Fisher of Souls by Chris Cantor

Author:Chris Cantor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical novel;set in the UK;14th century;20th century;mystical Gothic Abbey;modern psychiatric hospital;demonization
Publisher: The Conrad Press
Published: 2020-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

16

Team work

The renovations of the hospital’s administration block were finally complete after months of inconvenience. It looked more like a four-star hotel foyer than a neglected hospital, a distinct improvement, but Jackson was accustomed to five stars.

He ascended the outside rear steps, a feature commissioned by Castle so he could come and go to his office, unnoticed. Jackson cursed the Smiling Fornicating Peasant gargoyle who, deaf to his curses, looked down on him from her centuries old perch now situated above the more contemporary concrete steps. A disgusting sight, Jackson thought, the remains of a smiling female peasant being held from behind by some unrecognisable devilish beast. Why should he tolerate her dripping God knows what on his suits? He might catch something.

Later in the day, returning from lunch, Jackson noticed the Smiling Peasant was no longer dripping despite more rain. Wonders never cease, Shields must have fixed it. As he approached the top step, he heard a sudden vomiting sound from above, followed an instant later by a deluge of sodden leaves and a torrent of damned up filthy water. The cascade landed on his head and shoulders, causing him to leap to one side too late. He slipped on the wet steps and fell down them, landing on his backside. It was a good job he was athletic; though his rear hurt it appeared he had not suffered any broken bones, but he was saturated. He rose from the puddle in which he sat; his trousers clung to him intimately and he stank from the decomposed leaves. Or worse?

He climbed back up the steps swearing profusely, entering the back of the foyer where Matilda was vacuuming the fluff from the new carpet. ‘Here, you get out! Don’t you know we have just had this place done up? Don’t you come in here all muddy. Buzz off!’ She said this with such authority he retreated outside without hesitating. He returned to his car deliberating what to do. He’d drive home and change; he couldn’t spend the day in wet filthy clothes, new carpets or otherwise.

Some hours later he returned to his office in a fresh suit. He was not game to risk the Smiling Peasant again, so entered via the west side of the cloisters. As he passed her desk, Frieda said, ‘Slept in did we? Did you have a good night out?’

‘Don’t be so bloody impertinent, you…’

Frieda looked at him, taken aback. ‘Frieda’s my name, Mr Jackson. I’d be glad if you did not shout when I am only being polite, greeting you. You wouldn’t want to bring on one of my migraines. You know they can last for days.’

‘Shut your mouth and get me Shields.’

‘Get him yourself. But I will be putting your words in a complaint memorandum about abusive language to the manager. Oh, you are the manager; it will have to be to the Board.’

He entered his office slamming the door behind him. He called the switchboard operator demanding, ‘Get me Brian, Shields…no, I won’t hold on.

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