“Any post for me, David?” she ventured.
Dave didn't even raise his head from his playing: “Already delivered, Miz Derwencast.”
“Ah. Thank you.”
Ruby watched for a few minutes as Dave segued expertly from his own arrangement of “Dark Was The Night, Cold Was The Ground” by way of “Rocky Mountain Breakdown” to “When I'm Cleaning Windows”, and then carried on her way up the hill, enjoying the fresh air and the birdsong.
Presently she arrived at her caravan.
It was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a typical caravan. Above the door there hung an old sign which read 'Blessed be'; and more than one person had uttered these words, or far stronger expressions of surprise, upon entering. Though small on the outside, Ruby's home was surprisingly big on the inside, with all the comforts that anyone could ever need. There were lovely Persian rugs, comfortable chairs and sofas, with deep, well-stuffed cushions, and an old (but very efficient, much-used and well-maintained) soot-blackened stove. Intricate Moroccan lamps, with different-coloured glass panels, hung on long metal chains from the ceiling, casting a warm and mysteriously magical glow throughout. Fixed against each wall, there were shelves. And precariously balanced on these shelves, there were jars, canisters and bottles of herbs and preserves of this, that and the other; all seemingly in disarray, all of wildly differing ages, but all exactly where Ruby would know how to find them. Crammed in between the various jars and whatnot there were countless spell books, historical books on witchcraft, Wiccan lore, cookery and music. Ruby loved music. She would often have music playing, whether she was tidying, casting a spell, or just enjoying 'cutting the rug', dancing on her own.
Such was Ruby's home.
As she entered, she stooped to pick up the morning’s post, and began sorting through, and then tearing open the various different coloured envelopes:
“Bills, bills, bills... That's all we ever seem to get these days, Tobias.”
Tobias, her familiar – a lazy, but well-intentioned tabby cat, of limited brains, and capacious stomach, a heart of gold, but a head of lead – looked up and blinked at her sleepily for a moment. But, realising that she wasn't offering him anything to eat, he simply yawned, and returned to his slumber.
Ruby continued to mutter and grumble to herself as she made her way to the kitchen to put the kettle on, while she continued to peruse her post. Quickly discarding the various gaudy, melodramatically-worded form letters claiming she had won thousands of pounds in competitions that she had never entered, Ruby was left with a phone bill, a gas bill, and - what was this?
Ruby opened the stark, plain white envelope, and read:
D.H.
You were right!
Blooming marvellous!
Meet most urgent. You know where.
Tonight 8.30pm.
Wait until the noise dies down, and then wait for me underneath.
NO LIGHTS UNTIL I SWITCH THEM ON!
Have sent similar request to H, can't trust the phone.
Walls have ears.
DO NOT BE LATE!!!!
Messages.
Shutt it or Else will have to resort to the surgeon.
The rest of the page was blank – no name, company or otherwise, nor an address.
Clearly the letter had found its way into her mail by mistake. Although, as a practitioner of The Craft, Ruby didn't really believe in mistakes.
“How curious,” she thought. “Now, who was this really for, I wonder? And for what purpose?”
The wording of the note all sounded very mysterious, and the underlying tone seemed quite threatening. Ruby's naturally inquisitive instincts had been aroused.
“D.H.... D.H... Hmmm... Tobias, who do we know with those initials?”
Her faithful feline was too busy snoring to answer.
Ruby could only think of one person... But, surely, he couldn't be mixed up in some secret society or criminal gang? He was very mixed up as a person, true enough, but that just seemed to be his natural state. Well, there was only way to find out for certain. Ruby rummaged about in her small, old, velvet handbag, found her mobile phone and proceeded to dial...
She heard the familiar tone at the other end, which told her that the number was ringing.
“Hello?”
“Hello, David, its Ruby. I think you had better put your banjo aside for a few moments and proceed to my caravan, ASAP. I have a piece of paper in my hand and questions in my head that I have a suspicion you might be able to resolve for me. The kettle is on, and my curiosity is aroused... Don't be long, there's a good chap, or I may have to take more... authoritarian steps in order to satisfy my mind and alleviate my doubts... Ten minutes? Perfect.”
She pressed the button to end the call, refilled the kettle and studied the letter more closely, with growing suspicion and tentative understanding.
Chapter 2
Tea For Two
Not far away, on the other side of Widdowshins, Dave the Postman was scurrying frantically around his cottage, in a blind panic as to which piece of paper Ruby might have been referring. With a growing sense of bowel-knotting trepidation, he checked his untidy kitchen table for a certain, highly-important and confidential plain white letter...
It wasn't there. Oh, no. No, no, no. It must be somewhere...
Dave went right the way through his home again, checking everywhere and everything. Finally, as a dreaded last resort, he decided to check the small over-crowded waste-bin in his very cramped and messy bedroom. Heaven alone knew what was in that bin, and how long it had been there. He braced himself, closed his eyes, rolled up his sleeve, turned his head away to avoid the brunt of the rank smell emanating from whatever was currently fermenting in the bin's slimy depths, and very, very gingerly dipped in his hand and arm, with the forlorn hope that the letter would, by some small miracle be in there, no matter how thickly covered in nasty goo and things…
Nope. Nothing. He could find nothing. The only things he did discover were that,
