by Carl E. Mullin ©2020
“You look troubled, Sister.”
Sister Ziyatoestah was jarred back to the world by her associate’s words. She recovered and said, “Just thinking.”
“The world outside looks lovely. So many trees full of foliage, so full of little creatures. You should enjoy them some more.”
Ziya smiled a wan smile and adjusted her two inverted eagle feathers pinned to her hair, “You are right, Sister Loretta. Perhaps I have been focused too long on our mission.”
Loretta leaned across the tiny space separating them in their rocking covered carriage. “You have been distracted of late, Ziya. For days now. Perhaps this task is more than you could bear?”
She put her elbow onto the open window and watched the greenery rushing past as their driver drove his thorium battery-powered cab down the road to a remote village in Kent. The thought of this poor girl in distress… “No, I’m more than equal to our task, Sister. We have done this many times.”
“Well, yes. But you were calm and focused before. This time…,” she rested her hand on Ziya”s knee, “…something about this case disturbed you, love.”
“Just tired.”
“Well, then,” she sat back. “Yes, but do get more sleep. A rest seems advisable now.”
Ziya breathed deep. “Let’s review the case now.”
Loretta opened her case to withdraw two files. They flipped their copies to look over. Ziya tugged at a small snapshot that was clipped to her folder. It was a picture of a young girl. She was blond and happy with sparkling blue eyes. Her stomach tightened at the thought of what had happened to her. No, what might have happened to her. Could be anything natural. Loretta read out the file, “Name: Haylee Brownlow. Age ten. Father: Daryl. Mother: also Haylee. Good family. Highly thought of by their family and neighbors.”
“School?”
“Started normal at a public school. The records we obtained with the parents’ permission showed no trouble. No discipline problem. No personal problems with her schoolmates. Was termed ‘a happy and outgoing child who made friends easily’.”
“Medical history?”
“Was born normal with a good weight. There was no record of infection during the pregnancy. The mother acted with a proper manner with respect to hygiene. She had a good and normal medical record. Same with the father. Typical injuries for typical mortals.”
“Have the doctors subjected the child to a battery of tests?”
Loretta sighed. “We have been over this ten times already, Sister.”
“I know but we must be sure of the origins. What we do is very dangerous work. If it’s of natural causes, then we would have done a serious disservice to our Mistress and to our clients. The sooner we discover a true cause, like cancer or a brain tumor, the sooner we can apply a proper cure to her if that. We must be a credit to our Lady.”
“Yes, yes, you’re right, Ziya. We have to be certain that there is no other cause. It just seems to be beyond any doubt in my mind. The other Sisters concurred with me on this. But you are our best so I will abide by your wishes. The doctors have gathered the whole battery of tests with different specialists. No brain injury. No infection. Not even a tapeworm. No history of mental illness in the family. We have a family history of heart trouble and stomach cancer but the family tends to live long and healthy lives short of wars and crimes.”
“Now, for the more troublesome ills.”
“There’s no unnatural abuse, Sister. Of mind or heart or body.”
“You’re certain?”
“Sister Ziya, she visited three different doctors. I know a couple of them. They’re excellent healers in the high degrees of their respective orders under Asklepios and Eir and Atepomarus. They’re certain after a thorough research in this matter.”
Ziya grew quiet.
“Sister?”
“We shall see, Loretta.”
“Sister, this leaves unseen powers.”
“Yes.” She looked up. “We’re stopping.”
Loretta looked out the window. “We’re here.”
The sisters stepped out of their cab by the forlorn gates where a scrubby man in a topper awaited them. “Mr. Brasher?” Loretta asked.
“’ello, you two be the nuns I be expecting?” They nodded. “One of you, you don’t look English.”
“No, but she is one of us, sir,” Loretta answered. “We have business to attend to.”
“Well, then, I reckon that you’ve come to the right place then. Tell your driver to wait. We’ve got ourselves a bit of walk to do.”
After notifying their driver, they stepped through the decrepitude iron gates to enter the cemetery. As the investigator had promised, it was a bit of a walk. The grave steles slouched in many spots as the ground shifted over ages. Some suffered serious cracks and crumbles. The old have their legends fazed by years and weather. The grass yellowed in much of the overgrown land in the midsummer heat. Ziya looked around, “Seems to be abandoned.”
“Apt description, Sister,” the man said, not slowing down while stuffing his short pipe.
Ziya bent over to Loretta and whispered, “Is he reputable?”
“Quite. He has done a bit of work for our Order. He’s nasty and his odor reeked but his investigations are of good quality. He’s reliable. His work is dark, full of secrets best buried. But our work–”
“Yes, I understand, Sister. This needed done.”
“An unhappy place.”
“If he is to be anywhere, this would be the place.”
“Oi, that bloke’ll be here alright, Sisters,” Mr. Brasher answered over his shoulder. “A fine place for a right bastard.”
Loretta stiffened, “One should not speak ill of the dead, Mr. Brasher. Especially not here.”
“Sister, I’ve done my share. After looking up a load of rotting corpses I just don’t get afraid anymore, love. Maybe an evil eye will curse me but I figured I could reincarnate anytime anyway. So what’s to be afraid of, eh?”
“These are dangerous games you’re playing, sir.”
“We’re all going to be here one day, Sister. You’ll be joining your mistress soon enough.”
Loretta didn’t answer. She kept her silence walking along with Ziya. Soon they were over the hill and stopped.
At the bottom of the other side were two men of ill-repute shoving up a grave. A small marker was nearby. Ziya stood for a minute, staring at the grave. “Sister?” Loretta asked, uneasiness creeping into her voice. She didn’t answer. The disturbing images had vanished from her mind. She became focused, her movement business-like, like a trained witch-nun again. Her eyes burned with intensity onto the uncovered grave.
She crouched and closed her eyes with a deep breath as she touched the dry dirt. She willed herself to be still, her thoughts to be silent and to open herself to the world. It was time for her moon-governed nature to receive the divine energy that webbed the world. Time to receive the spirits of the trees, of the grass, of the sky. Time to open herself to the parliament of powers infusing this world. Her breaths slowed and grew deeper.
Loretta stood by as her anchor, ready to pull her out of trance should a need arise. She clapped her hands over her sacred key and started praying to her Mistress.
Ziya opened her eyes. “This is the place.” She glanced at the grave marker. “I’m sure of it.” She stood up and hiked up her skirt to climb down the hill. “Tell me what you know about this man.”
“Righty-o , luv.” he took out a little fat memo book from his dirty suit jacket. “The subject’s name: Radulf Hoggard. A postal man. From Folkestone, Kent. A widower early on. One son. Kept to himself. Didn’t even visit a pub much. Nice bloke, I’ll say. Shut himself up in his house mostly. After his son grew up, he left and never came back for a visit.”
Loretta faced him, “Not even for the Holytides?”
“Not even. Oh, he may have flown by now and then, but let’s just say that they’re not tight as thieves, luv.”
“Tell me more,” Ziya ordered as she pulled out her sacred knife and crouched over the disturbed grave. She hovered over the stone and closed her eyes.
Mr. Brasher looked at his memo book again and puffed his pipe, “Righty-o. He performed his duties, nothing more, nothing less. A non-entity really. His employment record’s dull. The only thing that marked him is his bibliophile. Brought quite a bit. You would think he only took that position just to receive his toys quicker. Then he shut himself up in that dingy house of his. Shite of a place.”
“How did he die?”
“Ah, now that’s an interesting part about this sorry bloke. He died alone in his bed. Had a bad heart for years. Nobody thought to miss him. Not the post office. Not that boy of his. Stunk the place up for months until a collection agent arrived to collect a bill due past six months. Gave him a decent burial here on those poor hills. No money but left a will of how his body was to be deposed of. His boy came for a minute and then went home. Just him and a priest and a digger. Didn’t even stop by the house. Now that’s telling us something about it doesn’t it, luv?”
Ziya didn’t answer as her eyes were closed, letting her knife guide her. Loretta watched but knew what her answer would be. “It is here,” Ziya said and opened her eyes. She looked down at the plain pine box. “Open it.”
The diggers squatted in silence. The lid cracked open and a foul smell escaped the box as the burly men fell backward. Ziya didn’t flinch. She stood up and looked at the body with keen eyes. She had seen many bodies heated and decomposed before, high on their temporary lofts of sticks in the wilds, on the land of her people. Death was just a part of life to a hunting tribe so different from the settled life of the island people she had chosen to be a part of. She glanced at the sunken and eyeless face. He seemed angry and spiteful, his mouth opened in a scoffing scream.
She jumped into the grave and crouched over the body, holding her knife over it. She focused her mind outward. The knife wandered. The mute men watched.
The knife stopped. Her eyes opened and looked down. She swallowed her bile as it was wrong to disturb the body but her duty required it. She patted the fraying tweed jacket here and there. Then she stopped.
A lump.
She folded out the flap of the jacket. The lump was sewn inside the jacket. She pointed her knife along the edge of the lining and cut a hole. Her fingers dug in. Her heart thumped hard. She had it. She pulled out a tiny bone, a skull of a toad.
She stood up over the body and looked over at Loretta, “Mr. Brasher’s right. We’ve found our toadman.” She breathed deep to quiet her thumping heart but it refused her will. She hoped she was not wrong. She looked down at the mocking mask of flesh that was the source of the girl’s illness.
“Now our work begins.”