by Matt Whyman
The question he goes on to ask Julius is why.
“If only I knew, dear boy,” he says ruefully. “I consider myself a master archeoastronomer, but the more I discover about this city the more mysterious it becomes.”
“Excuse me?” Yoshi pulls a face. “Archeo-what?”
“I apologise,” says Julius sheepishly. “Perhaps it’s easier to think of me as a psychogeographer.”
“You’re losing me,” the boy tells him. “I may not recall anything about my school life, but I’m pretty sure we didn’t sit down for lessons in psychowhatchamacallit and astronoma-doodahs.”
“Archeoastronomy,” Julius repeats, stressing the word this time, “and psychogeography. If they don’t teach you these disciplines at school it’s no wonder the youth of today have become a generation of slackers!”
“Give it to me in a nutshell, Julius. A sentence is about all my head can handle at the moment.”
“Very well. I study the relationship between our urban landscape and the heavens above, and its impact on the human mind.”
“Nope.” Yoshi shakes his head. “I’m totally lost.”
“Look up,” Julius suggests. “What do you see?”
“Stars. A lot of stars.”
“What shapes, Yoshi? Look at the brightest points of light.”
“I see the Bear, the Plough and . . .” he tails off there, having spotted the very same pattern he has just traced out with his finger.
“You’re looking at seven planets, Yoshi. It’s an alignment that often comes around in the astral calendar to form—“
“– a Faerie Ring,” the boy cuts in, his eyes wide with wonder. Now he can see it for himself, the star formation blinks and twinkles like a necklace of jewels. “I’d never have noticed it if you hadn’t pointed it out. Now, it’s the only thing I see.”
“On Earth as it is in Heaven,” says Julius under his breath. “As above, so below.”
Yoshi turns his gaze on the man, finds him looking out across the city skyline. “Excuse me?”
Julius smiles, seemingly pleased at the boy’s keen interest. “That these buildings form geometric patterns is no accident, agreed?”
“If you say so.”
“And as I told you on setting off, the seven points in the ring are rich in meaning.”
“The same number as the days of the week and the colours in the rainbow,” says Yoshi, stealing the words from the old man’s mouth. “My life before I fell into your bunker might be blank, but I don’t think I’ll forget what’s happened to me since. If you say seven is special, so be it.”
Julius nods, without turning from his view of all the pitched roofs and chimneys. “Depending on your capacity to believe, Yoshi, the seven points in this ring are very special indeed. In sacred circles, they are said to represent the seven levels of psychic energy that govern our universe and beyond.”
“Psychic energy,” the boy echoes, only this one comes back at the old man with a strong note of disbelief and ridicule. “Are you trying to mess with my head?”
With one long finger, Julius taps at his temple. “Let’s just say it’s a form of energy up here, in the mind, and all around us. It’s in the soil, the sky, and every last atom. If the lights went out in God’s own house, he’s put money in the psychic energy meter. Only select mortals are able to tap into it, of course, but for those who can it’s a spectacular power source. Through time, the Faerie Ring has always been thought capable of hosting the highest form of psychic energy. In fact, some reckon the lines running between the seven points can be used as channels for forces of both darkness and light.”
Yoshi’s eyes shift from the stars to the steeples, and across to the old man beside him. If a panic alarm had been fitted up here, the boy would be reaching for it without hesitation. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he declares, “but that’s the craziest thing I ever heard! Are you suggesting the city is ringed by some kind of magical boundary?”
“You could say that,” he says. “But if you think I’ve lost the plot then we’ll head back to the bunker and you can learn how to fool people with the illusion of magic. What I’ve brought you here to see is the real thing.” Julius stops there for a second, as if perhaps he’s said too much too soon.
“No, I’m listening,” says Yoshi, thinking it would be a shame to return to the bunker now, having come this far.
Julius considers the boy for a moment. Finally, the tension eases from his face. “Yoshi, there is the kind of magic that you see on stage and on the street. It’s a fine skill, and one that can earn a small fortune, but it’s really just entertainment. A persuasive force, perhaps, but that is all.”
“It impressed me,” says Yoshi, reflecting on the card tricks he had seen earlier.
“Harnessing the force that concerns us here dates back to primitive man. I’m talking about magick. The rare ability to tap into psychic energy, and bend it to your will. It doesn’t require wizards or broomsticks, potions or strange brews. If you’re tuned in to this force, I guarantee you’ll go far. My studies in psychogeography and archeoastronomy uncovered the existence of this ring around London, but it’s vital that you come to it with an open mind.”
“Well, I certainly have one of those,” says Yoshi, and reaches for the back of his head. “There’s plenty of space to fill since I’ve forgotten everything there is to know about myself!”
Julius chuckles, pleased and relieved by Yoshi’s response. “Are you willing to learn?”
“Go ahead,” the boy says. “Tell me how this ring thing works.”
8
THE GREATEST TRICK
For the residents of London, there is only one ring around the city. It’s an orbital motorway, used by commuters as a slingshot between home and work. Satellites just outside the earth’s atmosphere can see this six-lane loop. At the end of the day, if you’re stuck in a jam, you might be lucky enough to look up and spot one glinting in the twilight. This happens when the sun meets the horizon. Then, the last rays gleam from the mirrored wings and dishes of these high-flying eyes. They can light up like comets, sailing from one dusky horizon to the next, only to be lost when the stars come out in force. Sometimes, another spectacle can take shape in their place, though this one can be impossible to pinpoint amid the swirling soup of galaxies.
Unless, that is, you’re lucky enough to be with someone who sees things on a different level than most folk.
From their vantage point inside the Seven Dials, Julius considers the twinkling arrangement now. He dwells on what it symbolises, aware that the boy has a lot to take in.
“Each of the seven points marked by Hawksmoor’s steeples is connected by what we call a ley line,” he begins. “You can’t see them. You simply sense their existence if you’re willing to believe. There are said to be hundreds of ley lines criss-crossing the city deep underground, and each end – or waypoint – has a corresponding star.”
Julius pauses as Yoshi lifts his eyes to the night sky. The boy switches his attention between big stars, bright stars and constellations, staring so intently he can almost see the universe slowly turning.
“So what’s the point of these ley lines?” asks Yoshi, sounding a little sceptical.
“In magick circles, it is reckoned that these were once used to deliver energies from one waypoint to the next, sometimes for good reasons and other times for mischief. Nowadays, modern folk send a stroppy fax or a congratulatory email, but this is how they did things when the city was first founded. In this Faerie Ring arrangement, the lines are connected to flow as one. It works as a kind of spiritual electric fence.”
“Uh huh.” Yoshi tries hard not to smile. “And does it stop the spooks from straying?”
“The ring is intended to keep spooks out, Yoshi. Please, dear boy. Just say the word and we’ll forget all about it. You can head back and learn all manner of mind tricks and feats that appear to defy reason, but I believe you can offer so much more. The tags around your neck certainly mark you
out as a very special boy.”
“They do?” Yoshi tries to read the inscription on one, but it’s upside down to him and just out of view under his nose. “Do you know what it means?”
“I have an eye for mathematical patterns, Yoshi. All I can say is those numbers are not random.”
“Eleven twenty-three?”
“Separate the numbers, dear boy.”
Yoshi has a look. “One, one, two and three.”
“Correct. Now add the first number to the next, and you’ll find the total equals the number that follows.”
Yoshi looks again. “One plus one equals two.
“And one plus two equals three.”
The boy looks up at Julius. “So what?”
“It’s all about connections, dear boy. What we have here is a numerical pattern that flourishes in the natural world. Some even say it’s a sacred sequence, such is its presence in every aspect of our lives. Observe the seeds in a sunflower head, for example, from the centre to the outer edge, and you’ll find the numbers increase by adding the first one to the next and so on. You can find the same pattern in everything from fish scales to snail shells and the structure of petals and leaves. Yoshi, its connection with the universe and everything in it has inspired artists, engineers, musicians and writers for centuries.”
“It doesn’t inspire much in me,” says Yoshi, feeling only frustration at his lack of memory. “Then again, I’m not very good with numbers.”
“You don’t need to be. What we have here are just the first few digits in a sequence that represents the hidden wonders at work on this earth. Indeed, I think we should be looking for a connection between these numbers at its most primitive level.”
“And what is that?” asks Yoshi, looking at the engraving on his tag in a very different light now.
“Add the numbers in the sequence together, dear boy. Simple as that.”
Yoshi rolls out his bottom lip, thinking this sounds like child’s play. “One plus one plus two plus three?” he says to check.
“Indeed.”
“That’s easy,” the boy replies, and then pauses with the answer on his lips. “Seven,” he says, quietly. “Seven again.”
“The same number as the steeples and the stars. A magical number, interlinked here in a sequence known for its sacred natural properties. Whoever put these tags around your neck knows something about you that we need to crack.”
“I know nothing!” protests Yoshi. “Until I woke up in your bunker I wasn’t even aware that London had seven spooky steeples!”
His comment prompts Julius to glance at his pocket watch, and then promptly curse his timekeeping.
“Quick!” He grabs the telescope, uncaps the lens and invites the boy to look east. “Aim high, between those two steeples.”
“You’re the boss.” Yoshi finds the eyepiece, enjoying himself now. All this talk of sacred forcefields from ancient times makes him feel like a cloak has been lifted from the city. “What am I looking for exactly?”
Julius glances at his pocket timepiece again. “Just watch,” he breathes, “and draw your own conclusions. All I ask is that you keep that mind of yours wide open.”
Yoshi focuses the lens. The stars sharpen up accordingly, and then something wipes the smile from his face. Such is his surprise that he breaks away from the eyepiece, as if this is a vision he needs to see with his own eyes.
At first it could almost be a starburst: a point of light out there in the galaxy that suddenly blooms and then fades to black again. But then the dark spot seems to grow, consuming stars around it, and a breeze begins to rise from the east.
“How d’you do that?” the boy gasps, stunned as the inky mass opens up like a sheet and begins winding towards the city. “I can’t even see the strings!”
“There are none,” whispers Julius. He doesn’t take his eyes off Yoshi, as if he’s seen it before and knows just what’s going to happen. This apparition is so dark it’s defined by the stars that blink in and out of sight with every beat of what appear to be wings. Assuming a spectral shape, it descends both swiftly and in absolute silence. The stiffening breeze is the only indication that something is heading this way. It’s enough to cause the boy’s heart to shrink inside his chest. Closer and closer it comes, swooping between the two steeples now, spanning a mile or more. Yoshi is set to scramble back down the ladder but it’s too late for that. All he can do is hold his breath and cling to the ledge as a vast shadow glides over the city. The breeze begins to sing in his ears, a wailing opera in the air that sails right over their heads and then decays into the night.
When the boy looks up, he sees only twinkling stars. If there’s a dark tail to be seen, it has quickly faded to nothing.
“That’s some trick!” cries Yoshi, trying hard not to sound shaken. He looks to street level, hoping to glimpse some of the punks responsible for the illusion he has witnessed. Below, some litter settles in the wake of the wind, while the drunk continues to sing as if nothing untoward has happened. There’s nothing else to see or hear.
“It’s lucky most people are tucked up in bed at this time,” says Julius. “Otherwise there’d be mayhem. There’s always the odd report to the police, or a call to some late-night radio phone-in, but anyone who’s up at this hour has usually had too much beer or too little sleep to be believed.”
“Will you show me how it was done?”
“This time, Yoshi, you need to believe that what you just saw was real.” The old man looks up at the sky again, his ears pricking up at the slightest upturn in the breeze. “We should head below ground again. We’re safe from harm down there. The greatest trick the devil ever played was to convince us that he ruled the underworld.”
“The devil?”
Julius flattens his lips behind all those whiskers, still gazing over the rooftops. “London is a place of great significance. It’s a major financial capital, a political powerhouse and a cultural beacon to boot. If you had grand designs for global domination, chances are you’d start right here.”
Yoshi looks to the skies once more. “So we’re number one on the hit list?”
“For the time being London is protected. A force of light flows through the ley lines, as it has since the city’s first foundations were laid. It controls the psyche of the city, much as the human mind controls all thought, emotion and behaviour.”
“You make the place sound like it’s living and breathing,” declares Yoshi.
“Indeed,” replies Julius, seemingly unaware that the boy is finding all this rather hard to take in. “Your psyche is responsible for your mood, if you like, and the ring functions in the very same way. For centuries, the energies coursing around it ensure that this capital is a beacon for prosperity. But should the ring ever fall into the wrong hands, this bunker wouldn’t protect us. It might be designed to withstand a nuclear winter, but not the degree of darkness the great Satan could bring to this city.”
“Really?” All of a sudden, Yoshi feels cold and exposed. He peers over his shoulder, half expecting to see legions of demons leap the divides between the surrounding buildings. When the boy looks back, the old man is quick to address his fears.
“Yoshi, if the devil ever found his way into this city, he’d be the kind of person you’d pass in the street without a second glance. How else do you think he could operate on the ground? We might be talking about an ancient system of magick here, designed to prevent him from crossing the threshold, but these are modern times. Even if he did find a way in, he couldn’t just show up sporting cloven hooves, a rakish beard and horns, and nor could he threaten fire and brimstone. It’s a jungle out there, after all. The citizens would assume he was just some joker dressed up to run a marathon for charity, or strip off at hen nights and make a bride-to-be blush. Standing out from the crowd like this, he’d be targetted by muggers within minutes. He has to be smarter than that. He has to become a figure of influence within the city, like a politician, a newspaper editor, a rock star, archite
ct or lawyer. He needs to bring out the worst excesses in us all, like greed, lust and selfishness. In short, Yoshi, he has to appear human, like you and I, so that when he brings this city to its knees we might even turn to him for help.”
“Now you’re scaring me.” Yoshi faces up to Julius. “Is this for real?”
“More real than you could imagine, young man. It could begin with anything from the closure of schools and hospitals, a riot outside a concert or the construction of high-rise housing that only the rich could afford . . .” He trails off there for a moment, as a police siren wails through the night. “At first each blow to the city will seem like one of those normal things, but once his minions are recruited from the top down it’ll be too late to save the city, let alone yourself. Even those you consider to be your closest friends might conspire to bring you down, or set you up to take a fall that could cause you to suffer for the rest of your life.”
“Wow.” Yoshi whistles, unsure whether to swallow dryly or dismiss the theory outright. “Someone’s done their homework.”
“The devil, as they say, is in the detail.”
“Can’t you cast a spell to make sure the energy stays on our side?” asks Yoshi, sold now on the story and shaken up by it, too.
Julius smiles to himself and caps his telescope. “We can’t just wave a wand, dear boy. Stage props like that are vital when it comes to persuading tourists to part with their money, but they have no place here.”
“So what do we need?” asks the boy, as Julius begins the descent once more.
“Firstly I must ask you not to share this with the others,” he says, sinking slowly out of sight. “I don’t want to alarm them, and nor do I wish to invite their ridicule. You must return and become a student of their street art, dear boy. Learn a little magic that all of us can master.”
“No problem – but as I can’t even shuffle cards without dropping them I don’t see how I’m going to conjure up a way to keep the devil from this Faerie Ring.”
