Grindhelm's Key

by Nick Moseley

‘Pretty obvious you weren’t just calling for a chat, and I’m busy. So what is it?’

  ‘I need to get into the pax party at Highvale Wood tonight. It’s pretty important, but Granddad and Oscar are telling me I won’t get past security unless someone vouches for me.’

  ‘They’re probably right. So where do I come in?’

  ‘Um, well, I was sort of hoping that you’d do the vouching.’

  She snorted. ‘Really?’

  ‘Please,’ Trev said. ‘It’s important. A friend of mine is in trouble.’

  ‘And they’re going to a party? They can’t be in that much trouble.’

  ‘It’s not like that,’ Trev insisted. ‘She’s being held hostage. The bloke holding her is going to be at the pax party, and she’ll be with him. I’m going to try and help her.’

  ‘Why would you take your hostage to a party?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just know they’ll be there.’

  ‘Why’s your friend a hostage anyway?’

  ‘Apparently she tried to steal something from him, and got caught.’

  ‘So it’s her own fault she’s a hostage.’

  ‘No, she was forced into making the theft,’ said Trev, his irritation rising, ‘by this group, The Eyes of Nona. Heard of them?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nobody else has either. They seem to be pretty secretive.’

  ‘So you have no idea of exactly who you’ll be pissing off if you stick your oar in.’

  ‘No,’ said Trev, his tiredness fuelling his exasperation. ‘But she’s a friend. I want to do what I can.’

  ‘Look Trev, it’s not that I dislike you. But you’re dangerous to be around. How many people are trying to kill you at the moment?’

  ‘Just one,’ said Trev. He thought for a moment. ‘Maybe two.’

  ‘Exactly. If we go into that party, something’s going to happen. And I’ll be the one who vouched for you. I can’t afford to draw any attention to my group, you know that. We’re enough of a target as it is.’

  Miss Pine was a werewolf. She ran a self-help group for fellow lycanthropes out of a local church hall. They were a motley bunch but she was fiercely protective of them, always alert to potential threats. In recent months they’d had something new to worry about, a vigilante group that called itself The Line. They viewed all supernatural beings as a danger to humanity, and themselves as the last line of defence against them – hence the imaginative name. For most of their short history they’d been more of a drinking club than anything, but lately they’d become far more organised and their activities had progressed from harassment and beatings to arson, abduction and murder with alarming speed.

  ‘All I need is to get in,’ Trev persisted. ‘After that we can go our separate ways, I promise. And it’s neutral ground, right? No weapons, no fighting. I won’t even approach Sarah and the bloke holding her, I’ll just be observing.’

  ‘Sarah?’ said Miss Pine. ‘Wasn’t she your girlfriend?’

  ‘Briefly,’ said Trev.

  ‘Not many men would go out of their way to lend a hand to someone who’d dumped them.’

  ‘I’m one of a kind,’ said Trev. ‘Look, I’m on my knees here. Whatever you want, I’ll do it. Please. If you say no, my only other option is the Colonel, and he’ll make me trade him one of my kidneys or something.’

  There was a very long pause.

  Trev cleared his throat. ‘Um… did you hang up?’

  ‘No, I’m still here,’ said Miss Pine. She sighed. ‘I’ll try to get you in, but that’s it. If they say no, you walk away without any fuss. And if they let you inside, you’re on your own. I won’t be backing you up if you get into any trouble.’

  ‘Got it. Brilliant. Thanks, I really appreciate this.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me regret it.’

  ‘You won’t,’ said Trev.

  As the sentence left his mouth it felt very much like a lie.

  Fifteen

  Highvale Wood was one of those places that even people who live out in the sticks class as “the middle of nowhere”. Two decently-sized towns lay nearby, but neither was visible from the wood itself. It was tucked away between a pair of hills, the surrounding area devoid of any interesting features whatsoever unless you were particularly fascinated by wiry grass and overgrown hedgerows. And even if you were, it was all buried under several inches of snow anyway.

  Trev steered his battered old Rover along the icy B-road that skirted the southern edge of Highvale Wood. Trev had been mildly surprised when the vehicle started. It’d become more and more temperamental over the five years he’d owned it, and its reliability rating was now somewhere between “chocolate teapot” and “water-soluble canoe”. Trev drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked for the gate that Miss Pine had assured him was there. He’d angled for a lift to the party with her, but without success. Granddad, as Brackenford’s Custodian and a recognisable face, was unwilling to drive him out there either, and taking a taxi would’ve led to a few awkward questions when he asked to be dropped off at a darkened wood. At best the driver might think Trev was going dogging or something. At worst he might report his suspicious passenger to the police.

  So it was the Rover or nothing. Trev just hoped that the beast would start again when it was time to leave. He squinted into the darkness and spotted the gate as he was going past it. It was almost invisible in the snow-covered hedge to the left of the road. Trev crunched the Rover into reverse and backed up until he could turn in. There were a number of cars, vans and 4x4’s parked in the field beyond, all hidden from the road by the tall hedge. Trev rolled between them, looking for Miss Pine’s little white Peugeot. He found it on the end of a row and pulled up next to it. Miss Pine was sitting inside; she looked around at Trev and tapped her watch.

  ‘Get lost?’ she asked as they emerged from the warmth of their cars into the night air.

  ‘Slow car,’ said Trev. He knew he wasn’t that late – they’d agreed to meet at eleven o’clock and it was ten past now. The party had already been going for an hour or two. Trev could hear the muffled thump-thump-thump of a bass beat emanating from the depths of the trees, but he couldn’t see any lights or other signs of life. He pulled his woolly hat down over his ears and pulled his scarf up under his chin. ‘Where’s the security?’

  ‘They’ll be watching,’ said Miss Pine. ‘They won’t step in unless we give them a reason to.’

  ‘Right,’ said Trev, his eyes scanning the snowy darkness. He couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t mean much. If Miss Pine said they were there, he saw no reason to doubt her. ‘I can hear the party, but I can’t see it.’

  ‘What did you expect? Searchlights and neon signs?’

  ‘Well, no. But what are they all doing? Dancing around in the dark?’

  ‘Let’s get in, and you’ll see.’

  Trev shrugged and followed Miss Pine along a path that had been formed in the snow by the passage of many pairs of feet. It led into the trees. Trev slipped and stumbled along, wondering how he’d ended up spending so much time in darkened woods lately. The path would have been invisible were it not for a few faint glow-sticks that had been pushed into the snow alongside it. The thumping bass was getting louder but Trev could still see no sign of the party itself.

  Ahead of them the darkness became deeper, impenetrable. Trev realised that he couldn’t even see the snow on the ground, or any more of the glow-sticks. It was as if Highvale Wood simply ended in a void. He was wondering how to proceed when a shape disengaged itself from the shadows and stepped into their path. A dim light came on, a lantern hanging from a tree branch. It revealed the shape to be a man, dressed in a long black overcoat, old-fashioned double-breasted suit, and bowler hat.

  ‘Evenin’, Louise,’ said the man. He was very pale, his skin taking an unhealthy yellow tinge from the lantern’s light. His hair was dark and he had large, alert eyes. He gave Miss Pine a thin smile which faded as he looked Trev up and down. ‘Who’s this?�
�

  ‘This is Trev Irwin,’ said Miss Pine, with a resigned note to her voice. ‘He’s my “plus one”, so to speak.’

  ‘Trev Irwin, eh? In the flesh?’ said the pale man, stepping past the werewolf to inspect Trev more closely. ‘Well, well.’

  He spoke with a pronounced Cockney accent. In Trev’s experience, most people who claimed to be Cockneys had never been near the East End, but had adopted the accent in an attempt to give themselves a “roguish geezer” image. This bloke’s accent, however, actually sounded like it might be genuine.

  ‘All right, mate?’ said Trev, holding out a gloved hand for the pale man to shake. ‘You’ve… heard of me?’

  ‘Oh, you’re the talk of the town, my friend,’ said the man. ‘Pleased to meet ya. The name’s Bowler.’

  ‘Which came first?’ Trev asked. ‘The nickname, or the hat?’

  Bowler glanced back at Miss Pine. ‘He always this funny?’

  She sighed. ‘Sadly, yes.’

  ‘No offence intended,’ said Trev. ‘Honest question.’

  ‘The ‘at, obviously,’ said Bowler. He sounded much less friendly. ‘What are you doin’ ‘ere, Irwin? Custodians ain’t welcome.’

  Trev shrugged. ‘I know. But I’m not a Custodian.’

  ‘You ain’t? You spend a lot of time with ‘em from what I ‘ear, though, don’tcha?’

  ‘They’ve been trying to recruit me for a while. Unsuccessfully.’

  Bowler shook his head. ‘I don’t like it, Louise, if I’m ‘onest. You willing to vouch for ‘im?’

  Miss Pine hesitated. ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m just here to meet a friend,’ said Trev. ‘I’m not going to cause any trouble.’

  I hope.

  ‘I’ll ‘ave to check with Mim,’ said Bowler. He turned away and spoke into a walkie-talkie. The reply he received was inaudible. He folded his arms and slouched back against a tree. ‘We’ll ‘ave to wait.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Trev. ‘So are you it? The security, I mean.’

  ‘Are you ‘avin’ a bubble, sunshine? Course I ain’t.’

  ‘You could probably turn that down a notch,’ Trev suggested. Bowler was beginning to get on his nerves.

  ‘Turn what down?’

  ‘The whole “cor blimey, guv’nah” routine.’

  ‘Routine?’ said Bowler, outraged. ‘Routine? I’m East End born and bred, my son. I was workin’ be’ind the bar in the Blind Beggar the night George Cornell was shot.’

  Trev blinked. ‘Um. George who?’

  ‘He was an East End gangster, murdered by Ronnie Kray,’ said a new voice.

  Trev looked around. A small, sturdy woman with short, salt-and-pepper hair had emerged from the trees behind him. He judged her to be around fifty years of age, although she’d clearly led a tough life. Her nose was crooked and had a thick scar running across it and down her left cheek. Her eyes were so narrow they were little but black slits in the dim light, and her chin had a cleft in which someone could’ve parked a bicycle. It wasn’t a pretty face, but it was certainly interesting.

  ‘Weren’t the Krays active in the sixties?’ said Trev. ‘No way he’s that old.’

  ‘I’m a vampire, you mug,’ said Bowler.

  ‘Oh,’ said Trev, as Miss Pine put a hand over her face, ‘right.’

  ‘Vamps are good for security work,’ said the small woman, walking up to Trev and putting her hands on her hips. ‘Strong, good night vision, and they can hypnotise any curious passers-by into walking away and forgetting they were ever here.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Trev. He stuck out a hand. ‘Trev Irwin. Nice to meet you.’

  ‘Miriam Kenton, and we’ll see,’ she replied, shaking it. Her grip was just the right side of bone-crushing. Trev was glad that his hand was already numb from the cold. ‘You’re a bit too close to the Custodians for my liking, Trev. Why are you here?’

  ‘Hoping to meet a friend,’ Trev said. He was a little intimidated by Kenton. Despite her small stature, he was pretty sure that she could kick his arse from one end of Highvale Wood to the other. There was something pent-up about her, as if she were an explosive searching for someone to light her fuse. Trev hadn’t been too bothered about being a smart-arse with Bowler, who he’d mentally placed in the category of “all tip and no iceberg”, but Kenton was a different proposition. It wasn’t hard to see why she was in charge. Nobody in their right mind would’ve argued with her even if she’d walked into 10 Downing Street and casually announced that she’d be running the country from now on, all right?

  She gave him an appraising stare. ‘Louise?’

  ‘I’m willing to vouch for him,’ said Miss Pine, her voice weary.

  ‘You know what that means, right? If he causes any trouble in there, you’ll both get barred.’

  ‘I know that, and so does Trev,’ said Miss Pine, pointedly.

  ‘Good,’ said Kenton. She turned her attention back to Trev. ‘All right. Louise’s judgement carries some weight with me, so I’m willing to let you in. But you need to know the rules and, more importantly, stick to them.’

  ‘OK,’ said Trev.

  ‘They’re pretty straightforward,’ said Kenton. ‘I’ve already told you the first one: don’t start any trouble. We call these things ‘pax parties’ for a reason. Secondly, mind your own business. I don’t want to hear that you’ve been running your mouth off about things or people you’ve seen here. Especially not to the Custodians, and I still have contacts there so I’ll know about it if you do. They’re prohibited from any kind of intelligence-gathering at our events, so if that arrogant prick Deacon has any sense about him he wouldn’t listen to anything you try to tell him, anyway.’

  ‘You and Feargal are old mates, then?’ said Trev, trying to lighten the mood. His smile withered away at Kenton’s expression.

  ‘Rule three: don’t talk to me about Feargal bloody Deacon. Ever.’

  ‘Right,’ Trev squeaked.

  ‘Rule four: if you see anything going on that shouldn’t be, report it to me or one of my staff. There are a few people who think that because the Custodians can’t get into these parties, they’re a great place for illegal stuff. They aren’t. I won’t allow it.’

  ‘Got it.’

  Kenton gave him a last stare and walked past him to speak to Miss Pine. ‘How’s things, Louise? Keeping safe?’

  Miss Pine shrugged. ‘As much as we can. A few of the group have just stopped coming. It’s a shame, but I can’t say I blame them.’

  ‘You had any hassle? People hanging around?’

  ‘Not so far. But it was us who found the murdered girl a couple of months ago. She was still in wolf form. Looked like they’d set dogs on her.’

  Kenton shook her head. ‘Heard about that. Did you know her?’

  ‘Not really,’ Miss Pine replied. ‘She came to one meeting. Didn’t say much. We didn’t see her again until… well.’

  ‘If you need any help with security, let me know,’ said Kenton. ‘I can put you in touch with some people who’ll make those Line bastards shit themselves.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’d rather not draw any more attention to the group than I have to,’ said Miss Pine. ‘If we start having bouncers at our “arts and crafts club” at the church hall, people will ask questions.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Kenton, ‘but the offer’s open if you change your mind.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  While Trev was listening to the conversation Bowler had given him an efficient frisking with a hand-held metal detector.

  ‘You know you’ve got a kitten down your coat, right?’ asked the vampire.

  ‘Didn’t want to leave him home alone,’ said Trev. ‘He’s safer with me.’

  Oscar did his best to look like an ordinary, harmless, non-sarcastic feline. Bowler looked puzzled, but decided that the kitten didn’t count as a concealed weapon and shrugged. Meanwhile Kenton was searching Miss Pine.

  ‘All right, you can go in,’ she said when she’d finishe
d. ‘But remember the rules.’

  Bowler reached into the darkness behind him and pulled. Trev finally realised what the dark void was. A huge blackout curtain that surrounded the pax party, screening it from view. They passed through into a narrow space between the outer curtain and a second, inner, one. More glow-sticks illuminated the way. Trev pushed through the thick cloth and they were finally inside.

  His first thought was that it was a little like a church fete crossed with an illegal rave. The area enclosed by the curtain was a large oval, lit by strings of coloured lanterns. Several wood-burning braziers were positioned around the space, with small knots of people gathered around them. At the far end of the oval was a makeshift dancefloor constructed of wooden boards. A DJ waved his arms to the music from within a canvas booth, and a hardy group of dancers waved back at him, their breath steaming in the night air. Near the dancefloor was a bar and a couple of food stands. Trev caught a whiff of frying bacon and his stomach growled politely. People sat at little round tables, eating, drinking or just chatting.

  The other half of the oval was filled with stalls and stands, selling a wide array of items. Trev saw books, jewellery, clothes and all sorts of bric-a-brac, junk and knick-knacks. Some of the stalls were little more than a table and a cash-box, while others were larger constructions of wood and canvas. The people manning them – and also the people browsing them – were an eclectic bunch. Trev saw a few ageing hippies; a number of people in various types of vintage attire; and some people who looked so ordinary they might’ve been at a Sunday morning car boot sale. Estimating the number of party-goers was difficult, although it was certainly in the hundreds.

  ‘All right, I’ve got some things to do,’ said Miss Pine. ‘You’re on your own from here. Please try not to get us both banned.’

  ‘No worries,’ said Trev, scanning the crowd for Sarah. ‘Thanks for getting me in.’

  ‘Don’t make me regret it.’ She disappeared into the crowd.

  ‘What’s your cunning plan then, chief?’ said Oscar, his voice muffled by Trev’s coat.

  ‘Wander around, hope to spot Sarah.’