by Lucy Banks
He didn’t buy into the theory that the timing was coincidental. So far, everything the Thelemites had done felt choreographed; prepared to perfection, carefully designed to lead them down a certain path. It was not a comfortable thought.
After he’d scanned the rest of Fylgja’s files, he rested his head on his hands, wishing he didn’t feel quite so useless. As usual, trying to advance in the case felt like wading through treacle, always a few steps behind where he needed to be. The information’s there, he thought with a sigh. It’s just a matter of knowing where to look for it.
He wondered what Anya was doing and whether she’d had to go to work today or not. I might pop over to the library later and surprise her, he thought with a smile.
“That’s a very lovely simper on your face, Kester.”
Kester’s glanced up to see Mike grinning at him from across the room.
“I wasn’t simpering, thanks very much.”
“Call it a lovesick smile, then.”
“Please don’t.”
Mike chuckled and returned to his work. For a few brief moments, silence reigned. Kester waited patiently, arms folded. He knew Mike far too well to believe that his teasing session had finished yet.
“So, you got anywhere with her yet then, mate?”
“Mike, really!” Miss Wellbeloved’s head snapped up in exasperation like a vexed meerkat. “Is it really necessary to ask those sorts of questions?”
“Not necessary, but funny, nonetheless,” Mike waved his screwdriver cheerfully. “Kester doesn’t mind, do you, Kester?”
“I bloody do,” Kester corrected crossly.
He clicked on Hrschni’s files, in the vain hope that he might spot something that he’d missed before. However, nothing obvious leapt from the pages, just a detailed record of all the humans he’d inhabited, dating back centuries. After twenty minutes, Kester logged out of the system, and sighed heavily. The words were beginning to blur into a mass of meaningless text, and he knew it was futile to carry on, or at least not until he’d had a cup of tea to wake himself up.
“Find out anything interesting?” Miss Wellbeloved asked, looking up as he made his way to the stockroom.
“Nothing at all,” he replied grimly. “The files just go on about how well-behaved the daemons were. There’s nothing to hint that they’d go over to the dark side. Apart from the fact that Fylgja likes looking pretty. But that doesn’t really make her a criminal.”
“I do wish you’d all stop making comments like that. There’s no ‘dark side’ involved here,” Miss Wellbeloved objected above the whistle of the kettle. “And they’re not criminals.”
“They’ve gone on the run, despite knowing they legally have to register and apply for permits. And they’ve threatened the government. Doesn’t that count as criminal activity?” Kester asked.
Mike chuckled, then cursed as the contraption on his desk produced another loud bang.
“It depends on how you look at it,” Miss Wellbeloved replied with a sniff. “Did you find anything else out?”
“All I can tell is that vain Fylgja liked to hang around in Scandinavia a lot, and that Hrschni had a thing for writers and musicians,” he called back as he set about adding plenty of sugar to his steaming mug of tea. “And that Fylgja seemed to have lots of experience inhabiting the bodies of double-agents and code-breakers. Presumably that’s a daemon thing.”
Miss Wellbeloved brightened as he returned, placing a mug of black tea on her desk. “Thank you, that’s just what I needed.” She sipped with contemplation and stared at the ceiling. “It’s unsurprising that Hrschni is drawn to wordsmiths and wordplay, and Fylgja to puzzles. Daemons often enjoy riddles, anagrams, and enigmas.”
“I can relate to that,” Kester replied as he eased himself back into his chair. He rubbed at his stomach and wondered if he could detect a vague hint of muscle hidden underneath the generous layer of puppy fat. He’d been attempting to do a few exercises each day, but he wasn’t convinced it was having any effect yet.
“I suppose that’s why he included the lyrics in the letter he sent to Infinite Enterprises,” Miss Wellbeloved mused, nails rapping rhythmically against the side of the mug. “A clever word game, designed to test us all. Just the sort of thing daemons love to do.”
Kester stared at his computer screen, trying to force his brain into action. It’s all a ball of knotted string, he thought with frustration. And once I find the end, I can start unravelling it.
Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, spilling tea over his lap as he did so. Miss Wellbeloved looked over quizzically, then shrugged at Mike.
“Anagrams and riddles,” Kester murmured and ran a hand urgently through his hair, completely oblivious to the scalding wet patch currently spreading over his legs. “I wonder. Word-play.”
“What are you wittering on about?” Mike asked, watching him with obvious amusement. “Is this one of your Sherlock Holmes moments, Kester?”
Kester frowned. “It’s probably nothing. Just a thought. What’s a good site for finding lyrics to songs?”
“I dunno, just do a search on Google.”
Kester quickly started typing, wishing the internet connection wasn’t so painfully slow. Finally, the computer whirred into action. This might be nothing, he thought, peering at the screen, but then again, it might not.
“‘Tear the Walls Down,’ that was his last song, wasn’t it?” Kester called out as he scanned the list in front of him.
“Yeah,” Mike replied, leaning forward. “Though I’ve heard a rumour that there’s a new one being released soon; one that’s been hidden in the archives—”
“Never mind that now,” Kester interrupted. He clicked through to the song and started reading through the lyrics.
Do what you will, it’s time, it’s time,
Love is the law, through filth, through grime.
We seek the pirate note, the clarion call
Repeat into nothing, do what you will.
Follow the path, lead the way,
It is the Infinite, it holds sway.
We break apart, we shatter anew
Mastering drama, I break through.
Cities spill worm, a polemicist swirl,
Cities will romp, unravel, unfurl.
Do what you will, it’s time, it’s time,
Night comes, and the burning flame.
Repeat into, repeat into, repeat into . . .
Chaos.
Kester removed his glasses, polished them earnestly on his top, then studied the lyrics again. Well, he thought with a wry grin, trying to understand this load of gibberish should be fun.
He peered closer, then jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Need a bit of help?” Miss Wellbeloved asked quietly. Without waiting for a reply, she pulled up a chair and sat down beside him. “I used to be quite good at cryptic crosswords, so perhaps I can spot some hidden meaning in this song.”
Kester delicately wiped down his crotch. The spilled tea was cooling, gluing his trousers to his thighs in a rather unpleasant manner. “Yes, please,” he replied, “I need all the help I can get.”
The room fell silent as they pored over the lyrics again.
“Obviously ‘Do what you will’ and ‘Love is the law’ relate directly to the Thelemites,” Miss Wellbeloved said finally.
Kester sighed. “We knew that much already. Hrschni already used those phrases in the letter he sent to Infinite Enterprises. And ‘Repeat into nothing’, don’t forget that.”
They carried on looking.
“Some of these lyrics are very odd, aren’t they?” Miss Wellbeloved concluded, easing her shoulders with an audible crack.
“Have they got any occult meaning?” Kester asked. “What about this line? ‘Cities spill worm, a polemicist swirl.’ What the heck does that mean?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t even know what the word ‘polemicist’ means,” Mike shouted from across the room.
Kester quickly looked it up on the internet. “Here you go,” he said. “It means ‘someone who argues in opposition to others.’”
“Like the Thelemites arguing in opposition to us?” Miss Wellbeloved suggested as she drained the last of her tea.
Kester frowned. “I’m not convinced. There’s something we’re missing here, I’m certain of it.” He squinted with frustration, then suddenly grabbed a pen.
Miss Wellbeloved watched him with fascination as he jotted down some letters in a circle, and started rearranging them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyes following his every movement. “Do you think there’s some sort of anagram here?”
“I suddenly noticed,” Kester said as he jotted down the letters feverishly, “that ‘cities spill worm’ and ‘polemicist swirl’ use exactly the same number of letters. Even more interesting, they are the exact same letters. Just in a different order.”
Miss Wellbeloved gasped, then laughed out loud. “Well, I never. Hrschni’s been at his word games again.”
A deafening bang reverberated around the office. The others looked up to see Dr Ribero, standing in the doorway to his office, finger extended in Kester’s direction.
“Something exciting is happening here, yes?” he announced, then hobbled awkwardly over to the desk. “I sense it in the air. Like electricity. What is going on?”
“Kester’s uncovered some hidden secrets in one of Billy Dagger’s songs,” Mike said. He placed his screwdriver on the table and came over to join them.
“Solved it yet?” Miss Wellbeloved asked.
Kester blinked furiously, massaging his temples. “Not yet,” he admitted. “It’s hard working with this number of letters.”
“You’re definitely on the right track,” Miss Wellbeloved said excitedly. “I notice that the next line, ‘cities will romp,’ uses almost the same letters again, except it’s missing an ‘s’. Three times in a row.” She grabbed a pen off her own desk and started to scribble down notes.
Suddenly, Kester threw down his pen. He looked up at his father, hair flopping over his eyes, and laughed. “I think I’ve got it,” he said breathlessly. “And it’s so obvious, I’m amazed I didn’t see it straight away.”
“What is it?” the others chorused in unison. Kester said nothing, only flipped his piece of paper, allowing them to see what was written on it.
“‘Spirits will come’,” Ribero read aloud. He looked at the others with wonder. “And this anagram is used three times in the song?”
“Three times in a row!” Kester exclaimed. “How bold is that?” He jabbed his pen at the lyrics. “He’s cheated a little with the ‘cities will romp’ line, as it just says ‘spirit will come’, but otherwise, it’s a perfect anagram, repeated as a trio. Clever.”
“‘Spirits will come’,” Miss Wellbeloved repeated and took a deep breath. “I think that’s a fairly clear warning, isn’t it?”
Kester leaned back and surveyed the screen with a mixture of frustration and wonder. How clever is this daemon to leave clues like this? he thought. I wonder what he’s like in person? He’d seen Hrschni as Billy Dagger, and even from the crowd, he could feel his energy and creativity. I’d imagine he’s very impressive, he concluded as he nibbled the top of his biro. Not to mention highly intimidating. He felt suddenly like a small rodent attempting to stalk a tiger. I’m out of my depth here, he realised. But what choice do I have but to continue?
“I presume there are other clues in there too, maybe?” Ribero muttered as he pressed over Kester’s shoulder.
Kester selected a few more of the lines at random and started playing around with the letters. “Probably,” he agreed, squinting through his glasses. “Why don’t we all have a go at deciphering it?”
For quarter of an hour, silence reigned in the office as they all pored over the lyrics. Finally, Miss Wellbeloved squeaked with excitement, waving her notepad high in the air. “Got another one!” she announced triumphantly. “The first verse. It contains the lyric ‘pirate note’. I’ve been playing around with it, and it’s an anagram of ‘tear it open’.”
Mike clapped her on the back. “Nice one, Miss W. Makes sense, doesn’t it? As they’re trying to tear open a door into the spirit world.”
Kester nodded enthusiastically. “Funny you should mention that one. I was working on ‘repeat into’ and I think it’s an anagram of the exact same thing. Let me double-check.” He scoured the letters, and sure enough, they fitted perfectly.
“The question is,” Mike said as he puffed out his cheeks, “who are the lyrics designed to send a message to? Other spirits? Is Hrschni trying to create an army here?”
“Or is he just toying with us all?” Ribero suggested, eyes shining. “Leaving clues just for the fun of it, maybe?”
The office door suddenly flew open, disturbing the hush. Serena and Pamela stomped in, huddled in their coats, still shivering from the cold.
“What are you all looking so pleased about?” Serena asked as she unwound her long scarf and draped it neatly over her chair. “Something’s happened, I can tell. What’s going on?”
Miss Wellbeloved laughed. “Funny you should say that.” Quickly, she filled the other two in on what they’d discovered.
Pamela clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Well, that’s a turn up for the books,” she said, sliding into her chair. “Clever you. Who knows what other clues are hidden in those Billy Dagger songs, eh?”
Kester looked at the others. “Gosh, yes. I wonder if all his lyrics are hiding something?”
“I wouldn’t fancy going through all of them,” Mike added. “He’s got a back catalogue of about twenty albums.”
Serena peered over their notes, then laughed. “Oh dear, have you all been working out these anagrams on paper? What a waste of time! Why didn’t you just use an anagram solver online?”
Kester frowned. “Are there such things?”
“Yes, they’re handy if you do a lot of crosswords.”
Miss Wellbeloved coughed. “You mean, if you cheat a lot at crosswords.”
Serena crossed her arms defensively. “Only when I get stuck near the end, thank you very much. Anyway—” Without waiting for permission, she leant over Kester’s shoulder and started typing away at the keyboard. “Here you go. Loads of anagram solvers. Just enter the words you want to check, and it’ll bring up all the options.”
Kester sighed. “That is pretty useful, actually. Thanks, Serena.”
“Where would you all be without me, eh?”
The others returned to their desks, leaving Kester to get on with it. With grim determination, he ploughed through the rest of the lyrics, typing them into the website and trawling through the possible anagram options.
This does speed things up a bit, he admitted as he skimmed through the list of words. But it’s still hard work. Perhaps there’s nothing else to find, maybe I’m just wasting yet more time here.
Suddenly, he remembered Serena’s visit the other night, when she’d come over to give him the chocolates. He looked up. She was flicking through a pile of notes, patent-leather shoe tapping impatiently under the desk.
“Serena?” he called out, keen to take a break from his work.
“Yes?”
“Thanks for those chocolates the other night,” he said. “They were very nice, and it was kind of you.”
Mike’s head snapped up as though he’d been electrocuted. “What were you doing, giving him chocolates?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “You never bring me chocolates.”
Serena shifted in her seat. “It’s absolutely none of your business, Mike. I merely went over to Kester’s house to—”
“You went over to his house?”
“Yes. So?”
Kester coughed loudly, breaking the awkward silence. “She was apologising for something,” he explained quickly, alarmed by Mike’s expression. “Which reminds me, what was it you wanted to talk about, Serena? That night, you mentioned something about having suspicions about something?”
Serena looked uncomfortable. “Yeah. Now probably isn’t the time, Kester.”
Mike bristled. “Was it about me?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mike; why would it be? Not everything revolves around you, you know!”
Kester sighed. I might as well leave them to their bickering, he thought. They’ve forgotten I’m here again. Sure enough, they continued to snipe at each other, completely oblivious to the rest of the office. Kester returned to the anagrams.
He typed in “mastering drama” from the second verse; not expecting to discover anything, even though it was a rather odd expression. The website whirred into action before producing a long list, mostly of complete gibberish. However, one entry, near the bottom, made his eyes widen.
Kester spun his chair around to face Miss Wellbeloved.
“What do you call the leader of the Thelemites?” he asked urgently as he shoved his glasses further up his nose.
“The Grand Master,” Miss Wellbeloved replied. “Why?”
“What does the Grand Master do?” Kester pressed, leaning forward. “What’s their role in the organisation?”
The others were listening now, alert to the excitement in Kester’s voice.
Miss Wellbeloved carefully put down her pen and moved closer to him. “The Grand Master is nominated in a secret ceremony,” she explained, “and only the initiated few know who he or she is. They have complete power over the Thelemites. Now, are you going to tell us why you want to know?”
Kester smiled slowly, then moved his monitor around to show her. She squinted at the bright screen, scanning the list of phrases. Helpfully, he pointed at the anagram that he’d noticed.
Miss Wellbeloved drew back as though she’d suddenly noticed a dangerous snake on his desk. Her hand flew instinctively to her mouth.
