Chapter Text
"Turn left at the next intersection please," I told Nightingale, while making the same turn with my fingertip on the roadmap I was holding in my lap. Phone reception in the middle of the Surrey countryside wasn't great, and we were in Nightingale's classic Mark 2 Jaguar, which does not have such modern things as satellite navigation. So a good old-fashioned paper roadmap it was.
The reason for our little trip was a phonecall from a Mister Barclay Beg-Chetwynde - I'd had to ask him how to spell his name twice - complaining about his 'bitches' behaving strangely. ("Uhm," I'd said intelligently, prompting Barclay to chuckle and somewhat condescendingly explain he was talking about his dogs. Could've fooled me.)
When I told my boss about this call, I'd found that he and a late relative of Barclay's had attended wizard school together. "Or at least I'd assume so," Nightingale had said thoughtfully. "Beg-Chetwynde can't be that common a surname."
"That would certainly explain how Barclay knows about the Folly, and knew to call us and not the local vet or the RSPCA about his dogs," I'd said.
"Quite," Nightingale had agreed and then tossed me the Jaguar's keys, indicating I should drive us out to Surrey. The man does have his moments of generosity.
Upon arrival at the Beg-Chetwynde home we were greeted by a group of howling, barking dogs running around in circles, crashing into each other and stumbling over their own paws.
"Well, I suppose that does qualify as weird behaviour," I remarked to Nightingale over the ruckus outside the car.
"It certainly does," he agreed.
"So what are we going to do about this?"
"Oh, a few sleep spells should do the trick," he said nonchalantly, one hand already on the car's door handle. "And while we're at it, I'd like you to try and sense the formae I'm using. Don't worry if you don't catch them all; it's difficult to learn a new spell with so much background noise going on. Ready?"
"Yes Sir," I said, resisting the urge to make a Pokemon joke even though I really wanted to. But it would have been completely lost on Nightingale, and having to explain a joke makes it a lot less funny.
In any case, we got out of the car and Nightingale's sleep spells made quick work of the yapping dogs, which was clearly appreciated by the elderly white man approaching us. "Ah, thank you!" he called in greeting. "The bitches have been doing that for nearly three days, which I'm sure you can imagine was a tad annoying."
Good old upperclass understatement; Nightingale also does this sometimes. "DCI Nightingale of the Folly," he introduced himself now. "I gather these are your dogs?"
The man confirmed this and gave his name as Mr Barclay Beg-Chetwynde. "What exactly did you do to them, Inspector?" he then asked in a worried tone. "They're not dead, are they?"
"No, just asleep," Nightingale reassured him. "They're still breathing, you see?"
I didn't hear Barclay's reply (if he even gave one) because a flash of movement behind the golf cart next to which Nightingale and I had parked caught my eye. Being both a copper and a naturally curious person, I wandered over to investigate and found a person in a pretty convincing caveman costume.
"Good afternoon," I said in my best assertive police officer voice. "What are you doing there?"
"Watching Barky go mad over crazy acting dogs," the bloke explained with a grin that clearly hadn't seen a dentist in a long time. "It hilaro- hilariro- funny. See?" He threw his head back and howled, prompting answering howls from Barclay's dogs who'd evidently woken up from Nightingale's sleep spell.
"I think we have different ideas of funny, mate," I interrupted him before the dogs could start running around in circles again. "What's your name and address, by the way?"
"Robin, Button House."
I raised what I hoped was a suitably unimpressed eyebrow at him.
"Button House just over there," said Robin, pointing in the direction of the neighbouring country estate which was partly visible through a line of trees. "And my name's Robin, or Rrogh, whatever you prefer."
"I... see," I said, which was at least more eloquent than my earlier 'uhm', though not by much.
Robin sighed. "I'm a caveman. Well, the ghost of one. You shocked?"
I wasn't, not really; with two big old country houses nearby I'd almost expected to run into a ghost or two. However, I'd never met a Stone Age ghost before, especially not one that looked as solid as Robin even in the afternoon sunlight. Button House's magical vestigium had to be off the yap scale to sustain a ghost like him, I thought.
"Me guessing that a no," Robin concluded from my lack of reply.
"Well, there are two big old houses nearby, there's bound to be some ghosts," I said, to which the caveman nodded his shaggy head.
"Yeah, lotsa ghosts in Button House. Not sure about Barky's house, can't go in there. Here's bout as far from Button House as I can go." He looked me up and down. "You should come visit. Always in-tresting having living people over who can see and talk to ghosts."
"I'd love to, but can you wait here for a moment?"
"Course."
I walked back over to Nightingale, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable in that stiff upper lip way of his. The dogs where nowhere to be seen; at my questioning look Barclay explained he'd taken them back inside the house.
"Did you find a cause for the dogs' weird behaviour, boss?" I asked Nightingale.
"So far, no," said he. "What about you?"
I had, but I couldn't really talk about ghosts in front of Barclay. So I 'randomly' suggested we try asking the neighbours if they'd seen anything unusual, to which Nightingale agreed a little too enthusiastically.
"Thank you for coming to my rescue, Peter," he said quietly when Barclay had disappeared around the corner of the house. "That man wouldn't shut up about his 'bitches' and was rather annoying in general. Anyway, is there a particular reason you suggested for us to question the neighbours?"
"Happy to help, guv," I said, smiling at him. "And yes. Inspector, meet Robin - Robin, my boss, DCI Nightingale."
Robin grinned in delight, showing off the (very limited) wonders of Stone Age dental hygiene. "Another man named after bird! Nice meeting you."
"Likewise," said Nightingale, ever polite. "Peter implied you knew why the Beg-Chetwynde dogs were behaving in such a peculiar way?"
Robin explained what he'd already told me, and in turn was told to stop messing with Barclay's dogs - "although, strictly off the record, I do understand your desire to occasionally annoy that man a little."
Robin pointed his thumb at Nightingale and raised a bristly eyebrow at me. "He always talk in such big words?"
"Eh, sometimes," I said diplomatically, catching Nightingale's scowl out of the corner of my eye. Meeting someone who pre-dated the British social class system by several millenia and was completely unfazed by Nightingale's posh accent and bespoke suit had clearly thrown the man a bit off balance.
"So, you still wanna see Button House and meet more ghosts?" Robin asked. "Nighty-gale can come too, if he like."
I exchanged a look with my boss before nodding at the Stone Age ghost. "Lead the way, please."