They turn round and ask you to tell them the story so far
This is the story so far
And you listen with a tear in you eye
To their hopes and betrayals and your only reply
Is Slainte Mhath

Marillion - Slainte Mhath

10:30pm. The Royal Mile.

"Dave?" A deep voice, gravelly. A few too many a day.
"Aye Al?" Lighter, nerdy.
"How do you switch this thing on?"
"Wee switch at the back, doon on the left?"
"Oh, right." *click* *whirr* "Aye, that's it."

10:45pm.

A blanket of mist covered a stretch of pavement just below St Giles cathedral, billowing out from beneath a heavy, purple velvet curtain slung across the entrance to a narrow alley. On the blackboard sign propped next to the curtain, "Pepper & Ghost. Walking Tour of the Old Town. By Invitation Only." People, unconsciously or otherwise, avoided walking into the smoke, ignored the curtain and the sign. Almost as though that patch of the Mile didn't exist.

"Right, Dave. Once more. I'm going to do the talking. You've just got to stand in the background with that gizmo, operate the effects, yep?  Whatever happens, we stick to the script.  Worked last year."
"Aye. No problem."
"You sure you know how that thing works?"
"Pretty much, pretty much. Alex's mate showed me which buttons to push."
"Good. Good." A pause. Then "Did he tell you what would happen if you hit the wrong ones?"
"No, why?"
Silence for a few seconds.
"Just don't press the wrong buttons. Really. Don't."

10:55pm.

Five people stepped into the mist around the curtain. It lapped hungrily at their ankles, making them shudder despite the warm July evening. Each held a small, card ticket.

"(Al?)"
"(Dave?)"
"(They're here.)"
"(Game on.)"

Peter watched his fellow guests carefully, always on the lookout for someone who fit his criteria. He was almost finished in Edinburgh and he would soon need a new target. A place like this was just the place to attract those easily duped. Not that the three other guests with him seemed promising. Three? He could have sworn there were four. He looked around again and counted each of the others.

There was a woman, probably just a tourist from the way she was dressed, though that applied to most of the people he had met. A possibility if he could determine how wealthy she was. The second guest was a man a few years younger than himself with hair about the same length but not as neatly groomed. Peter let his eyes pass over him without a second glance, dismissing him as a target almost immediately. He dismissed the third man as well for while his suit was new it did not appear very expensive.

Peter continued looking around. He was sure there had been a fourth guest other than himself, another woman but for the life of him he had no idea where she had gone. Giving a mental shrug he had given up his search when he saw the pretty, white haired, young woman standing close by. How had he managed to overlook her? While her hair was not really white it was as close as nature would allow and was striking enough to notice.

Annabel shuddered as she stepped into the mist around the velvet curtain.  She regretted wearing the sandals.  Yes, they had been made to go with the leaf green leather backpack and were velvet soft to wear but there had been that regrettable incident with the diamante evening sandals and the industrial strength Sydney cockroach which had splashed.  It was not an experience she wanted to repeat and having her footing obscured by mist was a little off-putting.

She wondered why she had come.  It's not as though you had anything else to do this evening,she pointed out to herself. You don't have to get up early, either. 

Slightly somnolent from dinner at Dubh Prais, she thought the meal over.  The entree selection was definitely a little tame, she thought.  She'd eaten haggis once, so that was definitely out.  The smoked meats and salad was quite good, her main of fillet of beef with mustard and whisky sauce very good and the Atholl Brose ice cream was excellent.  That would be added to her own repertoire.  Recalling herself from remembrance of tables past, she eyed her fellow travellers. 

"Good evening," she offered non-committally.

Peter nodded at the woman and returned a polite, "Good evening."

"Hey there," Ryan replied, hands deep in his pockets. He was obviously American by his voice, and most likely from the south considering the twang. He was wearing a black suit coat that looked new, if somewhat wrinkled from a days wear, with silver pin in the shape of a thistle on his lapel, over a white dress shirt open at the throat. He looked cold, but extended a hand all around for shakes. "Ryan Cross, of New Mexico. US. How's it going." When he smiled, his teeth gleamed white in the darkness from out of a tanned face under short black hair. "Kinda cold, huh?" 

"It is indeed, Mr Cross," Annabelle replied, taking his offered hand.  "When you've been raised in a desert, this weather barely counts as spring."  Tex-mex was always tasty and tall as well.  How nice.  She returned his smile.

When it was his turn Peter shook hands with Ryan and said, "Ah, a fellow American. What brings you to Edinburgh, Mr. Cross?" His voice was cultured with no trance of an accent of any kind. 

"A funeral," replied Ryan. "My great aunt died. We had the services today, but," his voice trailed off and he was momentarily silent. Then he shook his head. "Well, she was a great old gal and will be missed. How bout you?" 

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Cross. Please accept my condolences. As for me, I have recently taken over the curator position at a small art gallery here in Edinburgh. You might like to stop by if you have the time." Peter said changing his dismissal of the other American to a maybe. If the man had come all this way for a funeral it was possible the old lady had left him some money. Peter made a mental note to do a little research on Mr. Cross and see if he was worth following up on.

"Uh, yeah. Sure," Ryan said. "Thank you, I'll... make sure I do that. Where is it, and what kind of art do you sell?" 

"It's not the art that's for sale that's the real treasure, Mr. Cross. My gallery has many old pieces that are not for sale. You could say it's a museum in some ways." Peter then gave Ryan directions. "Of course, if you have business to take care of regarding the loss of your aunt, I'll understand if you don't get a chance to stop in."

"I've just got to go visit her lawyer tomorrow," said Ryan. "He's got some things she left to me and my folks in his safe. Maybe after I do that I'll find your place." 

The younger woman came to speak to Ryan , so Annabelle turned her attention to Peter.  "And whereabouts in America do you come from Mr - ?"  The ivory linen blouse was definitely not warm enough.  She rubbed her arms to stir up some blood, her ring quietly refracting the little available light.

"Van Hoff." Peter supplied. "I'm from Los Angeles but it's been quite some time since I've been back there. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"

"Ah," she replied.  "Los Angeles.  Oh, of course.  Fleming is my name, Annabelle Fleming."

"Thank you miss," Ryan said. "That's mighty kind. Truth be told, I never even met her." he shook his head as if trying to shake away cobwebs, then took a deep breath of cool night air and focused on her. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" 

Scratch Mr. Cross' great aunt leaving him anything of significance. If he never even met her it was highly unlikely she had left him anything worth Peter's time.

11pm

The mist swirled for a second, began to glow faintly.  The darkness outside the mist intensified, the Royal Mile fading into a distant background.  All the was real, solid, existed within the mist.  The curtain twitched once, was jerked aside revealing blackness behind.  A heartbeat later, two figures stood in the blackness.  The first, a tall and gaunt gentleman, dressed in a Victorian funeral director's outfit, sombre greys and blacks.  Wire-rimmed round glasses perched on the end of his slim nose.  The other gentleman stood just behind the first.  His garb was identical to the first, only in white and cream.  The first of them spoke, his voice deep and hoarse.

"Good evening, ladies.  Gentlemen."  He surveyed the group with apparent disdain.  "So.  You wish to learn the secret history of Auld Reekie.  You have come at an auspicious time.  My name is Mister Pepper.  My assistant, Mister Ghost."  The man in white nodded slowly, carefully.  "Welcome to the third inaugural Pepper and Ghost Walking Tour of the Old Town.  Tonight you will see wonders, discover things about this fair city - and, perhaps, yourselves."  He raised his right arm, pointed down the alley the curtain had obscured.  "Follow me, please."  And the mist flowed down the alley, still glowing.  Mister Pepper made a complicated gesture with his left hand, gaslights flared down the alley, lighting the way.  Pepper strode off into the alley leaving Ghost at its entrance.

"Tickets please, ladies and gentlemen."  His voice was soft, hushed, almost reverant.

What a con, Peter thought as he handed over his ticket. He hoped the tour would not turn out to be too much a waste of his time.

"Thankyou, Sir."  Ghost took the ticket, slipped it into the top pocket of his white jacket.  "I trust you will find the evening's entertainment sufficiently distracting.

"The hotel!" Ryan exclaimed as he handed over his ticket, snapping the fingers of his other hand. "That's where it was!" Ghost was tugging on the ticket and smiling benignly at him. "Ticket, sir?" Hurriedly, Ryan released the slip of paper. "Sorry..." he said sheepishly. "It's been a day. Nice outfit!" he added in an attempt to... to... it had really really been a day. 

"Thankyou, Sir.  And our condolences for your loss."  He placed a guiding hand on Ryan's shoulder, gently pushed him into the alley.

Annabelle suppressed a smile as the great reveal took place.  Pepper did indeed have that spice's colouration but Ghost reminded her of a white chocolate mousse.  She handed over her ticket with due solemnity and followed Ryan into the alley.  "I was sorry to hear about your aunty,"  she said to the tall American.  "Even if you didn't know her it's a loss.  So much of your family's memory irretrievably gone."  Unthinkingly, she stroked the bricks as she followed their guide.  They felt smaller than modern bricks, quite rough but with some smooth bits that suggested quartz inclusions.  She'd have to come back in daylight to check.  She wondered if the cat she had met this afternoon was about.

"You know," Ryan said as he followed her inside, "everyone here seems to know about her, and know that I was related. It's kinda weird, in a nice sort of way. I mean, take the funeral for instance..." A look of intense concentration appeared on his face, mixed with irritation. "It's like, I know I was there, and there were a whole bunch of people there too, but when I try and remember it..." He saw that he was falling behind, so he hurried to catch up and not hold up the others. 

"It's just been a very strange day." 

"I may have misled you there, Mr Cross.  I only heard you mention the funeral when you were talking to Mr Van Hoff", Annabelle said apologetically.  His description of the funeral suggested low blood suga and fatigue to her.  "That, I would put down to the strain of it all," she said reassuringly.  "You've crossed timezones, and I'd be willing to bet you haven't eaten or rested properly since you got here, have you?" 

Ryan thought about this, and relief flooded his features. The man's face was a book, telling anyone who looked exactly what he was thinking. "You're right. I haven't, except for some scotch this Australian guy gave me in the hotel bar. That's all it is.' He shoved his hands back in his pockets and smiled. "Thanks. You've kind of put my mind at ease ma'am."

James took one last look around for Pete then handed his ticket over with a shrug and a smile, assuming his friend had changed his mind in 'backing him up on this one' and staggered home after dinner.  He had had quite a skinful, as James recalled.  It was just as well he had given him the spare key earlier on, Pete was a notoriously deep sleeper.  He also snored.

The alley was wide enough for two people, if they were very comfortable in each other's company.  When the last of the group had entered, Ghost stepped inside, drew the curtain.  He raised his right hand, signalling Pepper that they were good to go, made another complex gesture with his left hand and a low breeze blew up, causing the gaslamps to flicker and gutter.  Shadows danced on the walls and floor of the alley.  The mist was now knee-deep, swirling around the seven figures.

Pepper stopped, turned to face them, spread his hands so that he was touching the rough brick walls of the alley on either side of him.

"There is no going back now," he intoned.  Eyes looking past the group, staring into the middle distance.  Suddenly he grinned.  It wasn't a pleasant sight, showing more teeth than perhaps natural.  "Edinburgh is a city built on seven hills.  The streets and closes, bridges and buildings span those hills, hide them from sight.  More importantly, though, Edinburgh is a city built on a city, built on a city.  You can enter a building on the ground floor, climb for seven floors and emerge at ground level once more.  Whole tenement buildings, whole houses, whole streets - along with their inhabitants - have been swallowed by the city as she grew, lost to history.  But not to us."  Pepper raised his hands, dragging his nails along the brickwork.  "These walls now enclosing us are the roof walls of the tenement buildings that once stood here.  Below our feet, below these cobbles, lie six stories of building.  Six stories that have witnessed some of the most gruesome murders in the history of the city."  He turned, a gaslamp flaring up and illuminating a doorway.  "Most tours of the city avoid these buildings.  Most tours don't wish to attract the attention of the hungry ghosts who dwell therein.  We embrace it."

He snapped his fingers, the door swung inwards.  Instantly, the mist flowed inside.  Pepper clicked his heels together, stepped through the doorway into the darkness.

"Follow me, please.  No-one gets left behind."

Ryan dutifully followed, impressed with the level of special effects he was seeing, and wrapping his jacket tighter around his chest. He really should have found a coat somewhere before heading off into a damp night like this. 

Archaeology by gaslight!  Wonderful!  Annabelle was enjoying the theatre of it.  She stepped through the darkened doorway, hoping she would have a moment - soon - where she could get her cardigan out of her backpack.  It really was quite cold.

This might be all smoke and mirrors but Pepper and Ghost had gone to a lot of trouble to make things look good. Maybe this tour would not be so boring after all. Peter followed the pale young woman through the doorway. Watching his fellow guests as well as the guides. It never hurt to know too much about people.

James sauntered lazily after the troupe, he was vaguely impressed.  The tour was much better than the York Ghost tour he had gone on as a student.  Still, he wondered just how much time he was going to have to spend in old buildings and ancient passages while in Edinburgh.  He chuckled to himself, the past seemed to catch up with him even here.

The five tourists found themselves in a large, empty room.  A single doorway was set into the wall opposite their entrance, plain white wood.  Either side of the doorway, a gaslamp burned brightly.  Mister Pepper stood in front of the door, his shadow falling on the mist in front of them all.

"In this room, this room alone, no fewer than eight people have died.  The first were twin girls, murdered in the late eighteenth century."   The gaslamps flared briefly, the mist swirled upwards, two figures flanked Mister Pepper.  The gaslamps dimmed again, flared brighter than before then died, plunging the room into total darkness.  Whispered laughter filled the room.

Oh this is good, Peter thought when the lights went out. He had to give it to Pepper and Ghost for putting on a good show. Peter's analysis of the techniques used was interrupted by the sense of someone standing behind him. He stood still and tried to remember where everyone was standing when the lights went out. It was easy as he had been watching each of them in turn, and every one of them had been in view when the lights went out. Which meant someone not in his party was standing behind him. Probably an actor hired to make the tour seem more authentic.

Ryan turned in place towards whoever it was that had just shown up. An actor perhaps, about to leap out at them? He'd been on many a haunted hayride where just such a thing would happen. The puzzling thing was that he just *knew* that he was facing the wrong way. Rollers in the floor too? Man, these Europeans knew their stuff! He grinned as he waited for the inevitable 'boo'

James waited a moment. He strained to see in the darkness but having failed to make out anything, other than the faint retinal afterglow of the lamps, he fumbled about in his pocket for a lighter.

Lucy screamed and jumped forward, away from the person who came up behind her when the lights went out. It was loud and high-pitched, but mercifully short. Her heart was pounding, still pumping adrenaline into her muscles, but her mind quickly registered the probability that she had been had. She desperately wanted to laugh off her reaction, but she was still breathing much too fast and all she could manage to do was to take a couple of sharp breaths and ragged sighs.

The adrenalin hit her like a brick wall. It - they couldn't - there hadn't - she hadn't seen... And, oh, god the fear. Annabelle blanched, staring at the figures either side of Pepper, her hands involuntarily flying to cover her mouth. Such desperate fear... Calm. Be calm,she ordered herself, trying to control her ragged breathing. She cleared her throat, asking Pepper "What happened to them? Her voice was scratchy, barely above a whisper.

And then darkness fell. With it came the abrupt certainty that there was someone behind her, a presence that had not been there before. The flesh between her shoulder blades crawled with the feeling of being watched. She turned, her eyes straining through the darkness, trying to glimpse the someone behind her.

Peter allowed himself a smile under the cover of darkness. He was not sure which of the women had screamed but it seemed their tour guides had managed to get at least one of his party to react.

Unknown to Peter, both Pepper and Ghost were sharing his smile.

"This is fantastic," thought Pepper, "so much better than last year.  Damn, those effects were good."  He'd had his doubts when a friend of a friend had explained what he was planning for them. 
"And it all runs off that remote control?"
"Aye.  Trick is tae push the right buttons in the right order."
"Cool."
All that had come at the price of a case of Theakstons bitter and a couple of pizzas and the use of his spare room for a couple of nights.  So very, very worth it.

Ghost's smile was more one of relief.  Alex's mate had drilled him in which buttons to press and when to press them.  He'd also alluded to things that had happened when someone had pressed a wrong button last year.  If they were getting screams this early on, it was going to be a good season.  Now.  Which button was it next...

The whispered laughter died away, replaced by a distant drumming.

"No-one is entirely sure what happened to the two girls murdered in this room."  Pepper's voice came out of the darkness, not entirely comforting.  "The attack on them was savage, brutal.  Rumours of a tenement werewolf sprang up but were quicky suppressed.  Suppressed with extreme prejudice.  Which, of course, lent them more credence."  He snapped his fingers, images appeared on the walls all around them, faint illumination in the darkness.  The pictures changed slowly - portrait paintings resolving into sketches of crime scenes and bodies.

"Follow me.  And be careful on the stairs."

The light was enough to show that Pepper had slipped out through the now-open inner door.  The mist flowed along the corridor giving off a pale-blue glow, slowly increasing in brightness.  Ryan must've got turned round when he moved in the dark - he was standing facing into the corner of the room, Lucy similarly placed in the opposite corner.  Of the two figures that had appeared either side of Pepper, there was no sign.  Seeing the two standing in the corners, Ghost went a little pale.

"S-sir?  Ma'am?  Why are you standing in the corner?"

Ryan blinked in surprise as he realized his position. "Huh," he said, stepping back and turning to face the others, taking in the images being projected on the wall. "Must have just gotten turned around a hair. Weird."

James examined the images with interest, chuckling quietly to himself at his pounding heart and the sudden change in position of some of the people on the tour.  He started to hum a little melody as he followed Pepper down the stairs, performing fingering exercises as he did, only half aware he was doing it at all.

Annabel flinched as the light grew, seeming bright after the sudden dark.  She was surprised to see the American boy behind her.  It hadn't felt like him - no, definitely not.  Nor Lucy, either, she thought, realising she'd been looking at the tall girl without even seeing her.

Anxious not be left alone in the dark here, Annabelle nevertheless took the time to shrug off her backpack and put on her cardigan.  She knew what she knew about what had happened here and she was not about to face it again.  She hurried after the others.

Peter waited until the others had followed Pepper through the door and then brought up the rear in order to watch his fellow tourists. He had to give Pepper and Ghost credit, the tour was entertaining even if it was just one big con. It would be interesting to see if any of the others actually fell for it.