Stuart Pawson - Some By Fire

Kingston was leaning on the boot of the BMW when I swung into the car park. "Hello, Charlie," he greeted me. "Glad you could make it."

"Where's Francesca?" I asked without ceremony.

"Oh, she decided not to come. She doesn't like me wandering about on my own, but as soon as I told her I'd be in your capable hands she said she'd prefer to have an early night. We're having a dinner party tomorrow, so it will be a busy day for her."

"Right," I said. "Just the two of us." I poured a coffee and sipped it.

"I'm not bothering with a 'sack," Kingston said. "The weather is settled. Just stick a Mars bar or something in your pocket."

"Good idea," I told him. "I always feel that we carry too much anyway."

"Excess baggage, Charlie, in more ways than one. Travel light, like a warrior; free, fluid and unpredictable."

"Let's go," I said. I wasn't in the mood for philosophical discussions.

It's a two-mile walk-in, then you have to decide which path to take.

Normal practice is to go up one and down the other. Common sense said up Swirral and down Striding Edge, when dawn would be breaking, but at the fork Kingston veered to the left.

"Striding Edge?" I said. "Is that wise?"

"We'll be OK," he assured me. I wasn't convinced. He walked fast, and I was stumbling along behind him, blindly placing my feet in black patches that might have been potholes or shadows, for all I could see.

That's when I started worrying. Kingston was lots of things that I despised, but he could withstand cold and fire and was probably convinced that he had supernatural gifts. Some murderers, the real nutters, believe that when they kill someone their own life is enriched, their powers are enhanced. They are endowed with all the qualities of the victim. Like I said, I started worrying.

I'd intended staying behind him, but didn't have any choice. He clambered on to the rocks at the start of the Edge and waited for me.

"OK?" he asked as I caught up with him.

"Just puffing a bit," I said. "You set a brisk pace."

"This bit's slow going; you'll soon get your breath back."

He could see in the dark. He was soon fifty yards ahead, striding from boulder to boulder with all the confidence of a mountain goat. I measured each step, feeling for solid ground before I transferred my weight, and fell still further behind. When it came to walking, I was out of my class. If I fell it wouldn't be far, it's too rough for that, but on these rocks eight feet could kill you, no problem. This was for crazies.

I made it to the end. The last bit is the worst; a ten-foot step, with a narrow foothold halfway down. He was waiting for me. I sat on my backside and groped for the ledge with my feet. He extended his hand and I took it, gripping it in a butcher's hold. I stepped off, landed on firm ground and said: "Cheers." He turned and started on the final climb to the top.

It was just a steep slog from then on, levelling off as we reached the summit plateau. The sky was hazy, with no stars visible. A breeze blew from the north, and as it came over the brow it condensed into clouds above us. I wondered if he'd been lying about the forecast, and the moon.

He slowed and I caught up, but stayed about three yards behind him.

There's a cairn marking the top, and a wall to give some shelter.

Kingston moved to his right, approaching the wall in a curve, which struck me as curious.

Our feet crunched and scraped on the ground, and although we didn't speak our progress was noisy. When we were ten yards from the wall a figure rose and stepped out into the open. He was tall and gangly, and a rucksack hung from his hand.

"Hello, DJ," I said. "Come to watch the moonrise with us?"

He reached into the bag and produced what looked like two short walking sticks. They were bent at one end, sharpened into chisel points and wrought from steel. In the tool catalogues they are called wrecking bars, but they are universally known as jemmies. Kingston reached out and DJ handed one to him, bent end first so it would be difficult to pull it from his grasp. They're a formidable weapon. One blow and I'd be down. It didn't have to be the head. An arm, shoulder, knee or foot, it was all the same. They separated, shepherding me towards the slope that went on and on, all the way down to Red Tarn.

"You won't be watching the moonrise, Priest," Kingston said.

I walked backwards, glancing from one to the other. The breeze was on my right cheek, flapping the collar of my jacket against my ear. "This is a surprise," I shouted above it. They didn't answer, just moved towards me in slow steps.

"So how did you two meet?" I tried. The book says keep them talking.

It wasn't a bestseller. "It's a reasonable question," I argued. "How did you meet?"

"You wouldn't understand," Kingston replied.

"Try me."

"DJ found me."

"Found you?"

"Yes. Something brought him to Lancaster and I saw his name on the list of the new students."

"What were you doing?" I demanded. "Trawling for likely candidates you could corrupt?" The slope was growing steeper and I was aware of a big black nothingness behind me.

"I said you wouldn't understand."

"A coincidence," I said. "You were looking for girls with fancy names and you came across Duncan Roberts. It rang a bell, so you looked him up. That's it, isn't it?"

"There are no coincidences in this life, Priest. We make our own destinies. Fate brought DJ to me because he understands that there is more to our lives than the average person can see. He was looking for something, a way to take control. Like I said, he found me."

I turned to DJ. "Hear that?" I yelled at him. "You're listening to the words of a madman; a raving lunatic' DJ raised the jemmy. The slope was so steep I had to twist my feet sideways to stand up. "His half-baked ideas killed your uncle, DJ," I went on. "He hooked him somehow, sex and alcohol at a guess, then used him to do his dirty work. What's he supplying you with, DJ? Coke?

Heroin, and a nice bit of stuff that's thrown herself at you? She wasn't called Danielle, was she? Sex, drugs and promises of wealth and power. Is that it?"

"Danielle?" DJ said. "He knows Danielle?"

"Don't listen to him," Kingston argued. "He's a cop. He's been spying on you."

"Danielle's vanished," I shouted. "She worked for Kingston and we think he's killed her, like he killed your uncle."

"I never met DJ's uncle," Kingston shouted.

"Your girlfriend did. Melissa. She picked him out as a likely candidate, and between you you destroyed him."

"He's lying, DJ," Kingston protested. "Duncan was a good person. He'd have been all right if they hadn't hounded him to his death, always keeping him down, moving him on, never giving him a chance. The pigs killed your uncle, DJ. He killed him. We're doing this for him.

Remember that."

I couldn't go any further and the wind was still on the side of my face. Duncan was holding the jemmy by the bent end, resting it on the palm of his other hand. I took a side-step up the hill towards him, and he raised his arm.

Maybe I could afford to take one blow. I felt in my pocket for the CS canister and turned it in my fingers, groping for the flat side of the button. If I whipped it out and pressed, and it squirted up my sleeve, I'd be in big trouble. DJ hesitated, the jemmy still aloft, ready to strike. Kingston, to my left, kept coming nearer and lower, slowly moving downwind, where I wanted him.

I pulled the aerosol from my pocket, took four quick steps towards DJ and ducked. I heard the jemmy hiss through the air and felt it thud into my back as I let fly at Kingston with the CS. He screamed and clutched his face, his weapon falling to the ground. DJ had swung himself off-balance and he stumbled to his knees, dropping the jemmy as he scrabbled to stop himself going over the edge. I'd fallen too, but was facing uphill and was soon back up. DJ recovered but he saw Kingston's agony, didn't understand what had happened and jumped away from me. I pointed the CS at him but he was upwind and I'd have got the lot if I'd pressed the button. The threat was enough and he turned and fled. I chased him for about thirty yards, but the gradient and the years were against me. He vanished, crashing and stumbling, into the darkness. I walked back to Kingston and picked up both jemmies, holding them around the middle.