Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

  Granddad was the sole representative of the Custodians routinely operating in Brackenford. He was supposed to be retired, but couldn’t resist “keeping his hand in”, as he put it. Under normal circumstances one Custodian would be woefully inadequate to police a town of Brackenford’s size, especially given the town’s higher-than-average level of supernatural activity, but Granddad had backup. Brackenford was the home of a powerful and wealthy vampire called Colonel Lyttleton, known to most simply as “the Colonel”. While the Colonel was hardly a shining beacon of morality – Granddad referred to him as being one of “the Grey”, a Custodian term for those members of the supernatural community who weren’t considered to be aligned with either the Light or the Shadow and were instead motivated purely by self-interest – he didn’t stand for any disruption in “his” town, particularly if it risked exposure of the supernatural world to the general public. He kept a team of former special forces operatives on his staff who were very effective at persuading troublemakers to behave themselves. Or to disappear, if necessary.

  ‘Still?’ said Trev, feeling even more guilty. He’d spent more time training with the Custodians in Birmingham than helping Granddad in his home town. ‘I was hoping things would have settled down by now.’

  ‘So was I, but no sign of it so far,’ Granddad replied. ‘The crime rate’s up because there are Shades breaking through all over the place, the ghouls have been stealing anything they can get their hands on and we’re knee-deep in itinerant vampires at the moment. The Colonel’s men are covering most of it but they’re finding it more and more difficult to remain covert. Feargal’s sending someone from Birmingham to help out when he’s got the resources available, but we’re stretched pretty thinly as an organisation.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Trev asked. ‘All that time I’ve been spending training in Birmingham, I could’ve been here helping you instead.’

  Granddad shook his head. ‘No, your training is more important. I’m painting a bad picture but things are under control here. Thanks to the Colonel.’

  The last sentence was spoken with a hint of bitterness. Trev knew that Granddad resented the fact that he could only police his “patch” with the help and cooperation of the Colonel and his men.

  ‘You should still have told me,’ Trev said. He got up and put his bowl in the dishwasher.

  ‘As I said, your training is more important,’ Granddad replied. ‘I didn’t want you to be distracted. Once you’re officially a Custodian you can help out here.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Trev said. He rinsed out his mug and avoided eye contact with the old man. The truth was that he still hadn’t decided whether he wanted to commit himself to the Custodians. The training had been very useful, and he had made a few friends among the organisation’s ranks, but he was aware that formally signing up with the Custodians would be crossing a line. It would signal that he’d given up his last faint hope of leading a normal life. It was a big decision, and one he didn’t feel comfortable making. Not yet.

  ‘Has Feargal set a date for your induction?’ Granddad asked.

  ‘I don’t think I’m quite ready for that,’ Trev said. ‘I need more training.’

  ‘You’ve got more than enough field experience to qualify for induction,’ Granddad said. ‘There are Custodian veterans who haven’t faced the sort of threats you have.’

  Trev shrugged. ‘Maybe. But I don’t feel quite up to it just yet. I could do with a bit more work with Mishti on my fighting skills, for one thing.’

  Mishti Desai was the lead vapour weapons instructor at the Custodians’ Birmingham headquarters. She was also one of very few Custodians that Trev felt he could trust, having fought by her side through a very dangerous incident at Spectre’s Rest, a prison for supernatural criminals. They’d survived; the majority of the staff and inmates hadn’t. Trev still had dreams about the place. They weren’t pleasant.

  ‘Well be sure to let Feargal know when you’re ready,’ Granddad said. ‘I know he’s pretty keen to have you on board.’

  Trev made a non-committal noise and sat back down at the table. ‘It’d be nice if they caught that bloody traitor before I signed up, too. I don’t particularly want to get stabbed in the back in the staff canteen or anything.’

  ‘I’m sure Feargal will get to the bottom of that,’ said Granddad, with a confidence that Trev didn’t share.

  ‘I thought they might have gone to ground, or given up trying to kill me,’ Trev said, ‘but something makes me wonder if they’re behind this whole Jack Smith thing.’

  Granddad shook his head. ‘If Smith was working for the traitor, I think it would have been an assassination attempt last night rather than an interrogation.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ said Trev. ‘It all depends on what this item was that Sarah was trying to steal, and who wants it. If the traitor’s one of the people after it, they might have decided that I was more use alive for the time being, because of my connection to Sarah.’

  ‘This is all guesswork,’ said Granddad with a shrug. ‘Let’s go and see what the Custodians have on file about Jack Smith. It might shed some light on things.’

  Trev folded his arms. ‘I hope so. I could do with some good news.’

  ‘And perhaps you could speak to Feargal about your induction? See if he thinks you’re ready or not.’

  ‘Yeah, perhaps.’ Trev could hardly keep the enthusiasm out of his voice.

  ‘I’m sorry to pester you about this, but I’d be very proud to see you as a full member of the Custodians,’ Granddad said. ‘And… well, there’s something else. I’m getting old.’

  ‘Getting old?’ said Trev, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Watch it,’ said Granddad. ‘Anyway, I won’t be able to carry on in my post for much longer. Sooner or later I’ll have to step aside. And it would be wonderful if you were the Custodian who took over from me. You know, keeping a family tradition going.’

  Trev managed not to wince. This was a conversation that he’d been expecting to have for some time, but now it had arrived he still felt unprepared. What could he say? He could admit that he wasn’t sure about even joining the Custodians, which would upset the old man; his devotion to the organisation bordered on the religious. Or he could admit that if he did join the Custodians, he’d be looking to do something more ambitious than tie himself to his home town. And that, of course, would be just as upsetting, if not more. Trev knew Granddad wouldn’t want to be the last member of the family to hold the post of Brackenford’s Custodian, and he’d be able to retire in peace if he knew his grandson was keeping the tradition going. But Trev had never seen tradition, on its own, as a good reason to do anything. Especially when it came to making life-changing commitments.

  ‘We’ll talk about it as and when I’m inducted,’ he said, after a pause that was slightly too long to be comfortable. ‘One thing at a time, right?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ said Granddad, with the over-cheerful tone he always used when he was disappointed and trying not to show it.

  ‘Well, shall we be off then?’ said Trev, making a show of looking at his watch so he wouldn’t have to meet Granddad’s gaze. It seemed that no matter what he did, he always ended up disappointing someone. Why did people always have to expect things of him? Granddad, the Custodians, even Sarah. It was unreasonable. After all, he’d never put any real expectations on himself. A life of quiet mediocrity was all he’d ever wanted, yet all these people were determined to force him – against his will – to better himself. They didn’t understand that he’d been quite happy to leave his hidden depths, well, hidden. There were plenty of worse things to be than an unfulfilled talent.

  ‘Yes, I suppose we should,’ said Granddad. He went to fetch his coat and car keys, leaving Trev to quietly slump in his chair.

  Nine

  The roads had been gritted, but even so Trev was, for once, grateful for Granddad’s cautious driving style. The snowploughs had left banks of dirty snow at the side of the road that loo
ked more than capable of swallowing the little red Honda and its occupants and entombing them until they were eventually found by a disinterested Highways England worker who might have a quick rummage through their wallets before calling the coroner.

  Trev pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to make the morbid thoughts go away. It didn’t work. Ever since he’d come into his Sight he’d felt that death was walking a couple of steps behind him, drawing closer and closer as Trev’s store of luck dwindled away. After the encounter with Smith, he imagined that the Reaper was close enough to rest a bony hand on his shoulder. You had a good run, he’d say, but it’s time to go. Come on, I’m expected at a train crash in fifteen minutes.

  ‘Happy thoughts, think happy thoughts,’ Trev muttered to himself. Granddad gave him a concerned look.

  The Custodians’ Birmingham headquarters was located in a Cold War-era bunker underneath a nondescript office block which housed an accountancy firm called Gamble & Fiennes. The firm was owned by the Custodians, and as well as acting as a useful front it also brought in a modest income. The organisation received a certain amount of funding from the government, but with the country’s finances becoming ever tighter it was increasingly difficult for the Chancellor of the Exchequer to hide the cost of a secret supernatural police force in the UK’s budget. As a result the Custodians had to make ends meet any way they could, and Gamble & Fiennes was just one of the solutions that had been found.

  Trev and Granddad made their way to the main reception area and then took a secure lift down to the bunker below the building. Passing through a security checkpoint they entered the command centre, which always reminded Trev of a big-city police station or newsroom; lots of people talking urgently on telephones, rattling away on computer keyboards, or running about at random with pieces of paper.

  They were only a few steps into the room when they were accosted by a young man with a hairstyle that resembled the top of a pineapple. He addressed himself to Granddad while shooting Trev a couple of sideways glances.

  ‘Please could you go and see Mr. Deacon straight away,’ he said.

  ‘Certainly,’ said Granddad, and the lad nodded before hurrying off.

  ‘No way is he old enough to have the Sight,’ Trev said. ‘He can’t be much more than twenty.’

  ‘He’ll be from one of the well-established Custodian families,’ Granddad said, steering them through the bustle of the command centre towards Deacon’s office. ‘Think of it like an apprenticeship, getting a feel for how everything works here. If his Sight develops when he reaches thirty, they’ll move him into fieldwork. If not, he can choose between taking a support role here or moving on.’

  ‘Are there many “Custodian families”?’

  ‘Not so many these days, unfortunately.’ Granddad shook his head. ‘It used to be that joining the Custodians was the number one choice for anyone with the Sight. It’s not like that now. There are other options. Private companies like Veil Security, for example.’

  ‘I don’t think they’re recruiting anymore,’ said Trev. Veil Security had been a private firm that provided the staff for the Custodians’ prison, Spectre’s Rest. The company had been shut down following the revelation that its owner, a wealthy and enigmatic man called Seth Lysander, had been using the prison’s inmates as test subjects in some rather unpleasant experiments. He’d since gone on the run and had yet to be found and arrested.

  ‘Maybe not the best example,’ Granddad conceded.

  They passed through the Ops Room, which was the nerve centre of the bunker. A large, split-level room filled with display screens and maps, it was where the Custodians tracked the positions of their field teams and actioned incident reports. Deacon’s office was on a corridor just the other side of the Ops Room, identified only by a discreet brass nameplate that read simply “F. DEACON”. Granddad knocked and they entered.

  Deacon rose from his seat as they walked in and offered his hand. He was a tall man in his late forties or early fifties, smartly dressed in a tailored suit, with grey-flecked hair and a rugged, weather-beaten face. Although he wasn’t classically handsome, he had a presence about him which commanded respect. Well, for most people it did. Trev had never really got on with the man, for reasons he wasn’t entirely sure about. They just seemed to rub each other up the wrong way, though if he was honest with himself Trev knew he was the one doing most of the rubbing.

  ‘Have a seat,’ said Deacon, eyeing Trev, who had already seated himself.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Trev. Granddad sat down next to him with a quiet sigh.

  ‘All right,’ said Deacon, settling back into his chair on the other side of the desk. ‘Tell me about Jack Smith.’

  Trev related the story, starting with Sarah’s voicemail and leading on to his encounter with Smith. He left out any mention of his and Cled’s battle with the earth elemental, and of course the details of his unhappy day at work. But other than that he was as up front as he could be.

  ‘The Eyes of Nona?’ Deacon mused when Trev had finished. ‘The name isn’t familiar. I’ll ask Jane to cross-reference through the archives and see if there’s any mention of them.’ He spread his hands. ‘If there’s one thing the supernatural community has a lot of, it’s secret societies. Most of them are harmless, of course. Social clubs, basically. But there are always a few that are actively dangerous.’

  ‘Sounds like this group is one of those,’ said Granddad.

  ‘We have to assume so,’ Deacon replied, sending a message to Jane Woods, the senior archivist, via his desktop computer. ‘And we have no idea what the item Sarah was sent to steal is?’

  ‘None,’ said Trev. ‘There seem to be way too many people after it for it to be something harmless though, right?’

  Deacon nodded. ‘It’s either powerful or valuable. Or both. And that means we need to get hold of it before these other groups – the Eyes of Nona and whoever’s employing Jack Smith – do.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘We have to find Sarah first.’

  ‘Again, how?’

  ‘Our options are limited, but there are a few things we can do,’ said Deacon. ‘At this stage our main hope is that Sarah calls you again and gives us something more to go on, but Jane is already looking into the Eyes of Nona and with any luck she’ll find something that will give us a clue into who they are and what they want. On top of that I can contact the regular police and get an urgent missing person request in with them. A long shot, admittedly, but it’s worth trying. I’ll have our field teams lean on their contacts and informants. Someone may have heard or seen something.’ He tapped his fingers on his desk. ‘And we can also apprehend Jack Smith and question him.’

  ‘Best of luck with that,’ Trev said. ‘Let me know when you’re going to try it, so I can find somewhere dark and quiet to hide.’

  ‘He’s going to come looking for you again, Trevor,’ said Deacon. ‘He’ll want an update from you.’

  ‘And when he does, what then? A team of Custodians swoops on him and reads him his rights?’

  Deacon sat back in his chair. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘We have to be very careful with this, Feargal,’ said Granddad. ‘Smith didn’t kill Trevor because he needs him to help find Sarah. But he’s not going to have the same restraint with anyone else. He’s more than powerful enough to take on a group of Custodians, you know that. There’s a reason he’s been able to survive for as long as he has.’

  ‘I’m aware of the risk, Bernard,’ Deacon replied. ‘I’m not in the habit of throwing my people’s lives away.’

  Granddad held up a hand. ‘I know that. I’m just saying.’

  ‘For all his power, he doesn’t reveal himself very often,’ Deacon said. ‘I think that’s a large part of his longevity. He’s been careful to avoid large-scale fights. He doesn’t stay in one place for long. But if he’s going to keep the pressure up on Trevor, he’ll have to stay in the Brackenford area. It’s a rare opportunity to corner him with a large, orga
nised team.’

  ‘Who’ll then die large, organised deaths,’ said Trev. ‘The bloke can pull your soul out with that bloody lantern of his. It’d be a massacre.’

  ‘There must be a way of negating its power,’ said Deacon, unmoved by Trev’s outburst. ‘If Smith thought he was invulnerable, he wouldn’t spend so much time hiding. He has a weakness, he must have. I’ve already got Ruby and Franz knocking some ideas about, trying to come up with a way to take that lantern out of the picture. If we can do that, we can bring him in.’

  Granddad stroked his beard. ‘I think you’re being a little optimistic, Feargal. If Smith has got a weakness, nobody’s been able to work out what it is in hundreds of years. And there will have been more than a few who’ve tried.’

  ‘What are the chances of coming up with a solution and getting a team in place by the time Smith comes after me again?’ Trev asked. ‘Because I got the impression that he isn’t a patient man. If I still haven’t got any information for him the second time, he might just decide to kill me and find Sarah himself.’

  ‘I can’t make any promises at this stage,’ Deacon replied. ‘But we can mitigate the risk somewhat. There’s a dormitory here, so I suggest you stay on site until we’re confident we can take Smith.’

  Trev frowned. ‘We know there’s a traitor in the Custodians who’s trying to kill me, so how’s that going to be safer? I’ll just get stabbed in the back while I’m asleep.’

  ‘We’ll make sure there are trustworthy people keeping an eye on you,’ said Deacon. ‘And it’d be very risky for the traitor to try anything here. It’d be like attacking someone in the middle of a police station.’

  ‘Yeah, like that’s never happened,’ Trev said. ‘Usually it was the police doing the attacking. Hitting people with phone books so they didn’t leave bruises, that sort of stuff.’

  Deacon gave him a flat stare. ‘Nobody’s going to hit you with a phone book. Although I could understand why someone might be tempted.’

  ‘Oi,’ said Trev, indignant.