The Deadly Game (8 page)

Robert’s anger and his desire for revenge for the attack on his beloved old van occupied the first half-hour of the journey. For Jake, the big question was: who had done it?

‘Could it have been the Watchers?’ he asked.

‘But I thought you said they weren’t violent types,’ Robert said.

‘Well, not as far as I know.’ Then Jake remembered Carl Parsons, a Watcher, and secretly very violent. But Parsons had been a renegade, a mercenary, so maybe he didn’t really count as a Watcher at all.

‘Anyway, doing it to a van isn’t the same as doing it to a person,’ said Jake, trying to make himself feel less threatened if it had been the Watchers.

‘It feels the same,’ said Robert angrily. ‘I love my old van. And if it was them, and I catch hold of them, they’re going to find out what physical violence really is!’

‘We’d better tell the others about the Watchers,’ said Jake. ‘Your pal, Andy, and this reporter. So they know what we’re up against.’ He fell into a thoughtful silence, then added: ‘Of course, it needn’t have been the Watchers. It could have been someone trying to stop the competition.’

‘We’re supposed to be looking for King Arthur,’ pointed out Robert.

‘Yes, but the opposition may not believe our cover story,’ put in Jake.

‘I think we’ll find out soon enough who it is,’ grunted Robert. ‘I bet you they’ll be watching for us in Glastonbury.’

Which wasn’t a pleasant prospect, Jake reflected.

‘So what’s this reporter like?’ asked Robert.

‘She’s young, about the same age as me,’ said Jake. ‘Very ambitious, which is why I thought she’d be ideal. And also, she doesn’t scare easily.’ He told him about Michelle coming to look for him in the timber store. ‘Plenty of people would have ignored it. Or maybe phoned the police and reported it.’

‘But she didn’t,’ mused Robert. ‘Suspicious?’

Jake thought it over.

‘Yes and no,’ he said. ‘Yes, her getting the phone call. But no, because — like I say — she’s ambitious, and if she thinks there’s a chance to further her career, she’ll go for it. Even if it could be a bit . . .’

‘Dangerous?’ queried Robert.

‘I was going to say “chancy”,’ said Jake. ‘But it could have been dangerous. So, yes.’

‘She sounds interesting,’ said Robert. ‘I look forward to meeting her.’

As they drove, Jake couldn’t help turning round every so often to check on the cars behind them.

‘Why do you keep turning round?’ asked Robert irritably, after Jake had twisted round in his seat for the fourth time.

‘Seeing if anyone’s following us,’ replied Jake.

‘They don’t need to,’ said Robert. ‘Anyone who’s been keeping tabs on us already knows we’re going to Glastonbury. It makes more sense for them to be waiting for us there.’

Which was true, Jake had to admit.

The journey was uneventful, and it was midday when they finally pulled into the car park of the Grail and Thorn. After they’d checked in, Robert got hold of his pal, Andy, on his mobile, and Jake did the same with Michelle. Both reported that they weren’t far away from Glastonbury, and they agreed to meet up at the pub at one o’clock for lunch, and to draw up their plan of action.

Robert decided he wanted to go and freshen up after the journey, but Jake was keen to check out the town and get as much information as he could from the tourist office and the local shops. That way, he reasoned, it would help convince anyone who might be watching him that he really was in Glastonbury to find out about King Arthur and the Grail, and not searching for the hidden books. As he walked away from the Grail and Thorn, he couldn’t help casting a sweeping look around to see if he could spot anyone who might be watching him. The trouble was, how would he know? Anyone who was keeping him under observation, and was good at their job, would be doing it without Jake being able to tell.

He tried committing the faces of some people to memory, choosing those he thought
looked
suspicious; but then he gave up. In a town like Glastonbury, that seemed to attract all sorts of oddballs, nearly everyone he saw could have been described as suspicious.

The town itself seemed to be aiming at two separate sorts of tourists: religious pilgrims, and ageing hippies. There were shops and information booths dedicated to the Christian history of Glastonbury: Joseph of Arimathea, the Holy Grail, St Dunstan, and the history of the abbey; but there were far more stores selling souvenirs of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table; and even more whose windows were crammed with crystals for divination, candles of all shapes and colours, magic pebbles and rocks, maps showing ley lines, and clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the 1960s.

Jake picked up three maps, one showing the tourist attractions in the town; another, a plan of the abbey, and the third a map showing Glastonbury Tor and the key places on it. He also bought a couple of slim books about the King Arthur and the Grail legend. By the time he got back to the pub, Michelle had arrived, and was sitting with Robert in the garden. With them at the table was a cheerful-looking guy with a large black and white dog.

‘Jake, meet my rugby pal, Andy,’ said Robert.

Jake and Andy shook hands.

‘And the other one is his working partner, Woody, the wonder-dog,’ put in Michelle.

Jake forced himself to give the dog a friendly smile. Jake had always been a bit wary of dogs. When Robert had first mentioned using a sniffer dog, he’d consoled himself with the thought that a sniffer dog would be trained and ought to be safe.

Andy rubbed the dog’s head, and Woody’s tail wagged heartily. He seems friendly enough, thought Jake. And, if it was true that dogs grew to be like their masters, then Andy certainly seemed a cheerful and open guy. He was shorter than Robert, but chunkily built, as fitted a rugby player. His hair was cropped short, possibly so that opposing players couldn’t grab it in the scrum, reflected Jake. But then he remembered that Andy worked in search and rescue, so it was possibly a military thing.

‘So, Robert says we’re looking for some kind of book,’ said Andy.

‘Yes.’ Jake sat down at their table.

‘Valuable?’

‘Yes and no,’ said Jake. ‘To be honest, it’s only really worth anything to people who are interested in history.’

‘History can be worth money,’ said Andy.

‘That’s what I told Jake,’ put in Michelle. ‘That Roman helmet that’s worth two million, for example.’

‘Yes, well, this is nothing like that,’ said Jake. He looked around, and then said in a low voice: ‘Anyway, officially, that’s not why we’re here. We’re looking for something of King Arthur. The Holy Grail, or something similar.’ And he shot an accusing look at Robert.

‘I had to tell Andy what we were looking for,’ hissed back Robert defensively. ‘After all, he and Woody are the ones who’ll be searching for it. They had to know.’

‘True,’ admitted Jake reluctantly. But he wasn’t happy about it. The more people who knew the real purpose of their visit to Glastonbury, the more chance there was of the opposition homing in on them. He looked at Andy as the search and rescue man rubbed the dog’s ears, and the dog looked up at him, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, big brown eyes watching him.

‘What breed is he?’ he asked.

‘Woody’s a bitza,’ said Andy. ‘Bitza this, bits of that. There’s a bit of collie in him, and a bit of setter, and I’m pretty sure there might even be a bit of bloodhound in him, because he’s got such a fantastic nose! He can sniff out anything!’

‘Yes, explosives and drugs and things like that. Robert told me,’ said Jake. ‘But aren’t criminals able to get round it? I read somewhere that drug smugglers hide the drugs in crates packed with strong-smelling stuff like coffee to beat the dogs.’

Andy grinned.

‘That depends on the quality of the dog. A woman in Australia was visiting her boyfriend in prison and she tried to smuggle in drugs in her bra. She tried to fool the detection dog by smearing her bra with coffee, pepper, and even Vicks VapoRub. The dog still smelt out the drugs.’

Michelle’s face showed her disgust.

‘God, her bra must have stunk enough for people to get suspicious, anyway.’

Andy continued, warming to describing the almost paranormal virtues of sniffer dogs. ‘A sniffer dog can detect blood, even after it’s been scrubbed off. Dogs smell things in parts per trillion, something way beyond the range of human beings. They can smell illnesses such as diabetes and cancers in a person.’ He looked affectionately at Woody. ‘From what Robert tells me, this thing you’ve got will be meat and drink to Woody, if it’s as old as he says it is. The smells on it will be easily identifiable.’

Jake looked round carefully to make sure that no one seemed to be taking too much of an interest in them, then took the envelope from his pocket and passed it to Andy.

‘This is what we’re looking for,’ he said.

Andy lifted the ancient blackened leather cover from inside the envelope, and smiled.

‘Easy!’ he said, pushing the book cover back inside the envelope and returning it to Jake. He turned to Robert. ‘You said you knew some places where you thought this book might be buried?’

Robert nodded.

‘Four of them,’ he said. ‘They’re all out of town, on farmland. I’ve got permission from the landowners to search them.’

‘Great!’ said Andy. ‘Well, the sooner we get started, the better.’

‘Excellent.’ Michelle nodded. She stood up. ‘I’ll get my camera.’

‘First, lunch!’ said Robert firmly. ‘You people may be able to go all day without food, but I need my sustenance.’

Michelle looked as if she was about to argue, but one look at the determined and hungry expression on Robert’s face and she shrugged.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Lunch it is.’

They ordered snacks, and while they ate, Jake took the opportunity to fill Michelle and Andy in on potential hazards.

‘If we’re lucky enough to find one of the books, whatever happens, don’t open it,’ he told them.

‘Why not?’ asked Andy.

Briefly, Jake told him what had happened when the book had been dug up accidentally in Bedfordshire.

‘When the digger driver opened it, he released the fungal spores that were in the pages. As soon as they came into contact with moisture, which was his sweat, the spores turned into this heaving mass of fungus which covered him from head to toe.’

‘Wow!’ said Andy, impressed. ‘What happened to him? Did they get the stuff off him?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Jake. ‘He was being kept in an isolation ward, but he was still covered in the fungus.’ He shrugged unhappily. ‘I don’t know whether he lived or died. I’m just telling you this so you know how dangerous these things can be. If we’re lucky enough to find a book, we open it in strict safety conditions: hazard suits in a laboratory.’

‘Great!’ Michelle beamed. ‘Pictures like that will make this story even better!’

‘You also said you were going to tell them about the Watchers,’ Robert reminded Jake.

‘Yes.’ Jake nodded.

Michelle frowned.

‘The Watchers?’ she asked.

‘The Watchers are the guardians of the books,’ said Jake. ‘Originally, they were ordinary people who were trusted by the monks who hid the books. You know, cooks, servants, carpenters, stonemasons, tradespeople. The sort no one notices. Their job was to keep watch over the hidden books and make sure no one discovered them by accident, or on purpose. No one except the monks who’d hidden them, that is.’

‘Sort of security?’ asked Andy.

Jake nodded.

‘Apparently, the idea was that the Watchers would keep the books safe until the time was right for them to be revealed. But that time never came. So the Watchers continued keeping watch over the books, making sure they remained undisturbed. The books are still hidden, and the Watchers still guard them. The job was handed down from generation to generation. Parents to their children. Uncles and aunts to nieces and nephews. They’re still ordinary people doing ordinary jobs — only now they’re nurses, teachers, railway workers, taxi drivers, carpenters, journalists . . .’

Andy frowned.

‘Are you expecting trouble from these Watchers if we find anything?’ he said, concerned.

‘Not trouble as in physical violence,’ said Jake. ‘At least, the Watcher I met before told me they don’t go in for that sort of thing.’

‘What sort of things do they go in for?’ asked Michelle.

‘Interrupting any digging,’ said Jake. ‘Court orders. But all non-violent.’

‘Well, at least that’s something positive,’ said Michelle.

Jake hesitated, wondering whether to tell them about Carl Parsons, the Watcher that Lauren had killed, and how he’d attacked her with a knife to try and force her to give him the book she and Jake had got hold of. But that had been because he was getting paid to get hold of the book, not because he was a Watcher.

‘Mind,’ he added, ‘that’s how
most
Watchers go about it. If there was a renegade among them . . .’

‘He or she might get violent?’ asked Andy.

Jake shrugged.