Spirit Guardians of Provenance

By Sophie Petticrew

What connects six seemingly random strangers from all over the globe? That is the question this group of young people must ask themselves when they are transported to an unknown land of mythical creatures and unseen dangers.
Provenance is a world populated by people out of their own time, who have been brought here by mysterious gateways and are now under threat from the evil overlord, Hadrian.
Somehow, these six must find a way to work together to locate and collect the Spirit Stones that will grant them the power of their destiny.
Can they confront their personal demons in order to defeat Hadrian and restore light to the kingdom which has been cast in his shadow?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jan 31, 2022
• ISBN: 9781528967235

Sophie Petticrew

A student counsellor with a love for all fantasy and sci-fi things, Sophie Petticrew brings a natural talent for character and world-building to the land of Provenance. Karen Cooper has been a bookworm for as long as she has been able to hold a book, and now works as a school librarian where she attempts to pass on her love of reading to the next generation. Karen and Sophie live together in Ayr with a grumpy ginger cat called Orli, and three greedy guinea pigs called Giles, Spencer and Data.

Book preview

About the Author

A student counsellor with a love for all fantasy and sci-fi things, Sophie Petticrew brings a natural talent for character and world-building to the land of Provenance.

Karen Cooper has been a bookworm for as long as she has been able to hold a book, and now works as a school librarian where she attempts to pass on her love of reading to the next generation.

Karen and Sophie live together in Ayr with a grumpy ginger cat called Orli, and three greedy guinea pigs called Giles, Spencer and Data.

Dedication

To my wonderful family and friends. A special thank you to my dad, Jim Petticrew, and step-mum, Jackie Kennedy, for always believing in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. Also, to my mum, Karen Watson, for always looking after me.

Sophie

This is for my incredible, supportive and loving family and friends who always believed that one day they would see my name on the cover of a book. Special thanks to my dad, Billy Cooper – this is all thanks to you.

Karen

And finally, for Orli – we managed to write this book in spite of you…

Copyright Information ©

Sophie Petticrew and Karen Cooper 2022

The right of Sophie Petticrew and Karen Cooper to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN 9781528932837 (Paperback)

ISBN 9781528967235 (ePub e-book)

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2022

Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd®

1 Canada Square

Canary Wharf

London

E14 5AA

Chapter 1

What can I get you, mate?

Brenton smiled, as he served up another pint to another faceless customer. He wore his ‘Charming bartender’ mask like a shield and went about his job with the ease that only comes from much practice. Another round of beers for the guys in the corner booth, a Jack and Coke for the softly spoken man near the window, two fruity cocktails for the businesswomen perched at the far end of the bar. He even threw in a wink to the latter as he set down their brightly coloured drinks without so much as jostling the little umbrellas floating in the glasses. The place was slowly filling up, as it usually did around this time in the evening, and the noise level started to climb. Soon enough, he would barely be able to hear the soft-rock music floating out from the speakers over the bar as the voices of the customers grew louder and more demanding. Brenton was quite used to tuning out the random bursts of laughter and the snippets of conversation from groups huddled around tables eating and/or drinking, to hear the next order that was being fired at him. He had worked a million shifts like this before and had sullenly resigned himself to working a million more just like it thanks to the letter he had received that morning.

"Mr Blake,

We regret to inform you…"

He hadn’t bothered to read any further before balling it up and lobbing it against the kitchen wall of his dingy flat, where it bounced and fell directly into the bin below. He had traipsed through to the living room and flopped down on the couch, completely at a loss as to where to go from here. And so he did what he always did; he plastered on a smile and cheeky attitude and headed into the pub, where he had worked since he had turned eighteen and where he envisioned he would work until he turned eighty.

As there was a lull at the bar, he did a quick circuit of the room, collecting an armful of empty glasses and carrying them through to the kitchen for cleaning, before making his way back out to the counter again. What he saw as he headed back to his position behind the bar was enough to make him spin on his heel and duck back into the kitchen for shelter. What the hell was his dad doing here? Unfortunately for Brenton, his plan to hide behind the kitchen door was foiled when one of the waitresses almost collided with him as she attempted to manoeuvre her way out to the tables, precariously balancing plates in both hands.

Brenton! she yelped. Watch what you’re doing!

Sorry, sorry! he held his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

He stepped to the side and pushed the door open for Sarah to pass through. Just before she stepped out into the main area of the pub, he couldn’t resist the chance to lean in close and lower his voice so that only she could hear him.

You know, you don’t need to go to these elaborate lengths just to rub up against me.

She snorted a laugh but kept walking, throwing a grin at him over her shoulder. Once was enough, thanks Romeo.

He raised his voice slightly so that she would hear him over the noise in the bar. Not if I can help it, he replied, as he flashed the trademark Brenton Blake smile.

She shook her head in mock-exasperation as she continued into the bar, swishing effortlessly through the crowded seating area. Brenton watched her wistfully, before the memory of why he was hiding in the kitchen doorway crashed down upon him, and he instinctively ducked further into the shadows. He prayed to any God who might be listening that his dad hadn’t noticed the commotion and had failed to hear Sarah yelling his name. Slowly, he peered around the edge of the doorway and found his dad looking right at him. Balls.

The thought briefly crossed Brenton’s mind that he could just pretend not to have seen his dad; he could turn around, step casually back into the kitchen and wait there for his dad to leave. But he knew better than to think that would work so, like he had been doing all afternoon he painted on a smile, squared his shoulders and stepped out to face the music. Meeting his dad’s eyes, he found no clues as to what the man was thinking, but whatever it was must have been important to bring him all the way into the city. He was making his tortuous way over to where his father stood when a young male customer appeared at the bar, and Brenton found himself jumping at this chance to delay the inevitable. His colleague, Tom had stepped up to take the order, but Brenton waved him away.

I’ve got this one, mate. Why don’t you see if table four need any more beers?

Tom shimmered away, and Brenton threw his dad an apologetic glance before turning his attention to the man at the counter. He listened to the order and went into autopilot as he poured the requested drinks. Why had his dad come all this way to see him? He couldn’t possibly know about his rejection letter; he didn’t even know Brenton had sat the exam. As he took a twenty-pound note from the customer and went about getting him his change, Brenton took a sideways peek at his dad and found him watching his interaction with the customer intently. He gave Brenton an easy smile when he looked over and made eye contact, and Brenton couldn’t help but return his grin.

He dropped the man’s change into his outstretched hand and was about to be on his way when the customer suddenly produced a menu from somewhere.

What’s good to eat in here, d’ya reckon? he asked, eyes trailing over the various options.

Sorry, mate, Brenton began, We don’t take the food orders up here. One of the waitresses’ll take your order from your table.

Nah, that’s alright, the young man continued regardless, I just wondered, if you had any recommendations?

He slapped the menu down on the bar top and spun it so that it was the right way up for Brenton to read it. Brenton felt his stomach drop into his boots, and a cold wave passed over him as he glanced down at the menu. In his moment of panic, it felt to him like he had been staring aimlessly at the shapes on the page for an eternity, before he snapped back into action and pointed to one of the pictures helpfully displayed down the border of the menu.

He cleared his throat, Can’t go wrong with a cheeseburger, eh? He smiled again and prayed that the customer would be satisfied.

The young man seemed to weigh this as though it were the most important decision of his life, before finally nodding and scooping his menu back off the bar. Yeah, sounds good.

Then the moment was over; the customer was gone, Tom was back, and Brenton had no more excuses not to go and speak to his father.

Jack Blake had turned so that his back was against the bar, leaning on his elbows when Brenton approached. He could tell from the movement of his dad’s head that he was casually watching the crowd around him with interest. Brenton didn’t even need to see his face to know that his dark eyes would be darting around the tables, taking in the composition of each group and assessing the dynamics before moving on to the next lot. Brenton watched his father watching the crowd.

He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

Giving the older man a gentle tap on the shoulder, he joked, You know, you don’t have to be on duty all the time. Why not leave the policing to somebody else for a bit?

A huge smile spread across Mr Blake’s face as he turned to look at his son, before he barked out a deep laugh at how well Brenton knew him.

I was people-watching again, wasn’t I? he grinned.

Just a bit, Brenton smiled back. So, what brings you to my neck of the woods?

What, I don’t even get a proper hello? Just straight down to business, eh?

Brenton knew his dad was only pretending to be hurt, but all the same he made his way around to the other side of the bar until he could give him a handshake that turned into a manly half-hug and slap on the back.

That’s more like it! boomed Mr Blake as they separated. But you’re right; there is something I wanted to talk to you about…

He straightened up and used his impressive height to spy over the heads of the crowd, until he spotted an empty table near the middle of the floor.

Cocking his head towards it he asked, Got a minute?

A quick glance down the length of the bar told Brenton that he probably had several minutes, as Tom chatted amiably to the only customers currently waiting to be served. He managed to catch his colleague’s eye and mouthed, Five minutes, while cocking his head towards the middle table, unconsciously mimicking his dad’s action from a moment earlier. Tom gave him a quick nod and a smile before turning back to the couple at the bar, without ever breaking the flow of his speech about the great tourist attractions nearby that the young man and woman just had to go and see before they left London.

Lead on, he said as he turned back to face his father.

Together they threaded their way between the tables until they came to a halt at the empty one his dad had spotted. The two men sat opposite each other, and Brenton clasped his hands in front of himself on the tabletop as he waited for his dad to begin.

Mr Blake seemed unsure as to how he wanted to kick off the conversation, a fact which in itself put Brenton on edge. His dad was never at a loss for something to say, which had Brenton’s mind reeling towards all the difficult things he might be trying to put into words.

It’s not Nathan, is it? he blurted out, unable to wait any more.

No, no! Nothing like that! his dad assured him, and Brenton let out a sigh of relief. Your brother’s fine, son. Had a call from him a couple of nights ago. Could barely hear him over that terrible line, but what do you expect in the middle of the desert, eh?

Brenton nodded his agreement, So, what’s up then?

Mr Blake had gone back to watching the people dining around them, but now at least seemed to have found a starting point. Do you like working here?

Brenton instantly felt his hackles rise but tried to keep his tone light. Is that the only reason you came all this way? To ask if I like my job or not?

Well, what’s a man to do when his son doesn’t return his texts or calls? His dad was matching Brenton’s light tone but he could tell his dad was hurt by his recent preoccupation.

Yeah, sorry, he rubbed absently at the back of his head and avoided eye contact. Just had a bit on my mind lately. Mr Blake, We regret to inform you… He snapped his attention back to the conversation, But yeah. Yeah, it’s good. I like it here fine.

How long have you worked here now?

Well, I started not long after I turned eighteen, so a bit less than a year now. Saying it out loud, Brenton was surprised at how short his time at the bar had been in comparison to how long it felt.

"Right, right… And you’re happy working here?"

He could see where this was going and snapped, You already asked me that, before instantly regretting talking to his father like a sulky child. He took a breath before adding, Yes, Dad. I’m happy here.

Look, Brenton, his dad shifted in his wooden seat, I’m not having a go, alright? I just wonder if maybe, you could be doing something else. You know? Something more… he looked around as if the word he wanted might be floating around the pub somewhere, …more fulfilling.

Something more impressive, you mean, he could hear the pettiness in his voice and didn’t care. What right did his dad have to come here and start judging how he lived his life?

You know that’s not what I’m saying, Mr Blake said carefully, I’m just worried about your prospects, son.

Well, don’t. I have plenty of prospects. I was talking to the manager yesterday, he regretted it as soon as he said it, but now the lie was out there he couldn’t think of a way to take it back.

Really? his dad’s expression said he wanted to believe what Brenton was saying. What about?

They’re impressed with me. Turns out I’m pretty good at this bartending thing, and they want to train me up. Might even be a manager myself someday. He tried to inject a bit of enthusiasm into his voice as though this was what he had been aiming for all along with this job.

That’s great, son… his dad didn’t sound convinced, and Brenton could hardly blame him. Good for you. And that’s what you want, is it? To be running this place one day? he glanced around again as if really taking in his surroundings for the first time, before quickly looking back to Brenton’s face.

Yeah, I think I’d make a good manager, he couldn’t look his dad in eye and lie to him, so he directed this last comment to the pub at large, surveying it as if it would all be his soon.

Okay, Brenton. If that’s what you really want then you know I’m behind you, it pained Brenton that his dad was always so supportive of him, even now when he was being so childish. But remember what I’ve always told you. I think you would go far in the police force. The entrance exams have already been and gone this year…

Don’t I know it? thought Brenton miserably.

…but if you wanted, I could have a word and get your name down for the next session?

Brenton wanted nothing more than to make his dad proud by following in his footsteps but the rejection letter this morning had proved he didn’t have what it took, no matter what his dad might think of his abilities. He wasn’t about to admit that though, so instead he feigned disinterest.

It’s not for me, Dad. I just don’t fancy it, he shrugged one shoulder. Why give up the great gig I’ve got here?

Mr Blake nodded slowly, searching Brenton’s face. He apparently realised that Brenton had made up his mind, because he sighed and said, Alright, son. I won’t bring it up again.

I’ll be alright, Dad, Brenton leaned forward slightly on his elbows and looked his father in the eyes this time. I can look after myself. I’m not that little boy listening to fairy stories about ‘The Lost Ones’ anymore.

To Brenton’s surprise, his dad broke the eye contact to look at the space between them on the wooden tabletop. He seemed to take a moment to collect himself and when he finally spoke his voice was softer than usual.

You boys needed something to believe in. After your mum went missing… he seemed unsure of how to finish the sentence.

Unprepared for this sudden turn in the conversation, Brenton bridged the gap between them to put his hand on his dad’s forearm and squeeze. You did your best for us, Dad. We couldn’t have asked for a better childhood. Mr Blake still seemed unwilling to meet his eyes so he added softly, Telling us she had gone off to some mystical land was probably kinder than telling us that she just disappeared one day for no reason.

Kinder for you or easier for me? his dad gave a rueful smile and finally looked up at Brenton.

Maybe a bit of both, he smiled back and squeezed his dad’s arm once more before bringing his hand back across the table. I don’t blame you for anything, Dad.

Thanks, Brenton.

Looking back over his shoulder to the bar, Brenton could see it was starting to get busy, which gave him a good excuse to end this conversation.

He turned back to his dad and said, Listen, I’d better get back over there. I think Tom needs a hand. He got to his feet as he spoke, not giving his dad a choice in the matter, and stuck his hand out, Good to see you, Dad.

His father followed suit and got up from the table, shaking Brenton’s hand firmly. Right. I should be getting on anyway. Early start in the morning. He started to turn away towards the door but stopped and looked back at Brenton once more to say quietly, I’m proud of you, mate.

Then he was gone, and Brenton was left standing in the middle of the crowded pub alone. He mentally kicked himself for lying to his father so brazenly about his job. Why couldn’t he just own up? Yeah, Dad, I took that entrance exam and failed miserably so I’m probably going to be stuck in this bloody pub for the rest of my life. Aren’t you proud? No. Better to just let his father think he was a success in a job he hated rather than a failure in the one he really wanted.

He made his way moodily back to the bar. Tom threw him a look of concern as he made his way slowly back round behind the counter but a dismissive shake of Brenton’s head told him not to pursue the matter further. And then the frown was gone, and in its place was the trademark Brenton Blake smile as he stepped up to the counter and studiously avoided looking in the direction of the door through which his dad had just left.

What can I get you, love?

*

By the time the clock on the wall opposite the bar read 7:30pm, Brenton was counting down the minutes until the end of his shift so he could get the hell out of the pub. His day had only gone from bad to worse since he got that damn letter that morning, and all he wanted now was to get through his last thirty minutes of work, get out of the noise of the bar and make his way home to a microwave meal and some crap telly. He was mentally planning out the rest of his evening, when a vision in pink appeared at the bar and wiped out all his plans before she even opened her mouth. Her hair was blonde, resting just above her slender shoulders, and her low-cut pink dress clung to her figure like it was designed specifically for her alone. Brenton was a lost cause.

No longer faking the smile, he stepped up to the side of the bar where she was waiting and turned the charm all the way up to eleven. Hello, sweetheart. What can I get for you tonight?

She turned a pair of enormous brown eyes towards him and revealed a row of perfect white teeth. Tilting her head slightly, she replied, A glass of white wine, please handsome.

He got a glass out and spent longer wiping it than was strictly necessary as he looked her over. Now correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s not a local accent.

She giggled and leaned further onto the bar top. I’m from Dublin, she drawled, then sticking out a dainty hand she added, Kate.

It’s a pleasure, Kate from Dublin, he said, returning the gentle handshake, I’m Brenton.

He went back to pouring her wine and slid the glass towards her on the bar top. Glancing around, he saw that there were only a handful of people waiting for drinks and decided that Tom could take care of them on his own for a bit. Brenton propped his elbows on the bar across from Kate and made himself comfortable.

So, what brings you to our fine establishment this evening, Kate? he asked, sweeping his arm out to indicate the rest of the room with false grandeur.

She was clearly flattered by his interest and flashed him another smile before taking a sip from her wine glass.

Well, my friends went off with a bunch of guys they met in another bar down the road and left me all on my lonesome. What’s a girl to do? She was laying it on thick, and Brenton was not one to disappoint a lady who so evidently wanted his attention.

Imagine leaving you all alone in a big city like this! he said, mock-outraged. I won’t stand for it! He had always found it easy to talk to women, and this one was no exception. The conversation was moving along just the way he wanted it to. What you need is someone to escort you around for the rest of the night.

Hmmm, she swallowed another sip of wine and pushed her hair behind one ear, revealing two sparkly studs in her earlobe. Are you offering your services as my chaperone tonight, Brenton?

He pulled himself up to his full height and looked down at her flirtatiously. A gentleman doesn’t leave a lady unattended in a strange land. I humbly offer to take you around some of the best sites in London.

Oh, I’ve already done all the tourist-y stuff. Buckingham Palace, Oxford Street, The Eye… she listed as though these were of no consequence. What I really need is someone with a bit of local knowledge to show me some places off the beaten track.

He looked over her head to the clock again. 7:40pm.

Propping his elbows back on the bar, he leaned in conspiratorially and said, Tell you what, my shift ends in twenty minutes. Why don’t I meet you outside the front door at eight, and show you the real London?

Perfect! she clasped her hands together, delighted. I’ll hold you to that, handsome.

He pushed himself away from the counter but couldn’t resist one last parting shot before he got back to work. Who knows, he smirked, I might even show you Big Ben!

He threw her a wink, and then left her laughing at the end of the bar. Brenton’s night had just got a whole lot better. When the clock finally read 8:00pm Brenton caught Kate’s eye and held up two fingers before tilting his head towards the door that led to the kitchen and beyond. Kate nodded her understanding and pointed a slender finger towards the front door of the pub, raising her eyebrows. He gave her a quick thumbs-up before disappearing through to the staff area. He weaved his way between his colleagues, some of whom were also getting ready to leave for the night, until he reached the cloakroom where he had dumped his jacket at the start of his shift. Tom was already there, shrugging into his coat and gave Brenton a smirk as he walked in.

She’s a bit alright, isn’t she?

Brenton feigned ignorance, Dunno who you mean, mate.

Yeah, right, came the reply. The blonde in the pink dress has been staring at you since she came in. Don’t try and tell me you’re not interested.

Brenton had his jacket on and was checking he had his phone, keys and wallet. Sorry, you won’t be getting any sordid details from me… he winked and pulled his phone out of his inner jacket pocket. At least not until tomorrow.

Tom rolled his eyes. Just make sure you have her home by midnight, Prince Charming, he said sarcastically, as he disappeared out of the cloakroom, leaving Brenton alone.

He was about to follow Tom out, when he noticed he had a new text and wondered if it might be from his dad as a follow-up to their earlier conversation. Unlocking the screen, he was surprised to see it was from an unknown number. He tapped on the message to open it, and as he focussed his attention on slowly reading his way through the text, all thoughts of Kate and her little pink dress were instantly forgotten.

To: Brenton Blake

From: The Gateway

Our home is at war with a dark menace that continues to grow ever stronger. We need help, and only you can save us. If you are the hero we seek, follow the directions provided and we shall meet you there.

The Lost Ones

Chapter 2

Maeve was quite certain she could happily spend the rest of her life here and never get bored. Her head swivelled constantly, trying to take in everything at once; the centuries-old art on the walls, the sculptures, the ancient artefacts. This place was incredible. The British Museum was home to so many remarkable exhibits, and Maeve could barely contain herself. She wandered through a gallery dedicated to Ancient Egyptian burial rituals, soaking in the atmosphere around her. Close by there was a group of tourists; Germans, Maeve guessed from the snippets of conversation she overheard and the few words and phrases she recognised. She noticed they had stopped to gather around something displayed in a tall glass case while their guide – a petite brunette with a fixed Barbie-doll smile – told them about it in their native tongue. They moved along after a few moments, during which time Maeve bobbed impatiently behind the group until they dissipated enough for her to get a look at what was in the case. Finally, she darted through a gap in the human traffic and found herself standing in front of the Rosetta stone.

Her hands came up towards the glass in an unconscious attempt to get closer to such an incredible item, before she remembered herself and brought them back to her sides. It wouldn’t do to leave fingerprints on the glass! She read the placard next to the Stone, which detailed its origins and gave some explanation on how it had been studied over many years to allow scholars to translate previously unknown Egyptian hieroglyphs by comparing them to the Greek inscription carved beside them on the stone. Maeve devoured this information and eagerly moved on.

She had always wanted to visit the British Museum, and now she was finally here. Her end of year exams had been tough, and as a reward to herself for her good grades (although she hadn’t actually received them yet, she knew they would be good) she had taken it upon herself to plan this trip. Maeve revelled in the hustle and bustle of London. Having taken herself off to university in Edinburgh after growing up in a small Scottish village, she felt quite at home in crowded cities. She enjoyed the feeling of independence that came with being anonymous in the teeming mass of bodies, and London was no exception to this. Its streets seemed to have been made for people like Maeve, who could find interest in the slightest detail and would lap up any and all historical points of interest. She had barely grazed the surface of this incredible city, and she intended to explore it for all it was worth.

Following the throng in the museum she was soon in a gallery dedicated to Ancient Greece. Here she was instantly captivated by the statues from the Parthenon, and she drifted from exhibit to exhibit in a world all her own. The echoes of hundreds of voices, and the footsteps of hundreds of feet from all around the galleries washed over her until they blurred into a pleasant hum; a soundtrack to her quest for knowledge. She barely noticed the crying toddler trailing along behind his dad and complaining that his feet were tired, or the group of teenage girls trying to discreetly take selfies with some of the sculptures. All she cared about was what would be around the next corner, in the next display case, on the next floor… She wanted to see all of it, and she didn’t care how long it took.

It was some time later that Maeve found herself in the Medieval Gallery and felt a thrill of anticipation. This was one she had been particularly anxious to see, as it contained The Lewis Chessmen, and this was a piece that held a special place in her heart. When she was very young, her parents had taken Maeve and her younger siblings to visit the National Museum in Edinburgh and although she had been fascinated by so many of the exhibits, nothing had captured her imagination more than the Lewis Chessmen. She remembered her younger self catching sight of them and being instantly drawn to them, as at the time she had been learning to play chess with her grandfather. She had pressed her face close to the glass and read the inscription next to the chess pieces, mentally storing the information away to tell Grandad over their next game. There were eleven of the tiny figures on display in Edinburgh, and Maeve had vowed that one day she would visit the British Museum and see the rest of the set.

Entranced by the presence of this item, Maeve came to a full halt for the first time since she entered the museum hours ago and simply admired the Chessmen, giving Carrie a chance to finally catch up to her. At first, she didn’t even notice the presence of her best friend standing beside her, so rapt was her attention, until Carrie spoke up.

Wow, you found them!

Maeve turned her head slightly towards her friend but never actually took her eyes off the display case before her. Yeah. Isn’t it incredible? You know, they never worked out how the chess pieces came to be in Lewis in the first place? There are loads of theories, but the most popular one is that they were being taken from Norway to Ireland to be sold or traded. Some guy just found them buried in a sand dune!

Carrie was still slightly out of breath from trying to match Maeve’s pace around the museum but absorbed the information with interest, the perfect audience for Maeve and her animated rambling.

How come there are so many? There’s way too many pieces for one chess set here, she asked quietly, between carefully measured breaths.

That’s another reason the trader theory is so popular. There are eighty-two here, and if you include the ones in Edinburgh there are enough pieces to make up almost four full chess sets. They think somebody must have had a bunch of different items to take to trade in Dublin or somewhere, and these just got lost along the way.

Carrie leaned in closer and squinted through the glass, What are they made of?

Most of them are carved out of ivory from walrus tusks, but a couple are made from whale teeth… Maeve grinned and pointed out a couple of the figures, I love how the queens all have their chins in their hands. They look so bored!

I can’t believe how detailed they are, Carrie chipped in.

I know, right? They have such great expressions on their faces! And look at the backs of the chairs, they’re so intricate. My Grandad would’ve loved to have seen these…

She could have stayed and looked at them for hours but there was still so much else to see, so she took a final, lingering look and reluctantly dragged herself away. Carrie fell into step, instinctively allowing Maeve to take the lead while she followed a half-step behind. They trailed around the rest of the Medieval Gallery together, Maeve pointing out the exhibits that caught her interest and Carrie following in the wake of her enthusiasm until suddenly there came an announcement that the museum would be closing shortly and asking all visitors to please start to make their way to the exits. Checking her watch Maeve was shocked to see that it was almost 8:00pm. They had been here for hours and barely scratched the surface! Carrie, never one to disobey direct instructions, was already starting to drift towards the nearest exit and Maeve grudgingly did the same.

Outside, on the main steps of the museum the sky was just starting to turn pink as the sun began to lower itself for the night, and a cool breeze ruffled Maeve’s short red hair. She took in a deep breath, and started to skip lightly down the stone steps, already mentally planning out what they should do next. Maybe they should stop in at that cute little coffee shop a couple of streets over and refuel before heading out to join one of the ghost walks? Maeve was sure it wouldn’t be too difficult to convince Carrie to join a Jack the Ripper walk, even though she knew that it might be a bit more gruesome than her quiet friend would like. She began to verbalise these thoughts, but suddenly realised that Carrie wasn’t in her usual spot at Maeve’s side. She spun one hundred and eighty degrees to find Carrie still at the top of the flight of steps, engaged in deep conversation with some random stranger. Carrie was nodding enthusiastically while focussing her attention towards a slip of paper that he had presumably just pressed into her hand. Every so often she would glance up at the young man and chip in a few words before ducking her head and nodding again.

It was only now that Maeve turned her attention to the cluster of people gathered at the top of the steps near where Carrie and the man were talking. They all looked to be about the same age as Maeve and Carrie or just slightly older, and as a young woman passed by on her way down the steps Maeve noticed a familiar logo printed on her bright red T-shirt, referencing a popular TV show. Now that she was actively looking for them, she saw that most of the people milling around the area were young men and women dressed similarly to Maeve herself in classic student attire. They all seemed to be handing out flyers to the people coming out of the museum, and as she climbed back up a couple of steps Maeve could see they had posters proclaiming, Positive Practice in Mental Health, and were advertising virtual art galleries which promoted the artwork of people suffering with mental health conditions.

She wasn’t surprised Carrie had let them rope her into one of their little speeches. She was an easy target for people like these and too polite to say no once they got her in their sights. Luckily Maeve was outspoken enough for both of them. She climbed back up the rest of the steps and approached Carrie and the stranger. He was tall and slim, probably in his early twenties with a straggly little beard that Maeve found immediately distasteful. He was in the middle of telling Carrie all about the work that his charity did to support people with depression when Maeve approached and linked her arm through Carrie’s, halting the flow of his speech.

So sorry to interrupt! she smiled, making sure not to sound sorry at all. I’m afraid we have somewhere to be and we’re already running late so we’d better be off! She had already started steering Carrie down the steps away from the campaigner and he called out after them.

Nice speaking to you! The web address is on the flyer if you want to know more!

Carrie turned awkwardly in Maeve’s grasp to look at him. Thank you! she called back, just barely loud enough for him to hear her. I’ll check it out!

She gave a shy smile and glanced around, as though she was embarrassed to have drawn attention to herself, even though none of the people around them had paid the slightest attention. She turned again in Maeve’s grip and allowed herself to be pulled the rest of the way down the steps.

That guy actually made a lot of sense, Maeve. Here look at the flyer, it’s really interesting, she held it out towards Maeve who glanced at it but didn’t take it from her.

She gave a non-committal Uh huh but was already looking around herself to get her bearings before deciding which way to go.

And the guy said…

Carrie began to recount what she had learned, but Maeve had worked out where she was and now she was on a mission to reach the coffee shop that had looked so inviting when they passed it earlier on the way to the museum. She extricated her arm from Carrie’s and marched off in the direction of the cafe.

Come on, Carrie, I’m in serious need of some caffeine right now.

Her best friend reappeared by her side, in the process of tucking the flyer into her badge-covered bag and Maeve was about to launch into a discussion on some the most interesting items she had seen back in the museum when two things happened at once. Big Ben started to chime eight o’clock, and at the same moment there was the distinctive sound of a mobile phone buzzing. Both girls stopped in their tracks, and automatically started rummaging through their bags to find the source of the vibration.

Maeve pulled her phone from the depths of her handbag with a triumphant Ha! before unlocking it to find there was a new text message from an unknown number. Carrie was also peering at her own phone with what looked like an expression of relief.

Who’s it from? Maeve asked.

Oh, I dunno, Carrie replied absently, I don’t recognise the number. I just…ummm…it doesn’t matter. She pushed a lock of brown hair behind her ear and looked down at her phone self-consciously.

Hmmm, Maeve returned to looking at her own screen. Weird that we both got one at the same time. I bet it’s some sort of marketing thing. She opened the message, intending to ascertain that it was junk before deleting it, but something about it made her pause. What the hell?

To: Maeve Rivers

From: The Gateway

Our home is at war with a dark menace that continues to grow ever stronger. We require the help of the best of your kind. If that is truly you as we’ve been led to believe, follow the directions provided and we shall meet you there.

The Lost Ones

Maeve looked up at her friend. Check it out, she said as she thrust her phone into Carrie’s hand for her inspection. Did you get the same message? What does yours say? she babbled, taking Carrie’s phone and skimming through the message. "What the hell is this?" she wondered aloud.

To: Carrie Maclean

From: The Gateway

Our home is at war with a dark menace that continues to grow ever stronger. We’re scared and desperately need your assistance. If there’s anything you can do to help, follow the directions provided and we shall meet you there.

The Lost Ones

Maybe it’s some kind of marketing thing, like you said? Carrie tried.

But look at it, Carrie! It’s so specific, like they were tailored to each of us – it’s got to be from someone we know, right? I mean, who would know to write something like that?

Yeah, I suppose so, Carrie seemed unsure. It’s a bit creepy though. Should we text back?

I could just call it…? Maeve’s thumb hovered over the tiny phone symbol, while she took in Carrie’s wide-eyed expression of panic.

With a grin she tapped her thumb down and raised the phone to her ear. There was no sound of ringing on the line, just a voice telling her that the number she was dialling had not been recognised. She brought the phone away from her ear and held it to Carrie’s so that she could hear the message too. Carrie’s eyebrows drew together as she listened, and Maeve brought the phone back and ended the call.

"What the hell?" she wondered again.

This is too weird, Maeve. I don’t like it, Carrie was looking at her own text message again as though she was hoping it would have disappeared, only to be disappointed when it was still there.

Well, we’ve gotta check it out! Maeve decided.

What do you mean?

"I mean, Maeve held up the screen with the text on it again, we should just do what it says. Go to this place and see for ourselves!" She grinned, already excited at the prospect of this new adventure.

But we don’t even know where we’re going, Carrie protested. All we have are some random coordinates that might land us in…deepest, darkest Peru or something!

While her friend spoke, Maeve was already busy punching the coordinates into her phone and looked up triumphantly when the result appeared on her tiny screen.

Regent’s Park! she gave Carrie a smug grin. That’s only, like, fifteen minutes from here…

Are you serious? Carrie was horrified. What if it’s some sort of psycho killer and he’s just luring us out to a secluded spot, so he can brutally murder us!

Maeve rolled her eyes. "You watch too much ’Criminal Minds’, she smiled. Come on, we’ll be together. What’s the worst thing that could happen?"

A psycho killer could lure us to a secluded spot and brutally murder us? Carrie repeated, only part-joking.

Maeve snorted a laugh and turned back to her phone, to work out the fastest route to Regent’s Park from where they were now. Don’t you wanna know what this is all about though? Aren’t you even a wee bit curious to know who sent these messages? And why?

Well, yeah but—

That was good enough for Maeve. Come on, then!

Carrie sighed, Are you sure about this, Maeve?

Of course I’m sure! she linked her arm through Carrie’s once more and started off in the direction that google had told her to take. Come along, Watson. The game is afoot!

Chapter 3

So…they hadn’t invented chairs in Shakespeare’s day?

Oliver had been complaining pretty consistently throughout the entire performance at the Globe Theatre and had no intentions of stopping now that the play was over and they were making their way outside.

I mean, why couldn’t we have sat in the bleachers around the edges? Probably woulda got a better view from up there…

"I’ve told you, Oliver, it’s more atmospheric to stand in the Globe. You get right up close to the action that way!" Michael was an understanding man, but Oliver could sense that his best friend’s seemingly infinite reserves of patience were starting to run dry.

What action? Oliver pouted. "I didn’t understand a word of it. It was all in… English… He screwed up his face in a mixture of confusion and disgust. How could you possibly have any idea what was going on?"

I liked it! Oliver grit his teeth as Aria appeared beside them in the lobby, infuriatingly perky as always. "I thought it was très romantic." She gazed longingly at Michael as she said this, while Michael pointedly looked everywhere but at Aria.

I warned you you’d hate it, he told Oliver, carefully ignoring Aria’s comment. You didn’t have to come.

Yeah, Oliver, Aria chipped in, the two of us would’ve been just fine without you.

She linked her arm through Michael’s and leaned against him as she smiled sweetly at Oliver, knowing it would irritate him. Oliver in turn looked to Michael who silently widened his eyes. He could see his friend was anticipating his reaction to this and heading him off with a non-verbal request to play nice. Either that or he was just living out the horror of what it would be like to be left alone with Aria for an entire day of sightseeing. Either way, Oliver sympathised.

He huffed a laugh. And leave you two idiots out here on your own? You wouldn’t last five minutes without me here as your bodyguard! He gave Michael a playful shove as he strode past him out into the summer evening.

Directly outside the theatre was the embankment of the river Thames, and a short stroll along the tree-lined walkway brought them to the Millennium Bridge. It was the height of what passes for summer in Britain, and there were people as far as the eye could see enjoying the early evening sunlight and the gentle sounds of the flowing river. Taking advantage of the pleasant weather, the three friends took their time meandering over the bridge. They walked three abreast with Oliver on one side, Michael in the middle and Aria still clutching Michael’s arm on the other side. Although Oliver’s feet ached from the endless play he had just endured, the warm breeze and promise of food in the near future lifted his spirits. Unfortunately, Aria was in full flow, babbling on about how she intended to spend the entire next day shopping on Oxford Street.

I just hope I have enough room in my case to get it all back home again, she wittered, sounding as though this was genuinely the most worrying thought in her head. Maybe I should buy another case, and put all my new clothes in there? Daddy did give me extra spending money in case of an emergency, after all… What do you think, Michael?

I’m not sure that’s what your dad meant by ‘emergency’… Michael replied tactfully.

He could see Aria was gearing up to launch into an explanation of precisely why this would constitute an emergency, so Oliver quickly cut in. Come on then, Shakespeare boy, what’s next on the agenda?

Michael was used to Oliver’s particular brand of friendship and seemed to take the name-calling in good humour. He was more than capable of giving as good as he got.

"We don’t all have to play along with the ‘Dumb American’ stereotype, you know. Some of us actually like Shakespeare."

Oliver brought a hand to his chest and put on his best ‘shocked’ expression. "You mean people actually sit – sorry, STAND – through that sort of thing for fun! Nuh – uh, man that doesn’t sound right to me. You’re making this up."

Michael looked sideways at him and smirked, Philistine.

Nerd.

Jock.

Di—hey—

Oliver cut off their playful teasing when he noticed the cute guy walking in the opposite direction from them across the bridge. He was just Oliver’s type, tall and lean with messy, dark curls. As they were about to pass each other, Oliver managed to make eye contact and gave the guy a knowing smile only to be delighted when the handsome stranger returned it. He turned to keep the man in sight as they passed and ended up walking backwards in order to throw a flirty wink at him before turning back to his friends, almost knocking Michael over with his backpack as he spun.

Dude, that guy was totally checking me out! Do you think I should go after him? He craned his neck to see if he could still spot the retreating back of his future husband.

Before Michael could answer, Aria butted in with, "Sorry, sweetie, I think he was looking at me. Anyway, isn’t this bridge magnifique! We totally have to take pictures. Come on, Michael!"

She started to drag Michael over to the railing to pose, but Oliver intervened and detached her grip on Michael’s arm. "Yeah,