by G R Jordan
The girl had turned to face Kirkgordon and, although trim, had enough curves to show she had reached womanhood. Her face showed frustration, begging for help, and riding to her rescue came Sir Churchy Kirkgordon, vanquisher of all things Austerley.
“Just give her the book, Indy, and let’s get on. I ain’t had any tea.”
“It’s one of those books,” countered Austerley. Ah, thought Kirkgordon, a little diplomacy required.
“Can I have a word, Miss? Grahamsey?” Once outside the room, Kirkgordon continued in a quiet voice. “Look, he’s just a little embarrassed that you have found his stash.” There were bewildered faces looking back. “His private reading.” No change on the faces. Okay, delicate isn’t working. “It’s his porn. Okay? He’s a bit embarrassed.”
“But why is it called Poems to raise the dead?” asked the girl.
Arse, thought Kirkgordon, why does everyone read Russian except me? “It’s just the cover. Quite clever, really. I mean, where do you hide yours?”
“Under-sink cupboard, in the bathroom.” The last few words were said by Graham. There was an embarrassed silence as he realized he was speaking out loud.
“I’ll just take it away, if that’s agreeable?” concluded Kirkgordon. Graham walked away quickly, back up the corridor. The young girl nodded and looked into Kirkgordon’s face.
“Are you going to be here long?” she asked.
“Two weeks, they say. I’m not staying here, but I’ll be in town.” Kirkgordon’s eyes dropped from her face down to her chest. On the way they saw a necklace, made in a black metal with some intricate twists.
“Maybe I can show you around?”
“Well, I may need a guide.” What’s the harm, he thought. After all, it’s not like I’m wanting to get her into bed. The girl returned to the room and Kirkgordon followed, taking the book from Austerley, saying he would hold it for him. The girl, on seeing that Austerley had everything he needed, left the room and Kirkgordon closed the door.
“You always take the side of the pretty girl. Your tongue was practically hanging out,” accused Austerley.
“Hey, I got your book back. And don’t have a go at me for window shopping. That’s all it was.”
“Well, I’m tired and my back’s sore from you pulling me out of the train. I’m going to get some sleep.” Kirkgordon threw the book at Austerley, hitting him in the midriff.
“There, but don’t get caught with it. Had to tell them it was your naughty mag.”
“Cheers for that. Labelled as a one-footed pervert already.”
“I’ll drop by tonight. Sleep well.”
“Churchy, did you see it?”
“See what?” asked Kirkgordon, pissed off at being delayed.
“Her necklace.” Kirkgordon gave Austerley a quizzical look. “Seen it before. Get me a picture of it if you can.”
Kirkgordon nodded and waved goodbye in a dismissive fashion. Time for some quality freedom.
Stretching out his back, Kirkgordon braced himself for the walk back to the town centre, ready to search for a good restaurant. There was a shower just starting overhead but the lightness of the clouds said that it would be brief. As so often, the British weather was providing rain amidst strong sunshine. Just starting to walk, he heard a voice call him.
“Hey, before you go.” He turned and saw the young nurse again, still in her blue scrubs. “I finish at ten. Fancy picking me up and going for a pint? I can show you the good local ale. You don’t look like an alcopop guy.”
She’s fast, thought Kirkgordon. He knew he shouldn’t, but it would be late and not much alcohol would be involved. He reckoned he could trust himself.
“Okay, but it’s not an all-nighter, okay? Just a pint or two.”
“Quarter past ten. My car’s here, so we can go straight from here.” She turned to re-enter the building.
“One more thing.” She turned around. “What’s your name?”
“Titania, but everyone calls me Tania. Except Graham, he calls me Tansey.” Kirkgordon laughed.
“Okay, Tania, see you then.” He glanced at the necklace she wore before she turned. I’m just getting a photo, that’s all. And some pleasant company. That’s all. It’s okay because that’s all.
The Not-So-Honourable Captain Smith
The steak and ale pie at the King’s Head pub was adequate but not a patch on Alana’s cooking. Of all the things being back in her company had brought to the surface, one of the main ones was his appetite for her meals. Always thinking with my stomach: that’s what my mother always said. Still, I sure could have eaten an Alana lasagne.
There were a couple of hours to kill until his rendezvous with Tania, and Kirkgordon’s first thought was to spend them visiting Austerley. But they would be together for two weeks of this and they would probably be at each other’s throats in no time. Stuff it, he thought, let’s make the most of this free time. Despite being a Saturday evening, all Kirkgordon could find was an exhibition at the local arts centre.
The rotund and jolly lady on the desk gratefully accepted his two pounds for the “special” display and directed him towards a green door with flaking paint. “Smugglers and Bandits on the Dillingham Coast” read the A4 laminated sheet on the door. Classy, thought Kirkgordon. I’ll bring Austerley here. At least if he wrecks anything it won’t cost the earth.
Opening the door, Kirkgordon was accosted by a man-sized pencil drawing on the wall beside him. In fairness, while it was obviously an amateur effort, it did give off an aura of terror. In an imposing tri-cornered hat, an incredibly detailed long jacket with gleaming buttons, and pantaloons that reminded Kirkgordon of the seventies, the bearded scoundrel was pictured in mid swing of a cutlass. Captain Tobias Smith was the slightly disappointing legend to the picture.
“Quite the man, was Captain Smith.”
Kirkgordon turned around and found that the lady from the desk had appeared behind him.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“It’s okay,” said Kirkgordon, “I was just checking out this rather good portrait. Quite the pirate, this fellow.”
“Well, thank you. It’s one of mine,” the lady answered and smiled. “I’m Jane Goodritch. I run the centre with what little funding we receive. You’d think someone didn’t want the history of this town to be known.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter, just some local politics I guess. But you’re not here for that, Mr…?”
“Kirkgordon.” The lady waited for a first name. “Just Kirkgordon.”
“Well, Kirk, the man in front of you has probably provided this town with the darkest hours ever known in its history. Captain Smith was a pirate, or a privateer if you prefer, who came home expecting to run this town with his ill-gotten foreign gold. But a religious order had been set up in his twenty-year absence and the townsfolk refused to make him Mayor on his return, despite all the money he was offering. He was so disgusted that he refused to live in the town and instead resided with his men on his boat in the bay.
“Then one night, without warning, he took his men ashore to sack the village. There was a night of chaos and most of the buildings burned. The town militia triumphed, but only barely.”
“Sounds like a nasty case,” commented Kirkgordon.
“That’s not the end of the tale, Kirk,” continued Jane, “not by a long chalk. You see, as Captain Smith was dying, he was asked by the local priest to confess his sins and receive redemption. Instead he swore a curse on the town, crying out to the devil, vowing that one day his kin would once again lay siege to the town and take it for their own.”
“Well, bit of an ‘in your face’ to the priest then. I’m sure that went down well,” chortled Kirkgordon.
“It’s no laughing matter, Kirk. The man was serious. So much so that the authorities took his still-alive body, placed it in a cage and hung him right up on the hill where the crows used to gather. A warning to all who would dare to speak such th
ings again. Over the weeks he starved to death and was pecked at by the birds. But then the body disappeared.”
“So some of his cronies nabbed the body. Not a difficult trick.”
“No, Kirk, it wasn’t stolen – there was an armed guard. It just vanished. They say the devil took him at his word and has kept his body to one day deliver vengeance on the town.” Jane Goodritch looked over absent glasses at Kirkgordon.
“Yeah, but it’s all ice cream and bracing sea breezes these days. None of that nonsense. No witchcraft or devilry here. Is there?”
“Keep your eyes alert, Kirk. My eyes are always alert.” Jane shuffled off back to her desk at the building’s entrance, leaving Kirkgordon to ponder her words. With little else to do, Kirkgordon continued to look at the exhibits. All alluded to the story Jane had so vehemently described. Stories though, just stories, thought Kirkgordon. After all, if there was anything to it, old Havers would have had someone down here by now to sort it all out, wouldn’t he?
On leaving the exhibition, Kirkgordon thanked Jane for her time and wished her a good night. He opened the door to the outside world but something was ringing in his mind. I should just leave it, it’s just a dumb thought. Isn’t it? Okay, just to clarify, I’ll ask.
“Sorry, Jane, just one thing about that story of yours?”
“But of course, Kirk. How can I help?”
“When they hung him in the cage, overlooking the bay, where was it?”
“Ah, that. It’s one of our scenic vantage points. You may have seen it on the town maps, the ones we give the tourists. Gibbet Point. Have you heard of it?”
“Yes. Yes, I have.” Kirkgordon held in his head in a slight dip, a typical pose when he was thinking.
“Are you alright, Kirk?”
“Me? Oh, yes. Sorry, just pondering something. And thanks again. I do know the place.”
“Okay then. Goodbye, Kirk.”
“Goodnight, Jane. And it’s Kirkgordon.”
“What is?” But he was gone.
Austerley was avoiding “Grahamsey” as best he could. The damned man kept popping in every ten minutes just to make sure that “happy wee Indy” was okay. Despite Austerley recounting some of his wilder times with Calandra, his work colleague and former lover, the manager still seemed keen on him. If he didn’t stop, Austerley was going to have to take action.
All this was distracting him from more important thoughts. The necklace the young nurse had been wearing had seemed familiar but he was struggling to place it. Austerley racked his mind to recall where he had seen it before. It had definitely not been on a person but rather in a book he had been leafing through. But which one?
In his role as Professor of Occultic Affairs at Miskatonic University, Austerley had travelled to many libraries that are not well known. Or, at least, their special collections are known to only a few select scholars. It was one of these he had been in. Now, where was it? Austerley thought back, imagining himself sat at a reading table in the collections room. There was a design on the side of the table, some sort of shape. A triangle. Yes, a triangle. Nuts, too. And chocolate. Ah yes, Switzerland! He remembered the Rococo style, designed by Peter Thumb. It had been quite beautiful. Visualizing the book in front of him, he wrote the title on a scrap of paper. Certain books should not be mentioned out loud.
Austerley looked at the digital clock on the side table. Ten o’clock. Where the hell was Kirkgordon? He said he was going to drop in. The one time he might be of some use and he’s not here. Austerley saw a bright flash of colour just outside his room.
“Graham?” Due to the pestering, Austerley was insistent on calling the manager by his proper name.
“Ah, Indy. Just checking you’re settling in alright. Can’t have our new guest left in any pickles, can we?”
“I’m fine. I was fine. I will be fine. Just bloody well leave me alone and give me some peace.”
“Right you are, Indy. I’m just up the corridor if you need me.”
Austerley looked at the scrap of paper with the book’s title written on it. I wouldn’t mind travelling to Switzerland myself. If it wasn’t for this foot – or, rather, the lack of it. He looked up and saw a figure entering the room. “Kirkgordon,” he swore out loud.
“I’ve just got here and you’re in that tone already. What’s up? Grahamsey not saying hello?” said Kirkgordon, breezing into the room.
“About bloody time. Where have you been?”
“Giving you space, so don’t complain or I’ll sit beside you all day.”
“You need to phone Havers.” Kirkgordon raised his eyebrows. “I need a book. It’s in the Abbey Library of Saint Gall. Havers should know it. I’ve written the title down.”
Kirkgordon read the title. “Is that Dutch?”
“No. It’s not any language you’ll know. But Havers will know what it is. Don’t mention it to anyone else.”
“Why? It’s just a book.”
“No it’s not. There are some books you don’t want to be advertising your fondness for. Just get hold of Havers and get me that book. Okay?”
“Sure thing. I’ll get hold of him tomorrow.”
“No!” shouted Austerley before dropping his voice. “Tonight. Do it now, with your phone or tablet or fax or something, but tonight! It’s important.”
“Okay. But I’m catching that nurse for a pint later, so it had better be quick.”
“The nurse that was in here earlier?” asked Austerley.
“Yes, just a social drink. I’m not cradle snatching.”
“Just be careful, Churchy. Be careful.” With that, Austerley turned to the window.
Well, thought Kirkgordon, that was odd. He wandered back out to the car park, returning a wave to Graham as he passed the front desk. Kirkgordon chortled to himself. I bet he’s got Austerley wound right up.
The night was dry but fresh, and the trees made a brushing sound as several branches blew against each other. Looking inside the glass-fronted entrance, Kirkgordon could see Tania having an exchange with Graham. It seemed heated and he was shaking his head. She stormed out of the entrance, still dressed in her blue scrubs, with her jacket in her left hand. The wind blew her scrubs tight in a pleasing fashion, showing off her figure. Just a pint, Kirkgordon reminded himself.
“Sorry, I’m a wee bit late. Didn’t have time to change, so I thought I’d just go like this, if that’s okay,” said Tania.
“I doubt you’d look bad in anything.” Kirkgordon died inside. How cheesy was that? It sounded like he was hitting on her. Not a great start.
Tania dipped her head, as if in a blush, before extending her arm for Kirkgordon to take. “My car’s over there. Probably best we take it as it’s close to closing time,” she suggested. Kirkgordon escorted her to a Renault Clio, deep red with a black interior. Hanging from the mirror were little skeletons and skulls, plastic and cheap, giving the effect of a Halloween stall.
“You like death, do you?” asked Kirkgordon, settling into the passenger seat.
“They’re just little knick-knacks, that’s all. I’m a nurse. Death is all around me.”
“Bit morbid, at your age.”
“Just honest.” Tania turned the ignition and reversed before driving out of the car park. “It’s just all the ideas and legends around death I like. Some of them are pretty cool.” She smiled at Kirkgordon, who returned the grin and then found himself continuing to stare at her while she focused on the road. Just a pint, remember, just a pint.
“Austerley’s your man, anyway. He knows all those legends. Bit of an expert on them,” said Kirkgordon.
“Really? He just seems like a grumpy old fool.”
“He’s just worried about your manager. He thinks he’s after him.” Tania burst out laughing. “What? It doesn’t seem that infeasible.”
“You guys need to get with the twenty-first century. Graham isn’t gay. He’s just very colourful.”
“You mean camp.”
“Okay, yes, camp. But trus
t me, he’s not into guys. In fact, the reason he was arguing with me was to try to get me to work overtime tonight.”
“What’s that got to do with it?” asked Kirkgordon.
“Well, he knew I was seeing you for a drink. He was trying to eliminate the competition. But don’t worry,” Tania said, stroking Kirkgordon’s thigh, “I put him in his place. I’ve already got my admirer for the evening.”
Man, she’s forward, thought Kirkgordon. “I said one drink.”
“We’ll see.” Her hand was still on his thigh.
Tania
You had to hand it to the English, their bitter was blooming good! Kirkgordon finished the third pint and sat back happily on the stool, looking at the young woman in front of him. She was matching him drink for drink but her stature meant the alcohol was having a greater effect on her. There was something carefree in her ways that really struck a chord with Kirkgordon. She seemed unfettered by the troubles he always carried with him.
“Tania, I think the barman’s getting a bit pissed off with us. He’s got the brush out and everything.”
“Well, let’s go on somewhere else. I’m not on until two or three tomorrow. Let’s go have some fun,” said Tania, grabbing Kirkgordon’s hand before he could offer an answer. Kirkgordon left a fiver tip on the table for keeping the barman from his early finish. The bar had been empty except for the two of them, and having announced they were only there for a quick one, Kirkgordon felt guilty at keeping the tired-looking barman back.
The next half hour was spent walking the town looking for another bar, but all were closed for the night. Tania pointed out the gentleman’s club that was open until 3 am but Kirkgordon didn’t go to those places as a rule and certainly felt he already had enough to deal with in the shape of his companion.
“Maybe we should call it a night, Tania. It’s one in the morning and I’m knackered.”
“Time for a walk to wake you up, then. Look – the moon’s coming out from the clouds. I know just the place. Let’s go.” She smacked his backside cheekily and ran off. Just a walk, thought Kirkgordon, it’s just a walk.
