To Dream of the Dead

‘The whole thing. Children of the Serpent. I thought it sounded good. You think about it: I ring Ayling up, say this is Willy Hawkes, I’m just calling to give you a gentle warning, what’s that gonner do? He’s gonner laugh down my earole. Children of the Serpent, that’s got a bit of menace. That works.’

‘Mr Hawkes, I shall ask you again, did you kill Clement Ayling?’

‘I cannot believe…’

‘Please answer the question.’

‘No! Did I bloody hell kill Clement Ayling! I wouldn’t’ve gone anywhere near him or any of the shabby bastards on that council.’

‘Do you know who killed Clement Ayling?’

‘I been trying to tell you, I don’t mix with them sort of people.’

A silence. Willy Hawkes’s mouth tight shut behind his beard.

‘You’re a pagan, Mr Hawkes.’

‘I’m British. It’s our own faith. Christianity, Islam… all that was imported for political reasons. Paganism’s from the earth. Roots religion.’

‘The so-called Serpent. That was supposed to connect Dinedor Hill with the River Wye — is that right?’

Bliss sniffed. She knew it was right, she’d got it from his report.

‘I know where you’re going,’ Willy Hawkes said. ‘You found Ayling’s body in the river.’

‘And what does that tell you, Mr Hawkes?’

‘Would’ve made more sense if you’d found the head in the — Aw, I’ve had enough of this, lady! You don’t know nothing about pagans, do you? Throughout the past two millennia we’ve not been killers, we’ve been the victims. Witches hanged and burned for curing sick people, saving the lives of the poor. Hanged and burned, by the likes of you! You got the face of a witch-burner, you have.’

Bliss thumped the steering wheel. He loved this feller.

Hawkes leaned over the table.

‘Do I look like the kind of man who’d behead somebody? Me and my lady and my spiritual sisters, we’re peaceful, pastoral folk. What happened to Ayling… whatever kind of man he was, what you’re looking at there is just plain evil. You’re looking for somebody devoid of all spiritual feeling. You’re looking at a cold heart.’

‘There’s a pagan network in this area, isn’t there?’

‘Nothing so formal. Folks knows each other, but we’re all different — Wiccans, Druids, what-have-you — we all got our own ways. How long you gonna keep this up before I can go home?’

‘Mr Hawkes, you’ve admitted threatening behaviour. You’ve admitted threatening a man who was later murdered. Don’t think you’ll be going home tonight.’

‘That’s outrag—’ Willy Hawkes coming out of his seat, uniformed arms putting him back. He sat there shaking. ‘It’s the Winter Solstice. Do you know how important that is? I need to be on Dinedor Hill! It’s an important time. You can’t keep me yere for the Solstice. God damn you!’

Howe didn’t react. Hawkes sat twisting his head. He straightened his shoulders, looked down into his lap for a few moments. Then he looked up, smoothed out his beard with both hands.

‘I’ll tell you as far as it went. If I tell you as far as it went, will you let me go home?’

‘I don’t make deals,’ Howe said. ‘However, if you’re seen to be cooperating…’

‘There’s a Wiccan group…’

‘A witches’ coven.’

‘If you like. They gathered for a ritual of restraint to bind the Council, tie their hands. They also put a protective spell on the fields below Dinedor Hill. And they done a ritual of invocation.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘To awaken the guardians.’

‘Mr Hawkes—’

‘Every ancient site — well, not every ancient site, but a fair few — they got a guardian, see. A spirit or an elemental force to repel invasive influences. What causes the thunderstorms and what-have-you.’

‘Doesn’t seem to have worked, does it?’

‘They lifted it,’ Hawkes said. ‘Things don’t always work the way you think they’re going to. We’re dealing with forces beyond our comprehension and out of our control, which is why I won’t personally work with spells.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘There was an accident, wasn’t there? During the tree-felling. Bloke was hurt. Well, it wasn’t his fault, was it? He didn’t make the decision, he was just a humble tree-feller. Quite a few people said, no, take it back, get it lifted, bad karma. We can’t play their game, we gotter be above all that.’

‘And that was when they lifted their… spell?’

‘And then Ayling died. Everybody got cold feet then. Me in particular. I’d phoned him. I’d left a bad message on his machine. I’d made the connection.’

‘Who are these witches?’

‘I won’t tell you that. They’ve lifted the spell, that’s all you need to know. They got nothing to do with it now.’

‘I need their names.’

‘Well, you won’t get them from me. Not if you keep me yere all week. I’ll tell you another thing. We met — a bunch of us — for a meditation.’

‘When was this?’

‘After Ayling’s death. ’Cos we never wanted that.’

‘Really.’

‘We didn’t.’

‘Where was this meeting?’

‘Our barn. We had some very psychic people, and they all came up with the same thing… a big darkness, an unquenchable evil.’

‘And were they given a name, Mr Hawkes?’

‘It don’t work that way.’

‘How unfortunate.’

‘But they got a feeling of it. People’ve forgotten how to listen to their feelings. One of the ladies was quite ill afterwards.’

‘I can imagine,’ Annie Howe said.

31 Neither Horns Nor Tail

On Jane’s laptop… a screenful of apocalypse, grey angels straddling an arid land.

‘I’m not sure I can face this,’ Merrily said.

A false light gleamed in the kitchen’s highest window. On the lunchtime radio news, a big voice was battling the wind.

‘—chaeology’s my life, OK? But I couldn’t say… worth the loss of someone else’s.’

‘Classic soundbite,’ Lol said. ‘Do you think he’s done this before?’

‘The archaeologist, Professor William Blore, talking this morning in Herefordshire,’ the newsreader said. ‘In Zimbabwe—’

Merrily switched off, frowning.

‘The archaeologist, Professor William Blore, was supposed to be interviewing Jane on the top of Cole Hill.’

‘Which probably explains why she isn’t back.’