d heard the sound as her heart dropped. In all the hurry, she’d forgotten to buy a ticket. The open gates at the station did little to remind her.
“Your ticket, pet?”
“Yes, sorry. Sorry, it’s somewhere in my bag. I’ve had a very early start,” said Sarah.
She grabbed her bag and hauled it onto her lap. She stared into its depths, her face flushing hot as blood rushed to fill her cheeks. Before she could think of an excuse, another passenger down the aisle snapped his fingers and waved his ticket at the inspector. Annoyance crossed the inspector’s face.
“I’ll be back in a moment.” The inspector headed down the train.
“Problems?” Fowlis’s voice hissed in her left ear. Sarah jumped; she didn’t expect him to be sandwiched between her and the window. She ignored him in favour of thinking of a solution.
“Am I to assume you did not purchase a ticket before we boarded the train?”
Sarah nodded.
“Oh dear. What will happen now? Are we to be frogmarched off the train at the next station?”
Sarah shook her head but she wished she was as confident as she appeared. Surely the inspector would just make her buy a ticket, wouldn’t he? He wouldn’t leave her stranded at Durham or Darlington? She fished her purse out of her bag and cracked it open. Sarah frowned. Unless the ticket was £11.43, she wouldn’t be buying one.
Raised voices drifted along the aisle. The irate passenger who’d snapped his fingers pushed himself to his feet and gesticulated in the inspector’s face. His fury turned his tirade into a blur, but the inspector bore it all with a tranquil, almost bored expression.
Sarah shoved her tablet back into her bag and slipped out of her seat. She hurried along the aisle away from the inspector. She’d gotten twelve seats away when he called after her.
“Stop! Hang on, I haven’t checked your ticket!”
Sarah sneaked a glance over her shoulder. A bag heaved itself out of the luggage rack and landed on the inspector. He fell backwards onto the irate passenger who exploded in another rant of indignation, threats of legal action, and swear words.
Sarah broke into a run, weaving behind legs stretched out into the aisle. What on earth was she going to do now? She couldn’t very well hide on the train all the way to London. The angry passenger would only keep the inspector occupied for so long.
Sarah ducked sideways into the toilet and slid the door closed. Fowlis’s face materialised in the mirror above the tiny sink. A smear on the glass gave his reflection an impromptu scar. Sarah squeaked.
“It is only me, Sarah. What is your plan now?”
“Was that you with the bag?”
“It was indeed. Not one of my finer tricks but effective nonetheless. And you would be ever so surprised at what may fall out the pocket of an irate gentleman.” Fowlis pointed downwards. A cardboard rectangle perched on the edge of the sink.
“A ticket!”
“Indeed. And also, from what I can tell, an unmarked one. Valid all the way to London.”
“Fowlis, I could kiss you.”
“That will be most unnecessary, Sarah. I do however suggest that you return to the corridor and show your ticket to the inspector.”
Sarah slid the door open and slipped out into the corridor. She passed rows of sleeping businessmen on her way back to the carriage she’d sat in earlier. T
he ticket inspector met her in the vestibule between carriages.
“I’m so sorry I ran off, I get travel sick and I didn’t want to throw up on you,” she said.
The ticket inspector raised his eyebrow. Sarah glanced beyond him into the carriage. The irate passenger sat glowering in his seat, the woman next to him gripping his arm.
“But I found my ticket! I knew it had to be in my bag somewhere.”
She held up the ticket. The inspector relaxed into a smile. He punched a tiny square hole out of the corner.
“Do you need anything for your, ahem, travel sickness?” he asked.
“I think I just need to sleep, to be honest.”
The inspector moved and headed on to the next carriage. Sarah slid into the nearest seat and pulled the tablet out of her bag. A message popped up on the screen.
“Are you sitting comfortably, Sarah?”
Sarah smiled. She didn’t even want to know how Fowlis manipulated the messaging app so he could appear without using an account. There was no point asking; she doubted Fowlis knew either.
Her fingers flew across the digital keyboard. “I am now he isn’t going to bother me again. Today is stressful enough without stuff like that going on.”
“For once, we agree completely.”
“Don’t be so smug.”
“So how do you intend to pass the time? London is still quite some way off, is it not?”
“Why don’t I just talk to you?”
“I had an awful feeling you were going to say that. Very well. Except I have a suggestion to make.”
“Which is?”
“Go to sleep. I can visit your dream.”
Sarah frowned. Perhaps her mother’s gibbering story about a cavalier in her dream was real. Still, anything beat watching the English countryside roll by. She slipped the tablet back into her bag and closed her eyes.
Chapter 23
Fowlis waited until Sarah’s breathing slowed to an even tempo. He wasn’t fond of interfering in dreams outside of a haunting. He’d much rather save his strength for the return to HQ, but the girl wouldn’t give him any peace. If he was completely honest with himself, she could sometimes be quite pleasant company. Besides, she was doing him a favour taking his anchor all the way to London. The least he could do was talk to her.
