by Nick Moseley
Deacon frowned. ‘Why not?’
‘Am I right in thinking that the security at Spectre’s Rest is provided by a company owned by Seth Lysander?’
‘How do you know that?’ Deacon asked.
‘I keep my ear to the ground,’ Trev said. ‘Is it true?’
‘As it happens, yes,’ Deacon replied. ‘Why is that relevant?’
‘It might not be,’ Trev said. ‘But Corbyn once told me, under a blood oath, that he’d worked for Seth Lysander. Kidnapped a girl for him. A werewolf. For his… collection.’
Deacon sighed. ‘That old story about Lysander collecting supernatural creatures has been doing the rounds for years. I’ve never seen even a shred of evidence to suggest it’s true.’
‘But Corbyn was under a blood oath,’ Trev persisted.
‘He may well believe that he was working for Lysander,’ Deacon said, ‘but that doesn’t mean he actually was.’
‘Hadn’t thought of it like that,’ Trev admitted.
‘If he’d really been working for Seth Lysander, I doubt he’d have known about it,’ Deacon continued. ‘If someone as well-known as Lysander wanted to engage in illegal activities, he’d hardly advertise his involvement. He’d work through intermediaries.’
‘I suppose so,’ Trev said. Deacon’s argument made sense, but the idea of going to Spectre’s Rest still made him uneasy.
‘All right,’ said Deacon. ‘Now, this situation works to our advantage. It allows you to take some time away from things here while I look into the traitor issue, but without it looking like you’ve been warned off.’
‘How long are you expecting this trip to take?’
‘I’d be surprised if Corbyn tells you everything he knows right at the start,’ Deacon said. ‘He’ll mess you about a bit first. You might be there for a couple of days.’
‘A couple of days in prison?’ Trev said. ‘Great. This week just keeps on getting better.’
‘Mishti Desai will be going with you,’ Deacon said. ‘She’s at a loose end because she’s recovering from a wrist injury at the moment and can’t do any field work. I can’t spare anybody else, but two of you should be more than enough. You can use one of the pool vans to get there.’
‘I don’t even know where the place is,’ Trev said.
‘It’s in Shropshire,’ Deacon said. ‘Mishti knows where it is.’
‘I want to take The Twins with me,’ Trev said. He’d handed the vapour weapons back to the Custodians’ armourer the previous day.
‘Why?’ said Deacon. ‘I’ve already told you that you’ll be quite safe.’
‘Peace of mind,’ Trev said. ‘Come on, it’s not like anyone else can use them. There’s no harm in letting me take them.’
‘I don’t see the point, but if it’ll set your mind at rest,’ said Deacon. ‘I’ll call down to Archie and tell him to release them to you.’
‘Cheers,’ said Trev. He still had a suspicion that Corbyn was up to something, and possibly Lysander too. The knowledge that he wouldn’t be walking in there unarmed was comforting.
‘OK then, go and see Mishti and sort yourselves out,’ Deacon said. ‘I’ve already told Grace to expect you. There’ll be accommodation available at the facility if you do need to stay overnight.’
‘You might be able to feel the enthusiasm rolling off me,’ Trev said, deadpan. ‘An overnight stay in a prison. You know how to show a chap a good time, Feargal.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Deacon, going back to his paperwork. ‘You’ll find Mishti in the training wing. Let me know what Corbyn has to say for himself.’
‘Right,’ said Trev. ‘Will do.’ He got to his feet and left the office. ‘Tosser,’ he muttered once he was safely on the other side of the door. He knew his way to the training wing, so he set off down the corridor and turned left at the T-junction at the far end. He passed the staff canteen and came to a set of double doors. Above them was a sign that read “TRAINING”.
Trev took a deep breath and walked through. The room beyond was huge, with one side given over to a variety of exercise equipment and the other to crash-mats and punch-bags. Trev had always felt uncomfortable in gyms. The equipment was too complicated and he doubted he’d be able to operate any of it without accidentally decapitating himself, and all the people using it seemed to have been hand-picked with the express purpose of making him feel inadequate. He was surrounded by sweaty, grunting people with toned muscles and flat stomachs. It made him want to go back to the canteen for a packet of crisps and a chocolate bar, just to spite them all.
Desai was standing with another instructor next to one of the crash-mats. She was wearing a dark grey trouser-suit, her hair hanging loose. The other instructor, a burly, shaven-headed man, was giving instructions to two men sparring with vapour weapons. To Trev’s eye they looked like beginners. Their movements were hesitant and a little exaggerated, and they weren’t making much effort to actually hit each other. He walked up and stood next to Desai. She gave him a nod and continued watching the two fighters.
‘What do you think?’ she asked after a few moments had passed.
‘Shouldn’t they have L-plates on?’ Trev said.
‘Not everybody has your raw ability,’ Desai chided him. ‘This is only their second sparring session. Be fair.’
‘I take it back,’ Trev said amiably. ‘I’ve just been in with Deacon. He’s briefed me on our little jolly.’
‘There’s nothing jolly about Spectre’s Rest,’ Desai said. ‘To be honest I think we’re all glad it’s being closed down.’
‘What’s so bad about it?’
‘You’ll see,’ said Desai. ‘It’s hard to put a finger on. The place is just creepy.’
‘When do you want to get started?’
‘As soon as possible,’ Desai said. ‘Are you ready?’
‘Not quite,’ said Trev. ‘I have to go and see Archie in the armoury.’
‘What for?’
‘I’m taking The Twins.’
Desai looked puzzled. ‘Again, what for?’
‘Corbyn’s got to be up to something,’ Trev said. ‘I’m not walking in there unarmed. Are you?’
‘Well, no,’ said Desai. ‘But I’m a fully trained and signed-off member of the Custodians. Has Feargal agreed to this?’
‘Yep,’ said Trev. ‘I don’t think he could be bothered to argue with me about it.’
‘Fine,’ said Desai with a shrug. ‘Go on, then. The sooner we can get on our way, the sooner we can get this job done.’
‘Amen to that,’ Trev said. He left Desai by the mat and made his way to a riveted metal door in the rear corner of the room. There was an intercom box next to the door, and a CCTV camera above it. Trev pressed the intercom button and waved at the camera.
‘Come on in, Trev,’ said a cheery voice through the intercom. There was a clank from the door as it unlocked. Trev heaved it open and walked into a windowless room with only a computer workstation for furniture. A security guard armed with a pump-action shotgun stood against one wall, opposite four more metal doors. All were closed. Trev knew that behind them was stored a wide selection of weaponry, both lethal and non-lethal. The Custodians might have been short of manpower, but they weren’t short of firepower.
The two weapons Trev had come to claim were in the hands of the room’s other occupant, a short, elderly man with a robust Wing Commander moustache. This was Archie Logan, the Custodians’ armourer. He was impeccably dressed, as always, in a grey three-piece suit and brogues. He flashed Trev a smile and held out The Twins in their holsters.
‘As requested,’ he said. ‘Feargal sounded a little weary on the phone. Have you been upsetting him again?’
‘No more than usual,’ said Trev. He took the weapons from Logan. ‘Thanks.’
‘Off to Spectre’s Rest, I hear,’ said Logan. His smile had disappeared. ‘Awful place. Good job it won’t be with us much longer.’
‘Bloody hell, visiting this place is starting to sound less enticing t
han a naturist holiday at Chernobyl,’ Trev said. ‘Is it really that bad? It’s just a building, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ said Logan. ‘A building. But one with a lot of history.’ He beckoned Trev to come closer so that the guard couldn’t overhear. ‘A word to the wise. I don’t trust those Veil Security people. I suggest that you don’t, either.’
‘Right,’ said Trev. His apprehension about the trip continued to grow. Deacon didn’t want Trev to stay because he was in danger from the traitor, yet the place he was sending him for safety sounded just as risky. ‘Any particular reason why you don’t trust them?’
‘Their employer,’ Logan said. ‘It was a black day for the Custodians when we got into bed with him.’
‘That must have been a bit of a squeeze,’ Trev said, but it didn’t get even a smile from Logan. ‘Is Seth Lysander as dodgy as the rumours say he is?’
‘Probably dodgier,’ Logan replied. ‘The phrase “no smoke without fire” certainly applies, if you ask me. He’s too wealthy and powerful to get anything pinned on him these days, but go back twenty or thirty years and there were a lot of stories about him. I’m sure that some of them were true, maybe even most of them. We never managed to catch him at it, though.’
‘What sort of stories did you hear?’
Logan glanced at the guard, who was doing a poor job of pretending that he wasn’t straining to eavesdrop. ‘Too many to list,’ the old man said. ‘Many believe that he built his wealth on the backs of unpaid supernatural workers, that he’s used others in experiments, and that he even keeps some of them as specimens in his personal zoo.’
‘I’ve heard that last one,’ Trev said.
Logan nodded. ‘He’s always claimed that he wants to see supernatural beings integrated into wider society instead of being hidden away. I don’t believe that. I think that he wants to exploit them wherever he can, and the talk of integration is just a front that keeps suspicion away.’
‘Deacon seems to trust him,’ Trev said. ‘Is it possible he’s a reformed character?’
‘Possible? Yes. Likely? No.’ Logan folded his arms. ‘He’s very careful about seeming to be a good boy these days – charity work, donations to the Custodians and so on – but he doesn’t do anything without an ulterior motive.’
‘He’s one of the Grey, then?’ Trev asked. “The Grey” was a disparaging term for those within the supernatural world who weren’t expressly good or evil; they were motivated purely by self-interest.
Logan snorted. ‘That’s something of an old-fashioned phrase these days. Heard it off your Granddad, am I right? I suppose the modern equivalent would be “people of indeterminate morality”.’
‘If someone’s doing good, though, does it matter what their motives are?’
‘Of course,’ said Logan. ‘There’s a big difference between doing the right thing because it’s the right thing, and doing it because there’s something in it for you. It’s a bad idea to put your trust in the latter type. You never know when they’ll receive a better offer.’
‘What do you think Lysander is getting out of running Spectre’s Rest?’
‘I don’t know,’ Logan admitted. ‘But like I said, I don’t trust his employees. I don’t think you’ll be in any actual danger at Spectre’s Rest, mind you. You might just want to watch what you say when you’re around them.’
‘You think they report back to Lysander on the Custodians’ activities?’ Trev asked.
‘No doubt about it,’ said Logan.
‘All right, I’ll keep that in mind,’ Trev said. He put on the belt that held The Twins and shook Logan’s hand. ‘Thanks. I’ll drop these back in as soon as I can.’
‘Good luck,’ said Logan.
Trev left the armoury and rejoined Desai. The two vapour weapon novices had found their feet somewhat and were sparring with more enthusiasm. The shaven-headed instructor was giving them some pointers in his rasping voice.
‘Ready?’ Desai said.
‘Yeah, more-or-less,’ Trev replied. ‘Any chance we can go via Brackenford? Deacon reckoned that we might be there overnight, so I want to pick up a change of clothes and my toothbrush.’
‘Well, it’s kind of on the way, I suppose,’ Desai said, grudgingly. ‘Though I was hoping that we could get the whole thing wrapped up today, anyway.’
‘Never hurts to be prepared,’ Trev said. ‘And it’d upset my mum if she knew I was out in public without a clean pair of pants on tomorrow.’
‘How would she know, unless you tell her?’
‘She’d know. Mums always do.’
‘Right. Fine. We’ll go via Brackenford. Anything to end this conversation before it gets any more disturbing.’ Desai turned and led the way out of the training room. Trev hurried to match her brisk pace.
‘So what do you think Corbyn has to tell us?’ Trev said.
‘I’ve no idea, but knowing Corbyn it probably won’t be worth hearing,’ Desai said. ‘He can’t seriously think he can bargain his way out of the hole he’s in.’
‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Trev. ‘What I want to know is, why’s he asked for me?’
‘Because you’re such good friends,’ Desai said. ‘Or maybe he just wanted someone to bring him a clean pair of underpants.’
‘He’d be well overdue, judging by the state of his clothes when we brought him in,’ Trev said. ‘His mum must be horrified.’
Desai shook her head. ‘I get the feeling that this is going to be a long trip,’ she said. ‘Any chance you’ll keep quiet during the journey?’
‘None at all.’
‘In that case, I’ll drive and you can go in the back.’
Eight
In the event, Desai relented and allowed Trev to sit in the passenger seat. The van was a small Volkswagen. It was painted white, as were the rest of the Custodians’ vans. Few things on the roads of the UK were as ubiquitous and unmemorable as a white van, which of course explained why the Custodians used them.
They left Birmingham and drove to Trev’s flat in Brackenford, where he took five minutes to shove some clothes into a bag before returning to the van. A light drizzle was falling, which the van’s wipers smeared across the windscreen. It wasn’t as cold as the previous day but the sky was overcast and threatening.
Desai had switched the radio to a news channel and they listened to a cycle of cheerless stories that were only slightly more interesting than the thump-thump-thump of the windscreen wipers. Trev exchanged a few snippets of small talk with Desai, but for the most part he was lost in thought. There were plenty of things for him to think about: the traitor; what Corbyn was up to; and, of course, being dumped by Sarah.
He kept coming back to the last of those. There are two different threats to my life, but I’m worrying about being dumped, he thought. I’ve got my priorities sorted, obviously. As a rule he’d never been too bothered by rejection; after all, it happened to him often enough. He’d built up a resistance. But Sarah giving him the boot, for no real reason that he could see, nagged at him. Something must have happened during her week off. Had she received some bad news? Had someone warned her off him? Or had she met someone else?
Trev sat and brooded about it. If nothing else, it was going to make the atmosphere in the office rather awkward when he returned to SmoothMove the following Monday. Great. Something to look forward to, besides his imminent death by traitor.
They crossed the border into Shropshire, heading west. The drizzle turned into rain that rattled on the windscreen. Desai kept them to the A-roads but the bad weather had turned the Shropshire highways into an excruciatingly slow conga-line of cautious drivers. After a while they reached Ludlow, becoming further entangled in a queue of traffic filtering through a set of roadworks. Desai’s patience was beginning to fray and she let fly with some colourful speculation on the intelligence, lineage and sexual habits of her fellow drivers. Trev chuckled at her comments and peered out of the window at the ruined Ludlow Castle on its hill overlooking the town as they pas
sed by.
Once they left Ludlow behind, both the rain and the traffic eased. Desai managed to get the van up to the sixty miles-per-hour speed-limit on more than one occasion, though they always found themselves stuck behind a swerving pensioner before long. Trev expressed his disappointment that the Custodians’ vehicles weren’t fitted with James Bond-style machine guns or missiles, which would have provided slow drivers with some friendly encouragement to speed up.
Desai turned them off the A-road and onto a winding B-road. The signpost read “Clun”, which was a town Trev had never heard of. The rain had returned, and was heavier than ever.
‘We’ll be in Wales before long if we keep heading in this direction,’ he observed, consulting a dog-eared road atlas he’d found in the door pocket.
‘Spectre’s Rest is near the border,’ Desai told him. ‘It’s not far once we get through Clun.’
They reached the town. Trev decided that had he not been looking at it through horizontal rain, he would probably have found it charming. Like Ludlow it was overlooked by a ruined castle, which along with the nearby Offa’s Dyke had once presumably protected the town from being overrun by angry Welsh people from across the border. From the condition of the castle, Trev reasoned that this was no longer a problem.
‘Not far now,’ Desai said. A few miles west of Clun she turned off the B-road and onto a narrow track that wound its way into a wood. A sign at the turning read “PRIVATE ROAD” and a small cottage stood a short distance into the trees. Trev noticed a face watching them through one of its windows as they passed.
‘Disguised guard station,’ Desai said. ‘We don’t exactly advertise that Spectre’s Rest is here.’
‘Explains why that cottage had such a welcoming “serial killer’s hideout” vibe about it,’ Trev replied.
The track was paved but poorly maintained, and the van bounced through a succession of cavernous potholes. Rain forced its way through the tree cover and smacked into the windscreen in heavy drops. Trev was glad that Desai knew where she was going; he was pretty sure that he’d have parked the van up a tree if he’d been at the wheel.
