The Unhappy Medium 3: Wretched Things: A Supernatural Comedy, page 34
‘What does he mean?’ demanded Dima. ‘Are you tricking me?’
‘Certainly not!’ answered the old man. ‘He is merely complimenting me on my ability to explain the situation to you.’
‘I hope so,’ growled Dima. ‘Because I’d know if I was being duped. It wouldn’t go well for you.’
‘No games,’ continued the blind man. ‘I am deadly serious. Your leader and I share a desire to hit back at these Purgatorians. They seek to hide what we both wish to reveal. But I want the assurances of your leader before I tell you this huge secret; a guarantee of safety for myself, and my companion.’
‘Sounds like a pretty good plan to me,’ added Andronicus enthusiastically.
‘Ok. Look,’ said Dima. ‘I talk to Comrade Nahrapov. Let him decide. If it was down to me, I’d tip you over the side and let the fish sort you out.’
‘Then you’d never know,’ replied the blind man. ‘Would you?’
The gunman wavered for a second, uncertainty and pragmatism having a pillow fight in his uncomplicated mind.
Finally, he turned to his gun-toting colleague.
‘Keep ’em covered. I’ll be right back.’
*****
Progress across the Aegean for the Purgatorians was noticeably slower. Yes, the replica Greek trireme possessed a motor; it was just that it wasn’t very good. In fairness, it wasn’t supposed to be. The Olympias’ builders had simply added one to get the ship in position while conducting practical archaeology, mostly in sight of the land. For that, it was barely adequate, but tasked with running down the oligarch’s opulent superyacht, the engine was just hopeless.
‘Well, I’d like to say I’m surprised,’ said Newton. ‘But, I’m not.’
‘On a positive note,’ offered Bennet, ‘the Bonetaker says he’s got no issues following their scent.’
‘Lot of good, that is, if we can’t catch up with them,’ sighed Newton.
‘We could try da oars again, maybe?’ suggested Enrico. ‘Or da sail?’
‘Update from Chania,’ announced Vasilakis, checking his phone. ‘Is kicking off down the harbour. Someone wants their boat back.’
‘They’re welcome to it,’ sighed Newton. ‘We’ve no choice but to plod on in the damn thing till we reach Cyprus. Maybe we can still arrive in time to mess things up for them. Don’t we have any teams on Cyprus that can help?’
‘Sadly … no,’ admitted Vasilakis. ‘Never been easy recruiting in that place. Dunno why.’
‘We’re not Interpol,’ added Bennet. ‘We can’t be everywhere.’
‘How far from Cyprus are we now?’ asked Viv. ‘As the gull flies?’
‘A day anda half atta dis speed,’ answered Enrico from the tiller. ‘It wasa faster inna ma day.’
‘This day is what matters,’ said Newton. ‘Any more background on this Nahrapov geezer?’
‘I had a Google,’ replied Gabby, looking up from her phone. ‘He’s the son of a high-ranking KGB officer who died of a stroke when the USSR hit the wall. Has a brother in the army, a general. Seems our guy made a stack of cash selling any bits of the old Soviet empire that weren’t nailed down. Street brawler turned playboy, looks like. Been married twice, each marriage ending when the wives fell out of windows. Fell. Yeah, right.’
‘Sounds a proper charmer,’ added Bennet. ‘Just the sort of rotter this Consortium seems to attract.’
‘They do have a type,’ agreed Newton, looking back to his recent adventures in Cumbria.
‘Hardly the sort of person you’d want to be in possession of the True Cross,’ remarked Bennet.
‘No kidding,’ said Newton.
*****
The executive salon of the Black Sea Princess was as gaudy and over the top as you’d expect of the new Russian élite. With the money he had extorted, siphoned, and outright stolen from his countrymen, the oligarch had splashed out on tacky interior designers. They had, in turn, splashed out on faux ostrich skin recliners in pearly white, on one of which Astrid was draped like a fur blanket.
‘I like your girlfriend,’ said Andronicus.
‘Shut it,’ snapped Dima, slapping the one-time emperor across the face with a gloved hand.
‘I was only looking,’ protested Andronicus, grinning lasciviously.
‘Look at the girl again,’ warned Dima, ‘and I’ll stick a knife in your eye.’
‘We’re wasting time,’ sighed Nahrapov impatiently. ‘Dima here tells me you’ve got some information about the Purgatorians. Well … have you?’
‘I have,’ confirmed the old man. ‘But I am not about to tell you without something of a security guarantee. What is to stop you just throwing us over the side?’
‘So far. It’s just been a time issue. I’ve been… busy.’ He cast a humid look at Astrid, and then they purred at each other in a hideous synchronised lustfulness that had even Andronicus feeling nauseated. Which was saying something.
‘I know what kind of man you are,’ said the Greek. ‘And I realise you have much important work to attend to. However, … I am also aware of the people you work for. There are things your paymasters at this Consortium of yours would very much like to know. Things they will need to know. Things I know, and you … do not.’
‘Go on.’
‘These Purgatorians. The secrets they are holding are world-changing. Secrets they are desperate to keep. Even now, they will be sweeping the Labyrinth from end to end, intent on removing any traces of their activities.’
‘Such as?’
‘Secrets,’ continued the blind man. ‘Secrets that would dwarf even today’s revelations. These are secrets that the Purgatorians wish no man to know.’
‘Like the True Cross?’
‘Bigger than that!’ answered the old man. ‘The secrets of the ages. Secrets of man and of God. Of all the Gods. But … time is of the essence. In a matter of days, the Purgatorians will move everything remaining to another location.’
‘Ok. Go on.’
‘Well… what if I was to tell you that I know … where.’
‘You know?’ asked the oligarch, sitting up.
‘I most certainly do,’ bluffed the Cretan. ‘What would your paymasters say to that?’
‘They would be delighted, naturally,’ replied the oligarch. ‘Our battle with these Purgatorian bastards is neverng.’
‘Exactly,’ said the blind man. ‘Which is why it would be so beneficial for you to hand them this prize. I take it you’ve not yet told them anything about the Labyrinth?’
‘Well, as it happens, I have not.’ The oligarch glanced over to his barely over-age companion and waved like a child. ‘Like I say, I’ve been … unwinding.’
‘Understandable. But I imagine they will need to be brought up to speed soon, or they may think you are doing to them what Dr Kraakenhausen was doing to you.’
‘True,’ agreed Nahrapov. ‘These are not people you want to dick around, let me tell you.’
‘Indeed,’ continued the blind man. ‘However, if I were you, I’d hang on. It would be better if you waited until you knew everything.’
‘And you know that?’ asked the oligarch.
‘I do,’ lied the blind man.
‘I could just make you tell me,’ threatened Nahrapov. ‘We Russians are quite good at that.’
‘You could try,’ agreed the old man. ‘But I am old and will be dead soon anyway. Three deaths to choose from. Either I die of old age, you throw me over the side, or you torture me and then kill me. If you torture me, I will make sure I waste your time before I pass.’
‘Fair enough. So, what do you want?’
‘A security guarantee,’ replied the blind man. ‘That is all. You let me and my friend here go, and in return, I will swear my honesty upon the relic you found in the Labyrinth. If you can’t swear on a fragment of the True Cross, I don’t know what you can swear on.’
‘If it’s real.’
‘OH, it’s real,’ insisted the blind man emphatically. ‘The fragment is as valuable a relic as a relic can possibly be. Truly, it carries upon it the weight of all the ages. And … I’m not even lying.’
‘Erm, I think I believe you,’ said the oligarch, after a final moment’s thought. ‘Ok … yes. I agree. Tell me what you’ve got.’
‘It’s not that simple,’ replied the old man. ‘While I feel safe to tell you, it is not for everyone to know. It is too big a truth for that. The gunman, the girl … there can only be you in the room.’
‘Don’t trust him!’ urged Dima. ‘We stay.’
‘Really, Dima?’ replied Nahrapov angrily. ‘You think I’m so weak that I couldn’t handle this cripple? Do as you are told, and wait outside. And take this gibbering idiot with you.’
‘He stays!’ insisted the blind man, grabbing Andronicus tightly by the arm. ‘For I have no sight and am so very frail. He is my carer, and I am lost without him. Where I go, he goes.’
Nahrapov sighed. ‘Ok. The comfort pet can stay. Dima, handcuff the moron to the woodwork, just in case.’
Dima took out his cuffs, then led Andronicus to the gaudy bar, looping the restraints around the gold-effect handrail.
‘Ok, boss. He’s going nowhere. You need me, I’ll be right outside,’ said the gunman, as he left.
‘Bring me the box,’ demanded the blind man, as the door to the executive salon swung closed and locked. ‘That I may swear my oath.’
‘Whatever,’ said Nahrapov, rising. The Russian crossed the room and then stopped before a portrait of Marshall Zhukov. Feeling for a hidden latch, the oligarch popped the painting to one side, revealing a safe. ‘This had better be worth it, old man.’
Nahrapov pulled out the box, closed the safe, scrambled the keypad, and after putting the picture back into position, returned to the white ostrich-skin sofa to offer the opened box to the blind man.
A frail hand, a mass of liver spots and lumpy veins, crept forward, fingers sensing the space around them like a cautious octopus. Finally, they contacted the ancient wood … and became still.
‘Oh, yes …,’ gasped the Greek. ‘Oh, YES!’
‘Oh, spare me the religious ecstasy,’ snapped the oligarch. ‘I’m not a tourist. I’m an atheist. Just make your promise to your God, then tell me what you’ve got. Then, we can all go to bed.’
‘I promise …,’ muttered the blind Greek to the wood. ‘I … promise!’
‘Yes. Yes …,’ sighed the impatient Russian. ‘You promise Jesus not to tell a lie. All very pious, I’m sure.’
‘Yes, er … that,’ lied the blind man, finally withdrawing his all-seeing fingers. ‘I am done. Now I will tell you.’
‘Well, thank crap for that,’ said Nahrapov wearily.
‘But … it is for you alone,’ he added, turning his head meaningfully in Astrid’s direction.
‘Very well,’ Boris agreed irritably. ‘My love, I will see you soon in our cabin. Go buy stuff.’ She reluctantly raised herself from her recliner and slunk out of the room as he blew her a kiss. Nahrapov then looked back at the old man. ‘Now.’
‘I need to whisper it … in your ear.’
‘Er … why?’ asked the oligarch testily. ‘Haven’t I indulged you enough already, you old fart?’
‘It’s a weird name,’ explained the blind man. ‘I want to make sure you hear it clearly.’
‘Really?’ sighed the Russian. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ insisted the blind man. ‘It’s a very complicated spelling. It has loads of silent ‘F’s.’
‘For God’s sake,’ snapped the oligarch. ‘Whatever.’ Reluctantly, he leant in close to the old man’s mouth, cupping his hand in anticipation. ‘Let’s get this over with.’
What the oligarch then heard was not the greatest of all Purgatorian secrets, for the blind man didn’t know any. Instead, Nahrapov heard an exceptionally ancient incantation in Bronze Age Greek. It was muttered so rapidly that the oligarch had little to no time to evade what came next. Like the victim of an electric whoopee cushion, the Russian sat bolt upright, eyes wide in shock. Simultaneously, Andronicus, who had been waiting for his moment, took on an identical expression, the second louder stanza taking him equally under its powerful spell. Like two Van der Graaff generators, the Russian and the Byzantine erupted into a halo of whipping tendrils, each the sickly violet hue of the malevolent. Whipping past each other like commuter trains, the writhing masses shot from body to body, their physical forms vibrating with the impact.
Shaking and jerking like a bad puppet, the oligarch slumped on his side, dribble bubbling from his fat lips as his spirit left Nahrapov’s body and slipped into the that of the driver, which Andronicus had been using since Crete. The transfer complete, the unwanted body dropped to the floor, arms still handcuffed to the bar.
What had been Boris Nahrapov’s body, now occupied by Andronicus, then opened its eyes.
It stretched, testing the limitations and possibilities of its new host form, opening and closing its fingers and flexing its far more manly biceps. A broad smile of approval leaked across the newly annexed features.
‘Oh … that’s better!’ said Andronicus the Terrible, feeling out his new body. ‘This is much better.’ The former emperor dashed to the nearest mirror, keen to look at his new features from the inside. ‘Not as handsome as I was when I was alive, naturally,’ he oozed. ‘I mean, nothing could top that. A bit flabby in places, and the chin is weak. But it will do, for now, thank you very much.’
‘This is no time for vanity,’ declared the old man. ‘We need to move quickly. Tell me, how much of this Russian’s memory can you access?’
‘Let me see,’ said Andronicus, closing his eyes. After a moment, he opened them, smiling even more widely. ‘Oh yes, it’s there. It’s all there.’
‘Excellent,’ said the blind man. ‘You will need to act as he would act if this is to work.’
‘I can do that,’ replied Andronicus. ‘I am fluent in bastard.’
‘I’m sure you are,’ agreed the blind man. ‘Now … look into your memory; we need more detail.’
‘He’s got a sexy girlfriend,’ grinned Andronicus. ‘Can we get her back in?’
‘Not that kind of detail, you lecherous fool,’ snapped the Cretan. ‘What do we know about his assets … his power base? We need to take control of those quickly so we can consolidate.’
The former emperor closed his eyes again.
‘Well,’ said Andronicus. ‘I’m sensing a large villa … on Cyprus. Ah … money, yes. He’s very, very wealthy. Clever with it, too. Money is spread across a thousand places for safekeeping. It’s all operated from something called … a laptop?’
‘Oh, one of those,’ said the blind man. ‘Modern magic. We will need help with that. Maybe the girl can assist us.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ smirked Andronicus. ‘There’s also a powerful brother in the army. A general. Maybe we can raise an army?’
‘In time,’ replied the blind man. ‘But, for now, we need to start with the relic. I need to take it to Athens … make a bargain with the church. We must make Kraakenhausen and his daughter work with us on that.’
‘We do?’
‘Certainly,’ confirmed the blind man, ‘Our approach to the church needs to be as convincing as possible. Kraakenhausen is an archaeologist, is he not? Let’s play to his professional vanity; let him blow his own trumpet, and those gullible, easily impressed Athenians will be all over us. They will be putty in our hands!’
‘Cool,’ exclaimed Andronicus. ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘For now, though,’ continued the blind man, ‘we need to gain control of this ship. Call his men back in.’
‘DIMA!’ shouted Andronicus in his most commanding voice.
‘Boss?’ said Dima, stepping back into the salon.
‘We are done here,’ declared Andronicus, winking pointlessly at the blind man. ‘I have what I want. Keep the old man, but sling the other one over the side … before he wakes up.’
‘Ok, Comrade Boris,’ replied Dima, quite used to such commands. ‘Consider it done.’ The gunman undid the handcuffs, picking up the inert form of what had once been Andronicus, then carrying him outside to the deck like excess luggage.
Nahrapov was confused. Beginning to emerge from his post-possessionary fog, the oligarch was on the edge of an alert state when he felt himself lifted up and onto the ship’s rail. Just as he realised the seriousness of his predicament, he was over the side, plunging down into the phosphorescing waters below.
‘Niiiieeeeeeeeetttttttt!’
‘Ok, Comrade Boris,’ said Dima, stepping back into the salon. ‘What are your orders?’
‘Well,’ said Andronicus, starting to enjoy himself. ‘Turn the boat around. We sail for Athens.’
‘Very good.’ Dima headed for the bridge.
‘Now, can I have the girl back in?’ requested Andronicus the Terrible.
*****
The Aegean morning rose bright and hot … as most Aegean mornings do. The Olympias, its tiny engine flat out, laboured slowly across the turquoise waters, headed east.
‘I wish da wind would pick up,’ called Enrico Pescatore from the rudder. ‘We could be going twice dis fast.’
‘We are lucky we’re going anywhere at all,’ said Vasilakis, listening to the grinding and wheezing from the decks below. ‘I do not like the sound of this engine. Is going to die.’
‘Good news!’ said an excited Bennet, rushing back from the Bonetaker’s place at the bow.
‘Makes a change,’ sighed the ever-defeatist Eric.
‘Really?’ asked Newton, leaning against the rail.
‘The Bonetaker,’ replied Bennet, ‘claims the trail is getting hotter. Stronger. What’s the right term?’
‘Hotter will do,’ said Newton. ‘Go on.’
‘Just that, really,’ continued Bennet. ‘It had been getting colder, given the speed they shot off at. But he says it’s suddenly warming up again over the last thirty minutes.’
‘Interesting,’ mused Viv. ‘Wonder what they’re up to?’
‘Why don’t you ask them?’ suggested Newton, standing up and pointing forward.
The oligarch’s yacht had reappeared over the eastern horizon, its sharp features instantly recognisable.
