Austerley & Kirgordon Adventures Box Set Read online

The room was dimly lit but Kirkgordon could see that it housed four rows of racks, each just over a man tall. On the racks were weapons of all shapes and sizes. Each row was at least twenty feet long. It looked like no manse basement he knew. Slipping past him from behind came Nefol. Kirkgordon noticed how nimble and balanced she was. Walking to the end of the first row, she jumped onto the top rack and lifted a small shield and what looked like a dainty swinging mace.

  “Doesn’t she want something more substantial?” asked Kirkgordon.

  “Well,” said the priest, “she is only young and cannot lift the heavier items effectively. But she has balance and guile. As Havers said, she is there for your protection. Do not worry about my daughter.”

  Kirkgordon nodded. Things were never how they seemed in this game.

  “Oh, and Mr Kirkgordon,” added the priest, “He is there and He saw you to here.”

  “Who?” asked Kirkgordon.

  “The one you blame for all this. Don’t worry, He can take the anger. But remember, you cannot!”

  For a moment, Kirkgordon started to respond, but the truth of the statement prevented any crevice from being prised open. Arse, thought Kirkgordon, even halfway to hell He’s got an eye on me.

  “One would think that comforting,” said the priest. Then Father Jonah shook his head slightly, as if coming out of a trance, and looked quizzically at Kirkgordon. “Did that make sense? Made absolutely no sense to me.”

  Should Have Read the Manual

  Been a while since I ran through the sewers, Nefol. It never gets any more pleasant.” Kirkgordon pushed the manhole cover to one side. They were blasted heavy and there was no way the girl could have lifted it. Maybe I’m just the muscle, Kirkgordon pondered, before dismissing the thought with a shake of the head.

  Nefol sprang out of the sewer and ran swiftly to the corner of a house. Looking back, she waved Kirkgordon on. It seemed bizarre to him having a little green dwarf running point for him. She was dressed in an olive-coloured khaki jacket and wrap leggings with her pigtails hidden under a loose hood. Her soft tight green sports slippers made no noise as she stepped. In a child’s way she looked cute, except for the mace.

  Kirkgordon quickly replaced the manhole then joined Nefol at the edge of the house. The sky continued to burn, and beyond the shadows everything was clear as a sunny day but the darkness provided a solid cloak which the pair used as cover.

  The house across the street had the image of a cross burning on its door. At the window, oblivious to their presence, stood a man with eyes red from crying and a worn face. He was looking up and down the street anxiously, causing Kirkgordon to believe he had someone left outside and didn’t know whether they were safe. How could one know? The mobile signal didn’t work here. Televisions, radios, all gone. In that house, all would be quiet on the information highway, and wasn’t that really a hell in itself? Sanctuary wasn’t always comfortable. Especially when it was imposed.

  Nefol tapped Kirkgordon’s hand and pointed ahead. Two ghostly deckhands were standing guard on the main road. Each carried a short sword and they were slumped up against lamp posts on either side of the street.

  “We’ll scout round them,” said Nefol. “No need to engage them at the moment.” Kirkgordon nodded. There was still some distance to be covered before the care home, and the quieter the journey, the better.

  Before he could move, a car engine roared into life. A black saloon reversed from a driveway three houses away and sped towards the two guards, who had sprung back into a more defensive pose. One took a horn from his side and blew, but Kirkgordon heard no note despite the immense level of exertion. The car raced past the two guards and a young man showed two fingers to them.

  In the wind was a noise, like a stuttering helicopter but sounding much more powerful. Kirkgordon cocked his head to try to hear more clearly. Judging by Nefol’s reaction, she could hear the sound too, for she began to tense up slightly. And then a streak of black flew before their eyes. It was a winged beast with the body of a snake. Enormous fangs protruded from its mouth and a flicking tongue shot back and forth. Almost immediately the image disappeared as the beast flew after the departing car. Some fifteen seconds later the car was thrown onto the street from a height and the winged snake dived to the ground. Both guards had run to the car. It had rolled badly, smashing the windows and crumpling the roof. Inside, the young man was not moving.

  One of the guards reached inside and pulled the man out of the car. He slapped his face, drawing the man back to consciousness. Kirkgordon’s first instinct was to rush into battle, but he thought about the way Havers was always calm and collected, never jeopardizing any mission for the sake of an individual. Nefol was looking hard at Kirkgordon and he bowed his head slightly in regret. Shaking her head in disbelief, Nefol turned and ran towards the guard.

  Oh crap, thought Kirkgordon.

  Nefol was already swinging her small mace when she reached the guard, whom she caught with a blow right to the forehead. As its ghostly green presence dissipated, the man it was supporting fell to the ground. Nefol ignored him as the winged snake started to attack her with quick, lunging strikes, its teeth exposed. Nefol was nimble on her feet and moved with the grace of a professional acrobat. Her mace struck the beast several times but seemed to be having little effect.

  From behind Nefol, the other guard approached with his sword pointed at Nefol’s back. Kirkgordon saw the danger and fired off one of Father Jonah’s arrows. The shot was true, but just as he fired, Nefol swung the mace behind her and it caught the ghost on the top of its head, knocking it sideways while Kirkgordon’s arrow flew past harmlessly. However, the guard paid for that good fortune as Nefol swung the mace again and finished off the ghost with a blow to the side of the skull. The whole time, Nefol’s eyes had never left the snake.

  She’s good, thought Kirkgordon, but that snake’s not going down so easily. And where the hell did they get it from?

  Rising back into the air, the snake held itself some six feet off the ground and used its length to reach down and try to grab Nefol. She was avoiding the strikes but was struggling to connect with the beast’s head. Kirkgordon looked into his quiver at the arrows he had taken from the manse basement, noting their different thickness and the markings on the flashings. They could have told me what each one is and what it does, he thought. Oh stuff it, the last one seemed alright, just pick one.

  Nefol saw the arrow depart Kirkgordon’s bow and screamed. She turned and ran away from the snake, heading towards one of the houses. The arrow buried itself in the beast, which began to hiss in anger. A small black hole appeared in the side of the animal, drawing in the rest of the creature with a sound like a child emptying the last dregs of juice through a straw. It folded in on itself for several seconds and then there was a silence. Kirkgordon was beginning to turn his back when he saw the hole erupt, spewing bits of snake all around with a thunderous cracking sound.

  It was like getting caught in the spray of a muck spreader in the countryside, and it smelt just as bad. As he tried to straighten up, Nefol appeared, looking extremely angry.

  “Why did you fire that one? They will have heard it. We need to go. And you need to lose your clothes. They won’t miss the smell of the snake guts.”

  Kirkgordon was about to argue. He wanted to say that no one had told him what any of the arrows did. No one had given him a brief. No one had warned him about potential flying snakes. Oh, and actually, he had just sorted out their winged beast problem. But she was right. Well, she seemed to know as much as anybody about how this place and these ghostly creatures worked. So he stripped. Right down to his underpants. The crying man who had been looking out the window still looked out. He still had tears in his eyes. But he was now crying with laughter at the snake-splattered, near-naked warrior with bow and quiver strapped around him.

  Nefol and Kirkgordon moved with haste away from the scene of the battle. Fortunately the air wasn’t cold and so Kirkgordon felt physically comfortabl
e with his new state of attire, if not emotionally. He felt he needed to address the issue of a nearly nude middle-aged man running around with a twelve-year-old girl fairly quickly. Nefol gave him a despairing stare and he asked if she was sure she wasn’t already a teenager. Her tutted response only reinforced his suspicions.

  Spotting a lone petrol station, Kirkgordon motioned that they should scout past it. From the outside there appeared to be no ghostly presence and Kirkgordon swept the interior swiftly but cautiously. After taking a moment to wash the snake guts out of his hair, it took Kirkgordon a full five minutes to find and dress himself in suitable clothing. The T-shirt he had found was a little large but at least the jeans were a close fit. Donning his quiver and bow, Kirkgordon emerged to find Nefol sitting with an iced drink from the automatic machine. Made from crushed ice with a syrup sauce running through it, it was one of those soft drinks that parents hate. Cheap and sugary – kids just love them. Maybe she was twelve after all.

  Nefol didn’t say much. Most directions were given with hand signals and Kirkgordon wasn’t sure whether this was due to fear or a lack of connection with him. Without doubt she could fight – her dispatching of the ghosts had been impressive – but there still seemed to be a young girl in there.

  They continued towards the care home, making their way through back gardens and alleys, trying to remain clear of the main roads. Looking over fences they saw more hybrid beasts. Beetles with fly wings, a wasp with legs, a seagull with crab pincers. Such a variety, but from where?

  The other great difficulty was being seen by people in their houses who, trapped inside, would bang on the windows to raise attention. Given that neither Nefol nor Kirkgordon could enter the houses without becoming trapped themselves, remaining unseen was the best option.

  The faces he saw haunted him, though. On passing one large bay window, Kirkgordon saw a young child who was yelling “Daddy” in a near scream. It cut at Kirkgordon. What if he never got home? How would his son feel? Or his daughter? And then there was Alana. He had damn well nearly slept with that other girl. And they say she’s a witch. That was hard to believe. Maybe possessed a bit. Yes, maybe that.

  He tried to bring the recent time spent with Alana and their children into view. The kids smiling as he rolled around the floor with them. Such a forgiving nature in them, thought Kirkgordon. But they have never seen me in the darkest times. Unlike their mother. Alana had tried, and they were as close as they had been in recent times, but still distant. Despite the moments spent in passion, they were still too far apart. A rift had been forged which neither Kirkgordon nor Alana had any idea how to bridge.

  Nefol raised her hand and Kirkgordon halted his progress. They were some five hundred yards from the home and could see the entrance. Inside the front doors, Graham was sitting at the front desk. He was white and trembling. A number of ghostly deckhands were wandering around, laughing at him and teasing. Kirkgordon called Nefol back.

  “The way I see it,” whispered Kirkgordon, “is that you will want to get that man out.” Nefol nodded. “I thought so. His name is Graham. By the colour of him, he’s not a willing party to this. But we don’t know that, Nefol, so be careful and don’t trust him. If we rescue him now, we won’t have a chance to search the place properly as Havers requested. So we may well rescue one man but condemn us all to hell.” He didn’t want to lay this conundrum on the child but it was a matter of fact. “So here’s my plan. You stay here and watch Graham. Don’t do anything for thirty minutes. If I’m not back by then, rescue him and get away.”

  “But my father said I was to protect you. I cannot return without you,” protested Nefol.

  “That man in there” – Kirkgordon pointed at Graham – “is more important than me. You are now his protector. It’s that simple. Don’t worry about me. I have a quiver full of exploding arrows.” Nefol smiled. She must think I’m a silly old fool, thought Kirkgordon. Oh well, at least she’s with the plan.

  Kirkgordon scouted round the outside of the care home looking for another entrance. At the rear of the building was a boiler house attached to the main building, complete with large chimney. All was quiet around it except for the hum of the boiler. This was the way, he decided. With pace, Kirkgordon crossed the concrete driveway that encircled the buildings and gently opened the boiler house door.

  Inside was dark. No lights were evident so Kirkgordon left the door open very slightly, trying to let his eyes adjust to the lack of light. As he crouched, he became aware of some light breathing very close to him. He turned his head to the right and as his vision adjusted he made out two eyes looking directly at him. Then he felt a bony hand grab his wrist.

  The Austerley Express

  There’s something dreadfully comical about all of this, thought Havers. Dressed in a loose-fitting robe with leggings made by wrapping material around his legs, he thought he should audition for the next sci-fi spectacular. On his hands were tight green gloves which matched the dark green slip-ons he was shod in. The overall khaki garb had been suggested by the priest and sourced from the basement. The arms and legs contained small rods, inserted during the wrapping process, meaning that any impact from them would hurt Captain Smith and his crew.

  On an ancient Chinese highway, Havers might have been in his element, but these were the streets of the English coastal town of Dillingham. He was pushing a wheelchair. With a dull grey frame and a black leather seat, it was extremely modern, unlike its occupant. Slouching in the chair with a pair of machetes, albeit very special machetes, was the bulky, heavy-jowled bulldog, Mr Austerley. You’d think he could sit up properly.

  Now at least, transporting the occult expert was getting easier. It had been a mile-long walk through the sewers with the overweight, single-footed hulk. But this was necessary and Havers had kept his professional exterior throughout. It’s just his damn arrogance, thought Havers. I know this evil around me and I’m damn well respectful of it. But this fellow just charges in. Maybe Mr Kirkgordon’s view is right. But needs must, and at the moment I need Mr Austerley, monoped though he is.

  The old girl’s doing alright though. He watched Jane Goodritch striding along beside him. All the way through the tunnels she hadn’t complained or held back once. She’s like a youth leader, Brown Owl showing the way. One of those ladies at the Women’s Guild who manhandles the arrangements for fêtes. She shouldn’t be here. This nonsense shouldn’t happen to decent people. We’re meant to keep them from it. I do the dirty work so they don’t have to see any of it. And as for Mr Austerley insisting she had a weapon… Make her a threat and they won’t focus on me. That’s the trouble working with people like Mr Austerley, generating their own ideas, not following the department’s well-drilled procedures. Mr Wilson wouldn’t have made that mistake.

  Wilson. The name hit him like the strike of a clanger on a bell. First a blunt strike, followed by a constant vibration to be chewed over by his mind. Havers was not prone to sentiment but Wilson had been a genuinely decent person. Many of his recruits were from tainted backgrounds with character flaws making them easy to cajole into this secret life. Few ever did the job willingly. Wilson did. Out of respect for the ordinary human. To protect the innocent. Havers remembered the initial interview well. And even as the world became a darker place, as Wilson became more involved in this strangeness they inhabited, his ideals remained. One day, he would have been Havers’ successor. Havers was sure of it. Damn this job.

  “Major Havers,” said Jane Goodritch under her breath, “I think I see something up ahead.” They were in the middle of town and had so far evaded all of Captain Smith’s crew. With a wheelchair occupant, one who could not even propel himself due to his ineptness with the device, and a middle-aged woman to defend, Havers had been banking on not meeting any resistance on his way to the museum. Although the crew was at least sixty strong, Dillingham was a moderately sized town and there should be plenty of hiding places.

  The “thing” up ahead was at the junction of two streets
. Their current route was taking them along a cobbled piece of the old town. The shops and abodes here were high and almost overhung the street, looming inward, or so it seemed to the walker beneath. Just a hundred yards ahead there was a side street and from here there emerged a long thin stick. Except it looked too flexible to be a stick. Almost like a giant feeler. Havers halted the party.

  “Miss Goodritch,” he whispered, “if you would be so kind as to take over. I know Mr Austerley is quite heavy but I believe you are a woman of talent and necessity and you may have to push quite quickly.” Jane stepped across taking the handles of the wheelchair.

  “Where to, Major Havers?” Havers wasn’t sure.

  “Forgive me, Miss Goodritch, just keep behind me.”

  Jane nodded. Up ahead, a second feeler was emerging as well as what appeared to be a black tusk.

  “That’s a beetle’s tusk and a feeler. Lot bigger than you normally see though,” said Austerley.

  “You don’t say, Mr Austerley,” replied Havers. The full extent of the oversized insect became clear as several legs emerged and it turned the corner towards them. On its back was a scantily clad pirate with a cutlass in his hand. But most strange was the tail on the large beetle. Some five snakes emerged from its rear, attached by their tails to the beetle’s body. The pirate saw his prey and kicked hard on the sides of the creature. It increased its pace, legs clicking forward like a clockwork machine.

  “Behind me, Miss Goodritch,” repeated Havers and set his face to the task ahead. Measuring up the beetle’s attack, he began to run towards it. On reaching the creature, Havers jumped onto one of the tusks and grabbed a feeler, snapping it off. The pirate reached forward, swinging his cutlass. Havers ducked and the continuation of the swing took the blade through the other feeler. The creature threw its head up in pain and Havers was thrown off to the side. He landed on his side and turned his momentum into a roll but was instantly pinned by a set of fangs to the nearest wall.