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I groaned. By now we had reached the vicarage. We walked down the path while Charlie rummaged in the boot of his car. I unlocked the front door and heard muffled scraping and cursing as Charlie dragged a suitcase up the gravel path. As Charlie reached the door, Harry took the case from him and hefted it easily with one paw. The little hare shot a look at him, but I could see that there was no malice in it. After all, they had been friends for longer than I had known them.

I pushed the front door open and stood aside as Harry and Charlie entered. Harry headed up to the guest bedroom and I led Charlie through to the kitchen.

'Sit down, Charlie.' I said. 'Do you want a drink? I've got a nice bottle of red somewhere.'

Charlie nodded, so I pulled out some wine glasses from a cupboard and hunted out the wine. When I turned back to the table, Charlie had taken the knife fragments out of their tissue paper wrapping and laid them out. I put the bottle and the glasses down and drew up a chair.

Harry came clattering into the room. He tweaked at the cuffs on his shirt. He looked much more comfortable in his own clothes, even though he pressed his shirts so that they would pass a parade ground inspection. My shirts usually looked more like they had been enthusiastically ironed by the kids at the school.

'Would you like to do the honours?' I asked him. 'There's beer in the fridge if you'd prefer it.'

Harry picked up the wine bottle and I headed into my study. I ducked under my desk and pulled out a cardboard box that contained some of the things that my father had left me. The box had sat under my desk since I moved to the village and I hadn't opened it since my father's funeral - for several years it had been gathering dust in my mother's attic. Carefully, I split the packing tape with a claw. I folded back the flaps and reached inside. I was looking for some books that my father had written on the subject of deliverance ministry and possession, but my searching paw encountered something else.

It was a photograph, faded with age and creased from having spent its life in a wallet or purse. With great care I unfolded it. The photograph showed my father at about my age, or maybe a little older and me as a teenager. I looked distinctly uncomfortable in a formal suit, one ear inside out and the fur on my head sticking out at wild angles. My father, on the other paw, was resplendent in the robes of a cathedral canon. He had one paw on my shoulder and a beaming smile on his muzzle. The memory came flooding back.

It was the day of my confirmation. I had been one of thirty or so candidates. The old bishop had preached a long and rambling sermon; my father had to keep nudging me to stop me fidgeting. I didn't remember much about the confirmation itself; only the weight of the bishop's paws on my head, pressing my ears uncomfortably against my scalp; and the reassuring pressure of my father's paw on my shoulder. It was after the confirmation, just before the photograph was taken, that I had quietly told my father of my wish to follow in his pawsteps into the priesthood. He had laughed, but, even after all those years, I've remembered the pride that had tinged his voice and the smile that lingered on his features.

I held the photograph in my paw and found my memory wandering to less pleasant things. It was during my second year at seminary that my father had died. I was called into Father Lutra's study and found the old otter standing there with a horse in police uniform. Father Lutra told me to take a seat, the police officer sat opposite me. She removed her uniform cap and placed it on the low table between us. She brushed her mane back between her ears and fixed me with a doleful gaze.

'Mr Shepherd?' She asked, her voice level and calm. I stared at her, confused and worried, my tail trying to tuck itself between my legs. I nodded dumbly.

'I'm Sergeant Lamri, I'm the family liaison officer for the traffic policing unit. I'm terribly sorry to have to bring bad news. There has been an accident on the Newton Road. Your parents were involved. Your mother has been taken to hospital; I'm so sorry, but your father was pronounced dead at the scene.'

After that I remember nothing, the scene fades away from me. Later I was told that I had stood up and walked out of Father Lutra's study in silence. I was apparently found in the seminary chapel a short while later in floods of tears. Then, I was collected by Sergeant Lamri.

The next thing I remember was sitting in the police car being driven into Newton. By this point my mother was in a coma and the authorities had needed someone to identify my father's body. I was escorted to the county pathologist's laboratory where the mortal remains of my father well laid out on a stark metal table under a white sheet. Again my memory fails me. The shock and terror of such a loss robbed me of the final time I was able to see my father's face. What remained of the memory was the smell of disinfectant and plastic.

Almost without thinking, I carefully folded the photograph and pushed it into my pocket. Then, I was brought back to the present by the sound of the cork popping out of the wine bottle in my kitchen. I wiped the tears from my eyes and did my best to brush the tear tracks out of my fur with my paws. I heaved the whole box off the floor and carried it through to the kitchen and plonked it on the table. Once I had put the box down, Harry waved the bottle of wine at me and said:

'Are you having a drink, then?'

'Yeah,' I replied, 'Could you grab me a beer?'

Harry nodded and opened the fridge. Beside me, Charlie had put down his wineglass and started pulling books out of the box at random. Charlie was a lifelong bibliophile and it was a sight to behold as he pulled each rare volume into the light: his ears twitched with joy as he turned every volume over in his paws.

'Canis et Cultus!' He enthused. 'Gerhard von Pferd's study of ancient canine purity cults! First edition!'

Slowly the little hare disappeared behind a towering fortress of antique books until all that was visible of him with the tips of his ears.

Harry pressed a bottle of beer into my paw. I took it gratefully and drank. I settled back in my chair and, to a background of excited squeaks from Charlie as he discovered another papery gem, I carefully selected a few volumes.

Harry looked at a few of my chosen titles and said:

'Triumph over Evil; Fox and Spirit, how did you get into all this weird stuff? I mean to say, surely there's no call for exorcists anymore?'

I sighed quietly. I wasn't particularly happy about explaining deliverance ministry at the best of times (films have much to answer for); also, I learnt most of what I knew from my father and those memories were very raw. Nevertheless, my sorrows were nothing compared to Harry's and I didn't begrudge him an explanation. I shuffled through the books and held up a slim volume, it binding worn from years of use.

'This is still the key book for deliverance ministry.' I said, waving it at Harry. 'The Rescue of Souls by Giovanni Tasso-Meles. It's out of date, but Tasso-Meles had a wonderful grasp of how the mind works. He also lists the most common forms of "possession".

'Tasso-Meles said, and my father agreed, that the right prayer and the right ritual could calm a troubled subject. My father realised that much of the rites of deliverance had historically centred around the name of the demon, evil spirit, or whatever - this is vital. Knowing something by name is powerful, Harry, and, as Tasso-Meles said the evil must then be abjured by name and in the name of the highest.'

Harry looked at me and scratched at the tuft of the on the top of his ear. He thought for a moment.

'But, what if they're just mad? Surely we can't subject parishioners to something like this if their ill?'

'Not anyone can perform the rites. They have to be licensed by the Bishop and have consulted with a psychiatrist first. Anyway, this is different. You saw what happened. That was downright weird. Don't laugh, but that seemed occult. I don't like to think like this, but someone or something is in control. I'm sure I read about something similar in one of these books once, a fleeting reference, but there was definitely something.'

'It was weird all right.' Said Harry. 'I still can't believe that we actually have exorcists.'

'Well, you're looking at him!' I said, wagging my tail with excitement and trying to put on my I'm-just-a-normal-guy expression.

To be frank, I had honestly thought that Harry knew about my appointment. It wasn't something that was publicised, but normally local priests were told. I was dead wrong. Harry's jaw dropped open and he simply stared at me stop

'I know I joked about you being an exorcist, Nerd,' He said eventually, 'But, I thought this was just... You know... Academic weirdness.'

I shrugged, I knew what was going to come next.

'So,' Said Harry, 'Have you erm...'

He twiddled a paw vaguely in the air. This, sadly, always brings out the puppy in me and the schoolyard humour. I sprang out of my chair and waved my paws dramatically over my head.

'What?' I said in my best amateur dramatic voice. 'Do you mean, casting out demons of unbelievable power and malice? Slinging them down to the lowest circle of Hades? Sending them back from whence they came; to the foul pits of angry mice who nibble on your tail for all eternity?'

I grabbed my tail and started making squeaking noises and snorting with laughter.

'No,' I continued, 'It's not really like that. It's closer to counselling and liaising with priests to help them in pastoral things that aren't run-of-the-mill. It's about caring for parishioner first and foremost.'

Harry looked disappointed. I could just make out Charlie staring at me over the top of a stack of books - I think that he'd seen my performance before and still wasn't impressed. I grinned at them both and sat down again.

I picked up the tag which should come with the schools' fragment of knife. There was something about it that had been nagging at the back of my mind. After a moment's thought it came to me: the knife had come from the Oxfold Estate. After my meeting with Arthur Oxfold, I was feeling wary of having anything to do with him and his family. I put the tag back on the table and gently tapped it with a claw.

'Arthur Oxfold,' I said, 'Him again. You can't turn anywhere in this village without his name cropping up.'

Both Harry and Charlie started to speak at once. There was a moment of confusion and apologies while they sorted themselves out. In the end it was Charlie who spoke.

'I ought to be going, Francis.' He said. 'Can I borrow these?'

He held up a couple of volumes.

'Sure,' I said, 'Just don't adopt them! I think you still got some of my books and seminary.'

Charlie pulled on his ear. I know that he thought his love of old books was a bad habit and I never got tired of teasing him about it.

'Ah, yes.' Said Charlie. 'I'll try and find them. Thanks Francis. Harry, I'll see you soon.'

With that, the little one stood up and made his way to the hall, the pattering of his paws slowly fading and a quiet click as the front door closed.

'He hasn't got any better at goodbyes!' I said to Harry. 'What were you trying to say?'

'I was going to ask: who exactly is Arthur Oxfold?' Replied Harry. 'You've mentioned the name Oxfold, but what's so important about Oxfold?'

I settled back in my chair and scratched my muzzle. I was trying to work out how best to explain what little I knew about the politics of the village to Harry.

'As I said earlier, the Oxfolds were pretty much given the village in payment of being mercenaries in the Middle Ages. As far as I can see the current Lord of the Manor, Arthur, is carrying on the fine Oxfold family tradition of feudal leadership. Just like his ancestors, I think that Arthur Oxfold is trying to keep the populace under control with a mix of generosity and fear.'

I paused for a moment, and then added:

'And, this is only a guess, but also with pagan rituals. You see, I have a tiny congregation here even though this is a large village; half of the village isn't even baptised - baptism isn't a big family event like in some rural communities. The only reason that I'm priest just for this village, is that the parish has a couple of rich patrons who live overseas and they are determined that there be a priest in the village for all its inhabitants.'

'That's a pretty wild guess, Nerd.' Said Harry. 'I've met a few pagans and they are harmless. I can't see how new-age things can control a village.'

'This isn't the whole dancing around stones kind of thing.' I replied. This isn't just crystals and animals wearing bits of foliage on their heads. I think there's something darker happening and that knife is key to us finding out.'

I stood up and walked over to the window. Outside the sun was setting and the shadows were lengthening. Even just a couple of days before, I had watched the sunset over the village and thought it beautiful, a final blessing on the day. Now, the redness of the fading light seemed to be a coating of blood, symbolic of a community suffering; a community that has lived for too long a time under the weight of an oppression. It was as if the village was collapsing under the load of its entire, troubled history.

I turned back to Harry. He was slumped in his chair, his head resting in his paws. He glanced up at me, his eyes wet with tears.

'I'm sorry, Nerd.' He whispered. 'It's just... You know. Ten years and all. Sometimes it's just too much to bear. I'm sorry.'

I sat down opposite him, my paws resting in front of me on the table. I didn't know what to say. Harry had always been the strong one in our group. It was his support that had brought me through the trauma of my father's death and my mother's long and painful recovery after the car crash. I felt a touch against my left paw; Harry had reached out to me, instinctively I clasps his paw in mine.

'Thanks, Nerd.' He said.

We sat for a while, the kitchen growing darker around us. After ten minutes or so, Harry let go of my paw.

'I'm heading to bed.' He said. 'Thanks again.'

I nodded and watched as he left the room. I sat in darkness for a while. It had been a long and tiring day, but I was still determined to try to find out more about the Oxfold family. That and I had to try and help Harry. I stood up and felt the bones in my spine and tail crack as I shifted position. I headed upstairs to bed.