Caledonia Page 7

“Ghost orbs,” she said, “watching ghost plays? How can there be a ghost play?”

  “There are ghost versions of just about everything,” he said. “Many ghosts are in an existential loop, one aspect of their lives repeating again and again. The orbs are the happiest of spirits, because they inhabit a world of pleasant things. This theatre is also haunted by the excitement of opening night, the chance of spotting a celebrity, and the butterfly sensations just before actors take the stage. Many buildings and places are haunted primarily by an emotion, and the Panopticon is one of the buildings whose primary emotion is happiness.”

  “Wow,” said Leah, and meant it. She realised that for Dorian, a creature who could sense emotion and read thoughts, the emotion of things and places must be quite overwhelming. It would be calming to be in an environment like the Panopticon.

  “Unfortunately,” he said, “there are a few restless spirits here. I know about the gorilla but I don't know why it is misbehaving suddenly.”

  “Tell me about it,” said Leah. “One of the world's oldest surviving music halls must have plenty of stories.”

  “You know,” said Dorian, “that somewhere, all stories are true.”

  Leah raised an eyebrow.

  “And that all stories have power,” he added.

  “Stories have always held fascination for people worldwide,” she agreed. “But until I started working for Caledonia, I hadn't realised that stories had a literal power. What’s the story here?”

  “Years ago, the Panopticon housed a zoo,” said Dorian. “One of the creatures in it – a gorilla – is said to haunt the building.”

  “Is said to?” Leah repeated. “You mean you don't know?”

  Dorian shook his head.

  “We are familiar with many characters in the city,” he said. “But we do not know them all, nor do we necessarily have proof of their existence.”

  “But you said stories have power,” said Leah. “Doesn't that mean that it becomes true, whether or not it was real?”

  “It depends on the story.” said Dorian. “Ghosts, for example, have to have been living beings first. While storytelling can create monsters, not everything will come into being every time. So that means –”

  “If there is a gorilla here, it was a real animal once?” Leah asked.

  Dorian nodded.

  Suddenly, the dust motes began to dance excitedly. Leah and Dorian looked at each other.

  A roar like a freight train screamed into Leah's ear. They threw themselves out of the way as something invisible came barrelling through where they had been standing, leaving huge footprints on the dusty floor. Catching her breath, Leah stood up. She looked at the prints – large hands and feet.

  “So,” she paused. “Real, then?”

  “Yes,” said Dorian, and they moved aside quickly to avoid the second pass.

  “What do we do?” shouted Leah.

  “I don’t know, Miss Bishop!” he shouted back. “This is as far as I've ever gotten!”

  Leah rolled her eyes.

  “Oh, useless!” she said. “Can't you start a tornado or something?”

  “Weather does not exist indoors!” Dorian said.

  The roar sounded again. Leah suddenly remembered something she had read about gorillas. This time, she stood her ground.

  “Leah, no!” Dorian cried.

  She could feel the floor shaking beneath her feet as the gorilla charged. She shut her eyes against the upcoming collision, but she did not move. Dorian hid his face.

  There was silence, and the soft whuffling of an animal sniffing. Dorian raised his head in astonishment.

  Leah opened her eyes. She saw nothing but she could feel the hot breath and smell the menagerie-like scent of the gorilla. She felt a huge hand pat her head, and to her surprise, take something out of her pocket. She felt another cool, leathery hand gently unfold her fingers, so her hand was held out, palm upraised. A packet of tea dropped onto her open palm. Scottish Breakfast. Leah looked at the packet, and up toward the empty space where the gorilla's head would be. Dorian raised one perfect eyebrow.

  “I think,” she whispered, “that it wants me to make tea.”

  Dorian sat up.

  “What?” he asked.

  She showed him the packet. The gorilla whuffled again, waiting patiently.

  “I think I should make it tea,” she whispered. “Where is the kettle? Does the building have one?”

  “Yes,” said Dorian. “It's still in use, so...the kitchen?”

  “Which way?”

  “Over there.”

  Leah backed slowly out of the room and went into the kitchen. Dorian sat with the gorilla. It hadn't moved, but he could hear its steady breathing.

  Leah returned with a teacup and saucer.

  “How is it going to drink from that?!” Dorian hissed. “It's a gorilla.”

  It was too late. The gorilla had taken the cup and saucer from her. To their disbelief, they watched as the cup was lifted by something invisible, and the tea drained into nothingness.

  “Do you think its pinkie finger is out?” whispered Leah.

  “Ssshhh!” Dorian whispered back.

  The tea finished, the cup was set back into the saucer, and onto the floor. There was a rumbling noise of animal approval, and the presence faded. The theatre was filled once again with the dancing motes of dust and the light orbs that wheeled in a slow dance across the ceiling.

  “What was that about?” asked Dorian.

  “Well,” said Leah, “the gorilla was British, after all.”

  ***

  Upon reporting back to the station, Chief Ben nodded sagely.

  “We will have to appoint someone to go there on occasion and bring tea,” he said. “Eternity without tea would be unthinkable, and we would be guilty of abuse if we did not provide it.”

  Dorian nodded in agreement, as if this truth was self-evident. Leah looked at the two men and shook her head.

  “Looks like we're back to the paperwork,” sighed Dorian.

  “Seems that way,” Leah replied.

  ***

  After a few hours, they were both quite bored. Leah rubbed her eyes and looked over at her partner. She was ready to take a break.

  “So,” said Leah. “What is the story behind Cuchulainn? I was under the impression that it was Finn MacCool he fought. I went and looked it up but I couldn't find any mention of Benandonner and Cuchulainn in any of our folklore portals.”

  Dorian smiled.

  “I think it's best if the Chief tells you,” he said. “I wasn't there, of course, and the tale grows in the telling. Stories are dangerous.”

  Dorian disappeared behind the stacks and emerged a few minutes later. Grumbling, Chief Ben walked out and sat down with them.

  “Folklorists,” he said. “Always getting it wrong! The only story that has lasted is the story where I am a coward! There were many giants then.”

  “And ghost giants,” said Leah. “Or so I've heard.”

  “Yes,” he said. “There were many of us. Not everyone is still alive, of course, but some of them are still here, as ghosts, if they did not make it to the other side.”

  Leah sat down with her tea. Ben eyed the two of them.

  “You know, there is a lot of work to do,” he said. “That paperwork won't do itself.”

  “Oh, go on, Chief,” said Leah. “You can take a break. Besides, I am a folklorist. Maybe I can help you set the story straight.”

  “Unlikely,” he said. “As you're a police officer now, and you've only got my word for it. Even so. They were right about me and Finn MacCool. Not one of my proudest moments.”

  He studied the tall window on the opposite side of the room, filling the library with the greylight of Glasgow.

  “And the Causeway is still there, every day reminding me of my one act of cowardice,” he sighed. “I was much younger then, hotheaded. Stupid, really. How could I not have known that was Finn himself there, in the crib? He built the Causeway so I c
ould fight him, and then I was tricked by him and his wife, destroying the bridge between Antrim and Scotland as I ran back here in terror. How everyone laughed, when the truth came out.

  'I endeavoured to prove everyone wrong after that. Of course I heard the story had travelled throughout the Highlands, bringing great amusement to Fae and human alike. I wanted to show them that I was no coward and no fool. And what better way to do that than to fight the ultimate giant? Cuchulainn, the great hero of the Ulster cycle, as they call it today.

  'So, I travelled. I went beneath the sea, and I walked along the seabed, all the way to Skye. He had trained with the great warrior-woman, Scathach. Now there was a woman you did not want to meet! A lion's mane of red hair and blazing green eyes. She was more terrifying than any monster or creature before or since. Sadly, Scathach was a human, and has long since passed out of this world. Many times, the Fae still visit her grave to pay their respects.

  'The fame of Cuchulainn had reached the ears of every human and Fae in these islands by that time. I encountered him in the centre of Skye. We fought such a mighty battle! The earth shook, and burst beneath our tramping feet! The crash of our clubs, the slash of our swords! And then Cuchulainn missed, and his great sword sliced too deep into the earth. Water sprang up, blue like dreams. It rushed to fill in the cracks made by the weapon. I took him down, and his great body cracked the earth further. Near to drowning, Cuchulainn begged me to save him. I wanted the victory, and yet I reached out my hand. I lifted him up, and there our friendship was forged. Those waters were blessed then, and now. The curse of evil and the blessing of good. The two Fae states of being, together.

  'They say if you swim there, in the Fairy Pools of Skye, the Fae might steal your soul. And we might. But other tales are told, of healing and of magic. A meeting begun in war, ended in friendship. They are beautiful, the Fairy Pools, and treacherous, because the Fae created them. The humans that visit are captivated – but they also take their chances.”

  Leah was grinning from ear to ear.

  “That's magnificent!” she cried happily. “What a wonderful story!”

  Benandonner nodded, smiling himself.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “I might have joined the pantheon, with the other gods and giants. And yet, for some reason, this story did not reach the ears of everyone – but my act of cowardice with Finn MacCool did. Although I remained friends with Cuchulainn, this event passed from memory without even becoming myth.

  So, I began my life's work, with this branch of the Fae police. Here is where I plan to leave my legacy. A myth borne of hard work and dedication, a story that may never reach human ears. But all the Fae now know my name – associated with something other than an ancient tale of destruction and cowardice.”

  “If you would permit me to suggest something,” said Dorian politely, and Ben nodded. “Human ears have heard the tale now.”

  He gestured toward Leah, and Chief Ben leaned back in his chair, smiling. This seemed to have been all he had ever wanted, to be known as the hero he had become, rather than the foolish villain in faerie tales. Leah smiled.

  “I will be sure to start telling the story,” she assured her boss. The chief nodded a gruff thanks. Dorian looked at her with an indescribable expression.

  “Do that, Leah,” he said. “But always remember – stories are dangerous, and they can take on a life of their own.”

  Leah nodded, a bit perplexed.

  “You keep saying things like stories are dangerous,” she confronted him. “What do you mean?”

  Dorian favoured her with a half-smile.

  “You are inquisitive,” he said. “But of course you are, as a researcher.”

  He turned in his chair.

  “We – the supernaturals – we are the story,” he began. “You – humanity – you are the storytellers, the world-weavers. Not every story comes true, but those tales forged in pain and blood, those believed with the heart and soul, those legends become reality, somewhere.”

  Leah's eyes grew large.

  “You mean...” she said quietly. “Everything humans think of is real? Everything?”

  Dorian shook his head.

  “Not every thought that crosses your minds,” he replied. “Not everything you scribble absentmindedly on a page. Those stories which ignite and spread like wildfire, or those which are born of terrible suffering, become our reality. There is power in being the story: limitless magic, keys that fit locks leading to other worlds, secret green fairy rings and hollows in the hills, but in the end, the real power lies with the storyteller.”

  Dorian's voice changed. There was some undercurrent, dark and powerful. Leah sensed that there was a truth in it, threatening to pull her under.

  “Think on this, when you tell the tale. Think on this, when you discover a new passion, a new fear developing in the hearts and minds of man: all monsters had to come from somewhere,” said Dorian Grey.

  Chapter Eight

  Dylan sat beside Tearlach as they waited for the police. He returned to the morning's conversation.

  “D’you play any fitba?” he asked.

  Tearlach had found the chips and curry that one of the officers had left for the two of them and hesitantly tried it. He tried it again. Since he wasn’t entirely certain he decided to try it one more time.

  “Football?” he asked absentmindedly, staring raptly at the food. “What’s that?”

  Dylan turned to his friend in disbelief.

  “Wit’s tha’? Wit’s tha’?” he said.

  Tearlach stared at him with round eyes, a chip halfway to his mouth.

  Dylan pointed at the chip and shouted, “WIT'S THA’?!”

  “You give tha’ here the noo, Tearlach,” he said.

  He snatched the food out of Tearlach's hands. Tearlach grabbed for it, and missed.

  “What for?” Tearlach complained.

  Dylan collared a passing officer and shoved the polystyrene box into their hands.

  “You cannae be giein’ him this rubbish!” Dylan admonished the officer. “He’s a Highlander. Get him lamb and mash! He’s gonna get ill!”

  As Dylan harangued the officer, Tearlach spied the unopened can of Irn-Bru on the desk.

  “Ooh,” he said, just as Dylan caught sight of what he was after.

  “No Tearlach you cannae ha’ the Irn-Bru, you get back here right now!” Dylan shouted.

  Tearlach leaped off the desk, kilt flying, and made tracks down the hallway with Dylan in hot pursuit.

  ***

  Leah opened the door just after they had left, and walked up to Dorian, who was sitting in front of the murder board. He kept staring at every face, shaking his head. He couldn't seem to make heads or tails of any of it. He caught sight of Leah.

  “Have you seen Magnus?” she asked.

  “Not lately,” he said. “Why?”

  “He –” she began, and then saw the door open. “Never mind, they’re back again.”

  Dylan had apprehended the can of Irn-Bru from Tearlach, and walked straight up to Dorian, incensed. He shook a finger in Dorian's face

  “Whit do ye think yir daein’?” he demanded. “Feedin’ him this? He needs good, nourishin’, healthy food! We can live on this, but he cannae!”

  Dorian held his gaze, effortlessly, as befit a man who could have brought a nation to its knees with a disapproving stare.

  “You lower your voice, young man, or I’m confiscating your Highlander,” he said.

  Dylan rose to his full height.

  “You wit?” Dylan said. “I know the polis, and yir polis, no matter what kinda polis y’are. An’ you dinnae ha’ the time to be takin’ care of Tearlach. I do. I found him. I’m responsible, so I am.”

  Tearlach had had enough of this, and set down the chips he had started to eat again. He went up to Dylan, his countenance darkened.

  “Look here, I am not your pet!” Tearlach said.

  “But yir ma responsibility,” Dylan said firmly. “I will watch out for you
until we can get you hame an’ awa’ from this filth.”

  Tearlach looked around the room, unsure what Dylan was referring to.

  “May I please have some of that orange ambrosia?” asked Tearlach, pointing at the can. Dylan's eyes narrowed.

  “Nae, you may no’,” he said firmly, and glared at Dorian, who shrugged.

  ***

  It turned out that Magnus had been in the kitchen, hiding from his overdue paperwork. He and Dorian were discussing the case when Leah joined them. She decided to try the coffee again, and poured out some of the blackest slop she had ever seen into a mug that said #1 Boss!

  “Well, that's that,” said Dorian. “This one goes back to the real-world police.”

  “What? Why?” asked Leah. “I thought Milo said he'd never seen anything like it.”

  “The tests are notoriously unreliable,” said Magnus. “It's probably a coincidence. Anyway, that makes the killer definitively human – even if he has been killing the Fae. Either he is aware of our existence, or it is another coincidence.”

  “That’s a lot of coincidences,” said Leah.

  “Yes,” agreed Dorian. “But if the tests are giving us ridiculous answers, then it's probably human. The genes were human and so the police get the case.”

  Leah grimaced. This was one of her more recent attempts to understand why people seemed to like coffee so much, and she still didn't see the attraction. Dorian drank his espresso with apparent enjoyment, mystifying her.

  “I'm sorry,” said Leah. “But... What if the tests are correct? What if there really is some kind of new creature out there systematically killing off the Fae?”

  “It's possible,” said Magnus. “But it's unlikely. That would be a wild and incredible thing, wouldn't it? Too often we think a case is ours, and it turns out we've been barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. Besides, the Fae are traditionalists. It's one of the reasons this idiot gets away with dressing like he does. You're stuck in the era you were Taken."

  Magnus, giving Dorian a significant look, picked up his mug and walked off.

  "Don't listen to him," said Dorian. "He's just disappointed that he's not been Taken yet."