murder of space and time. No fewer than fifteen of the world's premier magicians, occult detectives, psychic adventurers, criminal geniuses and visionary scientists set aside profound differences and work under Mycroft's direction to avert the rending-asunder of the universe. Yet the only allusion to the affair in the public record is an aside by the biographer of Mycroft's more-famous, frankly less perspicacious brother, concerning the 'duellist and journalist' Isidore Persano, found 'stark staring mad with a match box in front of him which contained a remarkable worm said to be unknown to science.'
In the 1920s, Diogenes Club members Edwin Winthrop and Catriona Kaye encounter a shape-shifting creature who takes the default form of Rose Farrar, a long-missing little girl. It is taken into custody by the Undertaking, a rival organization to the Club who maintain the Mausoleum, a prison/storehouse for unique and dangerous individuals and objects.
Later, Catriona conducts a murder investigation, which prompts Charles Beauregard, the Chair of the Ruling Cabal of the Diogenes Club, to take covert steps to end the careers of the Splendid Six, a collection of arrogant and self-involved aristocratic adventurers whose number includes Richard Cleaver (aka 'Clever Dick'), a child prodigy.
In the 1960s, the position of Great Enchanter — loosely, the commander of forces arrayed against goodness and decency — passes from Colonel Zenf, who had succeeded Isidore Persano, to Derek Leech, an entrepreneurial, Mephistophelean fellow who springs out of the mud of Swinging London and amasses a great deal of temporal power. Leech's history can be found, between the lines, in 'Sorcerer Conjurer Wizard Witch', 'Another Fish Story', 'Organ Donors' and
A foundling of the World War II, Richard Jeperson is raised by the men and women of the Diogenes Club to become the successor to Charles Beauregard and Edwin Winthrop. With his allies Fred Regent, a former policeman, and Vanessa, a mystery woman, he has fought evil and investigated strangenesses throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s. Their adventures are recounted in
A legacy is passed down among the Chambers family — who have certain abilities after nightfall, and have waged their own night-time wars. From the 1920s to the 1960s, Jonathan Chambers wore goggles and a slouch hat and operated as the scientific vigilante 'Dr Shade' in partnership with the ladylike 'Kentish Glory', while his sister Jennifer practised unorthodox medicine. Jonathan's son Jamie is, as yet, unsure of his inheritance.
Now, it's the summer of 1976. Great Britain swelters under the Heat Wave of the Century…
I
'Nice motor,' said Richard Jeperson, casting an appreciative eye over Derek Leech's Rolls Royce ShadowShark.
'I could say the same of yours,' responded Leech, gloved fingertips lightly polishing his red-eyed Spirit of Ecstasy. Richard's car was almost identical, though his bonnet ornament didn't have the inset rubies.
'I've kept the old girl in good nick,' said Richard.
'Mine has a horn which plays the theme from
'Mine, I'm glad to say, doesn't.'
That was the pleasantries over.
It was the longest, hottest, driest summer of the 1970s. Thanks to a strict hosepipe ban, lawns turned to desert. Neighbours informed on each other over suspiciously verdant patches. Bored regional television crews shot fillers about eggs frying on dustbin lids and sunburn specialists earning consultancy fees in naturist colonies. If they'd been allowed anywhere near here, a considerably more unusual summer weather story was to be had. A news blackout was in effect, and discreet roadblocks limited traffic onto this stretch of the Somerset Levels.
The near-twin cars were parked in a lay-by, equidistant from the seemingly Mediterranean beaches of Burnham-on-Sea and Lyme Regis. While the nation sweltered in bermuda shorts and flip-flops, Richard and Leech shivered in arctic survival gear. Richard wore layers of bearskin, furry knee-length boots with claw-toes, and a lime green balaclava surmounted by a scarlet Andean bobble hat with chinchilla earmuffs — plus the wraparound anti-glare visor recommended by Jean-Claude Killy. Leech wore a snow-white, fur-hooded parka and baggy leggings, ready to lead an Alpine covert assault troop. If not for his black Foster Grants, he could stand against a whitewashed wall and impersonate the Invisible Man.
Around them was a landscape from a malicious Christmas card. They stood in a Cold Spot. Technically, a patch of permafrost, four miles across. From the air, it looked like a rough circle of white stitched onto a brown quilt. Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone… snow had fallen, snow had fallen,
Leech professed innocence, but this was his fault. Most bad things were.
Bernard Levin said on
Their wonderful cars could go no further, so they had to walk.
After several inconclusive, remote engagements, this was their first face-to-face (or visor-to-sunglasses) meeting. The Most Valued Member of the Diogenes Club and the Great Enchanter were expected to be the antagonists of the age, but the titles meant less than they had in the days of Mycroft Holmes, Charles Beauregard and Edwin Winthrop or Leo Dare, Isidore Persano and Colonel Zenf. Lately, both camps had other things to worry about.
From two official world wars, great nations had learned to conduct their vast duels without all-out armed conflict. Similarly, the Weird Wars of 1903 and 1932 had changed the shadow strategies of the Diogenes Club and its opponents. In the Worm War, there had almost been battle-lines. It had only been won when a significant number of Persano's allies and acolytes switched sides, appalled at the scope of the crime ('the murder of time and space') planned by the wriggling mastermind ('a worm unknown to science') the Great Enchanter kept in a match-box in his waistcoat pocket. The Wizard War, when Beauregard faced Zenf, was a more traditional game of good and evil, though nipped in the bud by stealth, leaving the Club to cope with the ab-human threat of the Deep Ones ('the Water War') and the mundane business of 'licking Hitler'. Now, in what secret historians were already calling the Winter War, no one knew who to fight.
So, strangely, this was a truce.
As a sensitive — a Talent, as the parapsychology bods had it — Richard was used to trusting his impressions of people and places. He knew in his water when things or folks were out of true. If he squinted, he saw their real faces. If he cocked an ear, he heard what they were thinking. Derek Leech seemed perfectly sincere, and elaborately blameless. No matter how furiously Richard blinked behind his visor, he saw no red horns, no forked beard, no extra mouths. Only a tightness in the man's jaw gave away the effort it took to present himself like this. Leech had to be mindful of a tendency to grind his teeth.
They had driven west — windows rolled down in the futile hope of a cool breeze — through parched, sun- baked countryside. Now, despite thermals and furs, they shivered. Richard saw Leech's breath frosting.
'Snow in July,' said Leech. 'Worse. Snow in
'It's not snow, it's
'Don't be such an arse, Jeperson.'
'As a newspaperman, you appreciate accuracy.'
'As a newspaper
Leech had devised
