Grindhelm's Key Page 22

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘In that case, we have a deal.’

  Nona smiled at him. ‘Good choice.’

  Twenty-Seven

  After another circuitous van ride they ended up back at Granddad’s car. They were bundled out into the street to find Liszt waiting for them. He handed Trev a business card which was blank except for a mobile telephone number.

  ‘When you have the Key, call this number,’ he said. ‘We’ll do the rest.’

  Trev took the card. ‘Right.’

  ‘Nona wasn’t bluffing about her attitude to betrayal,’ Liszt added. ‘Trying to screw her over would be a very bad idea. Keep that in mind, OK?’

  ‘Right,’ Trev said again. He was getting really bored with being threatened every five minutes. He was also very tired; it was well past midnight.

  Nona’s henchmen departed with an unnecessary screeching of tyres. Trev, Granddad and the uncaged Oscar got into the little Honda, which fortunately hadn’t been stolen, vandalised or wheel-clamped while it had been left unattended. Some enterprising soul had put a takeaway menu under one of the wipers though. Trev didn’t know whether to applaud that person’s dedication or question their life choices.

  ‘So,’ he said to Oscar, ‘you didn’t know one of your old friends was Nona?’

  ‘Obviously not.’

  ‘Didn’t the name give her away?’

  ‘I didn’t know her as Nona back then, you numpty. I wasn’t called Oscar either.’

  ‘What was her name when you first knew her?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.’

  ‘What was yours?’

  ‘You wouldn’t be able to pronounce that either.’

  ‘Humour me.’

  Oscar sighed. He opened his mouth and let fly with an ear-rending yowl that made Trev’s left eye go into spasm and Granddad swerve the car onto the wrong side of the road.

  ‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Trev asked.

  ‘My name,’ Oscar replied. ‘My true name, anyway. Like I said, you wouldn’t be able to pronounce it.’

  ‘I can understand why you changed it.’

  ‘After dealing with humans for over two thousand years, I’ve long since learned to keep things simple for them.’ The kitten stretched out on Trev’s lap. ‘Anyway, back to business. Are you really going to give the Key to Nona?’

  ‘We don’t even have it yet.’ Trev slumped back in his seat. ‘How can we do a deal for something we don’t own?’

  ‘Bankers do it all the time,’ said Oscar.

  ‘Until we have the Key, it’s a moot point.’ Granddad drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘I think we ought to tell the Custodians about that meeting, don’t you?’

  Trev sat up again. ‘Is that a good idea? It sounds like Nona’s got informants inside the Custodians, so she’d probably find out about it if we did. And I think she’d class that as a betrayal, which she mentioned she didn’t like. A couple of times.’

  ‘I don’t like this, Trevor,’ said the old man.

  ‘I’m not over the moon about it myself.’ The last traces of adrenaline were leaving Trev’s system and the tiredness was settling over him like a blanket. ‘But like you said, until we get our hands on the Key it’s all moot. At this point all I want to do is sleep.’

  ‘Hey, at least we found out who the bad guys are,’ Oscar pointed out. ‘The “Invocation of Peace”. Whatever that means.’

  ‘Ever heard of them?’

  ‘Nope. But it’s good to finally be able to put a name to the enemy, am I right?’

  ‘Oh yeah. I expect you can feel the enthusiasm rolling off me in waves.’

  ‘Blimey. Well, I tried.’

  ‘The name on its own doesn’t tell us anything, does it? It just means that you can put “KILLED BY THE INVOCATION OF PEACE” on my headstone rather than “KILLED BY UNKNOWN ASSAILANTS”.’

  ‘I agree with Oscar,’ said Granddad. ‘It’s a small piece of information, but it gives us somewhere to start. I guarantee that someone out there knows who these people are and what they want. We have to find that someone.’

  The conversation stalled after that. Trev slipped into a doze and was woken by Granddad easing the car to a stop outside his flat. He yawned and stretched.

  ‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said. He opened the door into a gust of cold air.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Granddad replied. ‘Go and get some sleep.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me twice. Good night.’

  Trev headed up to his flat. The door was locked and everything appeared to be as he’d left it, including his bed, which came as a great relief. He collapsed onto it and fell asleep in his clothes.

  The insistent sound of his alarm dragged him out of a sleep so deep it would’ve been classed as a coma by most medical professionals. He cracked open a bloodshot eye and waited for it to focus. Some people leapt out of bed in the morning, fully refreshed and ready to face the challenges of a new day. Trev was not one of those people. Instead he slid slowly onto the floor and tried not to cry.

  He went through his morning routine like a sloth on tranquilisers. There were so many conflicting thoughts flooding his brain it was impossible to focus on any one of them. Sarah, Jack Smith, the Custodians, Ezekiel Barker, Nona, Grindhelm’s Key… and somehow he had to silence all those thoughts in order to get through a day’s work selling houses. “Keep calm and carry on”, that’s the British way, right? Trev doubted that the condescending git who’d written that slogan had ever had to deal with undead psychopaths, Victorian assassins or possessed cats.

  Outside the weather was still cold but the wind had dropped. The snow piled along the roadside wasn’t thawing, and the passage of cars had turned it a dirty grey-brown colour. Trev dug his hands into his coat pockets and made it to work on auto-pilot. The SmoothMove office had excellent heating, which was both a blessing and a curse. Trev worried that the combination of a comfortable chair and the stifling warmth would send him to sleep before he’d even logged on to his computer.

  The first hurdle to negotiate was the morning meeting. Trev sat up straight and put on his best “focused and engaged” expression. He was aware of Helen’s eye on him. Fortunately he didn’t have any visible injuries from the previous evening’s excursion, although his back was sore from the punch he’d taken.

  The meeting was short. Trev was able to field the questions sent his way and managed a couple of insightful comments on the houses Phil was going out that day to value. As an additional mercy, Barry was quiet. Trev didn’t know why, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. His plan for the day was simply to keep his head down and get through it, which would be easier without Barry provoking him.

  The morning wasn’t too bad. Trev pushed through his weariness, fortified by several mugs of strong tea. He wasn’t rushed off his feet in any case. Business was slow as a result of the continuing bad weather. His mind inevitably strayed onto non-work subjects but he was able to jam a lid on those thoughts before he started sobbing at his desk or running around the office gibbering. It was enough to get him through to his lunch break.

  He grabbed his coat and went out into the cold air to grab a sandwich from a nearby takeaway. He’d only made it a few strides up the street before his mobile rang. It was Cled.

  ‘Hello mate,’ Trev said.

  ‘All right, butty?’ Cled replied. He sounded cheerful. ‘Guess what?’

  ‘Too tired for guessing. It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.’

  ‘I just came out of a meeting with the Druids,’ said Cled, not put off by Trev’s grumpiness. ‘They’re pretty happy with the job we did trapping that earth elemental. Happy and surprised. I don’t think they were expecting us to do it.’

  ‘Good news,’ said Trev. ‘Does that mean you’re back in?’

  ‘Not quite yet, but it doesn’t do me any harm. I’m sure there’ll be a few more little tests but I don’t think they’ll have a
nything as tricky as that first one. I was just ringing to say thanks for your help the other night. I didn’t think I was going to get a second chance with the Druids and now I might, thanks to you sticking your neck out for me.’

  ‘Hey, no worries mate. Anytime.’ Trev was genuinely happy for his friend. ‘Anything else I can do to help, give me a shout. You know, as long as there’s a few pints and some crisps in it for me, of course.’

  ‘Always, Trev, always,’ said Cled, laughing. ‘I don’t expect you to work for free.’

  ‘I’m thinking of reviewing my hourly rate though, I should warn you,’ said Trev. ‘I spoke to my union rep and he thinks I should be asking for an extra bag of crisps to put towards my retirement.’

  ‘Bloody hell, I expected the unions to be on the side of small business,’ said Cled in mock outrage. ‘I won’t be able to pay you anything if these unreasonable wage demands put me out of business.’

  ‘What can I say? Fight the power, stick it to The Man, et cetera, et cetera.’

  ‘If you think I’m “The Man” you must still be drunk from Friday night,’ said Cled. ‘How’s your week going, anyway? Did you hear about the riot at the pax party the other night?’

  ‘Hear about it? I was there,’ said Trev.

  ‘I should’ve bloody known,’ Cled replied. ‘How come whenever there’s trouble you’re involved?’

  ‘I don’t know, mate. But I wish I could tell you that scrap at the pax party was the worst thing that’s happened to me lately.’

  ‘Why, what else is going on?’

  ‘Oh, the usual. Kidnappings, assassination attempts, secret societies. My life in a nutshell.’

  ‘Who’s trying to kill you this time?’

  ‘Some undead arsehole with a magic lamp,’ said Trev.

  There was a pause. ‘You mean Jack Smith? AKA Jack o’ Lantern?’

  ‘You know about that bloke?’ said Trev, surprised.

  ‘You’re joking, right? He’s public enemy number one as far as the Druids are concerned.’

  ‘Um, he is? Why?’

  ‘You know how he got the lamp?’

  ‘Yeah, he sold out some local do-gooder to a demon in exchange for immortality.’

  ‘That “local do-gooder” was a Druid, Trev. One of the best and most powerful in Europe at the time. His death caused a load of power struggles and almost led to the downfall of the whole order.’

  ‘And Smith is still on the shit list after all this time?’

  ‘Druids have long memories. I told you that.’

  ‘Yeah, you did. Tell you what, could you have a word with the boss Druids for me? If they’ve got any ideas about how I could deal with Smith, I’d be happy to hear them.’

  ‘No problem there,’ said Cled. ‘They’ll be interested to know that the slippery little wanker has surfaced again anyway.’

  ‘And bringing them the info will be another feather in your cap.’

  ‘That too. Leave it with me, right?’

  ‘OK mate. Speak to you later.’

  ‘Tidy.’

  Trev ended the call and went into the takeaway to get his lunch. He knew from Cled that the Druids didn’t much like the Custodians, but hopefully this would be a case of “the enemy of my enemy is my friend”. Ruby and Franz’s idea of using the kris to draw Smith’s soul back into his body hadn’t filled him with enthusiasm; maybe the Druids could offer something better.

  Returning to the office he sat and ate his food while skimming the local paper, which was filled with the usual articles about terrible Brackenford sports teams, fundraisers for bizarre causes and people taking offence at other people for petty and obscure reasons. If this lot knew what was really going on around here, this paper would be an inch thick every day, Trev thought.

  He stumbled through the afternoon. With a full stomach and the warmth of the office, his body began sending increasingly insistent signals that he should have a little nap. Trev caught himself nodding over his keyboard a couple of times. Luckily neither Helen nor Barry seemed to notice. As the day drew to a close he made his way to the staff room for a final mug of tea. While he was standing there waiting for the kettle to boil, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He assumed it was Cled calling him back, but when he checked the screen it was a withheld number.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Mr. Irwin? It’s B.B.’

  Trev stood up straight. ‘Bloody hell. To be honest I didn’t expect to hear from you.’

  ‘I keep my promises. Though I wonder whether I’ll regret doing so in this case.’

  ‘You’ve found my, er, friends?’

  ‘Perhaps. Listen to me. If I give you this information, I consider my debt to you repaid. I would prefer not to hear from you again. Is that acceptable?’

  Another one bites the dust, thought Trev. Now even virtual strangers are giving me the bum’s rush. Maybe I need to change my deodorant.

  Aloud, he said: ‘Sure, if that’s how you want it. What have you got?’

  ‘There’s something of a network among us,’ B.B. said. ‘By “us” I mean traders who deal in items of interest to the supernatural community. We compare notes, you might say. We also sell to each other.’

  ‘Right,’ said Trev, looking nervously at the office door and willing B.B. to get to the point.

  ‘I have been tapping this network for you,’ B.B. went on. ‘Your “friends” have visited almost every trader in this area. They haven’t found a buyer for their item.’

  ‘Why? They’re asking too much for it?’

  ‘I don’t think they’ve got as far as negotiating a price. Most traders aren’t stupid enough to buy something that was stolen from Fisher’s.’

  ‘I met Nichola Fisher last night and I can understand why. Have any of the other traders reported back to Fisher’s, do you know?’

  ‘You met her?’ B.B. sounded surprised, but he quickly gathered himself. ‘Well, I don’t know. Many of the small traders hate Fisher’s as much as I do, so maybe not. But there was a large reward offered, yes?’

  ‘You said most traders weren’t stupid enough to buy something that’d been ripped off from Fisher’s. I take it that means there’s someone who would?’

  ‘Kevin Douglas,’ replied B.B. ‘He’s one trader very few of us like to deal with. He has a reputation.’

  ‘Sounds dodgy enough to be our man,’ said Trev. ‘You think he’ll be willing to buy the item, even if he knows it’s nicked?’

  ‘If anyone, it would be him,’ B.B. agreed.

  ‘And you’ve heard my friends are going to visit him?’

  ‘It’s more that he’s the only trader they haven’t visited,’ said B.B. ‘He has his own premises, but he keeps his business there clean. Now and again however, he makes himself available for business that is… less clean.’

  ‘He definitely sounds like our man,’ said Trev. ‘Where does he hang out?’

  ‘He won’t be at his usual premises.’ Trev heard the click of B.B.’s cigarette lighter. ‘He always uses a temporary location for the suspect side of his business.’

  ‘I’m assuming you know where he’ll be?’

  ‘Yes. From what I hear he’s setting up tonight, especially for your friends. I had to lean on quite a few contacts to find out where. It’ll be at this address.’ B.B. rattled off the details, which Trev scribbled down on a paper towel. ‘It’s an old housing estate in Kidderminster that’s being demolished. Should be nice and quiet, don’t you think?’

  ‘Great, thanks for this,’ said Trev. Underneath the tiredness, he felt a little spark of something. Am I actually excited at the thought of fighting Ezekiel Barker? I need professional help.

  ‘Thank you for saving my life,’ replied B.B. ‘I think this concludes our business, yes? Viel Glück, Mr. Irwin.’

  He hung up. Trev immediately dialled Granddad’s number.

  Twenty-Eight

  Trev had just enough time to get home and get changed before Granddad arrived to pick him up. By all accoun
ts B.B.’s tip-off had caused a frenzy of activity among the Custodians. Granddad had phoned him back during his walk home and told him that Deacon was mobilising a team and Trev was on it. Fortunately for him, the team leader was a woman called McKenzie who Trev knew reasonably well. They’d survived a couple of scrapes together and she was one of the few Custodians who seemed to take him at face value. As Deacon had promised, the choice of whether to include Trev in the team was hers and she’d agreed.

  Trev didn’t have much in the way of combat gear in his wardrobe, so he settled for his old hiking boots, a pair of black jeans and a dark blue jumper. This ensemble was completed by his “Rodney coat”. Checking himself in the mirror, he found he looked more like someone you’d see asking for spare change in the town centre than a hardened enforcer of justice. He shrugged. It wasn’t as if there’d be a panel of judges awarding marks for artistic merit. Well, unless the Custodians had made some unexpected changes to their tactics since he’d last worked with them.

  He hurried out to Granddad’s car, still finishing the sandwich he’d made in lieu of dinner. There was a can of energy drink in his coat pocket for dessert. Considering his sugar and caffeine intake over the last twenty-four hours, it was surprising he wasn’t able to simply fly to Birmingham. Stimulants and adrenaline were all that was keeping him going. It was pretty obvious that he was going to suffer for it at some stage; he crossed his fingers it wouldn’t be tonight. Having a massive sugar crash during a swordfight would be both humiliating and fatal.

  ‘Ready for action, Rodders?’ said Oscar, eyeing Trev’s mismatched attire.

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Trev. ‘You know how I relish these opportunities to get myself killed.’

  ‘The Custodians are sending out a big team for this one, Trevor,’ said Granddad. ‘More than enough to deal with Ezekiel Barker, however good a fighter he is. I doubt you’ll have to get involved.’

  ‘Yeah, because that’s exactly how my life has been the last few months,’ Trev grumbled. ‘Nothing but smooth sailing.’