THE OLD BOOK OF SPELLS (Part 2 & Last)
By Richard Banks
At 2 pm I set out and by evening I’m crossing the Tamar Bridge
into Cornwall.
The campsite’s near Bodmin, but it’s not open until the morning, so I pull up
in a lay-by on the A38 and spend the night there. Come morning I buy a tent in
Liskeard and drive the rest of the way to the campsite. It’s in a field, next
to an old manor house where the local toffs live. Buy a ticket at the gate and
join the early arrivals at a fast food van that’s serving breakfast.
Nothing to do now but put up the tent and suss out the new
arrivals. There’s a girl called Lorinda in the next tent who’s came with her
best friend, Trish, and Trish’s boyfriend. She’s not best pleased with the
arrangement and spends most of her time outside the tent, while Trish and
boyfriend cavort energetically inside.
When it starts raining I invite her in for a coffee. Ask her what
she knows about The Anointed Order, but she’s never heard of it. Says she’s
only come for the drugs and the chance to get her kit off during the maypole
dancing, or whatever it is they do here. She says the organisers of the other
events she’s been to are always on the look out for handmaidens and they get
given the most incredible psychedelic drugs that you can’t get anywhere else -
at least not in the club she goes to. She asks if I’ve got any drugs. I say no,
but when the festival drug dealer turns up I buy a few spiffs, and arrange to
meet Lorinda in the evening.
Meanwhile, the site is filling-up with people and tents, but no
one resembling the collector is among them. People are also arriving at the
house, mainly in expensive cars. According to a guy who’s been here before they
are the High Priests, who only come down to the site for special events. No one
knows who they are because they keep their faces covered and have made up names
like Incubus and Belias. As well as the usual guys on security they also have
their own minders, and no one who hasn’t been invited gets inside the house.
This isn’t good news. If the collector is a priest or a minder
getting near him is going to be one big problem. But maybe he isn’t, so I spend
the rest of the day by the way in, watching the latest arrivals. Come evening I
still haven’t seen him and when Security close the gates for the night I go
back to the tent. It’s not long before Lorinda joins me and we start chatting
about all the things she’s been doing since we last met; the main news being
that this guy from the house has asked her to be a handmaiden for a big ceremony
they’re having there at midnight.
It’s too good a chance to miss, so I tell her about the murder I
didn’t do and how I need to get inside the house to see if the collector’s
there. She thinks all this is terribly exciting and can’t wait to help me, especially
if I let her have one of the spiffs I bought. Two spiffs later and we’ve hit on
this plan, where she lets me in through this window on the first floor. I don’t
know what I’m going to do once I’m inside, but if this pans out anything like
the last film I saw I will not only prove my innocence but get back the book as
well.
The first part of the plan goes like clockwork. Lorinda goes into
the house and ten minutes later she’s opening the window so I can climb in from
this tree outside. The ceremony’s taking place in a courtyard in the centre of
the house and I can see it all from another window on the first floor. Any hope
I have of spotting the collector, however, is dead in the water; everyone,
except for the handmaidens, is decked out like the Ku Klux Clan, in white robes
that cover their faces. The handmaidens seem to be there mainly for decoration,
but Lorinda has a starring role. She gets to lie on this marble table and
writhe around, while the head priest anoints her from head to foot with linseed
oil. Then he picks up a ceremonial sword and pretends to run her through with
it, while she throws out her arms and does this cute little scream that’s
probably not in the script. All this time the other priests are chanting
‘Comius, Comius, Prince of Darkness’ but he don’t come and after a while they
give up and have a prayer instead.
While all this is very interesting I’m no further forward than
before. I get out of the same window I came in by and go back to the tent. Half
an hour later Lorinda arrives back in her ceremonial robe, looking like she’s
just drunk a brewery dry. Instead of the night of passion we were planning she
falls down outside the tent and I have to haul her in.
I figure it’s best to let her sleep it off, but midway through the
night she has a dream in which she’s an oven ready chicken being chased across
Bodmin Moor by a fox that sometimes turns into a fire breathing goat. Up she
gets and races off, like she’s been shot out of a rocket. I go after her and
when she trips over a power cable I grab her and, despite the fact that she’s
as slippery as a bar of soap, drag her back to the tent.
The disturbance, however, hasn’t escaped the notice of Security,
and, by following the strong aroma of linseed oil, their man has no trouble in
finding us. At first he’s going to throw us off the site but then we realise we
know each other. It’s Ernie, who I shared a cell with for six months. I pump
him for information about who's staying in the house, but he doesn’t have their
names. All he knows is that their car numbers are cross referenced to their
room numbers. But, as he says, if I can find out which room my man is staying
in I can use the car number to hack into the DVLA’s internet site. I bung him
twenty quid for his trouble and he says for another twenty he can let me have a
ceremonial robe for wearing inside the house. I agree, and when everyone on
site are back sleeping, he brings it along to the tent.
In the morning, just before brunch, Lorinda wakes up, and I tell
her what’s happened and that we have to get back in the house as soon as
possible. She says that’s no problem because there’s another ceremony in the
evening, after which the Order are having a slap up dinner. The significance of
the dinner is that they have to take off their hoods to eat it, so I will be
able to ID the Collector and follow him back to his room. What’s more, the
priest who was rubbing her down with oil was also reciting stuff from a book
that could be the one that belonged to uncle George.
At last everything’s going my way and I can’t wait for the off.
But wait I have to because the ceremony doesn’t start until 8 pm. Lorinda’s got
the same job as before, except that she’s been told to cut out the ad-libs.
Anyway, she goes into the house about 7:30 and I follow her in, ten minutes
later, dressed up in the ceremonial robe that Ernie flogged me.
The sun is setting and when it’s nearly dark the ceremony begins.
It’s the same old business as the night before, but this time there’s a thunder
storm rumbling overhead. If ever the Order is going to conjure up the Dark
Prince this is the night, except that when they get to the Comius, Comius bit a
bolt of lightening comes down, strikes one of the minders and fuses all the
lights. Needless to say this causes quite a stir, but once the lights come back
on and the priests work out that the minder is still the minder and not the
Prince, they all troop off to dinner, except the minder, who’s carted off to
hospital.
Sure enough, once everyone’s in the dining hall, the priests take
off their hoods and park them on the floor under their seats. At first I don’t
see the Collector, or anyone like him. Then he looks round at a waiter and I
spot him. All I got to do is sit tight until the dinner’s finished and follow
him back to his room. It should be a doddle, but it ain’t. After the cheese and
biscuits, the Head Priest says something in Latin and everyone gets up and puts
their hoods back on.
Keeping my eyes on the Collector is worse than the three card
trick. Far worse! There must be at least fifty guys in robes and they’re all on
their feet, going every which way. I’m trying hard not to take my eyes off him,
but the hood I’m wearing isn’t helping because the eye holes are too far apart.
However, once he’s out of the dining hall there’s less people, and by the time
I follow him up three flights of stairs he’s on his own. Half way along a
corridor he stops and gets out the key to his room, but, like me, he’s having
trouble seeing, so he takes off his hood. Whoever this guy is he ain’t the
collector. As if things can’t get any worse he susses out that I’ve been
following him and asks me what my priestly name is.
The game’s up, so I do a runner back down the corridor, hoping I
can make it to the ground floor and duck out, through the back door, with the
hired help. By the time I make the stairs, the security alarm is ringing, and
the word is out that there’s an unwelcome visitor in the house. If the heavies
get me I’m toast - the collector may not be the only one who wants me dead.
Down below, two minders are running up the stairs towards me. There’s no way
I’m going to get past them, so it’s right turn at the next landing, and along a
corridor on the first floor. In addition to the guys behind, there’s another
one running towards me. I put my head down and crash into him. He hits the
floor but I’m still going. Ten yards on I see the window through which I came
the previous night and climb out onto the tree. It’s dark and I can hardly see
the ground, but the minders are almost at the window, so I take a chance and
jump. I think I’m going to break an ankle but the ground’s soft and although I
take a tumble there’s no damage done.
I need to disappear into the night but the robe I’m wearing is
almost glowing, so I stop behind a bush and tear it off. My lungs are bursting,
but stopping ain't an option, so I run hard towards the camp site. I’m nearly
there when someone comes straight at me and shines a torch in my face. I
zig-zag round him, nearly collide with a tree, and tumble down an embankment
that slopes down to the camp site. By now I can hear dogs barking and they
don’t sound like they’re going to lick my face. As they can run faster than me,
I'm guessing it won't be long before they catch up.
I’m in a panic. If I have a guardian angel this is the time for it
to come to my rescue. Then it appears, except that it’s not an angel, it’s
Lorinda. She’s packed a bag with all the money we’re got and on the assumption
that a speedy exit is the order of the day, is haring off towards a hole in the
perimeter fence that she nearly fell through the previous night. I follow on
and we scramble through it and onto an unlit road that’s darker than the
average coal cellar. We start running again but there’s no need. The dogs
haven’t left the campsite and if their pitiful whimpering is anything to go by
they’re not liking the pungent smell of linseed oil still wafting from our
tent. We slow down, get our bearings and figure out our next move.
What happens next is the arrival of the number ten bus to Plymouth. As get away
vehicles go it’s not the fastest, but at ten pounds a head it’s definitely the
cheapest. An hour later we’re in Plymouth and an
hour after that we’re on an overnight coach to Poole.
Why Poole? you’re thinking. The
answer is logical, if not obvious. Lorinda knows a man there who owes another
man a favour, and the last named man is Lorinda’s dad. What’s more, the man in Poole owns a yacht, and that’s our ticket out of the
country, away from the Anointed Order, the police and everyone else that will
do us down. And the good news doesn’t stop there, for Lorinda's old man owns a
casino on the Costa del Sol, where he launders
money for the same mob I used to work for. It’s a safe haven that might well
have a need for my professional services.
**********
So, it’s all ended well you’re thinking. Okay, so he didn’t prove
his innocence to the police, get back uncle George’s book, or get even with the
collector, but he’s met this really fun chick and now they’re going to get it
together in a warm, sunny place that’s a distinct improvement on north London.
While it’s better than a goalless draw at the Emirates I’m not sure how I
should be feeling. Had it been down to Tom Cruise everything would have been
sorted inside three hours, but real life ain’t like that.
In real life there’s only so much a guy can do – sometimes,
whatever you do ain’t enough - but a guy and a girl together, that’s different.
Right from the start it felt different, the proof that it was came on the
motorway, south of Exeter.
That’s when Lorinda remembers she has something for me. She unzips her bag and
rummages through it like she can’t find what she’s searching for, which is odd,
because what finally comes out is nearly as big as the bag - it’s a book. I
can’t believe what I’m seeing. “Is this the one you’re looking for?” she says,
and sure enough it is.
It turns out that when the lightning came down and the lights went
out, my quick fingered little magician takes the book off the High Priest’s
lectern and drops it down behind the table she’s lying on. It’s like taking
candy from a baby. While everyone’s attention is focused on the stricken
bouncer she gets off the table, slips the book into her bag, and as the
Anointed Order go off to dinner she exits the house with the other handmaidens.
What happens after that you already know, so I guess this really
is the end of the story. Lorinda says that it has more ups and downs than the
Himalayas and that if I don’t finish it now while we’re on an up I will only
have myself to blame. I take her point. What happens next I don’t know, but
it’s a new start, a new story. The old one's over; there’s only one thing left
to say - The End.
Copyright
Richard Banks
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