Free Jago by Kim Newman

Now there were maybe a hundred local people involved, and professionals from outside were being brought in to handle everything from food to first aid. There must be a lot of behind-the-scenes work going on. Teddy wouldn’t be at all surprised if the festival was making a lot of money for a few people. With this year’s lump of cash, he ought to have enough to buy a moped, and if he, a minor cog in the machine, was being so well oiled, the higher-ups must be bathing in it.
    No one in Alder said much about the Agapemone itself any more. These days, the festival was much bigger news than the people behind it. A lot of the old farts were against the event, but it went ahead every year because it was too sweet for many local businesses to turn down. Douggie Calver, who owned the apple orchards and cider presses out on the Achelzoy road, made the bulk of his annual profit during festival week. His stall was always the busiest on the site. When Jago first came to the village, opinion had been split as to whether he was daft or dangerous. Now, people had got used to the Agapemone. Jago himself was so seldom seen he was almost forgotten. When Jenny joined the Brethren (Sistren?), Teddy had thought a bit about it and more or less decided there was something scary about the Agapemone. What disturbed him was that too many of the people connected with the place were obviously not crackpots. If someone like James was involved, he couldn’t write the setup off as a congregation of God Squad nutters. And the festival was run too smoothly to be the work of a bunch of loonies.
    Usually, with the locals, the Brethren didn’t even mention their beliefs, but if pushed they’d come out with some serious strangeness. Last year, Derek had tried to explain it during a lull in the Lost Child season, but clammed up when Teddy asked him for his personal feelings. One thing he’d gathered was that, although they tried not to with outsiders, among themselves the Brethren of the Agapemone referred to Anthony Jago as ‘Beloved’. That had a nasty ring to it.
    Maybe Jago was related to God after all, he thought, something between a shiver and a shrug shaking his shoulders.
    ‘…finally, the specific jobs. You’ve all been given assignments based on the questionnaires you filled in and your performances, if any, in previous years. No arguments please, my decision is final. I’ve had the job lists word-processed, and Sister Karen will now distribute the print-outs. So, let’s do it to them before they do it to us.’
    There was dutiful laughter from the four or five people who remembered Hill Street Blues while a pretty girl fussed with the hand-outs. She slit open a taped cardboard box with a scalpel and took out an armload of papers, which she passed in wedges to the other Sisters. Quickly, the stapled documents were scattered among the crowd.
    Jenny gave the papers to the little group Teddy was in. He said hello to her, and she smiled back without saying anything. He knew she’d heard, but she was treating him as if they’d never met.
    ‘No one home,’ Allison said, tapping her forehead as Jenny went on to the next group. ‘Jago’s been fucking her brains out. They’re all gone.’
    It was as if Allison had started slapping him again; and he was turned back into a little crying kid, snot moustaching his face, hot tears on his cheeks. He recovered, and made himself look at the paper.
    He was in the crèche again, but not with Derek. Jenny was also (his heart clutched again) down for the duty. He looked up and James was there. Everyone was standing up, comparing jobs, moaning or crowing.
    ‘You did a good job last year, Teddy,’ said James. ‘You should be able to handle the whole thing this time. You’ll have a full roster of volunteer mums under you. You might talk with Derek in the pub later, and get the benefit of his experience.’
    ‘Thanks, James. I ’preciate this.’
    ‘That’s okay. You’re good with kids. Just don’t