A mysterious figure had lately been haunting The Squid and Teapot. To everyone’s surprise Trickster, who had taken up residence at the inn, seemed genuinely fearful, confessing how, many centuries ago, he had incurred a debt, and that the reckoning had come in the shape of this stranger. Trickster, it seemed, was unconcerned how this debt was to be paid, or who was responsible. This became all too clear when, to Reggie Upton’s horror, a disembodied voice whispered in the darkness:
“I know your name too, now.”
Reggie turned, but no one was to be seen.
Then three slow knocks upon the darkened window broke the silence.
Reggie stared at the window. Beyond the glass, the darkness was absolute, and although he could see the reflection of the room behind him, there was no sign of whoever, or whatever, had knocked.
“I say,” he ventured, “is there someone out there?”
“Don’t answer it,” whispered Trickster.
“I already have, old chap.”
“Then don’t do it again.”
Philomena Bucket, who had been watching this exchange with growing irritation, marched across the room and pulled back the curtains. There was nothing to be seen.
“Well,” she announced, “whoever it was has gone. And if they come back, they can use the door like everybody else.”
“That’s rather the point,” said Trickster. “I don’t think doors are of much use against him.”
Philomena turned towards the apparently empty chair.
“Then perhaps you’d better explain what you’ve brought down upon us,” she said.
“I’ve told you everything I know,” replied Trickster.
“Which isn’t much,” observed Reggie. “But there is one thing I should like to establish. When that fellow said he knew my name, was he merely being unpleasant, or was there some deeper significance?”
Trickster hesitated.
“As I’ve said before, names have power, Brigadier. Especially when spoken by certain beings.”
“Yes, yes, I understand that. What I want to know is whether I’m in any danger.”
“Probably,” said Trickster.
Reggie had faced danger before, of course. During his military career he had been shot at, shelled, threatened with a bayonet and, on one particularly disagreeable occasion, obliged to eat something that his commanding officer had assured him was a perfectly respectable curry. But those were dangers that a fellow could understand. He had no idea what the stranger wanted, beyond the vague suggestion that he was to be offered in settlement of a debt incurred by an invisible scoundrel several centuries earlier. Nor did he know when the reckoning would come, or what form it might take. He found himself wondering whether he ought to make a will, then he remembered that these days he possessed very little of any value. There was his unfinished manuscript, “A Comprehensive History of the Ghosts of Hopeless,” and a collection of military decorations which had long since ceased to impress anyone.
He supposed Tenzin might like the medals. The manuscript, however, was another matter. It represented a great deal of painstaking research, and he would be damned if some nameless apparition was going to prevent its completion.
The following morning found Reggie at the breakfast table, contemplating a slice of toast with considerably less enthusiasm than usual.
Tenzin regarded him thoughtfully.
“You have been staring at that toast for ten minutes,” he observed.
“Have I? Good heavens.”
Tenzin poured another cup of tea, and said,
“Philomena tells me that a stranger has been troubling you.”
“Ah. Yes. Well, there is a certain amount of truth in that,” Reggie conceded.
“Is it a ghost… or a demon, maybe?”
“I really couldn’t say,” said Reggie, “but I have a distinct impression that he wishes to carry me off.”
Tenzin considered this.
“In my experience, Brigadier, it is unwise to travel with strangers unless you know the destination.”
“Sound advice, old chap. Sound advice.”
“And you should always take a warm coat.”
Reggie looked at him.
“Do you know, old chap, I hadn’t thought of that,” he said.
By lunchtime, Reggie had made the decision that he would not hide. Whatever the stranger might be, whatever ancient obligation Trickster had incurred, Reginald Fitzhugh Hawkesbury-Upton was not a man to spend his remaining days cowering beneath the bedclothes. He had served his country, and endured several years of army cooking without complaint. If his time had come, he would meet it with dignity. He announced this resolution to Philomena, who was peeling potatoes in the kitchen.
“I’m going to carry on as normal,” he declared. “I refuse to be intimidated.”
“Very sensible,” agreed Philomena.
“If this fellow wants me, he knows where I am.”
Philomena stopped peeling.
“Now, don’t be an idiot,” she said. “There’s a difference between being brave and making yourself easy to catch.”
“I hardly think… ”
“And if you go wandering about after dark, looking for trouble, I’ll have something to say about it,” she said, wielding the peeler like a sabre. “Furthermore, I don’t intend to lose a good friend on account of Trickster’s foolishness.”
That evening Reggie settled himself in the snug with his manuscript, determined to make some progress. Edwin Shadwell sat at a nearby table, patiently arranging his dominoes.
“Care for a game, Brigadier?”
“Not tonight, thank you, Shadwell. Rather a lot on my mind.”
“Nothing serious, I hope.”
“Oh, nothing that can’t be dealt with,” replied Reggie.
“That’s the spirit,” said Edwin cheerfully. “No point worrying about things you can’t change.”
Reggie looked up.
“Do you really believe that?”
“Certainly. Look at me. Lost my home, everything I owned, and very nearly my life. But here I am, warm and dry, with a roof over my head and good company. Can’t ask for much more than that.”
“No,” said Reggie quietly. “I suppose you can’t.”
Edwin smiled and returned to his dominoes. Reggie watched him for a moment. There was something admirable about the fellow’s simple acceptance of his circumstances. He had lost everything and yet appeared entirely content with what remained. Perhaps there was a lesson to be learned.
It was shortly before midnight when Reggie finally retired. The inn had fallen quiet. Edwin had gone to bed, Philomena had extinguished the lamps downstairs, and even the wind seemed to have abandoned its customary habit of rattling the shutters.
Reggie stood at his bedroom window. Beyond the glass, the mist drifted across the deserted street, obscuring the distant shapes of the houses. He wondered whether the stranger was watching him. Then, feeling rather foolish, he drew the curtains.
He removed his jacket, folded it carefully over the back of a chair, and placed his slippers beside the bed. On the bedside table lay his notebook. He opened it and read the list he had begun the previous evening. There were several instructions concerning his manuscript, and a request that Tenzin should inherit his medals. He added one final sentence. Whatever happens, I should be grateful if no unnecessary fuss were made. He closed the book.
“Well,” he said aloud, “that’s that.”
He was about to extinguish the candle when he heard a faint sound from outside. It was a soft, rhythmic creaking, accompanied by the gentle splash of water.
Reggie frowned. There was certainly no water beneath his bedroom window. He listened, and the sound came again.
Creak.
Splash.
Creak.
Splash.
It reminded him of a small boat being rowed across a still pond. He approached the window and cautiously parted the curtains. Through the mist, far beyond the houses, he thought he could distinguish a solitary figure standing motionless upon the shore. Beside it lay the dark outline of a boat. Reggie watched for several moments. Then the figure raised one arm, as if in greeting. Reggie let the curtain fall. He stood very still, then, with a determination that surprised even himself, he straightened his shoulders.
“Not tonight, old fellow,” he murmured, and blew out the candle and climbed into bed.
Downstairs, in the deserted snug, Trickster’s chair gave a sudden creak.
“Still awake?” came a quiet voice.
Trickster did not answer.
The voice spoke again.
“You know what must be done.”
“I know.”
“And the debt must be paid.”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Have you chosen?”
For a long time, the room remained silent.
Then Trickster spoke.
“There may be someone else, someone who should have gone already. Give me a little time.”
The visitor made no reply.
But somewhere beyond the darkened windows, three slow knocks sounded against the glass.
And this time, Trickster understood that they were not intended for Reggie.
To be continued…