Charon Unguarded (Ferryman Saga Book 1) Page 6

  ‘I upset a faerie.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me the little bleeders beat you up!’

  ‘Relax. It was an accident. Not that I am keen to repeat the experience, so if you must stay, for pity’s sake, stay out of sight.’

  ‘Which Pity? What has she got to do with it …’ Hermes stammered.

  ‘Not the one from the jar. Last I heard, Pandora had managed to catch that one around about 2010.’

  ‘Really? Hmm. I wondered where that one had got to ….’

  ‘Westminster,’ said Charon. ‘Let’s get a shift on, shall we? We still have a fifteen-minute drive and it’s already twenty to midnight.’

  ‘We don’t want to risk being seen. We discussed this,’ said Hermes, grinding the gears as he turned the car around.

  ‘What happened to stealth and precision?’

  ‘She’s old, okay?’ Hermes drove in silence for several minutes. ‘How come you never learned to drive?

  ‘Hmm?’ Charon said absently as he sipped from his flask.

  ‘Driving?’

  ‘Cars and I don’t get along. They seem to just die, rather than be driven by me. I got through six of them before I worked that one out.’

  This shut Hermes up. He hoped that whatever it was about his friend that made cars suicidal did not rub off on Suzie. At least until they were home in one piece. Finally, they arrived and he pulled up alongside the bramble-covered gates. There were no other cars there but this did not mean they were alone. He peered out of the window. It was so dark he could barely see the outline of the building. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s not one of my better ones but we are here now. You know the plan?’

  Hermes just stared.

  ‘Fine. Let’s go over it again. You take this.’ He handed Hermes a torch. ‘Then you climb up there.’ He pointed to the ridged roof of the first building. It was low but would offer some cover. ‘As soon as you are up there, turn off your torch. That way I will know the way is clear for me to find the meeting. Got it so far?’

  Hermes continued to stare but this time he managed a nod.

  Charon took this as his cue to continue, ‘When I find the meeting, I will start recording on my phone and streaming the video straight to yours like you showed me, so make sure it is on and on silent.’

  This idea had impressed Hermes. Given Charon’s intense dislike for all things technology, he had not expected him to come up with recording the meeting, let alone streaming it. He had said that if he were to be caught, he didn’t want to be caught with the video on him. Either Charon was enjoying this, or he had been watching too many spy films. He suspected it was a bit of both.

  ‘Hermes? Hermes? You got it?’

  Hermes nodded.

  ‘Good! Off you go. Good luck,’ he said, cheerily.

  Hermes got out of the car and closed the door as quietly as he could. The gate was rusty and squeaked as he squeezed his way through the gap. It did not look like it had been forced which meant they could be being watched. It was freezing which made it exceptionally hard to climb. He hoped that it wouldn’t take too much longer to get to the top as the flask of hot soup he was carrying on a strap across his body swung and clanged against the old metal drainpipe he was scaling. Finally, he reached the top and hauled himself up over the edge. ‘I must be a bloody idiot to get tangled up in this.’ He muttered to himself.

  ‘Not far off!’ said a gruff voice in the dark, then something heavy met the back of Hermes’ head.

  * * *

  Charon watched from the car as the torch went out. ‘Nice one, Hermes!’ He left the keys in the ignition, in case they needed to bid a hasty retreat, and made his way through the gate. As he picked his way through the rubbish and abandoned shopping trollies, it occurred to him that he should probably have told someone other than Hermes about where he was, but who would he tell? Even that hellbeast of a cat wouldn’t miss him until it got hungry. This is not an exaggeration. The ‘cat’ was an actual hellbeast that Charon had adopted for company before his move to the mortal realm. It was not friendly. He looked at his watch. It was three minutes past twelve. ‘Damn! I’m missing it!’

  A voice rang out of the silence, ‘Oi! You there! Stop where you are!’

  Charon felt his heart lurch in his chest and fell against a wall. ‘What? Who’s that?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter who we are. The faeries were right though.’

  ‘What? That I wouldn’t give up?’ Charon struggled to speak as the fall had winded him. His chest ached terribly.

  ‘No. They told us the surest way to get you to do what we wanted you to do would probably be to tell you to do the opposite. You have spent too long around mortals, Charon. It has made you a foolish and stubborn old man,’ said the voice.

  The disembodied voice had not yet presented its owner to him so Charon stayed where he was. He had dropped his torch but it was still shining so its landing must have been cushioned. He slid down the wall to sit. Standing made him feel sick and dizzy and his heart was still pounding. He was excited but not to this extent. Something was wrong. Meeting be damned, he needed Hermes to get him out of there. Where was he?

  A floodlight some way above him on the opposite wall clunked on and shone in his face as he leaned against the wall gasping for breath. He raised an arm to shield his eyes. Oh crap, now I’m for it. Running feet approached his position but he couldn’t move. He reached into the inside of his jacket and pulled out a bottle of Gaviscon tablets and put two in his mouth. He wasn’t quite sure what they would achieve at this point but maybe concentrating on the ghastly tablets slowly dissolving would help him stay calm. What did he have to lose?

  ‘Good evening, gents,’ said Charon. There was a snarl in the background. ‘Ladies too, I see. Apologies. It appears my evening constitutional has intruded upon something I ought to stay out of. Might I intrude on your hospitality for a while longer and ask for one of you to call for an ambulance?’

  One of the figures approached him. It was huge but all Charon could make out was the silhouette. He couldn’t focus. ‘No ambulance will be needed. You will live. You only tripped one of our guard spells. Just as well you are not fully human, or we would not be having this conversation.’ He sniffed. The voice was not familiar, but the accent was thick and Nordic. Was Hel there with her people? Had she sent them for him? He stopped himself. That longship had long ago sailed but the hope remained. No, this was not the work of Hel. She would never send mere men to deal with her loose ends. ‘You’ll come with us.’ He whistled loudly and two others joined him. ‘Take him to the van,’ he paused. ‘And do it carefully. We don’t need a repeat of last time.’ What in the name of many Hells had happened the last time?

  ‘What? Where are you taking us … me? I won’t go!’

  ‘You will do as you are told, ferryman.’ He turned to the people behind him. ‘Bring his companion here. He’ll stay with us. If Charon makes any attempt to escape, call me.’

  Charon’s heart began to pound again as two of them dragged Hermes forwards, one on each arm, into the light. His head lolled forwards and a trickle of blood ran down his neck but he couldn’t see where it came from. From this angle, he could only see that his friend was unconscious and bleeding, and at the mercy of what he now assumed to be some of the less friendly former inhabitants of Asgard and Valhalla.

  ‘What if I still refuse to go?’ He wasn’t sure what he expected to hear.

  ‘We will deprive him of his head.’

  ‘You can’t! There are rules!’ Charon rasped.

  This was apparently the limit of his patience. ‘Rules?’ he roared. Whether out of rage or amusement, he couldn’t tell. Then he marched up to Charon, grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hauled him to his feet and then off them again until they were nose to nose. ‘You invade our territory and come to spy on us, and you talk to me of ‘rules’?’ The man’s breath was hot on Charon’s face, and he smelled of wood smoke.

&
nbsp; ‘I … I didn’t come to spy on you specifically …’

  ‘Well, that’s honourable. If this did not go above my head, old man, I would see that you did not leave with yours.’ He dropped Charon back on his feet, planted a massive hand on his shoulder, and pressed his forehead against Charon’s. His voice was so quiet it was barely audible. ‘You will go with my men. You will go now, and you will go willingly. Once I get word that you have been delivered, I will release your friend and see that a healer attends him. Any trouble, I will kill him. I see no need to discuss this further.’ He waved the men dragging Hermes away and nodded at two more to take Charon to the mystery van, then disappeared into the silhouetted crowd. As it closed around him, he felt their mailed gloves grab his arms and pull him in the same direction.

  CHAPTER 8

  Bad News of Titanic Proportions

  From the feel of it, the walls of the van were soundproofed and solid, but they had put a bag over his head nonetheless. Charon sat gripping the edge of a bench and fought back waves of nausea as the van swerved around corners. He thought about pulling the bag off his head but that meant letting go of the bench and he was not sure if that was a good idea. He was beginning to feel more like himself, but the effects of the wards had drastically weakened him. He tried to take his mind off it but all he could think of was what they had done to Hermes. It took a great deal of force to render a god unconscious like that, and a human would not have been able to do it alone. Hermes would heal given time. Charon just hoped he would get out of this so that he could see to it that he got that time. Why had he brought him along? He had been told to come alone. ‘Dammit!’ he shouted at the air and punched the side of the van.

  As if on cue, he heard a panel above his head slide open. ‘Be quiet!’

  ‘Where are you taking me?’

  ‘To someone who wants to have a little word with you.’ He turned to the driver and spoke in a language Charon didn’t recognise. Whatever it was he said had clearly amused the driver who roared with laughter and swerved around another corner. Charon’s stomach lurched as he fought back another wave. For all he knew, they had spent the last half an hour going around the block in a bid to disorientate him. If they were then it was working. The van suddenly slammed to a halt which sent Charon sprawling onto the floor. ‘Enough!’ He ripped the bag from his head and clambered back to his feet as the doors opened.

  They were at yet another abandoned factory. Lights were flickering behind the broken panes of glass from which he could hear singing and raucous laughter. Clearly, the party was in full swing. His escorts said nothing as they hauled him out of the van and up to the front doors. One of them attempted to force the bag back over Charon’s head as they approached the building.

  ‘Do you really think that is necessary?’

  ‘We have our orders. You were not supposed to see the outside of this place. Hold still.’

  ‘No. Look I have seen the place now. Besides, I like to see who is addressing me.’ No sooner had he said this, then the door opened. Behind it stood what Charon at first glance assumed to be a bear. He was glaring at the man with the bag, but the shadow this figure cast over the three of them couldn’t help but grab his attention. He stood at nearly seven feet tall with a barrel chest and was covered, judging by the smell, in several sweat-matted furs, Charon swallowed. ‘I believe I am expected?’ He peered up at the shadowed face.

  It snarled at him. ‘You are the spy?’

  ‘Spy? Me? No, no, no, no!’

  ‘Then no, you are not. I was told only to allow entry to the spy.’ He smirked.

  ‘Erick, you idiot, stop wasting time. We have to get back.’

  ‘Okay, I take him. Just my little joke.’ He laughed and clapped Charon on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. Thankfully the other two still had a hold of his arms tightly enough to keep him upright.

  ‘Yeah funny,’ one of the guards said. The rolling of his eyes was almost audible. They released Charon’s arms and shoved him toward the door guard.

  ‘You. Come!’ He let the outer door slam behind them.

  As Charon crossed the threshold he felt his limbs grow heavy. It was like a great weariness had settled on him but it was better than his experience at the paint factory. He wondered if these wards were just for him, or if everyone experienced this brand of hospitality? His head spun and he put a hand out to lean on the wall.

  Erick stopped. ‘Give it a minute. Takes everyone different. Some are sick, others just pass out. You’re quite impressive … for a Greek.’ Erick grinned and winked. Now they were under the hard UV strip lights Charon could see him properly. He had clearly once been a fearsome warrior. The long white hair and beard were a testament to many years of hard living, and battles fought and survived. His face was a map of lines and ravaged by weather. A long, livid scar crossed his forehead and left cheek. His eye, once grey, had turned milky white, but it still shone jovially out at Charon. ‘The scar?’

  ‘I didn’t like to … I mean … you’re not like me. Were you human once?’

  ‘We all have to die sometime. You of all people should know that.’ He shrugged. ‘But I can’t really answer that. I remember being alive but am told that was not real. I was minding my own business, enjoying Valhalla before we were thrown from our homes. Rejected and forgotten by greedy cowards who wanted more life than was due to them.’ He spat on the floor as they walked down a long narrow passage. ‘Or did you think it was just your people who suffered from Yahweh’s little purge of the immortal realms?’ He snorted back a laugh. ‘One of the drawbacks of an oral tradition is that our gods and legends did not have the same hold as others.’ He paused and raised a scarred eyebrow. ‘You look surprised?’

  ‘I just didn’t expect …’

  ‘Didn’t expect me to be able to string a sentence, let alone understand how this gig works?’ Erick grunted. ‘Eight centuries of being dead gives you a great deal of time to catch up on your reading, not to mention one hell of a lot of perspective.’ He kicked the door open to a room thick with the smell of sweat, roasting meat, and smoke. The noise was deafening. They had turned the disused space into a longhouse and made it home. Palettes and crates were stacked around a huge makeshift fire pit, over which several spits were being carefully turned. On the other side of what was once the factory floor, a long table had been rigged up from more crates and pallets. On each side, scaffolding had been used to make benches which were occupied by men in varying states of consciousness. Charon was guided toward the end of the table nearest the fire. Women bustled past them, stopping only to smile or wink at Erick. When they saw Charon, they turned on their heels and ignored him. His short grey curls and old, pale olive skin must have made him stand out a mile. Either that, or they knew what he was.

  ‘Erick! Erick! Get over here!’ a voice roared over the din, pulling Charon out of his thoughts. ‘How long does it take to collect one idiot spy and come back?’ He sat on a couple of upturned milk crates covered with a sheepskin and was feeding a pair of ravens chunks of raw meat. ‘You think I have all night to wait for you?’ The man appeared in his mid to late fifties, but Charon needed no introduction: Odin looked exactly as Hel had described him so many years before. His bearing was unmistakable and Charon had to fight the urge to drop to his knees and declare his undying allegiance. Get a grip old man, Hades would skin you for less.

  ‘Go. Get some mead and some supper. You’re on guard tonight.’ Erick gave a courteous bow and left them in private. Odin indicated him to sit.

  ‘In your presence, sir? I …’

  ‘Sit. Down.’ Odin didn’t bellow. He didn’t need to.

  Charon perched on the end of the bench and faced Odin. He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come. He breathed and tried again. ‘I apologise for interrupting your dinner, sir …’

  Odin stabbed a piece of what Charon assumed to be chicken and leaned back looking him up and down for what seemed an eternity. When he suddenly spoke, it made Charon jump. ‘
Let’s dispose of the social niceties and just get down to the issue at hand, shall we?’ He downed the contents of a horn mug by his side and put it in front of Charon, then waved over a serving girl who was holding a large jug. He continued speaking as he ate. ‘Let’s instead address the fact that you were caught trespassing on my land in the middle of the night.’ He stopped speaking as the girl poured Charon a drink. Once she left he resumed. ‘Let’s pretend that you and your companion, what was it?’

  ‘Hermes.’

  ‘Hermes? That’s a name?’ He shook his head. ‘You and your friend were intending to spy on us and disrupted a very important meeting between my representatives and some very powerful beings. Quite a little hobby you are developing there.’ He took another bite and spoke with his mouth half full. ‘Care to elaborate? In your own time.’

  Charon paused for a moment, was there any reason to provoke Odin and tell him they were planning to film it? He doubted it. His associates, while very dead, were very well armed. No, he would leave that bit out and hope to Hel, that he couldn’t read minds. ‘Curiosity. Boredom. Take your pick. It’s not like I knew the purpose of that meeting the other day. I just run the desk and give people directions.’

  ‘Fair enough, but you were heard discussing it, in public, loudly, and have been warned off more than once.’

  ‘By you?’

  ‘Not always. I believe the Fae had a hand in it too.’ He took a swig from a bottle of Newcastle Brown Ale and winced as he threw it at a heap of other bottles in the corner. ‘Your intentions are, according to them, noble but misguided. For that reason alone, I will not have you or your friend executed for interference. You know the rules. As a leader, I have rights.’ Odin gave a half smile. ‘Look, don’t worry, from the Fae, that’s as good a compliment as you can ever hope to expect. They barely tolerate us. To them, the likes of you and I are merely interlopers and intruders, and that makes us a threat no matter how well behaved we are. I wouldn’t say we are allies with them, but it’s generally safer to be on good terms.’