The Skin of the Gods

by Phil Armstrong

  “David knows a lot of people Beth, he’s well connected in London. Let me get hold of him and see what he can come up with. He’s away on business right now. I’m sure if he knows you need help, he’ll make the time. You know David! In the meantime, if you need to call and chat, just give me a shout. You must be going nuts. If you decide to come down to London, give me a shout and let me know.”

  Beth had not considered that as an option but perhaps she should? “Thanks Tabitha, just having someone to talk with helps a great deal. Is David in the UK or somewhere far away?”

  “David’s in Coventry love. I know it helps to talk, let me get to David and let’s see what we can do to help you.”

  “Okay, bye. Thanks again Tabitha.”

  “No problem Beth, bye love.”

  Beth tried to imagine Tabitha’s face; she wished she were sitting on her couch dishing out advice. Tabitha was a no nonsense type and Beth liked her a lot. A glass of wine and a good bitch session is what she needed right now. Tabitha would have her laughing again in seconds. They had hit it off the moment they spoke on the phone. Beth recalled their first conversation when she was in India. It seemed a long time ago now. Many things had happened since then. Bringing her some Belgium chocolates from Brussels did not hurt either. Beth smiled recalling the look in Tabitha’s eyes when she saw the chochies. They grew large and she could not contain her excitement. Tabitha’s soft spot was chocolate and a good party.

  Beth leaned back into her comfy armchair and started to feel a little better. She wished she had a glass of red wine right now. Her thoughts turned to David Wilks. If Matt were in London, David would surely find him. David was well connected and had friends in MI5 and Scotland Yard. His contacts would be able to pull in some favors. He had often talked of his old school buddies who held prominent positions. David would get the wheels in motion to find Matt. “Watch out Matt, I have David on my side.” She leaned over and grabbed her tea.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 9: The Soul Collector

  City of London, England, 1890.

  Jackson’s heart was beating rapidly as he lifted his strong hand and rapped the metal doorknocker. The house was a stone built terrace in an affluent part of London. Jackson had followed the instructions left by his Master; he found the address with little difficulty. It was mid afternoon and the skies were turning. Grey clouds had moved in and the wind signaled the oncoming rain. Evening was approaching and the city was a dangerous place under the cover of darkness.

  The door opened, a woman inquired about the nature of this intrusion. No guests were expected this afternoon and the Master of the house had indicated he was dining alone. “Who is it?”

  “I have important business with the Master of the house; I must talk with him immediately.”

  “The Master wants to remain undisturbed tonight, he’s studying.”

  Jackson pushed the solid door open to reveal a diminutive woman, hardly up to the task of resisting intruders. Jackson puffed up his large frame by sticking out his chest to make himself look larger than he was. “Did you not hear me? I have important business with the Master of the house. I would respectfully suggest you request his presence.” Hearing the commotion a man stepped into the hallway and attempted to add substance to the woman’s protests.

  “What seems to be the problem?” A young man in his late teens appeared. He was full of promise but it was ambitious when he squared up to Jackson. The woman moved aside to take refuge behind a larger force.

  Jackson kept his hands at his side, not wanting to engage in a fight. He sized up the young man and decided he was certainly no threat. “I need to see the Master of the house urgently. I have information for him only; I’ve traveled far. It would be wise to get him now, tell him that the Keeper sent me.” Jackson stared violently at the young man. He used his size, and his deep voice, to impress upon him the importance of his mission. The young man turned to the woman and nodded. She scurried off at great speed. The young man continued to spread his chest in a misplaced attempt to block entry. Jackson grew impatient and thought about a blow to the neck, rendering this frail body helpless. He shuffled his right leg backwards and planted his foot. He would now have the perfect anchor to launch his weight forward and deliver a surprise blow.

  “Who has the audacity to interrupt my studies in an uninvited way?” A voice could be heard but the source had yet to be established. An older man dressed in fine clothes entered the hallway. He approached the young man gently moving him to one side. He studied Jackson’s face and quickly reviewed the quality of his clothing. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

  “I was sent by the Keeper to talk with the Soul Collector.” Jackson felt good, he knew these words would resonate and grant him an audience.

  “Bunch of gibberish, don’t know what your talking about but I would like you to leave.” The young man straightened his slumping posture, as if to signal his readiness should this turn physical.

  Jackson’s eyes fell to the old man’s hand; he could see the faint glimmer of a gold ring. He looked intensely and could just make out the raised design of a Catfish. “I have traveled far and I apologize for my ramblings. I need to speak with you on a matter of great importance. My Master sent me to deliver a message and I can’t force you to be receptive.” Jackson raised his eyes to meet the old man’s. “Perhaps I can come back later but before you decide, I would like to shake the hand of the man I was sent to meet.”

  Jackson extended his hand but twisted his palm downwards and straightened his fingers making his ring clearly visible. The old man’s eyes followed Jackson’s outstretched hand and lingered upon the gold ring. Recognizing the ring, he extended his hand in a warm handshake. “Please, it looks like a cold night, come inside and join me in my library. Rose, brew up some tea, I’d like to talk with this gentleman. Did you travel here alone?”

  “No. My carriage driver waits out front. John, please direct the carriage driver to the back and ensure that he has something to eat.”

  “My trusty hound rides with us, I would appreciate some food and water for the dog.”

  “John, let’s extend our courtesy to the four legged visitor as well. Please come through, we have much to talk about.” John looked puzzled at the warm reception. Minutes earlier he was bracing for a fight. The Master had clearly indicated he did not know this gentleman. One handshake later and he was acting like a long lost relative had arrived. Rose had left the hallway heading for the kitchen to make tea. The two gentlemen walked down the hallway towards the library. John peered onto the street where a black carriage was parked with two tethered horses. The driver sat high on a seat accompanied by a small dog straining to see into the house. John exited the house closing the door behind him. He walked towards the carriage.

  The two men entered the library. It was a small room with books loaded into shelves adorning the walls. Wooden paneling and carved heads of animals decorated the busy room. A large desk had books scattered across its surface. Light poured into the room from a single small window. It was clear that the Master of the house had been working when Jackson arrived. He walked to his desk and started to close his open books. He stacked them into piles on a smaller side desk. He sat at his desk and waved Jackson towards a chair positioned at the side desk. Jackson sat as instructed.

  “Who are you and how did you get that ring?”

  “My name’s Jackson, my Master told me to seek you out immediately. He gave me this address and told me to relay the bad news I have for you.”

  “Bad news?”

  “My Master is dead. We fear that he was poisoned. He gave me instructions to find the Soul Collector, is that you?”

  “Did he give you that ring?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he give you anything else?”

  Jackson’s mood changed and he felt protective. He decided to press his question again. “Are you the Soul Collector?”

  The old man paused, as if weighing his options and the possi
ble consequences. He glanced towards the doorway before drawing a deep breath. “Jackson, you don’t understand anything. I’m deciding how to answer your question.” He paused again as he glanced towards the door. Rose entered the room carrying a tray stocked with a teapot and two cups. She placed the cups within their saucers and poured the tea. The steam from the hot tea created dancing spirals rising through the air. Jackson’s attention was drawn to the noise at the window as small rain drops tapped on the windowpane.

  Rose completed her duties and left the library to return to the kitchen. Jackson leaned forward and attempted to hold the teacup. The bone china handle was delicately sculptured. Jackson’s large fingers were ill equipped to grasp a bone china teacup. He was desperate to sample the hot tea. He craved the warmth the hot liquid would provide. The old man smiled as he recognized the absurdity of Jackson’s predicament. Jackson solved the problem by grasping the teacup with both hands and tilting the cup to his mouth.

  “Jackson, what did your Master tell you?”

  “To come and see you. He led me to believe that you would be more forthcoming. Thank you for the tea. It appears that my Master was wrong. You refuse to identify yourself as the Soul Collector and my mission was to find that man. I have more information but I think I need to leave, if you refuse to engage with me.” Jackson pushed his chair away from the desk and began his calculated bluff.

  “Sit down, you’re being hasty. I will admit it. I am the Soul Collector. Your Master had one of two identical rings. I, obviously have the other.” The old man waved his finger in the air to punctuate the point. “Only two rings exist, each identical in everyway. The Catfish and the Chisel are the markings on each side of the stone. Place your ring on the edge of the desk. Go on, do it!” he insisted.

  Jackson obliged, watching the old man struggling to slide his tight ring off his fat finger. Jackson placed his ring inches from the edge of the desk. The old man placed his ring near his portly belly, snuggled up to the edge of the desk. Within seconds the two rings turned, the stones faced each other and raced across the desk’s surface. They joined in the middle, attracted like a magnet to metal. Jackson raised his eyes from the rings and looked at the old man.

  He separated the rings and flicked Jackson’s ring across the desktop towards his waiting hands. Both men slipped the rings back onto their fingers. “These rings are a pair Jackson. They were never meant to be far from each other and there’s a reason for that. You have much to learn but I need to tell you a few important facts first.”

  Jackson moved his ring in a circular motion around his large finger. “I’m listening.”

  “Your Master gave you this ring and told you to come here for a reason.”

  “It was his dying wish. It seemed more important than telling me who poisoned him.” Jackson did not blink; his intense stare bore deep into the old man’s thoughts.

  “We have common enemies, the same people who killed your Master. Your Master and I have an affinity. We represent an organization, sworn to uphold an important legacy. There are wealthy and dangerous people interested in what we know. That means you are now in grave danger. Your arrival means I’m in grave danger also. I knew your Master, but only in a professional capacity. Did he have any children?”

  “No, he wasn’t married and had no children.”

  “He gave you the ring, so I think I can interpret his actions. He’s appointed you to carry on his duties.”

  “What duties?” Jackson could feel his body stiffening.

  “Yes, we both have specific duties that we swear to uphold. I can’t tell you any more. Not until I’m sure that your Master means for you to continue with his duties. Did he give you anything else?”

  Jackson anticipated this question and prepared his answer. He knew the old man was being cagey. He was the first to make a leap of faith; by admitting he was the Soul Collector. Perhaps it was now time to show some trust? “He gave me an envelope and an Amulet.”

  “Can I see it?” The old man was clearly excited.

  Jackson reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the envelope. He opened it slightly and plucked the Amulet from the folded paper. “Is this what all the fuss is about?”

  “Put it away quickly and keep it safe. Don’t show that to anyone.” The old man’s mood changed immediately. “It’s time you knew what you’ve got yourself into.”

  The old man moved towards a bookshelf crammed with old leather bound books. He ran his fingers across the spines and stopped at a green leather book. He pulled the book from the shelf and moved towards a section of wood paneling. Jackson fumbled with the Amulet and the envelope. Taking care to use his body as a shield, the old man stopped at a section of wall between two tall bookshelves. With his free hand, he reached for a carving protruding from the wall. A carved wooden dog’s head, with a long snout had observed the entire conversation. The old man wrapped his fingers around the snout and turned the carving. The dog’s head popped away from the wall revealing a small, concealed inset. He reached in quickly and retrieved a package wrapped in a blue cloth. He pushed the carving back into place, sealing the inset. Jackson had not seen this; the old man had been discreet. The old man walked over to the desk and set the package down carefully.

  The package was unwrapped revealing a small expensive looking box. It was ornate with symbols resembling the designs on Jackson’s envelope. The box was small but heavy. It was made from solid gold. Jackson’s eyes were drawn to the box; it shimmered in the fading light. The old man diverted his attention to the green leather bound book. He pushed the book to the center of the desk. Jackson could see the book’s title: 2 Promises. The old man opened the front cover, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside, the pages had been cut to hollow out a square storage area. Placed carefully within was a smaller book, its cover adorned with Egyptian symbols. The old man removed the inner book carefully and placed it on the desk. “Can you read Jackson?”

  “Yes, I can read.”

  “I think it’s time you read this. I will give you some time but I can’t let you take this away with you.” The old man gave the smaller book to Jackson. It was a thin book; consisting of approximately a dozen pages. Every page was decorated with hieroglyphics, forming a border down each side. The middle of each page contained hand written text. The text was written in English. The handwriting was exceptionally neat. Jackson settled in for a good read taking his time to understand the book. Occasionally, he would rest the book down upon the small desk to ask the old man a question. The gravity of his assignment unfolded within the pages. The old man would embellish with articulate answers and real life examples to keep Jackson engaged.

  Rose visited the two men bringing food and drinks. She had lit a candle in the library and hung an oil lamp in the hallway. She left muttering some comment relating to reading in the dark ruining the eyes. The rain had stopped but the night’s cool air hung over the city. It was dark outside and the two men continued to discuss the book. Inside the house, the servants had gone home for the night. Rose bid her farewell and left the two men in the library. Outside, in the square at the back of the house, the carriage stood motionless. The driver had taken shelter from the rain, deciding to nap inside the carriage. Using a short rope, he had tied Dusty to the small handrail on the driver’s seat. Dusty curled up on the seat and tucked his snout under his tail. He had fallen asleep when a soft noise woke him. The click of the carriage door caused him to open his eyes and raise his head. He smelled an unfamiliar scent. Someone had approached the carriage and was opening the door.

  The driver was stretched out across the carriage bench. He was asleep, exhausted from the journey to London. The driver had enjoyed his meal today; the staff had invited him to join them in the kitchen. He really enjoyed the spirited conversation. He was only a driver for hire; so he could not answer their questions about Jackson.

  As the carriage door opened a shining steel blade sliced mercilessly across the driver’s neck. He woke in horror, choking on his
own blood. The driver slumped onto the carriage floor; he was sitting in a pool of his own blood. Dusty suspected foul play but remained silent. He knew his tethered neck would not afford him a fair fight. Dusty decided to crouch low on the driver’s seat in the hope that he would remain undetected. The man pushed the driver’s arm into the carriage and closed the door behind him. To the casual observer the carriage looked secure, waiting for an occupant. The horses remained calm, preoccupied with their feedbags.