There was ayeways a lot o’ gatherings among the in-crowd in the village, ma uncle tell’t us. Shady affairs, he said. Secretive, like. He reckoned they were up tae all sorts, ye know? Wife-swappin’ or somethin’. Aw respectable on the ootside, but a different story behind closed doors. Course, he would say that, seein’ as the crabbit auld bugger never got invited.
Anyway, the Sergeant basically tells us it’s gaunny be carte blanche. This was the days before fancy burglar alarms an’ aw that shite, remember, so we’d nothin’ tae worry aboot regards security. But he did insist on somethin’ a bit strange, which he said was for all of oor protection: we’d tae “make it look professional, but no’ too professional”. We understood what he meant by professionaclass="underline" don’t wreck the joint or dae anythin’ that makes it obvious whodunnit. But the “too professional” part was mair tricky, it bein’ aboot disguisin’ the fact it was a sortay inside job.
“Whit ye oan aboot?” I asked him. “Whit’s too professional? Polishin’ his flair and giein’ the woodwork a dust afore we leave?”
“I’m talkin’ aboot bein’ canny whit you steal. The man’s got things even an accomplished burglar wouldnae know were worth a rat’s fart — things only valuable among collectors, so you couldnae fence them anyway. I don’t want you eejits knockin’ them by mistake, cause it’ll point the finger back intae the village. If you take them, he’ll know the thief had prior knowledge, as opposed tae just hittin’ the place because it’s a country mansion.”
“So whit are these things?”
“The man’s a magician — on the stage, like. That’s what he’s daein’ doon in London. He’s in variety in wan o’ thae big West End theatres. But that’s just showbusiness, how he makes his money. The word is, he’s intae some queer, queer stuff, tae dae wi’ the occult.”
“Like black magic?”
“Aye. The man’s got whit ye cry ‘artefacts’. Noo I’m no’ sayin’ ye’d be naturally inclined tae lift them, and I’m no’ sure you’ll even come across them, ’cause I don’t know where they’re kept, but I’m just warnin’ you tae ignore them if ye dae. Take cash, take gold, take jewels, just the usual stuff — and leave anythin’ else well enough alone.”
“Got ye.”
“And wan last thing, boys: if you get caught, this conversation never took place. Naebody’d believe your word against mine anyway.”
So there we are. The inside nod on a serious score and a guarantee fae the polis that it’s no’ gaunny be efficiently investigated. Sounded mair like Christmas than Halloween, but it pays tae stay a wee bit wary, especially wi’ the filth involved — and bent filth at that, so we decided tae ca’ canny.
Come the big night, we took the wise precaution of takin’ a train oot the village, and mair importantly made sure we were seen takin’ it by the station staff. The two piranha had tae be witnessed gettin’ oot the paddlin’ pool, for oor ain protection. We bought return tickets tae Glesca Central, but got aff at the first stop, by which time the inspector had got a good, alibi-corroboratin’ look at us. We’d planked two stolen bikes behind a hedge aff the main road earlier in the day, and cycled our way back, lyin’ oot flat at the side ay the road the odd time a motor passed us.
It took longer than we thought, mainly because it was awfy dark and you cannae cycle very fast when you cannae see where you’re goin’. We liked the dark, me and Billy. It suited us, felt natural tae us, you know? But that night just seemed thon wee bit blacker than usual, maybe because we were oot in the countryside. It was thon wee bit quieter as well, mair still, which should have made us feel we were alone tae oor ain devices, but I couldnae say that was the case. Instead it made me feel kinda exposed, like I was a wee moose and some big owl was gaunny swoop doon wi’ nae warnin’ and huckle us away for its tea.
And that was before we got tae the hoose.
“Bigger prizes,” we kept sayin’ tae each other. “Easy money.” But it didnae feel like easy anythin’ efter we’d climbed over the gates and started walkin’ up that path, believe me. If we thought it was dark on the road, that was nothin’ compared tae in among thae tall trees. Then we saw the hoose. Creepy as, I’m tellin’ you. Looked twice the size it would have in daylight, I’m sure, high and craggy, towerin’ above like it was leanin’ over tae check us oot. Dark stone, black glass reflectin’ fuck-all, and on the top floor a light on in wan wee windae.
“There’s somebody in, Rab,” Billy says. “The game’s a bogey. Let’s go hame.”
Which was a very tempting notion, I’ll admit, but no’ as tempting as playin’ pick and mix in a mansion full o’ goodies.
“Don’t be a numpty,” I says. “They’ve just left a light on by mistake. As if there wouldnae be lights on doonstairs if somebody was hame. C’mon.”
“Aye, aw right,” Billy says, and we press on.
We make oor way roon the back, lookin’ for a likely wee windae. Force of habit, goin’ roon the back, forgettin’ there’s naebody tae see us if we panned in wan o’ the ten-footers at the front. I’m cuttin’ aboot lookin’ for a good-sized stane tae brek the glass, when Billy reverts tae the mair basic technique of just tryin’ the back door, which swings open easy as you like. Efter that, it’s through and intae the kitchen, where we find some candles and matches. Billy’s aw for just stickin’ the lights on as we go, but I’m still no’ sure that sneaky bastard Sergeant isnae gaunny come breengin’ in wi’ a dozen polis any minute, so I’m playin’ it smart.
Oot intae the hallway and I’m soon thinkin’, knackers tae smart, let there be light. The walls just disappear up intae blackness; I mean, there had tae be a ceiling up there somewhere, but Christ knows how high. Every footstep’s echoin’ roon the place, every breath’s bein’ amplified like I’m walkin’ aboot inside ma ain heid. But maistly it was the shadows... Aw, man, the shadows. I think fae that night on, I’d rather be in the dark than in candle-light, that’s whit the shadows were daein’ tae me. And aw the time, of course, it’s gaun through my mind, the Sergeant’s words... “queer, queer stuff... the occult”. Black magic. Doesnae help that it’s Halloween, either, every bugger tellin’ stories aboot ghosts and witches aw week.
But I tell myself: screw the nut, got a job tae dae here. Get on, get oot, and we’ll be laughin’ aboot this when we’re sittin’ on that last train hame fae Central. So we get busy, start tannin’ rooms. First couple are nae use. I mean, quality gear, but nae use tae embdy withoot a furniture lorry. Big paintin’s and statues and the like. Then third time lucky: intae this big room wi’ aw these display cabinets. A lot ay it’s crystal and china — again, nae use, but we can see the Sergeant wasnae haverin’. There’s jewellery, ornaments: plenty of gold and silver and nae shortage of gemstones embedded either.
“If it sparkles, bag it,” I’m tellin’ Billy, and we’re laughin’ away until we baith hear somethin’. It’s wan o’ thae noises you cannae quite place: cannae work oot exactly whit it sounded like or where it was comin’ fae, but you know you heard it: deep, rumbling and low.
“Whit was that?”
“You heard it an’ aw?”
“Aye. Ach, probably just the wind,” I says, no even kiddin’ masel.
“Was it fuck the wind. It sounded like a whole load ay people singin’ or somethin’.”