A Change In The Weather

Chapter 19: The undertaker’s

14 January, 2008 – 12:33 pm

Tobias was nervous.

‘Are you sure this is such a good idea?’ he asked, fastening his seatbelt with a click. ‘I mean shouldn’t we be staying here trying to mend Wendle’s tail?’

‘No,’ said Hillary patting Tobias on the shoulder. ‘Eliza’s very good at that sort of thing. I’m confident she’ll do a good job.’

Tobias smiled weakly.

‘Well, actually, what I mean to say is I’m not sure about this,’ he said, uneasily.

‘What? Don’t you want to know what all this is about? I mean, aren’t you just in the least bit curious?’ replied Hillary, who sat beside Tobias looking at him expectantly.

‘Come on, it’s not as if you have to do anything dangerous is it? I mean, it’s not as if I’m asking you to fight a pack of slobbering goblins or anything like that.’

He waited.

‘Again,’ he added, as an afterthought.

Tobias opened his mouth to speak, but Hillary jumped in before he could say anything.

‘All I’m asking you to do is wait on the village green with a pair of binoculars and a walkie-talkie. How hard could that be? Hmm?’

He raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly.

Tobias thought about it for a moment, and then jammed the keys into the ignition and waited for the tired-out engine to cough and splutter into life.

‘Ok. But definitely no goblins this time.’ he managed, finally.

‘Good, good. Knew I could rely on you,’ said Hillary, slapping him on the back.

Hillary smiled and stroked his beard as the little van drove down the dusty lane to Blakeby.

 

* * * * *

 

The village was unusually quiet apart from a few people out walking their dogs. Hillary and Tobias waited in the centre of the green where the sundial was; it had taken pride of place there for nearly two hundred years, but it was possibly older. Some local stories attributed its creation to the blacksmith Geoffrey Willowbrook, the legendary Blakeby dragon slayer.

A long shadow fell across its rusty face indicating it was nearly ten o’clock in the morning.

Hillary raised the binoculars to his eyes and pointed it in the direction of the undertaker’s, fiddling with it until the image was sharply in focus.

‘So, are you going to tell me what we’re meant to be looking at here?’ whispered Tobias.

‘All in good time dear chap. For the moment though, all I want you to do is stand here and act as a lookout, nothing more,’ said Hillary, thrusting a walkie-talkie into Tobias’ hand. ‘Wait until the undertaker leaves and then tell me when he returns to the shop. That’s all you’ve got to do. Simple eh?’

He handed Tobias the binoculars.

‘Wait! The door’s opening.’

Tobias ducked down behind the sundial, motioning with a hand to get down, whilst trying to hold the binoculars steady with the other. ‘It’s the same man I saw the other night. No doubt about it,’ he said, nervously.

‘Good. What’s he doing?’ asked Hillary.

‘He’s locking the door and walking down the street.’

‘And? Where’s he going to?’

‘Not sure. Hang on. Wait. He’s just popped into the bookshop… Are you going to tell me what awful plan you’ve got in mind? Hillary?’

Tobias never received a reply.

Instead, Hillary walked off purposefully in the direction of the undertaker’s.

 

* * * * *

 

Cheyney Lane was empty.

Hillary stood outside the Undertaker’s and held the walkie-talkie up to his mouth.

‘Ok, I’m going to open the door,’ he whispered.

‘How? You don’t have a key…’ replied Tobias, through crackling static.

Hillary chuckled and shook his head before murmuring a few strange foreign-sounding words to himself, then he tapped the door, imitating a turning motion as if his finger was the key turning in the lock. The tumblers inside made a clicking sound and the door jumped open slightly.

When he was sure there was no-one looking, he quickly disappeared into the depths of the shop, the sound of the doorbell jangling brightly as the door shut again behind him.

* * * *

The windows were obscured by nicotine stained net curtains that were frayed and moth-eaten, and the whole place reeked of stale tobacco and smoke. Inside it was cold and dark and Hillary felt like he needed to shiver, although it certainly wasn’t from the lack of warmth.

He sensed something was amiss even before he’d had time to look around. Although it didn’t totally surprise him, it wasn’t a good sign, nevertheless.

Behind the counter, separated by a pane of etched glass decorated with lilies and floral motifs, was a small office area, the table of which overflowed with paperwork and unopened mail. Off to the side, some stairs lead down, presumably, into a basement of some kind. To the right was a door, on which was hung a brass plaque that read simply: ‘Chapel of rest’.

Hillary ignored it and instead descended the stairs and into the gloom.

He emerged into a wide-open cellar with a low vaulted ceiling. The air hung heavy with a fusty dampness, even more so than upstairs, if that were at all possible.

Littering the ground in various states were headstones and coffins, some still in the process of being made. One in particular lay with a wood plane resting on top, amidst a pile of fresh wood shavings.

To the right was a rather ordinary-looking door.

He pushed it open and was instantly hit by a strong stench of formaldehyde. Doing his best to cover his nose and mouth with his sleeve, he walked in.

Lying on a table in the middle of the room was a corpse. Although he couldn’t tell for sure what was under the cover, he knew.

Besides the body on the table rested a pair of medieval-looking pliers and a little jar that on closer inspection turned out to be, to his horror, full of teeth. The jar, the pliers and the table were flecked with specks of dark material – no doubt blood. The place was beginning to make him feel nauseous, and the bile rose in his throat. He paused to draw a breath and held it, to stop him from retching, as he pulled the cover off of the dead body.

His eyes bulged, and he finally exhaled.

‘Oh my god.’

It wasn’t the fact there was a body there that unnerved him – he’d seen plenty of them in his time. Most of the teeth had been pulled already, leaving only the molars intact. A wicked-looking curved needle and a bobbin of catgut were present nearby on the table - no doubt ready to sew the mouth shut to prevent any unwanted attention being drawn to its teeth – or lack of them.

Hillary shivered again and replaced the cover gently before shutting the door and scurrying back to the cellar area.

At the far end was a small table with a lamp. He rushed over and flicked the light on.

On the desk were some photographs, and newspapers. The photographs showed the museum where the Wyvern egg had been stolen, and a few of the church gargoyles.

‘Bingo.’ he whispered, grinning.

Next to the table was a tall mahogany wardrobe that was open. Hillary walked up to it and peered inside raising his eyebrows with surprise at its contents.

‘Oh my,’ he muttered, ‘what little secrets are we keeping in here then?’

Hanging up inside the wardrobe was a single black hooded robe. He took it from the hanger and frowned. From somewhere deep inside his memory, it occurred to him that he’d seen this very same robe or something very similar to it many centuries ago. It filled him with repulsion, as he remembered.

There were other clothes in there, but nothing else of any interest. Finally, he hung the robe back up, closed the door and almost choked in surprise. For there, unexpectedly in the half-light, standing next to the wardrobe bathed in shadow, was the undertaker.
His undertaker stared straight through Hillary.

And then Hillary realised - just in time - that it was a statue, and breathed a sigh of relief.

There was a crackle of static from the walkie-talkie that made him jump again, but he couldn’t – wouldn’t - take his eyes off the statue.

‘Hillary, how’s it going?’

Hillary held the walkie-talkie up to his mouth, still staring at the statue.

‘Fine. You were right about him. It’s the undertaker, Gideon. He’s one of the Fiery Brand.’

He continued: ‘The longer I spend in here the more it’s giving me the creeps.’

Hillary ran his hand over the statue and paused.

Bizarrely, the statue was warm to the touch and not cold as he would have expected.

And then, for one brief second he thought that he’d felt something unnatural, and pulled his hand back quickly. Something was odd, he thought. There was something strange there. A fluttering. Almost like a heartbeat.

Hillary shook his head and nervously swallowed.

‘My word. I haven’t come across anything like this for a long time…’ he whispered to himself.

There was a chirp of static again.

‘Hillary, just a thought: Check the phone. See who he’s been calling.’

‘Good idea …’ whispered Hillary.

He charged up the stairs and across the counter into the office.

The place was a tip; piles of paper and unopened mail were strewn everywhere. It was clear that whoever ran the business obviously hadn’t been doing a very good job. He began frantically searching everywhere in desperation to find the telephone.

‘Come on. Come on!’

He was just about to give up when he found what he was looking for. A telephone extension lead ran under a pile of papers, and he followed it back to the far end of the table where, half-obscured by letters, the telephone rested. It wasn’t great – but at least it had a display and menu.

Hastily brushing the papers aside, he lifted the handset and listened for the tone. Then he hit ‘last number redial’ and waited. The number flashed up on the little display beside the keypad and Hillary quickly scribbled it down on a piece of paper before stuffing it into his shirt pocket. He held the receiver to his ear, and realised too late that the phone had actually dialled the number.

‘Blast!’ he muttered.

‘Hello Gideon.’ answered the voice in the receiver. It was calm and had no discernable accent. It spoke again. ‘Gideon?’

Hillary froze and then after a couple of seconds of dithering and wondering what to do slammed the phone down in disgust at his mistake.

‘I don’t think I wanted to do that…’ he said.

The walkie-talkie crackled into life again, making him jump.

‘Hillary, you’ve been in there long enough. Time to get out I think…’

‘Yes, I don’t want to be here for one second more than I have to. I found a statue that looked exactly like the undertaker, yet something was wrong. I think it’s been petrified by magic. I think our friend has taken the place of the real undertaker, as an impostor, a double. I’m sure of it.’

‘You mean turned to stone? Does that mean that whoever has been petrified is dead?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you have any luck with the phone?’

‘I scribbled down one of the numbers, but I dialled it by mistake. I don’t think it was such a good idea, do you?’

‘In retrospect no. I think you really ought to think about getting out of there now.’

‘Agreed.’

Hillary started to walk towards the door when there was a shout from the walkie-talkie.

‘Wait! He’s coming back!’

‘I told you to keep a look-out though!’ hissed Hillary through gritted teeth.

‘I know! But if you hadn’t been talking… what are you going to do?’

‘Hide? I don’t know… I’m going to switch this radio off now. We’ll talk later… I hope.’

‘But there’s some…’

Tobias was cut short as Hillary turned his radio off and looked around hoping to find something – anything – to conceal himself in. In the end, there was only one thing that he could find that was large enough.

‘This’ll have to do…’ he said as he clambered into the coffin. He moved the lid over, leaving just enough of a gap to see through.

As he waited there, taking in his immediate confines, he seriously hoped that this wasn’t a sign of things to come. He also rapidly became aware of the lack of space around him and the curious way the wooden box amplified the noise of his own breathing. It occurred to him, that maybe this wasn’t the best hiding place he could have found. He’d have to concentrate and focus just to avoid being found out.

As he lay there - as still as he could - he managed to make out, from the tiny slit in the coffin lid, a tall shadow that fell across the frosted glass of the shop door and the sound of a key turning in the lock. The bell jangled brightly as the door was pushed opened, and Gideon, the undertaker walked in with someone who Hillary had only seen before briefly – Augustus, the owner of the antique book shop. There was the sound of the key turning as the door was locked again.

‘That’s strange. I could’ve swore I locked the door.’ Gideon said.

‘Getting forgetful in your old age, eh?’ the other said.

‘No, definitely not.’

The phone started ringing and Gideon walked to the office to answer it. Augustus stood there and looked around, squinting through little raisin-like eyes. He was fat and balding, and – Hillary noticed - wore a gold ring on his finger. Hillary tried hard to listen, but couldn’t make it out. They were whispering too quietly.

He closed his eyes and mouthed a few words, trying hard to focus in their direction.

Instantly, it was as if someone had turned the volume up. It was a quick and dirty magical hack, but at least it got the job done.

He listened intently.

‘No… why?’ Gideon whispered.

‘But I only left for five minutes. Are you sure it was this number?’

There was a pause. Gideon looked around.

‘You must be mistaken. Augustus is with me, no-one else.’

‘Wait. Someone has been in here.’, he whispered, picking some papers up. ‘The papers have been moved. The phone too.’

‘Yes, of-course, right away.’

‘Toadflax has requested a meeting. The usual place. He says he has something important to reveal.’

‘No, I tried that. I don’t know what he has in mind. He wouldn’t reveal it to me. He was adamant that only you should know.’

Hillary heard the sound of the phone being put down, and immediately snapped out of the spell. His senses returned, he saw Gideon reappear, who whispered something to Augustus.

Hillary stared at him from the tiny gap in the coffin. He noticed the three long scars down his cheek, the lank greasy lifeless hair, the grey skin and piercing blue eyes that narrowed as he whispered something to his friend.

Hillary’s eyes opened wide as Gideon reached into his shirt and pulled out a rather nasty-looking blade and started searching the office. Augustus did the same.

After a couple of minutes of searching, Gideon walked towards the coffin hiding Hillary. Obviously not such a great hiding place after all, he thought. As he bent down to open the lid, Hillary muttered more of the strange, almost unpronounceable, words that he’d used before to unlock the door, and held his breath whilst making a slight gesture with his right hand.

Suddenly, a loud knocking sound came from the cellar, as if something had fallen over.

Gideon turned quickly and motioned Augustus to follow him down the stairs.

Hillary rolled his eyes upwards and let out a sigh of relief. Making sure as to not make a sound, he carefully lifted the lid off the coffin and tiptoed over to the door.

Remembering that it was locked, he made the same turning signal towards the keyhole that he’d made to enter the shop. The door was unlocked, and Hillary pulled it open with relief.

The bell above the door made a loud jangling sound, which made him freeze.

‘Damn it!’ he hissed.

Throwing open the door, he ran for his life as fast as he could.

 

* * * * *

 

From across the green, Tobias watched with increasing horror as Hillary bolted out of the shop like a common thief making a getaway. He could do nothing but stare in fear and then amazement as Hillary threw himself over the wall of a nearby garden.

‘What is he doing?’ muttered Tobias. ‘Trying to kill himself?’

After a few seconds of disbelief, Tobias centred the binoculars back on the Undertaker’s again, just in time to see the door flung open. Two men ran out into the street and started to look around. Tobias felt himself duck involuntarily as the undertaker stared straight at him. This time though Tobias didn’t break off eye contact as he had at the church, but just casually pointed the binoculars to some trees, hoping that the pretence of being a bird-watcher would be enough to fool him. He felt beads of sweat run down his forehead and he swallowed nervously. There was no way that he’d be recognised at this distance, he hoped.

‘Oh nuts, oh nuts, oh nuts.’ he repeated to himself quickly, and turned the binoculars back on the shop just in time to see the door slam shut. The two men had disappeared back inside, and Tobias let himself breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

He switched the walkie-talkie back on again.

‘Hello Hillary, are you there?’

But there was nothing, so he tried again.

‘Hello Hillary, come in Hillary. Are you there?’

There was a short pause, before the crackly reply:

‘Yes, and I’ve just landed in a compost heap, thank you.’

Posted in A Change In The Weather |