Ash (18 page)

Haelstrom took him by the elbow. ‘It’ll be lunchtime soon, so why don’t we find someone to show you your room first so you can freshen up, then you can come to the dining room for some lunch. You can take the tour afterwards: I think you’ll find Comraich an intriguing place, with quite a violent past. I’m sure its history will interest you.’

‘I thought we could have a private meeting so that you can fill me in on whatever’s taken place here. Regarding paranormal events, of course.’

‘“Ongoing occurrences” would be more accurate, Mr Ash,’ the big man insisted. ‘I’m hoping you’re the man to bring them to an end.’

His little gimlet eyes bore into Ash’s, and the investigator felt an inexplicable shudder run through him. He hoped the other man hadn’t noticed. ‘I only need a broad outline,’ he managed to say.

‘Right, Mr Ash, let’s get you inside,’ Haelstrom said briskly, already heading for the steps. It was a command rather than an invitation.

‘Sure. So I call you – Sir Victor?’

Haelstrom gave a quick nod, then led the way into Comraich.

Only when he’d taken the first two steps did Ash catch a glimpse of someone tall and thin, dressed in a grey suit and pale greyish tie, watching them from just inside the large open door. Although thin, the middle button of his jacket seemed under pressure from what could only be described as a potbelly. By the time Ash himself was inside the giant doors, however, the grey man had disappeared.

Ash and Haelstrom entered the great hall, which the investigator was surprised to find resembled an opulent hotel foyer. There was even a long polished wooden counter, behind which sat two receptionists. One was a young woman dressed, naturally, in a trim charcoal-grey uniform; the blouse she wore beneath the jacket was of black silk. She gave him a warm smile while her partner, a young man of around the same age and wearing a grey suit and black tie, continued to tap a computer keyboard just below the level of the counter.

Ash smiled back at the woman, who was awaiting instructions from Sir Victor.

‘Veronica,’ Haelstrom all but boomed, the sound resonating around the marble floor and tall pillars that reached the high ceiling, ‘this is Mr David Ash. He shall be staying with us for . . .’ He faced Ash. ‘How long would you say?’

‘Three days, three nights,’ Ash answered promptly.

Haelstrom was momentarily taken aback. ‘Really? So short a time . . . ?’

‘That should cover the preliminary investigation, then we’ll take it from there.’

Haelstrom hastily looked about him. There were only a few clients standing around in quiet conversation, but they were soon casting inquisitive glances in the new arrival’s direction. On a chair between a marble column and the foot of the graceful round staircase leading to a natural gallery above was a uniformed, middle-aged man, whom Ash guessed was a guard of sorts. He was amused to see the man was sitting at attention, presumably because of Haelstrom’s presence.

Noticing the interest Ash had stirred, Haelstrom leaned into him yet again, his voice lowered this time. ‘Our guests are aware that there’s strange activity going on at Comraich, and as a newcomer, you must expect to attract a certain amount of curiosity, but I’d be grateful if you kept your investigations as discreet as possible.’

Ash was bemused by the big man’s dismissal of the violent events as ‘strange activity’. It was a rather euphemistic assessment of a bad haunting.

Haelstrom returned his attention to the receptionist. ‘Leave the departure date blank,’ he instructed.

The woman tapped her own out-of-sight keyboard.

‘All done, Sir Victor,’ she said with the same warm smile she’d given Ash. ‘And Mr Ash’s room is ready for him.’

‘Good. Now page Derriman for me.’

‘Uh, shouldn’t I sign in or something?’ asked Ash.

‘We rarely use paperwork here at Comraich,’ Haelstrom replied. ‘Gerrard here’ – he pointed at the male receptionist, whose smile was less genuine than his colleague’s – ‘already has you entered in our very private system.’

Haelstrom seemed unaware of how furtive he was making the investigation sound; but then, Ash remembered, Comraich was a kind of sanctuary for the wealthy, so ethereal roamings of lost spirits would be almost as dire as hearing the kitchens were infested with cockroaches as far as they were concerned.

A thin, bespectacled man was hurrying towards them.

‘So sorry to keep y-you waiting.’ His face flushed red as if embarrassed by his own stutter. Angled across his forehead was a large, fresh-looking sticking plaster, and Ash recalled Maseby’s account of the man hit by flying furniture when all hell had broken out in the castle’s offices.

‘Mr Ash,’ Haelstrom said, his voice loud once more, ‘this is Andrew Derriman, general manager of Comraich. He helps run the establishment, makes it all flow as smoothly as possible.’

Ash shook Derriman’s hand, which was soft and light of touch. The physical contact lasted no more than two seconds.

The general manager might have been as tall as Ash himself, had not stooped shoulders knocked a couple of inches off his true height. He peered at the investigator through round, thin-framed bifocals, his pale blue eyes anxious, as if he’d been summoned to answer for some important error of management. At least, that was how Haelstrom treated him.

‘Derriman, you should have been at the door with me to greet Mr Ash.’

‘I, um, I—’ Derriman wiped long, nervous fingers across his thin, silver-grey comb-over.

‘Yes, yes, I know,’ said the big man curtly, ‘other duties kept you busy.’

‘W-well, as a-a m-matter of fact . . .’

Ash squirmed inside: he disliked the underdog type Derriman seemed to represent, and
loathed
those who treated others as such.

‘Y’know,’ he interrupted, ‘I need to freshen up, grab a snack, then begin the investigation.’

Haelstrom eyed him coolly and Ash glimpsed another side to the man’s character.
Not good
, he thought.

‘Show Mr Ash to his room,’ Haelstrom instructed, glaring at Derriman. He turned to Ash. ‘Our dining room is on the floor above this one. You’re on the second floor, so come down as soon as you’re ready.’

That last part sounded like an order and it rankled Ash, whose own disposition was anything
but
servile. In fact, Kate McCarrick was probably the only person he’d take an order or reprimand from.

Haelstrom was turning away, heading towards the curved staircase.

‘Oh, I’ll need architectural drawings of the building, and a brief history of Comraich,’ the investigator said, then smiled when Haelstrom wheeled round to face him. The tiny features in the sizeable head drew into themselves again, so that his expression seemed pained. Ash decided there was something unwholesome about Sir Victor Haelstrom, from his sweat-stained shirt collar to his abrupt manner.

‘I’ll also need a summary of any out-of-the-ordinary activity, although not just yet. Tomorrow morning will do.’ Ash had spoken at a natural volume to the big man, but even so, Haelstrom was plainly annoyed.

‘Keep it down, will you,’ he almost hissed at the parapsychologist. ‘I told you to be as discreet as possible. As I said before, our guests are aware that currently all is not well in Comraich, but so far there is only silly gossip and rumours. They don’t understand what it all means.’

Ash was taken aback. ‘What it means? You’re telling – ’ he’d caught himself raising his own voice, so lowered it again. ‘You’re telling me
you
know the reasons for the alleged haunting.’

By now, both men were almost whispering. ‘No, no, I’m not even suggesting they have a cause; but then, Comraich does have a history of bloodshed and violence. There are bound to be incorporeal repercussions of some kind. You say as much in your own book, don’t you?’

‘If I remember correctly, I suggested there could be
normal
causations for apparent
abnormal
events. Seems to me you skimmed through the text and missed out on some relevant points.’

‘Unfortunately, I only received a copy a couple of days ago,’ said Haelstrom, clearly irritated by the reproof. ‘You were a last-minute replacement; we had intended to use someone local.’

‘Moira Glennon?’

The big man’s eyes narrowed. ‘I see you’ve had a nice long chat with the chauffeur on your way here.’ Haelstrom looked down at the floor and gave a single shake of his head. ‘We made a bad decision with the medium; we engaged someone who was weak of mind as well as weak of body.’ He lifted his head again and stared at Ash almost contritely. ‘I saw then that we needed someone with
strength
as well as experience. Someone knowledgeable in this peculiar business, but also someone sceptical enough to give an honest and unequivocal view. I’m sure you’ll agree there are many crackpots and charlatans only too ready to take advantage of vulnerable people who’ve lost all common sense. But I’m informed you’re different, that your expertise is second to none. That’s why you were chosen, Mr Ash.’

Ash was bewildered by this big, unusual man before him, one moment garrulous and welcoming, the next a bullying tyrant and then practically contrite. Now he was paying Ash compliments.

‘Look,’ Ash said, ‘over the years I’ve come to realize that the supernatural and the paranormal have validity.
Real
validity. I’ve experienced things that can only be described as unearthly. And dangerous.’

Haelstrom gave that grimace of a smile again, as though he had a bad headache but was enjoying the torment of it. ‘Mr Ash,’ he said, ‘you and I can discuss this later, after we’ve given you a proper briefing.’

The investigator wondered who the other part of ‘we’ was. The mysterious tall thin man watching from the castle’s doorway while Haelstrom was greeting Ash? Or were there other ‘advisors’ he had yet to meet? Then again, the CEO may have merely included Derriman, who hadn’t had much to say so far.

‘I guess that suits me, Sir Victor. But let me look round first, get a general overview of the building itself. The castle is centuries old and built on top of a promontory with rough seas and caverns below. That can cause all kinds of strange anomalies in the structure of the building above. You can rest assured that I’ll do my very best to discover the source of any disturbances that are troubling you – natural or unnatural.’

Haelstrom appeared satisfied with the statement of intent and grimaced at Ash, who took it as a smile.

‘Very well, Mr Ash. From here on it’s in your capable hands.’

With that Haelstrom wheeled round and made for the stairs again, this time nodding and exchanging short pleasantries with guests as he went.

Derriman touched Ash lightly on the arm. ‘Well, Mr Ash, shall I show you to your room?’ he asked deferentially.

Ash noticed the apparent change in the thin stooped man now that Haelstrom had left them, but nonetheless, the bespectacled manager remained edgy, his long-fingered hands clasped together as if in appeasement; but the redness had left his face and, for the moment at least, he seemed to have lost his stutter. Was he really that intimidated by his employer?

Ash did his best to put him at his ease. ‘Tell you what – you call me David and I’ll call you Andrew, if that’s okay.’

Derriman managed a courteous smile and immediately became less skittish.

‘That would be fine,’ he agreed. ‘Sir Victor enjoys formality, but sometimes I think it gets in the way of mutual understanding.’

Ash wouldn’t have gone as far as that, but it was a sound idea and if it made his investigation go more smoothly, then he was all for it. Together, they began to walk towards the far end of the reception hall. The investigator’s boots clattered on the marble flooring and he had to endure the naked stares of apprehension from separate groups of residents.

Derriman spoke as mildly as his manner would suggest. ‘Do you know
anything
about Comraich Castle, Mr— sorry, David?’

‘Only that it has a curse on it.’

‘Ah yes, the legendary castle curse.’ Derriman smiled to himself, while sweeping his fingers across his sparse silver-grey hair.

On the way down a cavernous marble hallway, the general manager pointed out early works of art on the walls, paintings and tapestries, as well as statues and busts of long-dead dignitaries displayed on plinths.

Derriman and Ash soon reached a broad lift-door with a sturdy-looking vertical brass handle. ‘The lift’s at the top of the building,’ he told Ash, who had already gathered as much from the old-fashioned floor indicator above the closed door. ‘It was put in sometime around the early fifties when the castle was renovated. I’m afraid it’s rather slow and clunky.’ Derriman stabbed twice at the brass button on the slim metal panel beside the door as if it might make the lift’s descent a little quicker.

Biding his time while they waited, Ash took the opportunity to peek through a wide doorless entrance. Curious, he stepped inside. There were similar wide entrances directly opposite each other all along the corridor.

He found himself within a large, high-ceilinged armoury with flagstone flooring and sandstone walls. It had the musty smell of ancient iron. Antique weaponry was mounted on all four walls, arranged in menacing though somehow eye-pleasing symmetry. Old British Army flintlock pistols were displayed in two circles, one set of guns inside the second, while other obsolete weapons were held on wooden mountings. A lattice on the left-hand wall was made up of cut and shaped sword hilts. Full swords hung horizontally over a second entrance to the room, while more sword blades were arranged in crisscross patterns; a circular arrangement of pistols and swords graced the wall over the fireplace mantle, and miniature polished cannons occupied a space before the incongruously white fireplace itself, its grate filled with rough-hewn logs.

It was all immensely impressive and left Ash open-mouthed in admiration. Then something on the far side of the armoury caught his attention. He was sure he’d seen a slight movement among what must have been the most venerable of the room’s weapons: long pikes, iron axes and claymores filled one particular wall, among them halberds and lethal iron maces, longbows and deadly crossbows. While the rest of the chilling collection looked pristine, this last miscellany of weapons was made even more fearsome by being so obviously time-worn, the blades of the claymores and the halberds dark-stained and dented, the crossbows and pikes scratched and scarred.