A Crown of Lights

‘Let’s put it in, Jane.’ Eirion keyed in the name, while the computer was still showing:

KIRK BLACKMORE ORACLE.

The reclusive Celtic scribe returns with a

remarkable new Lord Madoc novel which...

‘Found,’ Eirion said, after a few seconds. ‘ “The Mobile Ministry of Marshall McAllman”.’

He clicked. Kirk Blackmore vanished.

‘There you are.’ Sophie peered. ‘ “Angelweb Factfile. The journeys of Reverend Marshall McAllman were directed by the Will of God and took him from Oklahoma...” ’

‘ “... to South Carolina”,’ Eirion read from the screen, ‘ “via Arkansas and Tennessee, dispensing a low-key but extremely potent evangelism effectively tailored to the needs of small towns and simple folk. He developed a loyal following after several witnessed instances of prophecy, divine inspiration and angelic” blah blah blah... “Reverend McAllman retired in 1998, a disillusioned man, after surviving a campaign by an unscrupulous journalist on a Tennessee newspaper, the Goshawk Talon. Although there remains considerable debate about Reverend McAllman’s ministry, his name is still revered in” blah, blah—’

‘There you have it, then,’ Sophie interrupted. ‘Your next port of call must surely be the, ah, Goshawk Talon.’

‘Does that mean it’s in a place called Goshawk?’ Jane wondered.

‘Doesn’t matter, let’s just put it in,’ Eirion said.

‘ “Found”. Some stuff on birds of prey. And... “The Goshawk Talon and Marshall McAllman”... OK.’ Eirion clicked, waited. ‘Oh.’

The file you are seeking is unavailable.

Jane’s face fell. ‘What do we do now?’

‘A technical brick wall.’ Sophie sighed. ‘Hard to imagine how we survived for so long without all this.’ Then she did something most un-Sophie-like – stamped her foot. ‘Phone them, child! They presumably have telephones in Goshawk, Tennessee. If this publication still exists, it shouldn’t take long to find the number. If it doesn’t, we shall have to think of something else. Get on to international directory enquiries.’

‘I don’t know how.’

Sophie sighed in mild contempt. ‘Leave it to me.’ She stalked out.

‘Wow,’ Jane said. ‘The turbo twinset.’

Eirion smiled his Eirion smile. It did things to her, but this was not the time. There never seemed to be a time. The sudden urgency manifested by Sophie made Jane quite tense. What if someone was ringing home with information far more important than anything they could hope to find on the Net, and she wasn’t there to relay it. Paranoid, she rang the vicarage answering machine. One message for Mum to call Uncle Ted. Sod that.

‘We seem to be drifting a long way from Kali Three,’ Eirion said. He started to key it in.

‘No, don’t.’ Jane leapt up and stood at the window, staring down at the woodpile below. There was a sense of being very close to something, but it was too indistinct, ghostly. She felt that invoking Kali Three would somehow bring bad luck. She turned back to the room.

‘We have to go there.’

‘Old Hindwell?’ Eirion said. ‘I’m not sure about that. Why?’

‘We just do.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Sophie was in the doorway.

‘Sophie, there’s some really heavy—’

‘Don’t you think your mother has enough to worry about? Sit down and speak to the man from the paper. Or would you prefer me to do it? Perhaps it might be better if I did.’

‘She’s right,’ Eirion said. ‘She’s going to sound so much more authoritative than either of us. Especially to Joe-Bob McCabe, of the Goshawk Talon.’

‘Ah sure lerve your accent, ma’am,’ said Jane. The only person from Tennessee she’d ever heard talk was Elvis.

‘The man’s name,’ said Sophie, ‘is Eliot Williams. He’s busy at the moment, but his editor’s getting him to call me back. I think he rather senses a story.’

‘Wow,’ Jane said, ‘you’re, like, incredible.’

But Sophie had already returned to her office, where the phone was ringing.

46 Nine Points

A DARK, VICTORIAN living room. Merrily imprisoned in the lap of a huge, high-sided leather armchair, coat folded on her knees, cup and saucer on top of that.

Judith Prosser was adept at disadvantaging her visitors.

‘And since when is religion a matter for the police, Mrs Watkins?’

‘When it’s sexual assault.’ Merrily drank some of the coffee. Perversely, it was good coffee.

‘Do you know what I think?’ Judith’s own chair put her about a foot higher than Merrily. ‘I’ve been enquiring about you, and do you know what I think? I think that Father Ellis has dared to intrude into what you consider to be your back yard. He is doing what you think only you should be doing.’

‘You think I’d do—?’

‘How would I know what namby-pamby thing you would do these days, when the Church is like a branch of the social services?’ A withering contempt for both.

‘Now we’re getting to it,’ Merrily said.

‘Are we, Mrs Watkins?’

Merrily tried to sit up in the chair. She felt like a child. Around the walls were dozens of photographs, mostly of men wearing chains of office, although a group of more recent ones showed boys with motorbikes and trophies.

‘What are “we” getting to?’ Judith leaned back, arms folded.

‘The question of Old Hindwell preferring to do its own thing. Which is kind of admirable in one sense, I suppose.’

Judith reared up. ‘It is entirely admirable, my girl. This is an independent part of the world. What do we need with the mandarins in Cardiff and London and Canterbury? The English. Even the Welshies... they all think they can come out yere and do what they like. When Councillor Prosser was on the old Radnor District Council, they used to have to employ young officials, trotting out their fancy ideas – hippies and vegetarians, half of them. It was, “Oh, you can’t build there... you have to use this colour of slate on your roofs... you can’t do this, you can’t do that.” Well, they were put in their place soon enough. The local people, it is, who decides. We know what’s needed, we know what works. And Father Ellis, even though he’s not from yere, is a man with old values and a clear, straightforward, practical approach, based on tradition. He understands tradition.’

Merrily was tired of this. ‘How many people has he exorcized so far?’

‘I can tell you that all of them have come freely to him and asked for it to be done.’

‘Like your son?’

A pause. ‘Gomer Parry again, I suppose.’

‘Doesn’t matter where it came from. I just wondered if your son actually went along to Ellis and asked to be