* * *
Nightingale sat in the café opposite Mukulu Importers offices occasionally sipping at his third cup of coffee. A black BMW was parked in a small car park to the side of the office building. At 2.30 a tall, heavily built black man, sporting Rasta dreadlocks and dressed in a grey pinstripe suit emerged from the front door of the offices and moved towards the black BMW that from Susie Mtwetwe’s information Nightingale knew was Mr Mtwetwe’s vehicle. Nightingale rose quickly and moved smartly towards his silver Ford Focus hire car, it was 50 yards up the road.
As Nightingale got to his car the black BMW was pulling out from the car park and turned away from where he was parked. He jumped in, started the engine, belted up and pulled into the line of traffic heading in the direction the BMW had taken. Nightingale couldn’t see the BMW but the direction it had taken was in the rough direction of a business park where Nightingale knew from Susie Mtwetwe’s information that Mukulu Importers had a big warehouse. Nightingale decided to follow his instinct as he had lost sight of the car and he turned off at the sign for the business park.
At the entrance to the business park there was a map and he saw that Mukulu Importers was situated at the back in the right hand corner. Nightingale drove forward slowly and saw a small customer car park for another business that was obliquely situated to Mukulu Importers warehouse. He parked up and looked across and saw the black BMW parked with its rear to a loading bay. It was fifteen minutes later that Mr Mtwetwe came out of the loading bay doors followed by a forklift truck with a pallet on which were five white plastic drums. It was difficult to see from where he was but Nightingale thought he saw a black stencil silhouette on each of the white plastic drums.
The forklift driver unloaded the plastic drums into the boot of the BMW. Mr Mtwetwe then closed the boot and then appeared to chat earnestly with the forklift driver. Mr Mtwetwe then got into his BMW so Nightingale started his car in readiness to move off behind the BMW.
After half an hour of following the BMW it had turned off the motorway and it was now deep in the countryside of Kent and the roads were getting narrower. He had his Sat-nav on and he knew roughly where he was. As he came to the brow of a hill he caught glimpses of the BMW to the right moving along what appeared to be a lane boarded by hedgerows, it appeared to be heading towards an isolated modern barn.
Nightingale stopped on the crest of the hill and waited until the BMW stopped and he saw Mr Mtwetwe get out and unload the white plastic containers. Nightingale moved forward and parked in the splayed entrance to the lane. Nightingale got out of the car and began to move carefully up the lane.
As Nightingale moved closer to the barn he had a headache start up and get stronger with every step he took towards the barn. He also had a feeling of irrational fear that he tried to shake off. There was a sense of real evil in the air that also got worse with every step he took towards the barn but there was nothing visible. At the point where the lane opened up into a sort of courtyard in front of the barn, Nightingale suddenly felt very nauseous and he stepped to one side behind a bush and retched and retched until suddenly there was an explosion of bile and half digested coffee from his mouth. Nightingale went down on one knee holding the larger branches of the bush for support, closed his eyes, breathed deeply, very slowly in an effort to calm his pounding heart and head and regain his composure. After a few minutes he had calmed his pounding heart and he felt somewhat better but the severe headache persisted along with the feeling of evil and dread.
He became aware that it was deadly quiet, no sound, no birds chattering. The BMW was parked with its rear towards a small side door of the barn.
As he began to move towards the barn again the wind suddenly got up and it became very dark. There was a very large, dark, ominous cloud that had formed it was darkest and most menacing over the barn.
Nightingale realised the sudden manipulations of natural phenomenon were the works of black magic, which meant that Mr Mtwetwe must have started his ritual, whatever that might be. With this realisation Nightingale suddenly felt more confident and he moved swiftly to the door of the barn. He opened the door as quietly and gently as possible.
It was quite dark in the barn but up one end Nightingale could see the flickering light of candles burning. He closed the door and tried to move towards the flickering light of the candles but it felt as if he was trying to walk through treacle and as if an invisible force was pushing against him to prevent him from moving closer.
He was struggling to focus as the headache was more like a migraine but he managed a moment of clarity where he remembered reading about ‘mirroring’ in one of the ancient magic books in his father’s library. It was supposed to give spiritual protection to a person under spiritual attack. Nightingale visualised his body completed surrounded by outward facing mirrors, almost immediately his migraine headache and his feeling of dread disappeared and he felt lighter.
He began to move forward easily along the side of the barn. He had only gone a few steps when he saw a white, Victorian style bath with the light from the candles flickering over it. As he got halfway to the bath Nightingale came across the white plastic containers. They were empty and there was a sickly metallic smell coming from them with the aid of the light from the distant candles he could just make out smears and droplets of a dark liquid up the sides and in the bottom of the containers. When he bent down and looked closer at the silhouettes he had seen earlier on the containers he saw an elephant, lion, buffalo, rhino and leopard. He remembered the documentary of those animals being exsanguinated. It was all beginning to fit together, it must have been blood from the various animals in the containers and Mr Mtwetwe must be having a bath in blood.
The severe headache was returning. He had lost focus so he revisualised the mirrors and moved towards the bath. Suddenly there was an eruption from the bath and Nightingale saw the head of Mr Mtwetwe rise up, blood dripping from his dreadlocks. Luckily he was facing the other way from where Nightingale was. Mr Mtwetwe breathed deeply for a few seconds then disappeared back into the bloodbath. Nightingale moved forward quickly and as he got closer he saw a chalk pentagram in the flickering light of the candles, which were situated in the points surrounding the bath.
As Nightingale got closer the metallic smell of the blood became overpowering. He could feel his stomach starting to heave. He held his breath. He knew what he had to do; remove the protection of the pentagram and candles. He rubbed out the chalks marks on his side and snuffed out the two nearest candles. Immediately there was a large flash of lightening followed by a loud crack of deafening thunder. Yellow whorls of sulphurous smelling smoke billowed all around. As Nightingale stood up he saw that the blood was bubbling as if boiling. He saw two indistinct, shadowy, ethereal forms either side of the bath with what appeared to be arms in the bloodbath.
Mr Mtwetwe’s arms and legs began thrashing about wildly and bubbles appeared where his head would be. The bubbles stopped and his arms and legs twitched gently as the life drained from him.
Just as quickly as it all started it was all over and it was very quiet and calm and the sun shone through the translucent panels in the roof. The change was dramatic and Nightingale found it hard to believe what he had just experienced. He breathed deeply, relieved it was all over.
As he turned to walk away he was startled to see Proserpine in front of him.
‘Well done Jack, your favour is paid,’ she said. ‘You have rebalanced the powers on Earth and in Nowhen. The situation on Earth will take time to come back but Bombata has lost his biggest power source and is much less of a threat. You found the source and broke the protection which allowed us to intervene.’
‘That is all well and good,’ Nightingale said. ‘But I’m puzzled. You are a devil, a demon, you don’t do things that are good.’
‘As I told you before Jack I can appear however I need to. I am not who you think I am.
Before Nightingale could ask who or what she really was Proserpine and her c
ollie had gone.
Robert Waterman was born in Ipswich, Suffolk, grew up in Rhodesia and Zambia. He worked as a labourer on building site, worked as an apprentice bricklayer, and studied HND in building construction. He was a Kent police officer and was on duty during Deal floods and was in police life saving team. He worked for Everest Double Glazing as a salesman, as a ticket collector for P&O, and as a loading supervisor. He has completed a counselling course and recently did a psychology degree with the OU. He was Southern Area Zambian breaststroke champion swum for Bexhill swimming club and taught swimming. He rowed for Bexhill rowing club got his novice status and rowed in junior and junior/senior crews in one day.
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