𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Fifty Eight - Celebration

For more than a thousand years, probably ever since the last raven had finished picking at the skeletons left by the Vikings and the Saxons on their ancient battleground, Aldbury Castle had been a backwater, forgotten and ignored. Centuries of action and incident had passed it by. Even its recent epidemic of ghosts had earned it no attention. Yet the 'Rotwell Incident' (which was how the newspapers subsequently named the disaster at the institute) changed all of that overnight. At a stroke, it became the most famous location in England.

The response started early. At 8:30am, roughly three hours after explosions had lit up the sky behind the hills, and with the column of black smoke still funnelling up above the trees, the first vehicles began rolling through the village. And they didn't stop coming. All that day, a convoy of cars, trucks and windowless vans, filled to the brim with DEPRAC personnel, Rotwell agents and armed police, went racing grimly eastwards through the woods. Before long, with word spreading and the first journalists arriving on the scene, DEPRAC cordoned off the village altogether. A barrier was erected at the bridge west of the green, and another on the lane, just inside the entrance to the eastern woods. Guards were posted, and no one was allowed in or out.

That suited Lockwood & Co just fine. They weren't in any shape to go anywhere. They rose late and spent the day in the taproom of the Old Sun Inn, keeping out of sight.

From time to time, word came of activities out on the fields. Members of DEPRAC teams called in for sandwiches and refreshments, and from the titbits of information they let slip to Danny Skinner and his father, the agents got a fair idea of what was going on.

Clean-up squads were wading through the wreckage of the Rotwell Institute. Most of the facility had been destroyed, and what areas remained had been quickly sealed off from all but the most specialised operatives. The ruins of the central building in particular were out of bounds, but it was common knowledge that certain 'unauthorised' weapons had been found in neighbouring hangars, and that this was the probable cause of the explosion and the fire. Even more sensational was the news that Steve Rotwell himself was missing. He had been at the facility the previous day, and had not been located. So far, he was the only presumed casualty. Several surviving scientists, found wandering in the surrounding countryside, had been taken in for questioning.

"And it won't be long before we're rounded up too, I suppose." This was Kipps, speaking from his seat near the fire. His rollneck was pulled high, and his face had a bruised and swollen look. All of the agents' faces did. They were like a selection of old fruit, dropped too often and left in the bowl to go soft.

Lockwood was playing cards with Nola. He shook his head, an action that made him wince and rub the back of his neck. "I think we'll be fine." He said. "What Rotwell was doing in that site counts as major criminal activity – all those secret weapons for a start, not to mention the ghost-bombs that were used in the carnival assassination attempt last year. And then there's the iron circle. I'd be very surprised if Johnson and the others talk openly about what happened last night – at least at first. A lot depends on what the fires have actually left behind."                

"I was wondering..." Holly said. "Shouldn't we tell DEPRAC ourselves?" She had spent even longer than usual in her and Nola's shared bathroom that morning, and by some magic was almost restored to her pristine self, despite flare burns on her brow and chin. But the gun-toting, wild-haired madwoman of the night before was in there somewhere, Nola knew. It made her look upon Holly with fond affection.

"Tell DEPRAC what?" George said. "They clearly have plenty of evidence about what's been going on."

"Well, no, I mean about the circle – about the man in armour going through. It's very important. We've got to, haven't we?"