by Alan Baxter
Welby’s hands flopped to the table, his shoulders slumping. ‘Good gods.’
Alex couldn’t bring himself to look at the old man, turned in his seat to further avert his gaze. ‘Really, Patrick, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know I could …’
‘It’s all right.’ Welby’s voice was weak. ‘By all the gods, you have some power.’
Silence, heavy and uncomfortable, for several moments. Eventually Welby said, ‘So you see me a little more clearly now?’ There was humour, sarcasm in his tone.
Alex kept his back turned. ‘You’re, what, a hundred and fifty years old?’
‘Almost. One hundred and thirty-eight. I was born at the height of Victoria’s reign, a truly marvellous time of innovation and expansion. For those of us who could afford it, of course. I began studying the arcane arts as a young man. When we develop our skill we also develop an unusual longevity. The magic tends to preserve us.’
Alex sat stunned, still reeling from what he had been able to do to Welby as well as the revelations that kept coming. He knew now what he hadn’t been able to see before. Welby’s everyday shades were a construction, a mask of normality placed over the real colours the man bore, concealing all the truths about him. Alex had torn everything away and seen deep inside.
‘It really is all right,’ Welby said. ‘You’ll have to face me again eventually. I’ve never been laid quite so naked before in my life, but at least you know beyond a doubt now that my intentions are as I stated them.’
Alex swallowed hard. ‘Your intentions are also a bit crude.’
‘Well, forgive an old man his desires. But I would never have let on about those feelings, much less acted on them. More’s the pity.’
Alex could hear a measure of mirth in Welby’s voice and couldn’t help smiling himself. Some of the tension, the shock, lifted from the room. ‘I guess I should be careful what I search for.’
‘Just be careful how hard you look. You said yourself not long ago that it was easier not to learn too much about people.’
‘I had no idea how much I could know.’
‘Now you do.’
Alex was unable still to turn around. He knew Welby’s mind, his intentions, desires, fears and elations, almost as well as he knew his own. He had looked into the very soul of the man and absorbed nearly one hundred and forty years of life experience and emotion in an instant. He felt as though he had run full speed into a solid wall, his mind and body battered by the experience. But more than that, he bore an incredible sense of guilt, of sorrow. He had committed an unforgivable invasion of privacy. He didn’t know what to say.
Welby moved around the table to stand in front of him, forcing him to look. ‘Let it go, Alex. It’s all right, really. This will be harder for you to reconcile than for me to forgive.’
He looked into Welby’s eyes and knew him in minute detail. He refused to focus on the shades, but he could see peripherally that Welby meant it when he said it was all right. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, quietly.
‘I probably shouldn’t have been quite so theatrical. I rather tempted you to pull against me. Of course, I had no idea how easily and deeply you would be able to go.’
Alex realised he had learned something else. ‘I know how to do that now, how to mask.’ He willed his own shades, his presence, his personality, to draw within the confines of his skin and wrapped it down with the intention that no one would be able to see his true aura. He created a sheen of normality — a shield — so that no one would know he was anything but a normal man.
Welby looked him up and down, eyebrows rising as he did so. ‘Very good. I honestly can’t see a thing.’ He felt Welby’s mind probe over him, like the stroke of a ghostly hand. The old man barked a short laugh. ‘Not a thing. Good lords, boy, your talents are manifold! You appear as mundane as a post box.’
‘I can stay like this too. It doesn’t feel like it would take any effort to remain like this as a … well, as a sort of default position.’
Welby nodded. ‘And so you should. You’ll attract much less attention that way. So what now?’
Alex pulled his phone from his pocket. ‘I need to make a call.’
‘I’ll give you some privacy.’
Welby left the kitchen and Alex dialled a number. After a few rings a voice said, ‘Alex, you dog! Long time, my brother.’
Alex felt immediately reassured at the sound of something normal, familiar. ‘Hey, Amir. How’s things?’
‘Oh, you know, fucken.’
As if Amir would ever tell him what was really going on. ‘I need some help,’ he said.
‘Anything, brother.’
‘You know this King Scarlet dickhead?’
Amir made a noise of disgust down the line. ‘He’s a pain in my arse. Starting to get heavy all over town.’
‘He’s insisting that I fight for him. Really insisting.’
‘We fight for no one but ourselves, brother. Since Sifu died anyway.’
‘I know. But he’s starting to get upset. Last night I had a gun pointed in my face and he trashed my fucking car, man.’
Amir cursed violently in Lebanese. ‘There’s a bit of a war going on, my friend. I’ve heard rumours of the moves he’s making and your name has come up a few times.’
‘You didn’t think to warn me?’
‘Ha! You can look after yourself, fucken! But you shouldn’t even be here this week.’
‘Gary called me to step in for an injured fighter. Now I’m thinking that guy was Scarlet’s plant, supposed to take a fall.’
‘I can see things have escalated,’ Amir said, his voice resigned. ‘I hoped he would leave you be, but you’re too good, my brother.’
‘Can you help me out?’
‘Sure. But not quickly. There’s a lot of balls in the air here. I can put you in my stable, but Scarlet won’t take that lying down.’
Alex pursed his lips. ‘No offence, but I don’t want to work for anyone, even you.’
‘Of course, of course, but Scarlet doesn’t need to know that. I tell him you’re mine and it’s just one more thing we’re fighting about.’
‘I’d really appreciate it.’
‘But he won’t be happy. He’ll come for you. I can try to sort this out, but maybe you should take a holiday for a little while. These guys are getting serious.’
Alex stared at the tabletop, seeing his control spinning away again. He hated relying on anyone for anything. Right now it seemed he had little choice. ‘There is something I could do for a week or two, overseas.’
‘Anywhere is good to be safe. I’ll keep you up to speed.’
Alex sat back, morning light through the window bathing his face. ‘Take this fucker out, Amir. And get me his car.’
‘For certain, fucken! I’d like nothing more. Leave this with me.’
‘Thanks, brother.’ Alex hung up and wandered into the lounge.
Welby sat reading a newspaper. ‘Any luck?’ he asked.
‘Sort of. For us both really.’
‘Is that so?’
‘I have friends who can hopefully sort this out, but I’ve been advised to leave town for a while.’
Welby folded the newspaper onto his lap. ‘So maybe a trip to London is just the ticket?’
Alex shook his head, frustrated these decisions didn’t seem to be his own. ‘Just the ticket,’ he said. ‘Sure.’
‘We can go right away. All expenses paid, of course,’ Welby added.
‘I need to pack some stuff, Patrick. And get my passport.’
Welby stood, dropped the newspaper onto the coffee table. ‘Money is no object. I can buy you anything you would have packed and fly you first class.’
Alex paused, taken aback. ‘My passport is at home,’ he said eventually.
‘I can teach you how you don’t need one. I can show you how you really don’t need any of the things most people consider essential, even compulsory.’
Alex let out an exasperated breath. ‘Fair enough then, Patric
k Welby. Show me.’
‘Excellent! I’ll get us on a flight this afternoon.’
‘Really?’
‘Certainly. We can buy a bag and some clothes and things for you at the airport shops after we check in.’
Alex sighed. What the hell is happening to my life?
At Sydney airport’s international terminal Alex stood nervously in line. He had listened to everything Welby had explained, marvelled at the mind tricks he pulled on their taxi driver, making the poor man take wrong turns and do weird things with the radio and indicators. All with nothing but insubstantial will. He had listened, seen and understood, but remained anxious. He wasn’t sure how Welby would use those trickster skills to get them through airport security.
The airport employee smiled. ‘Tickets and passports please,’ she said with practised jollity. Welby handed her two tickets and Alex focused in on his magesign, watched the shades as Welby’s mind worked. He saw and felt the ’sign swell, ebb and flow. ‘Any luggage to check in?’ she asked with another broad smile.
‘No, thank you. Just carry-on.’
‘Thank you, sir. Departing at gate 36. Have a nice day.’ She handed over two boarding passes, waved them through. The old man glanced back and winked before walking away. Dumbfounded, Alex followed, the only thought in his mind being, These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.
He followed Welby through to the departures area, dropping his phone and wallet into a plastic tray as he went through a metal detector. On the other side numerous shops enticed with bright neon and shiny displays, coaxing weary travellers to empty their wallets while they killed interminable hours before take-off. Shopkeepers smiled and opened their palms, offering succour from the boredom of international travel. Inside an hour Welby had bought Alex a stylish leather travel bag and stocked it with new jeans, a few T-shirts, a collared shirt, a warm jumper and underwear. He bought a washbag and filled it with toothbrush, toothpaste, shaver and more. Alex pulled his phone from a jacket pocket. ‘I’ll need a charger for this,’ he said. Within minutes he had one.
It was something of a revelation that if one had the money, nothing else seemed necessary. Welby’s wealth had taken care of everything. Combined with his magical skill in negotiating the red tape of modern living, there seemed very little that couldn’t be accomplished. Magic and money. All you need.
‘Something amusing?’ Welby asked.
‘Just trying to get my head around the last few hours. It was only last night that I was doing what I do best. I fought, I won, I collected my pay and I planned to go home. Since then the world has flipped on its axis.’
Welby gestured to a seat at the departure gate. ‘And I must say you’re taking it all extremely well. It’s not often, even in my long life, that I’ve opened up this world to people. On the few occasions I have it’s been difficult and slow. Not with you. You soak it up like a dry sponge drinks water.’
Alex sat, rested his new bag between his feet. ‘I hope my mind can continue to keep a grip on it all. Why do you need money when you can mind-fuck people into believing they’ve seen our passports?’
‘Good question. When someone expects to see a passport it’s quite easy to convince them they have. They hold on to nothing but the knowledge. When they’re expecting to take money and keep it, well that’s very hard when they clearly have no bills to put in the till.’
That made a kind of sense. ‘So much to take in.’
‘We have twenty-four hours on a plane,’ Welby said. ‘First class really does pamper a person. You can actually lie down. Let’s call this next twenty-four hours a new experience-free zone. Give you time to catch up a bit, eh?’
The thought appealed. ‘Sounds good. Though I want to read more of that element book.’
‘Grimoire.’
Alex smiled. ‘Right. Grimoire. It’s amazing, not like learning. The words seem to become a part of my mind.’
‘That’s right. Reading eldritch texts is itself a kind of magic, if you can decipher them. Therein lies their power.’
The lamplit streets of London were a blessed relief from the cramped and artificial confines of airports and aeroplanes. Even in the comfort of ridiculously expensive seats the fluorescent lights, air conditioning and pressurisation all got under the skin after a while. Alex breathed deeply of the cold, polluted air. Only after flying for twenty-four hours would taking deep breaths in central London feel refreshing. However filthy it might be, it was real, with genuine smells and sounds carrying through it. He had insisted they get out of the taxi a few blocks early in order to stretch their legs and take in something tangible. Welby had looked as though he would never have considered such a thing, especially at night, but clearly appreciated it as he walked alongside, looking around as though seeing things for the first time.
Alex felt swollen from reading the grimoire. He’d been fascinated, unable to put it down. For hour upon hour he had consumed the knowledge in its pages, absorbed the fantastic things it had to say until he’d read everything. Then he read it again. Now he understood the elements in a way he could never explain. He knew them like close friends, understood their personalities and intricacies. He knew intrinsically their makeup, and more, the energies that bound them to each other. It frightened him when he considered how much understanding that tiny book had forced into him. How much stuff like that could a mind take? At the same time he felt invigorated by it, desperate for more.
After a walk not nearly long enough to really appreciate the freshness of an English autumn evening they arrived at Welby’s place — a tall three-storey Victorian house in a row of similar stately two-storey homes. The street was quiet and tree-lined, with flagstone pavements and high, rough-hewn kerb stones dropping into deep gutters. Crackling brown leaves like fragments of old parchment skittered across the ground in a chill breeze, the leafless fingers of the trees scrabbling silhouettes against the night-darkened sky. Dark but with a gentle orange sheen, cityglow from the bustle beneath.
‘Let’s get inside, shower and change,’ Welby said jovially. ‘The best way to recover from travelling is to wash off the experience.’
Alex had to agree. ‘Sounds good to me.’
‘And then we’ll go and have a look at this book.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Certainly. We don’t need to worry about the opening hours of this particular shop.’
‘For a man who’s been around as long as you, you don’t seem to have much patience.’
Welby stopped, his key in the lock unturned. ‘I suppose it would seem that way,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I’ve looked for so long for someone like you.’ He twisted the key and pushed open the door, stepped back to let Alex through.
Inside the house was immaculate and elegant. Fine art and antiques throughout, leather sofas and armchairs. Extensive bookshelves, all bowing under the weight of books, seemed ubiquitous. It appeared to be a cross between a museum and a library, but it had the general feel of a home, lived in and cared for. ‘I spend as much time as I can here,’ Welby said. ‘This house has been the only constant thing in my life.’
They passed through a lounge room into a dining room and on into the kitchen. Turning, Welby led the way back through a hallway to the foot of the stairs by the front door. An informal tour of the ground floor. Welby took the stairs. At the landing he pointed to doors in sequence. ‘Bedroom, bathroom, bedroom. That one’s yours.’ Without waiting he headed up to the top floor, casting a strange smile back over his shoulder as he went. As they climbed, Alex shivered, static lifting the hairs on his arms and neck.
At the next landing Welby pushed open a door and stepped back. ‘This is my favourite place.’ The room was large and lined floor to ceiling with books. A desk with a computer stood under the only window, a large leadlight bay recess. In the middle of the space were more leather armchairs and sofas. ‘This is the actual library, my personal study. All the most important volumes are here.’
Alex opened his vision t
o see the magesign. Every shelf swam with it, the whole room seemed soaked in magical energy. He whistled softly.
Welby grinned. ‘This is a priceless collection, which is why it’s also protected. You felt the wards as we climbed the stairs?’
‘Is that what that was?’
‘Yes. Without a considerable ability to break the spells you wouldn’t even see those stairs leading up here. From the outside this appears as a two-storey house like the others. You’d never suspect anything more than the roof would be where we’re standing now.’
Alex didn’t feel like letting on that he had seen three storeys from the outside without even trying. ‘So much to learn,’ he said instead.
Welby nodded. ‘Indeed. That’s my bedroom over there. Go on back down, shower, change, whatever. I’ll meet you back in the front room in half an hour or so.’
‘Fair enough.’
4
The taxi ride to the bookshop was entertaining, Welby almost buzzing with excitement. Alex used the time to centre himself, take back some kind of control. He lived life according to his own plans, but this whole bizarre adventure had become a game for which he had no rule book. If everything this evening turned out to be too complicated, if he felt as though his grip slipped on what little authority he had left, he would walk away. If Welby was so desperate for help, then Alex could dictate his own terms. And after that unfortunate event when he had stripped Welby’s defences away he felt as though the old man acted slightly less confidently anyway. There had been a distinct power in what he had done. He regretted it. Valuing his own privacy so highly left him under no illusions about what a violation his act had been, unintentional or otherwise. But he remained glad of the control it gave him, the small sense of power over Welby in an environment where he would have been otherwise powerless. He might be a stranger in a strange land, but he would not be lost.
The shop itself looked like something from a storybook. Down an old cobbled lane, ancient buildings of worn stone with lattice windows and heavy wooden doors. They walked past a coin collector’s emporium, a boutique clothing store and stopped by a black door with BOOKS painted on it in peeling gold, the word repeated above the multifaceted window. Nothing else. No names, no open or closed sign. Shelf upon shelf stood visible in the dim interior, watery light leaking through from a curtained-off area at the back. Welby rapped on the door.
