*
Johnson showed them the containers in which the ghosts were stored for their journey to the park. They reminded Lila of the capsules supermarkets had used in their pneumatic cash systems before cash had been done away with in most countries in the ‘20s.
“None of this would have been possible without the Paliakis box,” Johnson explained, displaying one of the contraptions. “These both attract and entrap the spirits, enabling them to be brought to their final destination. We have made the ghosts’ surroundings as close to their original environment as possible, within our limitations, of course.”
“Does the transfer cause them any distress?” That was Urijah, the ghost hunter. Lila supposed a park like this would be a godsend to him. No more traipsing around the world, spending nights in draughty old houses. Plenty of ghosts to spot, all in one place, rounded up and corralled for the curious to peer at. Or maybe what he valued was the thrill of the chase. Maybe this would take all the fun out of it.
Johnson gave that sharp laugh again. God, but Lila despised the man. “It’s hard to see what sort of distress they might experience. They are dead, after all. Hard to imagine anything bothering you once you’d passed away. I doubt they even know they’ve been moved.”
“Could they escape? Try to return to the place they originally haunted?”
“The capsules have been tested to extremes of temperature and pressure. There is no chance of them escaping.”
“Not from there, maybe. But the compounds? What if they try to return to where they came from?”
Johnson waved a hand as if the question was too trivial to consider, but the ghost hunter pressed on.
“They were bound to the places they frequented by whatever held them to earth. A trauma. Whatever. What holds them here?”
“That’s easy enough to answer. They are held by the Paliakis fields—the same fields used for the capsules in which we transport the ghosts, but much larger. It appears to visitors as if they can wander freely through the castles and prisons and mausoleums, but visitors actually pass through a series of these fields. These are impenetrable to the spirits, but imperceptible to those of us still on, ah, the mortal plane. An exhibit with none of the wire and safety glass to which previous generations of zoo visitors were accustomed.”
“We can go into the exhibits?” Urijah could barely contain his glee.
Sold, to the man in the pink tie.
“Certainly. Explore the historic buildings at the same time as you watch for spectres.” Johnson beamed. “You will find few places here to be off-limits.”
“Is there any danger? If you go into the exhibits with them, I mean?” Zebra Woman looked almost as pale as her white stripes at the prospect.
“If you stick to the paved routes you will remain outside the Paliakis containers. Then you will be guaranteed never to come into direct contact. Of course, if you do so, we can’t guarantee you’ll see much. The ghosts will come and go as they did in their previous abodes. Although they are drawn somewhat to the fields, so we expect everyone will have at least a few sightings during their visit.”
So, she could get through these fields, but a ghost couldn’t. That could be a problem.
“Now, if you’d like to come with me, I’ll show you something no visitor is likely to see again.”
They trooped after him, silently falling into ranks and filing through a door which swooshed open as he approached it. He led them along corridors as sterile as a hospital, steel grey walls seeming to close in on them as they walked. She’d never been claustrophobic in the slightest until her mother had started having all those tests. Endless grey corridors and the smell of disinfectant and bleach had taken their toll. The damp heat of sweat broke out on her skin.
The room to which he led them held row upon row of aluminium racks, which in turn held row upon row of the little capsules. Somewhere along the way they’d lost PR woman. Maybe she thought Johnson had weathered all the more dangerous questions successfully.
Johnson gave another of his flamboyant arm flourishes, encompassing the containers. “These, ladies and gentlemen, hold the specimens we have not yet released into their new environments.”
Specimens? Seriously? Like they were grown in a petri dish, or something?
“So not all the ghosts are out yet? Why’s that?” Urijah’s disappointment was obvious as he scanned the capsules arrayed on the shelves. He’d clearly been looking forward to filling a good many pages in his spook hunter’s notebook. With dozens of them still in their capsules, here in cold storage, or whatever it was, he might be at risk of not getting enough for his boy-scout badge. Lila couldn’t find it in her to feel sorry for him.
“Oh, not all these capsules are occupied. Most, but not all. No. We have spares in case we get notified of an interesting case, which we might want to acquire for exhibition. If a Roman legion marches through someone’s cellar every night, do we want all of them, or just a soldier or two? But we don’t know how they would react. Would it even be possible to separate one off, or would we lose all of them? So much we don’t yet understand, you see?”
They saw. Or at least Lila saw. That this man was meddling with things without understanding, interfering without compassion. But without him and his research what Lila planned would have been impossible.
“I thought I’d give you a treat, you who queued for so long and so patiently. I’m going to release a new specimen into the park today, and you will all accompany me.” Johnson had the air of Father Christmas bestowing largesse on a crowd of children. “Now, which to choose?” He dragged his fingers along one of the racks. Whatever he thought, he wasn’t fooling anyone. He knew exactly which capsule he was going to pick.
Lila sighed at the farce—he really was a very tedious little man—and looked for names on the containers. Some had them, printed in capital letters in chinagraph pencil. She had expected barcodes, computerised labels—something more advanced than handwriting, at any rate.
“How do you know who’s who?”
Johnson paused and smiled at her. “We have names on the capsules if we’ve been able to discover them, see? If not, they are labelled by time period and their planned release area.” He indicated coloured stickers on the sides as he spoke. “A lady who used to haunt a pub in Oxford. She’s an ideal candidate for our urban environment. We have a pub in that enclosure, so I’m sure she’ll feel quite at home. This one is World War II, a victim of the Blitz, and will also be placed in our urban environment. We had to decide whether to separate by era or setting, and decided that since some haunted houses have ghosts from many historical periods, they would in all likelihood co-exist quite happily.”
“Is World War II as late as you go? Do you have any recent ghosts?”
“We have one from 1968, and another from 1976. Both as yet unreleased. They are the most recent we have. Don’t want to risk anyone coming eyeball to eyeball with granny, now, do we?” He chuckled at his own joke, and picked out a capsule that to the uneducated eye was just like all the others. One red sticker, one orange. “Ah, here we are. An Elizabethan lady whom I intend to release into our castle-slash-manor house exhibit.”
Her dad hadn’t been here in 1968, or in 1976. Not even close. He’d died in 2029, when Lila was thirteen. It was possible, of course, that Johnson had caught him already and released him somewhere else, wanting to be sure that no recent ghosts contaminated his precious park. If that was the case, Lila might never find him. For now, she had to assume that he was still here, somewhere.
Lila cast one last look over the racks before she left. She’d need a capsule for what she planned to do, but Johnson was last out, ushering them from the room so no one got the chance to linger. Or acquire a container to hold a ghost. Once outside, Johnson wormed his way to the head of the line again, leading them in a stream of bodies like a mother duck with her ducklings. He raised the container over his head, like a tour guide with their umbrella.
“Shall we go, ladies and gentlemen??
??