‘You teleported,’ she pointed an accusing finger at Tamar.
‘Only for a second,’ said Tamar strangely diffident. ‘It’s gone now.’
‘You must be a witch.’
Tamar shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. I don’t think that’s it.’
‘But you must be.’
‘No, remember? Hecaté said that I was more powerful than her. Are you more powerful than she is?’
‘Of course not, she’s a deity.’ Cindy looked puzzled. ‘She did say that, didn’t she? What’s more powerful than a God?’
Tamar sighed. ‘I wish I knew,’ she said gloomily.
~ Chapter Thirteen ~
Upper management were in an uproar. In all the preceding millennia, there had never been a cock up like this one, and no one had the least idea of what to do about it.
Crispin had been right about one thing. In the manner of all sentient beings everywhere (whatever their calling) they were looking for a scapegoat. And he was it. But finding somebody to blame was not helping the situation. It was ridiculous, six thousand years of planning all gone to hell because of one detail that had somehow been overlooked. The war of the apocalypse had begun well enough, only to be stalled in its tracks. Satan had been overthrown, as predicted – although not quite as anyone had expected – and was now having a lovely holiday. The Horsemen had ridden out and were now waiting around like so many pensioners at a bus stop. Death was still busy of course, and War was keeping his hand in, stirring up minor revolutions just to keep things entertaining. (To War, even the smallest coup was as much fun as the major world war that he had started.) Pestilence and Famine were, of course, a part of human existence just as they had always been. Perhaps at the moment they were a spreading themselves a little more voraciously than previously. But all this was beside the point, it was all nothing compared to the main event, which was they had ridden out for.
There was even a rumour on the thirteenth floor that peace talks had broken out in several areas. It was looking very much as if the apocalypse might have to be cancelled – or at least postponed. The humans should have been arming their nuclear weapons by now, but there was no sign of this happening. It would never happen either, as long as humans still had hope. Until all hope was lost from men’s hearts, they would never destroy the world.
Clive, a minor file clerk on level C was watching the situation with great interest. He was himself looking for the missing box, although he had not yet decided what he would do with it if he found it. It was unheard of for a file clerk to break out in this erratic fashion, although Clive had done it before. And thinking as an individual can become habit forming, one might almost suspect that he had a mind of his own.
He knew very well why the dim-wits upstairs wanted it so badly, but Clive had ambitions of his own
Thus, he wanted to find the box for himself, and his unique experiences of human beings meant that he was capable of thinking in ways that his colleagues were completely unable to comprehend. He was fairly confident that he could find it before they did, unless they had the most unbelievable good luck.
For example, he knew that an immutable law of the universe is the one that states that wherever the thing you have lost is, it is always in the last place that you look. By utilising quantum, surely he could eliminate the “looking for it” part and just get straight to the “finding it” part. Another immutable law tends to be that if you have an important box (or case or file-folder) it is usually on top of the wardrobe. Sometimes it is in the foot of the wardrobe or in the cupboard under the stairs. Or, occasionally, in the chest of drawers in the spare room. Having decided on this, and realising that these would be the first places he would look, he could eliminate these possibilities. What did that leave, apart from the attic, or down the back of the sofa? No, that was loose change – whatever that was.
They, that is, the dim-wits upstairs, were currently trying to trace the box back through history. The last known possessor of the box had been Zeus, but he no longer existed, and anyway, it would be just like him to leave it lying about somewhere.
‘The fools!’ thought Clive. That was not the way to find it, he knew. Nor was trying to find it by magic. They had tried that too, throwing various locator spells into the ether. He understood the theory behind it. After all, the only thing that could shield a magical object, strangely enough, was Tupperware – and what were the chances? On the other hand, what they had failed to realise, was that the box itself was not magical in any way. It was just a box. And hope is not magic, although it is an item of faith, and Clive could see where they might get confused.
He realised that he himself was stumped, but he was not giving up. He was better than his cohorts at human thinking, but not as good as a real human. That was what he needed. And as luck would have it, he had, in the past, had actual contact with real human beings, another unheard of innovation of his own – talking to the people – and these were not just any people, they were distinctly heroic types. There was just one problem …
Clive did not know how it had been done and, therefore, he had no idea how to fix it. Oh he could see it clearly enough, and it was damned clever, he thought, and dammed inconvenient – particularly for the people involved he supposed, but he was only thinking about himself at the moment. He realised that there was nothing he could do this time; they would have to sort it out for themselves. All he could do was watch in frustration. Watch and hope. But maybe he could help a little.
* * *
‘Where the hell is my wife?’ Denny snarled.
The soldier was crouched on the floor trying to escape the wrath of this madman who had locked them in.
‘I don’t know, honestly. No one could have come down here I swear, I had the only key.’ He brightened. ‘They must have escaped.’
‘How?’ said Denny scornfully, but he calmed down a little, the man was so obviously telling the truth.
The soldier shrugged.
Denny sat down on an upturned box. ‘What about that lad you mentioned, could he have taken them the key, dropped it through the grate perhaps?’
‘And then they very considerately put the key back in my pocket before they left?’
‘Hmmm, well they might have done, so that you wouldn’t suspect anything. To delay the search for them. Have you got a better explanation?’
The soldier did not and besides, even if he had, he judged it wiser to say nothing at this point. Denny sank into a brown study.
After a while, the soldier ventured the opinion that perhaps someone might wonder where he was and come looking for him.
‘Will they?’ asked Denny sceptically.
‘No, I suppose not,’ the soldier admitted.
‘What did you say your name was again?’ asked Denny.
‘Jamie.’
‘I’m Denny,’ he held his hand out. Jamie shook it gingerly.
‘Well,’ said Denny, ‘we can’t stay here forever, I guess I’m going to have to head back to London.’ He paused and grinned. ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to have you along you know.’
‘Why?’ asked Jamie, although he knew. ‘Look, you can leave me here, I won’t squeal, I swear. They’ll never know you were here.’
Denny shook his head. ‘You know I can’t risk it,’ he said. ‘It’s not as if I want to take you with me, and I’m sorry, really I am. But …’ he shrugged his shoulders expressively.
‘But I’ll be AWOL,’ said Jamie.
‘Captured by the enemy,’ corrected Denny. ‘There might even be a medal in it for you – eventually.’
‘Uh huh,’ said Jamie pessimistically
‘It’ll be okay,’ said Denny. ‘I went AWOL, came here all the way from China. Had the most amazing luck – up until now anyway. I suppose it had to run out sometime.’
As they passed the chapel near to the house, they heard from within the sound of voices raised in song, a strange sound in these days, and it reminded them both that it was almost Christmas. They raise
d their heads for a moment to listen, the words were unfamiliar to Jamie, but the tune was mournfully beautiful. Even though these were rough and ready county folk, with reedy voices, when their voices were joined together in harmony, swelling in the still morning air, they sounded quite enchanting, and it was possible for a moment, to forget the war and believe in a better world.
‘What’s that they’re singing?’ asked Jamie.
‘DonareNobis Pachem,’ replied Denny austerely. ‘Give us peace.’
Jamie nodded. ‘Amen to that,’ he said.
‘I thought you were a career soldier,’ said Denny.
‘I am, but I joined up to defend my country, not to … not for this.’ He shrugged to demonstrate that he could not find the words.
Denny nodded. ‘I knew I was going to like this bloke,’ he thought.
* * *
They were sleeping under the stars. Well, they were actually going to sleep in the jeep, because of the weather, which was too cold even for Denny. Though at least it had stopped raining, but only in order to start snowing. But they were cooking under the stars at least.
Denny had brought some supplies from the house, and was currently trying to get a tin of soup open with the can opener on his army issue multiplex knife.
They were camping out because Jamie was officially AWOL and, anyway, Denny did not want to attract any more attention than was necessary. Besides, this way they could use most of their spare cash for petrol, or “gas”, as it was now called up and down the country.
Jamie was disconsolate. He was wondering what he was really doing here, certain that had he really held out against this, Denny would not have forced him physically. Now that he was over his fit of temper, he seemed perfectly genial. Jamie was generally a good judge of people and Denny did not seem like a bully to him. So why had he gone along with him?
Denny cursed as his hand slipped and he sucked at a cut finger. ‘Jesus Christ! – Shit!’ He went back to his operation. There was a loud snap and a piece of metal flew upwards and struck Denny’s face.
Ignoring the blood pouring down his cheek, Denny merely looked ruefully at the stricken can opener. ‘Broken,’ he said laconically. ‘Have you got a knife?’
* * *
‘Here it is,’ said Cindy. ‘Things more powerful than gods: Demons – that is, certain types of demon, not your common or garden variety obviously, angels, again not all of them, and the Djinn. Except they don’t have free will, so their power is limited by what their masters wish for, but technically – phenomenal cosmic power.’
‘The gin,’ said Tamar, what’s that?’
‘What are they?’ corrected Cindy. ‘Mortals call them genies.’
‘Mmmm?’
‘But I don’t think that can be it. Do you remember being trapped in a jar or a bottle or something like that?’
Tamar thought about it. ‘Yes!’
‘Oh.’ There really did not seem to be anything else to say.
‘Then, maybe that’s what happened,’ Cindy continued after a minute. ‘Maybe it was a wish that changed the world. I suppose it’s possible. Says here that the Djinn can do practically anything, as long as their master wishes for it.’
‘You mean that it was me? That I did this.’
‘Well technically you could have, but only if someone wished for it. Morally I suppose it wasn’t you. A Djinn is a slave you see.’
‘Then surely the most powerful being in this equation is the master of the Djinn – a human being I suppose.’
Cindy checked the book, one of Denny’s – it had his name in it – that they had found in the flat (Tamar had been flabbergasted – ‘I never dreamed that he read this sort of thing,’ she said)
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Cindy told her. ‘Only humans can be the masters of the Djinn – how did you know that?’
Tamar pulled a wry face in answer. ‘What do you think?’
Cindy looked blank for a moment. ‘Oh, oh, yes of course, you remembered it.’
There was a silence while they both processed what this meant. It was Cindy who put it into words. ‘So, you were a Djinn then.’
‘I think I’d rather have been a Djinn than a demon,’ said Tamar defensively. This conclusion had made her rather unhappy. She had no desire to be anyone’s slave again – and if the world was restored …
‘Well actually it says here that a Djinn is a type of …’
‘Shut up,’ snapped Tamar ‘Just – shut up, I want to think. I need to think, something doesn’t fit here. If I was a Djinn, why do I remember things as if I was a human as well? And I know that – well I seem to remember anyway – that Denny and I lived together, wouldn’t that have meant that he was my master? If I was a Djinn, which we haven’t proved yet. And why, if he was my master, would he make such a wish? Why would anyone if it comes to that, it doesn’t make any sense.’ She was doing her thinking out loud, as you can see, but Cindy quite naturally assumed that these remarks were addressed to her.
‘Maybe to free you,’ she said, startling Tamar who had forgotten that she was there.
‘We-ell,’ she answered cautiously after a moment’s thought to sort this one out. ‘That does sound like Denny I suppose, but surely it wouldn’t be necessary to change the whole world like that. And if it was, then he wouldn’t do it. No it still doesn’t make sense.’
‘Maybe Denny wasn’t your master then. I mean maybe he was, and then someone else was – if you see what I mean?’
‘It still doesn’t make sense. Like I said, why would anyone who had a Djinn want to free it?’ Besides I told you, I can remember – being – human!’
‘Maybe, that wasn’t the point of the wish at all,’ said Cindy. ‘If there was a wish,’ she added hurriedly. ‘Maybe the point was to change the world. – However it was done,’ she finished, Tamar was glaring at her.
‘Now that makes sense,’ said Tamar. ‘That’s what we thought all along. Wish I knew who it was. ’
‘I wonder why they did it,’ said Cindy.
‘Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?’ said Tamar. ‘However it was done – Why?
‘That’s what we still don’t know.’
* * *
Jack Stiles (we can no longer refer to him as Captain, since he was now AWOL) had no idea why he was doing this. So, one of his men had been captured – what did he think that he could do about it? And then again, sure, Sanger was a good bloke, but he, Stiles, had only known him for a few weeks – this, he was less certain about. But that woman he had met, or dreamt or whatever, had been very definite about it. And that was another thing, why did he feel obliged to listen to her? She had spoken to him as a wife might do, and, as such, he had taken her, and had simply gone along with her wishes without thinking about it, just as many husbands do for the sake of a quiet life. But, now that he had had time to think about it, he wondered … Stiles shrugged, he had made a decision; he would not wonder about it anymore. He knew he was going to do this, so what was the point of making a lot of heavy weather about it? He might as well just get on with it, and not torment his mind with a lot of questions that he did not have the answers to. He had enough to worry about as it was, like where the hell he was supposed to be going, and how he was going to get there, and what he was going to do when he did. Oh well, he was sure that it would all work out for the best in the end.
Actually, he was not sure of this at all. But Stiles had been a copper first and then an army man, and he was accustomed to believing that somehow the orders would make sense in the end. That was the surface Stiles. The real Stiles, the one deep down, knew that this was actually a load of shit, but habit, especially habits of thought, are hard to break.
He had been trudging along aimlessly for several hours without any clear idea of where he was headed for, and it was now getting dark. Time to find a place for the night, it was snowing, and he needed to find some shelter. He spotted a lonely looking house about a half hour’s walk away. Even at this distance, it looked empty. It was a f
airly large house, yet there was no car in front and no lights on, despite the dusk. Probably the owners had packed up and left; he was still quite close to the front lines. It would do anyway. He hitched up his pack and headed for it.
* * *
If you asked somebody where they would hide a box that contained something of vital importance, the sensible man would tell you that he was not going to tell you where he would hide it. And if he will not tell you where he has hidden it, has he, in fact, hidden it at all. And if it’s not hidden, is there even a box at all? After all, it was a rhetorical box that you asked about in the first place, wasn’t it …?
‘But we know there’s a box Talbot,’ said Crispin impatiently. ‘Don’t be so silly. If you want to get all metaphorical, do it on your own time. In the meantime, why don’t you make yourself useful? If we don’t find it, it’s my head on the chopping block, and trust me, I can take all of you down with me.’
‘But surely hope resides in the hearts of men,’ said Talbot.
‘Oh, well, if you want to believe all that hippie claptrap …’ said Crispin.
~Chapter Fourteen ~
Denny weighed the knife in his hand. It was heavy, but it did not feel so to him. It felt as if it were a part of him almost – as if it were growing out of his hand. He drew the blade from its sheath and looked at it. There were swirling patterns in the metal, moving in and out of each other with a horrible liquidity, never still for an instant. The metal looked as if it were alive. Yet, when Denny gingerly touched the blade, it felt solid enough, cold and hard just like any other blade. It was only when he looked at it that he got the strange feeling that it was writhing under his hand.
He sheathed it again and looked curiously at Jamie. ‘Where did you get this?’ he asked.
Jamie told him, and added, ‘why do you care? It’s just an old knife.’
‘It’s called an Athame,’ Denny told him and wondered how he knew. He put it into his pack. Jamie never even thought to feel resentful about this; it had never felt like it belonged to him anyway.
The Day Before Tomorrow Page 7
