The Devils Forgotten: The Plymouth Grey, #2

By Brian Lambert

A pirate galleon in Plymouth Sound? Normal-ish.

A ghost pirate galleon in Plymouth Sound? Not normal.

An invisible ghost pirate galleon in Plymouth Sound? Time for the Plymouth Grey!

The arrival of an invisible ghost pirate ship in Plymouth Sound is the start of another series of paranormal events that must be dealt with by those in the mysterious Grey. Why can only they see it? What brought it to Plymouth? Why is the cemetery guardian worried?

But the events are stranger than even the Grey could imagine as they find their entire existence jeopardised by what has lain hidden underneath Plymouth’s Central Park for hundreds of years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brian Lambert
• Release date: Sep 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781536506198

Book preview

Prologue

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The Marine Biological Association library on Plymouth Hoe was quiet at that time in the evening. Most people had already finished for the day, but Misha had a report to write and was glad of the seclusion.

Footsteps echoed through the bookshelves and stopped. She hoped whoever it was wouldn’t want to come over and start a conversation.

Hey, Mish! a voice loudly whispered.

She sighed in frustration. It was Cruz. If she ignored him it would only be a matter of time before he came over and started poking her to get a response.

What? she said with enough irritation in her voice to stop a rhino.

Look at this.

Maybe she should have tried harder.

Do I have to?

There was momentary silence while her question was considered.

Yeah.

Wishing he’d have a slow and very painful death she stuck a book on top of the page she was reading to keep her place and went to find him.

Where are you? she asked.

Window.

Moving round the shelves she saw his squat wide shape looking out the windows. The building housing the Marine Science library and laboratories backed against the Royal Citadel on Plymouth Hoe and had a superb view out over the waters of Plymouth Sound.

What are you looking at? she said, joining him. She was a head a half taller than him and made good use of it by resting her right elbow on his shoulder, knowing full-well he hated her doing it.

Out past the Breakwater. See the ship?

He nodded out towards the mile-long breakwater whose construction began in 1812 against the threat of Napoleon’s French Navy.

She looked out the window, her short purple hair reflected in it. A tall-masted ship looked to be heading straight for the Breakwater. Although such ships weren’t unknown in modern-day Plymouth it looked out of place compared to the small boats and modern Royal Naval vessels.

Some tall-ship regatta going on? she asked.

"Not that I know of. What I’m getting at is can you see through it?"

Even though Cruz had a well-earned reputation for playing practical jokes the question caught her by surprise. She glanced down at his head covered with short dark hair in case he was trying a joke on her.

What?

His reply was to just a nod to indicate that she should look again.

She moved nearer to the window and shielded her eyes from her reflection. It looked like an old-fashioned galleon, similar to those built around the 17th century. But now Cruz had mentioned it there was something strange about the ship. Could she see waves through it?

A cough sounded from behind startling her and she quickly moved back from the glass.

You two ok? asked an older man with short white hair in check shirt, brown jumper and brown trousers, joined them at the window.

Hi, Doctor Chatburn, Misha said.

Beautiful isn’t it?

Misha wasn’t too sure what he meant so gave a non-committal, Yeah.

What do you reckon about the tall-master just coming in? Look like it’s going to hit the Breakwater? Cruz asked.

Dr Chatburn peered out the window towards the Breakwater, then took off and wiped his glasses, put them back on and looked again. Then smiled down at Cruz.

Nice try Cruz, you know nothing’s there. Well, best be going. Misha, Cruz, he nodded amiably at them and left them at the window.

Misha and Cruz looked quizzically at each other and then resumed their scrutiny of the ship’s arrival.

Now that’s something you don’t see every day, Cruz said quietly, a few moments later.

The way it sailed through the Breakwater like it’s not there?

Yeah.

We’d better tell the rest, Misha said.

I think they’re up to something this evening.

Oh yeah, I forgot. Hope it goes well.

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Back to top

A Boring Evening

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Alex had never been so bored in his life. Darkness had fallen as he listlessly pushed the broom over the floor collecting the discarded cut hair into a pile. This near closing time it was only him, Barber (it was Barber’s barbershop anyway), a customer with another barber and, for some strange reason, Frank, his grandad. Frank’s dog, Scotty, was probably being doggy-sat by Gerry, Franks scary oriental girlfriend.

Why couldn’t he be out doing something exciting? A city the size of Plymouth had to have something going on? Somewhere? Please? But apparently having a relative in the Grey meant that excitement gave him a miss. It was a job though, and helped buy him things while he was at Uni. He was just glad it was near to closing time so his utter boredom could end.

The door opened and a gust of wind blew all his work back across the floor. With a resigned sigh he glanced up and saw multiple reflections of a couple sit down on the long padded bench. He’d seen girls wearing make-up before, but not so much black in one place. The purple highlights, masses of black eyeshadow, and black clothes reminded him of the goth-types he’d seen at Uni. She probably wasn’t there for a haircut but it looked like her partner desperately needed one, his long hair being on the storm side of ‘windswept’ and ‘through a hedge backwards’. Their heads were together urgently whispering, maybe deciding on short back and sides, or perhaps something more daring? It seemed to Alex that she seemed to be the one forcing the haircut issue.

He became aware of a presence and turned to see his grandfather standing next to him. His eyes were on the newly entered couple, but he whispered to Alex, If it gets dangerous stay behind me.

Dangerous? What could be dangerous in a barbershop? Asphyxiation by breathing the mountain of hair he’d manage to sweep up until it got blown away again? Or maybe his relative had finally gone off the deep end? Who knew what the long-term effects of the Incan Crosses that Drake had stolen from the Spanish (who’d previously stolen them from the Inca) were? Maybe Barber, the second-in-command of the Plymouth Grey, managed to keep his head straight by cutting men’s hair?

Alex thought it was strange for Frank to visit him in his part-time job. It might just be to check up on his broom-handling skills, but maybe something else was going on?

In another mirror Alex saw Barber’s eyes on the pair as well. What was it about that couple?

The girl glanced up through her dark eyeshadow to see Alex’s grandfather and Barber looking at them. One final urgent whisper and she nodded at them.

Closing time, ladies and gents, Barber called, startling Alex.

Luckily the other barber had just finishing drying another customer’s hair. An unspoken look passed between Barber and his colleague which caused him to almost forget to take his customer’s money in his haste to get him out the door and also grab his jacket and leave himself.

With a quick goodbye to his departing colleague Barber turned the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, locked the door, and pulled the blinds down hiding them from the continually busy traffic along Mutley Plain.

To say that Alex felt something was going on would be the understatement of the year.

Barber turned and began to turn the lights off for the night, except for those over his chair. You missed a bit, he said to Alex, motioning to the newly hair-strewn floor.

Alex hurriedly cleared the floor of its hairy covering while his grandfather sat and quietly talked to the couple. He also got the strangest feeling that while Barber was turning the music off and putting things away he was also on edge, as if preparing for something bad to happen.

The last of the hair was dropped into a black bin bag when the girl’s partner stood up. Alex hadn’t bothered to notice before but he was built like a rugby player, like that French one with all the hair. The girl got up and kept a tight grip on his hand as he made his way over to Barber’s chair.

Barber, in his white shirt and black trousers, was ready and waiting with a pair of mirror-like scissors Alex hadn’t seen him use before.

Alex felt a nudge and almost cried out in surprise he was so wound up. His grandfather grinned at him and held out some blue latex gloves and a white plastic bag.

This is a special customer, he said quietly. Collect his hair then we’ll take it up to Derriford’s incinerator.

What is going on? Alex whispered, also wondering why his grandfather seemed to have his own key to the incinerator.

It’s not always sea monsters.

What?

What on earth did he mean by that? But before he could ask, his grandfather had already wandered off to peer through the closed blinds.

The quiet snick of Barber’s scissors had the backdrop sounds of traffic and the occasional emergency service siren going by outside – Mutley Plain being one of the main thoroughfare’s into central Plymouth.

A roar came from behind the building. Probably someone’s motorbike, Alex thought, but he saw the