Dark Tidings: Ancient Magic Meets the Internet Book 1 (6 page)

Michael had been obsessed with his plan since he was eighteen years old. No pangs of guilt pricked his conscience because he genuinely believed his planned fraud was for the greater good. Anyway, it was perfectly justifiable to do bad things to bad people; his father had drummed that into him from an early age. Tears welled up in his eyes as he remembered his father; the man who’d done so much to give him a moral compass to be proud of.

His first clear memory of putting points on his compass came from his early schooldays. His father abhorred violence, so his support was unexpected after he’d been called to the school to be told of Michael’s attack on another pupil. The headmaster described the viciousness of the ‘unprovoked’ assault. Michael described weeks of bullying led by the ‘victim’. Okay, his own description had been exaggerated and embellished, but that’s what kids do, isn’t it? Anyway, his dad had believed him. He was furious about the violent retribution he’d taken, but he understood and subsequently spent weeks fighting the school’s attempts to discipline Michael. It eventually paid off when the school fully investigated the bullying allegations and expelled the other child.

He’d greatly respected his father’s perseverance and the incident added cement to his unbreakable bond with his father. That dogged pursuit of justice was just one of many lessons he’d learnt from ‘the old man’. Little snippets of wisdom flashed through his head reminding him just how much he’d taught him.

“Treasure kindness,” his father had told him over and over again.

“Always be true to yourself regardless of the consequences” was another message he’d heard many times.

“The more you believe in your decisions, the less you need others to believe in them” was one of his favourites. It had helped him forge his steely independence.

“There’s good in most people, but don’t view life through rose-tinted spectacles. There are some dreadful people in the world; indeed some people are truly evil.” He could still hear his dad saying those words.

Lots of wisdom shared, but the best gift had been the introduction to his abiding passion. His father had been a manager in a well known insurance company and used PCs in his day to day work. Even though he’d never got into the nuts and bolts of computers, he was smart enough to realise how Information Technology could help a young man build a well paid career. He did everything he could to stimulate his son’s interest in computers. It worked and Michael had thrived on the encouragement given to him.

He flourished in the knowledge he was growing up in a secure and loving environment. He treasured his growing accumulation of happy memories. He loved his rock solid certainty about his inherited moral compass. He knew he was a good person with a true heart.

Sadly, everything changed the evening his uncle arrived at the door accompanied by a serious looking policeman and policewoman. His comfortable and cosy world was ripped to shreds when they told him that his mum and dad had died in a car crash.

His uncle took him to stay with his family and he lived with him for the next year and a half. Michael had been just eighteen at the time and even though three years had now passed, it still hurt him deeply every time he thought about that night.

He regularly reflected on the sinister events which had led up to the tragedy. His father had uncovered a serious fraud within his company, a web of phoney policies set up for one of the country’s leading banks. When he reported his findings to his manager, she had brushed them off as a figment of his imagination. Unfortunately his sense of doing the right thing led him to investigate more deeply. The scale of the fraud he uncovered was mind-blowing. Tens of millions of pounds were being sucked out of policy funds set up for their ‘ordinary customers’ and transferred through dummy accounts into the coffers of an organisation which was already too rich to count its money. It was yet another example of the rich getting richer at the expense of the ordinary man in the street.

He gathered his evidence and reported it all to the financial authorities. That’s when the menacing phone calls started; intimidating voices late at night threatening the whole family.

The phone calls triggered arguments between his mother and father. He could still hear fragments of their last row ringing in his ears.

“Darling, please just drop the matter. It isn’t worth the risk.”

“Don’t tell me what I should do. If the financial authorities aren’t going to deal with it, I’m going to the police.” He was adamant.

“Didn’t you hear what those people said they’d do? How can you ignore that?”

“Idle threats from cowards who haven’t even the courage to say who they are.”

“Please, stop now.”

The accident came a few days later.

Even though it was impossible to prove the car crash wasn’t an accident, Michael knew deep down this wasn’t some unconnected tragedy. He didn’t believe in coincidences. He could never shake off the belief that powerful people had conspired to kill his father and they had no problem with his mother becoming collateral damage.

Okay, he accepted that even with expert planning the outcome of the crash would have been uncertain. His parents could have survived, had some of the circumstances been different. They were unlucky to have spun off the road, and even more unlucky to have plunged down a thirty foot drop. The final nail in the coffin was the fact that the car had landed on its roof; they may have lived had it landed right side up. Maybe the ‘accident’ was intended as just another warning, but the outcome was that both his parents died.

He’d never find out who was responsible, he knew that, but he remembered his father’s perseverance in protecting him as a child so he put some serious effort into tracking down the guilty. Someone needed to be punished even if he couldn’t work out exactly who the culprits were.

He trawled through the evidence his father had painstakingly gathered. All he could see was big account holders consistently winning while the ‘man in the street’ accounts consistently lost. No matter where he looked there was no concrete proof, so he was left with a smouldering resentment of big banks and a dogged antipathy for their fat cat owners.

The whole experience had been a major force in shaping his adult life. In particular, his animosity towards the super-rich coupled with his ingrained sense of goodness combined to create his overwhelming desire to strike back.

And so he developed a plan.

They crept out of the prison basement and eventually out of the castle. They moved quickly through the narrow streets which criss-crossed the inner ward of the great stone fortification.

The castle stood on a hill and towered over Thamesius, the largest town in Mifal’s kingdom. The massive structure could be seen from every part of the city. It was a magnificent stone construction with thick granite ramparts and high defensive towers at each corner of the pentagon-shaped outer walls. With its reputation of being impenetrable, most of England’s various invaders avoided it and got on with the job of conquering the rest of Britain. William and his all-conquering Normans came years later and even he chose to form an uneasy alliance with Mifal rather than tackle the daunting defences. Thamesius therefore attracted thousands of rural dwellers who were fed up with being terrorised by invading raiders. The city was a sanctuary so the immigrants kept coming, and coming, and coming.

Thamesius was a bustling settlement, but it was a grey, cold place. Its cramped damp houses, badly cobbled streets, dark stinking alleys and rats the size of cats were just a few of the things which made it unwelcoming. Despite that, the town was growing dramatically, partly because of the thriving commerce, but mainly fuelled by waves of scared Britons who had fled from the surrounding farmlands. This influx of peasants made for a dangerous environment. The locals resented the immigrants and refused them shelter, so many of the newcomers lived rough on the streets. There were just too many people and too few houses. This led to a homeless underclass which would do anything to survive. Robberies, beatings and murders were commonplace. These were the streets where Tung had grown up and learnt what few skills he had. Now he was running for his life in those same streets… literally and invisibly.

As Tung and Madrick weaved their way unseen through the throng, they accidently bumped into a few folk, but it went unnoticed in the hustle and bustle. People just didn’t bother to look round to see who had bumped them. They were either too lazy or scared it could lead to confrontation in these dangerous streets.

Tung took the opportunity to punch a few passers-by in the face just to see what happened. People could disregard a bump, but a punch in the mouth was impossible to ignore. The victim assumed he’d been hit by the nearest person and retaliated by thumping him. It escalated from there. So Tung left a trail of brawling strangers in his wake and this amused him enormously. It took a while for Madrick to realise what was happening and when he did he was furious. Why would this idiot jeopardise their escape for a silly bit of fun?

Before he could chastise Tung, Madrick saw one of Mifal’s courtiers who’d been a thorn in his side since the first day he arrived in the castle. Maybe one bit of silly fun was acceptable, he thought, as he punched the courtier square on the nose. It didn’t go well from there. The man somehow reacted quickly enough to end up with an unbreakable grasp of Madrick’s invisible arm and he was tugging hard at it and screaming. He’d no idea what he had hold of, but he was absolutely determined he wasn’t going to let it go. Tung’s double handed, invisible rabbit punch to the back of his skull changed his mind. He collapsed as if he’d been poleaxed.

“Run. We need to get out of here. Head for the village,” yelled Tung, proud of his work.

“Right behind you, wherever you are,” muttered Madrick, not so proud of what he had just done.

They moved more quickly now that they’d both stopped accosting various unsuspecting souls. They wanted to leave the mayhem they’d caused far behind them as soon as possible and they also hoped a bit of speed in their steps might warm them up. They were both very cold, naked as they were, and it was dull and cloudy rather than bright and sunny. Weather forecasts… some things are just not to be trusted.

King Mifal was furious when he was told of the pandemonium in his dungeon. He ordered that the head jailer be locked up forever for his incompetence, and for murdering the other jailer, he added as an afterthought. He also deliberated long and hard about the crazy scene which his captain had described for him. He wrongly believed that his people looked to him for divine guidance. He assumed they needed his wisdom to explain the inexplicable. In fact, no one cared about what he thought or said, although no one ever told him that.

Within an hour or so, he’d managed to rationalise the situation. He believed he had solved the puzzle.

He decreed that Madrick had magicked himself into a black stallion which explained the robe around the horse’s neck. It also explained why Madrick was nowhere to be found. Based on that reasoning, he further decreed that the horse was to be tortured to death which meant he’d have his vengeance on the wizard who’d refused to do miracles for him. Nobody, particularly Mifal, cared what had happened to Tung so the matter ended there. Everyone was happy except, of course, the horse.

Actually, if the truth be told, which it never was to Mifal, one of the jailers had secretly led the great black stallion out of the prison and kept the magnificent animal for himself. The fabulous beast now grazed in a nearby muddy field surrounded by three adoring mares. So actually, everyone was happy - including the horse.

Tung and Madrick made their way out of the main gate and headed for the sprawling town which nestled all around the great stone walls of the castle. They were hit straight away by the difference between the streets inside and outside the ramparts. The smell was the most noticeable distinction. Out here, they could smell the smoke from wood burning fires and the more nauseating smell of a largely unwashed population.

They sneaked past the little wooden houses eyeing each one for signs of danger; in particular, they were worried about dogs. Many residents kept fearsome mongrels trained to protect their properties from intruders. Dogs would pick up their scent and would probably attack them even though they couldn’t be seen. What a strange sight that would be… definitely one to be avoided.

They whispered to each other as they moved along the streets.

“Stay close.”

“Where are you?”

“Right behind you… I think.”

They fumbled blindly for an invisible hand to hold and held on tightly once they found one. Every so often they’d be bumped apart in the crowded, narrow streets and they’d have to go through the routine of finding the other one again. They didn’t want to lose each other; not at this stage anyway.

“I’ve had an idea,” whispered an invisible Madrick. “Let’s use spit to stick leaves to our feet. It’ll just look as if they’re blowing along the ground to passers-by.”

“You’re a smart old wizard,” said Tung, as he licked some leaves and applied them to the soles of his feet. Madrick did the same.

The idea worked perfectly. They could keep an eye on each other and no one else noticed. Perfect.

Madrick watched for danger, as he always did, while Tung scouted for opportunities to steal what they needed. He had a well-practised eye so they hoped it wouldn’t take him too long to find what they needed. Clothes were the first item on his agenda.

“Timing is everything,” whispered Madrick. “We can’t lift anything if there’s anyone around. Garments flying through the air in our invisible hands would definitely attract attention.”

“But we can’t wait too long,” whispered Tung, “or we’ll reappear naked in the middle of this town and I bet that would draw even more unwelcome attention.”

Naked men running around the streets always got arrested, in Tung’s experience, and that was the last thing they wanted; an early return to Mifal’s dungeon.

Eventually Tung spotted the ideal opportunity. He caught sight of a family preparing to leave their house. It was a rather grand building by the standards in this part of town. The people were carrying quite a lot of stuff so it seemed likely they’d be away for some time. In fact, as they got closer, they overheard the family’s plans. They were off to visit the castle and would be gone for hours. This should give the invisible men plenty of time to poke around the house and find everything they needed for the being-visible world. They’d also be able to reappear in the privacy of this accommodation and, once visible, they could dress, cover their indignities and make good their escape. And so it was, more or less.

They timed their move perfectly and snuck inside before the door was secured. After a little rummaging both men found outfits, of sorts, which looked as though they would fit. They weren’t clothes which made a fashion statement other than ‘this person neither knows nor cares about fashion’. As a bonus, Tung’s well-honed thieving senses sniffed out the family’s life savings hidden in a jar above the blackened, stone fireplace. Tung counted his loot while he warmed himself in front of the dying embers of the log fire. It was a decent haul, he thought, which would keep him going - sorry, them going - for some time. He had to keep reminding himself that he needed Madrick to be content until it was the right time to abandon the old fool.

Meanwhile, Madrick used the seclusion of the dingy kitchen to retrieve the Scroll from its secret place. It was a weird sight, the scroll appearing slowly out of… nowhere. He washed it off in a pot of foul smelling liquid which was, in fact, bone soup for the family’s meagre supper. It smelled so disgusting he guessed his Scroll cleansing might even improve its aroma; and taste. He was pleasantly surprised how easily the ancient manuscript cleaned up. Maybe it had been designed for this sort of unusual journey after all.

With the cleaned parchment in hand, he joined Tung by the fireside. The lad wasn’t visible, but he could see the stolen coins floating spookily in the air.

“Here’s the Scroll, clean as a whistle. It’s survived the journey, as have I, thank you for asking.”

He handed the Scroll to Tung and told him how he’d cleansed it in the soup.

“It won’t do them any harm. I remember eating poo once as part of a bet. I lost the bet. I said I wouldn’t eat it.”

Invisibility had many advantages, for example, Tung couldn’t see the strange look which Madrick gave him.

About half an hour later both men gradually became visible again. It was a weird sensation to see yourself slowly take form, but they both felt mighty relieved to be back.

“Nice to see you again. To see you again… nice.”

“That would make a good catchphrase for a court jester,” said Tung.

They dressed quickly and agreed that their best bet, in the immediate short term, was to get themselves lost in the crowded streets, markets and taverns of the bustling town centre.

“Let’s take a little time to relax. This place seems relatively safe,” said Madrick as he threw some more logs on the fire.

They pulled a couple of stools in close and gazed blankly into the hearth, mesmerised as small flames started to encircle the new chunks of firewood.

“What did you actually do to end up in Mifal’s dungeon? I never got a chance to ask you. I was so keen to tell you my story so we could escape, I never heard what’d happened to you.”

Tung had learnt from an early age never to tell anyone anything about your life or your crimes. Every time he’d ignored that lesson and shared his secrets, there’d been bad consequences. So, as usual, he forgot everything he’d learnt and started to tell Madrick the whole story.