“It’s considered common courtesy,” Mr. Rotwell went on, “for an agency to respect another agency’s territory. Their cases, their clients, their spheres of influence…There are unspoken rules we all adhere to. In such circumstances, I’m surprised to see you here. I assume that, now I’ve drawn your attention to the problem, you will be withdrawing from Aldbury Castle tomorrow.”
“I was given to understand, sir,” Lockwood said, “that your employees had been approached about the cluster of Visitors here, and had chosen not to respond. In such circumstances, I consider our actions eminently justified and reasonable.”
“You won’t be leaving?”
“Of course not.”
In the silence, Mr. Skinner approached carrying a cup of black coffee, with a little jug of cream. He set them on the table.
“Thank you. Wait.” Rotwell reached into his jacket, removed a wallet, and selected a crisp note, which he handed to the innkeeper without looking. He waited until Skinner had retreated, then curled a heavy finger into the handle of the china cup. He did not drink, but stared at the black liquid. “You have quite a reputation, Mr. Lockwood,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“A reputation for becoming involved in things that don’t concern you.”
“Really?” Lockwood smiled. “May I ask who says so? Have some of your employees or associates been complaining? What are their names? Perhaps I know them.”
“No names. The fact is generally accepted. This means,” Rotwell said, “that when I learn you’ve unexpectedly turned up near my institute, where important and delicate research is continually being done, I am concerned. I worry that you might be tempted to stray from the proper bounds of agency work and poke your nose into unauthorized matters.” He lifted his hand, drained the coffee in a single gulp, and set the cup down.
There was a pause. Lockwood stirred. “Did you follow any of that, Luce?”
“Not a word.”
“George?”
“Hopeless. Like a foreign language.”
“Yes, you’ll have to speak more plainly than that, Mr. Rotwell,” Lockwood said. “George here often uses big words I can’t understand, but even he’s struggling to follow you. What is it that you don’t want me to do?”
Steve Rotwell made a gesture of irritation. “You are here to deal with the cluster?”
“I am.”
“That is your sole interest?”
“Why shouldn’t it be?”
Rotwell grunted. “That is not an answer to my question.”
“Well, it’s all you’re going to get,” Lockwood said. “Mr. Rotwell, Aldbury Castle isn’t your ‘patch,’ your ‘territory,’ your ‘doorstep,’ or anything else. If you object to me helping to clear this village of its ghosts, you will have to make an official complaint to DEPRAC and see where it gets you. Until you do so, I’m free to act here. In the meantime, do have another coffee and tell me about this ‘important and delicate research’ that’s going on up at the institute. It sounds fascinating. Are we likely to see some new Rotwell products anytime soon?”
Instead of answering, Rotwell took up his gloves and got ponderously to his feet. He looked to the window, where dusk was advancing across the green, then started to leave. An afterthought halted him. Where he stood now, he blocked the light, casting Lockwood into shadow. “You’re a precocious boy,” he said. “I won’t list your talents—you’re evidently all too aware of them. What you lack, I suspect, is the ability to know when to stop. Because you, Mr. Lockwood, are an overreacher. I recognize that quality; in many ways I’m one, too. It means, I believe, that you will keep pushing the boundaries until one day you go too far. There are witnesses here, so I openly warn you now—don’t cross me. If you do, you will regret it. I say that to you hoping in firm good faith that you will heed my warning. But I don’t believe you will. You’ll cross me, because that is what you wish to do. And I will deal with you then.” He put on his gloves, buttoned up his coat. “In the meantime, good luck with your little ghost-chase. I’m sure it’s a job you’re well qualified for.”
With that, Mr. Rotwell departed. The door clattered shut behind him.
We all stared at the door. Then we all turned to Lockwood.
He smiled at us. It was a long, lazy smile, but his eyes glittered.
“Well,” he said, “the man’s an accurate judge of character, if nothing else. I wasn’t sure whether investigating what he’s up to was worth the risk. I considered it a fifty-fifty shot at the very best. But he’s settled the matter for me. We’re definitely going to do it now.”
Night fell on Aldbury Castle, and we turned the lanterns low in the bar. Danny Skinner threw logs on the fire. The leaping flames danced on the rapiers laid out on the table; they danced in our eyes as we sat like robbers around a hoard, checking work belts, hefting bags of salt and iron into backpacks, drawing routes of attack on George’s map. We had many hours of work ahead of us, and Visitors seldom come to full strength much before midnight, so with our preparations complete, we sat quietly for a time. Holly read a book; Lockwood stretched out on a bench and dozed. George challenged Danny to a game of chess and was soon, to his annoyance, in some difficulty. I sat by the fire, seeing figures in the flames.
Only Kipps found it impossible to relax. He paced, he stretched, he touched his toes and performed other extravagant warm-up exercises that cast distasteful shadows on the wall. His hair sprouted like gingery watercress behind the goggles perched on his forehead; he could scarcely wait to use them in the field. Finally, the urge overcame him. Pulling on his goggles, he swooped to the window and stared out toward the green.
“I just saw another!” he cried. “Faint as anything, but I definitely picked it out! The Phantasm of a man over by the bridge!”
I grunted. Lockwood lay with his arm over his eyes; he sighed heavily.
“And there!” Kipps rotated slightly, squinting through the goggles. “Two cloaked figures on the green. They’re standing close together, hoods down, huddled like they’re sheltering from the cold. Ghost-fog’s rising from their capes. Now they’re breaking into a run….They’re gone! Oh, this is great. There’s so much to see!”
George looked up from the chessboard. “I’m pleased he’s so happy, but did anyone else prefer the dourer, quieter Kipps? This could be a long night.”
Kipps rotated again. “And oh, that’s horrible. There by the fire! A gaunt, wizened thing with protruding teeth….”
Danny Skinner spoke with dignity. “That would be my grandfather, remember? He’s still alive.”
“Oh, yes. Got a bit carried away there.” Kipps pulled up the goggles, looked at his watch. “Come on, Lockwood, what’s all this shirking? It’s almost ten thirty. Time we were off.”
Lockwood swung his legs around, pulled himself up off the bench. He yawned. “You’re right. We need to get going. We’ll do it as planned. Two teams, two hours in the field; then we rendezvous back here to see how things are going. Kipps and I will take the row of houses next door, where we’ve a couple of Specters to tackle. You others, start on the green. Come on, George; you’re only two moves from being checkmated, anyway. The cursed village awaits us! Let’s begin.”
Out on the road, away from the meager lights of the inn, the immense dark of the countryside opened out above us. There was a moon up, but it was obscured by cloud. As Kipps had described, various patches of other-light drifted on the green. After swift farewells, he and Lockwood slipped silently away along the lane, while George, Holly, and I readied our packs. I moved away from the others for a moment. I had decided not to carry chains, feeling that the mass of iron suppressed my Talent too readily. Now, with a little psychic freedom, I detected a frisson in the air. It was just noticeable, like a battery’s hum, a stirring of energies….I looked up at the sky, at the dark ring of woods. Where did it come from? Impossible to say. This was where the skull might have come in handy. Once again I found myself wishing I had it at my side.