Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments Read online

  EDINBURGH NIGHTS

  BOOK TWO

  OUR LADY

  of

  MYSTERIOUS AILMENTS

  T. L. HUCHU

  Contents

  Principal Magical Institutions

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  XXVI

  XXVII

  XXVIII

  XXIX

  XXX

  XXXI

  XXXII

  XXXIII

  XXXIV

  XXXV

  XXXVI

  XXXVII

  XXXVIII

  XXXIX

  XL

  XLI

  XLII

  XLIII

  XLIV

  Acknowledgements

  An Interview with T. L. Huchu

  For

  Haggai Huchu

  Principal Magical Institutions

  Allied Esoteric Professions Council: The AEPC is a learned society that regulates the activities of professions adjacent to magic. These are typically professions whose practitioners do not hold qualifications from Scotland’s four schools of magic. It was incorporated on 17 November 1945.

  Calton Hill Library, incorporating the Library of the Dead: These are Scotland’s premier magical libraries, both located under Calton Hill in Edinburgh’s city centre. Together, they house an impressive collection of magical texts and books. There is an entrance by the pillars of the National Monument of Scotland, on the summit of the Hill. Alternatively, there’s a further entrance via David Hume’s mausoleum in the Old Calton Burial Ground. Those who don’t practise magic are strongly advised against visiting as punishments for trespass are reportedly disproportionately severe.

  Elgin (The): A term mostly used by the alumni of the Edinburgh School (see Calton Hill Library, incorporating the Library of the Dead).

  General Discoveries Directorate: An independent division within the Society of Sceptical Enquirers. It supports the Secretary of the Society (currently Sir Ian Callander) in his role as Scotland’s Discoverer General.

  Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments: An exclusive holistic healing and therapy clinic on Colinton Road. Clients include aristocrats, celebrities and the cream of Edinburgh society.

  Society of Sceptical Enquirers: Scotland’s premier magical professional body. It is headquartered in Dundas House on St Andrew Square in the New Town.

  Principal Places

  Advocates Library: Formally inaugurated in 1689, the Advocates Library in Parliament House in the Old Town is the library of the Faculty of Advocates.

  Camelot: A notorious tent city atop Arthur’s Seat. The population of this place is difficult to estimate because of the transient tenure of most residents. Due to concerns about crime from local residents in the nearby neighbourhoods of Duddingston and Meadowbank, the city council has made several attempts to clear Camelot – but with limited success.

  Dundas House: Designed by the architect Sir William Chambers and completed in 1774, this neoclassical building located at 36 St Andrew Square in the New Town was once the headquarters of the Royal Bank of Scotland. It remains the bank’s corporate address and simultaneously serves as the headquarters of the Society of Sceptical Enquirers.

  everyThere (The): This realm is a nonplace beyond the ordinary world. It is where deceased souls go before they can move on. Only a few of the living can reach and navigate it safely.

  His Majesty’s Slum Hermiston: This slum is located on farmland in the south-west of Edinburgh. It runs from the city bypass along the M8. The dwellings are a higgledy-piggledy assortment of trailers, caravans, shipping containers, garden sheds, etc.

  Other Place (The): Little is known about this realm in the astral plane, but wayward spirits can be expelled there. It is believed there is no return for them from it.

  Royal Bank of Scotland: Established in 1727, the RBS is a major retail and commercial bank.

  RBS Archives: Located in South Gyle, the archives are responsible for collecting and preserving the records of both the Royal Bank of Scotland and the Society of Sceptical Enquirers. While the premises belong to the RBS, the archivists who work there are employed by the Calton Hill Library.

  underHume: The basement area of Calton Hill Library. It houses practice rooms, laboratories and storage space.

  Principal Characters

  Bumblebeam, Boniface: An unregistered magical practitioner specializing in the field of astral tourism. He is an alumnus of the Lord Kelvin Institute in Glasgow.

  Callander, Ian (Sir): Scotland’s leading magician. Secretary of the Society of Sceptical Enquirers. His role in the Society also makes him the Discoverer General in Scotland.

  Clan (The): This notorious gang is responsible for most of the criminal activities in both Edinburgh’s Old Town and New Town. Its territory extends through to Leith and Tollcross, and it is considered the most formidable gang in the city.

  Cockburn, Frances: Director of Membership Services at the Society of Sceptical Enquirers.

  Cruickshank: Ropa Moyo’s magical scarf. A gift from her mentor, Sir Callander.

  Duffie, Douglas: Student at the Edinburgh Ordinary School for Boys.

  Evelyn (Mr): Librarian at the Calton Hill Library.

  Featherstone, Calista: Head teacher at the Aberdeen School of Magic and Esoterica.

  Kapoor, Priyanka: Healer at the Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments clinic on Colinton Road. She studied healing and herbology at the Lord Kelvin Institute in Glasgow.

  Lethington, Cornelius: Consultant Healer at the Our Lady of Mysterious Ailments clinic on Colinton Road.

  Logan, Eilidh: Archivist at the RBS Archives in South Gyle.

  Lovell, Theodosia: Fortune teller and matriarch of the Travelling Folk.

  MacCulloch (Lord): Rory’s father. Owns an estate in Clackmannanshire.

  MacCulloch, Rory: Student at the Edinburgh Ordinary School for Boys.

  Maige, Jomo: Trainee librarian at Calton Hill Library and Ropa Moyo’s best friend.

  Maige, Pythagoras (Dr): Head Librarian at the Calton Hill Library and Master of the Books for the Library of the Dead. He holds a doctorate in mathematics from the University of Edinburgh and is Jomo’s father.

  Mhondoro, Melsie: Ropa Moyo’s grandmother.

  Moyo, Izwi: Ropa Moyo’s precocious younger sister.

  Moyo, Ropa: A teenage ghostalker from HMS Hermiston in the south-west of the city. Ropa dropped out of school to support her little sister and grandmother by delivering messages on behalf of Edinburgh’s dearly departed. Her activities, including finding and saving missing children, have attracted the attention of the Society of Sceptical Enquirers, an unusual feat for an unqualified independent practitioner.

  O’Donohue, Gary: Resident of HMS Hermiston.

  Rooster Rob/Red Rob: Leader of the notorious street gang called the Clan. He governs Camelot atop Arthur’s Seat in the centre of Edinburgh.

  Sneddon (Mr): Librarian at the Calton Hill Library.

  Wedderburn, Montgomery: Rector of the prestigious Edinburgh Ordinary School for Boys.

  Wharncliffe, Lewis: Student of Sonicology at the Edinburgh Ordinary School for Boys.

  Wu, Bing: Max Wu’s father.

  Wu, Connie: Max Wu’s mother.

  Wu, Max: Student at t
he Edinburgh Ordinary School for Boys.

  The Somerville Equation

  y = w(c+a–N)/t

  y – yield

  w – practitioner’s potential

  c – combustible material

  a – agitative threshold

  N – natural resistance

  t – time

  Discovered in 1797 by the polymath Mary Somerville, from Jedburgh, when she was only sixteen. This elegant equation was the first mathematical proof of the Promethean fire spell. Somerville’s work is considered by most scholars to have been a key development in the shift towards magic becoming a true scientific discipline. Scotland’s four schools of magic also use it to derive their pupils’ potential by working out the ‘w’.

  The Four Magic Schools

  These are the only accredited schools of magic in Scotland. They are highly selective and have very competitive admission standards. Qualification at one of these institutions is a requirement for professional registration with the Society of Sceptical Enquirers:

  Aberdeen School of Magic and Esoterica, Aberdeen

  Edinburgh Ordinary School for Boys, Edinburgh

  Lord Kelvin Institute, Glasgow

  St Andrews College, St Andrews

  I

  So, I’m skint again. ‘Nothing new there, Ropa,’ I hear you say. Well, up yours. This time though, a lass is in luck – Sir Callander, Scotland’s premier magical bigwig, has hooked me up with an interview for an apprenticeship. Free food and a proper wage – all for a wee bit of filing. Yay.

  I’m sauntering through George Street in Edinburgh’s city centre, headed towards the East End, and pass a beggar with matted hair sat on cardboard on the pavement, arms stretched out for alms. His trousers are folded and pinned just below the knees, where his legs have been amputated. Must have been a vet during the catastrophe or maybe just some civilian caught up in the crossfire. The bad old days were wild like that.

  ‘Spare some change,’ he says in a downtrodden voice. Makes me super sad.

  ‘Sorry, pal, ain’t got nothing on me,’ I say, and it’s a hundred percent true. Been lean times lately, and if I could spare a shilling, I would. I know more than most what it’s like to be broke.

  ‘God save the king,’ he replies.

  ‘Long may he reign,’ I say.

  I get away as quick as I can, hoping someone with deeper pockets might take pity on the gadge. Used to be, I ran a small business as a ghostalker, delivering messages around the city for the dearly departed, but certain shenanigans which I daren’t recall in full saw that business go kaput. I went off Sherlocking around Edinburgh to find a missing kid for one of my spectral clients. Have to admit, I was pretty good at it, but it took up a bit of my time, and so I couldn’t do my core job. The spectral community got miffed and I lost a ton of customers. Sigh. It ain’t been easy building the business back up again. But you know what they say, one door closes and all that kind of jazz. This thing Callander’s lined up for me is some next-level shit. Formal employment – who’d have thought a fifteen-year-old lass from Hermiston Slum without no school certificates or nothing like that would get a job with them suit and tie folks? My future’s so bright I might just swap these plastic shades I’m wearing for a welding visor.

  I don’t normally dress all formal, but for this, I’ve gone full-on bougie. Found myself a black pair of tailored straight-leg trousers and a beige fitted shirt with long sleeves. Hell, even borrowed myself a pair of Clarks to make sure my shoe game’s proper white collar. My old gig mainly involved tramping around like a postie, so I didn’t need to dress up or anything like that. But for this new one, I read on the net you’ve got to look the part . . . especially for the interview.

  It’s a nice summer’s morn, blue skies, not too hot, which is brill ’cause I don’t wanna go in sweating like an oinker. The scent of ground coffee as I pass a cafe before crossing Hanover Street. Big old statue of George IV on a plinth to commemorate the geezer visiting Scotland back when. That was ’cause it had been ages before the king found it fit to visit this part of his realm. Our current monarch ain’t been up here since his reign began during the catastrophe, but seeing as how old George’s hair has turned white with seagull poop, I can’t blame any of his successors for staying well clear of this shithole.

  A couple of buskers are jamming acoustic guitars near the church on the opposite side of the road. Their voices carry across loud and clear, covering Dolly Parton’s ‘9 to 5’, and I know that’s got to be an omen. I stop, take out a tissue from the handbag I nicked off my gran and brush dirt off my shoes. This apprenticeship’s really gonna turn my life around. I don’t know how much they’re paying yet, but it’s bound to be more than what I was on before. Means I’ll be able to do more for Gran and my little sis, Izwi. Been a bit rough the last couple of years. Same goes for most, to be fair, but once I get paid, I’m looking to get us out of the slum we live in on the outskirts of Edinburgh, into a real house. Then I’ll get treatment for Gran, who’s a bit poorly, and maybe even a better school for sis. She’s the brightest kid this side of the asteroid belt.

  With so much on the line, I’m a wee bit feart. Happy and nervous at the same time – nervicited, like that moment before lift-off when the countdown’s going and your dicky ticker’s racing with the second hand. Mad. I check the time on my mobile. Great, it’s only 09:40. Callander said to meet him on St Andrew Square for 10:00, so I’ve got a bit of time to kill and chill my nerves. I’m returning the phone to Gran’s handbag when the ringtone goes off, startling me. It’s only my pal Priya, though, so I pick up.

  ‘I’ve got great news, Ropa,’ Priya says so loud I might burst an eardrum. ‘Well, not for them, but for you.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  ‘We’ve got this patient at my work and his case isn’t looking good. It’s been a struggle to make a diagnosis, which is hampering our treatment.’ Priya’s a healer, so I’m not too sure where this is all going. I don’t know nothing about no doctoring. ‘What we need is a proper investigation into what happened around the time he got sick so we can see if there’s anything we’ve missed. Can you come round to my clinic? His parents are willing to pay you cash for the job.’

  ‘Sorry, Priya, it’s a no-go for me—’

  ‘Huh? This gig is right up your street.’ She sounds proper baffled. ‘I thought . . . Is everything alright with you?’

  ‘Hunky-dory. In fact, I’ve got a new job now.’ Well, almost. ‘Sir Callander’s hooked me up, and so I’m going in for my first day just as we speak.’ I hate to disappoint Priya since she knows I’ve been hard up lately, but I’m sorted now. Or at least I will be after today.

  ‘You kept that one hush. Damn it, you’d have been the best person for this. After you solved all that drama with those other sick kids. But, hey, congrats. Well done, you. We should catch up soon so you can fill me in on this new J-O-B, baby. I’ll be doing the skatepark in Saughton on Wednesday if you’re about,’ she says. ‘Listen, I’ve got to go – rounds to do, patients to see. Speak soon, mwah – sloppy kiss.’

  Wow, look at that, little old me turning down odd jobs. Who’d have thought? I wait for a shilly-shilly ferrying passengers to Leith to pass so I can cross the road into the garden on St Andrew Square. It’s nice and peaceful here, with the scent of newly mowed grass, though the small crescent-shaped pool’s dry at the mo. I sit on one of the concrete bench mcthingies that run along the footpath, and veg. That’s a relief ’cause the shoes I borrowed off Marie are half a size too small so my pinky toes are sore.

  The New Town where I’m at just now is the nicer part of town, relatively speaking. If you go across the loch to the Old Town, it’s unadulterated mayhem. The only thing kinda marring this side is the pockmarks on the walls of the grand old buildings surrounding the square. Bullet holes. That’s from way back, when the king’s men were going street to street, driving out the separatists from the city into the Forth where a good few drowned. It’s legend out here how in the blea
k midwinter of the war hundreds of diehard separatists were lined up on the great Edinburgh seawall with machine guns pointed at them. They were told to swim across the Forth to Fife – a good few miles in freezing water – or take a bullet to the back of the head. Only a handful made it, and to this day they remain His Majesty’s guests in Saughton gaol.

  Must have been quite the horror show then. Grown-ups don’t like to talk about them days, almost like they can silence it out of existence. When I was growing up, if someone talked about being in a ‘bullet or breaststroke situation’, you knew they’d been put in an impossible position. This is what makes me a keen reader of books about war. It’s so I can be ready to save my family if shit hits the fan again.

  I’m seagulling away, coasting in the moment and watching folks go about their business on the pavements, horse-drawn carts and electrics mingling, plus a shitload of cyclists hogging up the roads like this is eighties Beijing. Nah, Edinburgh’s nowhere near as posh. China – that’s the dream right there. Was a time, once upon, when everyone and their grandma was emigrating out that way, via Hong Kong, but the Great Wall’s been put up again and so we’re stuck here. Still, with the magic gig, there are deffo worse places to be.

  I startle and jerk to the left ’cause a man’s suddenly beside me. I look up, and it’s Sir Callander, calmly staring ahead as though he’s been tracking my gaze for a while. A soft wind blows east, and I catch a hint of tobacco smoke snagged in his three-piece tweed suit.

  ‘Sir Callander, I didn’t see you coming,’ I say, a little uneasy ’cause I’m sure I’ve been spotting everyone in these gardens from my vantage point.

  ‘No one ever does, Miss Moyo,’ he replies matter-of-factly. ‘You look distinguished.’

  I’m taken aback, ’cause Callander’s not normally one to offer compliments. He’s Scotland’s top magician, and a chance encounter with him a wee while back led to this moment right here. But I ain’t a believer in blind luck. No sir, I’ve stayed up nights reading posts on prepping for a new job, and so even my pinky toes will forgive me one day when we’re aboard the gravy choo-choo. Callander’s not the type to hand over anything so easily.