‘It comes down to this,’ said the man with the General’s stripes. ‘Mayhem!’ He thumped the table. ‘Mayhem and bloody chaos.’ He glared at the assembled company as if daring them to disagree with him. No one did.
‘It’s a fortunate thing for us, that the government departments of this benighted country mostly have right hands that don’t know what the left hand is doing.’ He reviewed this sentence in his head and decided to let it go. ‘Only we know the full extent of the damage being perpetrated. Only we have made the connections. And it’s a damn good thing too. This sort of thing is very bad gentlemen, very bad for business. So what do we know?’
‘We know,’ he continued, answering his own question. ‘That several random groups, and I use the word “several” only to avoid using the word “hundreds” in any kind of official capacity, have been targeted and destroyed around the globe apparently by the same group of insurgents, and again, I use the word instead of saying “maniacs”, which is not an official term.’
The men nodded solemnly. It was a bad business, and a bad business was bad for business.
‘So what do we have? Not much to go on, unfortunately. We have no idea who is behind this. No kind of warning beforehand or explanation afterwards apart from the random scribbling left behind at each scene. This group has made no attempt to identify itself in any way. No demands have been made. And yet, thousands of people have died apparently for simply doing what people do.
It would seem we have a religious maniac on our hands, yet religious maniacs are rarely this organised. Most set themselves up in a disused barn somewhere in Iowa or some such place, have themselves a good time procreating with several wives and end up in a shoot out with the F.B.I. I think we can assume that is not going to be the case here.’
He cleared his throat and continued. ‘So far then, this group has made its point by laying waste to “several” large business corporations. More than a few brothels, escort agencies and gentlemen’s nightclubs. Every modeling agency on the official charter (for the sin of “vanity” I believe) newspapers and TV and radio news corporations (“deception”) a large number of army bases regardless of the affiliations of the soldiers within. Indeed this group single handedly ended the war in –— by decimating the forces on both sides with extreme prejudice and yet a refreshing lack of bigotry I must say.
‘As well as every “alternative” religious group, they could lay their hands on. On top of all this, it seems that several hundred individual citizens seem to have been targeted at random all for various “sins” and there may be many more than we know about in this last case. How many of these attacks have been put down as ordinary murders? We may never know. The cities all around the world are losing their homeless populations. Vagrancy is a nuisance gentlemen, but not, as far as I am aware, a sin. And, as we all know, it is a necessary nuisance. Although don’t ever quote me on that of course.
‘In summation gentlemen, we have a very large problem, and what are we going to do about it?’ He put his knuckles on the table and glared again at the men sat around it.
The silence lengthened. There were no answers forthcoming at all.
* * *
‘So far they’ve attacked the witches, the forest creatures – centaurs, fauns, satyrs, unicorns et al, the small gods, the warlocks, necromancers and mages. Brownies, gnomes and probably the Djinn.’ Tamar summed up the situation succinctly while pacing up and down the floor restlessly. ‘Then they went after the Agency,’ she continued. ‘And we don’t know if that was a part of their plans or not. After all, they were tracking their movements they may have just been getting too close or something.’ She stopped and faced the room. ‘So who’s next? And why? And who’s doing all this? And … and why?’ She threw the floor open helplessly. ‘Anyone?’ she said.
A room full of magical beings all simultaneously looked at their feet, hooves or paws.
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ said Tamar. ‘They all come here expecting us to just sort it all out somehow – they could at least try to help. What do they think we are? Why do they just assume that we can fix everything?’
‘Because we always do,’ said Denny. ‘And we’ll fix this too, sooner or later. You’ll see.’
‘How?’ said Tamar.
~ Chapter Twelve ~
Tamar looked at the newspapers on the front doorstep in deep suspicion. The last time someone had left her an anonymous newspaper it had caused an argument with Denny that had left the house in ruins and led to her walking out for six months – and the trouble that that had caused was nobody’s business. People who left anonymous newspapers were not her friends.
However, what were the chances of that happening again? She picked up the papers as carefully as if they were wired to explosives and took them into the house.
She read the headlines and the attached stories with increasing alarm. How had they missed this? Had they become so insulated, so wrapped up in the magical world that they had forgotten that the rest of the world was still out there? The first story in particular was unnerving, to say the least. Black masked men fleeing the scene? They had apparently not been seen since, but that only meant that they had become more careful.
And the words scrawled at the scenes of these different crimes. That was an obvious link if ever she saw one. A link not only between these crimes but to recent events in the magic community. This was not a magical problem only, as they had assumed. It was far bigger than that.
‘Den-eee!’ This time the house shook.
She thrust the pile of newspapers at him in silence. One look at her white face was enough to tell him that this was no joke.
He read the papers while she sat in silence. An occasional expletive escaped him as he read the first story, but by the time he had finished, he had lapsed into a kind of horrified stupor.
He dropped the papers on the floor and stared out of the window blankly. He looked, for all the world, as if he would never move again.
Once or twice he looked as if he were about to speak, but no words came out.
Eventually Tamar lost patience. ‘Lust,’ she said. ‘Avarice, Idolatry?’
‘I know,’ said Denny. ‘I know.’
‘Warmongers. False Idols,’ she continued inexorably.
‘I know,’ said Denny.
‘And what’s all this stuff about the homeless going missing – how is “vagrancy” a sin. But that’s what it says.’
‘We let them die,’ he said in a hollow voice. ‘We didn’t even try to stop it.’
‘We didn’t know,’ said Tamar.
‘We should have known,’ he said.
‘Well, we know now,’ she said. ‘It stops here.’
‘What?’ said Denny. ‘What do we know? That it’s not just magical? That it’s happening all over? We still don’t know why! Or who!’
‘Oh, I know who,’ said Tamar. ‘I don’t know how, but I know who.’
And a light dawned over Denny. ‘Ashtoreth!’ he said.
‘He has to kill all the evil people, remember? Sinners! We thought he was going to start with us. But he must have changed his mind. He has a questionable definition of evil if you ask me. But I can see how it might make sense to a twisted religious nutcase. It’s him all right.’
‘I don’t think this was his plan all along,’ said Denny. ‘It certainly wasn’t Cindy’s, I’m sure of that. Something must have changed.’
‘Whatever,’ said Tamar. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore.
‘But, who are all those guys that are actually doing this stuff?’ said Denny. ‘Where did he get them from?’
‘I said they were brainwashed,’ said Tamar, as if this answered his question. ‘It’s like a cult or something.’
‘But who are they? What if he’s got an endless supply? He’ll never leave that sanctuary again. He’ll just stay there and keep sending out more and more of them and, no matter how many we stop, there’ll always be more.’
‘Don’t exaggerate,’ said T
amar. ‘He can’t have an endless supply. Although he might have enough to keep us busy for a long time,’ she ended gloomily. ‘Depends on where he got them from.’
‘It’s him we have to stop,’ said Denny. ‘If we stop him, it all stops.’
‘So, we keep trying to find him,’ she said. ‘And until we either find him ourselves, or he comes out of hiding, which he will eventually, we run damage control.’ she clenched her fists. ‘No one else dies.’ she avowed.
‘What makes you think he’ll ever come out?’ said Denny.
‘Denny, you are not being your usual intelligent self today. All this has upset you, made you slow. We know he’ll come out. He’s sworn revenge, hasn’t he? I know his type. He’ll keep his word, if it kills him. And let’s face it his little minions, whatever the hell they are, can’t do it for him. Even if they could, he won’t get any satisfaction out of that. He’s the up close and personal type. He wants to see us suffer.’
‘He won’t come back until he thinks he’s ready,’ said Denny. ‘Until he thinks he’s got the power to kill us – or me at least.’
‘I think you’re right,’ she said. ‘And that could be any time.’
‘Sometime, no time, anytime, never,’ said Denny gloomily. ‘How do we keep tabs on the whole world?’ he asked, changing the subject. ‘I’m good at the Aethernet. But I’m only one man.’
‘If only we had access to a worldwide Agency with spies and Aethernet connections all over the mainframe,’ said Tamar.
‘It exploded,’ said Denny.
‘The people didn’t,’ said Tamar. We’ll set up a command base here. I’ll contact Dawber.’
‘Who do you think left us those newspapers?’ said Denny. ‘That was weird.’
Clive probably.Who else?’
‘Clive’s still furious with us for breaking the mainframe. We fractured quite a bit of reality you know.’
‘It wasn’t that bad. They got most of it sorted out. Besides, that was fifteen years ago, he’s probably over it now.’
‘Tamar, there are still bits of history flapping loose because of what I did. Clive isn’t speaking to us anymore.’
‘Maybe that’s why the newspapers, instead of coming and talking to us like he used to. Does it matter?’
‘I’d just like to know who it was.’
‘Know who what was?’ said Iffie, coming into the room.
‘Whoever delivered these papers,’ said Denny without thinking.
‘Well, the old guy at the paper shop has the pretty unlikely name of Arthur Charpentier,’ said Iffie. And she laughed.
‘I know that name,’ said Denny.
‘He’s a nice old guy, he used to give me free sweets, and he never asked to see my knickers or anything,’ said Iffie.
Tamar was shocked, but Denny just laughed.
‘And I think he knows I’m a witch too.’ continued Iffie. ‘He makes jokes about me turning him into a frog and stuff. He’s a very witty guy,’ she added sarcastically.
‘Sounds like Clive to me,’ said Tamar. ‘And that’s just the sort of name he’d come up with too.’
‘What’s so important about a bunch of newspapers anyway?’ asked Iffie. ‘Who’s Clive?’
Tamar and Denny looked at each other. ‘Clive is … irrelevant.’ said Tamar.
‘Secrets, mother?’ said Iffie, rolling her eyes.
‘Don’t call me “mother”,’ said Tamar. ‘It makes me feel like I ought to be knitting. And Clive is irrelevant – at the moment. We’ll tell you all about it some other time. As for the papers … go and get Jack, there are some things you both need to know.’ And suddenly she grabbed Iffie in a tight embrace. ‘It’s a terrible world,’ she said. ‘But we can’t shield you from it forever. I wish we could.’
‘It’s okay mum,’ said Iffie considerably startled. She hugged her back and put her face in her hair. ‘It’s okay.’
Iffie had never seen her parents like this before. They seemed worried, uncertain, vulnerable. Her mother looked strange and sad, and Dad … For the first time she noticed how weary he looked, in fact, he really looked kind of ill. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked him. ‘You look a bit off colour.’
‘What?’ Denny jumped guiltily. ‘No, no, I’m fine,’ he said hurriedly.
Iffie frowned at him in puzzlement for a moment then her face cleared. He must be up to something, she guessed. It was not as if he ever did get really ill; it was flatly impossible. So there must be some other reason why he looked like that. He never did anything without a reason.
But afterwards, when she had been left alone, she wondered. What possible reason could he have for looking as if he were dying?
* * *
‘No wonder you didn’t want to tell me what you were doing,’ Iffie said incautiously. ‘I think it’s terrible.’
‘How did you find out?’ he asked her.
‘That doesn’t matter. I know… Ash, how can you do these things? Don’t you know how wrong it is?’
‘Are you going to tell your family?’
‘Ash, did you hear what I said?’
‘I need to know. Are you going to betray me?’
‘Well, when you put it that way …’ she thought. ‘No of course not,’ she said. She knew instinctively that her mother in particular, would not want Ash to know that his secret was out. She rather regretted bringing it up at all now, but she had just been so distressed.
‘I can still help him,’ she thought. ‘It’s not too late.’
‘I know that you don’t understand,’ he was saying now, ‘and that’s all right. I don’t blame you. You have a good heart, but your loyalties are misguided. But you will understand one day. You will see that it was necessary. I have been chosen to purge the world of evil.’
‘I don’t think I will ever understand Ash,’ she said sadly. ‘But I might be able to forgive you one day.’
* * *
Ashtoreth was perplexed by Iffie’s final remark to him. ‘Forgive me?’ he thought. He did not understand that there was anything to forgive. Oh, he knew that she did not understand but still … the outrageous presumption of her. ‘Forgive me? Her!’ How dare she?’ The arrogance, the impudence!
The truth was, he was angry because he was hurt by her reaction. He had allowed himself to dream of her by his side, meek and acquiescent. Even though he knew she was not of that nature at all. But she would be adoring and grateful. Grateful that he had saved her from the iniquities of her evil family.
But he must be patient, that day would surely come. For the moment, she was still ensnared in the bosom of that nest of vipers. * A mere victim of circumstance. It was not her fault. Once she was by his side, she would understand. She would see.
*[This was a mixed metaphor too far even for Ashtoreth. Sometimes he really did sound like a bad Victorian novel. It was a wonder he could follow his own train of thought. No wonder no one else could.]
* * *
There was no change in Stiles’s condition and Hecaté was close to despair. Only Tamar’s continued insistence kept her from signing the papers that cunning nurses continually slipped under her nose. It was not that she wanted him to die, far from it; it was that, according to the doctors, he was already dead. If she could be allowed to let him go, perhaps she too could die and end this agony. She had once sworn that she would not hold on to him beyond his time, to see him become first senile and then atavistic as mortal men did if they extended their life span beyond what was allotted. How much worse was this?
Her children were crying out to her. There were witches in pain out there still, but she did not hear them. The sound of her own misery overwhelmed her senses. How had this happened? A goddess and a mortal man – well that had happened before, but how had he come to mean so much to her?
Perhaps gods and men were not that different after all.
~ Chapter Thirteen ~
The house had now undergone another change. Banks of computer consoles lined the rooms; all being industriously used 24/7.
The Agency had moved in. It was like being taken over by the F.B.I during a kidnap situation, said Iffie, who had taken to contacting Ash down at a local abandoned warehouse, since the house was now so full of people there was no privacy anywhere. There were dour looking agents standing around in dark suits waiting to give reports.
The mainframe was being monitored around the clock. This was not easy considering that it contained the whole of space and time but Tamar insisted they try and, so far, they had been forewarned of several attacks on various fronts. The Warlocks, the Necromancers and several more covens of witches had been saved as well as three soldiers’ barracks and four more temples.
Ashtoreth seemed to be stepping up his activities to an alarming level.
Denny’s original prediction that Ashtoreth would simply keep turning out more and more of his soldiers, while remaining in safety himself, was turning out to be depressingly accurate.
It really did seem as if he had an endless supply. The more they knocked down, the more sprung up somewhere else. It was getting difficult to keep up.
And Denny was exhausted. Sometimes he wondered how he stayed on his feet, let alone managed to fight, yet somehow, he managed to keep going. So far, he had managed to hide his failing health from Tamar, but he was not sure how much longer he could keep it up. The power of the Athame was fighting back, keeping him on his feet somehow, but it was not enough.
‘Got something,’ shouted a voice from one of the consoles. Denny rubbed his eyes. ‘What?’ he said wearily.
‘Looks like the … do you want to hear this? You look knackered.’
‘I’m fine, what’s going on?’
‘Okay, looks like they’re going after the money makers again. Two corporations and about a dozen large businesses have been hit.’
‘When did it happen?’
‘Tomorrow,’* said the operator.
*[All of space and time – remember?]
Rise Of The Nephilim (The Tamar Black Saga) Page 12
