The Next Episode

Subtitle: A bit of a shock

As you can imagine, after the outrage perpetrated by the Sons of Thrower, the gay carnival atmosphere had turned to one of fear, anguish and distrust. Tarquin and I were trying hard to remain upbeat in the face of such devastation (and the jam splodge on his cummerbund was really rather distracting). We did try to search for some clues, but in our dancing outfits we looked rather conspicuous. There was nothing for it but to head back home and see if we couldn’t piece together some more of this mystery.

However, fate had other plans in store. We trudged home, only to find the front door in splintered pieces. We ran through the door, only to find the place well and truly ransacked. We did a quick inventory (being the organised sort, I have a checklist and clipboard kept in the wall safe – which hadn’t been touched, luckily) and found that nothing was missing, apart from a set of computer discs that I’d carelessly left out on the table.

I knew at once who was behind the break-in and turned to Tarquin, who had by this time recovered from his initial shock.

‘It’s the Sons of Thrower! I know it is! We’re definitely onto something here.’

He just stood there, with a curious look on his face, holding a sheet of what looked to be fairly ordinary A4 sized paper.

‘I think you’d better read this, while I put the kettle on.’

My normal response of ‘It won’t suit you, darling’ seemed highly inappropriate, given that his pallor matched the startling white brilliance of the paper.

I started to read the note, which was as follows:

Kats PI, you were warned. Cease and desist your prying. What you find out will do you no good. Especially where you’re going.

In accordance with prophecy, you have now been marked. For Death.

I was hoping that either the words ‘by Chocolate’ or ‘Only joking’ would appear, but it was not to be.

Trembling with fear and not a little indignation, I walked into the kitchen to find Tarquin rattling the teacups slightly too loudly.

‘It’ll be alright, you’ll see’, I said, with an air of breeziness I wasn’t expecting.

‘I only hope you’re right,’ he replied, with a tremble in his voice that I found oddly touching. ‘I know someone who can help us. He’s on his way round now.’

Just at that moment, there was a knock at the door, or more correctly, on the wall next to where the door had been. A cheery ‘Hello, anyone there?’ accompanied it.

Tarquin scurried to the door, and greeted our visitor warmly. He was a fairly stocky man, in his mid to late fifties, with a distinct air of Captain Birdseye about him. He advanced towards me, hand outstretched.

‘You must be the Kats I keep hearing so much about. Tarquin wasn’t exaggerating. I’m Jonathan. Jonathan Ffolkes, though the F is silent.’

I was a little thrown by the man’s charm, and the fact that he had a glass eye. In a small bottle, hung on a chain round his neck.

‘Ahh, you’re admiring the eye. The eye of Brize Norton. A powerful tool for necromancy.’

‘Isn’t that illegal?’, I asked.

‘No, you’re thinking of necrophilia. Quite a different kettle of monkeys that.’

I was momentarily lost for words, but fortunately Tarquin came to the rescue with a large pot of tea and a slightly damaged pear and walnut cake that he’d rescued from the carnage at the carnival.

We sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping our tea, and then the table was cleared, and the note we’d received was thrust at Jonathan, who read it, a frown appearing on his face as he did so.

‘Hmmm, this is worse than I feared. It appears you’ve attracted the attention of a particularly nasty cult.’

‘Please Mr Ffolkes, there are ladies present!’ I exclaimed.

He ignored my rather pathetic attempt at humour and pressed on. ‘You see this part here – ‘in accordance with prophecy’ – that’s a phrase used exclusively by one organisation. The Cosa Nostradamus.’

I was dumbstruck. ‘But… but…’ I started.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said, ‘but you and Tarquin are going to have to go into hiding for a while. These people will stop at nothing to dispose of the pair of you. You’ve disturbed some pretty powerful people. The best place for you to hide will be at my country house. Go and pack, and we’ll set off straight away.’

My mind was reeling. Surely he couldn’t be serious.

It appeared, however, that he was. Not only that, but Tarquin had already packed our bags.

‘Don’t worry dear heart,’ said Jonathan, ‘we’ll have this all sorted out in no time.’

At this point, I did the only thing I could, and dropped to the floor in a dead faint.

And what transpired after that, will be revealed next time…