Location, Location, Damnation

by Nick Moseley

  'Has he replied?' asked Granddad. Although Trev was keeping an ear on the interview in case he was required to contribute, most of his attention was on Agatha. She was drifting slowly around the room with her right hand held out in front of her and her eyes almost closed. Trev supposed she was trying to sense something, but he had no idea what that something could be.

  'I had an apology very quickly. Shame his officers aren't as quick to respond as their boss!' Kolley chuckled at his own wit. Granddad produced a weak smile and a rather forced laugh of his own.

  'So you noticed the disturbance,' he said, trying to get the interview back on track. 'What happened next?'

  'As I said, I thought the police would deal with it at first,' replied Kolley. 'Of course when I took a closer look I realised they weren't dealing with it. There was a man in a hoodie running towards me, with a man in a suit,' he nodded to Trev, 'chasing him.'

  'And what did you think he was doing?'

  'Naturally I assumed he was a fan,' said Kolley. Trev stopped watching Agatha just long enough to register an expression of utter disbelief. 'I thought maybe he wanted an autograph or something. It was only when he was almost to the stage that I saw that he was carrying… a knife.' At this memory Kolley's pristine composure wavered a little. Trev had a very clear recollection of the frozen expression of shock and dumb confusion on the supermarket supremo's face as Harvington had thrown himself at the stage. He was sure that Kolley's own recollection was every bit as clear.

  Once more Granddad was content to merely nod, waiting for Kolley to continue. The tycoon cleared his throat, apparently searching for the right words. Behind him, Agatha was continuing her slow circuit of the room. As Trev watched she abruptly halted, re-orienting herself so that she was facing the office's large window. She made a few passes in the air with her outstretched hand before moving forward. Kolley, meanwhile, had begun to speak again.

  'As soon as I realised the hoodie-man meant to attack me I set myself, ready to defend against him,' he said, allowing Trev to give his disbelieving expression another run-out. 'I've had some self-defence training, you see, so I expect I would've been able to deal with the man had he reached me. Fortunately I was spared that task by your grandson's actions.' He shook his head sadly. 'It might've been better for the attacker if he had reached me. I would've just incapacitated him.'

  'Yeah, of course you would've,' said Trev, not bothering to moderate the sarcasm in his voice. Granddad shot him a warning look but Kolley didn't react, lost as he was in the fantasy he was busily constructing for himself. Trev wondered whether Kolley would eventually come to actually believe this revised version of events, given sufficient repetition. Considering the size of the man's ego, it seemed likely. He wouldn't want a memory of such fear and helplessness hanging around his head for long.

  Trev felt like opening his mouth and giving an account of the attack from his perspective, including how Kolley's alleged "self-defence training" might've had a few deficiencies, but he was distracted by Agatha. She had reached the window, and after a second's pause she suddenly hurled herself through it and disappeared from view.

  Reflexively Trev started to jump out of his seat but managed to stop himself halfway. The sudden movement broke Kolley's reverie and he looked up, frowning.

  'Are you all right?' he asked.

  'Fine, fine,' replied Trev, easing himself back into his chair. 'A muscle in my back went into spasm, that's all.'

  'I see.' Kolley's enthusiasm for the interview appeared to be waning. He began fidgeting with the papers on his desk. Granddad, who had been – outwardly, at least – unmoved by Agatha's plunge, leaned forward in order to get the tycoon’s attention again.

  'Alastair, can you think of any reason why that man would've wanted to kill you?' he said.

  Kolley looked up. 'I've thought about that a lot, obviously, and the answer is no,' he said. 'I suppose he was just a lone nutcase. Jealous of me or something, maybe.'

  'You don't think he could've been sent by someone? An enemy or rival?'

  'A hit man?' Kolley looked sceptical. 'I don't think so. Of course I've got lots of rivals in business, but I can't imagine any of them would be desperate enough to try and have me killed.' He gave Granddad a rather patronising smirk. 'If you're after a juicy conspiracy theory to sell a few more newspapers, you're out of luck I'm afraid.'

  'The knife went missing from the scene, though,' Granddad persisted. 'Doesn't that suggest there was an accomplice?'

  'Maybe, maybe not,' said Kolley, though some of the smugness slipped from his face. 'The police seem to think it's a possibility. They've suggested I take on a bodyguard until everything is resolved.'

  'It might be wise,' said Granddad. 'Nobody wants to see a good man like you taken before his time.'

  Speak for yourself, thought Trev.

  'Hmm. Well I might have my secretary look into it for me.' Kolley put his palms down on his desk, signalling that the interview was at an end. 'I'd love to be able to spend some more time talking to you, gents, but I'm pretty busy as you can see.'

  'Thanks for your time, Alastair.' Granddad gathered up his notebook and tape recorder and stood up.

  Kolley opened one of his desk drawers and retrieved a small plastic card, which he handed to Trev.

  'This is for you, as thanks for your bravery yesterday,' he said. Trev looked down at it. It was a KolleyCo discount card. 'That'll get you a ten percent discount on your shopping at any KolleyCo store.'

  'Um. Thanks very much,' replied Trev, underwhelmed. He didn't often shop at KolleyCo, and didn't think a ten percent discount would change that. Kolley shook hands with them both and showed them to the door.

  'Do look into getting a bodyguard, eh?' said Granddad as he headed out of the office. 'At least until you're sure there isn't another madman out there.'

  'I'll think about it, Bernard,' said Kolley. He closed the door behind them.

  'Can I ask a question?' said Trev as they headed back downstairs. Granddad nodded. 'Why the hell are we trying to save that bloke? He's a complete knob.'

  Granddad held up an admonishing finger. 'Enough of that sort of talk. Shall we go and find out what Agatha's been getting up to?'

  Twenty

  Agatha was waiting for them downstairs, floating behind the orange-skinned receptionist and reading over her shoulder as she rattled away on her computer keyboard. The receptionist seemed to have a vague feeling that someone was there; as Trev and Granddad descended the stairs she frowned and looked over her shoulder, puzzled.

  'Good night,' called Granddad as they passed the reception desk.

  'Bye,' said the receptionist distractedly.

  'Looks like she's got a tiny touch of the Sight,' whispered Granddad. 'Enough to sense that Agatha's there, but not enough to actually see her.'

  Agatha floated through the desk and joined the two men at the door. Granddad held it open for her and she nodded to him as she exited. Trev followed, raising an eyebrow at the old man.

  'She could've just passed through it,' he muttered.

  'Bernard has good manners, unlike some,' replied Agatha with a sniff.

  'Good for him,' Trev said, shrugging. He started walking back towards the car park. 'Whatever. Anyway, why'd you chuck yourself out of the window up there?'

  'Trev was so worried about you he jumped clean out of his seat,' remarked Granddad.

  'Yeah, well, I thought she was in trouble,' said Trev.

  'Really?' said Agatha. 'How very flattering. I'm deeply touched by your concern. Deeply.'

  'Great, now the nearly dead and the actually dead are ganging up on me.' Trev sighed. 'It's been a long day. Are you going to tell me what the hell you were doing or not?'

  ‘“Nearly dead”?' said Granddad. 'You cheeky sod.'

  'I was inspecting the room for evidence of supernatural activity,' Agatha explained. 'As you know I am sensitive to such things. There was nothing in the room itself, but as I approached the window I detected a presence outside.
'

  'Outside?' said Trev. 'Where?'

  'Up in the eaves,' Agatha replied. 'A bird.'

  'What, a ghost bird or something?' asked Trev, confused.

  'No, a flesh-and-blood bird. A pigeon. It was carrying a passenger, though.'

  'You've lost me.'

  'I think I understand,' Granddad chipped in. He reached the car and stopped alongside it. 'You remember what happened to Steven Harvington, Trevor?'

  'Yeah. He was possessed by our friendly neighbourhood demon.'

  'Correct. It sounds like this pigeon was also under outside control. Am I right, Agatha?'

  'Yes,' she said. 'It appears that Mr. Kolley is being watched. Having realised there was something outside I decided to try and catch it by surprise. I hoped that if I could get close enough to the bird I might have been able to get an idea of the direction from which the controlling influence was flowing.'

  'And did you?' asked Trev, looking at a pair of nearby sparrows with deep suspicion.

  Agatha shook her head, the frustration showing on her face. 'No. The very moment I passed through the window the influence was cut off. The pigeon simply dropped dead.'

  'He's no mug, this demon, is he?' Trev observed, getting into the car's passenger seat.

  'A stupid demon would be too much to hope for,' agreed Agatha.

  'It's keeping an eye on Kolley, waiting for another chance to get at him,' said Granddad. 'I hope he does the sensible thing and gets himself a bodyguard.'

  'If he does, the demon could just possess the bodyguard and kill him that way,' said Trev.

  'It could, if it was able to get its hands on the bodyguard,' said Granddad. 'Demons can't just possess other beings from a distance, Trevor. There's a ritual, and it requires physical contact. That's not always easy to achieve when you're a demon and you have to keep yourself hidden. We need to find out how it got hold of Harvington. If we can retrace his movements we may be able to narrow down the number of possible hiding places.'

  'And to do that, we have to go and grab some ghoulies?'

  Granddad chuckled. 'That's one way of putting it.'

  They drove on in silence, the Honda's headlights spearing through the night. Granddad navigated them out of the town centre and toward one of the outlying industrial estates. They passed along the main access road, sweeping by a number of prefabricated units. Most had closed for the night but there were a handful still open, stark white lights illuminating the activities of fork-lift trucks, van drivers and security men.

  At the far end of the access road, Granddad swung the car around the side of a disused warehouse and out of sight. He pulled up next to a sagging chain-link fence and switched off the engine.

  'Here we are,' he said.

  'I take it there's an entrance to the sewers here somewhere,' said Trev, peering out of the window. He sighed. 'Do we really have to do this?'

  'It's the only lead we have. If Harvington was down in the sewers that day, the ghouls'll know about it. They'll have watched him and followed him, made sure he left.'

  'Territorial, are they?'

  'Very, although they won't interfere with humans in the active tunnels, they'll just observe. They can't risk being discovered. Anybody finding their way into the deeper areas where the ghouls live, however, would be very unlikely to come back out again, and for the same reason.'

  'And that's where we're going?'

  'Yes. We should be quite safe, Trevor. They know me, I'm the Custodian of this town. I have, well, diplomatic immunity, you might say.'

  'Glad to hear it.' Trev took a deep breath. 'Fine. Let's get this over with.'

  Granddad gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder and turned to Agatha. 'It's probably best if you don't come with us, my dear,' he told her. 'The ghouls are somewhat skittish around spirits.'

  Agatha didn't look all that distressed to be missing out on a trip into the sewers. 'Yes, I know. I'll return to your house and speak to Oscar, if you wish.'

  'Good idea. Let him know the state of play and ask him if he'll drop by the KolleyCo offices tonight. He's the most sensitive of all of us, so he might pick something up.'

  Agatha nodded once, then vanished.

  Granddad opened the car's boot and began sorting the equipment. They put on the yellow protective suits and the rubber boots and gloves. Granddad checked the torches mounted on the hard-hats were working and handed one to Trev, who rapped on the helmet with his knuckles before donning it.

  'One last thing before we get started,' said Granddad, pulling a small flat object out of the bottom of the box. Trev took a step closer to get a better view. It appeared to be a dagger in a sheath, maybe seven or eight inches long. The weapon's handle looked old and worn, though Trev could see the remains of some ornate decoration engraved into the metal. He gave Granddad a questioning look.

  'This is our insurance policy,' said the old man, with a grim smile. He unclipped the leather strap that was holding the dagger in the sheath and separated the two.

  'You're taking the piss, aren't you?' snorted Trev. 'It's just a handle. Where's the bloody blade?'

  All that was left of the dagger's blade was about a quarter of an inch of metal protruding from the handle. It appeared that the business end of the weapon had been broken off, and some time ago as well.

  'This is a vapour weapon,' said Granddad. 'I told Oscar not to mention them to you, so I expect he has.'

  'In passing,' admitted Trev. 'What use is it, though? Except as a paperweight, maybe.'

  Granddad smiled. It was the sort of knowing expression that one might see on a magician's face before he demonstrated his best trick. He held up the handle in his right hand, the smile fading away as he concentrated.

  A ghostly blue blade materialised where the real blade should have been. It was transparent and faintly luminous, and shimmered in the light from their torches as Granddad moved it from side to side. Trev's jaw sagged.

  'A vapour weapon,' Granddad repeated. 'Snazzy, eh?'

  'There's a bulb in there, or something,' said Trev. 'You're winding me up. Blades don't leave ghosts, how can they? They've never been alive.'

  Granddad shrugged and handed the dagger to Trev. As soon as he was no longer touching it, the phantom blade vanished.

  'It's not a ghost as such,' he explained. 'That dagger is very old. Over the years it's been wielded by a long line people, all of whom had one thing in common. They were all champions of the Light, people with our power.' He stroked his beard thoughtfully. 'I've often wondered about the others who've carried that weapon over the years, you know. Who they were, what dangers they faced, how they coped with it all.'

  Trev was examining the dagger's handle closely, looking for evidence of a switch or a bulb and finding none. 'All right, so it's not a ghost blade,' he said. 'What the hell is it then?'

  'Those of us with the Sight have the ability to store up psychic energy,' said Granddad. 'Agatha told me that she used some of hers to despatch a Shade while she was with you yesterday.' Trev nodded. 'For those of us aligned with the Light, we get that energy from life itself. Well, the good parts, anyway. I'm talking about strong positive psychic energy from your fellow beings. It gets thrown out all over the place. People like us soak it up and can turn it to other uses.'

  'Yeah, Agatha told me some of that. Beings of the Shadow get all the bad mojo, right?'

  'Broadly. You have to understand that sentient beings, such as humans, are beacons of psychic energy. There are lots of names for it - mana, or qi, or chakra, or whatever. A strong emotional response can cause an outburst of that energy, but depending on the emotion that triggered it, it can carry a positive or negative charge.' Granddad pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 'Most people have some sensitivity to it. Have you ever walked into a place and felt a "bad atmosphere", for example?' Trev nodded. 'That's often caused by residual energy left behind after something bad has happened to someone there. Likewise, you might go somewhere else and feel a sense of peace, or joy.'
/>   Trev frowned. 'So the bad stuff drew the Shade to Robert Byfield?'

  'Exactly,' said Granddad. 'Unintentional on his part, of course.'

  'How does that relate to this dagger, then?'

  Granddad held up a finger. 'I'm getting to that. As I said, people with the Sight can store the energy up, like living batteries. It's not something you consciously do, it just happens. Generally speaking people draw in the positively-charged variety – the body mostly rejects the bad stuff. It's not always the case, though. Someone who surrenders fully to their darker emotions will start to gather negatively-charged energy. Once it gets a foothold, it's like a cancer, spreading, corrupting. You can imagine what happens to that person's sanity and behaviour as a result.'

  Trev felt a shiver run up his neck. He nodded. 'Right. So a person with the Sight can use their energy to power one of these vapour weapons?'

  'Yes indeed, as I just did.'

  'Where do the vapour weapons come from? Does someone make them?'

  'Not as such,' said Granddad. 'They start off as normal weapons, but when they're used by a succession of people who have the psychic energy stored in their bodies, some of it gets absorbed by the weapon. It happens because weapons are generally used in times of stress, times when the energy is tapped into most often.'

  'And that causes… spooky blue blades?'

  'It makes a mundane weapon into something much more powerful,' said Granddad. 'It can "remember" its physical form, even when part of it has broken off or been damaged. The real blade of this dagger has been chipped away piece by piece over the years but its essence remains, ready to be awakened by anyone with enough power to do so.' He took the dagger from Trev and the ghostly blade fizzed back into existence. 'A vapour weapon has other advantages too,' he said, then without warning he plunged the blade into his own forearm. Trev jumped back with a choked cry. The end of the blade had gone all the way through the limb and was sticking out of the other side. Granddad grinned broadly and withdrew the weapon, revealing that his arm was unmarked.