by Sophia North
"Aye, Miss. Here be my card. Number's on it plain as day. It be one them new fangled mobile one's...me daughter be into all these techneckalogical ways. But me landline's on the back. Leave word with the Missus, if'en the damned mobile be on the blink."
"Thank you, Harry," Hannah said, opening the door of the taxi. "And if I don't see you again, it's been nice meeting you."
"An yew, lass. Take care and ring if need me."
As Harry pulled away the crunch of stones under the tires seemed to echo inordinately loud. It was rather early for a civilised visit and the place had a certain abandoned quality to it.
Hannah stood in front of the tall double oak doors of the main entrance and pushed back her thick hair. Raising the large iron knocker, she rapped it against the imposing slabs of wood and waited for someone to answer. Being there was an incredible risk, but one she had to take.
Gabe had believed his command to sleep had overpowered her when in truth it was she who'd sent him into a deep slumber. And with good reason. As he'd held her in his arms, she'd read everything he knew about the Chalice and the mysterious key hidden in the bible beside the bed.
Deciding to take matters into her own hands, for unlike him, Hannah knew where the door was that the key opened. The OO Motherhouse. With her memories returned from that night at Claridges, she recalled a part of her vision she had not shared with the others. When she'd seen the curious door on the wall she had also seen the OO crest of arms on the wall.
The creak of the door brought her attention back to the present. Standing in the enormous opening was an older gentleman, dressed head to toe in formal butler attire not seen since the Edwardian era.
"Yes," he asked her gravely, like someone showing up on the doorstep this early in the morning was perfectly normal.
Flashing him a charming smile, Hannah replied, "Good morning. I was just at the gate asking to speak with Melinda Rowan? I didn't get a chance to say who I was at the time. My name..."
Looking down his imperious nose at her, the man robotically moved to one side to let her pass. "Please follow me, Lady Mowbray. I'll fetch her."
Hannah's eyes widened in surprise at her identity being known without her saying anything. A slight hum from above, made her look up just as the camera mounted to the house swivelled into a new position. Ah, so the OO had a love for security as much as the next secret society. Her recognition now made perfect sense. They'd been observing her arrival the entire time.
Escorting her to a large parlour that seemed to take ages to walk to, Hannah smiled, delighted by what she saw. The room was flooded in the early morning light and appeared to face the gardens. Various sitting areas were dotted around, for those interested in taking their breakfast in a more informal setting. Yet, the room was completely empty. Surely she wasn't so early that the household had yet to rise?
"You will find coffee on the far sideboard, along with other light refreshments. Please remain in this room until Ms. Rowan arrives."
Alone, Hannah wandered over to where the coffee was, the smell of the fresh brew too tempting to refuse. Pouring a steaming cup, she walked over to the large windows to admire the gardens. They had impressed her the last time she was here.
"Good morning, my dear," a voice piped up from one of the wing-back chairs. Startled to find she wasn't as alone as she thought, Hannah glanced at the chair's occupant and almost dropped her cup.
It was the old woman from Christie's. The one and only Margaret Rowan.
"How is that timing going for you?"
Not sure how to answer, Hannah took a moment to come up with something suitable. "I'd say it is nowhere near as good as yours."
The witty retort seemed to please Margaret to no end, if her titter of laughter was anything to go by. Gesturing to the chair across from her, Margaret invited Hannah to join her. "Give an old woman the treat of your company. It is rare for us to get visitors here and I expect your mentor will be along shortly. Little tip: when Melinda gets properly angry...duck."
Goodness, the lady said the strangest things to her.
"I'll keep it mind, should I ever upset her," Hannah laughingly replied, sitting in the chair opposite. Sipping her coffee, she thought about how she was going to find out what the woman wanted from her. It obviously had to be something, why else keep popping up so mysteriously in her life?
"Sooo...is there anything in particular you'd like to talk about?" she ventured, electing to use the 'play dumb' gambit in their bizarre game of mental chess.
"Hmmm, I don't believe a protracted conversation is on the cards for us, my dear. Shall I put us both out of our misery and opt for upfront dialogue?" Margaret asked, her blue eyes twinkling in delight.
Somehow Hannah doubted it was possible for the lively old dear to be 'upfront', there was too much of an impish quality about her, regardless of age.
"You can certainly try. Far be it for me to stand in your way of being transparent. It would make a welcome change from my recent OO dealings."
Margaret clapped her hands in delight. "Very good, dearie. Your attitude is incredibly open-minded, which will go a long way with what you're about to experience. But la, how my tongue runs away from me. I shall stay on topic."
Yup, there it was - obfuscation when attempting to appear truthful. Margaret could give an Old Bailey barrister a run for their money. How she thought dropping such a dramatic statement was not relevant bowled Hannah over.
"I've read your file," she whispered conspiratorially. " 'Twas a most interesting record, I must say. A Sibyl, my, my. It's been an age since one of you have surfaced."
Incredible. Hannah had only just learned the truth about her true self from Maltby, and yet, it would seem the OO had known all along. Who exactly were these people?
She'd been in this area of Kent her entire life and had never heard talk of the Motherhouse or the OO. It was like the entire place was somehow enchanted to be invisible, which was a ridiculous notion. Harry hadn't batted an eye on knowing where to go when he'd driven her here from the train station.
"I am the first one you've ever met?" Hannah asked bluntly. What was the point in being coy? Margaret seemed to have a pretty good handle on the situation. And lord only knew how long she'd have with the old woman before Melinda arrived. Best get her intel fast.
Hannah knew her Sibyl history well. Academics placed the number that ever existed at ten, but of course that was due to the Romans getting into the action and adding their own when it suited their agenda. Thus, the obligatory controversy over the veracity of the true number of Sibyls began. The more agreed upon number was seven. Oh, how the ancients loved that number but it is neither here nor there for the purposes of the present issue.
Margaret smiled knowingly. "Ah, ah no cheating. Mum's the word on that one. By the by, how is Gabriel doing with all this...bloodline curse stuff."
Who the hell was this woman to know about Gabriel'? And bloodline his curse stuff? Yes, Hannah was certain that's exactly how he'd put it. Not.
"As you no doubt know, not very well. Do you know why I am here?" she challenged.
The old bird didn't even blink at Hannah's harsh tone. "Your vision, is the logical answer. By the by, you're most welcome and before I forget it's called The Adventures of Peregrine, Volume Seven. Mind the seven bit, my dear. It will be extremely important to Melinda."
About to ask Margaret what she meant, Hannah never got the chance. The Melinda in question had arrived on the scene.
"Hannah! Have you lost your mind? You cannot be here," Melinda exclaimed, entering the parlour. She looked like she'd just been dragged from a deep sleep.
Jolted by her mentor's shrillness, Hannah squared up to the challenge. "You did say you were willing to show me around some more. Thought I'd take you up on the offer, as I was in the neighbourhood."
Melinda's brow furrowed, surprised by her glib answer for being there. "How did you know where to find us?"
"I Googled you," Hannah replied innocently. "Well, no tha
t's a joke. I met Margar..."
The old lady was no longer in the chair. Sweet Jesus, where did one start with that?
"You met who?" Melinda snapped, her patience wearing thin. If David caught wind of Hannah's presence there would be hell to pay. And she was already in his bad books following her failure to bring Hannah to heel. She had to get her out of there. Immediately.
"Lady Mowbray, Melinda - what a lovely surprise to find you both here." David Drake, the Director of the OO, stood in the door. In his early fifties, he was still a handsome man with his silver peppered dark hair and lightly bearded face. "Perhaps, you will both be so kind as to join me in my office."
Melinda shot Hannah a 'we're in for it now' look, like she was suppose to understand what she meant by it. Hannah had never met David before and had no idea as to his character.
"We'll be right there, Sir." Melinda assured him, casting a 'keep your mouth zipped until I tell you to speak' look at Hannah when she turned back towards her.
Hannah's eyes widened in surprise. Goodness, things were about to get interesting.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
DAVID DRAKE'S OFFICE reminded Hannah of being back at Cambridge visiting one of her professors. It screamed academic, with books and papers strewn everywhere. Hannah could relate, being a lover of chaotic research as well.
"Forgive the mess," he said, gesturing at them to sit in the two wing-back chairs opposite his large walnut desk. "We are starting excavations in Syria next month, in an attempt to try and save some precious relics from destruction. It is always a shame when politics interferes in mankind's search for meaning."
Taking a seat, Hannah wondered at what point 'being called to the rug' stopped being a thing? Because as charming as the Director was behaving, she couldn't escape the feeling that he was playing the role of Head Master having to deal with an unruly pair of students.
"But enough about the problems in the Middle East, we could be here for hours on the subject. What brings you the Motherhouse, Hannah?"
Hannah had spent the train ride thinking up answers to all the possible questions the OO might throw at her. A society that blindfolds potential members to protect its whereabouts struck her as the kind of place that would frown on unexpected visits. Thankfully, Hannah had two excellent points of cover at her disposal.
"I believe I am very close to making progress on the case Melinda brought to me recently."
"On the legends and folklore of Mer people and possible connections to dragon myths?" he clarified.
Hannah was surprised. Not many Directors of an organisation as large as the OO would take the time to be aware of every investigation. Especially those being undertaken by lowly associate members. "Yes. Melinda said it was time sensitive, which is why I am here. My apologies by the way for my unexpected and early arrival."
Sitting back in his chair, the Director steepled his fingers, appearing to ruminate on her explanation. "Your diligence is most appreciated. However, I am unclear as to how you found your way here?"
Hannah laughed. "Oh, that. In truth, it was a rather fortunate series of events that brought me. Are you aware of the Robert Rudston collection?"
David inclined his head, but stayed silent, no doubt wondering where she was going with her story. Hannah wasted no time in pressing on. For a lie to be convincing it needed to be rooted in the truth and flow easily in the telling.
"Well, last night it went up for auction at Christie's. Quite the crush, I must tell you. But as we can both appreciate, it is rare for such a large collection to be on the block all at once."
"I agree. Sadly, I was unable to attend. Many of our members were there though, we have many enthusiasts of Rudston's unique treasures."
"Which brings me to answering your question. I hadn't forgotten it," she smiled charmingly at him. "Despite my roundabout way in the telling."
Hannah read the disbelief in Melinda’s thoughts over her behaviour. From David, nothing. Most strange, she'd thought she was making progress with her ability to access another's thoughts.
"I met a member, kind old gentleman, but sadly his name escapes me. As I mentioned, the place was packed. When we shook hands, Hever's village sign flashed in my head and I realised it was where the Motherhouse was located. I have been once before, many years ago and recognised the Kent countryside when touring the gardens. My family, you know, owns Penshurst, which is nearby. I was easily able to link them together, considering my gift."
David inclined his head in acknowledgement. "I hadn't realised you were so well honed in Kent's unique geographical features. You are the first non-initiated member to know the location of our institution. Forgive my caustic ways, but we in the OO take great care in keeping ourselves from the public eye."
"I understand perfectly. And I wouldn't have been so bold unless it was important."
"You could have reached out to Melinda to meet and exchange the information." Ah, there he was back to questioning her motives. Time for cover story number two.
"Absolutely, the thing is...the information is here, in the OO Motherhouse. As you know, my gift is the ability to read objects and follow strange hunches to uncover information about all sorts of subjects one may not link together. I had one about the Mer people and the book I need is here. I had a vision of the Motherhouse's distinctive main doors when doing some research at the auction. I'm afraid I took horrible advantage of the kind old man by lifting the location from him. Albeit unintentionally."
David smiled warmly and rose. "Then you shall have the access you require to locate the book in question. Melinda will show you how things work. If you are interested, we lunch at one and would be happy for you to join us. Melinda did mention you were thinking about taking the next step in joining the Order."
"That is most generous of you, David. Unfortunately, I have an appointment this afternoon and will need to get back. Another time?" Hannah held out her hand and concentrated, maybe contact will let her crack his thoughts.
He returned the gesture, but when she grasped his hand, again Hannah got nothing. Perhaps her Praetor blood powers were temporarily on the blink.
"We look forward to having you come."
Out in the hall, Melinda drew Hannah into a small alcove for a little chat. "Hannah, I don't know what is really going on, but you’re playing with fire by coming here."
"Melinda, I haven't the foggiest as to what you are on about. I'm telling you the truth, I had a vision about a manuscript here at the Motherhouse."
Melinda eyed her with suspicion. "Who were you speaking to in the parlour when I arrived?"
Hannah wasn't about to be cowed. If the OO wanted to play their games with her, then she would play them right back. "A charming older lady named Margaret...Rowan. Any relation? She was rather evasive when I asked her the same question."
The answer made Melinda take a step back before she recovered herself. "Here's a tip about the Motherhouse: don't talk to the spirits, they have a tendency to speak shit. Come on, I'll show you to the Vaults. We'll start there."
Margaret was dead! Typical. The only open person in the place she'd bonded with had to be a ghost.
Following behind Melinda as she strode down a wide hall littered with suits of armour mixed in with Egyptian artefacts, Hannah had to catch up at times, so fascinating were some of the pieces along the way.
At the top of a stone staircase leading down, Melinda turned to Hannah before descending. "You don't have issues with low, dark places do you?"
Hannah thought of some of the digs she'd been on with her parents, small dark places were her specialty. "No, I am well schooled."
Melinda nodded and led her down. The stairs seemed to spiral for ages before they finally reached a thick iron door at the bottom. After unlocking it, Melinda beckoned for Hannah to join her.
Stepping through, the sound of a torch firing to life made Hannah jump. It was a bit of a medieval thing for Melinda to do.
Seeing Hannah's look of surprise, she smiled. "Trust
me, old-fashioned ways tend to be more beneficial in this place. Why don't you describe what you saw and I'll try to navigate us to the correct spot."
Hannah started to panic a bit. Her train ride plans hadn't been that detailed. She'd hoped to have been left on her own to find the ‘manuscript' in question. Thus, allowing her the ability to search for the strange little door that the key was meant to open.
A powerful tremor overcame her, and in a flash she saw the door, followed by the title of a book on a shelf nearby. Thank the guardian angel on her shoulder, it gave her exactly what she needed. Access to the door and something plausible to present to Melinda.
"The manuscript is called The Adventures of Peregrine, Volume Seven." Hannah blanched at the title. It was the exact one Margaret had mentioned. Honestly, who was the old bird? Ghost or not, Hannah owed her...big time.
Melinda's eyes lit up. "I know where it is, follow me."
Led through a warren of very low corridors, Hannah stayed close to her mentor until they finally reached another iron door. After performing a bizarre ritual of knocking, Melinda put an old iron key into the lock and turned it counter-clockwise until it clicked open.
Noting Hannah's questioning stare, Melinda smirked as she swung the door wide open. "It's a bit of a bitch to open. Come along, vision girl, this is a rare privilege for an uninitiated member."
Placing the torch into a trench on the other side of the door, the liquid it contained caught fire and with an impressive 'whoosh' spread around the circumference of the room.
"This is amazing," Hannah gasped when the domed vault they'd entered was revealed in the warm firelight. The height of their surroundings soared significantly, with intricate stonework spiralling to create a hypnotic affect on the impressive dome above their heads. Shelves ran along the circular vaults edge, with further shelving units criss-crossing the room. All in all it was rather astounding such a place was directly under the Motherhouse.
