Third Solstice CALIBRE with cover (7 page)

“No. Even your preacher brother knows it by now. Think how you’ve protected them—the little girl, the hooligan, the junkie. You don’t mix up the light with goodness, or darkness with the bad. And so the creatures show themselves to you, and so they’ll stay near you—you and the Tyack boy, and your child—like beasts on an old-fashioned shield.”

Gideon could hear sirens. They brought him to surface, from waters so deep he’d been losing his sense of the shore. “I don’t understand.”

“I know. But one day you will. Oh, in the meantime I have a message from Dev Bowe for you. He told me last time I visited him in hospital. He wants you to have the Lowen house on Morgan hill.”

“Right.” It was best to keep a suicide talking, no matter how surreal the topic. “Is he gonna buy us some lottery tickets, then?”

“Oh, there’ll be no need for that. Hadn’t you better go and see what all those sirens are about?”

“No. I’ve got to stay and look after you.”

“Well, I promise faithfully to sit here until you get back. Go on, Guardian Frayne. Save the day.”

Police, fire and ambulance. Gideon knew all their songs. More than one crying out into a Cornish night meant trouble, more than a car prang or childbirth, more than a cat—or an old lady—stuck in a tree. Drawn to their symphony, he took one step and then another towards the empty window frame. The back of the warehouse looked right out over Penzance, all the way to St Michael’s Mount in the east.

The town was on fire. “Jesus Christ,” Gideon whispered, clambering out through the window. He jumped, and landed hard on the waste ground six feet below. Spinning blue lights were threading the streetlamps and torch flares. They were homing in on Chybucca Square, an open space where the Midwinter Fire procession would stop to watch dance troupes, buy roast chestnuts and sample mulled wine from the stalls. The bank and both buildings flanking it were ablaze, smaller fires breaking out as people backed away in terror, dropping torches in their wake. Out of habit, Gideon scanned the scene for its focal point, the cause of all these effects.

Yes—there on the seaward side of the square, pouring out of the narrow road that led to the bus station. From this distance he couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if DI Lawrence’s busloads of out-of-town kids had made it to the party after all. They were grabbing torches from the hands of the revellers, chucking the brands into shop doorways and directly into the crowd. And bloody Darren Prowse had sent him off the wrong way.

Then, if he’d stayed in the streets below, he’d never have seen what was going on. The Beast, the Lord of Misrule, and Old Penglas... Higher and higher, each one of them had brought him, and in the wrong direction, but from here he had a bird’s-eye view. He pulled out his mobile and dialled the inspector’s number. She answered on the first ring, sounding frayed and grim. “They’re coming in from the bus station,” Gideon told her. “You need to send as many lads as you can down to Chybucca Square, and some of the local boys to block off access from station. From here it looks like they’ll need riot gear. I’m on my way down.”

Shit, he’d forgotten about Granny Ragwen. He ran back to the window, grabbed the ledge and hoisted himself up far enough to shine his torch inside. He’d be lucky to get any kind of rescue team out here to help her now, but...

His stomach dropped. She was gone. The rafter she’d perched on was vacant but for a huge Penzance seagull, idly preening. Bracing himself to discover her shattered remains, he directed the torch beam to the floor.

Nothing. His precarious grip on the window ledge failed him, and he half-fell back onto the frosty ground. Righting himself, he reflected that many things inside him had changed. He was puzzled by the old girl’s disappearance but not dismayed. And even a few months ago, his first reflex would have been a frantic call to Lee. As it was, the signal between them lay deep and undisturbed. Gideon knew his man—at the first sign of trouble, he’d have taken Tamsyn and carried her out of harm’s reach. That left Gideon free to do his job and ensure the harm reached no bloody further. The waste ground lay in a broad, tempting sweep all the way back down to Tolver Road. Pocketing his mobile, he began to run.

A shadow crossed his path, once then again and again. At each pass, an eerie cry rang out. Gideon spared an upward glance. There’d been horror-story news reports all that summer of rogue seagulls landing in babies’ pushchairs, trying to snatch small dogs off the pavements. Had the gull from the warehouse decided to follow him? He paused for a moment on the brow of the hill, sweeping the beam of his torch into the sky.

A witch on a broomstick strafed him. The seagull’s cry resounded from the heavens once more, cracking into wild, ecstatic laughter. The insane vision stayed with him for a fraction of a second, then a cloud passed over the face of the gibbous moon, and she was gone.

Gideon stood motionless, trying to catch his breath. There was a kind of kite or remote-controlled model shaped like a witch on her broom. He’d seen it on YouTube. Tamsyn thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen, and Lee had insisted he watch the clip. The model was pretty convincing. People had pointed and shouted, and there’d been a few cries of real fear. Probably that was what he’d just seen. He didn’t know who the hell would be buzzing him up on Gwidder Hill at this hour, but...

But he didn’t know anything, did he? Not really. His whole night since leaving Lee had been a kind of dream. He’d run from one strange meeting, one mythological encounter, to the next. And these things, these monsters, hadn’t even called him by his right name. He was Gideon Frayne, Gideon—not Guardian. His head spun again and he grabbed at a fence post to stay upright. All his certainties were faltering. What if his connection to Lee wasn’t quiet at all? What if it was gone?

Fear ate him whole. He tapped up Lee’s number from the phone’s memory, sweat-damped fingertips barely able to manipulate the screen. Still clinging to the fence post with one hand, he listened to the call ring out and out, and finally click to voicemail.

Chapter Six

He left a message, barely aware of what he was saying.
Get out of the town centre. Take Tamsie back to the police station. I’ll be there soon.
Then, after a dry-throated three-second wait—
Lee, for God’s sake. Why aren’t you answering?

There was only one way to find that out. Gideon had almost worn out the rubber track on the police-gym treadmill, had jogged over untold miles of Bodmin moorland, in his efforts not just to get back to his usual form after his injury but to surpass that old standard. He’d discovered and accepted his mortality in his Trelowarren hospital bed, but had decided then and there that he was going to be the best damn mortal the Cornish police force had ever seen. He’d known that one day he would need to run, without fatigue or pause for breath. To run and run...

He covered the barren ground in less than a minute. Back on Tolver Road, he had to ease his pace: frightened revellers, parents with kids, lanterns and banners trailing, were making their way uphill away from the blaze. He wove a path amongst them, barely aware of how he dodged them or gently put them aside. He had one thought, one goal only.

No. He was a copper as well as a husband and a dad. He rounded the corner into Chybucca Square and saw that his duty lay everywhere, scattered about him in flaring rags. Two fire trucks were parked outside the bank, bringing that blaze under control, but the stiff sea breeze was feeding every torch that had been dropped or thrown. Gideon caught sight of a couple of uniformed constables running from one fire to the next, trying to stamp out the brands and only getting their trousers singed for their pains. “Hoi,” he yelled, pulling his ID. “Never mind that. Go into the open shops and get their fire extinguishers. The chippy over there will have a couple.”

He waited until they’d run to obey him, then he darted across the flame-lit green. Most of the troublemakers had vanished at the sound of the sirens, but a little group of them—too drunk or high for caution—were still at work, gleefully chucking torches through the broken windows of the photographer’s shop and helping themselves to the equipment on display. He waited until he was right in the middle of the shrieking, laughing mob before letting loose his law-enforcement bellow. “Police!” Before they could react, he reached in amongst the bodies and accurately collared the ringleader. He used the lad and his own bulk to corner the gang in the shop doorway. “How do you like it?” he demanded, as one pale face and then another fixed on his. “How do you like being stuck in a burning bloody building?” He shook the kid he was holding like a rat. “Wow, Saul Priddy, is that you? Didn’t I arrest you just last year for a spot of B and E in Liskeard? This has got to be parole violation of the century.”

The boy went the colour of cottage cheese. “Don’t tell! Don’t tell, or I’ll go down proper.”

“You will. Adult jail for you this time, too.” Gideon glanced across the square. His two constables were doing a lot better now, and the Penzance citizens were stepping up, passing buckets, washing-up bowls and any other container they could find in a human chain from the fountain. “I
will
tell, you little sod, but if you get your pack of hooligans to help those people over there, I’ll tell that too. All right?”

“All right, all right. Just let me—”

Gideon tossed him aside, forgetting him. A figure had appeared behind the shop’s glass door, half-wrapped in flames, staggering and pawing at the handle. Gideon grabbed it from the outside and discovered for himself that it was searing hot. The pain shot through him and vanished in adrenaline. “Get back!” he roared, hoping the terrified shopkeeper could hear him. He took three backward strides, braced up and rammed the door with his shoulder.

He tumbled into the shop. The burning man was still on his feet but beginning to shriek in panic. One glance around the flame-lit interior showed Gideon what he wanted: a thick baize cloth in the window, with the remains of the display merchandise still on it amidst the pieces of broken glass. He snatched the cloth free. The shopkeeper was far enough gone to try to fight off his saviour, but Gideon didn’t give him the chance: grabbed him, bundled the cloth around him and hoisted him out onto the green.

He knelt beside him, beating out the last of the flames. “You’ll be all right,” he declared when the shock-blanked stare met his. He had no idea, but he’d learned that convincing a survivor he’d make it was half the battle. “Lie still. I’ll get an ambulance for you.” By a miracle, a vacant one was pulling up by the kerb. Frantically Gideon waved, and a pair of paramedics scrambled out and came racing across the green. “Burns victim,” he said, falling back to give them room. “I don’t know how bad.” He wrapped his arms around himself. His hand hurt like hell, and there was nothing in all the burnt-out darkness of his mind to tell him what had happened to his husband and his little girl. “I’ve got to go.”

One of the paramedics glanced up, grinning. “Yeah, of course. It’s Sergeant Frayne, isn’t it, from over in Dark?”

“Er... yes.”

“You won’t remember me. My team and I picked you up after you got stabbed in Bodmin town. Nice to see you on your feet again. And don’t worry about this chap—his burns look superficial.”

“Thank God.”

“More a case of thank the local bobby, if you ask me. Another thirty seconds and he would’ve been fried. If you’re looking for your other half, by the way, he’s down on the quayside. Saw him two minutes ago.”

Air rushed into Gideon’s lungs, sweet and pure with relief. He couldn’t find his voice to thank the medic, who had turned her attentions back to her patient anyway. He turned and stumbled away. If anything further needed doing here tonight, any more fires doused or hoodlums arrested, someone else would have to manage it, at least for now. Gideon would return to the fray and gladly, but not before he’d set eyes on Tamsyn and Lee.

An odd hush had descended on the town. Saul Priddy and his mates had vanished, of course, seeing a charge of manslaughter in their shared futures. The crowd in the square was thinning. Gideon didn’t quite get it. He couldn’t work out how the promising riot he’d observed from Gwidder Hill had dispersed so fast. Either the Penzance coppers had done a phenomenally good job, or...

Or somebody had ordered up a miracle. He emerged from Quay Street onto the sea front. Battery Road, normally thronged with harbour traffic, was closed off and silent. People were coming from all directions to the open space in front of the Dolphin Tavern. Among them Gideon saw faces he would store away for later identity parades, feral or idle or just plain thick, the very lads who’d been wreaking havoc in the town. His fingers itched to collar them, but he was on his own, and anyway they’d ceased to behave like thugs. They were just walking in silence, some of them with torches still borne aloft, joining the outskirts of the crowd.

The crowd had a centre. Gideon couldn’t quite see it, but the people flowing in were moving clockwise around it, each one dropping to a slow, almost stately pace, like a dustcloud around a newly formed star. A couple of the crowdy-crawn drummers were giving them the beat. Round and round they circled, expressions becoming young with wonder as they drew closer to the core, torchlight mingling with moonlight in the clearing sky, boats gleaming on the high-tide waters in the harbour beyond.

Compelling and beautiful, and if Gideon could get enough uniformed muscle down here, easy pickings. Fish in a trawl net. He had no idea what had drawn the little bastards’ attention, what was holding it now, and he didn’t care. He pulled out his mobile.

Lee met his eyes through the crowd. It was a glimpse only. He was in the inner circle, walking clockwise with the rest, the baby in his arms. Gideon forgot the kids and his potential arrests with perfect totality. That look, brief though it had been, meant
get your arse here right now
. The serenity Gideon had read through their strange link had been a front. Beneath it Lee was terrified, elated, holding back fireworks by a pure effort of will.
Gid, come here!