"Castle?" Lionel turned off the engine.

"Arr, that be Castle Drog," explained the Captain. "Had a reputation for things that go bump in the night once upon a time. Strange goings on. Poltergeists moving things about some say, or piskies say others. They say the old Lord of the Manor, Arbuthnot Fumble, used to sleep in the east wing, but one morning they found his false teeth in the attic in a glass on the bedside table of the Mexican kitchen maid, one Lola 'Hot Stuff' Tabasco. No-one could ever explain it. Some of the other servants reported a-creaking of floorboards, thumping noises and strange cries. Lola herself seemed oddly changed in her mood and would not be drawn on what she had witnessed that night. Right peculiar."

"What did Lady Fumble have to say about it?" enquired Lionel, whose sharp accountant's mind had fastened on a theory.

"Lady Lucretia Fumble had passed on many years before," answered the Captain, "although no-one has ever seen her grave. The whole thing were a bit mysterious, because according to the Pengoggly Post her death certificate said she died o' The Twinge. The coroner did query it, not finding The Twinge in his medical encyclopaedia, but by that time the doctor who signed it, a Dr Squidtentacles, had disappeared without trace, so the coroner passed it and that was that."

The darkness was oppressive, and not much lifted by the dim light coming from the windows of the Piskie and Pasty. The loss of the mermaid felt like a weight on Lionel's chest when he didn't think about it, and a sharper pain when he did. He now felt that any adventure not involving his own problems would take him out of himself, which would be some relief. "Whatever your business with Castle Drog, I'd like to help if I can," he addressed Alf.

"Aye, count me in too. But I think we could all do with a drink first," said Captain Kipper.

There were few customers in the Piskie and Pasty, and they were all sat in corners, crouched over pints. As the three men walked in all eyes turned on them suspiciously. The landlord heaved himself up from his stool and leaned on the bar, hands resting on the beer-soaked mats, and stared at them.

"So... what be you doing in these parts?" The landlord spoke slowly, as though he had seen too many Westerns. His accent was local, but there was something about it that did not quite fit.

"My round," Lionel turned to the others. "Alf?"

"Just a single Antiguan rum to warm me up, thank you very much. Must keep my wits about me tonight. Oh, and a pasty if I may beg of your kindness."

"My pleasure. And a pint and a half of 'Hideous Pigsty,' please," Lionel added, knowing the Captain's taste in local bitter. The half was for himself, as he was driving.

The landlord did not move. "You bain't from around here," he stated in the same slow drawl, fixing Lionel with an emotionless gaze.

There was an uneasy silence. Then Captain Kipper spoke up. "I be a Cornishman as much as 'ee!"

The landlord appeared to ignore this. The men stood there, saying nothing more. Lionel felt a previously unknown courage surging within him, and held the landlord's stare. An unreasonable amount of time passed.

Finally the landlord appeared to waver. "Woman!" he cried loudly, his head jerked back in the direction of the back room.

Almost immediately emerged a woman who struck something deep within Captain Kipper. She seemed overwhelmingly sad, dressed in a simple off-white smock and a dull brown skirt, her eyes downcast and her face expressing defeat. Yet something about her lit a fire in his simple fisherman's heart. Her wavy raven hair framed a dark complexion and her finely chiseled features might have been somewhere between African and Hispanic. Her body, too, was well-formed.

"Serve these gentlemen!" the landlord ordered, "A single rum and a pint and a half of bitter. And a cold pasty." He then slumped back on his stool and seemed to stare into space.

Silently the woman brought the drinks to the bar, making brief eye contact with each of the men as she did so. There was a pleading in her eyes. Captain Kipper touched her hand briefly, almost by accident as she handed him the pint of 'Hideous Pigsty,' and he held her gaze longer than the others. There was an unspoken promise in the Captain's expression. Sometimes a lot can happen in the time of taking a breath.

They took the drinks over to an unoccupied table and sat. Alf simply put the cold pasty in his jacket pocket. After the three men had been sipping in silence for a while, one of the denizens of the pub shifted slowly from his place and shambled over.

"You lookin' fer summat?"

Lionel spoke. "Castle Drog. Is it far?" Alf kicked him under the table but it was too late.

There was a stir amongst all the other drinkers.

"Arr!" they all said in near unison, like some rustic Greek chorus,

"don't 'ee be goin' to that haunted place!
"Cursèd be the day when Arbuthnot
"the Lord and rightful ruler of this land
"did sell his birthright for a pot of gold,
"abandoning his castle, friends and folk,
"into the merciless hands of greedy men!"

"What happened to Lord Fumble, then?" asked Lionel.

The first denizen raised a warning finger. "Sold the castle and all his lands to the Devilipers."

"Developers?" ventured Lionel.

"No, Devilipers."

"Don't you read the newspaper?" the Captain chipped in, addressing Lionel, "they're going to build a marina in the harbour, complete with multi-storey hotel, amusement arcade and a giant aquarium. Make Pengoggly into a major tourist resort. Although what they want with the castle I don't know."

A cold stab of fear went through Lionel's heart. First, the loss of the mermaid. Now this, the destruction of the beautiful harbour and the sleepy fishing village that he'd grown to love.

"That's it," a second pub denizen picked up the conversation, "sold his birthright and moved to Chelsea. Keeps a small outhouse in the grounds of the castle estate but hardly comes here. They say when Lady Lucretia died his mind turned dark, and now he be decayed aristocracy, so he be gone to Chelsea to decay some more. His butler went with him, they say. The previous landlord of this pub disappeared too, good old Ben."

At this the landlord looked round darkly, but said nothing.

Lionel said in a faraway voice, "All that beauty..."

At this the chorus started up again.

"Arr!

"When those who rule let darkness overcome
"their raddled minds, then rising from the mud
"come fearsome creatures in the shape of men
"who trample beauty in their lust for gain."

"Arr..."

"Arr..."

Alf put a hand onto each of the other men's arms. "It's time to go," he said. Lionel looked around and noticed that the landlord was no longer there, only the woman. She hesitated, looked behind her, then lifted the bar flap and approached the men. She handed a small slip of paper to Captain Kipper. "Your receipt," she said, loud enough for the rest of the drinkers to hear.

"But it were Lionel..." the Captain began, but she was gone.

The men rose slowly and bowed to the denizens. "We thank you for your company, but now we must be on our way," Alf addressed them.

"Whatever 'ee do, don't go to the castle. It be an evil place!" All the denizens rose as one as the men went towards the door.

"Don't go there. No. Arr."

***

A note from the author

Dear Pulchritudinous Periwinkles,

Another chapter of this thrilling yarn.

I have to inform you that owing to an oversight the purchase of a pasty by Lionel for the Higgs Bosun was omitted from the original text of chapter 10. This is the kind of error that can creep in during long nights in the study.

I am happy to report that Myfanwy at least has stopped giving a running commentary while making the tea, but she still breathes heavily when putting the tea right in front of me instead of slightly to one side, as I asked.

Pip pip!

Melodious Mackerel

***