But a Candle is coming to drive out all Ghosts and Bugbears. Let us follow the light.
From a poem by James Clerk Maxwell 1831 – 1879
Max was at a loss. Doctor Taylor’s shirt was never going to button across his chest, so he gave up trying and attempted to drag the borrowed jumper over his head instead.
What could Cathy say if he asked her? “Sure, I tried to kill you, Max, but I deliberately missed, okay?”
She had left him to change out of his wet clothes in their guest bathroom while she called her husband. Max wasn’t making much progress though. There were too many questions in his head.
The label he had glimpsed in her waste bin had read: “ACME Airgun Ammunition, 500 Cylindrical Pellets, 5mm 14g.” He fingered the fourteen gram piece of metal in his pocket that he had found in his backpack. Only his tablet computer had saved him.
He wasn’t sure what made him more nervous – that his life as a free man was about to end, or that the woman he was infatuated with might want to kill him.
Could it be a coincidence that her rubbish bin contained incriminating evidence on the very night he’d been shot in the backpack?
How did she know to be there when he crashed onto the frozen lake?
Could an air rifle kill someone at over a hundred metres?
The Taylors’ melodic doorbell rang interrupted his speculation while his head was still encased in wool. Had the police come to take him away so soon? He hadn’t changed his lower half yet, but he would rather wear his wet tracksuit pants than get into Graeme’s trousers.
Max got as far as trying Graeme’s sandals when he heard raised voices outside. He rushed to entrance to find Cathy blocking the door to a diminutive white-haired lady wearing thick glasses and a professional demeanour. He was reminded of his strict grandmother – the one who squeezed his ear when she caught him feeding his greens to her cat.
‘Who are you to accuse me of being Mrs Taylor?’ Cathy was asking her.
‘Your husband ...’ the woman began then hesitated. ‘Damn you. I had this all rehearsed in my head, but I should be asking the question, and you don’t need to know my name, just my function. Call me Miss Hess, if you must call me anything. I take it you don’t go by the name,Taylor. Well, your partner, Doctor Taylor, has informed us that you are harbouring a suspected terrorist.’
Cathy snorted. ‘A likely story. If you were sent by Graeme, you were mighty quick! I only just got off the phone.’
‘Yes. Fortunately I was at the nearby yacht club – recycling some roses discarded from a function there. The blooms are not up to my usual standard, but I hate waste. And on that subject, please step aside and stop wasting my time. This is a matter of public safety.’
But Cathy only leaned further out the doorway to scan the street beyond. ‘You’re alone to arrest a terrorist?’
Miss Hess rolled her short sighted eyes. ‘I am quite capable, deary. Just show me where you’re hiding him, and we can be on our way’
Max stepped up behind Cathy and the elderly Miss Hess squinted up at him. You’re Maxwell Clerk?’ She seemed disappointed. ‘I guess terrorists aren’t what they used to be. Proceed immediately to my van, young man, and be warned. I’ve been authorised to use force if necessary.’ Turning to Cathy, she smiled sweetly. ‘Mrs Taylor, you and your daughter are also required to accompany us.’
‘To where?’
‘I’m not at liberty to say.’
‘Well!’ Cathy folded her arms. ‘In that case, we shan’t be going. I’ve no idea who you are, and … what’s that?’
‘My persuasion.’ Miss Hess had removed a small device from her coat pocket. It was not much bigger than a juigee-bang-bang, but featured a trigger the latest children’s toy lacked.
Cathy laughed. ‘Is that a weapon? Well, you’re hardly going to shoot me.’
Miss Hess sighed and shot her. The weapon produced a small flash with no bang. Cathy stumbled as her right leg collapsed, and Max jumped forward to support her. The bath robe open as she fell to reveal a thick dark top and bare legs. Apart from her dignity, she appeared to be totally intact.
The little woman shouldered them aside, then casually aimed her weapon in their direction while she surveyed the entrance hall. From the noises coming from the living room, it appeared that Cathy’s daughter had returned to her energetic dancing, though the music might now be coming from Max’s phone.
Cathy pleaded, ‘Phenalla doesn’t have anything to do with this. Please don’t hurt her!’
‘Don’t be so dramatic, Mrs Taylor,’ the older woman said. ‘I’ve only stunned your leg. It will be functional in a few minutes, then it will itch like hell. Please go with Mr Clerk to Besty. She’s just outside. And make sure he doesn’t run away while I fetch your daughter. Dr Taylor assured me that she would co-operate.’
Cathy gritted her teeth and, leaning on Max’s shoulder, hopped outside to the cobbled driveway, dragging the useless limb behind her.
‘This is not going quite the way I had hoped,’ she complained.
Max had to agree. He had expected some rough treatment, sure, but from burly men in tailored suits with shoulder holsters and curly white cords running to their ears – not from some old woman with an advanced hand weapon, though that had sparked his scientific interest. While Cathy swore under her breath at all public servants everywhere, Max reasoned that Miss Hess’s stunner was probably a miniaturised electron-cluster projector. He would have liked to ask Cathy what it felt like, but doubted she would be in a very objective mood.
“Betsy”, they discovered, was a black and chrome Morris-Minor van. On it’s side, golden letters read, “Fraulein Hess’s Hasty Herbs” followed by a smaller by-line, “For that forgotten occasion or unplanned loss.”
Miss Hess followed them out, using Max’s mobile phone as bait to lead a samba dancing Phenalla from the house. Cathy’s daughter locked eyes with Max, a gentle smile of amusement lighting her face. What was Confucius telling her? When the phone was tossed into the back of the van, she followed it without even looking her mother’s way.
So much for keeping the most dangerous phone in the universe out of the Government’s hands. And if Confucius was encouraging the young woman to cooperate, Max could only hope the A.I. knew what it was doing.
‘Apologies about the mess,’ said Miss Hess as she closed the doors. ‘Try not to crush the flowers, dear.’
Proceedings were interrupted as the Taylors’ cat walked up to Miss Hess, demanding and receiving attention, then Miss Hess glared at a car which pulled up to the kerb on the street. ‘About time. That will be our escort. Time for us to go.’
‘And where do you expect us to sit?’ Cathy asked.
‘I thought Your Highness and our terrorist would be more comfortable up front with me. I trust the girl, but I want to keep an eye on you two.’ When they hesitated, Miss Hess gestured to Max with her weapon. ‘Just get in. The colonel is expecting us before sunrise.’
He was having second thoughts about this voluntary surrender, but Cathy offered an encouraging smile and he complied by climbing in. The column gear shift had been removed as part of an electric conversion, but even so, the front bench seat of the vintage vehicle was cosy. There were the usual difficulties sorting out their seatbelts.
‘Couldn’t the Colonel have sent something more suitable?’ Cathy asked, maybe having similar thoughts to him. Her voice sounded strained. Max tried to give her room so she could rub the offending leg.
‘You don’t appreciate my classic motor? Betsy isn’t going to like that.’ Miss Hess affectionately patted the dash board. ‘Betsy, darling. Let’s show them what you can do.’
The car reversed at high speed into the street, then failed to either observe local speed restrictions, or to use its headlight until they reached the nearest highway. While being thrown from side to side, Max got a look in the rear view mirror and noticed that their escort car was having difficulty keeping up despite the light traffic. He already felt car sick and wished he could have ridden with them.
‘Being part of academic nobility, Cathy Taylor, you probably think you deserve some sort of royal treatment, but think yourself lucky I was close by,’ Miss Hess continued. ‘It’s your husband’s fault that my agency is short on transport at the moment. I understand it was he who destroyed every fuel-celled vehicle in the entire world.’
Cathy made a great show of being surprised. ‘My husband did that?’
‘Please forget I said anything. It’s hard to remember what’s classified and what isn’t.’
Betsy took the triple turn around Parliament House at tyre squealing speeds.
Miss Hess continued, ‘Anyway, the Colonel wanted this young man’s extraction kept low key and discretion is my speciality.’
Somehow the van didn’t turn over, though it sounded as though Phenalla was being rolled around in the back.
‘Are you okay, Alla?’ Cathy called over her shoulder.
‘Fine, Mum. Would you believe I’m lying on a bed of roses?’ Phenalla made a noise that could have been a laugh. ‘Huh, they’re plastic. Why would you recycle these?’
Miss Hess didn’t comment, but her lips tightened.
Phenalla was taking their unplanned excursion very casually. No doubt an effect of her medication, but it occurred to Max that, just because he had expected to be arrested, he had made some big assumptions about their safety.
‘Who do you work for, Miss Hess?’ Max asked.
‘Oh, drat! I almost forgot.’ Miss Hess reached across Max to open the glove box. She pulled out black cloth and held it over her shoulder. ‘Young lady? Would you mind blindfolding yourself, your mother and your boyfriend – not necessarily in that order. I’ll know if you cheat.’
Cathy was too preoccupied with her leg, and Max didn’t think it was his place to correct Miss Hess on his tenuous relationship with the Taylor family. Phenalla didn’t speak up either.
They were coming up behind some slower traffic and the florist van slowed.
‘Tell them to get out of the way, Betsy,’ said Miss Hess.
The self driving cars in the bunch obediently moved into the left hand lane, and Betsy swerved through the remainder.
‘Toilet-brush driving, Betsy,’ said Phenalla as she fitted Max’s blindfold. She seemed to be enjoying this adventure.
Miss Hess looked confused, then smiled. ‘Ah, “toilet-brush”, the latest synonym for awesome. Yes, thank you, dear. I thought it expedient.’
‘Mr Clerk. You asked who I work for?’ Miss Hess continued then laughed. ‘I can’t tell you that. But work? Oh dear, no. This isn’t work. I retired long ago. I volunteer simply for the excitement. It’s a pity that they no longer let me torture anyone – something to do with insurance. But there are other perks, like the toys I can borrow. This stun gun, which Mrs Taylor has kindly demonstrated, is particularly useful for clearing reception halls at the end of the night. I give malingering guests a quick head shot and, drunk or not, they won’t remember a thing next day – not even who they married, or where the flowers went.’
‘So you really are a florist?’ Cathy asked.
‘I’ve been in that business thirty years. It makes an excellent cover, and keeps me afloat in retirement. Of late, I get most of my business burying old colleagues.’
Max began to worry he had surrendered to the wrong side. ‘You were a government agent, right?’
‘Government? Huh! My darling boy, the government is but one thin skin of a many layered onion. If there exists a higher authority than the one I obey, I won’t be meeting him in this life.’
They took another sharp turn, and Max was pressed hard against Cathy. This would be the corner near the airport if he had counted them correctly.
‘Sorry,’ he said as the pressure eased.
‘No problem,’ she replied once she could breathe again. ‘I got myself involved in this mess after all.’
‘How?’
‘By tempting fate,’ Cathy said softly. ‘Miss Hess. I understand why Max needs to be questioned, but could you tell us why we – that is Doctor Taylor’s family – also need to be dragged from our home in the middle of the night?’
Miss Hess considered this before replying. ‘My guess is you’re somehow contaminated.’
‘In what way?’
‘By information, sweet girl. Which means, if you try to say anything interesting, I’ll need to stun both your mouth and my ears.’
They travelled on in relative silence, Miss Hess humming along with the electric motors. Beside him, Cathy frequently attacked her slumbering limb with vigorous rubbing. Betsy’s violent turns gradually decreased, as they left the city and, when they coasted down a hill, he heard the warbling chorus of magpies signalling the approach of dawn.
Max hated idle time, so he was going to hate prison. He could possibly excuse some of his poor judgement on his attraction for Cathy. Knowing she might have homicidal tendencies did little to curb that. But did she even like him? Or did she just want someone for target practice? And what, if anything, did this have to do with his negligence in causing the nano-quake?
The airport was far behind when he heard the first rumble of powerful jet engines.
Cathy heard it too. ‘Thunder?’
‘Just our ageing F35s, if I’m not mistaken,’ said Miss Hess. ‘Let me have a look online. Ah yes, FIR confirms they’re ours, but maybe they’re trying to intercept something. There’s nothing else on the radar ... but hang on. A bogy at 3 o’clock, turning our way. I’ll switch on the ECM just to be safe.’
‘ECM?’ Cathy asked.
‘Electronic Counter Measures. Never leave home without it.’
‘Wouldn’t your people warn you if we were being attacked?’
‘But we’re not officially here, if you know what I mean.’ Miss Hess was silent for a moment then swore. ‘We’re being scanned.’
‘Is that bad?’ Max asked.
‘I might have time to order flowers for our funerals.’
Behind him, Phenalla was mumbling, possibly praying, but then she spoke close to Max’s head. ‘Confucius says, have you ever played the shell game?’
‘Who’s Confucius?’ Miss Hess asked. ‘But okay. Shell game. Sure. We can try that. Betsy, stop as quickly as you can.’
They were thrust hard against their seatbelts, and a car horn blared like a sliding trombone as it passed close by. Not a moment later, Betsy was shaken by a massive explosion.
Max ripped off his blindfold in time to see a small car – possibly the one which had been following them – land like a flaming meteor in the sheep paddock beside the road.
‘It worked,’ Miss Hess exclaimed.
A huge crater appeared in the road in front of them, so large that the Betsy’s headlights were unable to reach the far side. Then the windscreen cracked and the roof of the Morris caved as football sized pieces of tarmac returned to Earth. Max pulled Cathy’s head down, but the gesture was pointless as Betsy was made of tougher stuff. He hoped Cathy appreciated that they would have been crushed in a more modern vehicle.
‘Out!’ Miss Hess screamed and, after a brief struggle with the door, she dived from the vehicle despite the continuing barrage. The explosion had evidently scrambled Betsy’s brain, for the van started rolling towards the crater, but Max reached across with his foot to press the manual brake.
‘What just happened?’ Cathy asked. She had pulled off her blindfold too, but by this time the windscreen was covered in dirt. ‘Oh, god. Not again.’
‘Traffic hazard ahead,’ Betsy replied with a young child’s voice. ‘Warning. System malfunction. Visual sensors no longer operational. Danger. Danger. We are under attack. Advise all passengers to proceed immediately to their nearest exit.’
‘Thank you, Betsy.’ Cathy tried to open her door even though debris the size of cricket balls still rained down. ‘The damned thing is stuck. Sorry Betsy. I know it’s not your fault.’
‘Understood. There are two alternative exits.’
Max turned to check on Phenalla and discovered she had kicked the back doors open. Cathy still couldn’t open her’s, so he dragged her out through the driver’s door by her arm. If she minded this physicality, she didn’t complain.
A bunch of flowers was thrust into his hands. While he gawped in confusion, Phenalla and Cathy were sprinting up the road away from him with similar floral armour held over their heads. A great clod of earth fell on his head before he had the sense to follow suit.
As Max caught up, he was amazed that Cathy was guiding Phenalla in a bizarre weaving path that avoided the larger missiles that would have landed on them otherwise. Max had less skill – or luck – and suffered a number of painful blows despite his polymer roses.
So much detritus had been thrown into the air that the first signs of dawn had disappeared. When Betsy rolled into the crater and her tail-lights disappeared, the darkness became complete.
‘Down here,’ Miss Hess called to their right. It took a leap of faith to enter the gully beside the road, and they were still skidding down loose gravel when the second explosion turned night into day. Max closed his eyes until the after-image had faded. His ears were ringing though he couldn’t remember hearing a sound – just a stabbing pain in his head.
A number of burning roses landed nearby to light their way before Miss Hess appeared. The flash-light incorporated into the cuff of her coat guided them into a drain that passed under the road. Here they sheltered from the remaining fallout, though there seemed to be less road to fall this time.
A bright flash lit the clouds of dust above them.
‘What was that?’ Max asked.
‘Twenty six, twenty seven …’ Miss Hess was counting the seconds. It was almost a minute before he heard the final explosion.
‘Looks like they got it,’ Miss Hess shouted with excitement. ‘Pity our boys didn’t catch it before Betsy was vaporised. Going by the sound delay, it must have been below one hundred thousand feet. Quite unusual for a modern attack drone to fly so low. They must have really wanted to get you.’ Even while talking, she was air-typing rapidly, and a light on her latest model ring-phone indicated she was getting replies.
‘Whose drone was it then?’ Max asked.
Miss Hess shrugged. ‘Like they’re going to tell me. I’ve heard the air-force is always chasing drones. Could be anyone. They can’t really shoot too many down without admitting we’ve lost control of our skies. The Americans tell us nothing, so even the armed ones might be friendly.’
‘Armed drones flying over Australia!’ Cathy said indignantly.
‘Yes, who’d have thought,’ she said. ‘When I was young, only the major powers could kill remotely by drone – now everyone’s at it. A new form of world democracy. Let’s move you civilians further from the carnage before the cavalry arrive.’
They followed her away from the debris field.
‘This should be far enough,’ she said after they had moved a hundred metres. ‘You lot stay here while I take a look to see who got killed in the chase car. Serves them right for tail-gating, and I’m grateful you suggested the shell game, but if anyone asks, let’s not mention why they died. It’s not good for morale.’
Miss Hess began climbing up to the roadway, then paused. ‘Choosing a wreath can be a delicate matter when you’ve worked for many years with the deceased. A tricky balance between taste and cost, particularly if you didn’t like them, but I think I might be more generous this time.’
With that, she slipped away into the dusty darkness towards the faint and flickering glow.