Guy Adams - The Clown Service

‘Do you get back pain?’

The hooves continued towards them. No urgency, just a gentle, casual trot across the cement floor.

‘Let me guess: you’re a trained chiropractor too?’

‘Not sure I go along with chiropractic medicine, actually.’

‘I used to think that, but I went to a guy once – when I was having real back trouble – and he sorted me out a treat.’

‘I suppose there may be benefits as an art of physical manipulation. It’s the notion of “Innate Intelligence” I struggle with – the idea that manipulating the spine can cure your kidney troubles.’

‘I don’t know about all that. But I went in with back pain and I came out without it.’

‘Fair enough. I can be too much of a cynic sometimes.’

Toby and Shining looked at one another and Toby actually felt himself laugh. ‘You’re a mad old bastard, you know that?’

‘I do.’

The hooves circled them.

‘Ignore it,’ Shining insisted as Toby’s head twitched towards the noise. ‘It’s nothing to us. A passer-by. Beneath our attention.’

Toby nodded.

‘My sister,’ said Shining, ‘now she’s a great believer in alternative medicine. I once had to spend an hour having tea with her in Claridge’s with twenty acupuncture needles dangling from her face. The waiting staff ignored it completely of course, even though she kept getting bits of scone stuck on the tips.’

‘What’s your sister’s name?’

‘Have a guess.’

‘June?’

‘Two months out. She’s April.’

‘Your parents really didn’t like to think too hard about names, did they?’

‘Their minds were on other things. I’m lucky I wasn’t born a week later. September Shining – sounds like a Coldplay album.’

The hooves finished their circuit. The horse whinnied, the sound wet and raw.

‘Thank you for not suggesting I was too old to have heard of Coldplay,’ Shining continued. ‘My ears are still functioning perfectly.’

‘Not if they’re listening to Coldplay, they’re not.’

‘You prefer Beethoven, I suppose?’

‘Piss off.’

‘Sorry… Ludwig.’

‘You’re forgiven… September.’

‘So what music do you like?’

‘I don’t know… all sorts…’

‘Please tell me you’re not the sort of man who just listens to the radio and occasionally digs out his two CDs, one of James Bond themes and the other Queen’s Greatest Hits ?’

‘No. I like a lot of music. It’s just all a bit—’

The horse whinnied again, this time followed by the sound of something fleshy hitting the floor.

‘—strange. I like atmospheres. Weird sounds. A lot of movie soundtracks. Tom Waits… Love Tom Waits.’

‘“Innocent When You Dream” was always one of my favourites. Rather apt with people running through a graveyard.’

‘You know him then? Don’t suppose he’s one of your agents?’

‘Sadly not… he works out of Langley.’

The hooves began to retreat. Slow, reluctant, heading back towards the stairs.

‘It’s going,’ said Toby.

‘It is.’ The hooves began to ascend the stairs once more. ‘But don’t relax just yet.’

‘As if I would.’

There was a final, terrible cry from the horse and then the hooves galloped across the floor above and there was a loud crash as it departed their world.

Both men sagged against one another in relief.

‘And you think you haven’t got what it takes to survive in Section 37?’ said Shining. ‘I think you’re a natural.’

‘Why am I not finding that a comfort?’

‘The day you get comfortable with any of this would be the day you’d be in the most danger. I’ve been up to my neck in the impossible for fifty years and it still gives me the willies.’

‘What was that thing?’

‘Angel of Death – at least, an exceptionally clichéd manifestation of it.’

‘Angels? I have to believe in angels now?’

‘Just a name. Magic is all about personality and preconception. That trap was laid by a traditionalist – it was a pure dose of Dennis Wheatley.’

‘Who?’

‘A writer, prone to bursts of occult enthusiasm, extremely popular in the twentieth century. Doesn’t matter. My point is that magic tells you less about itself than about the user. The same force could appear in countless different ways, reflecting the tastes – the fears – of the person activating it.’

‘So we’re looking for an old gymkhana rider?’

‘Very funny.’

‘I was told Section 37 was where they put the clowns; I was just trying to fit in.’

‘The Clown Service? I rather like that…’

‘That’s because you have the thickest skin in intelligence. Are we safe now?’

Shining looked around. ‘I think so. Magic is also all about energy. You don’t waste it. What we experienced would almost certainly have been more than enough security to keep the casual intruder at bay.’

He stepped outside of the circle and motioned for Toby to do the same. ‘Mind the edges though; better to leave it intact in case we need it again.’

‘How does it work? The circle, I mean.’

‘For all that magic may seem chaotic, it’s bound very heavily by rules. Like any science. Accept that the horse and rider were manifestations, rather than literal things – the mask a certain force chose to wear. The mask I chose to face it with is the circle in the dust. It’s all about the principle. Old magic responds to old symbology. A spiritual firewall that the occult virus respects and does not cross.’

‘So it could have crossed it?’

‘Of course – it’s just a line in the dirt. But it never would. It’s an agreement. Rules must always be obeyed.’

‘If the occult is nothing but red tape, perhaps I have been trained in it after all. So is this the same warehouse you were monitoring all those years ago?’

‘The very same. Which is terribly interesting. I wouldn’t have expected it to have been preserved all this time.’ They quartered the large room, examining everything, Shining continuing to voice his thoughts. ‘Unless it was just never cleaned up? No. Someone would have had to come along and hide the place away… And they would have had to do that after I was last here… But who could have done that?’

‘Krishnin?’

Shining turned and looked at Toby. ‘Couldn’t be. Krishnin’s dead.’

‘Can you be sure?’

‘Pretty sure, seeing that I killed him.’

Toby had no idea how to respond to that. Even though Shining had admitted to having blood on his hands – who didn’t in this business? – Toby still couldn’t picture him as a killer.

‘I had no choice,’ Shining added, perhaps seeing the look on the young man’s face.

‘You don’t have to justify it.’

‘Not to you, perhaps.’

They moved towards the stairs.

‘You sure it’s safe to go up there now?’ Toby asked.

‘No,’ Shining admitted, ‘but there’s nothing down here.’

The old man smiled and led the way up the ancient steps. He stopped halfway and looked back at Toby who had yet to start climbing. ‘If you want to wait down there, I don’t mind.’

‘Not a chance. Just thought I’d hang back till you’d tested how rotten the wood is.’

‘If I die, you’re out of a job.’

‘You say that as if it would be a bad thing.’

Once Shining had reached the top floor, Toby followed. He weighed more and the wood creaked under every step.

The second floor was clearly empty. Light shone from the wide-open hatchway leading out to the ancient hoist. Several floorboards were missing, but Toby made his careful way over and looked out, gazing down on the street below. He watched a car make its ignorant way past them. A young couple wrestling with a map were clearly trying to find their way back to the tourist attractions. Toby paid careful attention as they drew up beneath him.