RADIO T-BAY. Grappling with Darkness

[Barry Arrowsmith]

"..... give a warm welcome to that doyen of explorers, that exemplar  
of archeological investigations, author of those best-selling books  
that delved into ancient arcane mysteries - "Angkor What?" and  
"Sutton Who?" - the wizard whose name is synonymous with deeds of  
derring-do and breathless excitement -  Arbuthnot Pobble!"

"Mornin', Kaynes. Good to be here."

"So tell me Buthy, slain any vampires lately?"

"Just a few, old boy, just a few. But that's more for relaxation than  
anything else. Good sport donchaknow - moonlit night, tether a Muggle  
in a forest clearing and they can't resist it. Swarm round like bats  
to a belfry. Meantime you're up a tree with a few sharp bits o'wood  
and as soon as you see the whites of their canines it's 'Locomotor  
talea!'  Don't know what's hit 'em. Called a 'stake-out' in the  
trade. O'course, it's not like the old days - have to dissolve the  
stakes before dawn and let 'em go back to the graveyard, now.

"All in the name of conservation. The Virgin's Guild was complainin'  
because there weren't enough vampires around to fulfill their  
commitments to the Gothic Writers Association. These young gels,  
dolled up in the plungin' neckline nightie, the casement window left  
carefully ajar, all ready an' eager for a bit of repressed eroticism  
- and what happens? Nothin'. Poor show, poor show. Had to get the  
numbers back up again, so you can't kill the Undead anymore. 'Cept on  
Thursdays."

"Right. So what have you been up to? A new book, I understand. What  
can you tell us?"

"Glad you asked me that, Kaynes. Damned excitin'. I keep my  
extendable ears close to the ground, as you know - and there were  
rumours circulatin', tales of how not long ago, acolytes of a dread  
sect had gathered in foul conclave to celebrate their unnatural  
practices. Supposed to be centred around this ancient magic stone.  
Hold it aloft, speak the right incantation, and the world comes to an  
end. Usual sort of thing. Eventually after much research and bribery  
I determined the lair, the nexus of this depraved cult."

"What  did you do?"

"Had a word with me sponsor - Crone's Cauldrons -  they've got a new  
model out - got a reversing spell, it unstirs potions, lets you check  
that you've added the right stuff. Just thought I'd mention it.  
Anyway, they came up with a few Galleons, enough to outfit a small  
expedition, just me and 17 House-Elves to carry my kit.  Cauldrons,  
Foe-glasses, Sneakoscopes, Dark Magic detectors, ironing board,  
hampers from Gourmet Gutbusters - just the basics, otherwise me broom  
can't cope."

"You get all that on one broom?"

"Oh no, just lash 'em together with bits of rope and tow 'em behind.  
Have to  be careful landin' though. There was one occasion when the  
three at the end of the line got tangled up in some of these metal  
strings that Muggles have cluttering up the broomspace. Lit up the  
sky for miles around. Damned nuisance. Curdled the milk one of 'em  
was carryin'. Had to make do with lemon in me tea for the rest of the  
trip."

"What about the Elves?"

"All tickety-boo. Only took three weeks before they stopped glowin'  
in the dark and ruinin' the neighbour's radio reception."

"That's a relief. But you were telling us about the expedition."

"Not enough time to give more than an outline. If you want more  
you'll have to buy the book. The trials and tribulations, the false  
trails, the hardships, the sad loss of two of the party."

"Good grief! What Happened?"

"Feral Goblins got 'em. Accountants gone to the bad. There are things  
in this world that can twist any Being's mind, but double-entry book- 
keepin's the worst. All we found was half a sock, Limpit's wooden leg  
and a claim form for expenses marked "rejected". Poor devils.

"Next day we struck lucky - this degenerate coven had been hidin'  
amongst Muggles, but magic always leaves traces that the skilled can  
see. That night I immobilised all the locals and ventured into that   
foul place. It was redolent with evil, fairly throbbed with it, and  
scattered about were the bones of those who had come before me, who  
had sought glory - and failed.

"For long hours I struggled against the warding spells, eventually  
breaking through as the sun rose. And there it was, the key to  
Armageddon, the Ragnor Rock. A single shaft of light from high above  
was falling directly onto it. Fashioned into the form of a dragon's  
eye it was, and mounted in imperishable meteoric iron into which  
dread runes were incised. The doom of the world stood before me.

"When one gazed into its Cyclopean depths it seemed penetrate into  
one's inner-most being, to lay bare one's most secret fears. Damn  
disconcerting, I can tell you. Forcing back the terrors it had re- 
awoken in my mind - no, I'll  not speak of them - with trembling  
hands I lifted up the malefic totem and read aloud those fell runes.  
Destroyed the evil. Those deluded celebrants won't be practicing  
their dire communion there ever again. Then stumbling back into the  
wholesome air outside, we left that noisome place, that desolate  
wasteland, and journeyed wearily home."

"You read it? You actually spoke the words? What did it say?"

"Best before 1407."

"Oh. That's .... incredible.
Before we go, where was this place?"

"Berkshire."

"And the title of your book?"

"Reading - the Runes."

"Thank you and goodnight!"