Good Help

There was a stained glass window laying in shattered fragments. There was blood on the ground – mine, I think. Cold mist drifted through the mullions that had held the window. Hooded figures stood round a candlelit circle. Oh, yes, that would be it. I got, a little unsteadily, to my feet. The remains of the central window showed a big hole where someone had smashed through a picture of a giant squid-like monstrosity. Garish, modern work – no taste at all. ‘Gentlemen,’ I said, swaying slightly, ‘I expect you’re wondering what I’m doing here.’

This met with a somewhat stony reception.

I pressed on. ‘You were doubtless in the middle of some dark and abominable ritual –’ I noted the figure lying unconscious on a raised platform ‘– probably to summon something unspeakable into this dimension, tear a dark rift through the endless void, etcetera. But unfortunately I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.’

‘Oh, really,’ said a voice from a raised balcony above. It was a dark, aristocratic voice, with a hint of accent. ‘And who might you be?’

Given my entrance, I was tempted to say, Frank Drebin, Police Squad, but one, that wasn’t actually true, and two, I’m not sure they were the type to get the joke. ‘Oh, just a concerned citizen, you know. I saw the light on, heard the chanting, came over to borrow a pint of milk – that sort of thing.’

The voice pondered this. ‘Well, boy, you can just go on your way. Conjunctions like this don’t happen just every night, and we’re on a schedule.’

I glanced down at the figure on the stone table. ‘Much as I appreciate the thought, I doubt this young lady exactly volunteered.’

‘Good help is so hard to find these days,’ murmured the figure from the balcony. ‘One last chance then,’ a robed sleeve gestured towards a door to the side, ‘leave, and see another dawn.’

‘You’re not making this easy, you know.’

There was a long drawn-out sigh. ‘And I thought there were no heroes left anymore. Well, after tonight, maybe there won’t be. Brothers … if you please.’

In the candlelight, hooded figures took up fighting postures. You know, I really must remember to bring a weapon next time…

I glanced around – bingo, I thought as much. Former church, deconsecrated and sold off – and thankfully with the same appalling carelessness that leaves a few things behind. I picked up what proved to be a surprisingly heavy candlestick, covered in dust and cobwebs. Suppressing a cough, I reversed my grip on it and, weighing it in my hand, gave it a few practice swings.

Several of the hooded cultists took a step back. Amateur night. Well, at least we were all on an equal footing. I brought my other shoulder down and hefted the figure on the table up over it. She was quite cold – and in an odd sort of way, strangely familiar (I brushed that thought aside). Her feet swung as I turned, and an empty chalice spilled to the ground.

‘Now, fellers, let’s just think about this for a moment …’

One of them ran at me. I made to swing the candlestick, missed my footing, and caught him in the mouth with the girl’s shoes. As he staggered back with an oof! I raised the candlestick back and caught the head of a sneaky beggar who’d been creeping up behind me. He dropped, and I stepped back towards the door. I had to shift the candlestick to my other hand to fumble the old iron turn ring. ‘Well, much as it’s been a pleasure meeting you all, hello, I must be going …’

A quick step through, pull the door shut – and, hello … what have we here? Turn. Click. Muffled thuds and hurried footsteps from the other side, while I admired the nice heavy stone frame around the big thick door.

‘All right,’ said the aristocratic voice eventually, ‘who left the key in the door on the other side?’

*****

I raced through the mist – or as fast I could in the circumstances. There was a small car waiting under a streetlamp that shone like a halo. I slid the girl into the backseat and pulled the door shut behind me. ‘You might want to start driving, Sister.’

‘You’re bleeding! And what have you done to that girl!’

‘Rescued her, Sister. She’s probably going to need some looking after from the other sisters once we get back.’

I glanced back nervously; however she had at least already started the car, and I breathed a little easier as we motored off. Give the Fighting Sisters of Saint Claudia some credit; they may think of me as feckless and even a bit suspect, but they were business-like.

Suspicious eyes peered at me in the driver’s mirror. ‘And what is that in your hand?’

‘A candlestick, Sister.’

‘That looks ecclesiastical – have you been stealing?’

‘Borrowing, Sister.’

‘From a church!’

‘Deconsecrated, I rather suspect, and it got left behind. A band of squid-worshippers had set up inside. Hadn’t you better keep your eyes on the road?’

‘I know what I’m doing,’ she said, shifting gears, somehow managing to both watch the road and glare at me – it’s a gift, I tell you.

I meanwhile was feeling a bit tired.

‘You’d better not be bleeding on those seats. I’ve just managed to get them clean after the last time.’

Sometimes you’re just caught between a nun and a bad place. ‘… put towels down earlier,’ I murmured, drowsing off to sleep as the car picked up speed and we disappeared into the night.