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Episode 32 PART 1

The ride back to the village was a reasonably quiet affair with only the odd comment about the countryside offered as conversation.   Three of the car’s four occupants were content to reside in the quietness of their own world for the moment, preferring to individually ponder the day’s offerings … and how to deal with Mary’s arrival.   Mary, the fourth occupant, reserved her thoughts to other matters such as ensuring her plan to get close to the group, and Joseph in particular, would take effect without a hitch.   But now she had met Rosetta, had come face to face with her biggest hurdle, Mary was quickly coming to the realisation her task for Johann P Biggs would be a tad more difficult than first envisioned.   Mary unintentionally released a sigh of frustration, immediately regretting her action, and silently began praying that it had not been heard by her companions.

********

Some time later, as they arrived outside ‘The Rat and the Mouse’, Martin thanked Mary for the lift saying he was going to check on his car, suggesting to Joseph and Rosetta that they should go ahead and book in, advising them he would pick up the key for his room from reception when he returned.  

   As Martin went about his mission, Mary accompanied Joseph and Rosetta to the desk explaining that she too had to register before attending an appointment later that afternoon.

   “You are most fortunate that there are four rooms still available.”  The hotel manager commented as he booked the trio in,   “The hotel is normally full by this time of day on a Friday … however it is turning into a fairly quiet weekend at the moment.   The crowds come here nearly every weekend of the year, even Christmas, but today… on this particular holiday weekend, I would have expected some to arrive … I mean, after all …”

   Even though his unfinished sentence appeared to invite, if not provoke, a continuation of conversation regarding the missing guests, his current guests weren’t in the right frame of mind to make further inquiries.   Mary was a bit reserved about the manager’s statement ringing true, but it tied in with what Frank had told her earlier, so she accepted it and turned her thoughts to more important things.   For Rosetta and Joseph, however, there didn’t seem much reason for hordes of tourists to flock to Trenthamville as far as they knew, and even if there was, it would not be connected with their reason to be in the village.   Still, they were polite, and kept their thoughts to themselves.

   “Still,” the manager added, speaking to nobody in particular as he handed out the keys, “things could change before the night is over.”

   Mary accepted her key, excused herself and went straight to her room.  Joseph advised the manager that Martin would be along momentarily to collect his key, asked directions to the bar, then requested the manager to advise Martin of their whereabouts when he arrived.  

********

   Several seconds later Joseph and Rosetta entered the bar area which was almost empty with the exception of an elderly man who looked somewhere in his eighties, and a younger woman, possibly around the same age as Mary, or just slightly younger, who shared a booth. 

   Joseph went directly to the bar where he ordered drinks, including one for Martin, before settling down opposite Rosetta in a slightly oversized u-shaped leather lounge a few tables down from the hotel’s other occupants.

   “It is so nice in here,”   Rosetta commented as she looked around the room admiring the decor:  The huge open fireplace – unlit, but still managing to emit a warm welcome to the weary occupants of the room had her admiration.   The long solid oak bar that ran along almost the length of the wall totally took Rosetta’s breath away, though she was a little uncertain about the reason for the two suits of armour that guarded the exits; nor was she familiar with the various coats of arms and traditional bric-a-brac that adorned the walls at various points.  “This is the first time I have been in an English country inn.   It is charming … though I really don’t understand what any of the decorations mean.    I am afraid English history was not one of the subjects I took at school.”

   Joseph smiled at his companion’s child like appreciation of her current environment,   ‘So different,’ he thought to himself, ‘so different in her sense of joy to something new; to something outside of her daily life in the exclusive lifestyle of the super rich.   It was nice’, he thought, and he felt a lot more comfortable in her presence than he had when they first met. 

   At the time he had been smitten with her looks and sexuality, but he had also felt a sense of inequality, being out of his league, and hadn’t expected the conversation to go the distance – far less turn out the way it had.   Joseph had felt pleasantly surprised by her acceptance of him being her equal to talk to from the beginning.   In his heart he knew it could easily have been as a result of the mix up, her accepting him as being who she thought him to be, not who he really was.  But he still had the feeling that she had accepted something in him, in his real self, that made her feel safe, content, in his company.   Somebody she liked from the first contact, and he began to think that may have been the real reason for him taking the risk that he had in agreeing to come to the farm with her.   Not the strange, weird thoughts that were more than occasionally running through his mind telling him that it was all meant to be.  That he was something special.

   “It represents local history.”  Joseph replied,   “Some Squire or Lord of the Manor from many years past … someone who once ruled over the entire county.   I am afraid I have no idea of their backgrounds.   We could ask the bartender when he brings the drinks if you so wish?   He’s on his way over right now.”

   Rosetta smiled happily at his suggestion, but shook her head to decline the offer.   “Thank you, Joseph, but no.   I can enjoy the charm of the room and still remain ignorant to its meanings.    The same as I am happy to be in your company … to be with you … without knowing every detail of your life before I met you.”   She replied softly, her face expressing a smile of unequivocal happiness as she picked up her drink and added.  “And I am extremely happy to be in your company, Joseph … now, here in the present.   Salute!”

   Joseph, was lost for both words and understanding, but quickly followed suit and picked up his drink as they clinked glasses.   “Salute!”   He replied.

   “Are we winning the game, Joseph?   Are we making any progress in our quest?”   The smile on Rosetta’s face had suddenly disappeared.   Her face now took on an ashen appearance as her mind unexpectedly conjured up images of her comatose father: the reason for their being together.

   “I think that we are still on the starting block.”  Joseph replied in a sombre tone, appreciating the change of subject, and empathetic with the reason behind Rosetta’s change of mood.  “However, it has been a rather exhilarating day,”  he added with a wry smile in an attempt to lighten the darkness that was threatening to envelope the room, “Complete with spiders, stolen cars and strange men lurking in the barn … could have been something straight out of an Indiana Jones movie.”

   A slight smile began to appear on Rosetta’s face.   Joseph hoped he could think quickly enough to find the right words to permanently drag her back into the happier state she had been in only seconds earlier, but his attempts were interrupted before he got the chance.

   “Ah!  There you are.  I’ve been searching everywhere for you two.”   Martin’s voice suddenly boomed out as he approached the table … the volume of his voice removing all thoughts of her father’s condition from Rosetta’s mind for the moment.

   “I didn’t think this hotel was that big that you would have trouble finding us, Martin,” Joseph replied in an unusually caustic tone as he passed his drink to him, “Perhaps you were too pre-occuppied thinking about your date with Mary tomorrow.”

   “Sorry about that thing with Mary earlier, old chap.”Martin replied sheepishly,   “Her sudden appearance sort of threw me off kilter, and I didn’t want to make her suspicious of the real reason why we were at the farm.  Got a little carried away, I think.  Perhaps I could have been a bit subtler in my actions.   Do you think that I might have done any damage to our investigation?”

   “No.  She was just an obstacle that we had to overcome.”  Joseph replied, “I am sure there will be many more before we are finished.   I know we ought to have some authority to be on the property seeing that Rosetta’s father was renting it, however if somebody had seen us at the farm they may have called the police … and telling them that we are searching for a life sized gold and jewel laden statue in order to do a drug deal with some devil worshippers may not look too good.   And if we found it in their presence, I don’t think we would be allowed to simply ring up the Punjani to come and collect it.

   I would presume there would be all sorts of government departments going mental should the authorities learn what we were up to at the farm, and we would suddenly find ourselves in custody and undergoing a thorough investigation.   Despite his standing in the archaeological world, and perhaps with the Italian authorities, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that the statue wasn’t residing legally in Trenthamville, though it may be at a diplomatic level … however if there was any kind of safety-net on offer, it would only apply to your father, Rosetta, not us. 

   And that, I would also assume, would result in us having little or no chance of obtaining the cure from the Punjani.   No, it is far better not to have let anyone know the real reason why we are going back to the farm, and that must include Mary.   We are just simply going to collect Rosetta’s father’s belongings should we need to explain ourselves, and let Mary appear to be the one that is there in a legal capacity.  If one of us can keep her busy, the other two can easily check out the barn between us.”

   “And Mary … can she be trusted to not ask too many awkward questions?   Or not to, what do you English say … dob us in if she becomes suspicious of our reason to be in the barn?”  Rosetta asked in a tone Joseph felt was verging on the borderline of trouble, but he had no idea why she was still hinting at her displeasure of Mary’s arrival.

   “Mary will be fine.”   Joseph replied with no hint of emotion,   “She, after all, has permission to be there, so we can keep under her cover for unrestricted access around the farm, as well as your claim on your father’s effects.   And, your father has items in the barn for us to , however, is that we may be being watched by someone besides our mystery man.   it could tie in just wanted to see what we were up to.   Could be a local, or somebody completely off our radar, but we must make sure that they have no idea what we are really up to.   My mind boggles at local reaction to a six foot tall, solid gold, ruby and diamond encrusted, statue suddenly being dug up from its hiding place.   There would be total pandemonium from the locals, eventually the press … and, of course, the authorities … which would take us back to square one as far as the antidote is concerned.”

   “You are perfectly right, Joseph,”   Martin agreed,   “We will have to be extremely careful and suspicious of everybody we come into contact with.   At least we won’t have to worry about the real estate agents suddenly turning up because they are in London.   I checked that out before we left and I felt fairly certain that we wouldn’t encounter any problems at the time.

   “You checked out the rental agency, Martin, why?”   Joseph asked in surprise.

    “Just routine … I wanted to know what we were going to be dealing with when we arrived, make sure that nobody in the village with a vested interest in the farm would be snooping around as we searched.   I’m glad that I did check, though.   I didn’t think there is a constant demand for places such as this, but seeing as how Mary is down here to see the farm, well, you never know … somebody else may turn up.   And I think we were fortunate that it was a friend of one of us, rather than having to wheedle our way around a stranger.

   “Well done, you.”   Joseph said with admiration in his voice which chuffed Martin no end.

   “Did it not seem a bit suspicious that she never mentioned the fire in the room … just referred to it as a mess.  I would have thought that it would have freaked her out, yet she casually dismissed it.”   Rosetta unexpectedly interjected, her tone acidic.

   Joseph looked at Rosetta with sheer frustration.   It was obvious that Rosetta still bore resentment to Mary’s unexpected arrival, but he had no idea what to say, or how to calm her down.   And he knew that would become a crucial necessity before they went back to the farm.   If Rosetta continued with her one-way feud, Mary was certain to become suspicious of what was going on, and that could lead to all sorts of problems, the least of which was his exposure as a fraud.   Fortunately for him, however, Martin had an answer.   

   “Actually, she did,” Martin chimed in, his voice light and chirpy, “when I took her for the tour.   I told her that we assumed vandals had broken into the house when Rosetta’s father was admitted into hospital and had poured some slow burning chemical on the carpet … and that the burning embers were perfectly safe … just a little hard to stop the smell, but it would put itself out in a day or so.

   “Do you think she believed you?”   A slightly more subdued Rosetta asked.

   “I think so.  She had no reason to disbelieve me.  She didn’t seem concerned by my little story – simply shook her head in agreement and changed the subject.   So now, Joseph, my dear friend,” Martin replied “what do we do now?”

   Joseph sipped on his drink, as if in deep thought … and silence momentarily ruled the room.  Suddenly, he placed his drink back on the table then leaned back into the seat.  “If we don’t see Mary before we are ready to leave in the morning we will simply leave a message with reception to tell her that we have already left, and go off to the farm without her.   That way we can begin our check of the barn as soon as we get there.   When she gets there we will simply say that we needed to get there early so we could do a thorough check of the barn to see if we may need to go back to the village to hire a trailer.   After all I assume that we will have to take everything back to London, and god knows what he has there.   But if we do find the statue we will try and make arrangements for the Punjani to collect it from the farm, otherwise we will need a trailer if we have to cart it back to London, or wherever they want the exchange to take place.   By the way, how did you go with the car … I presume we have got a vehicle for tomorrow?”

   “It was at the garage, and now it is parked in the totally un-secure, badly lit car-park at the back of the Rat and the Mouse.

   “Well, that’s good news.  I hope you remembered to lock it this time.”   Joseph received a contemptuous look from Martin as he continued with his plan.   “Rosetta, most of the items in the house, and quite a few in the barn, actually belong to your father and uncle.   So we are doing nothing illegal, except for being there without the permission of the owner, or their agent, and if Mary is looking at buying the farm, she obviously has permission to be there.   If we are with her, then we have the perfect cover, but I would prefer us to have as much time as we can by ourselves when we do the search in the barn.   Especially because we are looking for something possibly hidden which will make our search harder.   In other words the earlier that we leave, the more time we will have before Mary arrives.

   “And who exactly, is going to accompany her around the farm?”  Rosetta asked with fire in her eyes.

   Sensing the wrath of the world was about to come down upon his innocent head, Joseph quickly indicated that perhaps Martin should.  “After all, rightly or wrongly, he has indicated an interest in her, and her suspicion may be aroused if he suddenly drops that line.” He pointed out.

   Martin, eager to atone for his earlier discrepancy quickly agreed.

   “That’s good,” Rosetta stated as she settled back into her drink.

   “Now, did anybody come across anything of importance in the farm-house that we haven’t yet discussed?”  Joseph asked, “Personally, I made little sense out of the equipment and things that I found in the professor’s trunk.  Except for this diary, and I can’t even read it.  Rosetta seems to think it be written in Italian, but it looks all Greek to me.”

   Martin and Rosetta were bemused by Joseph’s phrasing, but he chose to ignore the smirks on their faces.  “The important thing about it is that there are references to symbols in it that are similar to, both what was drawn on the hallway at the farm, and those on the pendant that I found.”

   “Oh, that reminds me,” Rosetta chipped in excitedly as she reached into the fob pocket on her jacket and extracted the small, shiny ring she had found in the spoon.  “I found this in the kitchen drawer, it had been taped to a spoon and the spoon had been turned upside down.   I discovered it just before that face appeared at the window and I had forgotten all about it in the excitement.”

   “And lucky that you didn’t lose it again in all that flour you spilt.”   Martin exclaimed as he remembered what he had fallen into after Mary crashed through the door, automatically beginning to brush at imaginary white spots on his suit.  He was only now beginning to realise just how strange he would have looked if there hadn’t have been a decent clothes brush on one of the dressers in the house.

   Joseph had pulled out the diary while they were talking and rummaged through the pages until he found the matching image and handed the book to Rosetta with the page open to a crude drawing of the ring.  “I thought that I had seen it earlier.   Can you interpret?”

   “Can an Italian eat spaghetti?”  she laughed.

   Rosetta studied the page for a minute saying her Italian was fine, but her father’s writing left a lot to be desired.   Finally, after some time, she decided she had deciphered enough of his scribbling to make some sense of it.

   “It says that the wearer of this ring was a high priest in a province I couldn’t decipher, or at least I think that was the words he scribbled.   To be honest, I could be wrong – perhaps he wasn’t a priest, but that is the way that I read it.   I am afraid that my father’s writing borders on atrocious at times.   However, regardless of where he was from, they had found the ring lying on the ground near the door to the barn several days earlier than that of the diary entry.   It had taken him several days to determine its origin, and he had absolutely no idea how it got there.   He was worried it may have been dropped by an intruder, though there were no signs on the lock to indicate anybody had tried to break in to the barn.   However, this will interest you both … the house was broken into.   Nothing had been stolen, but there were strange paintings all along the walls in the dining area.

   “So now we know how the paintings got there, but we still have no idea who put them there, what they mean, or why they were put there.   Before you go on, let me see that ring for a minute please,” Martin requested.  

   Rosetta, who was sitting directly opposite Martin, unfortunately reached over the table to give him the ring just as the waiter arrived with fresh drinks, his tray accidentally knocking the ring out of her hand and it skidded along the floor until it stopped at the foot of the elderly gentleman sitting at the table two rows up.

   The old gentleman reached down and picked up the ring, giving it a very good inspection as he got up and walked over to the table where he placed it in Rosetta’s hand.

   “Thank you.”   Rosetta smiled her beautiful smile at the old man who couldn’t help but reciprocate.

   “If you don’t mind my asking, where did you get that ring?”   He asked.

   “I believe that it belonged to my father. We found it among some of his possessions at the farm he had been staying at.” Rosetta answered without thinking.

   “Forster farm?”   Your father was the professor from Italy that was staying there?

   “Yes. 

   “You people should be very careful out there.  It is an evil place.  Always has been … always will be.  Evil before the Forster’s built it, and will remain evil till it burns to the ground and the ground capsizes within itself.”

   “My God!   That is a powerful statement. Why do you think that it’s evil?”  Rosetta exclaimed in fright as his words gelled with what she had seen there.

   “Because it is cursed land.”   The old man replied without hesitation, “I know that it is not an easy thing to believe.  We no longer live in the dark ages you would say, but I have witnessed things in my life that an unbeliever would find incredulous, and many of those things took place at Forster’s farm.   And there have been forces at work around here in recent days that are of great concern.”

   Joseph took the initiative, introduced himself, Rosetta and Martin, and invited the old man to join them for a drink with them while he elaborated on his thoughts.

   The old man introduced himself as Laurie Wellington, thought about their suggestion for a split second, then motioned to the woman sitting at the booth to join them.

   “This is my niece, Malena,” he said, introducing the woman that had just joined him, before turning his full attention to Rosetta.  “Your father, I know that he was a professor, what was his trade … his occupation?   What did he do for a living?   What was he a professor of?” 

   “He was an archaeologist.”  Rosetta replied, her thoughts a little shell-shocked by the old man’s rapid fire questions, or perhaps more so by the hostility he seemed to display as he asked them.

   “Mummy’s … and all that sort of thing?”

   “Yes, that, and a whole lot more.  He looks for things from the past to learn how we got to where we are today.”

   “Is he into witchcraft?”

   “Good God, No!”   Rosetta declared vehemently.

   “Then why are those satanic images drawn all over the house?”  The old man snapped.

   “You have seen it?”   Joseph asked.

   “I know that it exits.”   Laurie replied without commitment.

   “We have no idea.”   Rosetta interjected, her tone reeking of her immediate dislike to the old man’s suggestion regarding her father’s activities.   “According to his diary he came home one day and found it there.  He indicated that somebody had broken in, and that he had no idea of what it all meant, or why it was done.   Are you satisfied now?  Would he have put that into his diary just so I would find it when he became ill, like he was blessed with physic powers … I don’t think so!”

    “When did they break in?”   Old Laurie demanded excitedly, ignoring both Rosetta’s barbs, and her feelings, “When did they break in … quickly?  What date?  It’s important.”

   “So is my father’s reputation.”   Rosetta stated quietly, in a tone so menacing that it momentarily snapped Old Laurie out of his fervent inquisition towards her father and the drawings at the farm.   “My father is sick as a result of something that happened in this village.   As far as I am concerned somebody in this village caused his illness; may soon be held responsible for his death, so why should I give private information to such a rude person as you?  You very well may have been the one that made him ill.”

    Old Laurie immediately pulled back and apologised profusely for his poorly thought-out line of questioning.   “I am so sorry, Rosetta.   I forget my manners at times.   I meant no offence.   I listen to too much gossip at times and it sometimes leads me astray from the truth.   Unfortunately that is often the only way that news of all sorts of things comes to my attention.   And when it comes to hearing things on the gossip mill it is often hard to determine whether the story is from an actual witness to the event … or somebody that was told the story by somebody who was told the story by somebody else’s third cousin down at the pub on a Friday night.   I am sorry about your father.   I never met him, but he appeared to be held in high respect by those that had.   With, of course, the exception of the person who had told me that there were all sorts of devil like things taking place in the farmhouse, and, quote, “Everybody thought it to be the professor that was responsible for what happened there.”   I took the story aboard because of the respect that I had for the story teller to not mix fact with assumption, however it seems in this case his accuracy is now in question.   Now I honestly do know what I have just put you through as a result of my misjudgement of my source, but I assure that I really do need to know which day it was that the break-in occurred.   There are things going on at the village at the moment that I can’t explain, and this could be one of them.

    Rosetta stared deep into the old man’s face and thought about his request.   The harsh, penetrating eyes that had bombarded her senses as they accompanied the viciously demanded request for instant answers from her a minute earlier were now gone.   Replaced by much softer, natural, light blue eyes that expressed a more apologetic and sensitive temperament.  Eventually she relented and opened the diary.   “It is dated the sixteenth of this month.”

   “That would make sense.”   Old Laurie said as a knowing smile began to cross his face, “Of course … it had to be that day.”

   “What do you mean?”   Rosetta asked, her subduing anger now evolving into curiosity.

   “The sixteenth was the night of the light.   Have you heard about the light … the long, long light that flew upwards towards the heavens to touch the stars in but a single beam … or about the night that the devils sung?”

   “No.”  Rosetta found herself becoming as entrapped in knowing more of the story that this old man was about to unveil, as quickly as Joseph had been in her tale of her father’s mysterious disappearance and subsequent illness.

   “Perhaps we should order a new round.”   Laurie suggested,”   This could take some time, and I can’t talk for too long on a dry throat.”   Drink orders were quickly taken and in the otherwise empty room the drinks were delivered in record time to the sole inhabited table.  Old Laurie raised his glass to his lips, took a small sip … then began his offerings to those that waited with bated breath.

   ‘He too had heard the chanting, and the screaming’, he told them, ‘however, unlike the others, the light had not blinded him.   It had been several years since Malena had been back to visit with him, and when they had finished their meal and were enjoying a nice wine, Malena had told him how much she had missed the clear air of the countryside at night.   And of the moon and stars that had been so lost to her in the city lights.   He had suggested that this would be the perfect night for her to revisit her lost memories.   He had dug his old binoculars out of mothballs, and then they had taken their drinks, a spare bottle of wine, and a couple of fold-up chairs outside to enjoy the splendour of the glittering diamonds that hung so brilliantly high in the sky on the pleasantly warm evening.

   The rising moon was bright against the country darkness as it filtered its way through the long branched trees that stood like huge scarecrows behind the farmhouse, and barely a whisper of a breeze could be felt as they made their way down the back yard towards the wooden palings that separated their house from the Forster farm.   Old Laurie’s house, he explained, was one of a dozen houses that stood side-by-side in a small lane that had the farm’s boundary line on the other side of their backyard fences.   The farm itself was about seven or eight hundred yards from where they were sitting if one walked in a straight line towards it, yet to gain access to it by road was a fifteen minute round journey.   He could never remember the actual distance, but as far as he was concerned both distances were too close for his liking.

   They had only been outside for barely a minute when they first heard the chanting, not yet even having had time to set up their chairs.   Softly at first, it was barely audible, but with the passing seconds the volume increased.   Old Laurie tried to work out where it was coming from when he noticed the lights that suddenly illuminated the farmhouse like a giant Christmas tree in London on Christmas Eve.   Too many lights for only two people, he had thought.   He trained his binoculars on to the house just as the screaming started.

   Malena had also screamed, her outcry not as loud as the combined sound of those wailing tormented mortals on the farm, but loud enough to catch Laurie’s attention as the chanting forced hidden and long forgotten memories to resurface from a deep and dark burial ground within her mind.   Something had happened to Malena many years ago,’ he told his captive audience, ‘something he was unwilling to talk about, but something, never-the-less, had been buried, in her memories, but perhaps, not buried deep enough.   He had turned in response to her reaction at exactly the precise second the light outside the barn had exploded upwards on its journey towards infinity.   All he witnessed was the flash that covered the sky above his head, and the spasmodic, mesmerising array of weird, distorted shadows that the light cast upon Malena, and the landscape around her.

   He held her tight for a moment or so while she calmed own.   When he had eventually turned back to look at the farm he had seen five men dressed in witches’ outfits running away from the farm … and he thought that he had seen another figure, one dressed in more conservative clothing, on the far side of the light running towards the barn.   The latter could have been just his eyes playing tricks on him, but the five witches were very distinguishable dressed in their white sheets and running around like wild chooks under the glow of that brilliant light.

   “You seem to be a bit familiar with witches, Laurie – to recognise them so easily – from such a long distance?”  Joseph commented without any tone of sarcasm.

   “I had my binoculars,’ Old Laurie reminded Joseph, but without any expression of malice or volume.   “I am not into witchcraft if that’s what you are thinking.   Believe me, in that light and their hooded sheets they stood out like Emperor penguins waltzing on snow in the Antarctic.    But there are some around here who are into that world.  Or were, I should say.  Most of them haven’t been seen since that night.   I would offer a guess that they conjured up more than they had bargained for, and it scared the pants off them.   We have always known who they are, and have been prepared for them, as were our parents, and their parents before them, should they suddenly prove themselves to more than just mischievous idiots.   They are just a bunch of would-be reincarnations of Merlin that read too much J.K. Rowlings and the like as far as we are concerned.   However, after that night …”   Old Laurie left his unfinished sentence hanging in the air as he reached down for the remainder of his drink which he swallowed in one gulp.

   “Do you have a theory about the night of the, what did you call it… the long light, Laurie?   Joseph asked in a serious tone.

   “You ask a lot of questions, young Man.”   Old Laurie replied with a twinkle in his eyes.”

   “I am very inquisitive.”   Joseph replied with a smile.

   “Well, seeing as how inquisitive you are the answer is, yes … I do have thoughts on what may have happened, but I wouldn’t spread it around if I was you.   But please remember, it is only my opinion, which is, to a huge degree, based on elements of fact that I am not willing to share at this moment.   You can conjecture up whatever you want in regards to that reply, but I am afraid that is all that I can offer at the moment in regards to how I have evaluated the question at hand.  And finally, before I give you my opinion, a word of advice to you should you decide to try and find more answers to the many questions I assume are beginning to form inside your collective heads.   You must be conservative in questioning the locals and not put thoughts in their heads.   They are already burning the midnight oil searching for both answers to what happened, and more rumours to spread … and it would not take much to set them off like wildfires.   And it is extremely doubtful that they will give you any more than imaginative answers based on what they would have liked to be the answer to the puzzle.

    Now, as to my opinion, you will need to have an even clearer view of what took place that night from both what I saw, and information that I later gathered from my neighbours who all witnessed the events.   The night was fraught with danger for not just those on the farm, but those living closest to the farm.   The light was just that, a light, but it extruded heat that reached my house and beyond, and that is over half a mile.   It was a terrible heat.   Some of my neighbours received burns to the skin that still haven’t healed – and they were the same distance away from the light as I was.   The majority of those watching had temporary blindness that lasted anywhere between thirty seconds and thirty minutes … some receiving other injuries as a result of their inability to see.   People fell, tripped, cut themselves and received various injuries, fortunately there were no serious injuries, but definitely some close calls.   It was just fortuitous that some of the younger ones regained the use of their eyes quickly and were able to administer help to the older, less fortunate family members and neighbours.   I believe only Malena and I escaped that misfortune.   Me, because I was facing the wrong way, and Malena had had her face buried in my chest.   God knows what damage it caused to the witches who bore the brunt of the heat and the extreme brilliance of the light that they were so close to.

   There were those from the village that ventured to the farm the following day, but all they found was a burnt tree which some of them swore had started burning in the middle of the trunk of the tree, and had been burning upwards and downwards at the same time … and a few dead, blackened, birds.   There was definitely no sign of witches, dead or alive.   There could have been somebody in the house or the barn, but nobody tried to enter them.   The villagers were only interested in the source of the light and were severely disappointed when they could find no trace of it.   Some reported what looked like a pool of drying blood on the ground near the tree, but others dismissed it as being paint or oil.    However, despite the lack of evidence, something had happened at the farm the previous night … there had been too many witnesses … too many people burnt … too many accidents caused by temporary blindness.   Something had happened that was not natural.   It was a terrible, ungodly night, the likes of which I hope never to see or hear again in my lifetime.  I think that the witches tried to perform some sort of ritual at the farm …and something went terribly wrong – which is why they have all disappeared.   It is my theory that somebody may very well have died up there that night … and eventually the remains will be discovered.   But whether it was a witch … or the person I saw running, I am uncertain.”

   “Uncle Vittorio.”    The words formed on Rosetta lips as a barely audible whisper, but they caught the attention of both Joseph, and Old Laurie who was about to ask her who she was referring to.    However, Joseph immediately recognised the danger in giving any information to these strangers until they knew them better and spoke loudly over Old Laurie causing him to stop talking mid-sentence.

   “Well, surely somebody would have reported anybody missing by now.”   Joseph insisted,   “Are the police investigating?”

   “That’s what I have been trying to tell you.   There are fifteen missing from the village.  And nobody knows anything – as you would expect!   Their wives and sweethearts think that they got drunk down at the pub that night and decided to go on a wild holiday in the big city because none of them had gone home for their dinner that night … so it must have been a spontaneous last minute decision.   They were prone to do things like that, they said.   Mind you, they are not happy with the situation – and one or two are dubious about just where they have gone, but most of them believe that’s they’re in London, and are just waiting to get their hands on them when they come back.  But I don’t think that they are ever coming back. 

  And, to your other question, the police believe the same thing as the wives think to be true, and are letting the men come back on their own terms whenever they are ready to front up to their other half.   No investigations.   Mind you, they were seen at the pub that evening, but they didn’t stay too long.   Said they had things to take care of, according to the publican.      

   He was the last one to see them, but he swears he has no idea what these things were, or where they were taking place.”

   “Was that here at the Rat and Mouse?”    Joseph asked.

   “No, William wouldn’t allow that crowd to take over his hotel.   It was the Barnaby Arms, a small Inn near the southbound exit to the motorway.   It’s more of a worker’s pub than The Rat and the Mouse.   It’s the ideal place for the witches to meet.   It’s a bit out of the way.   It only gets visitors on the weekend who were too slow to book in here, or at the more reputable B’n’Bs.   Mind you, most of the visitors still eat here.   The witches would be the main source of income for the innkeeper during the week.  So he would do right by them should the law come sniffing around.”

   “But you are sure that somebody died at the farm?”   Joseph asked in a soft, subdued voice

   “I can’t prove anything, and I don’t know that I actually want to.”   Old Laurie answered, and as he looked deep into Joseph’s eyes he realised that Joseph knew something, something that he didn’t, and it concerned him.  But he knew instinctively that he was not going to be made privy to whatever it was, because he was not yet trusted by the three strangers that sat opposite him.

   “Well, I am afraid that you must excuse me.”   Old Laurie unexpectedly exclaimed as he stood up,    “My guests have arrived.  It’s been a pleasure meeting the three of you.   We will most likely run into each other again.”

   The small group exchanged handshakes and Old Laurie began moving towards his guests when he suddenly turned in mid-stride, his face ending but inches from Joseph’s.   “Remember what I advised you.” he said in a soft, caring voice meant for Joseph’s ears only, “Be very wary if you have to go back to that farm again.  Evil still exists there.”   The old man then spun back around and continued on his journey towards his waiting guests.

   To the surprise of Joseph and his friends, the guests were none other than the garage attendant that had given them directions to the farm…and Mary.

   “Hello again,” Mary’s voice carried through the quietness of the almost empty room,   “I didn’t think that I would run into you three quite so soon.”

   Everybody offered greetings as Mary and Frank took their seats along with Malena and Old Laurie, though the words that accompanied Rosetta’s begrudging comment was inaudible to all but herself.   And as Frank was introducing Malena and Old Laurie to Mary, at the other occupied table Martin took the conversation back to where it had been prior to the unexpected interruption.

    “Rosetta may I see that ring again, please?   Without bowling it down the aisle this time if you don’t mind.”

   “Rosetta said nothing , but gave Martin a quick glare as she handed over the ring.   Martin immediately picked up the diary and began comparing the ring to the rough image that the professor had sketched.

   “Joseph, may I see the pendant, please.

   Upon receiving it he made a long, intricate study of all three items and subsequently pulled a magnifying glass out of his coat pocket and examined the ring and pendant in intricate detail.

   “Well, Sherlock Holmes?  What else do you carry on you?   You remind me of Doctor Who – he carries everything but the proverbial kitchen sink in his coat pockets.   Do you have a sonic screwdriver there as well?”

   “A few necessary things,” Martin replied.  “I used to be a boy scout.   Always prepared, you know.  Anyway, they certainly are the same as the drawing and… ,”  he paused for a more dramatic effect,  “they are made by the same person!”

   “How can you tell that, Sherlock?”    Rosetta asked in a slightly mocking tone.

   Martin grinned at Rosetta’s retaliatory offering as he handed Joseph both the pendant and the magnifying glass.

   “Look just at the base of the monkey’s tail.  Do you see the figures thirty six and the letters JJN on the pendant?”

   “Yes.”

   “Now look inside this ring.”

   “They are almost the same – except the number is different.   What does that prove?”

   “Look at the detail on either one of them. Feel them.  They are handcrafted.   Jewellers often leave their signature on the items that they make – the same as artists leave their signature or their name on a painting.  JJN is the signature of whoever crafted it, and the number is allocated to the individual receiving it. 

   Sometimes it is the sequence of items that they have created over a period of time, but usually it is related to a series of similar items made sequentially, like the ring and the pendant.”

   “You mean that there were thirty plus sets of these rings and pendants made with the monkey on it?  Does this mean that there were thirty plus Punjani?”   Joseph asked.

   “That I don’t know.    Rosetta, when you read the diary, did you read it exactly as it was written, or did you interpret it quickly?”

   “It was hard to read.   It was more like reading chicken scratchings, than words in a book.  I must really get him to learn to write better when he is well enough.   I am sure that he is smart enough to learn shorthand.”

    “Yes.   Right!   But in the meantime do you think that you could interpret those chicken scratchings a little bit more precisely, or is that too hard to do with green eyes?”  Martin’s grinning eyes looked towards the table where Mary was now sitting.

   “Pass me the diary.”   Rosetta growled and immediately began to leaf through the pages until she reached the page in question, studied it for a few seconds then leafed back a few pages and then back a few more, a motion she repeated several times until she seemed content with where she was and settled down to read it, making little notes on the side of her father’s writing.   She proceeded to examine it in close detail while Joseph and Martin patiently sipped on their drinks.   They were on their third round when Rosetta finally began reading it aloud.

   “It actually starts back here,” she indicated, as she flipped the pages back to the starting point, when a strange smile suddenly exploded on her face.   “But reading it from the diary is going to be difficult, and it will be hard to make sense of because it is so disjointed.   I think when he began he thought he would get the gist of the events on the one page … just  enough information to help jog his memory on the facts when the time came for him to do something with the information.   But when he started to write, it proved to be impossible and he started scrawling wherever he could find space – then gave up and started all over again.   So why don’t we try it the easy way.”

   “What do you mean, Rosetta?”    Joseph asked in curiosity.

    “There are some numbers and letters with an asterisk beside it.   I almost ignored them.   And although we didn’t find Daddy’s laptop, I think that it won’t matter.”

   “What are you talking about?”   Martin asked impatiently.

   “I think that daddy has put this down in a more legible way on his computer.”

   “But we didn’t find a computer.”   Joseph objected in frustration at Rosetta’s vagueness.

   “No, but I think he typed it and sent it to his sky accont.”

   “His what?”   Martin asked with a laugh, “I think that cloud is the word you are searching for.”

   Rosetta smiled.   “That is the word.   I think that he would have put it on his cloud account to keep it safe, yet handy.    I think that the numbers and letters are either the password, or the file.   Perhaps they are both.

   “So how are we going to go up in the clouds without a laptop?”   Joseph asked in his complete ignorance of the magical web of fact, lies and skulduggery, other than knowing he could view his star sign, or do some paperwork for his job on it.

   “With this.”   Rosetta replied as she ecstatically pulled out her phone.   A minute later, fresh drinks in hand all around, Rosetta began to read aloud the complete story as written by her father.

   “Somewhere in the nineteenth century, in an unnamed country somewhere in the Middle East, a priest had a vision from a god that called himself, ‘Rangor –The Punjanti, the god of darkness’,  or at least that is my father’s interpretation of the name.   This god persuaded the priest to abandon his beliefs and begin a new doctrine.   The priest was told that there were followers waiting for his leadership, and he was promised great wealth providing he followed the rules that he would be given.

   The priest was a weak and greedy man and accepted immediately.   Soon afterwards, he had one hundred loyal followers knocking at his door.   Several days later, their camels loaded to the hilt with supplies and necessities, they began the trek to a mountain littered with caves that was to be their headquarters and living accommodation from that day forth.

   The‘Punjani’, as they were to be called, were, to a man, murderers and thieves, and each already had a price on their head which meant, for their own safety, they would have been better off refusing to work in a large group where attention would have been brought upon them, but all were willing to follow Rangor’s instructions regardless of the consequences.

   Rangor, in their dreams, had recruited them all as he had the priest, and they had all been promised great wealth.   The fees that they received would be from the profits of thefts and murders that were to be directed by the priest, who in turn took his instructions directly from Rangor.   The Punjani were allowed to keep all of the plunder, to be equally divided by all members, with the exception of fifteen percent of whatever they stole.   Five percent went to the priest to ensure that there was always food on the table and other necessities that they needed to survive … and the rest towards building a statue of the Punjanti.   A statue that was to be the size of a man – made of pure gold – and encrusted in rubies and diamonds.  An expensive ego trip, perhaps, but Rangor had said it was to be built for a reason far greater than just worship … a reason that all of mankind would soon understand.

   For five years they got away with their hundreds of crimes, protected by the Punjanti both in the robberies, the murders, and in the place he had chosen for them to live … in the caves of a mountain where they had perfect cover from attack by government troops should the law of the land ever find their hideaway.    It had been a slow process: the robberies had been many, the Punjani were getting richer as the years rolled on, and inch by inch the statue was moving towards completion.

   Robberies, always protected by Rangor, had yielded many a ruby and diamond, but the majority of them had to be sold to cover the cost of payment to the Punjant – however the Punjanti seemed to care little about the time it took.   ‘There was a great plan in motion’, he had told the priest, ‘a great plan that encompassed not only the Earth, but the entire universe itself.’   But Rangor would not elaborate on the plan.

   The men of the Punjani clan had known it would take years to complete their task and they were ready for the challenge, for the longer it took, the richer they became.

   The men of Punjani were resilient and resourceful and they carefully planned for their long stay in the mountain where they resided … and its honeycomb litter of caves.   The holes in the wall of the mountain had varied in size and depth and it had taken them nearly a year to modify and extend them to suit their needs.

   By the start of the second year many had taken their wives and children to live with them, and the mountain had been converted to the lifestyle needs of its human tenants.

   Now their accommodation was as good as any modern day hotel in a large city, though without waiters or gourmet chefs.   But they lived well enough.   With the help of the Punjanti tunnels had been dug through the walls to convert miniscule openings into presidential suites.   They created storage rooms that housed enough food and water for them to survive for the first couple of years or more if it became necessary to isolate themselves from the world.   A large communal dining room had been set up for the single men, and those with families were always welcome to join them should they feels so inclined, while smaller rooms had been set up as planning rooms that were used just prior to attacks and robberies.

   Outside the confinement of the mountain, a communal farm had sprung up, tendered by the women and children, and the men when they were available, and it bore them the crops they needed to easily survive on a permanent basis, along with the fresh milk and meat from the goats they bred and herded.

   Ladders, carved steps and wooden doors gave the occupants easy access to the rooms beside, above and below them for every imaginable reason should they be needed.   However, there was a room; a special room; a room with only two entrances situated on a level within the mountain five levels higher than the closest living quarter, and only accessible via a specially constructed set of narrow staircases, each staircase starting and finishing on one of the five levels, but each staircase went upwards in a different direction to reduce the steepness of the climb,.   A heavily guarded, thick wooden door with seven locks which required seven different keys, each separately held in the possession of the priest, and six members of the sect that had been selected by Rangor himself, prevented any unauthorised entry.

   The only other access to this particular room was from the top of the mountain itself where a secret entrance had been tunnelled down from the top of the mountain.   Even then access seemed impossible as a tall wooden structure of no easily definable shape or reason for existence was the only clue to the fact that man had even climbed to its peak, never mind what lay below.   The rocky terrain had been carefully, magically, camouflaged with Rangor’s aid to prevent anybody noticing that the area just below the strange wooden structure could be moved with relevant ease by those in the know.   And when the cover was moved it exposed the steps leading down into the room, the work tools, and the rope and tackle used to convert the strange wooden thing to a winch for lifting the reason for the elaborate, complex room to the roof when it was complete … for therein, resplendent even in the dimness of the room, stood the almost complete statue of Rangor – the Punjanti.

Go to Episode 32 part 2