The Spook and the Spirit in the Stone Read online

  "Stay out of the way," she warns. "I'll try to lower it down slowly, but I might drop it."

  I watch in amazement and admiration as she uses the edge of the pit as a fulcrum to pivot the ladder, controlling its descent with all of her weight on the far end. When it comes within reach I grab it and as soon as we have the thing up against the side of the shaft and steady, I shin up it like a monkey with a leopard on its tail.

  "Was that cool, or what?" Sophie asks, grinning.

  "You were incredible, Miss Crispianou!" I can't resist picking her up for a hug, which earns me a kiss on the cheek. "I think we both deserve a medal for that effort."

  "I'd be happy with something to pin one to."

  There's a wooden chest on the far side of the cave, no doubt the owner of the creaking hinges. I confirm that guess when I open it. Inside it's split into two compartments, the smaller of which is empty. In the other I find my clothes, laundered and ironed, neatly folded and wrapped in tissue paper. Underneath my garments are others; a crisp white shirt, dark green jacket and skirt, then a pink calico dress followed by a blue sweatshirt and white denim pants. I stop looking at that point.

  "The school stuff's mine, but I don't know about the rest." Sophie wrinkles her nose. "Yeuch, that's creepy! All pressed and put away, like it was in storage or something!"

  "Obsessive-compulsive behaviour, probably on the part of one of the women rather than Hux. Don't knock it – it saves us from returning to a waiting world stark naked." I try to look under the macabre collection without disturbing it too much. "Sorry, Sophie. No shoes and no underwear."

  "Now that's just too weird!"

  We dress quickly, then I take her hand and we limp over the gritty rock of the passage. Hux has left the lamp burning in the next cavern and, in the centre of the floor, has set an ugly black chalice filled with a puddle of his own blood. We give the thing a wide berth. I try to take the hurricane lamp to light our way through the last tunnel, but it's shackled to the wall. Sophie trembles as we go into the darkness. Slowly, slowly we creep towards freedom, with me feeling our way along the right-hand wall. As we reach the inkiest part, with the lamplight a dim memory at our backs and no glimmer of daylight ahead, we hear a slight sound behind us, the scrape of claw against granite.

  "What was that?" Sophie hisses.

  "Nothing." I'm lying. Now I hear faint panting and the scuffling of paws on stone.

  "Jerome...!“

  "What do you want me to say, that there's a monster behind us?"

  We turn the elbow of the tunnel and see the mine entrance ahead, a splash of welcome sunlight in the distance. I'm just about to tell Sophie to run for it, when a curtain of fire crackles into being, a sheet of unnatural blue flame that blocks our escape. The whatever-it-is behind us makes a sound uncannily like a human chuckle.

  "It's not fair!" Sophie wails, clutching at my arm. “We were almost home free!"

  "We can still reach it." I crouch down in front of her. "Put your arms around my neck and hang on! Keep your face down, behind my shoulder."

  Without hesitation, she scrambles up and I hook my arms around her legs to carry her piggy-back. I hit the fire-wall running – the flames bite like tongues of ice on my skin, like freezing vitriol, a stinging lash of agony – then we're through and out of the mine. My eyes start to water in the sunlight and Sophie whoops with delight in my ear. The beast at our back lets out a howl of outrage and gives pursuit, racing past so close that it bumps against my left leg. I feel the warm bulk of it, the muscle sliding beneath its sharp pelt, but I see nothing. Since I lost my tail I've been clumsy, and now I stumble on the edge of the scree, struggling to keep my balance. Sophie slides down, clinging to me, and I manage not to fall.

  The Spirit in the Stone has halted at the edge of the clearing. In starlight it might be visible; under the afternoon sun it's nothing but a haze against the scrubby ironwoods, an ill-defined, mist-woven shadow. As I stare at it I think I see the flash of a bared fang, the evil green glint of an eye. It growls again, a low, ugly sound, a feline-lupine amalgam that brings me out in a cold sweat. I pull Sophie towards the path and the beast moves to cut us off. When I turn to go the other way, it circles back and I get the impression of a great lowered head and an angry lashing tail.

  "It's herding us," Sophie guesses, her voice shaking with fear. "Like we were sheep, it's chasing us back to the fold!"

  "Even sheep can be smart!" I edge around her, putting myself between her and the brute. "When I tell you to, run along that little path between the trees, but be careful. It leads to the cliff."

  "I won't go on my own!”

  "Oh, I'll be right behind you, you can rely on that! Now, moving very slowly, head towards the path."

  She obeys and I creep after her. The ghost-beast growls again, warning us not to stray. When we ignore it, it leaps to turn us back.

  "Now, Sophie! Run!" I step into the creature's path and, as it collides with me, slam it with a fist. I still can't see it but it feels about the size of a puma and it weighs as much as a small man. It howls in fury – I've hurt it, but not enough to slow it down. Teeth snap together over my left arm and one rips through my sweatshirt, scoring the skin. I slap it with my full strength, the flat of my palm connecting with a hot, hard skull, then I turn and run for my life.

  Sophie's made it as far as the ledge and is waiting for me there, unsure of which way to go.

  "That way!" I wave at her. "Stay close to the cliff. It isn't far, just a hundred feet or so until you find a narrow track that leads into the trees... "

  She doesn't move. She's looking beyond me, her face a chalk-mask of horror. "Jerome...!"

  I turn around slowly to face the spirit-beast. Against the pale rock it's a smudge of smoke with an indistinct outline, its bulk shaped a little like a mastiff. Eyes hang in that fog, glass-green and feral. It makes a very nasty little rasping sound deep in its throat and advances along the ledge. I've watched way too many bad horror movies not to know that, at this point in the script, somebody usually goes over the cliff – so, resolving that it won't be me, I back away. Sophie retreats behind me.

  "Sophie, listen to me," I say, not taking my gaze off the shadowy direwolf. "When we reach the path, you run for it. It'll take you to a cabin and from there you can find the road. Just keep going downhill until you find someone to help you.”

  "I'm not leaving you behind, with that thing!"

  The beast growls louder, to gain my full attention and remind me that it doesn't intend to let either of us leave it behind. Sophie reaches the path and its threat rises to a crescendo. It moves forwards and I know I have little chance against it in a fight. Chance, luck, probability; such things are fluid and can be skewed to give me an advantage. If I ever could twist good fortune my way, it needs to be now.

  I remember the penknife in my pocket, reach in and snap it open, and at that moment, the spirit-creature springs. I think it means to sink its teeth in my wrist and drag me down, but I lash out wildly, thumping it across the muzzle, and it only gets one fang into my flesh. I hit out with my other hand, instinct making me strike at its eye. The tiny, pathetic blade of the penknife hits its target and the ghost-beast roars in anguish, one of the lambent green lamps blown out. Before it can recover I hurl my weight against it, then throw myself backwards, snatching my arm out of its jaws. Hurts like hell, but it's worth it – the Spirit in the Stone’s paws scrabble on the rock’s uneven surface. It loses its footing on the ledge and tumbles into the abyss. It falls in eerie silence and when I take a wary look over the precipice I don't see anything. No blood, no body, nothing at all.

  "Is it dead?" Sophie asks, very quietly.

  "I'm not sure you can kill a ghost-thing. I'm not even sure it was alive in the first place," I haven't really had time to be afraid and now I'm starting to shake. "Let's get out of here, little girl. I'm not sure I could fight it off again, if it comes back."

  She takes my hand and leads me away from the cliff. "You were awfully b
rave, Jerome."

  "I was terrified – and I still am!"

  "Me too!" she admits, with a fluttery smile. "Only natural, I suppose."

  When we reach Curt's cabin, there's a rather familiar ATV parked out front, with a rather familiar body in the driving seat. She leans across and swings the door open as we approach. "Please take a seat, Miss Crispianou. You're bleeding, Jerome."

  "Sophie, this is my partner, Detective-Inspector A. Afton Lamont." I find that I'm grinning like an idiot. "What in the seventh pit of Tartarus are you doing here, Afton?"

  "I slipped away in the confusion of the ransom pick-up." She helps Sophie up into the centre seat. "Finally figured out what you meant by 'Clementine' – in a cavern, in a canyon, excavating for a mine – so I thought I'd come up here for another look. Is that a wolf-bite?"

  "It was a ghost-lion, spirit-dog thing and Jerome saved me from it!" Sophie says, beaming. "And he got us out of the pit, and kept me from going mad in the dark, and stopped Hux from hurting me any more... I think he's the bravest man in the whole galaxy!"

  "I'm sure he is." There's no trace of sarcasm in Afton's voice, no hint of humour – hell, she might even mean it. "Pass him the first-aid kit, please. We can't have our hero bleeding to death, can we?"

  To be on the safe side I pour half a bottle of antiseptic into the bite, which stings merrily but sure beats spectral rabies. Sophie helps me apply bandages. I check out my exposed skin for burns and don't find any; apparently magical fire hurts like the real thing but does no permanent damage. Both of us have scuffs and abrasions on our feet, so I clean and patch up Sophie and she does the same for me.

  "Aren't you going to call this in?" I ask, when the running repairs are done. "To let them know down at the station that Sophie's safe."

  "Love to, except that Vincenzo's ordered a radio-silence for all non-involved units until the ransom operation is concluded." Afton smiles reassuringly at our rescued victim. "We'll drive you down there instead. That's where your mother's waiting."

  "Could we stop for something to eat on the way?" Sophie asks.

  “Hux starved her," I explain, seeing Afton's raised eyebrow. "She's probably shy a week's worth of square meals."

  "What do you like to eat, Miss Crispianou? Ribs, burgers, curries or oriental food, or are you a vegetarian?"

  "Noodles, please!" Sophie licks her lips. "Lots and lots of egg noodles, with mushrooms and prawns and almondy pork.”

  Afton grins at that. "Nothing could be easier. It just so happens that I'm a very good friend of the owner of the best noodle-house in Prosperity City!”

  When we get back to the station-house, there are no cars out front. Most of the duty crew must be out trying to nail Hux and his accomplices. Sophie is snuggled up against me, sleepy and content; in fact, she hasn't stopped smiling since Afton produced a veritable banquet of a carry-out, enough for all of us to stuff ourselves. The debris still litters the ATV and its cab reeks of garlic, star anise and sesame oil. Afton parks right by the door and I carry my fellow captive in, to save her feet from the paving.

  "Where's the Captain?" Afton asks, as we pass by reception.

  Ruthie is so amazed that she can't speak and is reduced to pointing vaguely in the direction of the communication centre. We move through the building in a pool of silence, ripples of it spreading around us as we pass. Everyone we encounter stops dead and stares.

  "Did we do something wrong?" Sophie asks, quietly.

  "On the contrary, we did something right," Afton replies. "Jerome worked a miracle and they can't quite believe it."

  Afton leads the way into the comm-centre, where ‘Cenzo and Madame Crispianou are following the progress of the ransom operation in staccato bursts of stilted code. As I enter the room, a murmur of surprise flows before me like a bow wave.

  "Hi, Mom!" Sophie calls out gaily.

  Madame Celia turns in her seat, raising her hands to her face, her eyes wide, her cheeks pale. "Sophie?"

  I lower her down carefully and she runs to hug her mother, then both of them are in tears, sobbing and laughing in sweet relief and delight. I almost join in and, when I look around, there are only a few dry eyes in the house.

  "How?" Vincenzo demands. "Where did you find her?"

  Afton nudges me until I remember how to speak. "She was being held captive in a old mineshaft in Goldangel Canyon. I stumbled into the place last night and was taken prisoner too. We escaped when our captors went to collect the ransom."

  "I doubt it was as easy as you make it sound." The Captain nods to the centre's controller. "Tell all units to apprehend the culprits now. Tell them that the child is safe. Jerome, I need you to confirm their identity when we bring them in, and Miss Crispianou too, if she feels up to it."

  "I can do that on my own." I smile fondly at the happy scene of mother and daughter reunited. "Sophie can do the IDs later, if the medics think it won’t upset her too much, if that's all right with you?"

  'Cenzo finally smiles. "It's fine with me, tek-wiz. Great work!”

  Vincenzo convenes the debrief at ten the next morning. My captivity earns me a half-hearted reprimand and the night off, which I waste indulging myself, first with a long soak in a hot tub, then twelve hours of deep sleep followed by a leisurely breakfast – I know, I have no shame. When I arrive the others are already with the Captain; Afton, who looks weary and displeased, Ivory, our head of Forensics and, in supreme isolation at one end of the table, Giselle. I've never had the pleasure of meeting the Chief Pathologist before and he's younger than I expect, a grave, softly-spoken man, with large, pale hands and a face so perfect in every line and plane that it merits carving in marble. The spook watches me take a seat and I feel the itch of her disapproval on my skin. For a moment I'm confused, then I realise that by finding Sophie I've stolen her thunder and she doesn't like it one little bit.

  "You may wish to know that Miss Crispianou is fine." 'Cenzo is relaxed this morning, a rare sight. He almost breaks into a spontaneous smile as he settles back in his chair. "Our medics checked her over last night and gave her a clean bill of health. Her injuries are superficial and will soon heal, with minimal scarring."

  "She's in a remarkably robust mental state for a child kept under such harsh conditions for eight days." Giselle frowns at me. "Some of the credit for that is due to you, Jerome. What kind of magic did you work on her?"

  "No magic, just a sprinkling of kindness." I'm trying not to grin outright at the agent-pair's obvious annoyance. "Sophie's a tough cookie. She didn't need much help."

  "How did you find her?" Her voice is velvet-soft and as cold as the antarctic. "Do tell us your secret."

  "No secret either. You just needed to be half out of your head with concussion and very, very dumb."

  "It was unwise of you to go there alone, without back-up," Afton scolds, a feather-kiss of a rebuke.

  "Unwise doesn't begin to cover it, partner. The word you want is stupid."

  "Dead, you would have been stupid." Her sudden warm smile amazes ‘Cenzo and Ivory. I guess they've never seen her use it before. "Alive and with Sophie, that makes you a hero, not a fool."

  "Just to update you all, we now have three suspects in custody." The Captain lays three snapshots on the table in front of me. "The ransom team brought in these two women, Polly Melissa Molyneux and Martia Penelope Proust, who were trying to make off with the money using a convoluted escape plan involving two briefcases, identical clothing and a pair of ridiculous curly red wigs. The man, variously known as Cheyne or Leigh Huxon, was attempting to leave the city. Our colleague from Terrapol found him boarding a train bound for the spaceport. Jerome, you know that I have to ask you if you recognise them, for formality's sake."

  "That's our friend Polly. She didn't visit the mine whilst I was there, but Hux spoke of her and Sophie said that she'd brought in food. This one's Martia, who cracked me over the back of the head with a shovel," I can't suppress a shudder as I look at the third image, the fair-haired, odd-eyed man with
his expression of smug arrogance. "That's Hux."

  "Do we have any forensic evidence to place any of them at the crime-scene?" Vincenzo asks.

  "We have Molyneux's fingerprints in the cabin, on two coffee mugs and some explosive bullets," Ivory says. "The blood from the blanket found in the basement is of the same group as Sophie Crispianou and gives a partial DNA match. Some hair was found on the same blanket; we've identified it as belonging to Cheyne Huxon. We plan to do a sweep of the tunnels and caverns today –"

  "Captain, you'd be advised to send an armed team into the mine with the Forensics people," I recommend. "An exorcist and some silver bullets wouldn't go amiss either. I wouldn't want anyone to meet Hux's spectral watchdog without one heck of a lot of protection, physical and psychic."

  "Are you saying Sophie's imaginary wolf-spirit was real?" Giselle asks.

  "Real enough to bite." I draw back my sleeve and show her the scars. "Whatever name you give it, Hux’s summoning ritual called up something old, bad and dangerous."

  "I was planning to send along some armed officers and some constructs," Vincenzo frowns. "We don't know if Huxon set up any traps in the tunnels, or if any other members of the gang are still at large."

  "Do we have anything on John Curtis, the owner of the cabin?" I ask.

  "I can confirm that he is on Garriock, just as Polly Molyneux said." Giselle's dipping into her private database again. I wonder how she accesses it without any visible hardware. "I have my doubts that we can tie him into this kidnapping though. If he denies any involvement, we've nothing to prove him a liar."

  "I'll be content if we can establish Huxon's guilt so firmly that even the best defence lawyer on-planet can't sway the jury and get him off," Vincenzo admits. "We may fail to get a conviction for the two women, since it's clear that Huxon had some kind of unusual and unnatural influence over their behaviour."