The Vengeance of the Green Man

Announcements

2011-02-14T22:31:00.002Z

Sir Richard Arcos writes:

The Green Man has asked me to update this blog, explaining that rumours of his demise are exaggerated. As are rumours of mine. I just went to sleep for a week or so after my niece swapped my tablets for some different ones.

The Green Man has been busily biffing the wicked, while I have been reading and doing other things. Like improving the Baboon Walk at the mansion. We had burlars attempt to get in that way once. Only once, mind you. The baboons didn't like being woken up. And upset baboon is, as anyone will tell you, no good at all.

Well, brave new world and all that. We did think of swapping someone's head for their feet, but decided not to. Suffice it to say, the regular doeses of doom will be resuming shortly.

Loving Kindness?

2010-06-07T00:01:00.001+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos here again... Last Sunday saw my visit to St. Horace's, Much Wailing in the Bath, Salop, at the request of some relative or other. I think it was a niece, but it might have been a granddaughter. Anyway, female and related to me in some manner.

The service was what passes for 'traditional' in some circles of the Anglican Church. That is to say, we were presented with hymnbooks at the entrance, and sat down at the front. After which we were told not to sit on the altar rail, so sat down somewhere else.

The congregation, which consisted of several elderly to middle aged people, proceeded to rise on the entry of the (female) vicar, and choir. The latter consisted of three men, two women, and a cat, who appeared to be in charge. The organist played a couple of wrong notes, apologised, and hummed the tune instead.

At the greeting, we were all asked to share a sign of peace. I stuck my tongue out at the woman opposite me, a traditional Nepali greeting, and she ran away. The lass with me made a 'V' sign and muttered 'peace, man...' to the chap opposite her, who just looked confused. Some chap then grabbed her and kissed her. His wife laid him out with a straight left to the jaw, before berating the lass for leading him astray. I had to separate the pair before something happened. I'm sure the couple in front of us were up to something. Well, until someone in the choir threw the cat at them.

Memberships

2010-05-31T11:23:00.005+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos reports... After my glorious role in the General Election, where I tried to stand as Unionist candidate for Cork County, only to discover Cork has not been part of the United Kingdon since the 1920s, and thus does not elect a Member of Parliament, I resumed my role as roving reporter for this blog. So, having convinced my granddaughter to come with me, we decided to visit the Ebenezer church, Pontwen, in Mid-Wales. This church, operating in the fashion of an American independent Fundamentalist Baptist church, boats a membership of almost ten thousand, a remarkable figure in this day of small things.

On the Sunday, we set off from my holiday cottage in Mid-Wales, an old chapel called Ichabod (the manor house was rather inconsiderately being used by my son-in law, some excuse about having seven children and the cottage only sleeping three and a half), for the chapel. Naturally, we wore our best Sunday clothes. I took the Range Rover rather than the Rolls, not wishing to be too ostentatious.

On arriving at the church we found a vacant car park, big enough to fit the car in, but not much else, and a sunken lane leading to the chapel. There was a noticeboard, but it did not seem to have been repainted for a good many years. Proceeding along the lane, we found what is best described as a small jungle, so we returned to the car for a machete. With the aid of this tool, we slashed our way through the undergrowth to the chapel, which is depicted. It appeared to have fallen down a long time prior to our visit.

Further research disclosed that the almost ten thousand members included people born in 1750, and the membership figure was arrived at by the simple expedient of never removing people from the membership lists.

England Expects...

2010-05-06T11:34:00.002+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos writes: If you can vote, do so. I remember when I stood for the County Council once, and had my grandaughters wear sweaters with my name on them. I did not tell them to swap votes for kisses, however. That was their own idea. Still won with 92% of the vote, mind...

Remember Me? Part Five

2010-03-20T07:13:00.005Z

The little boat was pulled onto the beach by three burly sailors, Lady Sylvia watching with interest. Sir Richard Arcos stood in the prow, looking up at the ancient fortress which overlooked the harbour. While Lady Sylvia allowed one of the men to hold her at the waist, lowering her down onto the sand, Sir Richard refused offers of help, leaping down onto the sand with a lightness of step which belied his years. Adjusting his black bowler hat, Sir Richard drew a cross in the sand with his cane, handed each of the sailors a substantial tip, and strode off towards the little fishing town, somewhere on the Balkan coast, Lady Sylvia hurrying after him, her travelling clothes blowing in a chill breeze.

"Sir Richard!" she exclaimed, "where are we?"

"Best you didn't know, lassie," he drawled urbanely. "After all, if this all goes wrong, the less you know the better. Suffice it to say, we are in a country friendly to ours, with a Minister of the Interior who owes me a few favours. The least he could do was facilitate our undetected entry into the country."

"So this isn't our target?" Lady Sylvia was slightly breathless.

"Right first time!" Sir Richard gestured towards the town with his cane. "We hire a car here and prepare to cross the border. Do you think you could be Alice Caine, dear?"

"False papers?" Lady Sylvia smiled.

"Well, how else does one enter a country to bump off a septic wart?" Sir Richard laughed "-of course, lass. Mostly as people might pay a little too much attention to an English knight and the daughter of an earl, if they just turned up in a little Balkan country."

"Of course," Lady Sylvia shook her her head. "Where now?"

"The car hire place and the hotel," Sir Richard nodded. "After which we are going to climb a couple of mountains."

Lady Sylvia sighed deeply.

Remember Me? Part Four

2010-01-27T21:52:00.003Z

Lady Sylvia walked with Sir Richard, away from the church, towards the little old house where the aged widower, formerly pastor of the chapel, lived, listening intently to Sir Richard's tale. He swung his cane, rather than leaning on it, shaking his head as he retailed some information.

"Are you ready to get your brother in trouble, my dear Sylvia?" he smiled mischievously "- I mean, swanning off to somewhere distant with a fairly notorious character..."

"I don't have a reputation," she laughed "-and you won't be able to do this alone, Sir Richard. How old are you?"

"Not apparently old enough to know better," he sighed. "You know, I used to think I was. That the world I lived in back then had changed for the better. But the more I hear today, the more I realise that the struggle between good and evil goes on, and I have no way of dealing with it. All I can do is fight, as I have always fought, trying to adjust the balance where I can. And in the case of Oulton, I can do that."

"When?" Lady Sylvia breathed the words softly "-Sir Richard, I..."

"Well, I hear Central Europe is wonderful this time of year." Sir Richard drawled urbanely. "I thought we might hire a car in Austria and drive about in what used to be the Austro-Hungarian Empire - how does that strike you?"

"If he's there," Lady Sylvia laid a hand on the old warrior's arm, "then I'll go with you. Whatever happens to me after that."

She cast a last, lingering gaze back to the graveyard, where the spring flowers were starting to bloom.

The Return of the Green Man: Part Two

2010-01-26T18:26:00.001Z

Robinson Way looked at the card, scarcely able to believe his eyes. His breath caught in his throat, as he looked to the card, to his guests, and back to the card. His mouth opened and closed, no sound escaping it.

"The Green Man!" He gasped in horror, as breath returned to him "-it can't be!"

"I heard," the whisky exporter joined him. "You said he was dead."

"We all heard," the young woman concurred "-but how can you know?"

Way shook his head, pale as death. He stumbled forward, causing the guests and footman to make to stop him from falling. But the rich man did not fall. Taking a pull at himself, he strightened up, crossing to the window, looking out at the snow.

"The Green Man is dead", Way at last announced. "No-one has heard of him for months. Almost a year. He is dead. How, I don't know, but he is dead. This is a joke played by one of my guests."

"If it's a joke," the whisky man observed, "why is no-one laughing?"

The Return of the Green Man: Part One

2010-01-25T18:08:00.004Z

The winter was unusually harsh, with snow just before Christmas. And that snow stayed, being renewed in early January by further falls, rendering the lanes around the isolated mansion impassable. Food, however, was not a problem, given the fully stocked freezers. Even so, there were some in the house party who were less than pleased when, a week after New Year's Day, the house was still isolated. There were city types who wanted to be back in the office, and models who would have liked to go off to the South of France. Even their host, the resclusive Robinson Way, was less than happy, after someone decided that this was an emergency and drank a great deal of his best claret. But beggars cannot be choosers, and there was little of the less expensive wine left.

An elegantly-dressed female looked out over the frozen landscape from the warmth of the the house and shuddered, looking at the snow. It had been fun the first few days, but now the sight of it was starting to bore her.

"Is there no way of getting a helipcopter or something out here?" she demanded testilty.

"It can be done, Miss Powell," her companion, a bearded man in a tweed suit who was usually involved in the whisky export business, in spite of his old Etonian accent, replied, "but would you take the risk in this visibility?"

She made a face, and turned back to the fire, where Mr. Way say, a glass of vintage brandy in his hand, watching the flames dance in the grate. He seemed lost in thought, and had missed the conversation. Only the approach of a footman caused him to look up. The man carried a silver tray, on which rested a card. While the young woman looked confused, windering how a card could have been delivered, Way read the card idly.

The glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor. Way rose to his feet, pale and trembling. The guests rushed to attend to him. The young woman saw the card on the tray, on which the milionaire's eyes were fixed. She gasped, reading words which she could scarecely credit.

"Surely this is a joke?" she looked up at him, then back at the card.

"No..." the man shook his head, his voice faltering. "No... no... c... c...can't b...b...be - dead! The G...G...G...Gr...Green M...M...Man is DEAD!"

Remember Me? Part Three

2009-06-26T10:10:00.003+01:00

A chill wind disturbed Lady Sylvias hair, as she and Sir Richard Arcos stood by a little grave in Mid-Wales. The earth on the grave was fresh, turf newly laid on it. The two figures wore mourning clothes, and the flowers on the grave were fresh. Marking the grave was a wooden cross, a brass plate on it bearing the words: Yvette Trevelyan: 1920-2009.

"We were once engaged to be married, you know," Sir Richard smiled nostalgically. "But she fell for my best friend. And I let her go. They had a wonderful life together. He was pastor of the church here for a long time. I remember visiting him and his family."

"I know..." Lady Sylvia smiled. "My grandad was your friend too, after all. But something happened, didn't it?"

"Their son, Cakvin Trevelyan," Sir Richard nodded. "He joined the army - against his mother's wishes. Norman told her that she had to let him make his own way, just as we all had, but that's easier said than done. Well, Lieutenant Calvin Trevelyan was seconded to the Secret Service, and sent to Russia to do something awfully hush-hush."

Lady Sylvia looked down again at the grave. She remembered the funeral, the old man in the wheelchair who wept as the woman with whom he had shared his life was buried. And also though of the way that Sir Richard had been unable to be present at her death.

"Oulton was a senior man at headquarters," Sir Richard continued the story. "Some people thought he would be the next head of the Secret Service. But he'd been a Red agent since his Oxford days. Norman and I learned a little of his secret from some party or other we were at. My daughter - the girl called Sparrowhawk - saw him speaking to a man she didn't like, followed them, and found he was passing on secrets to the Russians. Well, Norman and I were able to expose him, forcing him to defect. But before we could stop him, he had Norman's son arrested. Norman had to choose; let Oulton go on working as a mole in British Secret Service, of sacrifice the life of his son." Sir Richard's eyes narrowed. "He chose to sacrifice the life of his son, so that others would not die."

Lady Sylvia could only shake her head.

"The shock almost killed Yvette then," Sir Richard looked again at the grave. "Norman and I travelled to Russia, and there Norman confronted Oulton again. This time, Norman shot him. We all thought he was dead."

"But?" Lady Sylvia sighed.

"The other day," Sir Richard replied, "I learned that Oulton is still alive. Not only that, but he's still dangerous. How do you fancy a trip to Eastern Europe, my dear?"

Remember Me? Part Two

2009-05-01T19:19:00.005+01:00

Lady Sylvia looked at the old gentleman for what seemed like an age, incredulous. He only nodded, leaning on his cane.

"You heard me correctly, my dear," he spoke softly. "I need you to help me do something that could see both of us in prison - or maybe even dead."

"What is it?" Lady Sylvia spoke in a shocked whisper. "Why not...?"

"Speak to the Green Man, lassie?" Sir Richard chuckled. "While I appreciate your point of view, there are some things that I prefer not to leave to the Green Man. And one of those is the little trip I have in mind."

Her lunchbreak about to end, Lady Sylvia had to bid farewell to the elderly adventurer. All through the day, however, she could not keep his words from her mind. She was afraid for him, afraid that Sir Richard Arcos was about to embark on some foolish crusade. She hurried over to his London house after work, dreading what she might find.

She ought not to have worried, she reflected, as she reached his door, and found Sir Richard standing there, smiling. Hurring up to him, she embraced him, kissing his cheek.

"I must give you the idea that I've gone comletely bug-house more often, my dear," Sir Richard smiled wryly. "Come on in."

"Not so loud," Lady Sylvia smiled nervously. "People might get the wrong idea..."

"I'm afraid, lass," Sir Richard shook his head, "that I passed the age when people drew such conclusions a long time ago. I've aged far too gracefully to seem to be that sort of old man." He escorted her indoors. "Now, where were we?"

"A plan that might land us both in prison." Lady Sylvia took his arm. "What is it this time?"

"Yesterday," Sir Richard pointed to his desk. "I received two letters. One was from Wales, the other from a closed country in Eastern Europe. The Welsh one was from Dr. Norman Trevelyan, a retired pastor. His wife's just died unexpectedly, and he doesn't know how long he has to live. The other was from a source in Eastern Europe, a man I knew during the Cold War. Oulton, the defector is still alive."

Lady Sylvia gasped.

Remember Me?

2009-04-02T09:56:00.001+01:00

Lady Sylvia Vaughan looked out over the Thames from the office of Lord Ambrose Vaughan, MP for Greyminster, as she sorted through his mail. She checked it for junk mail, then constituency mail, and other policical stuff, all the while hoping that it wouldn't be long before her brother got himself a proper secretary. But he had not expected to be elected, and so nothing was in place yet. Still, after life with the Green Man, this was the most boring thing on earth. Looking away from the river, she turned her attention back to the mail.

Only to almost drop everything, as she found a letter addressed to herself. Typed on an old manual typewriter, it was an invitation for her to meet someone in the Victoria Tower gardens, that green space lying between the Palace of Westminster and Lambeth bridge. The letter was not even signed. By all rights, she should have ignored it, but bored people often do things they shouldn't, and so, at the stated hour, Lady Sylvia Vaughan was stood in the Victoria Tower Gardens, wondering just who had written to her, and why.

And, more importantly, just how she was supposed to know who it was. After all, there had been no signature on the letter. And the number of people in the gardens was always fairly substantial. Mostly tourists, and, on good days, people having their lunches (although she preferred a nice little Cafe near the Home Office). That made it safe, however, for surely no-one would try to attack her in such a public place, where every building overlooking her was in some way connected to the business of Government?

"I see you came, lassie."

A familiar voice caused Lady Sylvia to start. She turned round, a smile on her pretty face, to see a patrician figure in bark suit and bowler hat, carrying a cane, rather than an umbrella.

"Sir Richard Arcos!" she exclaimed. "You wrote that letter?"

"All on my own," Sir Richard gave her a courtly bow. "I apologise profusely for any howlers in the spelling, of course. After all, I am used to having a girl do the typing for me. But this is a rather sensitive matter. Hence meeting you here, rather than at the House of Commons or my place."

"What's wrong?" Lady Sylvia moved closer to the old gentleman.

"Nothing, my dear," Sir Richard shook his head. "Absolutely nothing. I simply need your help in a little matter - a little matter that could see us both in prison."

From the Green Man's Private Files: Eleven

2009-04-01T09:13:00.004+01:00

Stannard's finger tightened on the trigger. The two girls stood silent, ready for the shot when it came, each prepared to attack while the other died. Ms. Madison saw the ghost of a smile cross the face of Sparrowhawk.

But the shot which rang out did not come from Stannard, but from the lift, shattering Stannard's wrist. The criminal turned looked up, cursing, as he tried to staunch the bleeding.

"Cliveden Stannard." The unmistakable voice of the Green Man caused the girls to smile happily. "You have been given the chance to show that you were no more than a harmless con man. Instead, you have demonstrated that you are a heartless monster. You would have blotted out two lives because they threatened your career of crime. You have stolen from the most vulnerable and trusting in society, in order to line your own pockets."

"You!" Stannard fell back, trembling. "But how...?"

"You are not the only one who has tracking devices and silent alarms, Stannard." The Green Man walked slowly out of the lift. "When my agent went to that house, I suspected that she might be walking into a trap. She has several homing devices on her. Now I have found you."

"Kill him!" Stannard shouted to his men.

At once, Sparrowhawk and Ms. Madison turned, kicking the men closest to them, before tackling the others, both showing a good grasp of unarmed combat techniques. The Green Man continued to approach Stannard.

"You cannot hide behind your hired thungs now, Stannard," he snarled. "The day of reckoning is here, and you will have to fact that alone. Every man, Stannard, is to be put to death for his own sin."

"Please..." Stannard shook like a leaf. "I'm a rich man, I can..."

"Your wealth will not save you." The Green Man shook his head, raising his gun. "Whether you have killed directly or just given the order, there is blood on your hands, Cliveden Stannard. And that blood cries out for vengeance..."

"Please!" a tear rolled down Stannard's cheek, give me a chance, I..."

"You have had your chance." The Green Man was unmoved. "This was a test, Stannard. And you have failed. All that remains for you now is vengeance. The vengeance of the Green Man."

The gun spoke. Stannard screamed, as the impact of the bullet punched him through the glass of the penthouse window. The scream he gave as he fell indicated that he was still alive. Until he hit the ground.

Sparrowhawk and Ms. Madison followed the Green Man from Stannard's penthouse, leaving battered thugs behind them, and an open case of domuments detailing Stannard's activities.

From The Green Man's Private Files: Ten

2009-03-31T08:39:00.004+01:00

The girls had no choice but to surrender to the goons who filled the office. Sparrowhawk's whip was removed from her, while Ms. Madison was frisked for weapons. Disarmed, they were led to a waiting car. The masked girl gave the Green Man's assistant a hard look.

"Don't blame 'er, sweet'eart," one of the men delivered a sharp tap to Sparrowhawk's rear end. "You set off a silent alarm the moment you opened that safe. She's just a bonus."

The girls were silent, as the car drove them from the suburbs into the city, eventually stopping under a towering partment block. Waved out by the goons, they moved obediently to the lift, aware that while the men's guns could no longer be seen, they remained trained on them. Crossing the foyer, they were herded into the lift, and one of the men pressed the button for the penthouse.

"The boss at least has a sense of occasion," Ms. Madison managed a smile. "I suppose this is the end of the line."

"You got it, sister," another of the men managed his best impression of an American gangster. "After this it's the 'igh jump for both of yer."

"You know," Sparrowhawk observed offensively, "you really sound stupid."

The man hit her, with no discernible effect on Sparrowhawk, except to cause her mouth to curl in a rather worrying smile. The tension in the lift was palpable. And even worse than the usual tension in lifts. Ms. Madison worried that the girl in leather might do something foolish all the way to the top, smiling with relief as the door opened into the luxurious penthouse that was Stannard's lair. The man himself was waiting to greet them.

"Lynette," he shook his head. "And I really thought I might be able to trust you. "I'm disappointed, I suppose you know that."

"That's rich," Ms. Madison raised her head proudly. "Coming from a con-man, like you."

"Con-man," Sparrowhawk shook her head. "Lynette, this guy's more than just that. He's an all round piece of scum - I've stood in better."

"And the ever-predictable Sparrowhak," Stannard shook his head. "I thought masks and costumes went out with the 1960s. You know, I spotted you weeks ago. I've been waiting for you to make your move on that office. My men were just round the corner, waiting for the alarm."

"Well, that 'ld be 'cause they're yellow," Sparrowhawk's tone remained offensive. Ms. Madison had to marvel at the cool insolence of her fellow captive.

"No," Stannard shook his head, as one of his goons made to hit Sparrowhawk. "No violence, not yet."

"Don't like to see it yourself, huh?" Ms. Madison winced, as Sparrowhawk spoke again. "Well, what 're you going to do with us? Are you going to have your boys take us someplace and kill us? After all, now that we've seen those papers, you can't let us go, can you?"

"Take you somewhere?" Stannard shook his head. "I'd love to, but I know that you'd probably escape. Here, tenty floors up, there's no escape." Reaching into his desk, he extracted a gun. "I'm very much afraid I'll have to kill you myself."

From the Green Man's Private Files: Nine

2009-03-17T06:52:00.005Z

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ms. Madison looked, wide-eyed at the leather-sheathed figure of Sparrowhawk.

"Looks like the same thing as you." There was a light of mischief in the eyes of the masked maiden. "I came here to crack his safe. But I got here first." A satisfied smile spread over her face."So, the Green Man got the memo at last."

"What do you know?" Ms. Madison drew closer. "What have you found out..."

"Right now? Sparrowhawk walked back to the open safe. I only got here a few minutes before you. Wanna help?"

The two young women emptied the safe between them, taking piles of documents of equal size. Ms. Madison laid her documents on the desk, while Sparrowhawk took the floor. They sorted through them with as much speed as they could muster without running the risk of missing something. At last, Sparrowhawk looked up, eyes wide.

"Samwell Estates, right?" she addressed Ms. Madison in that odd tone of hers.

"That's right," Ms. Madison nodded, kneeling beside the lass in leather. "What have you found?"

"Only this." Hawkie brandished a couple of documents. "Two copies of Samwell Estates' trading account. Both addressed to Stannard."

"That's enough to prove a relationship between Stannard and Samwell Estates." Ms. Madison smiled. "And that's enough to prove that what happened with the church was no accident. And that's enough to get Stannard prosecuted."

"If you can get those papers to a judge."

A voice behind the two girls caused them to start. They saw two big men with guns. Guns that were pointed at them. Slowly, they rose, rasing their hands. The two men nodded approvingly.

"The boss is going to want to see you." One of the men spoke, in a definite Estuary accent.

"I think," Sparrowhawk turned to her friend, "we're in trouble."

From the Green Man's Private Files: Eight

2009-02-20T20:50:00.002Z

Ms. Madison parked her car a couple of streets away, and walked briskly to the house. It was elegant, built towards the latter end of the nineteenth century, with servants' quarters to the rear, and a single-storey drawing-room extension built out to one side. A plaque by the door indicated that it was the registered offices of 'Atlas Training'. Ms. Madison narrowed her eyes. Companies House listed Stannard as the managing director of the comapny, and she knew the other directors were but his dupes or his cronies.

Dodging into the alleyway to the rear of the property, she shed the raincoat that covered the black jeans and sweater that constituted her burglary costume. A back balaclava, more functional than elegant, completed the ensemble. She scaled the wall gracefully, shinned up a drainpipe, and entered the house through an upstairs window. As she had been told, it was destered. Her rubber soled pumps made no sound, as she crept downstairs, following the map of the ground floor that she had memorised.

The safe was in what had once been the library of a Victorian Member of Parliament. It was of the same vintage as the house. Nothing fancy. Which would probably make opening it a lot harder.

As she entered the room, however, Ms. Madison saw the safe open. She drew back cautiously, wondering whether her information has been defective. No-one moved, however, so the burglarious blonde hurried forward stealthily once more.

A movement behind her causedher to turn. She was only just able to keep the blow aimed at her from knocking her out. Even so, it sent her staggering into the desk. She turned, adopting a fighting stance, ready to face whatever Stannard had planned for intruders.

Instead, two young women gave exclamations of surprise.

"Sparrowhawk..." Ms. Madison looked into the wide eyes of the girl the Green Man had once loved.

From the Green Man's Private Files: Seven

2009-02-19T21:14:00.004Z

Ms. Madison and the vicar left the hall for the more private surroundings of the clergy house. There, seated across a table from the priest, she heard his tale of woe. How Stannard had approached the church with plans for a youth centre, explaining thathe desired to do good in the community, and that he would put a great deal of his own money into the project, provided they could match it. The people of the church had risen to the occasion, raising a sum in excess of a hundred thousand pounds, land had been bought, and work started, Stannard being photographed cutting the first sod. It had brought him good publicity, but almost as soon as the press had departed, work had ground to a halt, when it was discovered that the land was contaminated, and the cost of decontamination was far in excess of the church's budget. Stannard had explained that he was unable to pay any more, and ended the conversation there. Ms. Madison shook her head, muttering platitudes, and explaining that there was no evidence of wrongdoing on Stannard's part.

Later, in the derelict chapel, the Green Man in attendance, she was far more forthcoming.

"Stannard should have checked what the land had been used for before," she blazed, "at the very least..."

"It is not the least I am concerned with." The Green Man shook his head. "I suspect that Stannard knew exactly what he was doing. The land was bought from Samwell Estates, a mysterious property company which Stannard has done business for before. It is my belief that Stannard is in fact the guiding hand behind Samwell Estates."

"So the deal with the land..." Ms. Madison gasped.

"...was neither more nor less than Stannard duping the church and its people in order to dispose of land he could do nothing with." The Green Man shook his head. "As I said, Stannard has been badly hit by the recent financial turmoil, and now he's trying to get as much money out of his empire as he can before it collapses. But I believe that there are papers establishing a concrete connection between Stannard and Samwell estates. Return to your hotel room. Directions to the place they will be will be there."

From the Green Man's Private Files: Six

2009-02-15T07:04:00.001Z

The church was in a slightly down-at-heel part of town, a grand gothic edifice dating from the Victorian era. A large vicarage occupied part of the site, together with what had once been schools, but were now part of an outreach project. Ms. Madison paid her taxi fare, and hurried to the open door of the schoolroom. Acending the steps, she passed through a vestibule, into a room filled with teenagers, who were talking to a number of youth workers and a couple of men in clerical collars.

"Father Matthews?" Ms. Madison spoke nervously, voice high, tembling a little.

"Yes, child?" a man in late middle age looked around, taking in the stylish clothes of Ms. Madison.

"Amy Charles," the blonde produced a business card bearing that name. "I'm a freelance journalist."

"Oh!" The priest beamed. "Are you here to let the country know what splendid work we are doing with the young people of this district?" He leaned towards her.

"I'm afraid not," Ms. Madison smiled becomingly. "The world's a terrible place, Father, and people want to know that, rather than the good work you do. It's Mr. Stannard and the extension..."

"While I am loathe to speak ill of anyone," Father Matthews shook his head, "Mr. Stannard surprised even I, well-versed as I am in the ways of sinners as I am."

"Mr. Stannard claims that the money ran out before building could start," Ms. Madison lowered her voice confidentially.

"And under the law, he committed no crime." The Priest looked into her eyes. "But sin and crime are not the same. Not every sin can be a crime. Sometimes innocent men can be caught by such laws. God, who knows the heart, can judge where men remain silent."

"I understand." Ms. Madison nodded. "The estimates were probably deliberately falsified, to show the money running out before building work could begin. But there's no evidence to support that. Still, why didn't you go public?"

"It is not our place as the church of God to carry out that sort of campaign." The Priest smiled graciously. "We must trust in God for our ultimate vindication. Maybe we sound strange to you..."

"It's all right, Father," Ms. Madison took his arm. "I understand. Just tell me the background, and I'll keep my source to myself."

From the Green Man's Private Files: Five

2009-02-14T09:10:00.000Z

By the time that Stannard had finished going through the 'guaranteed rates of return' on his investments, Ms. Madison appeared to be hooked. Any person in any sort of financial difficulties would have jumped at the opportunity he seemed to be holding out to her, with thirty, forty, even fifty per cent profits guaranteed, the blance sheets of other clients being used to show just how wonderful his businesses were, and how small fortunes could be made from relatively small investments. Not that Ms. Madison was as impressed as she seemed. She knew that Corona was little more than a glorified pyramid scheme, the money paid in going out almost immediately, most of it to pay these inflated returns, the rest to fund Stannard's lifestyle and his other enterprises.

She also knew that Stannard was unlikely to check her credentials too closely. The recent slump in property prices mean that his property empire, mortgaged to the hilt, was in serious trouble. The whole edifice was tottering and Stannard, like most criminals, had not prepared for the lean years that must invariably follow the fat. And a large inheritance belonging to an air-head heiress was bait that he couldn't possibly resist.

As the interview ended, Stannard rose, still smiling.

"Well," he nodded, "of course, I don't expect you to make an immediate decision, of course, but I do hope you'll consider investing in our operations. I like to flatter myself that this is still the best investment, even in these difficult times."

Playing hard to get, Ms. Madison noted. She gave him a smile of approval.

"I'll certainly give it serious thought, Mr. Stannard." She shook his hand. There was no point in her pressing things now. That would almost certainly arouse his suspicions, especially if he knew Sparrowhawk was creeping round.

She left the office, escorted by Vance, who handed her back her attache case, still smiling. After thanking him, Ms. Madison hailed a cab.

"St. Morton's Church," the blonde hopped inside.

Unlucky For Some

2009-02-13T11:30:00.001Z

Academic plagarism. It is on the increase. Mostly among students, many of whom go to university at least as much for the student lifestyle as the scholarship. If it is detected then the most severe penalty is expulsion. But what happens when the person who has done it is not a student but an academic? Professor Douglas Stibbs of Cardigan University knew the answer...

But the penalty was paid not by him but by Jacqueline Lake. A brilliant student, she submitted an essay on town planning for Professor Stibbs' Second Year module. Pushing a deadline and suffering from writer's block, Professor Stibbs put his own name to the essay, which was published in a prestigious journal.

A few months after the publication, Professor Stibbs answered his door to find Jacqueline standing there, her expression thunderous. She point-blank accused him of having stolen her work and threatened to report him to the University authorities. Although he told her that no-one would believe her, he still gave her a cheque for a thousand pounds and told her that there was more where that came from if she would write a couple of chapters for a book he was writing. More, that he would credit her as his co-author. She was suitably grateful, believing that this would make her reputation, ensuring her an academic post once she graduated. So the matter of the copied article was allowed to drop, and the student worked hard on the chapters she had been allocated. Stibbs told her not to let anyone know, in case other students objected, and the quiet, bookish girl agreed.

At last, the book was finished, and Stibbs took Jacqueline out for a quiet celebration. On the way back, he pulled the car into a drive in an isolated spot by the sea. He told her that he loved her, flattered her, and she offered him her lips.

He took them. And her life as well, throttling her to death and casting her lifeless corpse from the cliffs. When her body was recovered, it was too badly decomposed for the cause of death to be established. And when the book came out, it was in the name of Professor Stibbs alone.

The man's conscience gave him little trouble over the years. Occasionally, he thought that he saw Jacqueline Lake out of the corner of his eye. But these were isolated occasions. However, when the next round of assessments came up, he found the old block had returned. Asked time and again for an article or two, he had to put the dean off with excuses time after time.

Until, marking part two essays, he read one of such brilliance that he could scarcely believe it was written by a student. Yet it was, a new student, a transfer from another University. Martha Adare. In due course that, too, appeared in a learned journal. And, in due course also, he received a note from Miss Adare, accusing him of plagarism. She bluntly instructed him to come to the stairs off the old quadrangle and bring five thousand pounds in cash. Naturally he came, although not with the cash. He meant to buy her off in the same way he had bought off Jacqueline. And with the same ultimate pay-off.

He reached the little stairwell with pounding heart, wondering whether Miss Adare would fall for his blandishments. Or whether he might have to take more permanent steps there and then.

But the stairwell was empty. He waited, wondering what could have delayed the blackmailer. Until the lights went out.

"Professor Douglas Stibbs," a male voice delared. "Five years ago, you killed Jacqueline Lake, after you stole her work, to pass off as your own."

The professor began to speak, but the voice cut him off brutally.

"Do not try to deny what is true, for I know. Tonight, you came here meaning to kill another. With one difference. Martha Adare, as you call her, is not a student, but a Private Investigator. Tomorrow, the newspapers will publish the story that you passed off an essay written to order by an Oxford Professor as your own. Your career will be over."

When the lights went on, the Professor was alone once more. He hurried from the college buildings and leapt into his car. As he left the car park, he almost ran over a couple of students.

His body was fished out of the sea a week later. A full confession was in his abandoned car.

From the Green Man's Private Files: Four

2009-02-12T09:37:00.001Z

Early the next morning, Ms. Madison made her way down an almost desterted city street, heading for the offices of Cliveden Stannard's investment bureau. She allowed herself to whistle carelessly, as she swung her attache case. The receptionist saluted her again, as she made for the lift.

"Appointment with an adviser," she explained earnestly, hitting the button that summoned the lift.

"Good luck," the receptionist smiled back. "But be careful, huh?"

"Natch." She grinner. "I can look after myself, you know - a girl's got to in these uncertain times."

Before the receptionist could observe that the elegant blonde didn't look like she could, Ms. Madison had entered the lift. As she walked into the office, the young man called Vance stepped forward to greet her.

"Lynette," he took her hand, "it's great to see you. How are you? Did you get up to anything last night"

She coloured becomingly, not all that comfortable at being asked what she was still old-fashioned enough to believe was too personal to be appropriate in the circumstances.

"I... I brought the details you said," she held out the case.

"Great!" he took them eagerly," I'll have one of our analysts take a look at it. "Now, why don't you came this way? Mr. Stannard, our principal, is going to talk to you himself."

"Me?" Ms. Madison looked at him, wide-eyed, "why, that's lovely of him! I'm sure he's a busy man..."

"Never too busy for a prospective client," Vance beamed insincerely. "This way, Lynette."

Since the dossier on the company that the Green Man had sent her indicated that the company normally preyed on poor and desperate people, Ms. Madison was not, in fact, surprised at the fact that Stannard wanted to see her himself. Money talks, and the more the louder.

She was shown into an oak-panelled office, where a man in his early forties, with prematurely greying hair rose to greet her.

"Miss Mason," he extended a friendly hand, his charming, old-fashioned manner a marked contrast to that of his subordinate, "I'm so glad to meet you. Vance tells me that you've recently come into some money, and that you'd like help to invest it."

"That's right." She nodded shyly. "You see, I'm not very good with money..."

The smile on Stannard's face was almost predatory.

From the Green Man's Private Files: Three

2009-02-11T09:48:00.001Z

Stannard's offices were located in a much more salubrious part of town. As Ms. Madison stepped out of the taxi this time, she was not told that this was just the wrong place for her. In pale suit, with a cheerful spray of orchids, she looked the very picture of a carefree young thing looking to invest some of her spare boodle. The receptionist saluted her, as she passed through the swing doors.

"I'm looking for Corona Investments," she smiled, "a friend said they helped people manage investments..."

"Second floor, suite seven," the receptionist pointed to a lift which had been recondited from an original of pre-war vintage. You're not the usual sort of client they get, if you don't mind my asking."

Ms. Madison smiled, before entering the lift. Her pose was going to be that of a wealthy young air-head, who had no idea how to manage the large amount of money that she had inherited from some welthy relative. The Green Man's seemingly unlimited funds were, she knew, likely to open doors for her. And perhaps blind Cliveden Stannard.

Ms. Madison entered Suite Seven, and a young man with gelled hair and an Armani suit rose to greet her, holding out a hand.

"Hi," he addressed her with the easy familiarity that someone somewhere has told businesspeople goes down well, "I'm Vance."

"Lynette," Ms. Madison used her real first name. It was a good idea, Sir Richard Arcos had told her, to use your real first name wherever possible, as the reaction to hearing your own name is often instictive. "Is this Corona Investments?"

"Sure," he spoke in that awful half-plebian accent that the whole of England appears to be adopting, in the belief that this appeals to people. "How can we help?"

"You manage investments for people, don't you?" she spoke with a note of hope in her voice. "Well, I recently inherited a lot of money from an uncle. A lot of it was in shares, and in this uncertain economic climate, I want to make sure I can make some money on them. You know how it is..." she looked at him with big, appealing eyes.

"Of course, Lynette." The man called Vance smiled artifically. "I'll have to arrange an appointment for you with one of our advisers. "When will you be free?"

From the Green Man's Private Files: Two

2009-02-10T19:33:00.003Z

"Sparrowhawk again..." Ms. Madison sighed. "If I didn't know better, boss, I'd say there was still something between you."

"Only the past." The way the Green Man spoke told her that she had said too much. The blonde did not speak again, waiting for the Green Man to say something. After a moment when only the soft cooing of pigeons could be heard, he spoke:

"Not so far from here, in a more prosperous part of the city," he told her, "lives a man called Cliveden Stannard. His business card describes him as a property developer, but his business is, in reality, every form of corruption under the sun. At present, he is running what appears to be an investment syndicate. There are no shares. Shortly, the money will dry up, and the poor and desperate who entrusted him with their savings will be swindled. I have learned that Sparrowhawk has taken it upon herself to teach Stannard a lesson, in the guise of an interested investor. I also have reason to believe that Stannard knows she is an impostor, and is only waiting for a convenient hour to destroy her."

"And I am to protect her?" Ms. Madison smiled.

"You are to succeed where she has apparently failed." The Green Man drew back into the shadows. "You are to foil the plans of Cliveden Stannard. And if he has, as I believe, been guilty of willful murder, among his many crimes, then he will know my vengeance. Report back here in a week. I shall be waiting."

Ms. Madison gave a nod of acknowledgement, before she walked out the way she had come.

Sunday Supplement: Not the End

2009-02-09T16:55:00.001Z

Sir Richard Arcos writes: After an unavoidable absence due to the need to help one of my grandchildren recover some money lost to an unscrupulous speculator (which was recovered by the expedient of allowing Sparrowhawk to indulge in a little creative violence), I returned to my perigrinations around the churches. This Sunday saw me attending the Cathedral of the Church of the End Times, which is, somewhat unaccountably, situated in Treorchy.

The church noticeboard has no notices on it, only giving the church name and the times of the 'usual services'. At the door, I was greeted by a steward who was white-faced with excitement, at least, I presumed that was the reason for the face. He shook my hand and, when I mentioned speaking to someone after the srvice, he assured me that there might not be an 'after the service', as the Second Coming might happen before then. I jovially replied that in some churches one suspected that the preacher might, if allowed, preach on until doomsday. He gave me a dirty look, and I sat down.

Everyone was sat on the edge of their seats, and when the minister arrived, they were almost disappointed. He assured them that, although the world hadn't ended yet, he was pretty sure that he'd now corrected the error in his chart, and the world would end on Thursday.

We sange some hymns about the Second Coming, and then the minister unfolded a really long chart with symbols and dates on it. He spent about half an hour explaining how couurent events proved that the end was near, and confidently announced that he had identified the antichrist, who turned out to be the Mayor of Blaenavon. After which we sang another hymn, and had coffee, on the grounds that the world was not now going to end until Thursday, and one might get thirsty between now and then.

From The Green Man's Private Files: One

2009-02-07T16:14:00.007Z

The elegant blonde looked quite out of place, as she stepped out of a taxi on a railway bridge in a run-down part of town. The sun was shining, but that only served to show up the graffiti and the peeling paint. She sighed and shook her head, before turning to pay the driver.

"Still time ter change yer mind, Miss," he told her dubiously. "This ain't the place for you."

"You're probably right," she handed him exact change. Her voice was proper, accentless, rather that 'posh', intonation like that of a radio announcer. "But I can look after myself - and I have a very hard-working guardian angel, to boot. Don't worry about me. I have a habit of getting along."

"Orlright, Miss." The cabbie shook his head, as he drove off.

The blonde raised her head, the breeze disturbing her golden curls. With a quiet determination, she made her way towards the massive derelict building at the end of the bridge. The ground floor windows were boarded up, the upper windows broken, some more hole than glass. A sign on the side informed the passer-by that the building was going to be converted into flats. She ascended the steps to the main doors, which opened to admit her.

Inside, the building was cavernous and empty, shafts of light descending on a floor deep in the deposits of birds. Rusty cast-iron pillars ascended to the roof, and doors at the end of the building indicated the position of vestries and schoolrooms.

"This place is a dump," she shook her head, smiling. "Why's it always places like this?"

"The shadows, " a voice caused her to turn. There, barely visible, was the figure of the Green Man. "Where evil can be found. Forgotten places."

"You mean like last summer?" Ms. Madison shook her head. "With Sparrowhawk..."

"That's why I must see you," the Green Man nodded.

No Rest for the Wicked: Eighteen

2009-01-07T07:47:00.003Z

The Green Man left the bad guy in the 'phone box, before returning to the two girls. Sparrowhawk smiled, looking up at his return. The smile was worrying, rather than happy, a sort of savage relish in her expression.

"Did you kill him?" she asked, voice soft.

"You never used to like the idea." The Green Man looked sternly at her.

"Yeah, but that was before," she cooed the words, looking more worrying than before. "If I'm going to be your pal, I..."

"I'm sorry, Sparrowhawk," the Green Man shook his head. "Those days are gone. Time..."

"Like an ever rolling stream, bears all her sons away?" Sparrowhawk turned her back on him. "I know. I guess I know it better than anyone else. I just hoped that, for once, I might be able to hold onto more than just a few fleeting moments. You can't deny that there was something between us, that you cared for me..."

"I can't." The Green Man's voice was terse. "But you were dead for ten years. The world can't stop while you take a few years off, Sparrowhawk."

Sparrowhawk looked down at the ground.

"I know." She sighed deeply. "Once, I'd 've stamped my feet, done the old 'life's so unfair' routine. But I've lived too long, seen way too much. Seen way too many people die. Let's get on with this, shall we?" she spoke the last words savagely.

Ms. Madison was only too glad to see a couple of Land Rovers pull up outside the ruins of the priory. Men in cloaks and robes piled out.

"Action!" the beautiful secretary hissed urgently.

"Swell!" Sparrowhawk pulled the bullwhip from her belt.

"It ends tonight." The Green Man concurred, drawing his pistol.

Sunday Supplement: Preaching ourselves

2009-01-05T07:11:00.002Z

Sir Richard Arcos writes: Returning after an unexpected absence caused by my one neurotic daughter checking herself into a nursing home, then beating up one of the staff, who was stealing from the patients, I decided to visit a local church, which has recently got a new pastor, of whom we had heard great things. Taking said daughter along, as she really shouldn't be left on her own, I visited the church last Sunday. The morning sermon was on 'preparing for the New Year', so I wondered just what to expect. The preacher, a youngish chap, got up into the pulpit after someone else had led the musical bit. I think he was called a 'Worship Leader'.

Well, when the chap got up into the pulpit, I was a little worried by the fact that he did not give out a biblical text. He began to talk about a vision that he had for 'God's plan for our greatness'. Much of the sermon seemed to be culled from motivational texts and the like. Certainly the stuff about 'good being the enemy of great' comes straight out of a business manual, rather than the Bible.

When he did get to a sort of biblical quotation it was taken from the story of Abraham. Really rather worrying, too. The application was of the 'lessons for life from the Old Testament' variety, and may be summarised as follows: '1. God had a plan to make Abraham great; God has a plan to make you great, too. 2. In order for God to bless Abraham, Abraham had to leave where he was; in order for God to bless you, you have to leave where you are.'

This last part of the message really spoke to my daughter and I. We left the church there and then, and went across to the little Baptist Church in the same village, where we caught a proper biblical sermon and were greatly blessed in hearing it.

Sunday Supplement: My Way

2008-11-17T06:25:00.005Z

Sir Richard Arcos writes: Resuming my peripatetic and occasional tours of the country, I decided to drop in this Sunday at the Acle Straight Free Will Baptist Church. Having for some years been pastor of a Free Grace Baptist Church, I was a little curious to see what goes on in a Free Will Baptist Church. In addition, I do happen to be getting on a bit, and if they were offering free Wills, I thought it might save me a little bit of money. Not that it's tight or anything, it's just that one of my daughters is likely to rather need as much help as she can when I shuffle off this mortal coil. I was handed a book of hymns at the door, and sat down in a quiet pew. The organ played while the chapel filled, people chatting, playing hopscotch, cards, or whatever elese took their fancy.

The service started at about eleven. I say 'about eleven' advisedly, because there seemed to be no set time, people drifting in and out of the building when they felt like it. When the pastor entered the pulpit, about half the congregation ignored him and went on talking. Several people were in a heated discussion, which went on for most of the service. When the first hymn was announced, several people uttered quite loud expressions of disagreement, and two walked out, muttering darkly. Several other people declared that they did not want to sing that particular hymn, and sung another one instead, turning the opening of the service into a rather odd cacophony. The couple behind me shouted that they wanted some minor key hymns, while another chap said he only did rousing hymns.

The Bible reading was announced, but several people declared that they didn't want that passage, others saying they thought the prayer should be next. Someone else suggested the sermon. I was tempted to suggest they all went home, but, after a rather chaotic ad hoc meeting, a vote was taken, and the Bible was read. A couple of carefully selected passages, to do with the 'Whosoever wills' of Christ. Someone fired a pea-shooter at the pastor half way through. He beamed and said that if that was their free will, he accepted it.

The long prayer consisted of thanking God for giving us free wills, and asking God to do certain things, if people wanted Him to do them. I did rather wonder whether it might not, given that theology, have made more sense to ask the people in question. Another hymn was sung, and the collection plate was passed round. It was twice emptied by people who felt like helping themselves to the money. This, since it was their exercise of their free will, seemed to be perfectly aceptable. Someone else challenged one of these chaps, and got knocked out.

The sermon was greeted with cries of annoyance, which were only silenced when the pastor promised not to take more than fifteen minutes. Then some other people declared they wanted a half-hour sermon. The pastor suggested a compromise on twenty minutes, whereupon the entire congregation (except the couple behind me), declared that their free will was being violated, and walked out. I think they went to the pub.

The couple behind me explained that this happens every week. We played snap for the remainder of the service, while the pastor preached and the organist played the organ, both to their hearts' content.

After which, since I was feeling a little peckish, I motored down to Trunch Free Grub Baptist Church, who do a very good spread.

Why the Delay?

2008-10-23T21:29:00.000+01:00

The recent long pauses in the publication the 'The Vengeance of the Green Man' have been due to circumstances beyond the control of anyone in particular, being variously writer's block and other projects. Rest assured, we shall soon be back to our regular doses of battle, murder and sudden death. Hopefully in time for Christmas.

Sir Richard Arcos wishes to thank the one person who wrote to his lawyer asking whether he was dead. He would like to report that he has in fact made a complete recovery, although sadly his doctor died the other night after a short illness. Caused by the cyanide someone had paid him to feed Sir Richard.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Eighteen

2008-10-22T20:29:00.006+01:00

Sparrowhawk looked dubiously at the undergrowth, as she concealed herself in the undergrowth alongside Ms. Madison. The Green Man's secretary looked at the masked girl in leather and tried to smile encouragingly. Sparrowhawk did not smile back, only looking out at the desterted terrace, searching for a sign of movement.

"Why do you dress like that?" Ms. Madison spoke, trying to pass the time.

"I have my reasons," Sparrowhawk was curt.

"Oh." The blonde secretary sounded a little hurt. "Be that way, then..."

Sparrowhawk was quiet for a long time, looking down at the beaten earth, at the undergrowth and the rubble. She looked thoughtful, and not a little sad. There was, the English girl noted, something a little tragic about the little girl in leather. She looked away, feeling that she was looking at something very private.

"I'm sorry," she spoke at last, "but this place is really awful. I remember what they did to me in court, the way that every neurosis of mine was dragged out and paraded in front of the court. Look," she shook her head, "you must know that I'm not exactly normal, that I'm a messed up little thing. Being here brings back memories of a time when the life of a crime-fighter was an interlude between going in and out of private hospitals."

Ms. Madison shook her head, looking sympathetic. She reached out for the masked girl's arm, but she jerked it away.

"There'll be time for that later." She looked out at the fields around them, as dusk fell over the flat agricultural land. The Green Man stood a little way away from them, the wind blowing at his coat, looking down. Ms. Madison shuddered.

"I know," Sparrowhawk spoke soberly. Driven. I've been there and done that. Isn't he magnificent?"

"He's also got a girlfriend." Ms. Madison spoke sternly to the girl in leather.

"Yeah," Sparrowhawk shook her head. "But I'm a naughty girl. Still, after tonight, the Girl in Grey may not have a rival."

Ms. Madison knew not to challenge the masked maiden further. She shook her head, and went back to checking her gun.

The Green Man slipped from the building, leaving the two girls alone. He knew that they could look after themselves. Drawing his gun, he vanished into the undergrowth. A trace of movement revealed a rough looking man at a telephone box.

So the Green Man struck.

No Rest for the Wicked

2008-09-27T07:36:00.004+01:00

Sparrowhawk leapt out of the car, closely followed by Ms. Madison. This time, they had followed the drive that had once led up to the great doors of Tollholme Priory. Now, all they saw was the shattered remains of the entrance front. Ms. Madison strained to keep up, as thegirl in leather shot across the drive, towards a now-overgrown porch. She had not spoken since they had left Greyminster, and her intensity frightened the Green Man's secretary. She knew that the blonde bombshell had spent time in a mental hospital, and apparently hadn't been all that stable before that. Here, in the ruins of a house she claimed to have visited fifty years ago, who knew what might be going through her head?

"Hey!" she exclaimed at last, "what's going on? Why here?"

"Because the end is near."

The voice of the Green Man caused Ms. Madison to start. Not that it should have, she reflected. After all, he was known for turning up in the most odd places. Still, here and now...

"I thought you'd get the hint." Hawkie smiled at him, striking a pose.

"And I never thought you'd give up." The Green Man nodded. "Now that they're facing exposure, I think they'll return to the old sanctuary, don't you?"

"But why?" Ms. Madison shook her head. "They have to know that you're onto them. Why risk it all by coming here?"

"Why did the monks build here?" The Green Man looked out over the windswept plain around the ruins, gaunt and deserted, now that the grounds were gone, the gardens overgrown, ponds choked with weeds. "This was the site of an early Christian mission, Lynette. And many of those missions were built on the sites of pagan rituals. They meet here because they belive that mystical energies flow through this place."

"Now they know Lord Ambrose will fight against all they can throw at him," Hawkie spoke savagely, "they'll seek even diabolic power to stop him."

"But it will do them no good." The Green Man smiled grimly. "Load your pistol, Ms. Madison. Tonight this ends."

Agony Column

2008-09-02T09:03:00.004+01:00

Our guest columnist, Sparrowhawk addresses the problems and concerns of people who've written in. To her. She says:

Daddy suggested that I fill in for him while he's on holiday in South America, so I thought I'd give people the benefit of my experience (the life of adventure bit, not being stuck in a nursing home for a decade). Well, here goes...

Dear Hawkie: My boyfriend's been ignoring me lately, and I think there may be another woman on his mind, what should I do? Anonymous, Brighton.

First, check that he has a mind. Then tell him about your troubles. If he still ignores you, then tie him to the sofa. That ought to get his attention.

Dear Hawkie: There's this really nice girl at work who I'd like to ask out, only she thinks I'm a joke and won't take me seriously. What do you suggest? Confused, Bath.

I suggest you rob the safe and run off to... No, sorry, scrub that, I'm meant to be a good girl. Just buy her chocolates, stuff like that. If she still won't have you, then send all the chocolates to me, c/o Sir Richard Arcos. I'll appreciate them.

Dear Hawkie: My boss has asked me to have an affair with him. It's really embarrassing and he keeps asking, what do I do? Miss X, Perth.

I've always found a kidney punch deters unwelcome suitors. Failing that, push him out of a first floor window. If you can't, I'll do it for you. Next!

Dear Hawkie: About a year ago, I started going out with a really nice guy. He seemed to share all my interests, and was really kind and considerate. A few months ago, his ex-girlfriend came back from the dead, so to speak, and started trying to get back with him. If she keeps on this way, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ... oh, you know what I mean, keep your hands off the Green Man if you want to stay healthy, you interfering, conniving little... Anonymous, London.

(Gulp), love to answer your question, but I gotta run! Catch you again, folks!

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Sixteen

2008-08-21T07:34:00.005+01:00

Lord Ambrose Vaughan stood on a platform in the hall of the Greymister Conservative Working Mens Club, and surveyed the crowd that had gathered. Normally, such a gathering would be little more than a meeting of the party faithful and a few representatives of the local press. But the attempted murder that had left his sister in hospital had turned the election into a major news event. Representatives of most of the major newspapers were there, and there wa a crowd outside who could not get in. Behind his lectern, Lord Ambrose adjusted his tie, as he looked out on the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." he cleared his throat, "I have to confess that I was not expecting such an event. This would have been simply the announcement that I shall be the Conservative candidate for Greyminster in the by-election. However, events have clearly made it necessary that I should say more. My sister, Lady Sylvia, lies in hospital, after taking a knife-thrust intended for me, and that is not the first threat I have had. There are people who do not want the curtain lifted on their little world, with its corruption and wickedness. They have shown themselves willing to do anything to keep me from being named on the ballot paper, or to drive me underground. But I cannot - will not - give in to such evil. I will fight those forces, for the sake of people here who live under the shadow of death and evil, and for the sake of my sister, a great young woman, a courageous girl who put her life on the line for my sake. The least I can do for this town is to put my life on the line for Greyminster..."

The young aristocrat spoke on, his clear voice resonating around the hall, the press and people hanging on his words, as he outlined his vision for the future of the town. Lord Ambrose pounded the podium as his reached his peroration. Men and women leaned forward.

As Lord Ambrose finished, the party workers rose, applauding. Lord Ambrose stood back, drinking in the applause. A curt smile appeared for a moment on his face. As the applause died away, he acknowledged the audience. His appearance had a little of the Roundhead aristocrat about him, the enthusiastic, privileged reformer.

All he could see, however, was the face of a cheerful brunette, joking about his candidature, and doing her level best to undermine him, in her own happy way. He missed Sylvia, and wished she could have been there with him.

"Lord Ambrose!" a man from a major newspaper rose to his feet. "The Government party have selected a local man. What do you have to say to the accusation that you are an incomer?"

"I was asked to contest the seat, and I don't spend the majority of my time at Greyminster Park." Lord Ambrose nodded. "But one reason I was asked is that, although I am a major local employer and landowner, I am not a part of the society here. The people who asked me believe that this place is deeply troubled and needs to have the power of a few broken. I shall do that."

The meeting broke up in applause.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Fifteen

2008-08-12T18:42:00.004+01:00

Something unpleasantly like a red-hot poker brushed Lady Sylvia's ribs, as the brave brunette placed herself between the knife-man and her brother. She heard someone scream, and felt hot blood soak her blouse. A punch to the jaw of the man sent him to the ground, where a couple of burly locals sat on him.

"Sylv!" Lord Ambrose grabbled his sister's arms, looking down at the spreading bloodstain on her front.

"Is this involved enough, bro?" she smiled proudly, her eyes looking up into his. "Tell you what, if you win this one, I'll even come down to the House for your maiden speech...." Her eyelids flickered, and she passed out in his arms.

Sparrowhawk, kneeling on a parapet not three feet away, muttered a curse. She could see Ms. Madison across the street, turning away from the scene she had been too late to prevent taking place.

"It happened before," she told Ms. Madison at the back of the railway station later. "Then it was a councillor. His wife was killed protecting him, and after the case was dismissed, he left the area. He was later found dead. The coroner reprted it as suicide, and the worst part is that he might have been right."

"Okay," Ms. Madison shrugged, "so there's something sinister going on here. Lady Sylvia's not dead, and it was her brother who was the target, anyway. The Green Man's watching over Lord Ambrose, and Sylvia's at Greyminster Park, where she can be properly guarded. The police have had to take this seriously, and the county constabulary aren't a part of this. More, on the strength of this, Lord Ambrose is bound to be the opposition candidate. Where do we fit in?"

"That's easy." Beneath her mask, Sparrowhawk's blue eyes narrowed. "We do what we should have done a long time ago."

"Single out the most plausible leaders and kill them?" Ms. Madison looked confused.

"Tempting but risky," Sparrowhawk smiled dangerously. "No, Lynette. "We go back to the source of all this. We go back to Tollholme Priory."

The gleam in Sparrowhawk's eyes was that of the moonlight on the brass plate of a coffin.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Fourteen

2008-08-09T21:08:00.005+01:00

Day dawned to find Greyminster Park in silence, not even a trace of the events of the night before. Sparrowhawk and the Green Man had manhandled the villains into a wheelbarrow, and disposed of them, leaving even Lady Sylvia unaware of the rough-house. In the elegantly appoined breakfast room, the year could almost have been 1930, and the upper-classes still very much possessed of the upper hand. Lord Ambrose wore a blue rosette on his tweed jacket already, while Lady Sylvia was idly looking over an election leaflet.

"You haven't been selected yet, bro," she told him, "so why have you printed all your stuff?"

"My dear girl," Lord Ambrose drawled, "whether I am selected or not, I shall be contesting this seat. I have been asked to do so to end the tyranny of a circle which dominates this corner of England, whatever their declared creed may be. I stand against the leaders, so-called of this community..."

"I know the speech, bro." Lady Sylvia laughed. "You don't need to convince me. After all, I don't even have a vote here."

"Sylv." Lord Ambrose shook his head. "You are a rather silly girl, even though you work for the Green Man. This is serious, my own struggle against the forces of evil. And you are coming with me, whether you like it or not. I've got to go to the station to meet my would-be agent later, and you are coming with me."

Which was why, about an hour or two later, Lady Sylvia was standing outside the minister which gave its name to the division, surrounded by members of her brother's committee. She now wore a rosette and blue suit. In light of her brother's unmarried status, she was filling the space normally occupied by the candidate's wife.

"Rather fun, isn't it, dear?" a lady with grey hair addressed the young aristocrat in tones just as refined. "You know, this is probably the best chance we've ever had of taking this seat from the Socialists. I remember 1983..."

"I don't," Lady Sylvia smiled impishly. "I was born a year later..."

The woman stepped back, spluttering, and Lady Sylvia chalked up another reason why she'd never become a politician. Which served as something of a consolation for the lovely aristocrat. Her heart went out to her brother, as he was forced to shake hands with every person who presented themselves to him.

Until she saw one man pull a knife and rush forward suddenly.

Announcement

2008-07-24T08:27:00.005+01:00

Tabernacle, Aberystwyth, the chapel that Sparrowhawk was almost killed outside back in 1997, is no more on 4 July, the chapel was set alight by arsonists, and on 11 April, the remains, having been declared unsafe, were demolished. The church had been empty since 2002, when the congregation of 70 ceased using the massive building, which had been constructed for 1800 people. The fourth chapel on the site, it is likely to be the last. The intention was to turn the building into flats. Now both exterior and interior are lost.

The building looked unloved, even in 1997, when it was in use. Entered from a side-street, the chapel presented a starkly classical aspect to the town by the station, from which is was the most obvious building, jutting out into Mill Street. The Green Man would have seen it above everything else, and Sparrowhawk, spotted by the man she had been pursuing for so long, must have headed there in the hope of finding some sort of sanctuary.

Now the chapel is gone, leaving a gaping hole in the town's skyline, probably to be replaced by an anonymous block of flats. A little more of the romance has gone out of the life of this lovely town in Mid-Wales. And, like Sparrowhawk, I suppose that this adds a nother reminder that the past is a place to which we can never return.

In Memoriam, Y Tabernacl, Aberystwyth.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Thirteen

2008-07-24T08:06:00.003+01:00

The shadowy figures crept down the long, dark corridors of Greyminster Park, intent on their terrible mission. Their faces were set like flint, evil in their hearts. As they crept further into the mansion, they muttered arcane spells of protection.

"It is here..." the men paused by a large door. "He is sleeping..."

They tried the door, but it would not open. The men took a step back, one of them taking aim at the lock. His silenced pistol fired, the bullet shattering the lock. They stepped up to the door again, one man leaning on the door, turning the door handle. The door remained stubbornly locked. The man muttered a curse.

"It's bolted." The voice of Sparrowhawk caused the men to turn. The men looked, dumbstruck at the leather-clad figure.

"Who the hell are you?" the man who had tried to open the door raised his gun.

"Scary warrior girl," Sparrowhawk struck out with her whip, tearing the gun from the man's hand. Her boot slammed into the man's jaw, and he slept. "You guys need to realise that I've dealt with slouches like you before. You can pick a lock, but try unbolting a door from the other side."

Another man drew, only to be knocked cold by a blow from Hawkie's gauntleted fist. A short struggled followed, but the men, dependent on their guns, and expecting the element of surprise, were outclassed from the beginning. Sparrowhawks fists and feet seemed to be everywhere at once, knocking the men back against very hard walls.

"Yes," Sparrowhawk struck a pose, leaning on the door frame. "I'm good."

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Twelve

2008-07-21T22:00:00.003+01:00

"No." Sparrowhawk looked defiantly at the Green Man. "You don't brush me off like that. We hunt together, even if you don't love me any more." There was more than a trace of bitterness in her voice.

"Look," the Green Man sighed, "I thought you understood. What we had was never more than a promise that was never fulfilled."

"Story of my life," Hawkie laughed bitterly. "Still, at least I can kick a bad guy in the head when life starts geting me down."

The Green Man smiled grimly, looking up at the moon. Full, it bathed the gardens of the house in an unearthly light. It also gave no cover at all for the wicked. And that was just the way things ought to be. Beside him, Hawkie was tensed, ready to spring on the attackers, the whip by her side ready to do some serious injury. Perhaps this young woman was being more than a little obsessive, but there was little the Green Man could do to stop that. Showing the wicked their proper place (six feet under) was a good way of keeping his mind off things.

"There." The Green Man pointed to a shadow that fled across the lawns. Sparrowhawk slipped the whip from her belt, the light in her eyes suggesting that the wicked had something very nasty pending.

As the blond bombshell raced across the lawn, the Green Man slipped back into the shadows.

The interruption in Service

2008-07-19T22:10:00.004+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos writes: Discerning and learned readers may have noticed an interruption in service. This is because the Green Man was engaged in helping the wife and I squash a particularly septic pustule by the name of Sir Algebald Belhus, a former chemical factory owner whose appalling safety recod has created a great many widows and orphans. Under cover of an invitation to a conference, he was lured to a remote castle in Suffolk, where he was fed food laced with the toxic residue from his own factories. Since the poison was slow and unpredictable, sadly the Green Man was unable to leave said remote castle until it was obvious that the agonies of death had set in. Having delivered the message of doom to the hapless merchat of death, the Green Man was able to resume his duties in the field of visiting vengeance on the satanists of remotest Greyminster.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Eleven

2008-07-19T21:39:00.003+01:00

The sun was sinking low on the horizon, as Sparrowhawk and the Green Man lingered in the garden. The blonde in leather looked up at the Green Man, her blue eyes wide and fascinated.

"Look..." she laid a gloved hand on his arm, "I...I know it's hard, but to me, that night in the station wasn't a decade ago. It was just the other day."

"You lost that decade," the Green Man shook his head. "And I lost you a decade ago, under the shadow of that old chapel. When you walked back into my life it was out of the past. You have to understand that for the rest of us ten years passed. I've met someone else, and it's serious. We never really got started..."

"Then how can you know I'm not the one?" Sparrowhawk sighed, brushing strands of golden hair out of her face. The setting sun gleamed on her hair, offsetting her mask. "I know how it must seem, my striding back in the way I did. But I can't help it. After all this time, have you really forgotten?"

She leaned close to him, her other hand climbing to his lapel. She raised red lips, her eyes closing langourously. This close, the Green Man could not fail to notice her perfume.

"Sparrowhawk." The Green Man turned away, looking up to the moon that was slowly showing above the trees. "I can't, and you really shouldn't..."

"Sure," she sighed, "but I'm a naughty little Hawkie. Besides, it's not like I've got that much to lose. You want me out of here, don't you?"

"Forty years or so ago," the Green Man nodded, "someone wearing your mask and costume let an evil man get away because they got too involved. I'm not going to let that happen again."

"And you're not gonna get too involved with me, either." Sparrowhawk shook her head, sighing. "Look, I'm in now, so what do we do?"

"We catch the guys who are about to try to kill Lord Ambrose." The Green Man spoke sternly to the blonde in leather. "You take the North wing. I'll take the South."

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Ten

2008-06-26T09:11:00.006+01:00

Lady Sylvia looked from the Green Man to the irritated expression of Hawkie, then back again. She sensed a lot of anger in the slender girl in leather. As Sparrowhawk's fists clenched, she wondered whether Hawkie was going to hit someone. She shook her head, as Sparrowhawk stepped up to the Green Man.

"You won't shut me out," she spoke firmly. "And you're not going to try, or you'll find out what it's like to get beaten up by a very angry ex-girlfriend."

"The magistrate dismissed the case after he found out the amount of time you'd spent in several private nursing homes in the United States." The Green Man remained firm.

Sparrowhawk slapped the Green Man, eyes flaring with anger.

"Never use that against me!" she shouted, colouring, he voice a little hysterical. "Okay, so I'm still crazy about you, but that doesn't let you call me insane!"

She was, Lady Sylvia reflected, a little more touchy about that than was entirely safe. But then, she was still a friend, no matter what. And she was great in a fight.

"I can't let this fail again, Sparrowhawk," the Green Man still shook his head. "You know how that is."

Sparrowhawk turned her back on the Green Man.

"I'm in this," she glared at the Green Man. "I've been in for a very long time. And I'm not giving up for you. Of course," she smiled, "if you promised me a date, I might just..."

"You're in," the Green Man spoke sharply.

"Oh!" Sparrowhawk pouted, folding her arms.

The Green Man took Sparrowhawk's arm and led her through the garden, at last vanishing among the walls and the roses. Lady Sylvia watched them go, wondering just what was going on between the Green Man and his old flame.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Nine

2008-06-19T17:27:00.004+01:00

Lady Sylvia rose from her seat, still upset, looking at the Green Man incredulously.

"Just when I needed you..." she held out a hand. "How did you know?"

"It is enough that I knew. " The Green Man took her hand. "Now, the time has come for you to know, Lady Sylvia Vaughan. Some fifty years ago, the richest man in this area, Lord St. Martyn, decided that wealth was not enough. Through diabolic arts, he sought immortality and power. To obtain that, he kidnapped people for human sacrifice. He was stopped and his house, Tolholme Priory, destroyed. He was not the only member of this diabolic cult, however. The late MP was also implicated, although nothing was ever proved. And so was the mayor. Your brother was approached by a group of local people who believe that those fifty years have seen the members of that diabolic group take all the positions of power in the locality. What he does not know is that those people have also approached me. I need your help, Lady Sylvia, to destroy this evil. "

"You've got it," Lady Sylvia nodded soberly. "How come these people were allowed to remain in power, if their leader was exposed?"

"Long story," the Green Man walked on, Lady Sylvia at his side. "But the Government at the time mad a very slim majority. That may have played a part, and the Police were unable to produce the one witness who would have proved the case against the others beyond all doubt."

"Why?" Lady Sylvia looked up at the Green Man with big eyes. "Did they kill him?"

"No killing, no intimidation," the Green Man shook his head. "It was simply that she could not appear in court. There were conditions attached to her appearance that the witness would not accept. And they said that they would not accept anonymous evidence, given by a person in a mask."

"So who was it?" Lady Sylvia leaned forward, eyes aglow.

"The person was Sparrowhawk," the Green Man shook his head. "I had not heard this before the approach to Lord Ambrose, but apparently there was a Sparrowhawk there then. She led the group that broke up the coven at Tolholme, but they wouldn't accept her evidence. And it wasn't just the fact she wore a mask..."

"It was the psychiatric assessment." A new voice broke in on the conversation, as the trim figure of Sparrowhawk dropped over the wall. "They said I was dangerous, erratic, maybe even psychotic. So I was ignored."

"Ms. Madison brought you..." the Green Man drew back.

"She wasn't supposed to, was she?" Sparrowhawk drew closer, her blue eyes burning with anger. "This is the tail end of one of my old cases, and you want to keep me out of it..."

"Yes." The Green Man spoke firmly.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Eight

2008-06-18T16:19:00.005+01:00

Lady Sylvia looked incredulously at her brother. She shook her head, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"You almost had me there," she chuckled, "but you? No, bro, there has to be another reason."

"There isn't." Lord Ambrose regarded his sister sternly. "This town has hidden a terrible secret for far too long, and it's time that secret was brought out into the light. This is the only way. Some fifty years ago, a terrible thing was done here, a thing that I was only recently made aware of. A thing that the people who control this town want desperately to keep hidden. It has remained hidden for far too long. I intend to bring it out into the light. Whatever it takes, Sylv. And it looks like it's going to take a real threat to their monopoly on power."

Lay Sylvia could only shake her head, looking away from her brother. She walked a little further into the blooming garden, the scent seeing to follow her.

"But why you, Ambrose?" she looked to the ancient house. "And why now. Surely that's all in the past now. whatever happened then, we have to look to the future now. Even if the people responsible..."

"But they haven't given up, Sylv!" Lord Ambrose strode after her. "The same evil, the same blasphemous nonsense, even now it seeks to..."

"Then let someone else fight it!" Lady Sylvia ran from him, tears in her eyes, seeking shelter in the strange garden. At last, sure that her brother had given up the search, she sank down on a garden bench. Why, she asked herself, did Lord Ambrose have to do this now, and here?"

She shook with sobs, burying her head in her hands. What could she do? It was a strange situation really, here on a mission for the Green Man, but being roped into an election campaign.

"You weep, Sylvia," a familiar voice trespassed on her sorrowful musings.

"That's right." Lady Sylvia looked up through her tears. "Maybe you'll tell me just why you sent me here."

"But, of course." The Green Man stepped out of the shadows, gun held ready.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Seven

2008-06-11T07:09:00.005+01:00

Lady Sylvia stood in the drawing Room at Greyminster Park, looking out of the window at the gardens, down to the moat which surrounded the house at a distance. She deliberately looked away from the posters and election leaflets which cluttered the tables and stood in boxes all around. Not by nature a political person, she had assumed that her brother shared her disdain for these things, and was more than a little distressed to find that his views were opposed to hers.

"Worried, sis?" Lord Ambrose stolled into the room, sporting a large blue and green rosette on the lapel of his well-cut tweed suit. "I suppose you know Greyminster was held by the Government - with them in te pickle they're in now, I think we stand a..."

"Ambrose..." Lady Sylvia sighed. "I don't care. You know I don't care about politics. I think it's a terif waste of time, and that you, you of all people, could be doing something better with your life. I mean, what about your business interests?"

"I can pay people to look after them for a bit." Lord Ambrose moved to his sister's side. "Besides, I'll only be an MP, I don't have to give them up, just be careful not to let them interfere with my political life. I don't see myself as a minister, do you?"

Frankly," Lady sylvia sighed, "I still don't see you as an MP."

"Sylv." Lod Ambrose shook his head, "are you oing to help out, or are you just going to undermine me all the time?"

"I thought I'd undermine you all the time." She smiled mischievously. "I mean, it's not like someone else couldn't be MP for Greyminster. And what do you have to do with the town anyway?"

"I own the Greyminster Works, one of the major employers in the town," Lord Ambrose grinned boyishly. "As well as Greyminster Park. You're not the only one with deep, dark secrets, sis."

Maybe," Sylvia looked away, "but my secrets are a lot more fun than yours. I suppose you know half our relatives 'ld despise you if they knew you made money from business?"

"Only the half of our relatives whose scorn is probablysome sort of a badge of honour." Lord Ambrose laughed again. "Look, Sylvia, I have my reasons for running for Parliament, and here of all places. I didm't ask you here, but now that you're here, I'm glad to see you."

"What are your reasons?" Lady Sylvia looked up again, her eyes blazing. "I know you, bro, so you'd better not say 'public service'."

"But it's true." Lord Ambrose put an arm around his sister's shoulders. "Wouldn't exposing the corruption and evil at the centre of this town be a public service?"

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Six

2008-06-07T08:22:00.001+01:00

Ms. Madison shook her head again. There might have been many things about the masked maiden that were hard to explain, but the idea that Hawkie was somehow ageless was more than she was prepared to accept. Looking out over the fields that had once, doubtless, been the park of the great house, she drew in breath. The prospect was daunting, the clouds above threatened to open at any moment.

"I know you don't believe me," Hawkie smiled mockingly. "After all, it is incredible. But those events happened, believe it happened to someone else if you want, I really don't care. The important thing is that it happened, Satanism and attempted human sacrifice in a remote corner of Nottinghamshire, only forty years ago. Check with the local cops if you like."

"You've got no reason to lie." Ms. Madison nodded. "Does anyone know what happened to Lord St. Martyn?"

"Not at all," Hawkie shook her head. "Some people said he was consumed in a mystic fire that burned on the altar, others that he was dragged down to hell, like damned Faust. But I think there was a secret passage in the chapel, leading through into a hidden crypt, and he used this to escape when it became obvious that his plans had gone awry. I think he used hidden assets, the results of his evil activities, to live a secret life, that the accidents at this place which caused it to be abandoned were not accidents at all."

"You don't mean they were somehow supernatural?" Ms. Madison raised one eyebrow.

"Perhaps," Hawkie smiled enigmatically. "Or maybe they were the actions of other members of the Satanist circle that infests this place. "I suspected that several prominent men in the town of Greyminster were involved, but they were absent at the time of the ceremony. Maybe this section stands over the hidden crypt, where the relics of the evil remain, relics that will reveal hidden things. But enough, we have to go to Greyminster."

As Ms. Madison followed Sparrowhawk from the remains of the house, she felt that she knew why the Green man had once been in love with her. She was as awkward as he was.

As they got back into the car, Ms. Madison took a last look at the gaunt ruins, licking up against the horizon like the chimneys of an old colliery. Or broken gravestones.

She shuddered at the thought.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Five

2008-06-06T08:28:00.001+01:00

Sparrowhawk looked up at the gaunt ruins, the wind blowing through he golden hair. She was silent for a very long time. Ms. Madison sighed, moving closer to the masked girl.

"This used to be Tolholme Priory," Sparrowhawk ignored Ms. Madison, her voice soft, full of foreboding. "It was the home of the Viscounts St. Martyn, the sort of thing your pal Lady Sylvia might have known. The last one was a pretty weird guy. He was into Satanism and things. He kidnapped a couple of kids from a minor public school in order to sacrifice them to the devil. I joined up with a couple of pals to find out what had happened, and we ended up running Lord St. Martyn to ground here, doing something pretty blasphemous in the chapel - it was still consecrated, you see..."

"Devil-worship?" Ms. Madison laughed scornfully. "Here in England, you can't..."

"More than you know, Lynette..." Sparrowhawk sighed. "Have you heard of Houghton on the Hill?"

"No," Ms. Madison shook her head, "should I?"

"Houghton on the Hill," Sparrowhawk explained, "is a place in Norfolk. It used to be a village, but in 1933 the church was deserted. Due to the events of the war, the church was simply forgotten, it was allowed to become overgrown with brambles. People just forgot it existed. Most importantly, the church was never formally deconsecrated. When a member of the local Women's Institute discovered the church in the summer of 1992, she found the church full of the signs of evil rituals. Bodies had been dug up, and there were signs of sacrifices, maybe even human ones. And this was in the middle of rural England. Just because a thing seems fantasic doesn't mean it's impossible. Of course, for the really big ceremonies, these people need consecrated ground, so they don't happen often. this place had a private chapel, and that made it an ideal place for this sort of foul nastiness. Look around you - how remote is this?"

"Okay..." Ms. Madison looked unconvinced, "so what happened here after you found what was going on here?"

"Look around you..." Sparrowhawk indicated the few shattered ruins. "I broke up the cult, most of them were killed when some really weird stuff went down. Viscount St. Martyn disappeared, and the house came down soon after, as no-one would live there. The demolition stopped after a couple of really odd accidents."

"No..." Ms. Madison shook her head. "This place has been like this for decades."

"You ... you're right," Sparrowhawk looked Ms. Madison in the eyes. "You see, these events took place in 1962."

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Four

2008-06-04T08:29:00.000+01:00

Ms. Madison looked at the gaunt ruin through the rain. It seemed to be what was left of an old gothic building of some description, either ecclesiatical or domestic. Whatever it was, it had obviously seen better days. And it seemed to be known to Hawkie, for the masked maiden stepped out of the car, her face set towards it.

"What is it? Ms. Madison asked, concerned.

"A memory." Sparrowhawk turned, thoughtful. "I know this place, and I'm sure the memory's not pleasant. The memory of evil..." she sighed. "It's so hard, Lynette, I'm like somene who's just woken up from a really long dream, and I think it's affected my memory. But I seem to remember being here years and years ago..."

"If what you said to me back in Wales is true," Ms. Madison sighed, "you've probably been to a lot of p;aces years and years ago."

"Sure," Hawkie ignored the implied accusation. "But a lot fewer where I know something bad happened. And I mean really bad. As in evil."

The way that Hawkie uttered those words caused Ms. Madison to shudder. She knew instinctively that the blonde was not guilty of exaggeration. Hawkie shook her head, big blue eyes full of concern.

"I... I don't know," she confessed, "but I'm going to try and find out - you coming?" She headed off towards the ruins, climbing easily over the gate.

Ms. Madison hurried after her, somewhat hampered by the fact that she wore a skirt. She thought of protesting, but decided that would make her look like a wimp, so followed the strange, intense figure of Sparrowhawk without overt disagreement. She wondered if this was the way that Miss Arcos usually got her own way, then decided that it probably was.

Close to, the ruins were clearly the remains of a great house, largely demolished save for a tower and a portion of the front, capped with turrets and possessed of a number of windows after the style of the fifteenth century. The whole was clearly no earlier than the close of the eighteenth century.

"Any more ideas?" Ms. Madison drew closer to Sparrowhawk.

"Yes." She nodded grimly. "And it's not good."

Sunday Supplement: This Sermon Brought to you by...

2008-06-03T18:05:00.003+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos writes: With my long-lost daughter back on the road doing all sorts of painful things to the bad guys, last Sunday I was able to attend a church on my own. The building in question was Harrison Road Congregational Church, Thorpe-next-No Place in Particular. This church almsot closed three years ago, but the innovative ministry of the Rev. Robert Bollingbrooke has apparently brought it back from the brink. Naturally, I was anxious to find out why. When I took my hymnbook, I noticed that it carried advertiosements on the front cover, like the old paperbacks I used to buy when I was a child. Apparently I could get 50% off my next purchase in WH Smith with the church newsletter, which seemed to be useful. Needless to say, I sneaked one for my daughter. She ought to take up drawing or something. It might take her mind off things.

When the church secretary came to the front, he started off by saying that the announcements were sponsored by Bird's Custard powder. The bible reading was given, together with a suggestion that persons should visit the church the next day for a free demonstration of something or other (I forget what).

The hymns were sung normally, although the hymnbook carried more advertisements than the free papers that some youth at the metropolitan railway stations hand out. What did rather surprise me was the children'd talk, which consisted purely of endorsements of a certain brand of satellite navigation what-not, you know, the device that helps you get lost so much more easily. While a Biblical application was given, it was somewhat spoiled by the mention of the price and the fullsome praise of the thing.

The sermon was scattered with product endorsements, from brands of coffee to the local supermarket. Talking to one of the deacons afterwards, he informs me that there is a sliding scale for such things, and one has to pay more for a mention closer to the application or inclusion in an illustration. The children's talk retails at about £150 a time, which is a fair whack when you consider that's one a week. And the hoardings attached to the galleries advertising all sorts of products were, in my opinion, a wee bit much.

Must go now, as my man informs me that I've received a telegram from the War Office to tell me that my commission is being re-activated due to a shortage of experienced men. Apparently they are giving me command of a spittoon.

No rest for the Wicked: Part Three

2008-06-02T08:33:00.001+01:00

The old Bentley purred through the Nottinghamshire countryside, Ms. Madison at the wheel. Beside her, the masked figure of Sparowhawk looked out at the green of the land, washed by rain. She shook her head, sighing, as she looked out over the land. Ms. Madison listened to the radio, still not sure what to make of the strange girl. Was what Sir Richard had said bout her true? - could it be? Was this girl really over fifty years old, doomed to a life of endless youth? And how could that be a doom? But here she was, apparently deeply affected by a brave new world.

"They say it's going to be another wet summer," Ms. Madison tried to make polite conversation.

"It was blazing sunshine last August," Sparrowhawk shook her head. "At least the last August that I remember. Of course, for the rest of the world that was ten years ago..." there was a wistfulness about Sparrowhawk, as she looked out at the rain.

"The English countryside's lovely in every climate," Ms. Madison went on, "and the summer rain ... it reminds me of strawberries and village fetes - look at that." She indicated a rainbow, visible over the trees.

"...I trace the rainbow through the rain..." Sparrowhawk sighed again, looking away.

"What was that?" Ms. Madison looked away from the road to the pensive figure in brown leather.

"Nothing" Sparrowhawk looked down at her lap. "I was just wondering who else has died while I was in that nursing home. And who could have visited me while I didn't know it."

"You'll never know, I suppose," Ms. Madison shook her head. "Why worry, Hawkie?"

"Stop here." Sparrowhawk reached for the wheel.

Ms. Madison did exactly as she was told, worried that Sparrowhawk might cause her to crash otherwise. She would have asked the strange adventuress exactly what was going on, only the way that Sparrowhawk looked at the gaunt ruins that showed at the edge of a ploughed field told her everything she needed to know.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part Two

2008-05-31T08:33:00.000+01:00

The taxi swept through the gates of the great house, up a drive that had clearly seen better days. Lady Sylvia looked out at the park and wondered whether her brother had bought or rented the house. Perhaps he had even inherited it, for Lord Ambrose Vaughan, second son of an Earl, was a man of mystery, even to his own family. His long absences from the family circle were put down sometimes to business trips and at other times to random holidays. Maybe Greyminster Park was another of his little hideaways, known to few, but now disclosed as he used it to advance through the ranks of society. Certainly her elder brother was a clever man, although this he seldom showed, preferring to appear the perfect aristocrat, relaxed and charming, verging on lazy.

The house proved to be a rather plain building, shrouded in ivy. Lady Sylvia stepped out onto a well-kept forecourt, the driver opening the door for her. There by the door was the smiling figure of Lord Ambrose Vaughan.

"Ambrose," she hurried up to him. "Is it true you're standing for the Parliamentary division?"

"And why not, Sylv?" he smiled, "after all, father was an MP for years, wasn't he? It's not like its a full-time job or anything. Besides, Greyminster's always been held by the other side, so it's not like it's going to be more than a little fun. But what 're you doing down here? I thought you were relaxing at Mainstone with your pals after that regrettable incident in Wales."

"I was," Lady Sylvia nodded earnestly, "but the Green Man called and told us to go up to Greyminster."

"Oh." Lord Ambrose's eyes widened. "Did he say why, sis?"

"Nothing." Lady Sylvia shook her head. "At least, Lynette didn't say anything. Do you know why, Ambrose? I mean, you are in contact with local politicians, aren't you?"

"Sylv," Lord Ambrose chuckled, "in my experience, local politicians are the least likely to know the sort of things the Green Man is interested in. Of course, if you'd like to help with my campaign..."

Lady Sylvia rolled her eyes in disgust.

No Rest for the Wicked: Part One

2008-05-30T09:12:00.001+01:00

The town of Greyminster, Nottinghamshire, takes its name from the two most notable things about it. First, the rather attractive Early English chuch that stands by the railway station; second, the fact that it is one of the most boring places on earth. The main employer used to be the local coal mine, but after that closed in 1993, the local economy stalled completely, promises of unlimited wealth produced through the manufacture of string vests failing to bear fruit.

As Lady Sylvia Vaughan stepped off the train, she looked up at the lovely church and smiled, glad to be somewhere other than Mainstone Park, and not in immediate danger of her life. She had left Ms. Madison to complete the journey by car, with Sparrowhawk, who remained unhappy at the idea of using public transport. She assumed that there was more to the recovering herione than met the eye, but there was little she could do to find out what that was.

Pausing by the luxuriant flowerbeds outside the station, Lady Sylvia picked a flower and put it in her hair, smiling and full of the joys of spring. A flashbulb popped and Lady Sylvia started with a yelp of surprise, before turning, adopting a fighting stance.

"Lady Sylvia Vaughan?" a man with a notepad and paper approached the dark-haired aristocrat. "Greyminster Telegraph. Are you here to supply glamour to your brother's campaign?"

"Campaign?" Lady Sylvia's jaw dropped. "Whatever are you talking about?"

"The by-election," the reporter shook his head, smiling. "There's no need to be shy, Lady Sylvia, after all, it's in the public domain. Why, the Association announced its choice yesterday. I take it you're on the way to Greyminster Park to join the campaign team?"

"I... I don't even know what you're talking about..." Lady Sylvia turned very red indeed, trembling a little. "I ... I've been away for a long time..."

By this time the man was scribbling away busily, and Lady Sylvia hoped that this wasn't going to appear in the paper. As fast as she could, she hailed a taxi, her mind awhirl.

"Greyminster Park!" she announced nervously.

Interlude

2008-05-29T08:44:00.005+01:00

The turrets and battlements of Mainstone looked out over the park as they had for generations. Lord Ambrose Vaughan, the owner of the ancient mansion, was absent seeing to family business in Cheshire, while a number of the servants were on holiday. Not that the house was empty, for Lady Sylvia, Lord Ambrose's sister and Ms. Madison, her colleague in the work of the Green Man, were enteraining. They had visited the local market town most days, with a strange fellow guest.

The blonde girl had treated the world around her like a stranger in a strange land. She had been glued to the television, and found the computers that had had to be installed in the old house utterly fascinating. Now, dressed in a strange leather costume, the blode was sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace.

"This is odd," the blonde shook her head. "I mean, the world's changed so much. Loads of people have died I thought 'ld never die. How come you can accept this?"

"Because it happened slowly to the rest of us," Ms. Madison laughed. "Hawkie, you were in a semi-coma for ten years. The rest of us lived through the little changes that led to this world."

"Okay," Sparrowhawk sighed. "But I still thought some people would notice. Not even the Green Man has made that much of a difference."

"He'd disagree." Lady Sylvia piped up. "He'd just say that it isn't the low-hanging fruit who he goes after. "It's the big men, the kingpins. The men the law can't touch."

"And that's a good thing," Sparrowhawk nodded. "I didn't mean to be rude. Before I was hurt I was going after big people as well, with a few friends. I'm hoping to look them up again. But right now I need a bit of a rest." She sighed, stretching idly.

The insistent ringing of the 'phone caused Ms. Madison to shoot out of her seat and pick up the receiver.

"Mainstone." She spoke with a crisp efficiency. After the receiver chattered for a moment, she turned to her friends.

"Less rest, I'm afraid," she announced, "I just got a request to go to Greyminster Park, Nottinghamshire. It's urgent."

Blasted Past: Part Thirty

2008-05-28T09:15:00.001+01:00

Standing at the foot of Pen Dinas, the Green Man and his allies looked up at a sky darkened by the smoke that still poured from the ground. Sparrowhawk left her father's side and walked up to the Green Man, still looking up at the column. She stopped by the Green Man's side, before taking hold of his arm.

"It's been a long time." The blonde bombshell sighed langourously, resting her head on his shoulder. "Do you remember?"

"Sparrowhawk, please..." the Green Man looked down sternly at her.

"Okay," Sparrowhawk shrugged her shoulders, an air of regret about her. "So I'm a bad girl. "But you can't blame a girl for trying, can you? After all, it's only yesterday for me that you last held me."

"You can be trying." The Green Man shook his head. "But there's another one now, Sparrowhawk. You've been gone for almost a decade. I had to move on."

"My own doom." The masked blonde looked up to the sky, trying to sound light and bantering. "You know, I'm fated to be alone."

"You can't be that way," the Green Man's voice acquired a tone of reproach. "Sparrowhawk, you can't force a person to love you, not even by being upset and petulant."

"Doesn't stop it smarting." Sparrowhawk looked into his eyes again. Raising one hand, she drew off a long black gauntlet to reveal a slender hand, raising it to the face of the Green Man.

"No." The Green Man brushed it away. "That's over, Sparrowhawk. There's no 'us' any more. We can be friends, but there's someone else..."

"KJust friends." Sparrowhawk sighed wearily. "Story of my life. Still, you were all great back there. Maybe I'll see you again sometime. After all, now I'm back in business, aren't I?" She looked back to her father.

"Whatever you want, darling." Sir Richard shook his head, smiling wryly. "And I think you knew that from the start."

"Guilty as charged." Sparrowhawk laughed. "Girls?" she looked first to Ms. Madison, then to Lady Sylvia, "shall we go - I've got a decade of shopping to catch up on."

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Nine

2008-05-27T08:44:00.005+01:00

The Green Man moved like a flash, knocking aside the man who had drawn a gun on Sparrowhawk. His fist smithereened a man's jaw, and the shot went wide. He looked to see whether Sparrowhawk had been hurt, only to see her knock a man out with a jolting high-kick. She made eye contact with him for a while before knocking out another man. She laughed, a fresh, exhilarating sound, as she carved a swathe through the ranks of the wicked. Bending, the Green Man picked up a fallen gun. Ms. Madison did the same, while Sir Richard Arcos let out a whoop of joy, as he laid into the Grey Tabby's men. Lady Sylvia and the man in the brown trechcoat both displayed surprising martial arts abilities, as they dived into the battle beside Sparrowhawk.

"You fools!" The Grey Tabby shouted, urging his men on, "kill them! Kill them all!"

"No dice, Tabby!" Sparrowhawk spoke before the Green Man could do so, at the same time as she kicked a technician into a bank of computers with enough force to knock some stuff onto the floor. Lady Sylvia knocked him out with a blow to the back of the neck.

"Why I had you kidnapped I'll never know..." the Grey Tabby snarled, "you hell-cat."

"Temporary mental abberation, old chap?" Sir Richard laughed, at the same time pounding a man into a pulp. "That's always my excuse, of course." He reached the table on which their things were, retrieving his cane.

"You show an annoying talent for disrupting my schemes." The Grey Tabby glared at the little group of adventurers.

"We try." The Green Man shot a man who was drawing a bead on Sparrowhawk. "You can't win now, Tabby. Give up!"

"Give up?" The Grey Tabby laughed grimly. "No, Green Man, I do not give up." He pushed a button on the control panel. The floor opened beneath him, and the villain laughed, as he vanished. Ms. Madison and the Green Man fired, but it was too late. He was gone, and, moments later, the massive generator was shaken by an explosion.

"Self-destruct!" the Green Man pulled Ms. Madison towards the exit. "If we don't hurry, we'll die!"

The small group of heroes hurried for the exits, followed by the remaining mercenaries. As they emerged onto the hill, the ground split in places, smoke pouring out. The mercenaries surrendered to the Green Man's party. Ms. Madison leaned back against the column, her face streaked with smoke.

"Did we just win?" she asked.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Eight

2008-05-22T07:27:00.001+01:00

The waves continued to mount, as the Green man and his companions watched in horror. The Grey Tabby paced up and down, looking at the screens, then back to the radion receiver, which reamined stubbornly inactive.

"Do you think he'll do it?" Sparrowhawk looked to the others, her blue eyes wide and concerned.

"Yes." The others nodded as one.

"Okay..." Sparrowhawk shook her her head, "so he's really bad news. Perhaps that's why I was allowed to wake up. Maybe this is the moment I prove my destiny. I thought it was..."

Before she could enlarge on that pont, and before anyone could say anything else, the radio buzzed into life. The Grey Tabby hurried over to it, while his goons kept a watch on the Green Man and his party.

"This is the Grey Tabby," the feline felon pressed a button on the console, "who calls me?"

"This is the Department of Justice..." the voice began.

"It's a fake!" Sparrowhawk laughed, "I mean, maybe we Americans have a department wit that sort of daft name, but Britain..."

"There've been a lot of changes, dear." Sir Richard Arcos looked pained. "Sadly, there is now a Department of Justice, with a Justice Secretary. And no, he doesn't answer the 'phone for Batman, Superman and Wonderwoman, even if he sounds like he should."

"Speak!" The Grey Tabby's voice was a threatening snarl.

"We do not pay blackmailers," the voice declared. "If you have political demands..."

"The only political demand I have," the Grey Tabby's voice was low and poisonous, "is that you face the people who will die as a result of your stupidity. Professor Hughes, you will activate the device."

"No!" the Professor backed away from the his creation. "I won't..."

A gun spoke, and the professor pitched to the ground. The Grey Tabby turned back to the radio.

"You will soon reap the reward of your stupidity," he laughed harshly, as he pulled a couple more levers.

Suddenly, Sparrowawk moved, turning to face an armed man with only her gloved fists. The Green Man let out a cry of alarm, as the blonde bombshell's fist made contact with the man's jaw. A gun roard somewhere behind them.

Bolasted Past: Part Twenty-Seven

2008-05-21T07:00:00.001+01:00

Descending to the main hall of the bunker, the Green Man and his party found themselves re-united with Lady Sylvia and her trench-coated associate. She hurried to the side of the Green Man, while the man in brown saluted his chief apologetically.

"You said to keep her out of it," he conceded, "I tried, but it looks like I was too clever for my own good. Who's the lass in the Sparrowhawk costume this time?"

"Belive it or not," the Green Man looked up from comforting Lady Sylvia, "you're looking at the genuine article. Somehow she staged a miraculous recovery."

"Sure she's not a plant?" the man took a step towards the party. "I mean, last time anyone checked, Sparrowhawk was in a nursing home, apparently the victim of permanent amnesia. I don't mean to be a suspicious type, but..."

"You can't beieve that?" Sparrowhawk gasped.

"I don't." The Green Man nodded. "Sir Richard Arcos confirms that this is Sparrowhawk. I'm disposed to believe him. Somehow she's snapped out of her state. It can happen, you know, given time..."

"Quite." Sparrowhawk glared at the man in brown. "Now, maybe you'll want me to prove it to you personally. Like my breaking both your arms."

"Definitely the genuine article," the man laughed, "the famous Sparrowhawk tenderness. What do we do now?"

"Now," the Grey Tabby spoke once more, "now you see what spineless fools the governments of Great Britain and Ireland are. They will pay, if they value human life."

"And if they refuse, dear boy?" Sir Richard Arcos raised one quizzical eyebrow.

"Then the deaths of thousands will be put to their account." The Grey Tabby turned to a couple of technicians. "Begin to warm up the device."

They pulled a few levers, and the great chamber shuddered for a moment. On massive screens above them, waves started to lash the promenade. A look of supreme amusement crossed the ruthless viage of the Grey Tabby.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Six

2008-05-20T07:32:00.001+01:00

The gathered fighters for law, order and justice had little choice but to raise their hands and surrender their weapons. Hawkie made to thump one of the armed me, only to have almost every gun point at her. She sighed, smiling sweetly.

"A girl's got to try, hasn't she?" the blonde bombshell shrugged her shoulders.

"They told me you were dead." The Grey Tabby took a step towards the girl in leather. "And then I found out you were a mental vegetable. Now I find that the half was not told me."

"The smell of scum must 've brought me round." Sparrowhawk smiled mischievously.

"And with a line in insults, too." The Grey Tabby took hold of Sparrowhawk's arm. "You seem to be a most talented young lady. Almost worthy of those who bore your name in the past.. Indeed, you look like the one that my father met in Las Vegas."

"Come to the point." Sparrowhawk shook her head. "What's all this in aid of. I mean, you can't destro Ireland from here, can you?"

"Things have changed since you entered your coma, my dear," the Grey Tabby led her into the column, the others following. "In the first place, I recently almost destroyed London twice over. Do not undersestimate me, Sparrowhawk. The Green Man will inform you that is a mistake. Under here I have a seismic generator capable of creating a tidal wave large emough to swamp the entire East Coast of Ireland, and overwhelming Dublin in the process."

"For which you expect to be paid a vast amount of money." The Green Man spoke up. "It won't work, Tabby. The governments of the world don't pay blackmail."

"Even when the lives and property of millions are at stake?" The Grey Tabby chuckled. "My dear Green Man, you know as well as I do that all the anti-terrorism rhetoric is a pose. But you may be right. In which case I hope you took a good look at the town. It may have been the last time you saw it."

The Grey Tabby laughed, as he led them into the bowels of the earth.

Sunday Supplement: Called Home

2008-05-19T17:08:00.002+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos writes: After a long and somewhat regrettable absence, necessitated in oart by the return of my eldest daughter from the grave, so to speak, I decided to visit a little church in the South somewhere. I forget exactly where. I visited this place in the company of said daughter, although she left her supero costume in the wore jeans and a leather jacket instead. She still got nasty looks, but that wasn't my point. Now, where was I... oh yes, the church.

There was a notice-board outside, of the sort that most churches have. This one included one of those funny statements that churches have been known to have, you know, the sort that says there are 'open and affriming'. This one said nothing of the kind:

We are an exclusive and aloof church. We only

welcome the sort of people we like, and that

varies on a day to day basis, so if you get the

cold shoulder, please don't bother coming back.

Sparrowhawk made a face at this, and tried to give the steward a piece of her mind. That caused even more friction, as the dear thing has an American accent, on account of her having been born and brought up there. Apparently they don't like Americans. In fact, if you're not English and middle class, you might as well not attend, as they tend to move when they find out. As we discovered. Still, this was journalism, so we stayed. And Sparrowhawk stopped someone from moving by putting them in an arm-lock.

We sung a few hymns, all written by Victorian English middle-class writers. Most of them were so forgettable that I can't remember them. But Sparrowhawk says that's partially creeping senility. She may even be right. The sermon was a fifteen minute discourse on the virtues of being middle class and British, while the whole service ended with the singing of 'The English are best' at top volume.

I would have talked to some people over coffee at the end of the service, only Sparrowhawk knocked someone out when they made a remark about her clothes. I'm going to have to have words with the lassie.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Five

2008-05-16T09:36:00.000+01:00

The Green Man, Ms. Madison and Sir Richard drew their guns, ready to return fire should any target present itself. Sparrowhawk drew the whip from off her belt, a look of fierce intensity crossing her face. Ms. Madison felt a little stab of unease at what she could see from the girl in the leather costume.

"Do you have a gun?" she hissed to the American girl.

"Never carry one," she replied brutally. "Too noisy. And I don't kill. I've done that far too much in the past."

Ms. Madison let the matter drop, afraid that otherwise this strange girl might hit her. For her part, Sparrowhawk continued to scan the woods for a trace of their attacker. The Green Man's gun roared, and a man fell out of a bush, clutching his heart.

"He will not bother us any more." The Green Man led the way out of the cover, heading back up towards the great column that topped the ancient hillfort. "Where did you say the entrance was, Sir Richard?

"I didn't." The country squire smiled languidly. "But follow me, watch and learn."

"Did you have to kill him?" Sparrowhawk looked sternly at the Green Man. He did not answer her. She pouted and looked away as well. Ms. Madison shook her head, wondering what was going on between the one-time couple.

Sir Richard led them to the summit of the hill, to the great column which dominates the scene. It was designed as a monument to the Duke of Wellington. Originally, it was to have been topped off with an equestrian statue of the Duke, but that was never placed. A decade ago, it had been struck by lightning, and traces of new cememnt still indicate where that was.

"Here," Sir Richard smiled, reaching up and pressing a stone with his cane. A door swung open, revealing a spiral staircase that led down into the bowels of the earth. "I found out about this little hidey-hole a long time ago. It was supposed to have been deactivated and sealed off, but, as you can see..."

"My dear Sir Richard..." the malign tones of the Grey Tabby caused the four adventurers to turn. There, surrounded by armed men, was the elegant figure of the Grey Tabby.

"You have shown admirable insight," the Grey Tabby chuckled. "All of you. And I see that you have even brought back my straying hostage. Well, now you will have a ringside seat for my triumph. Bring them." The armed men fanned out, their guns levelled at the little party.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Four

2008-05-15T08:42:00.000+01:00

"The what?" Sparrowhawk looked up at her father with blig blue eyes. The look that crossed Sir Richard's face suggested that he could not have denied her request even if he had wished to do so.

"My dear child," Sir Richard sighed. "Just because of all the things you have done, you don't know everything. In fact, as I recall, there was a time when no government wanted you to know anything - especially about nuclear bunkers."

"Just because someone came up with a dumb idea about surviving a nuclear war," the girl in leather rolled her eyes, "that didn't mean I was some Greenham Common girl. After all," she struck a pose, "I'm a hell of a lot prettier than them."

"Speaks my dear daughter," Sir Richard shook his head. "But the fact remains that you were not aware of the final refuge for the British Cabinet that happens to be buried under that old hill-fort up there." He pointed to the towering bulk of Pen Dinas. It was abandoned years ago, the entrance tunnel sealed with concrete. Nothing was said, since the place is listed, and there would have been the most awful stink if anyone had found out. Of course, I may be wrong, but it seems to be the obvious place for a super-villain to set up home."

"At least, in the absence of an extinct volcano," Ms. Madison added. Sparrowhawk laughed, catching the girl's eye.

"Let's begin, in that case," the Green Man strode towards the mighty hill, looking up at the column that topped the mighty hill.

The quartet began to climb, Sir Richard keeping pace with the younger people, in spite of his years. He smiled, swinging his cane and whistling. He had exchanged his bowler and dark suit for tweeds and a flat cap, giving the impression that the venerable squire was out for a shoot - he probably was, but the quarry was human. And villainous at that.

"We can extect to avoid any guards for a while," Sir Richard led them up the hill, to a leafy path leading towards the top of the hill. "This is a popular place for walkers. Of course, there is the problem of the fact that two of us are obviously not casual walkers and what have you. I suggest that I take the rear, and the Green Man the van. - Meaning the front, before you crack any jokes, young lady," he looked sternly at Sparrowhawk.

"Boo," she stuck her tongue out at her father. "You used to be more fun, daddy."

"I used to let you get away with murder," Sir Richard shook his head. "Are you all right with the three of us blasting any bad guys were happen to find?"

"I'll try not to be too disturbed by it," Sparrowhawk shook her head. "But I still think we don't need to kill in most cases. Break a few bones and they can't then hurt you."

Sir Richard led them off the path suddenly. A shot winged overhead.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Three

2008-05-14T08:07:00.000+01:00

The Green Man parked his car in the centre of Aberystwyth. Walking up to the bridge that led to Trefechan, they passed the rear of the towering, and now derelict, Tabernacle Chapel. Sparrowhawk looked up at it with curiosity.

"I'm sure it used to be open," she observed.

"It closed in 2004," the Green Man told her. "When you were attacked outside the front, it was a working chapel."

"Did I leave any bloodstains?" she giggled as she asked the question. "I mean, can you still see...?"

"That isn't an appropriate question." The Green Man sighed. "As I recall, you were never this odd before...."

"I hadn't been in a coma for the best part of a decade," Sparrowhawk shook her head. "What 're we looking for?"

"We're looking for information about where the Grey Tabby's lair is," the Green Man addressed her, Sir Richard and Ms. Madison. "He'll have to have built some sort of infernal machine to do what he's threatened. That means that deserted chapels or country houses would be the most obvious places. But he have his orders here in Trefechan."

"Maybe they know in the pub?" Sparrowhawk looked over the road to a building with a stucco front.

"Lassie," Sir Richard sighed wearily, "that isn't a pub, it's a notorious sink of iniquity. A bloke got a knife stuck in him there. It isn't the sort of place nice girls go to."

"News for you, daddy," the masked girl leaned on his shoulder. "I'm not a nice girl - I'm Sparrowhawk."

"You're also my daughter," Sir Richard smiled. "Now," he turned back to the Green Man, "what would the Grey Tabby need if he was to have a lair here?"

"He would need one safe and secure, something that could weather anything. A nuclear bunker, for example."

"I thought so," the Squire smiled impishly. "And there's a secret nuclear bunker located on Pen Dinas." He pointed to the towering hillfort.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Two

2008-05-13T07:05:00.005+01:00

"Good afternoon," Sir Richard smiled, as he bowed to the armed man. "To what do we owe the pleasure, dear boy? After all, it's not every day one gets approached by an armed man in this land of ours. Although sometimes it does become a little monotonous - don't you think so, my dear?" He turned to Ms. Madison, his tone languid and conversational.

"'Ere..." the man begun, brandishing his gun.

"Yes, it's a gun," Sir Richard sighed wearily. "I think it's got a longer name, but I can't remember it right now. Suffice it to say, the thing goes bang and kills people." The elderly squire shook his head, a bantering look in his blue eyes. "But they are a little bit boring. I mean, you point them at someone and they have a terrible tendency to end all conversation. Of course, Freud would have told you that there was an explanation for why people carry them, but I can't tell you, seeing that there is a lady present."

The man looked at Sir Richard in mute incomprehension. His gun wavered for a moment, as he tried to understand what the elegant gentleman was saying.

Ms. Madison took the opportunity to mick the man's hand. He cried out, hanging onto the gun. Ms. Madison de;livered a straight left to the man's jaw, before grabbing the man's wrist and smashing his hand against a wall until the man dropped the gun, his hand a bloody mess.

"Jolly good," Sir Richard smiled gently. "Now that the nasty gun's gone away we can have a proper conversation. "Who sent you?"

"I won't tell you!" the man screamed, going pale.

"That means it's a really big baddie," Sir Richard spoke to Ms. Madison. "Do you think it might be the Grey Tabby? I mean, he hasn't shown his dear old whiskers in a while, has he? In fact," Sir Richard looked back at the man, "the way he's looking now, it seems that I was right. Where were you hired?"

"I won't tell!" The man raised his voice in panic.

"Then I'll take you somewhere and introduce you to my charmingly violent daughter," Sir Richard's voice was a languid drawl. "After a little while, you'll tell her. Probably while you pick up your teeth." He smiled worryingly.

"Trefechan!" the man yelled. "I met the Grey Tabby in a pub in Trefechan! I think his Headquarters is there somewhere!"

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-Two

2008-05-12T09:55:00.000+01:00

Ms. Madison accompanied the patrician figure of Sir Richard Arcos through the little town of Lampeter. She removed her 'phone from her handbag, only to have it tell her 'no network'.

"Lampeter, my dear Lynette, is the land that time forgot," Sir Richard drawled languidly, "no mobile 'phones and what have-you. It's really rather relaxing. If this were all over, I think I'd have you and my dear daughter join me in a tea-room somewhere."

"You really care about her, don't you?" The classy blonde sighed deeply. "I guess you must feel a bit annoyed, the Greem Man not letting you know..."

"Not at all, my dear," the Squire smiled wistfully. "She'd 've kept it from me as well. She always wanted to keep me from being hurt. That's why she put on that mask in the first place, after all. But we're not here to discuss my rather strange daughter, but to discern some nasty baddies, while my daughter beats the truth out of someone. Now, where are we?"

"Lampeter High Street," Ms. Madison checked the nearest street sign, smiling impishly.

"I had suspected as much, lassie," Sir Richard smiled. "Shall we go to a tea room and partake of caffienated beverages while my daughter and your employer do all the hard work?

"You're insane!" Ms. Madison giggled. "However do your family put up with you?"

"That, at least, is easily explained," Sir Richard indicated to road that led up to the Anglican Church. "They look at the vast quantity of boodle that has attached itself to me over the course of my somewhat hectic life, and resolve to tolerate me so that they can get their dear old mitts on the stuff. Shall we toddle up to the church?"

"It's not Sunday yet," Ms. Madison shook her head, "and as far as I know, St. Peter's Church, Lampeter doesn't have any eccentricities."

"But it may have an elderly ecclesiastic who knows everything that's going on in this 'burg, old dear," Sir Richard placed his free hand on Ms. Madison's arm. "Rest your head on my shoulder, and everyone can think I'm a very bad man."

Ms. Madison giggled again, shaking her head.

"What are you like, Sir Richard?" she removed her arm from his grasp.

"No-one else on earth, my dear," Sir Richard smiled gently. "Which is why the bad guys really can't understand me. Here's one now, my dear..."

Ms. Madison saw a man with a gun step out of the shadows.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty-One

2008-05-10T10:36:00.002+01:00

The Green Man and Sparrowhawk paused in the sitting room of the hotel. There, on the television screen, was the menacing figure of the Grey Tabby, standing in front of a grey concrete wall.

"If my demands are not met," he told the audience, "then the East Coast of Ireland and the West Coast of Wales will be destroyed. The price is fifty billion pounds - I do not care where that money comes from, whether you rich people who have retired to Tywyn and Aberdyfi, businesses, or the Government. As long as I get the money, I don't care." And, with that, the signal faded and normal service was restored.

"Okay..." Sparrowhawk drew back, eyes wide, "is it just me, or is that guy a total whack-job? Do you know him?"

"We have met before," the Green Man's voice remained impassive. "The Grey Tabby is one of the most ruthless super-villains in the world today. He has even tried to use nuclear weapons."

"Gee!" Sparrowhawk gasped, "and I though the guys I've fought were bad, but none of them ever tried to use the bomb. He's obviously bad news. Let's stop him."

"Still the same Sparrowhawk..." the Green Man sighed. "You don't seem to have been at all affected by the last ten years."

"That's 'cause I wasn't conscious for most of it," she smiled sweetly. "Besides," she caught hold of his arm, "weren't you looking after me?"

"Sparrowhawk..." the Green Man gave her a stern look.

"Okay, so there's another," she let go of his arm. "You can call me Hawkie, by the way. All my old friends do." There was a note of some disappointment in the voice of the masked blonde.

"I'm sorry, Hawkie," the Green Man shook his head. "But I'd given up on your ever recovering a long time before I met her. You'll like her."

"I'll try to despise her," Sparrowhawk laughed. "Where do we go from here, pal?"

"The centre of it all," the Green Man spoke calmly. "We go back to Aberystwyth. And we find out whether your father and Ms. Madison have found out anything in the town."

"Race you there!" Sparrowhawk broke into a run.

Blasted Past: Part Twenty

2008-05-09T10:06:00.001+01:00

Falcondale mansion, located just outside Lampeter, is one of the most relaxing hotels in Ceredigion. Built by the philanthropic Harford family, they enjoyed the house and its grounds for just under a century, before the estate was broken up, and the house sold. For some years it was an old people's home, although it has now become a hotel, noted for its civilised surroundings. Not that the man in one of the rooms overlooking the lawns was relaxing, as a snarling Sparrowhawk kicked him about the room.

"You're going to tell me why you snatched me," she told him brutally, "so why don't you just spare yourself any more pain and cough up now. Of course, if you want me to rearrange your face, then I'm delighted to do it, after what you creeps did to me!"

The man gasped, as he was knocked against the chest of drawers. Sparrowhawk waited for him to get up before she kicked him again, this time in the face. The man spat blood, as his lip split.

"Feeling more talkative, jerk-face?" she laughed, moving closer to him. "'Cause I can keep this up all night. And you won't like it. "That I can promise."

The man shook his head, an action which earned him a straight left to the jaw from the lady in leather. She laughed, as his blearly eyes looked up at her, before bringing up a knee into a sensitive area.

"Word of warning, pal," she sighed, "I've just woken from a ten-year semi-coma. That means I've got a lot of catching up to do. Especially when it comes to thumping people. Don't expect this to get any easier. And don't expect to pass out at any time, 'cause I know what I'm doing."

"All right!" the man wailed, "I'll tell, just don't hit me any more! I was hired by some scientist guy in the town. I helped him get the blonde kid into a car, that's all I know, I swear it!"

"Didn't your mother tell you not to swear?" Sparrowhawk smiled, before knocking the man out with a high-kick.

"Well done, Sparrowhawk," the Green Man stepped into the room. "But did you not promise not to hit him?"

"When?" Sparrowhawk smiled cutely. "He asked me not to hit him. I never replied. Now, where do we go from here?"

Blasted Past: Part Twenty

2008-05-08T15:00:00.001+01:00

"Aberystwyth," the Grey Tabby chuckled, "is located more or less in the centre of Cardigan Bay. Using the curve of the bay to focus the seismic tremors, I shall direct a tidal wave of terrifying force at Ireland. That wave will have sufficient force to destroy Dublin, as well as most of the East Coast of Ireland. Of course, the act of focussing the seismic energy will have the unfortunate side-effect of destroying every living thing on the West Wales coast, but I imagine that the British Government will pay handsomely to avoid that possiblilty."

"They won't pay..." Lady Sylvia lifted her head.

"Then they will DIE!" the Grey Tabby brought his fist down on the nearest desk. "Do not forget, girl, they know what I am capable of!"

"And if they don't pay, you can't use the same threat again," Lady Sylvia shook her head. "With so many dead."

"I will not need to," The Grey Tabby sighed. "There is an elite mercenary group ready in Africa, and they will conquer what remains of Ireland for me, to become my republic of crime. So, you see, I have covered every eventuality."

"And why did you snatch Sparrowhawk?" Lady Sylvia looked confused. "You must have known that her disapperance would bring the Green Man here."

"I had hoped to have a bargaining chip," the feline felon sighed, "but the dolts who snatched her allowed her to get away. Not that that should harm us, given the state that girl's been in for the past decade. But enough of this, I must broadcast my demands to the governments of Britain and Ireland."

"Fifty Billion...?" Lady Sylvia shook her head, "it's impossible."

"When governments can spend five billion pounds a month on a war in a distant land?" the masked mastermind chuckled. "Once my threat is known, they'll have no choice but to pay. Remember, Professor Hughes can build the device I have spoken of. He offered the plans to the British Government, but they rejected it on the grounds that no-one should have access to such a device."

"Think of the casualties..." Lady Sylvia began to plead with the villain, but he only laughed.

"They will be the responsibility of those who refused to pay." The tone of the Grey Tabby was brutal. "Prepare the generators."

Blasted Past: Part Nineteen

2008-05-07T14:21:00.006+01:00

Lady Sylvia came to in a room light entirely artifically. She sought to clear her muddled head, shaking it. Still, all she could remember was a house in Lampeter and the smiling face of the Grey Tabby. The super-villain's smiling visage re-entered her view, as he noticed that she was conscious once again.

"Back with again, my dear?" the feline felon chuckled. "I would say that I am sorry to have had to treat you this way, but it would be a lie. Ever since you foiled my plans to create an independent republic of London, I have wanted to be revenged on you, Lady Sylvia Vaughan..."

"You know your plan would have failed," the young aristocrat smiled. "Besides, now with Boris in charge, who'd want to live in your ciminal state?"

"That, my dear, is no longer relevant, party-political propaganda aside." The Grey Tabby chuckled menacingly. "For my plans have now changed. You are being held in my new secret lair, under Pen Dinas, Aberystwyth, to witness my triumph."

"And what made scheme do you have ready now?" Lady Sylvia spat defiance, glaring at the masked mastermind. "To turn Wales into your criminal haven?"

"Nothing so mundane, my dear lady," the Grey Tabby turned to a screen on the wall. I intend to blackmail the Biritish and Irish Governments to the tune of fifty billion pounds."

"That's a ludicrous price!" Lady Sylvia's eyes widened. "What could you possibly threaten that would be worth that sort of money?"

"That is simple, my dear," the Grey Tabby's smile widened. "With the help of Professor Cadwgan Hughes, I have consyructed a massive seismic generator - the project that Cardiff University discharged him for even suggesting. That generator is located beneath us. And if my demands are not met, then that generator will be used."

Lady Sylvia gasped in horror.

Interruption in service

2008-05-01T07:34:00.003+01:00

The adventures of the Green Man will continue once the editor has fulfilled his duty as a candidate for Cardiff County Council, viz., being a good loser. If you have a vote, use it.

Blasted Past: Part Eighteen

2008-04-30T08:13:00.005+01:00

"You!" Sparrowhawk gasped, a small, cute sound. Ms. Madison smiled, finding the masked girl actually quite sweet. She still could not bring herself to believe Sir Richard Arcos' story about Sparrowhawk's being a great deal older than she seemed.

"I could say the same thing, Sparrowhawk." The Green Man took a step forward. "You look exactly the same as you did the first time we met. And very well, of course."

"All the better for seeing you..." the blonde smiled sweetly at the menacing figure in green. "Say, do you remember...?"

Ms. Madison looked from the lovely heroine to the Green Man, her expression one of deep concern. She shook her head, before looking back to the elegant figure of Sir Richard Arcos. He shook his head as well, looking up to the ceiling with an expression of world-weariness that Ms. Madison suspected was a pose.

"Of course I remember," the Green Man nodded. "I have lived with that memory for almost a decade, Sparrowhawk. But for me, that is the past. I know that for you it was only last night..."

"There's another, isn't there?" Hawkie looked at the Green Man with huge blue eyes. There was an air of loneliness about the masked blonde. "I've been away too long, haven't I?"

Sir Richard moved to the side of the girl in leather, putting an arm around her shoulders, his expression kind and definitely fatherly. She looked up at him, and Ms. Madison found herself a little more able to believe that this strange girl was the daughter of Sir Richard Arcos.

"It's part of the life you chose when you put on that mask, darling," Sir Richard smiled tenderly. "We have to learn to hold all things lightly. To let people go when we have to. She's a nice lassie, and we all thought you were gone. There's only so long a chap can wait, my dear. Even the best of men."

Sparrowhawk nodded, mute.

"You're right of course, daddy," she sniffed a little, "but it's still difficult letting go. It still hurts me, daddy - hurts a lot."

"I know," Sir Richard rubbed her shoulder, looking into her eyes. "But we'll have to see. Now, shall we find the bad guys and biff them on the bean?"

Blasted Past: Part Seventeen

2008-04-29T07:52:00.007+01:00

Ms. Madison's brain was awhirl, as she looked first to the patrician figure of Sir Richard Arcos, then to the dangerous, leather-clad blonde who now stood by his side. She shook her head, pointing first to one figure, then the other.

"But... but that's impossible..." she protested. "I mean... how old are you, Sir Richard?"

"Not being a lady, lassie," Sir Richard smiled, "I cannot be offended by such an impertinent question. Besides, I stopped counting when my daughter clubbed together and bought me a rocking chair. But what you mean to say is that given my age and that of my wife, the idea that I could have a daughter young enough to be my grandaughter is more than a little improbable. Be that as it may, Hawkie is my very own dear daughter. Adopted, I'll confess."

Ms. Madison looked at the masked girl and shook her head, still hardly daring to believe it.

"And when did you take her in?" she continued to question the old gentleman.

"Believe me, Lynette," Hawkie took a step forward, "that's a hard question."

"But, since you are the centre of this," Ms. Madison raised her chin, "then it's a question that needs to be answered. I mean, how come I never heard about Sir Richard taking in a little girl some time in the 1980s?"

"That question's an easy one," Sir Richard laughed idly. "You'd 've been reading the wrong papers, dear lassie. I adopted this little bombshell back in 1952."

Ms. Madison's jaw dropped, as she took another look at the slender figure of Sparrowhawk.

"Long story," the masked girl confessed. "Let's just say that it involves an ancient Egyptian curse. But that's not what matters. We need to find out who had me taken out of the nursing home."

"And biff them on the bean," Sir Richard nodded.

"More than that," Ms. Madison looked concerned. "The reason for the snatch was that someone wanted to get to the Green Man. We still don't know why or for what purpose."

"That no longer matters."

A simister voice, emanating from the shadows, caused the three to turn, looking across a rapidly darkening room. There, in a shaft of light left by the sinking sun, was the Green Man.

Blasted Past: Part Sixteen

2008-04-25T08:18:00.001+01:00

Ms. Madison looked, open-mouthed at the tall, elegant form of Sir Richard Arcos. Standing in the doorway, leaning on his cane, the Norfolk Squire looked sternly at the two blondes. Sparrowhawk took a step back, her eyes wide. There, in bowler hat and old-fashioned coat, the elderly gentleman seemed to belong to another age, expecially compared to the two young women.

"May I come in?" he removed his hat, stern expression turning to a gracious smile. "Or is that now not allowed? I mean, I must confess to having come here unchaperoned. The moment I heard you couldn't have kept me, my dear." He bowed in the direction of a distinctly flustered Sparrowhawk.

"I... I... I..." the masked maiden coloured at the smile of the gentle knight. "I can..."

"Explain everything, my dear?" the gentleman laughed softly. "Of that I've no doubt. You've always had a peculiar talent for that. Not that those explanations have always been entirely consistent with what actually happened, of course." There was a bantering light in his eyes. "Besides, I was informed, darling lassie. Your friends have been most good to me - and, I hasten to add, to you. Not that that should ever be unexpected, of course. After all, you are the sweetest little heroine in the entire world. Why, I remember...."

"Please..." Sparrowhawk coloured hotly, trembling a little, "we... we're..."

"In company?" Sir Richard chuckled. "Lynette here knows me and my ways, lass, she'll be fine with my little eccentricities. Why, we had her over for Christmas the other year. Do you remember old Horace, the detective chappie?"

"Do I remember?" Sparrowhawk smiled, her laugh an amused gurgle. "Sure I do! Of course, you go back further, but..."

"Hang on," Ms. Madison interrupted, "this is a touching scene, but you lost me a while back. How come you know Sparrowhawk, Sir Richard?"

"Hawkie, please," the girl in leather grinned cutely. "I'm not one for standing on ceremony..."

"Or feet," Sir Richard contributed, eyes sparkling. "You used to be quite an accomplished little dancer. How are you now, dear?"

"Probably fine," Hawkie laughed, "it's like the battle murder and sudden death stuff. Even after a decade, I'm still great. But I'd no idea it was so long, you've got to believe me, it's just been like waking up after a night of dreaming."

"Please," Ms. Madison rolled her eyes, "won't you tell me just what's going on. How come you know this girl, Sir Richard - and how come you know she's the real Sparrowhawk?"

"It's really quite simple, dear girl," Sir Richard turned to face Ms. Madison. "A chap ought to be able to recognise his own daughter, oughtn't he?"

Blasted Past: Part Fifteen

2008-04-24T19:21:00.001+01:00

Still blushing from her near miss, Lady Sylvia followed the directions of the man in the brown trenchcoat, ascending the steps up to the front door of the house which called itself 'Ty Garth', and was apparently the dwelling-place of Professor Cadwgan Hughes. Her heels tapped an urgent beat on the stone steps, which was taken up by her knocking on the door.

"If it's a charity," the door was opened by a white haired man who still possessed a vital physique, "then I'm fully committed right now. Of course, once my book comes out..."

"It isn't charity," Lady Sylvia shook her head. "As a matter of fact, I ... we," she looked back at the man in the brown coat, "were meaning to have a word with you about the Nanteos Grail. Do you have a moment?"

"For pretty young things with an interest in the consuming passion of my life?" the man smiled, "of course, my dear. What's your interest in the Nanteos Cup?"

"Purely practical, I'm afraid," Lady Sylvia took a seat in the front parlour. "Someone was kidnapped at the same time that the grail was stolen. Where might someone have been taken if the Grail was stolen for its healing properties?"

"Anywhere, conceivably," the old Professor shook his head. "There's no association of the Grail with a specific holy well. Besides, the Grail isn't really the holy Grail. It's a medieval bowl, the legend's probably only seventeenth or eighteenth century. Its chief value is folkloric."

"So what's the connection between the theft of the Grail and the disappearance of Sparrowhawk?" Lady Sylvia's eyes widened. "If the only healing powers possessed by the cup are pyschosomatic?"

"The Cup was not taken for Sparrowhawk, my deat Sylvia," a new voice caused Lady Sylvia to start. "I had the Cup stolen as payment."

"You..." the colour drained from Lady Sylvia's face as she turned to the door.

"As ever, my dear." The Grey Tabby bowed.

Blasted Past: Part Fourteen

2008-04-23T19:02:00.001+01:00

The Cardiganshire countryside flashed by, as Lady Sylvia guided her little sports car down the narrow lanes of the county. In the passenger seat, the man in brown tried to keep his eyes on the road, in part because Lady Sylvia's eyes seemed to be everywhere but. A tall column, standing on a hill, attracted the attention of the young aristocrat.

"There's one just like it near Aberystwyth," she observed, "why's that?"

"Coincidence," the man spoke softly. "The column you see was built as an eye-catcher from Derry Ormond House, which is now demolished. The one at Aberystwyth was built in honour of the Duke of Wellington. There ought to be a connection, but no-one knows of one."

"And where are we going?"Lady Sylvia looked away from the road again.

"If you can get us there without killing the pair of us," the man in brown winced, as a car narrowly missed them, "then we're supposed to be going to Lampeter, the other university town in this county. There's a retired professor there I think we ought to see."

"Hey!" Lady Sylvia's eyes widened, "when did this become a jont operation? Last time I looked, Im the Green Man's agent."

"And I, my dear," the man laughed, "am the local agent of the same gentleman. Now, the chap we're due to see is a certain Professor Cadwgan Hughes. He used to teach engineering at Cardiff University, but he retired here to become an expert on Welsh folklore. That makes him the perfect source for further information on the Nanteos grail. Apparently he's in the process of writing a book on the subject. Has been for the past decade."

The car swept into Lampeter, narrowly missing a bus. Lady Sylvia sounded her horn, as the car mounted the kerb, causing several pedestrians a fright. The man in brown shook his head, covering his eyes, as the young aristocrat skidded into a side-road.

"And, if you've done with almost killing people," the man sighed again, "it's a big detatched house, just past the church."

Lady Sylvia gave the man a dirty look, but followed his directions nevertheless.

Blasted Past: Part Thirteen

2008-04-22T11:59:00.001+01:00

Ms. Madison followed the girl in leather into a broad courtyard, and found herself looking at a little house that someone had created out of the ruins of the ancient fortress. She smiled, as the girl opened the door for her, hanging on the door, looking back at her, a lovely smile on her beautiful face.

"Hungry, Lynette?" she asked, blue eyes sparkling. "I know I could eat a horse. Do you know what the food's like in nursing homes?" She made a face. "Of course, it's not the first time I've found myself in a sanatorium." Entering the house, she flopped down on a sofa.

"No." Ms. Madison looked sternly at the little blonde in leather.

"What?" the girl arched one elegant eyebrow.

"You can't be her," the English girl walked over to the window, looking out at the greensward of the ancient courtyard. "The Green Man met Sparrowhawk about a decade ago. The way he speaks about her, it's like she was older than him, more experienced. You can't be more than about twenty-five."

"Really? she girl in leather leaned forward in her seat. "And how did you become such a great judge of age?"

"Working for the Green Man." Ms. Madison glared at the pretty girl in the mask. "I had to learn to recognise friends - and foes. The picture the Green Man showed me looked exactly like you. Since then ten years have passed. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you haven't aged in ten years?"

"Not really," Sparrowhawk laughed. "No-one else does. But you have to believe that I don't wish you any harm. If I am an impostor, it's in a good cause."

Ms. Madison turned back to the American girl.

"The ends justify the means?" She sighed. "Look, if you are Sparrowhawk, then tell me this - who is the Green Man?"

"Your boss," Sparrowhawk laughed, "you just said..."

"I mean, under the mask." The English girl's tone hardened. "If you are Sparrowhawk, you ought to know that. That's why you were kidnapped, after all..."

Sparrowhawk burst out laughing.

"I don't know!" she declared, tears of mirth gleaming in her eyes, "that's what made what those bad guys were doing so priceless! I don't know any more than they did. Why whould I know?"

"Because the Green Man recognised her without her mask," Ms. Madison spoke sternly. "He said that, when he saw Sparrowhawk almost killed, ten years ago, he saw her face, and then he knew why she wore the mask - he knew her face."

"But he had never met her." A new voice - a man's voice - came from the door. Ms. Madison turned with a start.

Blasted Past: Part Twelve

2008-04-21T10:20:00.001+01:00

The blonde bombshell landed the little boat on a gently sloping beach, leaping out into the surf. Ms. Madison did the same, helping manhandle the boat onto the beach. She followed the intense girl in the mask, as she hurried up the beach, towards woodland.

"Where...where are we going?" Ms. Madison not unnaturally asked, "and who are you?"

"I told you, didn't I?" the girl did not turn around, "I'm Sparrowhawk. What about you?"

"Lynette Madison," the Gren Man's secretary replied, still not sure what to believe. "They told me you were..."

"They forgot to tell me," the girl in leather laughed. "Still, ten years locked away inside my mind. It's not a pretty though, Lynette - you don't mind if I call you Lynette, do you? - You can call me Hawkie, all my friends do."

Ms. Madison did not have a ready reply, as the girl in leather led her up the beach, ascending rock-cut steps at the cliff edge. Ms. Madison followed gingerly, very aware of her bare feet. The path was clear and litter-free, although there was no sign telling people that the route was private property. She was still unsure about this girl in leather, this mix of menace and frivolity. Could she really be Sparrowhawk?

The woods quickly hid all sight of the beach from view, only the gentle rolling of the waves remining Ms. Madison that they were close to the sea. A few overgrown bridges told her that this landscape had once belonged to an estate. At any moment she expected to see a mansion through the trees.

What she in fact saw was what looked like a dilapidated castle, glazed windows showing that the place was still inhabited. Sparrowhawk paused, looking back to her new associate.

"St. Peter Park," she told Ms. Madison, "my home. I think I can manage to make us supper. Would you like to join me? That way we can discuss things."

It was with the greatest of trepidation that Ms. Madison accopanied the girl dressed as Sparrowhawk to theancient mansion.

Blasted Past: Part Eleven

2008-04-19T08:12:00.001+01:00

Ms. Madison looked incredulously at the figure in front of her. She could not have been more surprised if she had been confronted with a unicorn grazing under a goose-tree. The girl in front of her was unmistakably the same as the girl in the photograph that the Green Man had shown them, and yet she was certainly no nursing home patient. There was a vital spark in her blue eyes, as she looked curiously at her.

"You're obviously not with the bad guys," the girl spoke with a slight American accent, dispelling any idea that this could be Sian Rule, the young lady that the Green Man had once dressed up as Sparrowhawk. "And in that state, you don't look like you're with the cavalry, either."

"S...Sparrowhawk?" Ms. Madison's voice was a cautious whisper, "but how...?"

"I'd love to tell you I flew," the girl shook her head, "but I can't. There's a motor launch on the far side of the island. I crept in under whatever radar they had. When you've been in this business as long as I have..."

"Wait..." Ms. Madison took a step back. "You were almost killed a decade ago. You've been a patient in a private nursing home since..."

"That long?" The masked blonde's jaw dropped "-no wonder she..."

"Who?" Ms. Madison sank down in a nearby chair. "Sparrowhawk, I was sent to try and rescue you from men who had kidnapped you, but now I find you alive, well and free. Not to mention in costume. What happened?"

"I remember being asleep," Sparrowhawk sighed, leaning against the wall. "It was like some half-remembered dream. The Green Man was there, and so was I. Then I woke up in this poky little cottage. There were these two men asking me a load of really dumb questions, like who the Green Man was. Well, they didn't have me tied up, so I escaped after breaking a few of their limbs. I was able to contact my support. They were a bit surprised to hear from me, and after what you've told me, I don't wonder. That's where I got the costume from, and this place was marked on a map in the cottage."

Ms. Madison listened to the tale. It was earnestly told, but somehow she didn't believe a word of it. Still, she felt, there was nothing that she could do except play along. That being the case, she allowed the girl in the leather costume to lead her out of the dilapidated fortress, skipping lightly over the rocks. NBarefoot, Ms. Madison followed at a distance, every moment expecting a trap to be sprung. When they made the boat in safety, no-one was more surprised than the Green Man's secretary.

Blasted Past: Part Ten

2008-04-18T10:00:00.002+01:00

Ms. Madison came to on a very hard concrete floor. She groaned, looking around her at a scene of dereliction. She lay on a rickety old camp bed, and could only conclude that she was being held in some sort of old fortress. Rising, she heard no-one. Barefoot and without her jacket, she was otherwise untouched, although the dull pain in her head reminded her that she had been drugged. The experience did not improve with repetition.

Padding to the door of her cell, she found it unlocked. Opening it, she found herself in an ancient gun battery, looking out at the grey sea. And the coast, too far for her to be able to swim it. She shook her head. Whoever the enemy was, they had clearly put her here in isolation. And why not, after what she had told the man at the marina?

She wandered through the empty passages of the fort. It would have been perfect as a secret headquarters, but it seemed to be utterly deserted, littered with the rubble left when the army (or navy, she wasn't sure which) had decommissioned it.

Leaving the casements, she made her way gingerly past various bits of rubble, heading for the command post at the centre of the fort. A chill breeze caused her to shiver, hugging her arms to her. She shook her head, wishing that they had left her her jacket. After all, it wasn't like it contained an escape kit or anything. Unlike her shoes, which had contained a hidden radio.

But that was a matter for another time. She tried the door of the command post and found it open. Unlike the others, however, this one seemed to have had its lock picked recently. Heartbeat quickening, she slipped through the door. Ahead of her, she saw a man lying on his back, still alive but out cold and tied up with his own belt.

She stepped over him, seeing the blinking of electric lights. There, in the middle of the old fort, was a modern communications relay. And someone was bent over it, doing something, almost invisible in the darkness. Ms. Madison approached stealthily, preparing to knock them out.

Before she could strike, however, the figure turned, raising their own hands, slender hands encased in black leather gauntlets. The light fell across a face, golden hair gleaning in the light. Red lips opened in an expression of surprise.

Ms. Madison gasped. She found herself looking into the eyes of someone she had only ever seen in pictures.

Sparrowhawk!

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2008-04-17T08:28:00.004+01:00

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Blasted Past: Part Nine

2008-04-17T08:09:00.004+01:00

A decade ago, the town of Aberystwyth possessed a slightly down-at-heel appearance, large areas of waste ground reminding the visitor of coal yards and railways that had long ago vanished. Today much of that is gone, and the town wears a decidedly gentified aspect, although a few dilapidated buidlings seem to survive here and there. As Ms. Madison stood in a smart flat by the Marina, she wondered just what the Green Man would have seen when he came here with Sparrowhawk so long ago. And just when the man she was speaking to would actually get to the point. He had told her that he had been a stident there a decade ago, staying in digs in Powell Street, opposite the Tabernacle Chapel, where Sparrowhawk had been assaulted, now a mental health officer with the local council, he had apparently seen Sparrowhawk the day before she had been abducted.

"She was the same as ever," he told Ms. Madison, as he made coffee, "perfectly sweet, but incomplete, traumatised by the experience. I have to amit that I was a little surprised, after what she apparently was..."

"Why?" Ms. Madison smiled innocently. "She used to dress up and fight crime - don't you think that anyone who does that is a bit strange to begin with?"

"Fair point," the man nodded. "But still, I don't think I've ever seen a worse case of that nature. I'm shocked anyone could have thought of kidnapping her. She's just a child, mentally, I mean. The woman is gone, maybe forever."

"So, do you know anything else?" Ms. Madison took the coffee he offered her. "I mean, if you'd kidnapped a girl like that, what would you do with her?"

"Honestly?" the man sighed deeply. "I wouldn't have taken her. "It 'ld be a waste of time. In her condition, she couldn't say anything worth knowing. Nothing that could be relied on."

"So what would you do?" Ms. Madison drained her coffee.

"Use her as a decoy," the man smiled. "Use her disappearance to draw in her protectors. That way I might be able to get one of them at my mercy."

"Hence the mickey finn in the coffee," Ms. Madison smiled.

The man started violently, drawing a smile from the lovely blonde. She shook her head, swaying a little.

"And you'll have to ponder that one. bucko," she laughed. "'Cause right now, I'm about to pass out without telling you anything. Tell you boss that the Green Man doesn't send his people into traps without knowing everything."

Blasted Past: Part Eight

2008-04-15T21:01:00.005+01:00

"There are some people," the man in brown told Lady Sylvia, "who say that the lake at Nanteos is the same lake from which King Arthur took Excalibur from the Lady in the Lake."

"And are you one of them?" the brunette's eyes twinkled mischievously.

"No." The man's voice carried a trace of irony. "That would be silly. The Holy Grail is supposed to have come to Strata Florida from somewhere else, for safe keeping at the end of the Middle Ages. This is a nice lake, but the idea is absurd. I have shown you this place because strange things have been happening around here. This house is not that far from the nursing home that Sparrowhawk was taken from. A number of people stayed in the hotel for a few days before she vanished - and they asked lovals whether there were any rituals associated with the use of the Grail for healing."

"And were there?" the young aristocrat's eyes widened with interest.

"None at all," he replied, "not even the use of special water. I suspect that means they might be anywhere in the county."

"Or the world..." she mused.

"No." The man in the trenchcoat was emphatic. "Sparrowhawk's mind is still fragile, she couldn't take being moved too far. She will be nearby, not at Strata Florida, and not here, but she will be close. Perhaps your friend will uncover the exact location. The staff here remember that the men who stayed here had to check in with someone else every few hours. Probably they've gone to be with him. And taken her with him." The man clenched one fist.

"What do you know about Sparrowhawk?" Lady Syvia leaned towards him - I mean, who is she?"

"As big a mystery as the Green Man," came the enigmatic reply. "All anyone knows is that the Green Man once loved her. He recognised her when he saw her unmasked. But no-one else ever has. And remember, she was in that nursing home for about a decade. Perhaps, if you find out who she is, then you find out who the Green Man is. Maybe that's the idea of snatching her and healing her. That way the bad guy will get to find out who the Green Man is."

"So you think that's what this is all about?" Lady Sylvia smiled.

"I hope so." The man in brown looked down. "You see, the alternative is that someone's got a grudge against Sparrowhawk herself, and they want her to be fully herself when they kill her."

Blasted Past: Part Seven

2008-04-11T20:05:00.004+01:00

Lady Sylvia followed the directions of the strange figure in the brown trenchcoat, back through narrow roads among the wooded hills of Cardiganshire, at last climbing up through the valleys towards the main road to Abersytwyth. At the last, they turned off the road. They, ahead of them, in a wooded park, was an elegant mansion, the sun shining down on a classical front. Lady Sylvia smiled.

"I take it this is Nanteos," the young aristocrat looked across at her hitch-hiker. "It's a really lovely house. Who lives there now?"

"Today, it is a hotel," the man told her. "The Powell line died out when the last Powell was killed in the First World War. The estate passed to the Mirylees family, distant relatives, after a court case in which the terms of the will of the last Mrs. Powell were set aside. The house and grounds have since been sold several times, but the Mirylees family retain the cup - or did until recently."

"So why have we come here?" Lady Sylvia brought the car to a halt outside a massive archway."

"Maybe I brought you here so that my fould associates could kidnap you?" the man in the trenchcoat's eyes twinkled as he spoke.

"Maybe you did," she laughed, "but I don't believe that. You've got an agenda, but I think our agendas merge somewhere. What do you know?"

"Far more than you could ever know," the man in brown shook his head. "And I must confess to several personal interests. I have brought you here so that you can see where the cup came from. It may give some clue as to where the cup now is."

"I'll contact my friend," Lady Sylvia removed her mobile 'phone from her handbag, pressing the shortcut for Ms. Madison's 'phone. It simply proclaimed that there was 'no signal'.

"She's probably in Lampeter," the man told her. "Now, shall we take a look around?"

"Why?" Lady Sylvia looked worried.

"Because there are things that we must see here," the mysterious man spoke softly. "My dear Lady Sylvia, just because the cup is no longer here does not mean that there is nothing here. Follow me and I will show you."

Blasted Past: Part Six

2008-04-10T21:44:00.006+01:00

Lady Sylvia was glad that she did not need to ask any other silly questions. She just looked at the mystery man in brown and shook her head, the wind blowing through her hair. The Abbey seemed suddenly very far from the world of the twentieth century, cold and apart. Perhaps what the monks had in mind when they came to this secluded spot.

"I was told someone here had seen someone answering to Sparrowhawk's description," she told the stranger.

"A subterfuge to bring you, I'm afraid," the mystery man bowed slightly. "I trust you will forgive my little deception, but on the 'phone, you might not have waited. I was afraid that you would not have understood."

Lady Sylvia looked at him again, silent for a long time. She closed her eyes, leaning back and sighing deeply. The chill sun of spring caught her face, its silver light casting strange shadows. She tried to understand the words that she had just heard.

"I'm going to trust you," she told the man. "Trust you because no-one 'ld be mad enough to use that as a decoy."

"Or perhaps that's what someone 'ld want you to think," the man in brown spoke half in jest. "But I'm going to trst you, too, trust that you're not a spy."

"From whom?" Lady Sylvia raised one eyebrow.

"My enemies," the man replied matter-of-factly. "Now, shall we go, my dear?"

"Go where?" she paused, leaning on a broken pillar.

"Why, to the next place touched by the legend," the man in the Trenchcoat pulled his cap further down over his face. "We shall go to Nanteos, for many centuries home of the cup."

Blasted Past: Part Five

2008-04-09T09:28:00.002+01:00

Strata Florida Abbey nestles between the mellow hills of Cardiganshire. The abbey, founded by Rhys Ap Gruffydd, one of the mightiest of the Welsh Princes, the body of Dafydd Ap Gwilym, one of the best known Welsh poets, is supposed to be buried there, but he is also supposed to have been buried at Talley Abbey, just over the border in Carmarthenshire. One of these has to be wrong, since, to the best of our knowledge, Dafydd Ap Gwilym was never divinded, before or after death, in spite of his deplorable tendency to pay court to other men's wives. Dafydd Ap Gwilym is known for his poetry, most notable among his verses a meditation upon the looks of the young ladies he saw while he sat in the church at Llanbadarn Fawr, outside Aberystwyth.

Accordingly, old Dafydd would probably have been most happy to meet Lady Sylvia, for she was as pretty as the proverbial picture, as she stepped through the magnificent Romanesque arch that would once have led into a magnificent abbey church. But he has been dead for a good many years, and may not even be buried there, so the fact is probably less than material. But the temptation to mention him is too great, so he sneaked in.

Lady Sylvia paused, taking in the magnificent view. She drew in breath deeply, looking up to the magnificently wooded hills, above the ruined walls.

"Did you know that there's a legend the Holy Grail was brought to this place, just before the monasteries were dissolved?"

A male voice, close by, caused Lady Sylvia to start. She turned to see a man in a brown trenchcoat and flat cap, hands in his pockets, a scarf wound around his face, eyes concealed by driving goggles.

"So what happened to it, then?" Lady Sylvia smiled sceptically.

"The grail passed into the hands of the Steadman family." The man spoke softly, not rising to the bantering tone in the young aristocrat's voice. "They bought the abbey and built the house that stands alongside this church. The grail was kept for the use of pilgrims, who believed that it contained a healing virtue. When the Steadman line ended, the cup, and the abbey, passed into the ownership of the Powells of Nanteos, though marriage to the last of the Steadmans. That cup remained at Nanteos until the 1960s. It is now kept in a bank vault in Aberystwyth."

"But you're kidding!" Lady Sylvia laughed out loud, covering her mouth. "The Holy Grail, here...?"

"It may be just a legend," the figure in the trenchcoat nodded, "but the cup exists. And it is gone from the bank vault. It vanished the same day that Sparrowhawk was taken from the nursing home."

Sunday Supplement: Man Worshipping

2008-04-08T20:52:00.004+01:00

Sir Richard Arcos here: Having recovered of my recent attack of Mexican bandits, I resolved to pay a visit to another church. The church in question was the Anglican Church of Great Twittering in the Mire, which comes just before the hamlet of Nether Wallop, ministered to by the Rev. Fred Jones, a radical proponent of the creation of woman Bishops. After the Church in Wales failed to approve the election of woman Bishops, he decided to deliver a sermon on this.

We were informed that this decision was 'inexplicable', and that he was 'ashamed' to be a member of a Communion in which women were denied equal rights. He told us that the decision not to ordain woman bishops made the Church in Wales 'look absurd in the eyes of the world'.

The reading set for the Liturgy was 1 Corinthians 1:18: 'For the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness; but unto us which are saved it is the power of God.'

When the reverend gentleman read this he turned red and sought the alternative epistle reading. I had detailed my grandson to break into the vestry and substitute a new lectionary while the gent wasn't looking, so he found himself reading:

'Let the woman learn in silence with all subjection. But I suffer not a woman to teach, nor to usurp authority over the man, but to be in silence.'

At this point the Reverend gentleman turned even redder, muttered something about a plot against him, and told us all that we had to get with the times or be left behind. After the service I asked him whether he had read Tim LaHaye. The court order banning me from the church arrived in the post this morning.

Blasted Past: Part Four

2008-04-08T19:05:00.005+01:00

The chill waves of Cardigan Bay washed the beaches of Aberystwyth. Weeks later, Lady Sylvia Vaughan was lying on the beach, trying her best to acquire a suntan, despite the wind. Somewhere in the little Unversity town, amid its narrow, winding backstreets, Ms. Madison was still searching for Sparrowhawk. Above, seagulls wheeled. There were supposed to be dolphins somewhere, but they are almost impossible to find, so the less said about it the better.

The mobile 'phone by Lady Sylvia buzzed, moving on the flat stone she had placed it on. She started awake, snatching up the little handset.

"Sylv Vaughan," she announced, removing her sunglasses, "I'm out of town right now..."

"I know," Ms. Madison laughed. "I'm in an attic in Chalybeate Street with some local strange guy. Apparently he was there the night Sparrowhawk was attacked..."

"And?" Lady Sylvia looked confused. "Lynette, we know who reduced her to a vegetable. The Green Man wiped him out ages ago. We're looking for the people who snatched her from the nursing home."

"But, before this," Ms. Madison explained earnestly, "no-one knew that someone had seen the attack on Sparrowhawk. That means the story the Green Man gave is flawed. Remember, he said that he'd recognised Sparrowhawk - what if someone else saw her and recognised her - ow!"

"Lynette!" Lady Sylvia shot to her feet, concern written all over her face. "Are you...?"

"The man's got roving hands," Lady Sylvia shook her head. "But my last stop, in High Street, suggested that a blonde answering to the description of Sparrowhawk the nursing home people gave us was seen near Strata Florida Abbey, in the middle of the county. I want you to check that out while I chase this lead."

"Is that wise?" Lady Sylvia shook her head.

"I can take care of myself," Ms. Madison spoke with a quiet confidence. "Now, get out of your swimsuit and start making like a detective."

Blasted Past: Part Three

2008-03-20T08:40:00.004Z

The weather was, to coin a phrase, 'changeable', as Ms. Madison's sports car approached the glowering bulk of the ancient country house that was now a private nursing home. Lady Sylvia, wrapped up in a think coat and scarf, shivered, looking uncomfortable.

"Why is she here?" the brunette shook her head. "I mean, couldn't he have moved her a little farther, like Hertfordshire?"

"There must have been a good reason." Ms. Madison shook her head. "There's a secret about her that he's never told anyone, not even me, to do with who Sparrowhawk really was."

The car came to halt outside the mansion, the girls processing to the door, Ms. Madison striding forward as one used to having some authority. Lady Sylvia hurried after her, feet scrunching on the gravel drive.

"You must be here about the kidnapping." There was already someone waiting at the door, a tall, thin lady with dark hair. "Did you know the patient well?"

"Not at all," Ms. Madison shook her head. "But he sent us."

"I understand." The lady nodded. "He has been good to us. All for the sake of one whose mind is lost, who we care for. Her must have loved her very much."

"He must have." Ms. Madison nodded. "And he's sent us to find her. And to visit vengeance on those who took her. What can you tell us?"

"Nothing." The woman sighed. "It happened at night. The men were masked. But they knew what they were looking for. Look... she sighed, I've told the police this a thousand times..."

"We're not the Police." Ms. Madison smiled grimly. "We will find her."

Blasted Past: Part Two

2008-03-13T10:48:00.002Z

"Sparrowhawk." The Green Man confirmed, looking up at the image on the wall. "She was a young woman who wore a costume and mask in order to fight crime."

"And distract the bad guys, from what I can see," Lady Sylvia whispered to her colleague.

"Sshh!" Ms. Madison elbowed her in the ribs.

"I met her when I was just starting out," the Green Man went on, ignoring the interruption. "She was the greatest heroine I'd ever met, and every time I met her, I was amazed. But she came to love me, and I her. One night in Aberystwyth, West Wales, as we waited to track down a spy ring, we confessed our love. But it was never to be. For some reason, she went after the bad guys alone, leaving me asleep. She was ambushed and beaten almost to death.

"I nursed her back to health, but the experience had been too much for her. Her mind was gone, all I could do was nurse a lovely, innocent child in the body of a beautiful woman I had once loved. I had to place her in a private nursing home, visiting her as often as I could. Last year, I was able to track down and smash the spy ring, bringing dark vengeance on the wicked men who had destroyed Sparrowhawk."

There was silence for several minutes, as the force of the Green Man's words sunk in.

"Once," he went on, "I had thought that this would heal her, but I know now that was never to be. She remains my special lady, someone I care for deeply. Someone has found out about her, and has tried to attack me by attacking her."

"Then what do we do?" Ms. Madison whispered.

"You will go out and you will find her," the Green Man spoke urgently. "And, when you find who has done this thing, I will kill them. And, if they have hurt Sparrowhawk, I will make that death very slow and very, very painful."

Blasted Past: Part One

2008-03-12T10:31:00.005Z

Ms. Madison and Lady Sylvia looked at the crumbling mansion. Hidden in an overgrown park, it was almost impossible to believe that they were only a few miles from London. The girls traded glances, before stepping into the house. It was just as derelict and dilapidated inside, albeit dark and creepy as well.

"Does he always live in places like this?" Lady Sylvia shook her head, wrinkling her little nose.

"I don't know," Ms. Madisin sighed. "All I know is he pays for me to live at the Savoy. If this is a necessary economy, I'm all for it."

The girls walked into what had once been a mighty saloon, now it was in darkness, save for the light of a projector, standing on a worm-eaten table.

"You know that I called you here because of a crisis of previously unknown proportions." The Green Man's voice echoed out of the gloom. "Now you will discover what that crisis is."

"Has someone discovered your hidden identity?" Lady Sylvia asked eagerly, "I mean, do we get to find out who's under that mask?"

"No." The Green Man chuckled, still sinister. "No on both counts. My identity is as closely guarded as ever. What has happened is a far greater evil. Two days ago, a nursing home in West Wales was broken into. The safe was left untouched, and valuable antiques were passed by. Only one room was broken into, and they did not take any item."

"What did they steal?" the blonde looked concerned.

"They took a person." The Green Man's tone was grim. "A blonde woman who has been in an almost catatonic state for the last decade. A blonde woman I once knew..."

"Sparrowhawk..." the two girls gasped together.

"That's right." The Green Man nodded, as the projector clicked, casting the image of a young woman in leather, smiling at the camera. "They took Sparrowhawk."

The Curse: Part Ten

2008-02-26T17:34:00.004Z

The degenerate aristocrat fell back, as the Green Man moved out of the shadows, his movement slow and threatening. The man gibbered in fear as the bringer of vengeance advanced on him.

"Robin Fitz-Carew," the Green Man's voice filled the cellar. "You have tried to destroy innocent life. You blamed Lord Ambrose Vaughan for your failure, your profligacy - you have no-one to blame but yourself!"

"No!" FitzCarew screamed, "I will have my revenge, I..."

"Your revenge?" the Green Man spoke mockingly. "No wrong has been done to you, yet you arranged to poison Lord Ambrose Vaughan - you lured Lady Sylvia Vaughan here so that you could slay her! You wamted to make that family pay for the fact that they bought the home your family had built! The home you sold so that you could feed your lusts!"

"But you can't kill me." The man smiled desperately. "I know you, Green Man. "You only kill where life has been destroyed!"

"And the poion you had administered to Lord Ambrose would have killed him." The Green Man drew his gun. "Would have killed him if I had not located the poison and given him the antidote. You meant to kill."

The Green Man's gun was lowered at the head of FitzCarew. The finger of the emerald avenger tightened on the trigger. FitzCarew passed out, as the hammer struck home.

And nothing happened. The Green Man holstered hyis gun, as he moved over to unchain the two girls. Lady Sylvia was crying with relief, while Ms. Madison just looked at the Green Man.

"How did you find it?" the blonde asked, eyes wide. "I mean..."

"This isn't just a madman's revenge," the Green Man told her soberly. "I'll explain once we get back to London."

The Curse: Nine

2008-02-23T10:20:00.003Z

Lady Sylvia came to in a dank cellar, chained to the wall by the side of a still unconscious Ms. Madison. She groaned, looking at bare walls. The chains cut into her wrists, and she could barely see in the gloom.

"So, you're awake." A cultured but cruel voice spoke through the silence of the cellar. "It was so nice of you to come."

"Who are you?" Lady Sylvia shook her head. "What are you doing?"

The man in the darkness sighed, then laughed mockingly. The young aristocrat felt her flesh crawl. There was something utterly evil in the speaker.

"You have to ask me that?" the man snarled back. "After what your family did to me, robbing me of my inheritance?"

"Robbing?" Lady Sylvia drew back. "My brother paid for the house - it was on the market! If he hadn't bought it, then the house would have been demolished!"

"Silence!" the man struck her across the face. Lady Sylvia felt a ring slash her face, hot blood rolling down her cheek. "I will not listen to you, witch! With your drowning at Southend, the curse of Mainstone will be fulfilled!"

"If there is a curse of Mainstone, Robin FitzCarew," a new voice spoke, low and controlled. A voice Lady Sylvia recognised all too well. "Then it is you on which it will fall."

"Who...?" The man in the gloom turned, "...how...?"

"You sold your birthright then squandered the fortune you were paid." The Green Man remained in the shadows. "Now you want to destroy the man who bought that house. You have destroyed, Robin FitzCarew. Now destruction will catch up with you."

The Curse: Part Eight

2008-02-22T21:48:00.003Z

Ms. Madison stepped out of Southend Victoria Station by the side of Lady Sylvia. The two exquisitely dressed blondes looked around them, a little worried by the bright lights and brashness of the seaside resort. Lady Sylvia dodged a couple of scantily clad teenagers, who giggled, clearly a little the worse for alcohol.

"Why are we here?" she demanded anxiously.

"To get to the bottom of this curse thing!" Lady Sylvia flagged down a taxi, the driver of which was only too happy to pick up two people who would not be sick all over the back of his cab. "This is where the last Fitzcarew of Mainstone lives now! The man my brother bought the house off!"

The two girls climbed into the back of the taxi, Lady Sylvia giving an address to the driver. He apparently knew it, for he drove away from the town centre at speed. The girls settled down on the back seat, looking one to another.

"The family had let the house remain empty for years," Lady Sylvia explained. "They couldn't afford to keep it up, so they had to sell at last. Ambrose bought it, out-bidding a demolition expert. But Robin FitzCarew squandered most of the money gambling, now he lives in a bungalow here. I..."

Lady Sylvia's eyes widened, as she saw a white cloud rising from the floor. She tried to cover her mouth, but darkness soon claimed her. As she passed out, she could hear the driver laughing.

The Curse: Part Seven

2008-02-21T08:44:00.002Z

"Mainstone," Lady Sylvia explained earnestly, "isn't a Vaughan family property. My family come from Cheshire, we were originally Welsh, 'Vaughan' is an English version of the Welsh 'Fychan.' My brother bought this house to save it from being demolished. The family who rebuilt it as a gothic fantasy had owned it since the Middle Ages."

Ms. Madison smiled gently at her friend's words.

"And how long ago was that?" she asked curiously.

"Ten years or so ago," the brunette noted. "I remember coming here from Cheltenham when I was very young."

"So," Ms. Madison smiled sweetly, "we can reasonably assume that this isn't an attack on your family after all. I mean, what idiot's going to invent a curse that can be proved not to belong to your family by simply checking the land registry. So, why invent a curse on the house?"

"That's easy," Lady Sylvia nodded. "In order to empty the house. The only question is, why would someone do that? And I know just the person to answer that - ever been to Southend-on-Sea, Lynette?"

The Curse: Part Six

2008-02-15T18:38:00.003Z

Ms. Madison and Lady Sylvia ducked, the blonde pulling a pistol from her bag. Her little gun barked like a spaniel, and a man fell from the top of the stairs with a cry, rather like an indian getting shot in an old western. However, he was dead by the time he hit the ground, and did not land on anything as soft as a crash mat.

"And now it's time for a few answers!" Ms. Madison took the innkeeper by the throat. "And' don't tell me you don't know!"

"They forced their way in!" the man gibbered in fear, "made me look after them, told me none of the other guests was allowed to see them. When they left, they left a man behind, said people might come..."

"And they were right," Ms. Madison snarled. "Where did they go?"

"I don't know!" the innkeeper screamed, "really, I don't. They said they were leaving for secure quarters, I..."

"Come." Ms. Madison swept out of the inn, Lady Sylvia scurrying after her.

She leapt back into the car, followed by Lady Sylvia. They drove back to the towers of Mainstone.

"Cursed?" Ms. Madison turned to address her friend. "Or is someone attacking your family?"

"This isn't my family home," Lady Sylvia noted grimly.

The Curse: Part Five

2008-02-08T08:32:00.000Z

The old innkeeper looked suspiciously at the lovely form of Ms. Madison, as the blonde preened in the mirror by the stairs, then back at Lady Sylvia.

"I'm sorry, Miss," he shook his head, "I don't know anything about the couple you asked about. They paid in advance and left no forwarding address. They didn't seem local..."

"And do I seem local?" Lady Sylvia leaned over the front desk."

"You're Lord Ambrose Vaughan's sister," the innkeeper smiled. "I suppose you are, Miss. Your friend is from London, isn't she?"

"Okay," Lady Sylvia shrugged. "So you do know. Can I take a look at their room?"

"You're Lord Ambrose's sister," the Innkeeper bowed to her. "He owns the freehold of this place, so I suppose I can let you do that. Is your friend coming too?"

"Of course," Ms. Madison smiled, hand going into her bag. Lady Sylvia knew she had just put her hand on her gun.

When a bullet shot overhead, shattering the mirror, the young aristocrat understood why she had been looking so intently in the mirror.

The Curse: Part Four

2008-02-07T08:08:00.000Z

The white sports carpulled up outside the dark, towering bulk of Mainstone Castle. A number of footmen stepped out of the house, removing a couple of suitcases from the boot. Lady Sylvia ran to the door, breathless with anticipation, heels scrunching on the gravel of the drive.

The driver's door opened, and Ms. Madison stepped out, elegant and lovely in a stylish white suit, an orchid at her shoulder adding a dash of colour to her appearance. And, of course, she was very careful to show off her legs as she stepped out of her car, smiling sweetly at her friend, before taking a look at the gothic mansion.

"I came as soon as I could," she explained. "I was staying with Sir Richard Arcos when the Savoy forwarded my call to you. What's this about some curse?"

"Ambrose is suffering from a mystery illness," Lady Sylvia sighed. "He seems to think there's some curse on him and on the house. I overheard some people discussing it."

"And you want me to help you solve the mystery?" Ms. Madison nodded sympathetically. "Where do we start?"

"We start with the pub where I overheard the people," Lady Sylvia declared with feeling. "Get back in the car, Lynette - we're going places."

"I've got my gun," the blonde added with a smile. "And after what you did up north, I'm guessing you've got yours." She slid back into the car, Lady Sylvia running round to the passenger seat.

"And the Green Man?" the brunette asked.

"He'll know," Ms. Madison reassured her.

Announcement: The Interruption in Service

2008-02-06T08:24:00.000Z

The Green Man offers his apology for the interruption in service. The reason for the long pause in posting is due to the fact that the Green Man was busy tracking down a false company promoter to his County House in Surrey and visiting dark vengeance on him.

After a battle with armed mercenaries, the Green Man burned the crook's house down before his eyes. After that, the man was hanged from a tree in his park.

The Curse: Part Three

2008-02-05T21:36:00.000Z

Lord Ambrose Vaughan's face was pale and drawn, glistening with perspiration. He seemed to be struggling to remain upright, as he leaned on the bannisters of the great staircase. Lady Sylvia had seen her brother ill before, but never like this.

"What's up?" she asked him breathlessly, "you..."

"It all started after you went away on that extended holiday. After that castle collapsed." Lord Ambrose shook his head. "A man came here, a scholar, researching the history of Mainstone. In the library, he found an ancient book, which said the site had been cursed when a gypsy encampment was moved to make way for the house.
"I laughed at it at first, of course, but then strange things started to happen. Cows were found dead in the park, a horse was found dead in the stables - and that's really odd, because I don't keep horses in the stables - and then I fell ill. The doctors have no idea what it is, they haven't been able to identify the symptoms or anything."

"I can guess what it is," Lady Sylvia sighed. "Thismorning, I overheard some people talking about the curse as if it was in their control. I'd be willing to bet all this that the 'curse' is some sort of plant."

"But...but why?" Lord Ambrose looked confused. "What could anyone possibly get out of this curse?"

"I'll find out..." Lady Sylvia's eyes narrowed. "I'll just need a friend to help me. And the Green Man."

The Curse: Part Two

2008-01-17T17:16:00.000Z

Those words decided Lady Sylvia, slipping back to her room, the Green Man's assistant threw on some clothes and ran down the back stairs, an arrangement she had discovered long enough ago when she wanted to get out of the inn without anyone else noticing. She ran to her car, and drove off in the direction of Mainstone Park.

The man on the gates saluted Lady Sylvia, as he sports car slid through the gates, heading up towards the gothic fantasy that was Mainstone House.

She had no time for any ceremonies, as she ran up to the door, pulling on the bell rope.

"Lady Sylvia," the footman bowed. "Lord Ambrose was wondering where you were. I am glad to see..."

"Whatever!" the young aristocrat shouted, "get him now "- this is serious! Something about a curse!"

"The curse of Mainstone." The voice of her brother caused Lady Sylvia to look up. "I know."

Lady Sylvia gasped at the appearance of her brother.

The Curse: Part One

2008-01-16T16:57:00.001Z

The birds sang in the trees outside the window of the little village inn. Lady Sylvia woke slowly, still tired. She remained haunted by the thought of what she had done just before Christmas. She had spent a month away from friends and family. All she could think of was the terrible thing that she had done in revenge. And once she had been disturbed by the things that Ms. Madison had done for the Green Man.

The inn was only a few miles from Mainstone Park, her brother's country house, but it might just as well have been a million miles away. And that was the idea. She smiled, tumbling out of bed, stretching.

She smiled at herself in the mirror and pulled a face, causing her smile to grow even more. It made her feel a lot better. A million miles away from the grim avenger of the passages below a now-ruined castle.

Wrapping herself in a dressing gown, Lady Sylvia left her room, stepping out into a corridor that was still half-dark in the light of the dawn. She padded softly down to the stairs, hoping that someone would be around to make breakfast. Instead, what she saw was the top of a bald man's head. He was speaking to a woman in furs.

"This is close enough," he declared. "Any closer and we may be noticed at the house. We don't want that yet."

"No," the woman spoke in a foreign accent.

"We shall be known only when we are ready," the man expanded. "For now, we shall be only guests here."

The woman nodded, then laughed softly.

"Let the curse of Mainstone claim its victims," she whispered.

Murder to Order: Fifteen

2008-01-11T08:43:00.000Z

The great castle had, as Ms. Madison feared, crumbled into the destroyed bunker. The people standing on the lawn indicated that they had been able to evacuate in time. But Ms. Madison was not looking at them, nor was she looking at Mr. Rake, in spite of the arm he had around her. She was looking at the quiet figure of Lady Sylvia, only too aware of what her friend had done.

"Mike..." she whispered to Mr. Rake, as she left his arms. "Sylv..."

He nodded, allowing Ms. Madison to move to her friend's side. Lady Sylvia did not notice her, as she looked towards the shattered ruins of Caine's castle.

"It's done." She spoke softly, still not looking around. "The reason why I joined the Green Man. The vengeance of Lady Sylvia Vaughan. Do you think I'm a bad person, Lynette?"

"The Green Man knew all about this." Ms. Madison smiled encouragingly. "Caine couldn't be touched by the law. He's just the sort of person the Green Man exists to punish. You know I've killed more people than you have."

"But was that personal?" Lady Sylvia sighed deeply. "Lynette, I used the Green Man to take revenge on someone who hurt my family. I've destroyed him, and I've destroyed his house. If my family knew, then they'd disown me."

"And if my father knew exactly what I've done, he'd have me arrested." Ms. Madison smiled again. "When I signed up with the Green Man, I knew I'd be alienating my family. But I knew it was the right thing to do."

"I'm just glad my brother left after arranging for the house to be evacuated." Lady Sylvia looked out over the park. "And glad you're not angry with me."

"Why should I be?" Ms. Madison laughed, "vigilantes both, Sylv. Shall we spend tonight at the Savoy ballroom?"

"Why not?" Lady Sylvia took her friend's arm.

Murder to Order: Fourteen

2008-01-10T10:38:00.000Z

Caine rose from where he had fallen, dust on his suit, a thunderous expression on his face. All around his, his staff were trembling and groaning, as smoke filled the bunker, mixed with the dust of tunnel collapses.

"You are a fool, Caine." The Green Man spat the words out with contempt. "Did you imagine that I would step into your trap so easily? No, it is you who have stepped into my net, and now your career is at an end. At last I can destroy you."

"The vengeance of the Green Man?" Caine laughed, "how romantic! But if you kill me, what will the world think?"

"That doesn't matter." The Green Man stepped forward, drawing his gun. "Do you think that the road of justice is soft and easy? No." He cocked the gun. "There are men like you, men outside the law, who can only be stopped by death. Let the world think what it may. I know you are evil, and as such you must die."

"Then kill me," Caine laughed. "Deal out instant justice like you always do."

"Not this time." The door behind Caine opened and Lady Sylvia stepped through, holding a rifle, her face grubby, hair untidy. "He did this for me. You killed my brother!"

"Warren Vaughan?" Caine aughed, "if he hadn't sought to prove me a killer, he would still be alive. He should have kept his nose out of my affairs!"

"That wasn't his mistake." Lady Sylvia's eyes were hard. "His mistake was trying to tell the Police, rather than taking you down himself. And that's a mistake I don't intend to make."

Her gun spoke, and Caine pitched over the railing, a neat hole in his head.

"Now come on!" Lady Sylvia shouted to her colleagues. "In a moment this whole complex is going to detonate!"

They ran past her, all but the Gren Man, who walked normally, turning over the body of Caine so that he could look into the man's dead eyes. Putting an arm around Lady Sylvia's shoulders, he escorted her from the chamber of death.

Ms. Madison was already waiting by an exit from an escape shaft when they got there, Mr. Rake's arms around her. Lady Sylvia held onto the Green Man's sleeve, a little frightened by what she had done. The ground shook under them, as the bunker detonated.