Lockwood & Co. The Creeping Shadow

For more than a thousand years, probably ever since the last raven had finished picking at the skeletons left by the Vikings and the Saxons on their ancient battleground, Aldbury Castle had been a backwater, forgotten and ignored. Centuries of action and incident had passed it by. Even its recent epidemic of ghosts had earned it no attention. Yet the “Rotwell Incident” (which was how the newspapers subsequently named the disaster at the institute facility) changed all that overnight. At a stroke it became the most famous location in England.

The response started early. At eight thirty a.m., roughly three hours after explosions had lit up the sky behind the hills, and with the column of black smoke still funneling up above the trees, the first vehicles began rolling through the village. And they didn’t stop coming. All that day a convoy of cars, trucks, and windowless vans, filled to the brim with DEPRAC personnel, Rotwell agents, and armed police, went racing grimly eastward through the woods. Before long, with word spreading and the first journalists arriving on the scene, DEPRAC cordoned off the village altogether. A barrier was erected at the bridge west of the green, and another on the lane, just inside the entrance to the eastern woods. Guards were posted, and no one was allowed in or out.

That suited us fine. We weren’t in shape to go anywhere. We rose late and spent the day in the taproom of the Old Sun Inn, keeping out of sight.

From time to time, word came of activities out on the fields. Members of DEPRAC teams called in for sandwiches and refreshments, and from the tidbits of information they let slip to Danny Skinner and his father, we got a fair idea of what was going on.

Clean-up squads were wading through the wreckage of the Rotwell Institute site. Most of the facility had been destroyed, and what areas remained had been quickly sealed off from all but the most specialized operatives. The ruins of the central building in particular were out of bounds, but it was common knowledge that certain “unauthorized” weapons had been found in neighboring hangars, and that this was the probable cause of the explosion and the fire. Even more sensational was the news that Steve Rotwell himself was missing. He had been at the facility the previous day and had not been located. So far, he was the only presumed casualty. Several surviving scientists, found wandering in the surrounding countryside, had been taken in for questioning.

“And it won’t be long before we’re rounded up, too, I suppose.” This was Kipps, speaking from his seat near the fire. His turtleneck was pulled high, and his face had a bruised and swollen look. All our faces did. We were like a selection of old fruit, dropped too often and left in the bowl to go soft.

Lockwood was playing cards with Holly. He shook his head, an action that made him wince and rub the back of his neck. “I think we’ll be fine,” he said. “What Rotwell was doing in that site counts as major criminal activity—all those secret weapons, for a start, not to mention the ghost-bombs that were used in the carnival assassination attempt last year. And then there’s the iron circle. I’d be very surprised if Johnson and the others talk openly about what happened last night—at least at first. A lot depends on what the fires have actually left behind.”

“I was wondering,” Holly said. “Shouldn’t we tell DEPRAC ourselves?” She had spent even longer than usual in our shared bathroom that morning, and by some magic was almost restored to her pristine self, despite flare burns on her brow and chin. But the gun-toting, wild-haired madwoman of the night before was in there somewhere, I knew. It made me look upon her with fond affection.

“Tell DEPRAC what?” George said. “They clearly have plenty of evidence about what’s been going on.”

“Well, no, I mean about the circle—about the man in armor going through. It’s very important. We’ve got to, haven’t we?”

Lockwood grunted. “Tell old Barnes? I don’t know….We have never been the flavor of the month with him at the best of times. Think he’ll believe us?”

“Probably just clap us in prison,” George said. “Arson, burglary, general assault…Let’s face it, he’d have some tasty options.”

“I think we have to tell him anyhow,” I said. “Holly’s right. It’s just too big a thing to keep quiet about. When we stood in the graveyard that first night, we saw the way the Creeping Sha—that armored guy—stirred up the ghosts just by passing by. And then, last night…” My voice trailed off; I shivered, despite the fire. “We did exactly the same ourselves. There are so many implications….”

“Implications that DEPRAC aren’t likely to believe, I fear.” Lockwood put down his hand of cards. “But maybe you’re right. I guess we better had tell Barnes, if we get the opportunity.”

Part of the problem about telling Inspector Barnes, or even talking about events among ourselves, was that what had happened to us was so overwhelming. Lockwood and I in particular found it difficult to talk about our time on the other side of the circle with any clarity. We knew what we thought had happened. We knew that we had crossed over to a place that seemed very like the world we understood, except that it was inhabited not by the living, but by the dead. In that place we were the interlopers, and our presence had roused the inhabitants to action, just like the Creeping Shadow’s had. That much we sort of knew. But coming to terms with even that knowledge was like standing on the edge of a terrible precipice, and trying to take a step forward into space. The step could not easily be taken. The mind simply rebelled.

When, on our return to the inn, Lockwood and I described our experiences to the others, everyone had gone very quiet. Even George had not said much, though his glasses gleamed as he stared long into the fire. “Fascinating,” he said, over and over. “That’s fascinating….This is going to need a lot of thought….”

Holly’s immediate focus had been quite different. “If this is true,” she’d said, sitting alongside us and looking intently at our faces, “what I want to know is how you’re feeling. Do you feel well? Are you both okay?”

“We’re fine,” Lockwood said, laughing. “Don’t worry yourself. The capes did a great job of protecting us, didn’t they, Luce?” And I’d smilingly agreed with him.

Glancing in the mirror later, however, I’d thought I looked more pale than usual. It was hard to be sure, just as I couldn’t really tell if the weakness I felt was the normal end-of-case exhaustion. Probably it was. I didn’t have the energy to care either way.

The one individual who certainly did have plenty of energy that first morning was the skull in the jar. Much to its chagrin, it had been locked up with our equipment in the inn’s storage closet. Holly had refused to let it into our bedroom when we got back, and to be honest, I couldn’t blame her.

“What’s the point of rescuing me,” it grumbled when I popped my head around the door, “if you lock me away in a damp cubbyhole like this? I haven’t got a nose, but I can tell just by looking that it smells of onions and pee.”

“It so doesn’t.” I stepped in, and took a hearty sniff. “Well, there’s certainly no trace of onions. And it’s a lot better than being incinerated like all those other Sources back at the facility, so you’d better be thankful.”

“Oh, I’m doing backflips of gratitude.” The hollow eyes narrowed as it looked at me. “And while we’re on that subject…Is there anything you’d like to say to me?”

I scratched my nose. “Should there be?”

“You’re here for a reason.”

“Actually, I’m here to get potatoes for lunch. George is cooking fries….But I suppose, while I’m with you…”

“Come on. Spit it out.”

I took a deep breath. “It was you, wasn’t it?” I said. “On the Other Side. When we were lost and couldn’t find the iron chain. You showed me where it was.”

The face grinned. “Saving your life? Now does that honestly sound like me?”

“Well, whoever it was, I am grateful. And I think I understand something else. ‘Death’s in Life and Life’s in Death,’ you keep telling me. And now I know why. Because ghosts have entered the living world, while…while living humans have entered…”

I broke off. I couldn’t quite bring myself to say it. Plus, the face in the jar was doing something off-putting with its tongue.

There was a short silence. “Finally!” the skull said. “Finally we’re getting somewhere! All these months, and you never figured it out. Yes, last night you were the walking proof of my words. And perhaps now you see why you and I get along so well. Because we both inhabit two worlds. You sense the other one all the time; you’ve always had glimpses of it all your days—and now you’ve actually been there, too. We’re caught between life and death, Lucy, you and I. And that’s what makes us the perfect team.” It gave me a companionable nod. “Hey, remember my suggestion? Carlyle and Skull? The offer of a partnership still stands. I’ll even let you put your name first.”

“You seem to be forgetting about Lockwood.” I felt the conversation had gone far enough. I located the sack of potatoes and carried it to the door.

“Oh, Lockwood, Shmockwood. He’s more drawn to death than either of us. You know that. He won’t be lasting long. A partnership with me is a much better bet….Wait, where are you going? Are you insane? We’re on the verge of something special here, and all you’re thinking about is fries?! Come back!”

But I was out the door. Sometimes fries are the only way to keep you sane.

The weather that day was unseasonably warm, so we ate our lunch under an awning in the pub garden. From time to time, DEPRAC vehicles sped by. Danny Skinner, roused to a crescendo of excitement by the events of the night, hovered near, asking questions that we couldn’t or wouldn’t answer. Eventually he left us to swing like an ape from the gate and stare at the cloud of smoke beyond the trees.

A big black car drove out of the woods and came to a halt outside the Old Sun Inn. Out stepped Inspector Montagu Barnes, looking wearier and more rumpled than ever. He pushed open the gate, with Danny Skinner still attached to it, and walked over the grass toward us. Here he stood for a while, appraising our bruised and battered faces.

“Morning, Inspector,” Lockwood said.

George held out a bowl. “Want a fry?”

Barnes said nothing. He regarded us for a long time.

“Had a difficult night?” he said at last.

“They certainly have.” That was Mr. Skinner, bustling out from the taproom. He, at least, was in good spirits; it had been the busiest day at the inn for many a year. “Mr. Lockwood and his friends have been hard at work ridding Aldbury Castle of its ghosts, sir. Only been at it two nights, and there’s a noticeable improvement everywhere. Cleared my house, and many others. Helping us all sleep soundly in our beds. Young heroes they are, sir, every one.”

Barnes’s mustache curled doubtfully downward. “Really? First I’ve heard of it.” He said nothing further, but stood with his hands in his trench coat pockets until the innkeeper had returned inside.

“Glad to hear you’re keeping busy,” Barnes went on. “And out of trouble, too.”

“Yes, Inspector,” Lockwood said. I looked at him. He caught my eye.

We sat there quietly.

“Well, if there’s nothing further, I’ll be on my way.” Barnes turned to go.

“Actually, Inspector,” I said. “There is something.”

“We urgently need to talk with you, Mr. Barnes,” Lockwood said.

The inspector gazed at us. He lifted a hand as if something had just occurred to him. “That boy over there,” he said idly. “The one swinging like a maniac on that gate.”

“What about him?”

“Think he’d like to earn a little money?”

Almost before the last word had left his lips, Danny Skinner had crossed the garden and was standing to attention at Barnes’s side. He performed an outlandish salute. “Anything I can do for you, mister? Just say the word.”

“I need lunch for me and three of my officers. Think you could go in there and rustle up some sandwiches? There’s five pounds in it for you if they’re edible.”

“Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. They’ll be the best you ever tasted.” He trotted into the house.

“Your five is safe, Mr. Barnes,” George said. “The wrapper will be the only edible part, take it from me.”

Barnes nodded grimly. “That’s not the point. I thought he looked like a boy with excessively sharp hearing—leastways, his ears are big enough—and I was right. Tell you what, why don’t you walk with me a minute, Mr. Lockwood, Miss Carlyle? Come out on the green and take some air.”

Barnes left the garden, crossed the road. He led us across the green to a spot some distance from the inn. “Now,” he said, “it’s quieter here. No one around. What was it you wanted?”

“It’s about what happened last night,” I said. “About the institute.”

“The institute?” Barnes rubbed his mustache and stared into the middle distance. “Well, investigations are currently under way at the facility. All I can tell you is there was some kind of accident there last night.”

“Well, that’s just it,” Lockwood said. “It wasn’t exactly an accident—”

“Some experiment that went tragically wrong,” the inspector continued. “I hear there’ve even been casualties.”

“Yes! And Steve Rotwell—”

“I wish I could tell you more,” Barnes said, interrupting me, “I really wish I could. Thank you for your interest. Unfortunately, that’s all I know.”

We looked at him.

“And you two, of course, know nothing about it, either.”

Lockwood frowned. “Well—”

“You weren’t anywhere near that place,” Barnes said.

“Erm, well, in fact we—”

“You were coincidentally dealing with some local ghosts in Aldbury Castle—in a case that was quite separate to whatever was going on out on those fields. You have no interest in Rotwell or his institute, or what they were doing in that building at the heart of it, and if you have any sense, you’ll make that abundantly clear to anyone who asks you. And anyone who doesn’t, for that matter. I’d spread that information loud and quickly, if I were you. Do you understand me? Mr. Lockwood? Miss Carlyle?” Barnes surveyed us with his tired, pouchy eyes. “One of DEPRAC’s jobs, you see, is to prevent bad things from happening to agents, even irritating ones like you. I wouldn’t want to wake up one morning and discover that there’d been four more accidents at Portland Row. It would really put me off my breakfast egg.”

Lockwood looked at me. He took a deep breath. “Thank you, Inspector,” he said loudly. “You’ve been very clear. I’m sorry you can’t tell us more about what happened up at that institute. We’ll just have to accept that we’ll never know.”

Barnes nodded peaceably. “Perfect. That’s the idea.”

We stayed at Aldbury Castle for two more nights, and made halfhearted forays on each to see what supernatural activity remained. But as Mr. Skinner had said, signs of the village ghosts had greatly diminished. With the destruction of the iron circle at the Rotwell facility, and the end of the Creeping Shadow’s mysterious comings and goings, the cluster at once calmed down. Many of the Visitors did not appear at all, while those that did seemed weaker and less vicious. It was easy to claim (as we did) that this change was entirely due to our own zeal. We made lots of noise running about the place, and threw occasional salt-bombs around to make it look like we were doing something. Mostly we just stayed at the inn and played cards.

On our fifth morning in the country, things had quietened down over on the eastern fields. Many of the DEPRAC cars had left, and the cordons by the village had been lifted. By now our heroic status in the village was assured. There were still a few Type One ghosts kicking around, but nothing that needed to delay us. Kipps in particular was keen to head off—for two nights he’d been forced to choose between sleeping in the bed with George, or in the storage closet with the skull (he’d preferred the skull, for unnamed reasons)—but we were all eager to get home. A farewell committee from the village accompanied us to the station, Danny Skinner marching proudly at the head. We were given gifts of root vegetables. Lockwood took possession of an envelope stuffed with cash—our payment from the grateful villagers. The children threw garlands of flowers. When the train departed, handkerchiefs were waved until we disappeared from view.

On our way home, I sat opposite Lockwood. He seemed pale and tired. In the days since our visit to the institute, we hadn’t spoken privately of what had happened to us. Occasionally, when our eyes met, we shared something that couldn’t be expressed in words.

We smiled at each other, and gazed out at the woods and fields. It was a beautiful spring scene. The column of smoke above the eastern hills had long since drifted away on the wind; nevertheless, a hint of it hung in the air. It had entered the train car with us at Aldbury Castle station, and through the opened windows, the smell of distant burning stayed with us all the way to London.