Spy Games, page 16
At the bottom gate of the Dingle, I looked down at the statue of Hercules by the river. It felt like more than two years since I'd chased Mary around it and decided to spare her. Now here I was, back again on home ground.
It was like I'd never left.
It was like I'd never been here before in my life. It felt wrong. Alien. A cruel trick.
Which, I supposed, was exactly what it was in many ways.
Sighing, I turned back into the little quiet space, followed a path, then sat on a bench and admired the display of flowers that were freshly planted each year.
Some things never changed. Which was a good thing. At least, I think it was.
"Soph is happy?" asked Tyr, the question as much a mental image as words in my mind.
"That's not an easy question to answer right now."
"Soph doesn't know?"
"Overall, I'm happy. But I'm not happy at the moment, not truly. I'm content, but sad too. That man was a fool, and he got what he deserved, but it's never nice."
"Tyr just kill, not think."
"And I envy you that, my friend. But humans are different. We think too much, worry too much, and it makes it harder to be happy."
"Tyr understand." I got an image of him with his head cocked inquisitively to the side, waiting for me to respond.
"I think you do. Did you see the eye?"
"Tyr sees what Soph sees. Knows what Soph knows. Saw eye."
"And what did you make of it? Do you understand it? Where it was and what it meant?"
"Is not now, is different. Not same time in eye. Is like… what you call it? TV show, or recording. But different. Was before, but also after, from no time place. Is confusing."
"Sounds like it," I chuckled, figuring it was worth trying. "But you saw the notes, and the people, or creatures, whatever they were?"
"Saw and made head hurt. Was not place for dragons. Was not place for anyone. Not place for Soph. Must never go there," he insisted.
"Trust me, I have no intention of ever going there."
"Soph need Tyr soon to help with note?"
"I get the feeling I probably will, but who knows? Stay close, my friend, and I will call if I need you."
"Tyr will know."
I felt the joy of flapping my wings, the freedom looking up into the endless, empty sky, then reveled in the utter majesty of my body. Every nerve alive and joyous as I flew higher and higher until I was above the clouds far above the earth.
I sailed on the winds, catching thermals, and looked down on the world in all its majesty and all its chaos. At the roads like faint gray lines, scars across the green landscape, and the large blots of dirty cities spreading like cancer across the entire planet.
Vast swatches of the earth shone blue and pure, and it always shocked me how much of the planet was water. How different it all is to how we imagine it, how we experience it stuck in our houses, traveling from one place to another along manmade tracks through what was once unspoiled land, and yet, not so far away, is a vast emptiness where creatures live with no knowledge of the nonsense we get up to on the land.
Tyr veered off, ignoring the planet beneath him, just enjoying the flight. We were so high, and it was beyond serene up here, that I could have stayed forever, but I reluctantly withdrew and found myself sweating on a park bench in a tiny part of this incredible planet.
"Hello mister. What you doin'?"
I glanced down to find a young lad of maybe ten or eleven staring up at me, wide-eyed, whilst simultaneously picking his nose.
"Uh, hi. Where'd you come from? I didn't see you arrive."
"Came from home," he shrugged, then wiped his finger on his red, grubby shirt. Frowning, he hitched up his shorts, kicked at the bench leg with bare feet, then turned his attention back to me, eyes widening again.
"What's up? You look a bit strange."
"You do."
"Yeah, I know. It's been one of those days, if you know what I mean?"
"Nope. Don't have days like that. What are they like?"
"Well, there was this bad man who I had to kill, and this weird eye in the sky where I saw these notes spinning and these weird creatures scribbling away at school desks, and my friend wasn't where she should have been and her sister was acting odd. At least I think she was, and before that I'd been asleep, drunk, for three days and then went into the dwarven realm and my daughter got given a gold coin and I found out my knife was a spy for the elves. Yeah, just a bit weird lately. Although, don't get me wrong, no weirder than usual. You?"
"I had ice-cream for breakfast," he whispered, confiding in me then looking around in case anyone had overheard.
"Wow, that's pretty bizarre."
"You're funny. Did you really do all that stuff? And you saw the Necronotes? Mum said she hates them, that they're the Devil's work and he's playing with us, and one day it will end and she said that when I grow up, I'll have to kill people like she does and she taught me bow and arrow and how to whisper. Shall I show you?"
Before I had a chance to take all this in, let alone respond, or even question why I'd just told this strange kid more than I'd told anyone apart from Phage and Jen about my life, the world went dark.
I looked up, but there was no heavy cloud blocking the sun, just an ominous haze blocking the light around us, where everywhere else was still bathed in a harsh glare. The mumbled, quiet whispers of the boy gathered momentum, creeping me out and turning the bench freezing cold, then he laughed and it vanished, leaving me shocked and shivering for a moment before the sun once again became almost too much to handle.
"You shouldn't be doing that out here, you know. Didn't your mother tell you that?"
"Don't tell her," he panicked. "She'll be cross."
"I bet she will. And you know you shouldn't tell strangers about notes, don't you? And you shouldn't show them things like that. You're young to know whispers like that too. Hey, where is your mum?"
"She's at home," he said like it was nothing.
"And she let you come out alone?"
"Nope. She's in the shower. I wanted to see the riots, but I got scared so thought I'd come here instead. Did you see my morph? I'm really good at it. I bet you didn't, mister. Nobody ever knows how I get places. It's magic, is what mum says. Mustn't tell a soul."
"And she's right. You need to be more careful. Never morph where it might seem odd to regular people. You know that, right?"
He shrugged, clearly not that concerned. "I guess. Hey, can I see the knife?"
Understanding why his eyes were like saucers, I followed his gaze down to Bone Slicer who was glowing through the thick leather holster. "I don't think that's a good idea," I told him, glancing around to check we were still alone.
"Why not? I love knives."
"I bet you do. But I'm not about to pull a knife on a ten-year-old kid. And you should know better than to be performing whispers in public. What if someone saw? And how'd you know I'm Necro?"
"It's obvious. You old people are always easy to spot. I can see it. It's the shimmer around you. Mum says it's called an aura."
"Wow, you are one advanced kid. Think your mum will be worried about you now? Shouldn't you go home?"
"Yeah, s'pose. Guess I'll see you in a few years?"
"How'd you mean?" I asked, smiling at this weird, grubby kid.
"When I'm twenty-one. Bet you'll be on one of my Necronotes. I might have to come and kill you. Bye!" with a broad grin and a cheery wave, the kid vanished.
"I hope not, kid. I pray with all my heart we never, ever meet again."
I had to get out of here. This day was overwhelming me and I wasn't good when overwhelmed. I made mistakes, and I didn't have time for mistakes.
But I sat for a few minutes longer, pondering the young child, wondering if he'd ever make it to twenty-one with such a spirited attitude. He was unique, more advanced than any other child I'd ever met, and would be formidable when older.
He reminded me of myself, so I truly hoped we'd never meet. That was not a fight I would ever want to win. Or lose.
Such is the life us Necros endure.
We can never win.
There is only ever loss.
POTION COMMOTION
Meeting the kid had left me in a bad mood. I had shit to do, but couldn't face it. I needed a distraction, something to take my mind off the crap us Necros went through, the things we learned, the way we were brought up. I couldn't help but think about Jen after seeing this young child, and wondered if she was as messed up as he undoubtedly already was.
So young to know so much, and with skills like that there was a high probability he'd be dead in a few years, so what about Jen? She'd made it this far, and we'd done our utmost to shield her from the worst of what went on, but we'd also told her so much, shown her so many terrible things, and taught her how to survive.
How badly had we done? How messed up had we made our little girl? Would she go off the rails completely? Use her abilities to hurt others when there was no need? Or just get caught up in some madness and be gone? Dead.
It didn't bear thinking about, but meeting that young child, wise and powerful way beyond his years, brought the reality home. Our daughter would be lucky to survive past her birthday week. That was the truth of it, no matter how much Phage and I tried to convince ourselves, and each other, differently. So many Necros died on their first note. It was inevitable. More perished in the next few years, a process of natural, or unnatural, selection that meant by the time we were in our thirties and forties only the hardest, smartest, most devout, brutal, and uncompromising remained.
Ugh, screw it! I needed to stop thinking about this stuff. It got us nowhere but miserable. This was our life, how it was and always would be. Nothing could ever change that. Ever.
I left the comfort of the bench, smiled at the pigeons pecking about around me; it was nice to see some things were a constant. Back out in the park, I followed the path alongside the river, under a bridge, and then just stopped and stared at the water. A family of swans glided slowly past. The parents gave me the evil eye as they gathered three fluffy cygnets close to them.
I pushed my bike around the corner, distracted by the birds, then came to a dead stop as something pressed against my chest.
"Sorry sir, you need to go around," said a massive guy wearing a dark suit, a white shirt, and even a bloody tie. Didn't he know how hot it was? Didn't he know never to touch me?
"Get your fucking hand off me, right now." I held his gaze. I wasn't screwing around.
"Sorry, didn't mean to invade your personal space. But I'm not allowed to let anyone through."
"Says who?" I growled, craning around him to see what was going on.
"Says the boss. They're filming, and I have to warn people and tell them to go around."
"There is no way around. It's either go back, or go through. You aren't the law. You would like me not to go through, but it's not a bloody rule, is it? I'm going that way," I nodded ahead, "so please move."
Behind this muscle-for-hire a large group of people milled about, shouting to one another, dashing this way and that, waving clipboards and fiddling with tablets and what looked like controls for drones. Right on cue, several drones darted overhead, then one smashed into a tree and somebody swore as a group of young kids, meaning they were in their twenties, rushed over and started bickering.
"What's going on?" I asked, cooling my attitude as this guy was just doing a job, which was no mean feat in an age of almost zero work outside the home.
"They're filming an advert. Some crap about perfume or lotions or potions or something." He shrugged; he didn't care what it was, he just wanted to get paid.
"Did you say potions?" I tried to see what was happening but there were too many people involved to make out much, and sections were screened off with netting and makeshift barriers.
"Yeah, that's what some of the lads said, but I reckon they were pulling my leg. Look, if you go past, please hurry, and for god's sake don't interrupt them. We cool?"
"We're cool," I told him. He stepped aside, allowing me to continue.
A director was shouting orders to minions, everyone was flapping about and seemingly oblivious to the madness happening a stone's throw away in town, and I watched as a camera rolled along a miniature railway track. It was interesting, seeing how they did these things, and Shrewsbury had always been popular as a backdrop because of the old buildings and interesting churches. But they sure did pick their time.
Intrigued, and needing the distraction, I stood to one side and watched the crew prepare for the filming. Drones to catch every angle, incredibly expensive cameras on extendable arms, a veritable army of chattering youth somehow all looking very busy but not actually doing anything as far as I could see, and then the director and his assistants in the heart of it, giving orders finalizing things before the filming began.
I wandered around the crowd, then found a gap and squeezed between the high fences covered in tarps to keep the light levels right and the filming area private. For a moment I was utterly confused, as it was like I'd stepped into the witches' compound. Somehow, I was transported to Peth's private slice of witch bitch paradise.
"What the fuck?" was all I managed, as I stared, agape and aghast at the scene before me.
Set out on the relatively lush grass that had been allowed to grow long in places, was well-mown in others, was a facsimile of Peth's home territory. I edged around the perimeter so I could get a better view, and ended up right where the director and his numerous assistants were discussing light levels, camera angles, and timing. Every so often, he'd direct one of the youngsters to go shift a bench, move a tree stump, or add another small log to one of the fires.
A makeshift communal building had even been built off to the right, very basic, and I could see it had no real structure, more just for a quick camera shot, but it was still uncanny how much it looked like the one I knew only too well.
The backdrop to all this, and what was so jarring, was the scene of Shrewsbury in mid-riot. Ancient vehicles burned, people stomped about on half-dismantled buggies, shops were looted, windows smashed, and smoke spiraled high between church spires and modern office blocks.
Large cauldrons bubbled away over the fires, stirred by either utterly bored elderly witches, or very excited young ones. I spotted Elsie by the largest, enthusiastically stirring with a ridiculously oversized wooden spoon. Green mist snaked around her; purely for show, I assumed.
Suddenly, the crew and the crowds of onlookers who'd sneaked through just like me became silent as a vision in flowing white linen glided majestically across the grass.
"Peth," I hissed.
My mother-in-law drifted to the cauldron in the middle of the pretend clearing where Elsie was practically glowing with excitement. Oz, the wily old lion, padded over then sat beside her like he did this kind of thing every day. Peth's hair shone like a raven's after a rain shower as the sun bounced off it, the black almost luminescent. Her skin was as pale and flawless as always, the strange goat eyes intense and unnerving. Usually kept hidden from regular folk, today was seemingly a day to show everyone what she really was.
Her pendants hung low to her generous cleavage, the blouse she wore unbuttoned lower than normal. She twisted the trinkets with a wrist covered in leather thongs and silver bracelets, knowingly aware of the effect it would have on men and women alike. There was no doubt Peth was a looker, but she never usually played on her femininity, always saying it was demeaning and that she had better things to think about than what others felt when they looked at her. Seemed that had all gone out the window now as she cast a silly, sweet, patently fake smile at Elsie then brushed her hair back from sharp cheekbones and beamed at the director and crew.
"You ready, luv?" called a young hipster, or whatever they called them currently, wearing a leather cap, leather trousers, a denim jacket, and with a beard dyed almost white.
Oz growled and everyone gasped. I was amazed they weren't running for the hills with two such wild creatures in their midst. Peth glared at the cocky kid, and I saw her lips move slightly as she vented her anger at such impertinence. The air grew noticeably colder even for me, and the assistant shivered then gasped as he clutched at his throat and turned an interesting shade of purple.
Peth smiled, then released her whisper. As the temperature returned to normal, the assistant spluttered then said, "Sorry, I meant are you ready, Pethach? And, er, is Oz okay? He need anything? Is he hungry?"
There were concerned murmurs from the crew, but the onlookers either didn't notice, or didn't connect Peth with the guy's discomfort. But I knew, and so did plenty of these regular folk. What the fuck was Peth playing at? Were they believers? Was she starring in a fucking advert? For what? Showcasing witches? No, the bloody potions, that was what. It was obvious. She'd ramped up her sales over the previous years, despite Phage's protestations and a huge backlash from the Necro community as a whole, but it hadn't fazed her one bit. She was set on a path she refused to deviate from. Consequences be damned.
"I'm ready." Peth smiled again, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, but nobody was fooled—they obviously knew better than to screw with her.
"Places everybody," the director called.
There was a flurry of activity as actors moved into position at the other cauldrons, joining the witches, and several clambered onto the fake communal barn platform then sat at the table and began miming having a deep conversation. They looked the part with long hair and hippy garb, but they weren't witches. The only real Necros were the handful of old crones, Peth, and Elsie who was looking great, having lost even more weight. Her hair had grown, and she seemed to just have blossomed into a true woman over the intervening years. She was much more confident, although rather flustered by the chaos and the fact a camera on a long arm swooped down and began running checks on the light levels right up in her face.
