Austerley & Kirgordon Adventures Box Set

by G R Jordan

  “Mine! You’ll be mine, Churchy!”

  Museum Work

  That’s the door shut, Major Havers. Can I suggest we head deep inside the museum to avoid anyone catching sight of us?” suggested Jane Goodritch.

  “Jolly well done, Miss Goodritch. I think I owe you my life. An excellent effort. Now the adrenalin is going to wear off, so be aware that you may feel some trauma or anxiety about what you have just gone through. Try to keep it at bay – we need your knowledge to assist Mr Austerley,” advised Havers.

  “Yes, Major Havers, I’ll bear that in mind.” Jane was sniffing as she spoke, her eyes reddening.

  “And as for you, Mr Austerley, kindly get me a solution to all of this. So far you seem to be spending your time sat on that rather generous backside of yours. Pardon the expression, ma’am.”

  “I’ve lost a foot, Havers, don’t you remember? I’ve lost a foot.”

  “We all suffer, Mr Austerley. Get on with it. Excuse the expression, but there’s a bigger set of balls on Miss Goodritch here.”

  Austerley’s face turned red with rage but Havers held his unusual expression, one of silent anger, before turning back to Jane.

  “I suggest, Miss Goodritch, that you take Mr Austerley to your exhibits. Help him in whatever way he needs. And if you feel like smacking his backside because he makes some silly comment, then please show a little more professionalism than myself. I have a measured touch and can bring people excruciating pain without killing them. I fear your blow may be a little more brutal.”

  Austerley spat on the ground and hopped along the side of the wall. Opening the door marked “Exhibits” he made a show of turning his back on Havers and lifted his nose to the sky before his hopping action ruined the effect.

  Havers turned to Miss Goodritch. “Apologies for that, but listen closely. That man is a genius in the matters that now confront us. Give him all the help you can, but make a note of what he says, for he is extremely unbalanced. I’m sorry but I am – Dillingham is – depending on you. I know that’s a weight, believe me I know, but I believe fate has made a good choice this time.”

  “Fate alone does not make a choice, Major Havers. A choice implies a higher force influencing our actions. Picking a side.”

  “Ah, you are one of Mr Kirkgordon’s kind. Good. And here,” – Havers smiled – “call me Arthur. No one else does.” She understands duty and she gets on with it, he thought. So like my mother. His mind filled with images of Russian snow and a stalwart woman refusing to break down despite immense torture. The confusion – hating her for abandoning him yet admiring her courage to save those who fought with her. All the worst times seem to be accompanied by snow. At least that was something for the here and now. No snow.

  “I said Jane. Call me Jane.”

  “Sorry, my apologies, I was a little way away then. Jane, can you prop me up just across from the door? I should keep out of sight, and then I can deal with anything that comes our way.”

  “But you’re paralysed. Your arms, they aren’t going to function any time soon.”

  Havers smiled. “We are resourceful, Jane. I’m a little better trained for these things, but we are resourceful. Sort that damned fool out for me. I have something that might help.”

  Jane nodded, smiled back, and took something from him with a whispered instruction.

  After positioning Havers as advised, Jane followed Austerley through the inner door. She found him looking around the Captain Smith exhibits.

  “Not the greatest example of a museum I have seen,” Austerley observed.

  “And you’re not the finest specimen of man I have seen either, but, like this collection, I guess you’ll have to do. Shall we get down to it and stop throwing the childish insults?”

  Austerley grunted and went back to reading the wall charts and looking at the various items in the collection. After ten minutes of silent observation he grunted again.

  Without turning around, Austerley said, “Is there anything else to do with Smith? I mean, his story is pretty well covered, but one wonders where he got the idea to deal with the devil. Is there anything more about the bit… the woman, his woman… the witch?”

  “Not in this room. We’ll need to go into the back store. Maybe best if you go into the private observation room and I bring the items out.”

  “I can handle delicate items. I do have some experience of being in museums, delving into old books.” Austerley flashed an angry look at Miss Goodritch.

  “And you are missing a foot, Mr Austerley. Best that you rest and sit down to observe the items. Makes sense now, doesn’t it?”

  Austerley grunted and hopped along to a brown door indicated by Miss Goodritch. Inside he found a small table with a large lamp, which he switched on. Presently, he was joined by Miss Goodritch carrying several boxes.

  “I think these will interest you, Mr Austerley. There’s a book of tales about Captain Smith’s woman – pretty lurid drawings, I’m afraid – a pendant dug up from the burial site of the captain, some town records about the altercation by the captain and his men. And there’s this.” Jane dropped a large battered manuscript onto the table. “It’s a witch’s journal, detailing her premonition…”

  “Yes, I know what it is. A list of her descendants. Let me work, just let me work!” Austerley took the objects and placed them on the table. Taking the pendant in hand, he studied it carefully. It had a pentangle on it and was made of solid brass. “Where was the burial site?”

  “I don’t know, but I shall see what we have on the microfiche. The item was found some time ago, possibly a hundred years.”

  “A hundred? Are you sure?”

  “Is your hearing deficient, Mr Austerley? I said I don’t know, but if you will let me work…”

  Austerley turned and saw two glowering eyes. He quickly resumed his studies. Satisfied that Austerley had understood her point, Miss Goodritch bustled away to the microfiche archives.

  Austerley was making good progress with the items in front of him. Looking at the pentangle in detail, he could see that it was less than a hundred years old, so maybe witchcraft was still practised in the area. Exactly what sort, and its effects, would still need to be determined. The manuscript was more difficult to pin down. The language was old, very old, and most definitely not English.

  In the beginning of his research into the darker things, Austerley would be poring over books, trying to decipher what was in them. Now he could read forty-three, no, forty-four ancient languages well and pronounce twenty-five of them: fifteen to a usable level and ten perfectly. And Kirkgordon can’t even put on a French accent, he thought.

  The overwhelming sense of pride he was building suddenly crashed down when he thought about his foot. At times he swore he could still feel it there, toes wriggling. It was also the foot that got coldest quickest, despite not being there. Bloody Farthington. And Churchy, pinning me to that board, trapped. Still, there were good reasons to have Churchy about. He was, after all, quite an inventive fighter.

  Austerley’s mind relived standing behind Kirkgordon as Farthington, in full dragon form, unleashed fire at them both. Churchy had got them out, had protected Austerley. The memory of the dragon’s anger numbed Austerley to the core. He remembered looking into the depths of Dagon. Austerley’s encounter with the demon had been his blackest moment on this journey.

  Were the wondrous sights he had seen worth the ice he felt in his soul? The dreams were brutal and so vivid. But he was important, vital surely, or Havers wouldn’t be entertaining him. Surely he was some sort of hero. Stopping Dillingham’s descent into hell, being here now, fighting for restoration: all these things were in the plus column. How much to get into profit, though? And would his hunger for these things ever subside? Because he knew it was a hunger he could not control.

  “I’ve checked the microfiche,” said Miss Goodritch.

  “That was quick. You said it would take a while,” replied Austerley.

  “I was two hours!
Are you any further on?”

  “No. She’s a clever witch, whoever she was. But this is a common tongue for witches. Unholy and unknown to most folk, but not their most cryptic or contorted. Or blasphemous.”

  “And you can read all of these, Mr Austerley?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Austerley proudly. “I can read forty-five different occult languages. It takes a mind of discipline to do that.”

  “Takes a proud fool to see that as compensation for a missing foot. You should have tried table tennis.”

  “Table tennis?”

  “Yes. Very few people lose their foot playing the old ping-pong. Might even have got you back into shape. You really are quite fat.”

  Austerley looked over Miss Goodritch’s ample, rotund figure, making a show of it so that she would get his point.

  “Two grown men, a wheelchair and three dead snakes. It was this fat ass that saved your fatter ass, Mr Austerley. Don’t insult those looking after you. For a man with such brains, you really are quite the imbecile.”

  Austerley raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “Did you find the burial site?”

  “The care home. It was built about thirty years ago. Before that there was a cinema. And before that, approximately one hundred years ago, it was a burial site. Now, I’m going to see if the useful man needs anything.” Miss Goodritch turned with aplomb and started to walk away.

  “Miss Goodritch!”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. And for your services earlier too.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr Austerley.” And with that she was gone.

  Austerley wondered. If they were buried there, why was the hill being used to restore the captain? It made no sense. Unless they buried them separately. Unless the captain isn’t the real thing. This is wrong, Austerley. The captain, if he had made a deal, wouldn’t be looking to descend into hell. He would want to reign above ground. Why leave one world to visit another and then come back? This was wrong.

  Austerley stood up on his good leg and began hopping out to the entrance foyer of the museum. Havers would have an idea. Austerley needed to talk with someone who understood these matters, to compare notes, to see if his thinking was on the right lines about the missing evidence. Havers was an expert in deception and subterfuge. He’d see the bluff if it was there.

  Austerley pushed the door open and then remembered the foyer had a glass front that could be seen from the street. Havers would be pissed at him for just wildly walking out there. Oh well, done now. Austerley scanned the foyer looking for whichever hidey-hole Havers was occupying. But there was no one.

  “Havers? Havers, are you there? It’s important, I need to run some things past you. Havers? Miss Goodritch? Are you there?” There was no response. Austerley hopped back through the door and began to call out for Miss Goodritch, fearing she had crossed behind him earlier and he had missed her. But there was no reply. Austerley continued to search until the effort of hopping around exhausted him and he had to sit down.

  It was so small that Austerley had missed it several times before he finally saw it. The tiny token lying on the floor had writing on it. Austerley recognized the language as one first discovered in the Antarctic mountains but never revealed to the general public. It read, as best as he could approximate, “my little world”. Maybe “my place to hide”. Either way, he knew what it did. It shielded the person inside a different plane, removing them and the space around them to an out-of-sight spot between the dimensions.

  He had been hidden. Whatever had happened to Havers and Miss Goodritch, they were elsewhere. And now he was on his own, seriously impeded in his mobility and an easy target should anyone come past. It had been a long time since he had been in danger on his own and he didn’t like it one bit.

  Austerley Meets His Match

  Austerley hopped back to his previous seat to contemplate what he should do. I’m not buying this current idea of Captain Smith coming back to take over, he thought. This is something different. The witch seems to be the key to it all. All the symbolism I’ve found points to her. But why do all this? Why have a charade? When I stopped this place from falling into hell, it seemed… easy. Even though I was drained and doped. I’m sure I couldn’t have been in a frame of mind to react with accuracy, so why let me think so? They tried to kill Havers, so he can’t have been part of the plan. Unless his death was. And why is the witch targeting Churchy? She’s going at his weakness, his libido. Why him? Something is not right. The conjoined animals, where did they come from? That’s not witch magic. She could have summoned creatures, shadows and faeries, but not built her own. Something is wrong. This is all subterfuge. Definitely a cover-up, but why? And if we are not in the realms of hell then where are we?

  Austerley froze in his seat as the front door of the museum opened, the little bell tinkling its acknowledgement. Whoever had come in was making very little noise. Damn this foot, thought Austerley, I’ll be like a clanging bell if I start to hop. Then, in what clever people often mistake to be practical wisdom, Austerley lay on the floor so that he could move along quietly by dragging himself. Slowly, he hauled himself across the floor towards the door that led to the foyer. One more drag and he would be able to look through the small window-slits and see who was there.

  The door opened and cracked Austerley on the skull. Rolling over, Austerley groaned before looking up into the face of a ghoulish deckhand. It laughed and punched him on the head, sending a driving pain through Austerley’s brain. His eyes began to water.

  “He wants you,” said the deckhand. “Specifically asked for you. Says the captain ain’t getting his hands on the prize. You’d be better off with the captain, laddie. You sure know how to piss off the wrong—”

  The rest of his words were sent to oblivion as a machete bit into his neck. The deckhand fell and faded into a green gas. Austerley looked up into the eyes of a familiar force of nature.

  “Where is Major Havers? And why are you rolling around on the floor?” asked a rather cross Miss Goodritch. “Where have you been? I was just walking around here and then you were gone. Major Havers said to drop a little token behind you after I had seen him and that was the last I saw of you. He gave me one too, and told me to get back to looking for more items. I come back out and you are rolling around on the floor like an idiot with one of those ghouls over you.”

  “Long-dead spirit, actually, with no real earthly existence.”

  “Don’t you start that mumbo-jumbo with me, Mr Austerley. Lucky that Major Havers told me to take this knife with me.”

  “Machete.”

  “What?”

  “Machete. It’s a machete. Not a knife. It’s not from a kitchen.”

  “Enough of your cheek, Mr Austerley. Now tell me what is going on.”

  Austerley looked at the woman standing above him. She had a solid frame and looked like a hospital matron. Forthright actions and a lack of panic had built her reputation, but right now she was shaking. Tears began to stream down her face and the machete dropped from her hands, missing Austerley’s face by a few centimetres.

  “How could Major Havers leave us like this? We need him to protect us, to tell us how to deal with these things.”

  “It’s okay, Miss Goodritch, I’m here.”

  Miss Goodritch looked straight at Austerley lying on the floor, barely able to sit up and started to laugh. It was a hysterical laugh, born of desperation – the last defence before succumbing to the madness. She sniffed occasionally as she roared, hauling back her decency with rasping snorts.

  Austerley felt pathetic. Unsure if he had enough strength to stand up, he was unable to comfort Miss Goodritch with his actions, and his words were obviously not required at this time.

  Miss Goodritch composed herself. “So where is Major Havers? Why did he leave us, and how?”

  “I think he was attacked, Miss Goodritch, and I think he knew it was coming.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, that token he gave you
opened up a parallel plane for me to exist in. It’s damn difficult to see unless you have a trained eye. Basically, I am here but not in the same dimension. I think the theory comes from a Swiss philosopher from the sixteenth century who had a rather dubious reputation for using drugs and animal blood to expand his mind. His name was—”

  “I don’t care what his bloody name was,” roared Miss Goodritch. “Where is Major Havers?”

  “They have him, I think,” said Austerley quietly. “He gave us these shelters to protect us. And he’s either with them or he’s…”

  “Dead. Just say it. I can take it.” Jane sat down on the floor. “No time for this now, Mr Austerley. What do we do?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m really not sure.”

  An Old Friend Checks In

  Flicking his head out of the door, Kirkgordon saw two deckhands surrounded by their green aura. They were agitated, probably by the raucous sound made by the carnage that the black hole in the basement had caused. Pulling all of his arrows out of the quiver, Kirkgordon tried to assess which were the least potent. All the arrows looked the same except for the flashings on the ends. Although the feathers were of the same size, there was a myriad of colours. Behind him, he could hear Tania moving again, picking herself off the floor. Oh well, he thought, let’s see what this one does.

  Kirkgordon kicked open the door and fired an arrow into the back of the nearest ghost. A massive hand, five feet in diameter, appeared out of nowhere and picked up the ghoul. The next moments were a blur of green as the hand slammed the ghost into the ground on the left and then the right, possibly ten to fifteen times in a few seconds. By the time the other ghost had turned, he had received an arrow in his chest and instantly exploded, his body parts then dissolving into the green gas Kirkgordon had seen before.