The Prayer Room is located in the Herod Halls of the castle, just off the overpass. It’s an original part of the building where St Wigan, when he was in residence, would lock himself away seemingly with no food or water for days. He emerged when God had delivered his message. Normally this meant someone was burned, hanged or buried alive in Gregor Court. God could be a nasty bastard if Noah Wigan was to be believed and Francesca Chamberlain made the perfect nasty vessel to operate through. However, that’s another grisly tale for another grisly day. For now, our story focuses on the Prayer Room in more recent times. The room has no plumbing. It doesn’t have a bowl or sink on offer. You eat and drink very little whilst you’re in there so you find yourself with little to excrete anyway.
As the famed monk said, “God provides the nourishment.”
He may have been able to get a fat soul with conversations with a figment in sky but for our inmates it drained what little will they had left. There are no windows. You are completely engulfed in darkness. You are left alone with only time to think and to say your prayers.
Jake tried to keep himself awake for as long as possible. He didn’t know how long he would be left to rot. He had no means of counting the hours. He could only try and keep himself awake for as long as possible – not that he would find much of a cosy bed. It was a moss covered, granite floor. In fact, the dampness within the Prayer Room really attacked the lungs. It was common in the prison to hear the cough of an inmate that had spent some time in solitary.
Jake had to keep himself awake. He wanted to stay alert should some of the ghoul guards come for him. That was what the inmates were calling the guards who lost their minds. Jake didn’t pray. He never was the praying sort but the voice inside his head was ringing loud. He tried to keep it ringing as his eyes started to feel heavy. He was slumped on the floor. His issue trousers were damp from the moss. He was in the most discomfort he had ever felt but he couldn’t resist sleep. Those Beta brain waves were crying out to him.
“Come on, Jakey. Just close your eyes. Sleep it away. Sleep. Sleep …”
He was jerked awake by a sharp pain. Something had bitten him. He could hear a squeak and a draw of a long, worm-like tail across his hand. He pulled it away and as he did so he caught the feel of matted fur.
“Fucking rat,” he grumbled to himself.
There was another sharp bite on his lower leg where the trousers of his kit had slipped up. There was another one there. He could hear the hungry rodents squeak at each other. Then there was another bite at his hand. This one was harder than the others. The broken rat teeth must have pierced skin.
Jake tried to kick his leg out to make them scurry away but they were brave and they were hungry so they took another bite. One ran across his chest, the worm tail drawing underneath his chin. Jake was on his feet by then trying to shake them off. They finally did scurry away when the doorway was opened.
“2011?” The voice of the warden came through the dark. “What’s the story?”
“My daughter,” Jake began. His voice sounded hoarse having not spoken in some time. “My sisters. My cousin.”
“I’m sorry about your family,” Remar told him sincerely.
He had put in a call to Fullerton Villa to find out what he could.
“Lucy’s with her mum, from what I’m told,” Remar said. “She’ll be fine. Lionel received a shot to his shoulder and to chest but from what i hear he’ll be fine. I’ll let you have a call and catch up a little later but if you get out of here you don’t bring me any trouble are we understood?”
Jake nodded. He cleared his throat. “Of course.”
Cerberus held 2011 in his searching gaze. There was something going wrong with the guards and he needed people among the inmates he could rely on should the worst happen.
Son of the late fisherman and Webb Industries CEO, Fergus Webb, Hugo abdicated from his birth right citing fishing being murder. Hugo decided to dedicate his time instead to animal activism. He is the founder of the ARC group (Animal Rights of Coldford). With millions of followers, he is one of the top influencers on Coby Games’ HANGOUT platform. He is vain and snobbish but passionate about his cause.
The ARC have been known to go to extreme lengths to raise awareness of animal rights including thrown potent acid on models who wore fur and covering theater goers with red paint. Hugo is a vibrant leader but can be a little unstable.
He is often found carrying out his live streams with a great constrictor snake named Shyla whom he rescued. There are many podcasts and episodes dedicated to the evil that is Perry Zoo which he is Hell bent shutting down.
Enjoy this? Check out these other thrillers available now.
Occupation: crowned queen five centuries prior to current events.
Painting of Francesca Chamberlain the first.
Despite her not living in current times the presence of Francesca Chamberlain is still felt, most notably in her castle in the northern city of Bournton. The call the castle The Boss because of the way it looms over the town below. It is currently a high security prison for the worst of the worst in the Shady City. It hasn’t changed much in the times since Francesca’s reign in that even then it was a dungeon that many feared to be held behind. Francesca was a bloody and merciless ruler taking great pride in the torture of her prisoners. They called her a witch because of the young maidens she drove to madness.
Francesca’s statue within The Boss
She may have been ruthless but most rulers in those days were. What she did hold dear though were her nephews, princes James and Edward. As sons of Francesca’s brother Henry, James was the rightful heir to Chamberlain dynasty. Having died in battle Francesca brought the princes to the castle for safe keeping. The intention was to rule in James’ stead until he came of age.
Whilst staying in the castle the younger prince, Edward, fell ill. Francesca believed a witch among them had cursed the little boy but luckily the arrival of a Holy man named Noah Wigan brought the boy back to health. From that moment Francesca was dedicated to the church Wigan was building. She heeded his advice above all and she became quite mad with her devotion.
Paintings held by the Chamberlain Trust
Times have moved along since those days history books refer to as the Ballad of Blood. The modern Chamberlain family have left swords behind but bloodshed remains stained on the golden crown.
I have told the tale of many families in Coldford. I’ve discussed the dark, the dangerous and the ruthless. The Stoker Circus family encompass all three of things. I’ve never known such a group of people willing to stoop to the lowest levels to keep themselves riding high. Desperate times of recession had given them stiff competition but they never ceased to amaze. They would stop at nothing for the almighty coin. They were a big family so when it came to them against the world the world stood little chance. When it came to being pit against each other there would be a clown parade. Underneath the cotton candy, the organ music and the balloons there was a real heart beating. If only they could stop to hear it. I’m reporter Sam Crusow and this is what happens when a Stoker is offered loadsa bunce but they are asked to split it.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls! Step right up for an outrageous and sometimes dangerous show. I’m Adrien Stoker and welcome to Stoker circus!” The fan fare erupted around the Big Top as the audience in Luen were drawn into the circus as it passed through town. Adrien Stoker beamed a huge smile. His excitement for his act was palpable. The audience grinned right back at him as the clowns in blue and red face paint danced whimsically around him, tying him into a strait jacket. His brother, Hanz, in red tails, joined him in centre ring, playing the role of the villain who had captured him. Hanz made a show of yelling at the clowns to restrain him tighter. They turned him to show the audience four tightly fastened restraints. They even carried Adrien across to the audience for a member to pull on the buckles and confirm it was in fact fastened tightly. A heavily made up woman tugged on them and yes they were secure. When back in centre ring blue and red boards were pulled aside to reveal a tank of water, standing up right, not much larger than a coffin. “The water cell has been banned in the orient. They say once you are submerged there is no escaping. Don’t be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen. I’m willing to give it a try and if I drown … that’s just show business.” Hanz gave a show of his character being desperate to hurry it along. Adrien was lifted, and he was dropped into the water head first. Hanz secured the lid and he stepped on top of his brother’s watery coffin. “Not so amazing now!” He cried theatrically. He accepted jeers from the audience with a wave of his arms. A timer started. The view of Adrien in the water cell was concealed with the boards. “The longest any one has ever held their breath was for eleven minutes. Let’s see how long the Amazing Adrien can last.” The fan fare erupted again. The clowns made another showy dance around the ring as the sands on the timer dropped. The boards were pulled aside briefly to show Adrien still in the cell and seemingly struggling with his binds. “Oh no!” Lady Margerite gasped, watching the show through a set of golden opera glasses. She hoped Adrien would be okay despite what Hanz was suggesting, doing a little jig on top of Adrien’s coffin before leaping back down into the ring. The sands in the timer continued to fall. It had now been minutes since Adrien was submerged. Son’s, Valdrick and Irvine, watched on from the sidelines. The two boys were naturally born showman. Sometimes as the timer ran out Uncle Hanz called upon them to help keep the audience going. It meant audience appreciation. It meant becoming the face of the circus. It meant some coins being thrown their way. “It’s my show, mucker,” Irvine had said. He strongly believed he was the one to follow papa. Val disagreed. “Get down with you,” Val replied with impatience. He had lifted his juggling pins and was waiting for the call. Meanwhile, outside Hanz was saying to the audience of Adrien, “I hope he took care of his affairs …” The timer ran out. “This is it! This is it!” Irvine was muttering to himself. BARAH BA BOOM! The music cut. The lights focused centre ring. Hanz took a peek behind the boards. He started calling to the other performers. Something appeared to have gone dreadfully wrong. Lady Margerite sat forward in her chair. “Oh no,” she gasped as she looked through the opera glasses. The performers appeared to be in a panic. They pulled the boards back to reveal the tank was now empty. Spotlights danced around the audience and landed on the seat beside Margerite. Imagine her surprise when there stood Adrien Stoker, dripping wet, free of his binds and smiling warmly despite his struggles. He raised a glass of what was presumably water from the tank. “To you and yours Madame,” he said. The audience erupted in cheers as Adrien gave a bow and the spotlight followed him back down to the centre ring. Lady Margerite was thrilled. Irvine and Val took a peek out the curtains but quickly retracted when Uncle Hanz came rushing in. He pulled off his tailed jacket and he threw it backstage. “One of you,” he barked at the boys. “Move.” That was when the baby started to cry. Both boys looked back. ‘Not now,’ seemed to be the collective thoughts of the brothers. “The baby is crying,” Irvine stated. “Yeah,” said Val. “I can hear that.” “Move!” Hanz barked again as he headed on back out. For Valdrick, concern over the infant won out. He had to check on his baby brother. Irvine was not so worried. “Sucka,” he cheered as he headed out to centre ring. The boards were pulled back again and to the audience’s amazement there was Hanz in the cell now wearing the strait jacket. As they removed Hanz from the tank Irvine charmed the audience. Lady Margerite gushed over the boy’s charisma. Valdrick was rocking the baby in his arms thinking of the bunce he had lost. “Damn it, Felix,” he groaned. “You choose now to cry?” The baby grinned a gumsy grin at his brother. “You know you lost me an earner, right?” Felix giggled. “Never mind,” said Val. “When we’re older we’ll run the show together. We’ll make loadsa bunce.” “It was a smashing show,” Lady Margarite told her driver on the way home. Adrien Stoker was so attractive with his dark curls and expressive eyes. He was slim and tall and when she found him stood next to her she could hear the breath in his words from the struggle of his escape. “To you and yours Madame!” He had said. Stoker Circus, passing through Luen, had left a lasting impression.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Boys and girls! Step right up for a swinging, stinging and full in your face ringing show. I’m Irvine Stoker and these are the trapeezy easys.” The spotlight focused on centre ring as Ethel Easy – the female half the trapeze duo climbed a rope to the high wire. She was agile so she reached the top with ease. The music offered an encouraging beat. What audience there was watched her in awe. She gripped the high wire and spun herself round once, twice and three times before holding herself up in a handstand on the wire. She reached her legs out. She let herself drop and her brother Errol had come whizzing across from the high dale of the Big Top. The audience gasped as he caught her in his arms. The two swung across to the other side of the great tent. Ringmaster Irvine stepped off the ring to leave the Easys to do their thing. “We got some bad news, boss.” Irvine had scraped some powder from an old metal box he kept in his coat onto his finger nail. He sniffed and leaned his head back a little. “What bad news?” He naturally asked. Strongman Otto, who was delivering said news, looked concerned. “I’m afraid Aunt Margerite passed away,” said the muscle man. Irvine gasped. He removed his hat and bowed his head. “It’s always the good ones,” he said solemnly. “How did she go?” Otto shrugged his broad shoulders. “Dunno,” he said. “Age I suppose.” Irvine gasped again. “Time,” he said. “It’s cruel Otto. It’s fucking cruel …’ “Will you be alright, boss?” Otto asked sensitively. “I will be,” Irvine said. “I just need to collect myself. I just need to figure out who the fuck Aunt Margerite is. Which one is she?” “Dunno,” Otto answered. “But this letter said she left you a little something.” Irvine stood up straight. He snatched the letter from the strongman. “There’s a will? Why didn’t you tell me that?” “I figured you would want to grieve first.” Irvine’s eyes were already reading the statement to see just how long a mourning period he was going to need. They heard the audience react as the Easys swung across the tent and swapped trapezes. Ethel swung above the audience blowing a kiss to an older gentlemen there with his grandkids. Errol threw a rose to an adoring young woman who snatched it up excitedly. The two met in the middle again. Ethel leapt from her trapeze to clasp her brothers feet. As they soared across she flipped onto the dale and climbed onto the tight rope. “Yes!” Irvine cried out as he read the handsome amount dear Aunt Margerite had bequeathed to him. “Wait a minute,” he said as he read on. “This says I’m to split this with my damn brothers. I was Aunt Margerite’s favourite. She said so all the time … I think … this has to be wrong.” Otto looked at the paper. He read it slowly. “Looks pretty legit.” Irvine snatched the paper away. “Aunt Margerite was a sweet old dear and she sought to leave this money to her adoring and affectionate nephew. I will not have her wishes besmirched by those scoundrel brothers of mine trying to take what she wanted me to have.” “Says here you’ve to split it,” Otto reminded him, running a finger across the words that said as such. “Equal … share…” he said slowly and carefully. Irvine held the letter to his chest. “Who’s side are you even on?” He asked. “Yours boss,” Otto stated. “Then don’t breathe a word of this. Does anyone else know?” “Don’t think so,” said Otto. “Ooooh!” The audience cheered. The Trapeezy Easys were wowing them as Ethel danced foot to foot across the tight rope as Eroll climbed hand to hand underneath her. Ethel tucked her foot under the rope and let herself drop. She caught Errol’s feet, flipped herself onto the wire again and spread her arms for balance. “Whatever you do do not let Val hear about this.” To the heavens he said, “don’t you worry Aunt Margerite. I won’t let your memory be robbed.” Otto nodded solemnly. “RIP Aunt Margerite,” he said. “Was she the one with the mole?” Irvine asked. Otto could only shrug. Eroll swung on his trapeze by his feet. He had his sister’s hands and he launched her towards the dale. Ethel landed on the dale and immediately threw herself back off catching her brothers hands again. Irvine came skipping back to centre ring as the Easys came sliding down the rope as their act came to an finish. “Wasn’t that something?” He said as he slipped his inheritance letter inside his pocket. “We don’t give half measures here at Stoker Circus. The Trapeezy Easys took a bow. The audience applauded. It was a meagre audience but that didn’t matter. The whole time Irvine kept thinking of Aunt Margerite. Now If only he could remember who Aunt Margerite was. More importantly, he had to stop his deplorable brother finding out about it. Split it. Equal share. Yeah right!
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Step right up for a dashing, crashing, full in your face smashing show. I’m Val Stoker and welcome to Stoker Circus.” The audience for the matinee show in the blue tent wasn’t as filled as it used to be but Val let his voice boom to the rafters as if it were a full house. There were a few scattered guests coughing away and giving a half hearted applause. Val’s wife Gigi had felt it too. She tried to keep up enthusiasm as best she could but they were losing them. What little there were of them. The only one who was paying the real attention they would expect of a visitor to the Stoker Circus was a small baby who’s push chair had been pressed up to the front. A smile crossed its face as Val juggled three blue pins. His act was delightful. In bygone days it would have been well received but we live in an age of computer games and technology. The old school circus had stiff competition to work with. It was sad to see such old fashioned fun drip away. What was most despairing was the fact it meant the tents were making less bunce. “We better pull out the big guns, missus,” said Val to his wife. The tall, leggy blonde was already on it. She passed him a set of metal pins. Val flicked them and the ends sparked on fire. “Huh?” He put to his audience. “Impressed yet?” The little baby cried with delight as Val danced in front of him. The flaming torches spiralled in a truly exciting fashion. He spun them higher. He spun them faster. He even got a chuckle out of his audience when he made a show as though his hands were burning and he blew on his palms between the throws. “It’s just not the same these days,” Val commented to Gigi as they stepped out of their ring. “It’s the end of an era, sugar,” said Gigi solemnly, dusting bits of sand off of his jacket. “We’ll get by,” Val assured enough for the both of them. “We always do.” The Stokers were in fact a resilient bunch. They had travelled through the generations and they survived. They survived because they were willing to sink to depths that even the most hardened of people would consider questionable. They robbed houses, they picked pockets, they washed away crime scenes and the tragedy of it all was their show, the thing that was important to all of them, wouldn’t be failing if they were to put their own greed aside and focus on it. Val tried to focus on it. He had loved the tents when his father was around. It was the golden age of the circus and Adrien had made their show one people for miles around would come to see. Now they were lucky if they had half of an audience at matinees. It wasn’t that the quality had dwindled over the years, they were always inventing creative ways to entertain. It was just that they had been so preoccupied keeping themselves on top they forgot the Stokers were a huge family and if they came together they could relive those glory days. ‘Nah! It’s all about the bunce,’ Val thought to himself. ‘What good is anything if you don’t have the cash? The tents would fill again if there was money in the place.’ Val felt a another hand on his shoulder. It was a heavier hand than Gigi’s. It was the hand of Cyril, the Stoker sad clown. “Aunt Margerite died,” he said sensitively. The painted clown face complete with tears showing just how solemn and grief stricken he was. “No,” Val gasped. “What took her. Was it her heart?” “I don’t know,” said Cyril. “I heard Otto telling Irvine.” “Which one was Aunt Margerite?” Gigi sought to ask. Cyril shrugged. “I don’t know any Margerite but she left something. Irvine didn’t want you to know.” Val gave him an affirming pat on the shoulder. HEEHO! HEEHO! “You’re a good cousin for letting me know,” he told him. To Gigi he said conspiratorially. “That bastard thinks he can hide my inheritance. He thinks he can go against dear Aunt Margerite’s wishes? The scoundrel. The absolute …” He stopped to ask Cyril, “was she the one with the mole?” Cyril shrugged. “All I know is she left you some inheritance and Irvine doesn’t want to share.” “Damn that cheating bastard of a brother of mine,” Val exclaimed. To Cyril he asked, “how much was it?” “Don’t know,” Cyril stated. “But we’ll soon find out.” “I hope so,” Val said. “Because I need to know just how sad I am about Aunt Margerite’s passing… Did she have all the dogs?” “That was Angelique,” said Gigi. “And he’s still in Luen.”
When there was a scent of financial gain in the air a Stoker is like a blood hound. As sad clown Cyril informed Val of the deception another deception was taking place. Main clown Olga was sneaking into the back room of the Big Top whilst Irvine was giving his all to his meagre customers. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he was telling them. “But I’m afraid I’m mourning the loss of a beloved aunt who was as close to me as a mother. Dear Aunt Margerite, you will be sorely missed. But ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls she would have wanted the show to go on. She would also want you to put some extra tuppence in that bucket there to go to her favourite charity. It is what she wanted and what better way to remember such a generous woman.” The coast was clear which was just as well because Olga’s shoes squeaked, squeaked and squeaked across the boards. There it was. Sat on the desk was the letter detailing the inheritance left behind by Aunt Margerite. Olga smiled as she reached out to collect it, her face paint making that smile ever so big. But just as she collected the letter a claw like hand snatched hers. It was tattooed, bony and the sharp yellowish nails dug in. Gretel, the legless woman from their freak show, heaved herself onto the table. “Oh shit!” Olga cried. Gretel Stoker may have been born without legs but she could sure pull her way around a room faster than most people with both legs could run. Gretel leapt onto her and tried to snatch the letter. Olga, was a burly clown. She could throw her rounded body for an audience’s amusement so she had quite the heave on her. She grabbed Gretel by her arms and hammer threw the legless woman across the back room. Gretel bounced off the canopy and came rushing across the boards. “Give it back!” She warned. Olga tore out of there with Gretel hot on her heel. “Oh shit!” Olga cried out again as Gretel lashed out and tore a hole in her clown pants with her long, pointed nails. Olga didn’t feel good about it, at least that was what she said afterwards, but the only way she was going to get out of there with the letter was if she took Gretel out. She could give her a kick worthy of an rugby player of course but she saw the fire hose and the clown in her couldn’t resist. WOOOOOSH! She turned the hose on Gretel and sent the legless woman sailing down a small but powerful river back into the back room. She turned on her heel and she bounced out of there. Her shoes were now sounding extra squidgy. “Val?” She cried out when she returned to the blue tent. “I’ve got the letter.” “Well done Olga, girl,” said Val. Olga caught her breath. She leaned over, wheezing a little. “I had to skoosh Gretel back into her box.” Val had already started to read the letter. “Getting Gretel to guard are you, I’m onto you Irvine. Don’t forget I’m the older brother. I’ve been on this planet longer. You can’t outsmart a smartass. Ain’t that right, missus?” “It is, sugar,” agreed Gigi. “People say it all the time.” “We’re rich!” Val exclaimed as he read the letter. “Thank you, Aunt Margerite!” He kissed the letter with a firm mwah! They were celebrating. They still had to get the money though.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. Step right up for a slicing, dicing, full in your face enticing show. I’m Felix Stoker and welcome to Stoker Circus!” Felix, the baby of the three brothers, didn’t mind the dwindling audiences so much. Whether it was five or five thousand watching he was thrilled to be entertaining. He didn’t want to think about the tents as a business. He believed in the magic that was bringing a smile to the masses just as his father had. The music rumbled and the two fire breathers, Gisel and Silke, danced around the ring of the blue tent. They blew on their torches and flames around the fence lit drawing an audible gasp from the evening crowd. Silke danced back to centre first. Her partner joined her. Gisel raised her torch. She turned the flames to her lips and she ate the fire. She turned to Silke, kissed her. They parted and it was Silke who blew out the flames like an angry dragon. The thrills were a plenty even if the money wasn’t rolling in. Felix was a knife thrower. He threw them around Silke as she spun on a red and blue wheel. He threw them whilst blindfolded. He threw them whilst balancing on a beam and blindfolded. He always hit the target with those knives. He had so many planted up his sleeves that it just looked like there was no end to them. He would flip and spin and always the knives would stick exactly where they were meant to. Even with the fire breathers throwing flames around him his aim was as accurate as could be. The audience applauded and he took a congenial bow. Behind the noise of the appreciation he could hear his brothers start to bicker. “Thank you everyone for coming,” Felix was telling his audience. “I’m going to ring your fat little neck,’ Irvine could be heard growling at Val. “You have been a wonderful audience and I do hope you come back and join us again soon,” said Felix. “You thieving bastard. You were going to cut me out,” was Val’s retort. “Have a safe journey home and remember …” “Ouch!” Irvine yelped as Val kicked his long shin. He lurched towards Val but Val had decided to run at him with his shoulder. What resulted was a grapple that was worthy of a couple of clowns. “Will you stop this?” Olga requested. “It looks ridiculous.” Gretel had leapt onto Val’s back leaving Cyril no choice but to pull her off. She turned on him and then there were two ridiculous grapples going on. They had been so busy with their petty feud it wasn’t until they both felt a knife at both of their throats they stopped. Both brothers took a step back and raised their hands. “Someone want to tell me what is going on?” Asked Felix. Cyril and Gretel both raised their hands too. Having no legs, Gretel just tumbled to the ground. “We’re just upset,” said Irvine. “I don’t know how to tell you this …” “You might want to sit down,” added Val. “It’s going to be hard one to take mucker,” said Irvine. “It’s really sad news,” said Val. Felix frowned at them both. “Aunt Margerite died,” said Irvine and Val together, both trying to be the first to break the news. Felix sighed. Then he thought about it. “We don’t have an Aunt Margerite,” he said. “Turns out we do. She left us a little something as inheritance,” Val told him. “Not much. Just a little token really,” Irvine explained further. “We don’t even know why we’re fighting over it it is so minuscule,” Val saw fit to add. “Feels silly now,” Irvine stated. In that moment it there was an unspoken agreement made between the two elder brothers as the baby scrutinised them. ‘We cannot let him know he’s named on there too,’ Irvine would no doubt be the first to remind. ‘He’ll probably want to give the whole lot to some charitable cause like pox riddled cats or something,’ Val would consider. This unspoken rule had formed and as untrustworthy as they could be they knew they both had to agree to this or they both would end up with nothing and most likely they both would end up with a sharp end of a knife making them really uncomfortable for causing upset to Felix’s act. “She left something for you too,” Val decided to be honest. “She left you these.” From his bag he removed a statue of two lions. He wasn’t being all that honest. The lions had been handed into his pawn shop. They didn’t look worth much and the word around the shop was they were cursed. The seller certainly seemed quite keen to get rid of them and Val’s little shop of costly curiosities seemed the perfect fit. Felix didn’t know any of this though. He took the lions and inspected them. “She left me these?” He asked. “She must have thought you the most special all,” said Irvine. ‘No need to ham it up. I got this. Then you and I get back to sorting our shit out,’ Val thought. “Huh,” Felix smiled with a nod. “They are unusual aren’t they?” He said of his lions. “It was very kind of Aunt Margerite to leave these to me. I’d better take good care of them.” “You do that,” Val urged. “In fact, you better put them somewhere safe before something happens to them.” Or before the curse gets out. “Will you stop fighting?” Felix asked. Val made the decision for them. “Since it’s just pittance we’ve been given it might be better just to leave it to a charitable cause,” he said. ‘What are you doing?’ Irvine wondered. ‘It needs to be fucking believable.’ Felix was busy inspecting his lions again. “Maybe pox riddled cats,” said Irvine. “I don’t think Aunt Margerite would want you to be fighting. She would be really upset that the good thing she did for us, remembering us on her death bed, would cause an argument,” Felix told them sincerely. “You are right,” Val nodded. He placed an arm around Felix’s shoulder and started to lead him away. “You know, Felix, you never cease to amaze me. Just when I think there are no good men left in this world you remind me of what a gem you are.” “Thank you,” Felix replied. Val stretched. “Well you have set us straight and I think it’s time to turn in.” “Mmmhmmm,” Felix muttered as he departed, still captivated by his lions. Made in Subala it said on the bottom. ‘I wonder when Aunt Margerite was in Subala.’ Gretel climbed up Irvine’s long legs and into his arms. He had Val looked at each other. “So we’re agreed on an equal share?” Val put to the ringmaster. “That sounds fair, mucker,” Irvine told the juggler. Irvine carried Gretel away. Val led Cyril away. They both looked back over their shoulders because when you are such a devious individual you can’t help but expect everyone you meet to be just as sneaky.
The Rumilaw of City Main was where Val’s pawn shop lay. It was also home to dentists who weren’t necessarily fully licensed and to lawyers who weren’t necessarily sober all the time. However, that was where such people like the Stokers conduct their legal business. Val and Gigi were making their way to the offices of Friggan and Moore. Moore was no longer part of that team for reasons that involved a suicide attempt with an axe but they kept the sign because Friggan and Moore sounded more of a legal powerhouse than just plain old Friggan. Stanley Friggan wouldn’t be tearing up the High Court of Coldford any time soon but for a moderate fee he could make sure Val got his inheritance. “What are we going to do with that money?” Gigi was enjoying thinking out loud. Maybe a trip to Luen? Maybe a nice meal at the Delphine restaurant? Val had been thinking of the lousy matinees they had been experiencing. Fixing that would be a good place to start. “I promised Felix when we were kids we would have the best show ever,” Val said to his wife. “We do have that,” Gigi retorted. “We just need people to come along and see it.” “I’ll fix that. I’d like to use some of the money to bring our show up to scratch. Make it something people around here really want to come and see.” “That’s nice,” Gigi agreed. “I thought so,” said Val. “Felix would like that. He’s a good kid.” “You could give him his share,” Gigi suggested. Val frowned. “I said he was a good kid not a fucking bank. Felix wouldn’t know what to do with that money. I’m the eldest brother so it’s best I make the decisions.” “You are a smart man, sugar,” said Gigi. There are wise men and there are smart ones. Often the two are not the same. Val was smart. He was very wiley but he was in competition with a creature just as smart and even more shameless. “Irvine, you bastard!” Just as they arrived at the office of Friggan and Moore they saw Irvine approaching too. A wise man would stop and have a civilised discussion with his brother as to the benefits all could have with such an inheritance. A smart one would dash in to be the first inside the office. Irvine’s long legs gave him an advantage but Valdrick’s stocky frame could be carried like a leaping gazelle when there was money involved. The result was the two caught in the doorway. “We agreed equal share,” Irvine growled. “I was just checking on it for us,” Val assured. “What are you doing here?” “The same. Just checking. I wanted to make sure we weren’t shaken by some huckster law man who can’t stay sober an afternoon,” said Irvine. The finally managed to squeeze inside. Friggan came from his office to meet them. “Come in. Come in!” He beckoned them in a drunken way that oozed relief that he had clients. “You’re brother is already here.” Irvine and Val looked at each other. Before they could question it too much the were ushered into Friggan’s office. Seated already was Felix. “Dear Margarite,” said Felix. “She was a splendid woman.” “She was,” Val said solemnly but with a little hesitation. “She was a one of a kind. You don’t meet women like that often,” said Irvine. “I’ll get the final paperwork,” offered Friggan. As he bounced into his desk and over to his files the three Stokers had a score to settle. “You rotten little cheat,” Val said to Felix. “To cheat you would to take something that isn’t yours. I’m just here for what’s mine,” Felix maintained. “You’re going to give it all away to poxy cats, aren’t you?” Irvine asked. “Don’t you realise what we could do, how much better off we would be if we worked together?” Suggested the knife thrower. “You’re too good a liar. I don’t like that,” said Val. “We just need a signature and we can get the funds released,” the lawyer returned with some documents. “Friggan did good didn’t he? I mean this is a good pay out. You’re gonna want to buy a drink for your old pal Friggan.” “You just need my signature don’t you, since I’m the eldest,” Val made a last ditch attempt. “I’ll need all three,” said Friggan leaning over the paper and looking like he was going to hurl. He looked up and pointed at them trying to count to make sure there were actually three. Gigi’s presence confused matters momentarily. When they finally departed with all the final details taken care of Val wrapped an arm around Felix. “You know some days I wonder where you came from but you are definitely a Stoker.” Felix chuckled. “I learned from the best and the worst.” “We’re going to be alright, baby brother,” Val assured them. “I do feel a little bad. Margarite left me the lion statue and nothing extra for you both,” Felix told them. “Because you’ve always been special,” Irvine said, rolling his eyes. He was still brooding about his payday being cut by two thirds.
The numbers flashed on the screen as the video played. 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …
“You’re going to have the best day. We’re here to take all your troubles away. You’re going to dance and sing. You’ll smile at everything. Because Stoker Circus are on their way.”
The three brothers watched the old advert play out. The images burned away and were replaced by Adrien, who appeared to just be finishing adjusting his camera. “Valdrick, Irvine, Felix, if you are seeing this then the chances are something has gone wrong for me. Don’t worry though. It was bound to happen. You can’t outrun the Devil forever. You will be grown men now but if you will still take advice from your father I want you to take a look around yourselves. Our tents and our name has stood the test of time because we are able to brace for toughest times like a slug to the gut. It’s admirable and Irvine you are better at that than anyone I’ve ever known. Just remember not everyone wants to throw a punch. I hope you know the difference. Felix, you have such a kindly nature and I am always proud of you. Sometimes even the kindest need to be armed with knives but don’t let it make you forget who you are though. Valdrick, I know you have always been nervous of the future. You were always worrying about what was to come next. Don’t let that stop you enjoying what you already have. The beauty of what is now is when it’s then it’s no longer now and what seems so important now isn’t such a big deal then. You all have the chance to make people smile. No matter what goes on in the world what is the point of anything if you can’t make people smile? A Queen or a maid, a king or a pauper, it’s all same. They all need to smile. It’s worth taking those slugs in the gut for. I should probably tell you who Margerite was. She was a lady of the Luen Court. She was of noble birth and I captured her heart. She was your mother. That makes you royalty.” Val and Irvine’s eyes both widened. Val’s lips pursed in an expression that suggested he had that figured all along. Irvine began flicking his collar wishing he had starched it more. Fuck it. He would have a man servant to do that if he was going to be Royalty. “We’re the sons of a noble woman!?” Adrien seemed to savour their expression for a bit. Then he pouted. “Just kidding. Your mother was a trampolinist who drowned in a barrel of wine,” he told the camera. He smiled. “See? Tragic but you got to smile.” “Grinning ear to ear,” Groaned Irvine sarcastically. “My point is,” Adrien went on, “people like Lady Margarite need to smile and they are always appreciative of our own being able to make them. I hope you use her generosity wisely. Most importantly don’t forget to smile yourselves. There is only one rule in the Stoker tents and that is you cannot leave sad.”
There are many terrible deeds attributed to the Stoker family but I for one like to think of the true heart beneath it all. Adrien was an amazing man. Hanz was a war criminal. Felix was an honest hero always willing to help those in need. For Irvine everything had a price, even human lives. Where did that leave Valdrick? He seemed an explosive mix of all these things. His decisions would determine where the circus rolled to next and what kind of impression they would give. With his father’s voice ringing in his ears Valdrick used some of the money bequeathed by Lady Margerite to improve his show. Not all of it, he wasn’t a complete nonce, but it did breathe life into their dying show. Time would tell just how far this would go but for now I have some hope that Stoker Circus could fulfil Adrien’s wishes and be on hand to make people smile through tough times. Then again, the Circus had rode into Coldford where clowns were right at home.
When the daughter of an enemy comes to Val Stoker looking for a loan, the circus performer thinks his luck as rolled in! He has a conscience though. Not much but it is there and there is a bigger problem brewing.
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From the family of circus performers who hailed from the country of Levinkrantz, Freddy is the grandson of the legendary escape artist Adrien Stoker. Of the three Stoker tents (the red, blue and striped BigTop) Freddy leads the freak show from the red. He is a natural performer, learning from his ringmaster father, Irvine. Drawn to the macabre, Freddy enjoys making his audience squirm as he presents the most freakish sights.
Like the rest of his large family he will always be willing to perform on demand if the right person throws some coin into his ring. On the off season he acts as a crime scene cleaner. He is incredibly thorough in his observations which means cleaning up your messes is no sweat. His gymnastic skills and performance flair also see him well equipped to carry out home invasion robberies. He is a despicable little monster among but hey that’s show business!
The Stoker family contain the good, the bad and the downright fiendish. Freddy is of the latter. So if you have the stomach and the morbid curiosity then come on down whilst the circus is in town.
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Some lives are lived to excess. Some lives are lived well. Some lives are zapped right out of the good for nothing so and so which brings me back to the most shocking resident of this castle. Buzzkill is the end of the line for most of our inmates. His strap-like tentacles are one size fits all. When his three sister switches – past, present and future – are flicked, and Buzzkill begins to shake the life from his prey it causes the lights to flicker deep down here in the lowest depths right up to the dizzying heights.
They say Buzzkill is humane. I ask you, would you find it humane to park your rear in his grasp? As his long arms tighten around you I defy anyone to think to themselves, ‘what a delightful way to go.’
As guards lead in Buzzkill’s next meal, inmate 2000 (incidentally the amount of voltz he’s about have fired through him) we can see from the expression on his face he’s not feeling like it’s all very humane. .
His name was Elder McEery on the outside. He was raised on Hathfield Bay island. He spent his time frolicking in the sands, playing in the sea and bashing the heads of tourists in on behalf of the Church of St Wigan. They were vengeful types and not the hippy, loving, religious sorts they would seem. St Wigan was all about the righteousness and he had Elder believe he was just in dispatching heathens. The High Court of Coldford strongly disagreed. Death was his sentence and a seat on Buzzkill’s lap was the method.
“Do you have anything you wish to say before sentence is carried out?” Inmate 2000 was asked.
Elder sniffed. He would swear he could already feel the electricity firing through his body. The switches hadn’t been pulled yet. It was just the ice cold shards of nerves.
Looking upon Buzzkill’s layer is the viewing room separated by a thick glass partition which Christie and her grief counsellors gathered behind earlier in our tale. Some gather there to bear witness to the end of someone who did them wrong. Others might want to be the last thing the victim sees before that almighty bolt is thrown at them.
The viewing room is rather empty and somber for Elder. There is a woman dressed in modest clothes. She isn’t looking at him. She has her eyes closed. She is praying, clutching a purple ribbon in her hand. A filthy braid with more ribbons tangled in it flows down her back. There is another man there too. He’s a peculiar looking fellow who seems to have a mischievous grin about him even though he isn’t smiling. Mr Kutz has been tasked with assuring Elder is sent on his one-way trip to ask St Wigan himself it the dead tourists were necessary. They can all meet up in Hell and think, ‘well this is embarrassing.’
“For the heathens do not repent,” Wigan had said.
It is tough to repent when you have just watched your baby being crushed under rocks and know you’re going to be next.
“Do you have anything to say?” the inmate was asked again.
Elder could barely breathe. Buzzkill embraced him so tightly.
“Praise Wigan!” he gasped.
Praise him indeed.
The knowing grin of Kutz spread into an actual smile.
“Faithful to the end,” he said. “I suppose that is somewhat admirable.”
The first switch was pulled.
Buzzzzz.
It began as a gentle tremor as Elder’s past caught up with him.
The second switch was pulled
Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.
Elder shook a little harder. He was locked in the present. He was locked in Buzzkill’s layer.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzzzzzzz.
The future lit up as the third switch was pulled. The future for Elder was one of eternal torment which is ironic considering the all knowing Wigan had him believe that was what he was saving himself from. I’m sure he can take that up with the manager when the ferryman ushers him to his final destination.
Buzzkill gnashed and Elder shuddered violently in his jaws. The lights flickered. The Wigan girl had interrupted her prayer to observe.
“No need for alarm,” he said in a way that was pleasant but not all reassuring. “That’s to be expected.”
“Gentlemen, for your crimes you are now in servitude to The Boss.”
Available on Kindle April 15th 2022
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Sophie is the younger sister of Howard Bergman of the Bergman Diamond Parade in City Main. Like the rest of her family she is loving and kind. She is sharp witted and not easily fooled. Among her family she is the one that carries a reputation of being strict which is to be expected when she is a high ranker from the Office of Law Makers. Her two sons, Issac (the elder) and Elijah (the younger) are well mannered and law abiding thanks to their mother’s upbringing.
Sophie and her brother Howard were born in the country of Levinkrantz. During the blitz they were offered escape. Their parents perished leaving young Howard with his little sister, to come to Coldford to start a new life. She has seen war. She had seen it at a young age and it gave her the determination to become the Law Making force she is.
Sophie is also congenitally deaf. She reads lips very well so rather than criminals trying to sing sweet words to her ears she can easily decipher the truth of the matter straight from the tongue. She is accompanied mostly by her interpreter, Dmitri Raminoff, better known as Golem for his protective nature and sheer size.
Upholding the law in the Shady City is a tough job but Sophie isn’t shy of it. She was just a little girl when the bombs began to fall on Levinkrantz. She escaped a war zone. She has little fear.
It began so slowly. First there were meetings, then there was fighting and then there were soldiers on the streets. When the bombs started to drop it was all over. As the Church of St Wigan calls for the end of days, Howard Bergman wondered how long it would be before the bombs started to drop on Coldford.
Gather round ladies and gentlemen, for a tale of four desperate men on society’s ultimate time out. We’ve got vagabonds of all descriptions behind these bars and someone has to keep them in line.
Coldford Correctional is better known as The Boss for the way it looms over the town. It’s the toughest place in the Shady City. Some even say it’s Hell on earth. It’s lucky that the warden they have guarding it earned the nickname ‘Cerberus’, the loyal hound of hades and guardian of the underworld.
Warden Gianni Remar has kept all kinds of monsters behind bars. The strongest prison in the Shady City seems like the perfect fit for him.
Coming April 2022
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“We’ve just received word that Tabitha McInney, better known as the Boss Lady of The Knock Knock Club, has escaped custody in the last hour. Officers on scene were injured after a knife attack by what was described as rebellious supporters of the Shanties cause. Tabitha’s current whereabouts is unknown so the public is advised to be cautious. If you see anything contact the office of Law Makers immediately. I’m Sandra Wake of Coldford Daily news.”
“No!” I cried. “This can’t be happening.”
To most of the city, Tabitha was a deranged killer. To the people of the Shanties, she was a queen who was willing to do anything it took to protect them. There was a group in the Shanties named the Red Rebels who were loyal to her. I had to assume that the blades of the knife attack on the escorting officers had been in their hands.
“They have to find her,” I said to no one in particular, pacing the floor. What if she came to find me?
“What if she comes to find me, pal?!” ex club manager Dennis had said when I informed him.
What ifs indeed!
***
“She’s out!” Tawny cheered.
The three bros looked among each other. They were still holding the Baroness but their trip to the Great States had left them a little drained.
“Ye have to let me speak to your pa,” Tawny insisted. “Please, just let me speak to him. I have to get out of here. I don’t want Tabitha to get into any more trouble.”
The three bros let the news of the Boss Lady’s escape sink in.
When they first brought Tawny to Cooper Garages to hold her, they had no idea what they would do with her. A lot of shit went down, they went to the Great States leaving Tawny under the supervision of George. When they got back, they had expected George to have eaten her or some shit but she was still in one piece.
“What we going to do, brah?” Cooper asked. “My dad will be over here soon and he’ll be opening the garage up for the new season.”
“Let me speak to your pa,” suggested Tawny.
Buddy took his gun. He had given it a lot of thought. He was an Owen and he had to do what needed to be done.
***
“Captain Owen’s office, how may I direct your call?”
“I need to speak to the Cappy,” said Buddy, still with the gun in his hand.
“And who may I say is calling?”
“It’s Buddy. I need to speak to him right away.”
“Tell her it’s urgent, brah!” Chad suggested
“I know,” said Buddy a little impatiently. To the secretary he said, “It’s urgent.”
The secretary’s chirpy tones were replaced with the smooth Great States accent of The Cappy. He was seated at his desk and looked a little frustrated at the interruption.
“Buddy,” he enquired. “This had better be good.”
“Well,” Buddy began. “You know, like how you’re always telling me to make the family proud and to start acting like an Owen.”
The Cappy became increasing skeptical.
“What are you saying, Bud?”
Buddy hunched. He tried a laugh. Chad joined him quite enthusiastically. Cooper watched on with his arms folded.
“You are going to laugh your balls off,” Buddy assured.
The Cappy didn’t look like he was going to laugh anything off.
“What have you done?” the father asked.
He was a powerful man. He was a respected figure. He had faced a lot, but he was never suitably prepared for the outcome when his son called him and told him he would laugh his balls off at something he had done.
“I’m an Owen,” Buddy cried, his gun still in his hand. “I’ve been taking care of shit.”
“Buddy?” the Cappy barked. “What did you do?”
Buddy cleared his throat. He slapped Chad’s shoulder who was still enthusiastically preparing The Cappy for a real laugh riot. Buddy turned the camera. The Cappy almost choked when he saw Tawny. She was seated in a chair. She waved at him.
“Hi there!” she said. “Remember me?”
“You see!” Buddy cheered. “I Owened that shit.”
Buddy and his bros had decided that if they acted like it was the greatest achievement in the world, The Cappy might see it that way too.
“What in the entire nations is she doing there?” Chick asked.
Their theory didn’t work but I suppose it was worth a try.
“Chilling, as they say,” Tawny replied. “Your boys have been looking after me,” she teased. She reached up to her shoulder injury where the bros had been playing a game called ‘whale harpoon’. Buddy grabbed her hand and pulled it away.
“What do you want?” Chick asked her.
“I just want to go home,” she said. “A lot has gone down. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt on my account. I’m sure you heard about Tabitha.”
Chick managed to smile but it was a cold one.
“I just let you walk and I find myself with more hassle than I need right now. My father is dead.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I really am, but don’t make me recite the list of dead I have because you wanted me to shut my gob. You know I was telling the truth.”
The Cappy scowled.
“I just want to go home. Let’s put an end to this.”
The Cappy chuckled. “I would take your word for it but I’m a cynical man.”
“I’m not wanting to cause any fuss, cross my heart,” she laughed. “But I’m not a complete nutter. I don’t want to be waiting for one of those bullets that seems to go astray with you lot. There’s still life in this old gal yet. When I was young my ma used to tell me that I’d make friends with the devil himself, so let’s bond. I wouldn’t take the word of an Owen but I know money talks.”
“You want me to buy your silence?” The Cappy pressed.
“I don’t need yer money,” said Tawny. “But there’s lots of people in the Shanties that could use it. Invest in my charity. Help me do what I do and there’s a bond I would never dare break. You wouldn’t either.”
Chick folded his arms across his chest. He leaned back in his chair.
“Buddy…” he said. “Good job.”
The three bros looked at each other. “Huh?”
***
A city-wide search was underway for Tabitha and Reggie Penn. Given he was still severely injured, the whereabouts of Reggie was a cause for great concern. In light of this I had arranged a visit to The Boss to speak to his brothers. Given the Good Gang agents had brought Reggie in safely, I was hoping Marcus and Simon would be willing to offer what help they could. Although it wasn’t much.
“Have you heard from your brother?” I asked Marcus.
“If he’s gone anywhere, it would be to Luen,” was Simon’s suggestion.
Marcus, however, disagreed. “That would be the logical thing to do but he won’t leave these shores whilst we’re still here and mother hasn’t been buried.”
Simon thought about what his brother had said.
“I suppose. He’ll want to stay close by. He has hiding spots all over the city. It was how he managed to stay out of CPD hands for so long. Places we don’t even know about.”
My experiences of the triplets before this were of violence and murder. The loss of so much seemed to have sobered them a little. At least it had Simon. Marcus’ expression was still indecipherable. He pushed the spectacles from the end of his nose and seemed to lose himself in thought.
“What worries me is that Tabitha is also missing,” I explained. “The airport and the docks are all on high alert. They’ve set up check points on all city exits. They both need to be brought in before they get hurt, or worse. Do you think they would be together? Do you think they would know where to find each other?”
A little personal concern was falling into my voice. Simon must have noticed this because he smiled a little.
“Story isn’t quite so easy to write now, is it?” he teased.
“Simon,” barked Marcus in warning.
I took a deep breath. Agent Kim Adams and Agent Lydia Lowe were waiting close by but if they really wanted to, the triplets could lash out.
“If Reggie is hurt, he needs to be found. He stands his best chance with the agents.” I paused for a breath. “As does Tabitha.”
Simon frowned. “We have no idea where he might be right now but if you find him…”
“I’ll do what I can for him,” I agreed.
Marcus leaned back in his chair. In light of the death of his father, the people of City Main would be looking to him as their new ‘king’. Not much use in servitude to The Boss, but my concerns had to remain with Reginald Penn Junior and yet again the Boss Lady of The Knock Knock Club.
***
Having been given Tawny’s share of Knock Knock, I turned to David Finn in the hopes he might have something to contribute. He had little information to offer but he did suggest I come to his apartment in the Mid West where Agnes was currently residing with him until the Bailiffs were done stripping the club apart.
“I need to find Tabitha,” I said to the artist over coffee at Bobby’s lunchbox.
“And Reggie?” the artist put in.
“Yes, of course Reggie too,” I added.
Reggie had to be found. That much was certain. Not only would it pacify his brothers and keep peace in City Main, but it could help bring those who attacked him to account. Tabitha could not be allowed to run loose in the Shady City. Reggie would likely lie low without his brothers. Tabitha though? She would be monumentally angry – with what happened to her aunt, to her club, to her friends – and that anger would turn towards those responsible. The city was being vigilant. I, myself, hadn’t slept a full night.
I looked out of the window of Bobby’s Lunchbox and I couldn’t help but notice a hush. Things hadn’t been the same since the public execution of Reginald Penn but now something was else brewing. I was certain of it. Tabitha was biding her time and plotting her elaborate scheme. I have already detailed people pushed from high rise windows, throats being slit in alleys and butchered body parts circling greater Coldford, and that was just my first 24 hours of knowing her! She loved to make a scene and she had publicly called out those who stood in her way, calling Judge Doyle a cunt while she was still in prison.
It had been sobering spending the afternoon with David Finn. No matter how much I tried to explain this to him he didn’t see Tabitha as anything other than magnificent because that was how Tawny had felt.
“What about Reggie?” I asked him.
“Reggie is sound, man,” he replied. “Been gaming with him for years before all this happened believe it or not. A vet friend of mine treated his rats. Reggie is a decent guy really. He’s just got that life I guess.”
David was still coming to terms with what holding a piece of The Knock Knock Club entailed so I forgave him for his naïveté. His instruction manual had come from the Baroness herself who was well known for seeing Tabitha as her mischievous little Trouble and Reggie as the sweet triplet with a halo of blonde curls. Violent sociopaths, both of them!
David insisted on paying for the coffees and as he did so I watched his transaction from afar.
“They’re on the house,” Bobby said with a smile across to me.
“No, man!” David urged. “I can’t do that.”
He pushed some money across the greasy counter.
“Your money is no good here,” said Bobby.
David wouldn’t retrieve his money though.
“Then keep it to cover a hot drink for someone who needs it then, man.”
He was still reading from the Baroness’ manual. She was a charitable woman above all else and always spoke of how important helping others was to her Knock Knock Club. She had been responsible for he ’pay it forward’ system for those in need at Bobby’s Lunch Box. David Finn, already a generous soul too, was taking his new position in the city very seriously.
“Agnes is back,” David informed me when he returned to the booth after having checked an alert on his phone.
With that we headed to the Midwest where I could ask the Broker about her wayward niece.
***
“She’s been though a lot, man. I don’t want you to upset her,” David warned me as we climbed the steps to his apartment. “She’s already answered tonnes of questions to the Law Makers.”
I was fond of Agnes too so I could understand his apprehension. If she didn’t want anyone to know the whereabouts of Tabitha then she would die before giving her location. I did want to check on her anyway and see how she had been doing.
“I won’t keep you long,” I assured.
As we got the second floor of the building where David’s apartment lay, we could hear voices. There was some laughter.
“You must have visitors,” I said.
David shrugged. “I get all sorts of people coming and going these days. Maybe Harper and Gabby stopped by.”
David’s gallery-owning friends had become close to Agnes too. It suited both David and Agnes to surround themselves with people in times of trouble. A lot of the Knock Knock girls stopped by as well, much to David’s amusement.
As David pushed open the door, he could hear the noise of a video game battle. Alex Ferrald – his vet friend – must have joined them.
“Blam! Take that, cunts!” a young man cried.
No! I shook my head. That was not mild-mannered Alex Ferrald. It was a City Main twang. David was just as perplexed as I because whilst the entire city had been torn apart, barriers put in place, Law Makers giving speeches at City Hall; one of the most wanted men in Coldford was sat on his sofa, playing a video game. Reggie looked up when we arrived, a cigarette dangling on the end of his lips.
“Hey Finn! Good to meet you in person.”
I would have scoffed at the youngest triplet’s cavalier attitude if it weren’t for the fact that my focus was now stolen by the one person in the city more sought after than he was. Next to him in the sofa, quite comfortably, was Tabitha.
“Hello Sam,” she grinned at me, that gap between her teeth a menacing snarl. My absolute nightmare come true. I had been pursuing her, hoping she would be found and there she was, grinning at me like I was the intruder.
“David! I can explain!” Agnes came dashing from the bedroom.
“What’s going on?” David asked. Tawny’s manual must have accounted for her niece making a scene, surely.
“I had to shower,” said Tabitha to the artist matter-of-factly. “I haven’t shaved my legs properly in months.”
Focused back on his game, Reggie chortled. “It’s true. It looked fucking disgusting.”
Tabitha slapped his shoulder coquettishly.
“Fail to give you a razor in prison, did they?” I asked sarcastically.
Tabitha scowled. “I’ve been through a lot, you insensitive cunt. Don’t act like you’re not glad to see me.”
“Tabitha!” warned Agnes in her teacher tone.
Tabitha pouted but she fell silent.
“Go get dressed. You both aren’t staying here,” instructed the Knock Knock Broker.
“Fine,” whined Tabitha.
As she stood, she passed round the sofa towards me. Stopping, she raised herself onto the balls of her feet. Her cool grey eyes met mine.
“I guess our story isn’t over,” she teased.
“Tabs!” warned Agnes again.
Tabitha danced off to the bedroom to check if Agnes had brought one of her signature red dresses.
Agnes and I had never locked horns before but I had a feeling we were going to clash over her niece.
“This place is going to be filled with Law Makers,” I warned. “And now you’ve brought David into it.”
“I’ve already spoken to Ronnie Owen,” she explained. “He knows David had nothing to do with this. He’s already cleaned Dennis’ charges against Reggie providing he undergoes psych evaluation. Given the botched execution of Reginald and the fake execution of Tabitha, the Law Makers are willing to hold them under supervision providing your agency friends escort them, watch them and question them.”
“No!” I protested. “I’m sorry Agnes but they should at least be held in the Harbour House lock down where they belong.”
“House arrest is the standard procedure until the Law Makers complete their investigation.”
I thought of Ronald ‘Ronnie’ Owen – Chick’s younger brother – who ironically had been the one to defend Tabitha on her murder charges. He was a decent man – selfless in his way and despite the history between his family and The Knock Knock Club, he had defended her with everything he could considering his client was clearly guilty. With the Owens getting involved it made me wonder if The Cappy had seen opportunity in the escape.
The buzzer screeched. David opened the door to Agent Kim Adams and Agent Lydia Lowe. Tabitha emerged from the bedroom in some of Agnes’ clothes, disgruntled that she hadn’t been given her red dress. She scowled when she saw Lydia.
“Seriously? You brought the skank?”
Lydia shook her head, smiling. She brushed off the comment. Kim on the other hand was in no mood for her games.
“The slightest bit of trouble out of either of you and I drop you,” she warned. “You!” here she pointed at Reggie. “My agents spent a lot of time and resources bringing you home. If you try anything I will hurt you.”
Reggie raised his arms. “I just want to go home, like,” he said.
Kim turned her attention to Tabitha. “And as for you,” she said. “There is still an execution order on your head. Step a foot out of line and that order is carried out.”
Kim allowed her warning to resonate a little to see if she would have any back lash. There was none. With that Tabitha and Reggie, Boss Lady and Rat Boy, were taken home.
“You would think we were the villains here,” Tabitha grumbled as they left.
***
It all began when they were children. Tabitha – a preteen having not been long introduced to the triplets by Tawny – had found a friend in Reggie. She never really had someone her own age to spend time with before. She was close to Simon and Marcus too but with Marcus striving for efficiency in all things, he could be a bit of a cold fish. Simon being naturally abrasive, she expected they would fight a lot. She knew she was abrasive too. How they did fight in those first days of knowing each other, but a sibling bond formed and whilst they fought, they were protective of each other against outsiders.
“Why hit a punch bag when you can hit his fucking face?” Tabitha encouraged as she accompanied Simon to the gym. The parents had hoped that Tabitha, too, might find an outlet for her frustration but she spent most of the time sat on a bike machine watching everyone work a sweat around her.
Yes, Marcus and Simon were close to her but her full affection for the triplets had come when she met the one with all the rats. He had a black and white one he named Snuggles hanging from his shoulder. He had promised himself he wouldn’t name them but he couldn’t help it. Snuggles was just so affectionate and smart. She deserved a name.
“Reggie,” he introduced himself.
Tabitha inspected the creature closer. She reached out to pet Snuggles. Snuggles sniffed the tips of her fingers.
“Like your dad?” She asked.
Reggie plucked Snuggles from his shoulder. True to her name she tried to nuzzle his ear.
“Nothing like my dad,” he admitted. “But, yeah, the name’s the same.”
Reggie was the one Tabitha would spend all night speaking to on the telephone when things got really bad at home and she couldn’t escape to the club.
Most of the trouble they got into they got into together. So, they found themselves an attic space just outside of City Main enroute to Filton. It was their half way point when they wanted to meet up and it had a little space that only they knew about. Fullerton reps sometimes came by during the day but it was usually to collect money from people in suits to keep the site untouched. They didn’t know who it really belonged to, but anytime anyone did come to visit it they wouldn’t hear the little rats scuttling around in the attic space.
After escaping her custody, Tabitha had thought to lay low. It took her a couple of days to reach it on foot, avoiding populated areas as best she could. When she finally arrived, the building was empty. She climbed the broken fencing like she had as a girl, removed the loose bricks that would give her access to the building, climbed the rickety access to the attic space and hauled the door open.
Reggie, still looking a little worse for wear, was huddled in the corner.
She ran to him to hug him.
“Careful!” he gasped. “I’m still a little delicate.”
“I heard what they did to you,” Tabitha replied. “Going to The Boss? What were you thinking?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Reggie shrugged. “There’s a lot of our crew in there.” He referred to the Loyalists of City Main, glorified thugs dedicated to the Penn family. ‘Long live the king’ was their motto.
He reached beside him and snatched up a box of Jolly Shopper Queen Corn cereal and threw it to her.
“Here,” he said. “You must be starving.”
Tabitha pulled the box open, scooped out a handful of cereal and scoffed it greedily.
“We’re going to have to go easy on the water. I’ve only got the one bottle.”
Tabitha lay herself on the floor next to him, resting her head delicately onto his chest. He kissed her head and his body relaxed a little. He sat a phone he had acquired in front of them and they passed the night watching March of Our Times soap opera reruns. Agnes would have no doubt received some kind of word from the Red Rebels that Tabitha was safe but CPD, Agents and Law Makers would be watching closely. Contact would have to wait until it was safe to do so.
***
David had been on the main club floor when he heard a noise. There was some shouting out in Clifton Lane. The place made him uneasy already but he felt he always had to be on alert for shit going down. He had a part of Tawny’s club now, and it was his responsibility to protect the place and Tabitha.
He knocked on the Boss Lady’s changing room door.
“Yes?” she replied.
“You decent?” David asked.
“What is it, David?”
David pushed the door open. There he found Tabitha. She had her long, lean leg raised on a chair. It would have made quite a seductive pose, if it weren’t for the fact that it was because she was trying to hack off her Law Maker tag from her ankle.
“There’s some fuss going on outside,” the artist explained. “I think it’s Law Makers.”
Tabitha gave up on her tag and clutched the knife. “If they think they’re coming in here again let’s go and say hello,” she said.
“Tabs!” David followed after her.
He was trying to warn her that coming at Law Makers with a knife was not going to do her any favours. When they got back to the main club floor, the shouting had gotten a little heavier.
“What’s going on, man?” David wondered to himself.
Before he could check the window Tabitha pulled him back. She turned him round and gave a glance over him for red marksman dots.
On the bar, a tray had been knocked over. They were already inside.
“What do you want, cunts?” Tabitha growled.
The main lights cut off. The stage lights flashed on. Tabitha gripped her knife tighter.
“They’re trying to shut us completely down,” she surmised.
Music began to play. It was an old cabaret tune that always made Tabitha smile. It had been one which Vincent Baines had written with Tawny whilst they were in rehab.
“Good evening folks, and welcome to The Knock Knock Club.”
David and Tabitha were perplexed.
“Put your hands together and welcome back on stage, the one, the only, the fabulous…”
The curtains were thrown aside and strutting out as she had done many times before was…
“Surprise!” Tawny cheered.
“Aunt Tee!” Tabitha cried, dropping the knife and rushing on stage to the Baroness, leaping into her arms.
“I missed you, Trouble,” Tawny said, showering Tabitha’s head with kisses.
Tawny turned to David. He was speechless. The artist had been so taken aback at the sight of his friend he could only watch with tears falling down his face.
“Awww, Davey,” Tawny cried, reaching her arm out. “Come here.”
David rushed to her and the Baroness held them both close to her.
“I thought you were a goner,” he sobbed.
Tawny laughed. “I’m made of tougher stuff than that,” she said. “I’m a favourite of someone up there.”
Later that evening, Agnes returned to the club. When she saw the looks on David and Tabitha’s faces, she knew something was up. She took a seat at the table and sat her designer handbag on top.
“What’s with the grinning?” she asked. “Did I miss something.”
She could hear footsteps behind her but before she could turn, a pair of hands clasped over her eyes.
“Guess who?”
Agnes didn’t have to guess. She knew the voice all so well. She knew the soft touch. She knew it all.
“Tawn?” she cried.
“That’s right!” Tawny cheered, removing her hands from her eyes.
Agnes was on her feet. She threw her arms around the Baroness.
“I can’t believe it!” she gasped.
“You better believe it, honey,” Tawny teased. “It’s so good to see you again.”
She squeezed Agnes tighter. She lifted her from her feet a little and kissed her. The both laughed heartily.
David and Tabitha were still grinning. The Knock Knock Club was awash with merriment.
***
“I never thought I’d be excited to see this place again,” Tawny jested as she and David walked arm in arm to the entrance of Harbour House.
“I can’t wait to see the look on his face,” David grinned.
The two had come along to the clinic in the hopes that they would catch Vincent Baines whilst he was there for a psych evaluation. They were hoping for something of a reunion before he was returned to his servitude.
“I’m so excited,” Tawny cheered, feeling a little giddy.
When they got to the reception the matron nurse, Beverly, was waiting. She had been manning the reception desk.
“Hey Bev,” Tawny greeted warmly. “How are ye?”
Beverly smiled but it looked a little subdued. She was probably overworked.
“I’m good Tawn,” she replied. “It’s good to see you. We were all worried about you.”
“Thanks,” Tawny returned with a smile. “We’re here to see music man. I hope we haven’t missed him. Any chance of five minutes?”
Beverly stood. “Before you do anything, there’s someone I’d like you to talk to. Will you come with me?”
“Sure,” said Tawny a little hesitantly.
David was still excitedly contemplating their reunion so he hadn’t paid attention to the expressions of concern. Tawny took his arm again. She flashed him a warm smile and they followed Beverly to a small office. She knocked on the door and pushed her head in.
“They’re here,” she said.
To Tawny and David, she ushered, “Go on in.”
Inside the office stood a kindly-faced man whose natural charm was managing to push through, despite the emotional toil time seemed to have taken on him.
He reached out his hand and shook that of Tawny.
“I’m John Reynolds,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
He shook the hand of the artist too.
“You’re the fella Simon mistook for a punch bag,” said Tawny. “I heard about it. I know he gets a little bit frustrated at times but he just thought he was protecting things. He’s a good boy really.”
Reynolds smiled. “I don’t take it personally. We both did what we thought we had to do. That’s not why I asked to speak to you though.”
“What’s this about?” asked David. “A friend of ours is going back to The Boss and we want to catch him before he does.”
“Take a seat,” Reynolds urged gently.
Tawny and David did so. Now David started to become a little nervous. “What is it, man?”
“There’s no easy way to do this so I’ll just get down to the skinny. I’m afraid Vincent Baines is dead.”
A silence dropped for a few moments. Reynolds let it lie.
David shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’ve got it wrong, man. He was on his way back to The Boss. He was getting help here. You got the wrong guy.”
“I’m afraid not,” said Reynolds.
“You’re mixed up,” David insisted. “It’s someone else. Vincent’s still here. I’m sorry, man. They must be working you so hard you’re getting things confused.”
“Davey,” Tawny soothed him. She took his hand in hers.
“What happened?” she asked, as her heart began to thud in her chest.
“He was murdered by one of the nurses here.”
“Why?!” David demanded to know. The grief finally swept over him.
“They’re treating it as a psychotic break on the nurse’s part. His father, who had been with him at the time, died too. Frederick Baines was found dead on scene with a severe shock reaction.”
“This is not fucking right, man!” David had started to cry.
Tawny pulled him closer to her. He rested his head on her shoulder.
“I wanted to speak to you because I have reason to believe the father was the real target. You’re familiar with the Church of St Wigan, correct?”
Tawny agreed, “I grew up with them on the bay.”
“I know Vincent was adopted from the Wigan order as a boy. The nurse who carried out the attack had strong Wigan sympathies. They had written a lot about a ballet Frederick composed some time back which told a story of St Rowan and St Wigan. It was condemned by the church at the time as sacrilegious. Extremist following over the years has grown and I have reason to believe the attack was in response to this.”
“Why wasn’t this all over the news?” Tawny asked. “Why are we just finding out?”
Reynolds replied, “I’m a cult deprogrammer. That is my specialty. I’ve been focused on the Wigan church expanding its hold in the city. They are dangerous, radical and they’ve already caused a lot of destruction. There has been a press shield over most of the details but news is breaking now. I thought before it did, it may be best to hear it from me. The Daily has been spinning it that Reg Penn’s loyalists are the threat, but there is something much worse and it is already here. They’re preaching outside all of the major buildings and every ferry trip brings more of them onto the docks. I’ve done all I can to hold them back but I want you both to be aware.”
“You don’t need to tell me, honey,” said Tawny. “They almost drowned me when I was younger trying to cleanse me.”
“I’m so sorry about Vincent,” Reynolds said. “I’ll do all I can to get to the truth of the matter. I promise.”
David sat up. “He had his problems,” he said of the musician. “He struggled every day but he was a good friend. He was there for us when no one else was…”
Reynolds stood. “It’s a lot to take in. I’ll give you some space to deal. Take all the time you need.”
***
I had just arrived as Tawny and David were leaving. They were both understandably upset. Beverly stopped them.
“I have something you might want,” she said, reaching behind the reception desk and drawing out a pen drive. “It’s some of the recordings you made while you were here.”
Tawny collected the drive with a smile.
“Thanks, honey,” she said trying to keep her voice steady.
I wanted to approach. I had begun believing there would never be the chance to meet the Baroness in person, but they had just been dealt a heavy blow and it wasn’t the time. David was struggling. He was clutching Tawny’s arm. His face had drained of all colour.
“We have to go,” Tawny said to him, smoothing the bleached hair away from his face.
She was the loving, caring person the stories told of. I could see why Tabitha was so close to her. I could see why Agnes loved her. She had stories to tell, but to impose my presence on them at that time would have been distasteful and disrespectful. For me, her stories could wait. There was someone though, who didn’t have such hang ups or consideration.
“Hi, Tawny!” cried a thin, bony-faced woman with straight brown hair. She was wearing a peach skirt suit and matching neckerchief. She reached her scrawny claw with its long talons out. “Sandra Wake from the Coldford Daily. We had a chat just the other day when you returned home?”
“Of course,” Tawny said, feeling a little flustered but still managing an accommodating smile.
“Do you have any comments on the death of Vincent Baines?”
“Woah, lady,” David growled.
“Do you think he frightened the nurse? Do you think it could be self-defence?”
“What the fuck?” David exclaimed.
I couldn’t stand back any longer.
“Hey!” I barked. “These people need some space. Can’t you see they are upset?”
“Sam!” Sandra turned her plastic smile on me. “We’re missing you on the news floor.”
“I’ll bet you are,” I replied sardonically.
To Tawny, Sandra continued to press. “Did Vincent discuss his compulsions with you?”
As she asked the question, she waved to her cameraman who raised his camera onto his shoulder, opened the lens and pointed it at Tawny. Tawny in turn frowned, but it was an expression of confusion rather than anger.
I put my hand on the cameraman’s lens and pushed him back.
“Sam, man…” David uttered a warning.
Sandra grinned like a she-snake ready to strike her prey.
“This is my story, Sam,” she said. “Why don’t you leave it to the real reporters with a real newspaper to write.”
She adjusted her hair and neckerchief. She nodded to her cameraman and he raised his camera onto his shoulder again. I stepped in front of the lens.
“Just let these people go. If they want to speak to you, I’m sure they’ll find you in whatever boggy hole you crawled out of.”
Sandra still smiled but her nostrils flared a little.
“You see, it takes a real reporter to want to get to the truth, as ugly as it may be. If you spent as much time reporting properly as you do decorating your little blog with pretty words, you would remember that.”
“Truth!” I scoffed. “You really believe the drivel you spout is truthful? Which part of it? From what I read it’s all the work of fiction, terribly written fiction too I might add.”
Sandra laughed a cold little laugh. “Terribly written? Those are bold words from the author of Marble Mantle.”
“How dare you!” I snapped.
“You know Mr Baines well. Our viewers would like to know more about the man behind the composer creep,” Sandra put to Tawny and David.
“You’ve got it wrong,” David started to protest. “He was a good guy. He was just a bit confused.”
“So confused he would kidnap a little boy and hold him for ten years?”
“No!” David insisted. “You’ve got it wrong.”
“So, he didn’t kidnap a little boy? Is that what you’re saying?”
The cameraman moved around me to get a shot of David.
“He was confused,” David said. “You didn’t know him or what he was going through.”
“Your words are getting a little slurred Mr Finn,” said Sandra. “How are things with your drug addiction?”
“David, don’t say another word. This interview is over,” I insisted, pushing the cameraman back once again.
“He’s trying to steal my story,” Sandra laughed.
“There’s no story here,” I told her. “You’re manipulating these people when they are dealing with grief. Vincent Baines was a real person and you will not feed on his corpse, you vulturous harpy.”
I put my arm around David and led he and Tawny from Harbour House. Behind me Sandra had already began a story that made me seem like an interview thieving jackal. Her words weren’t particularly creative. Personally, I’ve heard better reporting from primary school projects.
“No one is fooled, Sandra,” I could hear myself calling as we left.
When we got outside Tawny and David were relieved.
“So, you’re Sam,” Tawny said when she had gathered herself. “The reporter fella Tabby was seeing?”
Seeing her to the inside her of her cage perhaps…
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said. “I’m sorry about Vincent,” I stated.
“Thanks,” said Tawny with a sniff. “I’m still trying to process it.”
“It’s best you go home,” I suggested. “Take care.”
David nodded nervously. “You take care too, man.”
He hugged me and the two returned to the Shanties.
***
Back at the club, David put the pen drive into an old laptop and played the recordings.
“Coming at you live from rehab,” was the opening from Tawny.
“My voice always sounds funny recorded,” David could be heard speaking. “I bet I sound a real tool,” he jested.
Tawny could be heard laughing.
“Take it away, Maestro!” she cheered.
“What should I play?” Vincent asked.
“Something with a bit of bounce,” suggested the Baroness.
The noise of a piano tinkled as Vincent ran his fingers along the keys.
David and Tawny listened to the recording together. The Baroness held the artist in her arms. The tune that Vincent played offered hope and cheer. They had held onto it then as they had held onto each other listening later.
“We don’t have much but we’ve at least got us,” Vincent sang.
“And that’s a whole lot,” Tawny chimed in.
The three laughed merrily when the tune ended.
“Sounds good,” David could be heard assuring.
“It still needs a little work,” Vincent was heard replying.
“You’re too much of a perfectionist,” Tawny teased.
Vincent could be heard chuckling.
“It’s goodnight from me,” said Tawny.
“And me,” David joined in jovially.
“And it’s farewell for now from me,” Vincent added. “The Maestro is out.”
He ran his fingers along the keys again. The recording closed.
“Rest easy, man,” said David.
***
***
“Thanks for letting me know,” Elizabeth Beckingridge said on a call to Reynolds. “I had a feeling something had gone wrong when I hadn’t heard from him. I’ll- I’ll have to go.”
“If you need to talk just leave a message here. I’m heading over to Bellfield but I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” Reynolds offered.
“I’ve got to go…” said Elizabeth again.
She rang the phone off abruptly. She raised her hands to her face. She took a deep inhalation and then she cleared her throat. She turned and she looked at her reflection in the mirror. She fixed a lock of her hair that had fallen across her face. She turned to the lounge.
“George?” she called. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Her nephew was sat on the sofa in his shirt and underwear. He had Cecil sat on his stomach. The way he looked up at her, clutching the stuffed animal, his appearance was similar to the boy Vincent had met initially when he accepted George as his student. He looked every bit a deranged goblin then as he did these years later. He was mad. He was sick. There was one thing consistent in his life though, and that was his attachment to his old music teacher.
“What?” George asked.
The Beckingridge family had a strange living arrangement. Neither aunt nor nephew would leave the manor to live elsewhere. They were both stubborn, and I have to say Elizabeth could be just as manic as the billionaire boy when the right buttons were pushed. The manor was large enough to house them both comfortably. It was so expansive that should they choose to, they didn’t have to see each other. They just couldn’t resist getting under each other’s skin. Such are the mind games of the super wealthy.
Elizabeth had no intentions of antagonising her nephew on this day. She was dealing with the news herself. The passing of Vincent was one of those rare sentiments she and George shared.
“I’m afraid Vincent has died,” she said.
George scowled at first. Then his lips tightened. He dropped his gaze and he clutched Cecil. He started to pick at the fur behind his ear.
“How?” he asked.
“He was murdered by a nurse,” Elizabeth explained.
George hugged Cecil to his chest.
“So, he’s dead? Mr Baines is dead?”
“Yes George, dead. You should know what murder means. Are you not listening to me?”
George’s scowl deepened. His lips pursed even tighter. “Mr Baines is dead!” he cried.
Elizabeth nodded. “I’m afraid so.”
“Someone murdered my teacher?!”
“A nurse,” said Elizabeth. “They were a member of the Wigan church it seems, and didn’t like that his father had written a ballet about their damn saint.”
“Cecil,” said George to the mouse. “They murdered Mr Baines. I’m so sorry Cecil.”
Elizabeth watched him.
“Are you going to be okay?” she asked.
George hugged Cecil as though the stuffed animal were a weeping child. “It’s going to be okay.”
“Is it?” Elizabeth asked. She honestly wasn’t sure.
He raised the mouse to his ear as though it were whispering to him. To Elizabeth he said, “Cecil is angry.”
Elizabeth folded her arms. “I can see why he would be.”
George listened again. This time he made himself angry.
“Mr Baines was my teacher!” he screeched.
“George…” Elizabeth warned.
“Get away from me!” he screamed throwing Cecil across the lounge and leaping onto his feet.
“We really don’t need the extra dramatics,” said the aunt.
George leapt forward and he snatched her by the neck. He squeezed hard with his long fingers. Elizabeth grabbed his left ear lobe and tugged firmly. George yelped, releasing his grip.
“Mr Baines!” he cried. He lurched forward again but this time he fell into Elizabeth’s arms.
“There, there,” said Elizabeth patting his back. Not really sure what else to say. “I know you’re upset, but grab me again George and you’ll join Vincent sooner than you think.”
George sobbed snot and tears onto her shoulder. He squeezed her tighter. “I wish you would choke on one of your cigarettes.”
“And I wish I had a normal nephew. That’s life. We don’t always get what we want.”
George broke free of Elizabeth’s arms.
“I miss him,” said George.
“I know,” said Elizabeth.
At that he stormed off to the music room where he and Vincent had first met.
***
“The pure are the body of my church. Sinners, should they repent, will be welcomed. I will show them the way to paradise,” it was written that Noah Wigan had said.
Finding one pure of heart or willing to repent in the Shady City was a tough ask – even for a Saint – but the ominous church on the bay was still seeking.
The ferry to Hathfield landed ten minutes earlier than expected. It was a rain filled afternoon. Thick, heavy clouds hung in the darkening blue sky. A crowd of excited visitors wearing purple ribbons about their person were making their way along the promenade towards the ancient church on the dunes.
Standing outside the church was a man in Wigan robes. His name was Peter Millicent. He was greeting the congregates warmly. He was shaking hands and offering well wishes as the visitors filtered inside.
“Miserable day, father,” one older woman commented, removing her woollen hat to step inside.
“It is that,” Peter agreed with a charming smile. “Not to worry though Mrs McConnell. I do believe the sunshine will break a little later.”
As Mrs McConnell headed on inside to take her seat, Peter looked to me.
“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. Welcome to the Church of St Wigan.”
I thanked him.
Peter was the legal mind behind the order. His prowess in fighting for the rights of his church had played a huge part in building the reach they had. My focus wasn’t on Peter though. He was a reasonable man all things considered. He had a reputation for being quite a gifted mediator. I wasn’t needing a mediator. To get a better idea of the church, I wanted to wander among them and feel the raw emotion that was tearing through the city.
Inside the church was standing room only and even that was limited. The pews were filled, the aisles were filled too leaving a small parting that led to the altar. There was the usual older sect you would expect to find in a church but I noted that there were a lot of younger attendants too. Most of them had come from the commune dressed in sombre, modest clothes. Their excitement was palpable. Their eyes were wide and pupils dilated. They were high on heether mushrooms, a hallucinogenic drug found naturally on the island. As they awaited the arrival of the man considered the living word of their beloved saint, the exhilaration was infectious.
Ding ding. Ding ding.
The congregation rose to their feet. A monk, also dressed in robes, with a hood pulled over his head carried an iron Wigan cross through. His name was Bart, named after the church’s patron saint of carriers. Bartholemew the Carrier had brought Wigan’s cross ashore as he set to convert the islanders. He had also carried St Michael the Punisher’s sword when he set to cleanse the city.
Bart was an interesting figure but what my attention was most focused on was the man who followed closely behind him to the altar. The congregates gazed upon him with reverence like nothing I’ve ever seen.
“Brothers and sisters,” His Eminence Dominick Cole called as he stepped onto his platform to face his followers. They remained standing in their eagerness. “It warms me to see so many of ye here today. So many new faces.” His wild, dark eyes scanned the crowd. They focused on me for a few moments, then he continued. He opened his arms to his followers and he smiled. He really was quite engaging.
“I am so blessed that I’m able to stand before ye. I’m blessed that you would be so strong in our faith that you would come out here on such a miserable day to listen to the words of this humble man.”
“Praise Wigan!” the congregates cheered like fanatics at a concert.
Dominick took a few moments to absorb the admiration.
“It’s good to welcome you but we’ve not had it easy of late,” he went on. His voice was strong in the Hathfield Bay accent which gave him a natural bounce to his tones that was quite musical.
“We’ve had brothers falling from the sky above and I ask ye, what am I to make of that?” he paused to let his words absorb. “I’ll tell ye what I’ll make of that. The city is frightened, my brothers and sisters. They are lashing out with murderous intent. They think that it will stop us bringing our message. All the Law Makers and their rules couldn’t stop it. All the corruption in the city and their heretical ways couldn’t stop it. That message is simple.”
I jerked as the congregates roared with chorus of, “You cannot be saved!”
“You’re right,” Dominick responded, even more vigour gathering in his speech now. “You cannot be saved. Not your mother, not your children, not any of us. But fear not, for St Wigan is willing to accept you into his arms. He is willing to accept even the worst. All he asks of us is that we repent.”
“Praise Wigan!”
“Repent!” Dominick cried as he crossed his aisle. “And you may yet reach paradise.” He scanned his crowd again. “They tell us we’re disturbing the peace? Their peace should be disturbed, they’re all bound for Hell.”
“They cannot be saved!”
The sermon continued. Dominick Cole held his audience captive. They were enraptured by his words. I myself felt swept up by his impassioned speech. When the service had ended, I pushed through his adoring followers before they had the chance to swamp him.
“Dominick!” I cried. “Dominick?” I finally caught his attention outside the church.
“Sam Crusow,” I introduced. Bart had stepped in front of him.
“Did you call for the death of Vincent Baines?” I asked.
Dominick gave a scowl at first but then he smiled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about brother.”
“Frederick Baines wrote a ballet piece on Noah Wigan. Don’t you think it’s a little hypocritical that your church is fighting for free speech when the great composer was hounded by your followers because of a piece of music? Did you see the piece yourself?”
“I don’t get to the ballet as often as I’d like,” said Dominick in response.
“Did you call for the death of the great composer and his son?” I asked again.
Dominick laughed. “I’m a holy man,” he stated. “If someone has died it must have been Wigan’s will.”
It was then Peter Millicent took over.
“Are you press?” he asked.
“Not exactly,” I explained. “I’m working independently.”
“Yes, I know who you are,” said Peter. “You’re the blogger that was let go from the Daily.”
“You owe an explanation to the Baines family and the friends left behind,” I continued to press Dominick.
“Sam, did ye say yer name was?” Dominick returned to me. “I think ye’re needing to find some peace in yer life. You’re most welcome to pray with me and we’ll find that peace together.”
“I’m an atheist,” I said to him.
Dominick grinned. “That explains why you’re so uptight. Have some faith and you’ll see it will change your life. Let St Wigan show ye.”
He reached out and grabbed my shoulder. I thought he was going to hit me at first but then he smiled.
“Watch yer step there Sam,” he warned. Then he looked over my shoulder. “Those steps can be quite slippery.”
Let Wigan into your life. Let a religious cult into the Shady City. Either way, dear readers, damnation was on the cards.
Trauma, obsession and addiction are just some of the ailments that are being treated with rehab at Harbour House.
When a ballet depicting the love of St Wigan for a woman named Rowan the cultish church aren’t best pleased. What can the city expect when the church was built on the bones of non believers.
