Keppelberg (3 page)

‘Five is a very important figure,' he addressed the class, ‘for it can only be divided by itself.

The pupils paid full attention to the master. Contrary to reports I had read in the national Press about misbehaviour among school children, there seemed to be no rotten apples ready to disrupt the class. I turned away to look at a notice board affixed to a side wall the hallway. There were classes in history, geography, mathematics, physics, chemistry religious instruction, English and Latin. There was nothing listed about sports or sporting activities. An idea came into my mind as an opportunity presented itself. I walked along the hallway to arrive at the Headmaster's office. Knocking, I entered to find the man busily marking examination papers. He looked up astonished to see a stranger walking into the room and he laid down his pen to give me his full attention.

‘Good day!' he greeted pleasantly. ‘Who are you and what can I do for you?'

‘My name's Sam Ross,' I told him point-blank, ‘and I'm after a job on your staff.'

‘I think we have enough teachers for the moment,' he responded quickly placing the palms of his hands together as if in prayer. . ‘What did you have in mind?'

‘You need a sports master,' I blurted, hoping that he would invite me to take a seat and think about my offer seriously but he failed to do so.

‘I can tell you without reservation that we don't play sports in Keppelberg,' he advised me sadly. ‘It's not on our agenda.'

‘That's a great pity,' I countered. ‘Sports are an integral part of the life of young people. It's very important for them to learn about team work and become part of a team. You have to realise the power of football, rugby, darts, snooker and tennis. Practically everyone supports one of those sports or the other.'

‘Well they don't in this village,' claimed the Headmaster flatly. ‘We do not believe that sport is important or necessary in life. Those schools which have it on their schedule significantly denigrate their pupils to a lower level of education. The children need to understand the meaning of knowledge not athletics. Remember the writings of Alexander Pope who said ‘A little learning is a dangerous thing, drink deep or taste not the Pierian spring'. All that time away from the class playing pointless sporting games is not an option here.'

‘Do you have any other openings?' I asked pointedly.

‘For which subjects?' he returned.

‘How about martial arts?' I persisted thinking that it was just a short distance away from sporting activities. ‘I'm very good at that. Not only can I teach people to defend themselves and attack when necessary but it also removes a great deal of stress from individuals in the lead up.'

‘It's not in our remit,' he answered bluntly. ‘I'm afraid I have to turn you down.'

‘I beg you to reconsider,' I pressed lamely knowing full well what his answer would be. There was a distinct stubbornness to any stranger by everyone in the village. I could only hope that he would change his mind even though I realised it was in vain.

‘You've heard my decision,' he snapped. ‘There's nothing more to say. ‘Good day, sir!'

I left the office feeling rather deflated at being dismissed on such feeble grounds. The school denied its pupils the right to enjoy sport of any kind. I found that fact extremely incredible. I waited outside the Headmaster's door for a while to reflect the essence of the conversation before hearing his voice as he spoke to the policeman outside.

‘Constable Powers,' he began with an element of concern. ‘You may be interested to learn that I've just had a visit from a stranger asking whether the school would appoint him as a sports master. Do you have any idea whom he might be?' There was a short silence before the Headmaster continued. ‘He's only just left the school. You might just catch him.'

I froze at the comment with the words echoing around in my brain...' you might just catch him... you might just catch him... you might just catch him!' Then the adrenalin flowed through my body and I surged forward into action. Constable Powers would not catch me... not if I had anything to do with it and I wasn't prepared to spend another awful night in that filthy cell!

Chapter Three

Despite his best efforts, Wayne failed to find me. He had visited all the shops in vain, doubling back to the garage in the hope of bumping into me but I was not to be found. While he continued his search, I was at the other end of the village which I discovered was much larger than I had first imagined. I wandered along the perimeter at one end which was shielded from the outside by a high wooden fence before coming to a building with the sign ‘Village Hall' over the front porch. It walked slowly to the front stone steps leading to the front double doors and tried the iron latch which lifted quite easily. I entered cautiously to find myself inside an enormous room which could hold over eight hundred people at one time. It was deserted at this time of day with no one else around. Numerous benches had been set out neatly in rows with many chairs stacked up along one of the walls. The light of day shone brightly through four very large windows, one set on each wall of the hall. They had been leaded in parts with strange designs which I was unable to decipher but the strong light was hardly affected by them. A wide stage had been constructed about two feet high at the far end of the hall on which was set a long table and six chairs. Emblems embossed in linen cloth hung from the walls but they were foreign to me as I had never seen them before. High above were long wooden rafters running the length of the building, interwoven with other cross-beams in a wonderful artistic pattern which had be carefully carved by craftsmen. In my mind's eye, I could imagine a meeting taking place here with the chairperson and five cronies sitting on chairs on the stage, lecturing to the audience and answering their questions. This community had to be extremely close to call a meeting when anyone or anything appeared to threaten them. I was no danger to any of them but my sudden presence here forced the elders, if I could call them that because they all looked so very young, to call everyone together to discuss the issue. I sat on one of the benches facing the stage for a while seriously contemplating the situation. I was a stranger descending on the village on my own, imprisoned temporarily, without immediate transport, and nowhere to sleep or to go. What sort of threat did I pose? What kind of trouble would I bring to a Victorian village and the people who lived there? I intended to leave as soon as my car was repaired and yet my curiosity began to awaken again and I wanted to delve into a mystery that appeared to exist. There was much more to this village than met the eye and I wanted to find out the reason. Why would the people here regard me as any kind of a threat? I was merely visiting my sister in a nearby town and had become lost. There was nothing more to it than that. In any other village, I would have been directed to Bishopstown and simply gone on my way... but not have ended up at Keppelberg! The inhabitants didn't want to be dragged into the twenty-first century and they did all they could to prevent anyone from forcing them to do so. But why were they so sensitive to strangers... as though they had something to hide? What was their vulnerable secret? Or were they innocent of any secrecy and just wanted to remain the same for time immemorial? More importantly, why were there no elderly people here? There was no one over forty years of age. It bugged me and I felt I had to find out the answer. Were they ashamed of them and hid them in some other part of the village clandestinely so that no one could see them? There had to be a reason for it and I meant to resolve the problem. The meeting was to be held at eight o'clock and I made a point of being there to listen to the proceedings.

I left the building and walked a short distance away to the edge of the village boundary line. It wasn't long before I came to another large building which didn't need to be identified. It was a church the size of a cathedral. I reckoned that all the people in the village could have been housed here for the services held on Sundays. I cannot imagine what I expected to find inside but it was clear that no one stinted when it came to their religion. I opened the exclusively carved wooden double doors to enter the building, becoming astonished at the elegant sight before me. The church was decorated magnificently, far better than any other church I had seen in Britain... not that I had visited many during my period in the military. It was drenched with a variety of wonderful wooden carvings, beautiful fresco paintings and pure golden artefacts and structures. Perhaps this was the reason why strangers were not welcome to the village, in case they stole some of the items from the church It was an Aladdin's cave of remarkable treasures with an inestimable value. The place glittered with gold, silver and bronze items with a wealth that embellished the inside of the building beyond all dreams and they had clearly taken many years to accumulate. Mosques, churches and synagogues throughout the world prided themselves on their gold and precious paintings yet some of them were definitely less than this church in terms of quality. I approached one of the paintings of the Virgin Mary holding the baby, Jesus Christ. It had to be at least three hundred years old. So who painted it? I walked around the church in disbelief examining the gold and silver artefacts There was a large effigy of Christ in a precious metal... a lectern made of pure silver... beautiful stained glass windows... an altar with a golden surface... the list was endless! I sat in one of the wooden pews crafted so delicately by experienced craftsmen facing the figure of Christ behind the altar. Nothing had been spared. It was the holiest of holies! I stared up at the pulpit imagining the priest preaching his sermon to eleven hundred worshippers listening to his every word. The effect of the place, with its wonderful aura, was devastating. It led me into conflict with my conscience for after seeing such awful death and destruction taking place in Iraq I had become an atheist. I could not fathom any reason why a God, or Gods, could allow human-beings to inflict such pain and suffering on each other whether it was part of a gigantic plan for humanity or not.

As I sat in one of the elegant pews at the back of the church I took in as much beauty as my eyes could see when I heard a light whimpering sound coming from the front. I rose and walked down the aisle cautiously. In the past I had held a machine-gun in my hands to protect myself. Now I felt vulnerable at having no protection at all. As I arrived at the front pews, I saw a young boy, aged about eleven or twelve, sobbing his heart out. Large tears rolled down his cheeks and he was clearly in distress. I felt sympathy for the lad even though I knew nothing of his problem and I sat beside him putting my arm around his shoulders to comfort him.

‘What's wrong, son?' I asked sympathetically, believing that his tearfulness had been the result of breaking one of his toys or that he had been told off by his parents for some misdemeanour. He failed to reply and continued sobbing.

‘Come on,' I went on warmly. ‘It can't be that bad.' After a few moments, he began to control himself and stared directly into my eyes but he still did not speak. ‘How old are you, son?' I continued, hoping to make a breakthrough in the one-sided conversation.

‘Forty-two,' he replied between sobs, his chest heaving heavily.

‘No,' I countered. ‘I asked you how old you are?'

‘I told you. I'm forty-two,' he returned adamantly.

It was patently obvious that he didn't understand my question although he looked to be intelligent. ‘What are you doing here in this church?' I went on inquisitively.

‘Praying of course,' he replied tiredly, recovering himself somewhat.

‘What are you praying for?' I ventured trying to make some sense of the situation.

‘I can't tell you... you're a stranger,' he retorted. ‘I shouldn't be talking to you. Please go away!'

‘I don't understand.' I was starting to become frustrated by the boy's attitude. ‘Why can't you talk to me?'

‘It would not be in the interests of the village to do so,' he replied bluntly like an old man.

Then he shrugged off my arm, rose quickly, and ran along the length of the pews away from me, tripping over a vagrant shoelace in his haste to escape. I watched him pick himself up and race out of the church leaving the double doors wide open. I reflected the brief conversation frowning at the boy's responses. He had told me that he was forty-two years old when he clearly looked about eleven or twelve. He had repeated it understanding the question fully. Could it be that the villagers counted the years in the same way as they did in the Holy Bible. Methuselah was credited with reaching over nine hundred years. Maybe they calculated years in the village in the same way. The boy was still young and not a man advancing to middle-age. And why was he afraid to talk to me? At that moment, Wayne Austen entered my life. He had not been at the party at my sister Mary's house because of his involvement in a divorce case so I hadn't seen him earlier.

‘Don't be alarmed,' he said loudly, holding his hands in the air as if in surrender. ‘I've been sent by Mary and Tim.'

‘Mary and Tim?' I echoed in surprise.

‘I'm Tim's partner. ‘Mary was worried that you'd come back here. There have been rumours about this village over the years... none of them pleasant. They wanted me to keep an eye on you.' He held his position just inside the two great doors looking out occasionally in case the police or some of the villagers came by.

‘Then Mary and Tim did know of this place even though they told me they'd never heard of it,' I uttered perplexedly. ‘Why would they say that when it's untrue?'

Austen shrugged his shoulders in embarrassment. ‘They knew you'd been here and were curious. They wanted to prevent you from coming back here and save you from any danger.'

‘What sort of danger,' I asked smartly, concerned that he might know something about the place that I didn't. After all, despite their dislike of strangers, the villagers appeared to be quite innocuous, albeit out-dated, old-fashioned and strange in their views and activities but very peaceful. Why should there be any danger?

‘As I said there have been rumours over the past twenty-five years,' he went on. ‘There was a police enquiry some fifteen years ago when someone complained of the odd activities that went on here but, after a through investigation, the village was given a clean bill of health. However, in some small communities in and around Newcastle there's still a lot of gossip about it. Something's odd but no one can put their finger on it. Hence everyone gives the village a wide berth. The don't want to know. It's far safer that way. Then, suddenly, out of the blue, you come blundering into it. I'm sure you can imagine how your sister felt.'

‘I've seen nothing yet to alarm me,' I told him bluntly. ‘Okay, the police were obstructive. They locked me up in a cell for one night but they let me go in the morning.'

‘After your car had been vandalised by the mechanic in the nearby garage,' stated the detective.

‘Are you certain you can point the finger at him?' I asked directly although I really didn't need to ask the question.

‘You can be certain of it,' rattled Austen smartly. ‘I saw him put the four wheels he'd stolen from your car back on to it. He's a sly one all right. I don't suppose there's much business for him n these parts so he had to make some of his own.'

‘But why would the villagers allow him to do that when they want me to leave without delay?

Wayne shifted slightly as he heard the sound of footsteps. ‘Get down!' He shouted and I reacted quickly diving to the floor of the pew.

The footsteps came closer and then stopped. I heard the voice of a young woman who halted in her tracks as soon as she saw the detective.

‘I'm looking for my son,' she began. ‘Is he here?'

‘He was, ma'am,' returned Wayne politely, but he left a few minutes ago.'

There was a pause as she stared directly at Wayne's face. ‘I don't seem to recognise you, sir.'

‘I've been unwell,' he lied. ‘I've been in my house for the last few months but I'm better now and up and about.'

She paused to reflect the information and then accepted it. ‘Do you know where my son went?'

‘He went round the back, ma'am,' returned the detective.

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. ‘Hm... he's probably gone to the pharmacy. He always does that.'

There was a longer silence and then she turned on her heel to walk back the way she came. I got to my feet and stared at Wayne.

‘Where the hell's the pharmacy?' I demanded frowning.

‘I've no idea,' he riposted.

‘We've got to find out what's going on in this place. There's something really odd going on.' I walked slowly towards the great double doors.

‘No you don't!' He insisted flatly. ‘We've got to get out of here as fast as we can and not come back. I suggest you go directly to the garage and collect your car. It'll be ready by now. Then you start the engine and head south. Do you hear... head south!'

‘That boy,' I went on reflecting the previous incident, at the same time ignoring his advice. ‘He told me that he was forty-two years old. An eleven year old telling me that with great conviction. Now why would he say that if it wasn't true... which it can't be.'

Austen was beginning to show his frustration in his body language and he tried to get me to leave the church.

‘I've no idea. You know how kids exaggerate. They make up stories believing them to be true. Come on, let's go!'

‘But this boy was sobbing his heart out,' I countered. ‘There's something materially wrong here. The people are not just Victorian in their attitude and activities. Something's going on that the police didn't discover when they did that investigation.'

‘But you don't know what it is or what it might be,' he retaliated with an element of amusement in his voice. ‘That's the way it is for everyone. Now let's get the hell out of here!'

He left the church and I followed him a short way along the path.