by carl ashmore
A strong, athletic man, Saunière glanced at Kruger as if a small part of him contemplated defiance. Immediately, he knew it was futile. His courage deserted him. He nodded slowly.
‘Excellent,’ Drake said. ‘So where is the stone?’
Saunière reached into his robe and withdrew a small tablet about the size of a paperback book. It was covered front and back in ancient writing. He passed it over.
His hand trembling slightly, Drake took it. Saliva glistened on his lips, as he spoke in a whisper, ‘Do you want to know what this is?’
Saunière nodded.
‘This stone is history…’ Drake stared at the tablet, his eyes shining with awe. ‘This stone, The Palal Stone, is the third of a trio given by God to the prophet, Moses, on the slopes of Mount Sinai. The other two were known as the Tablets of Testimony or the Decalogue, but most people know them as The Ten Commandments. However, this third stone was different. And, unlike the other two, Moses didn’t destroy it as he did the original Ten Commandments. In time, the Palal Stone was passed down through countless generations, safeguarded by protectors from many religions – Islam, Christianity, Judaism. However, legend had it that sometime after the death of Jesus Christ it was brought to France by Mary Magdalene, and a thousand years later hidden here … at your church.’
Saunière could barely speak. His gaze found the stone. ‘And what do the markings mean?’
‘It’s a prayer …’ Drake replied simply.
‘A prayer?’
‘A prayer carved by God himself - a prayer that can imbue the one who recites it with the powers of the five Eden Relics.’
Saunière’s voice deserted him. ‘And what are the Eden Relics?’
‘That’s a long story,’ Drake replied. ‘And I don’t have the time or inclination to tell it. Give him the briefcase, Otto.’
Kruger threw the case to Saunière. It landed at the priest’s feet in a cloud of dust.
‘In that brief case is three hundred thousand francs,’ Drake said. ‘You are now an exceedingly rich man. With that money, you’ll be able to renovate this church and its grounds, and spend the remaining money on whatever helps you absolve the guilt you’ll feel allowing someone like me to take the Palal Stone.’
Drake paused to savour the expression on Saunière’s face. ‘There are also some instructions in the briefcase with regards to the coming months and years that I wish you to carry out word for word. In short, I’ve made you the principal player in a Byzantine plot that will mystify the world as to where your newfound wealth comes from. After all, I don’t want my enemies to know of my connection to Rennes Le Chateaux. Heaven forbid, they might return to this time period and attempt to change things. Do you understand?’
Saunière didn’t reply.
Drake’s tone hardened. ‘I said do you understand?’
‘Oui, monsieur.’
Drake slipped the Palal Stone into his pocket. ‘Then our business is done. I insist you burn that newspaper, and if I ever hear you’ve breathed a word of my visit to anyone then Mister Kruger shall return and use a candelabrum on your skull. Do you understand?’
Saunière nodded.
‘Very well,’ Drake said. ‘Come, Otto. There are preparations to make.’ His eyes found Saunière one last time. ‘Oh, and there’s one more thing I’d like you to do … I’d like you to acquire a statue of the devil and place it in the entrance to this church.’ When Saunière looked confused, Drake continued, ‘Just for my own amusement, you understand.’ He smirked at Kruger. ‘And people say I don’t have a sense of humour …’
Chapter 3
Penny for the Guy
A warm July breeze brushed the muddy brown water of the River Thames. A mute swan disappeared beneath Westminster Bridge, cutting the surf like a scythe through wheat. Sitting on a bench, Becky Mellor loosened her school tie and stared over at the Palace of Westminster. She reflected upon the last few hours. Visiting the Houses of Parliament had certainly been better than sitting in an airless classroom at Coppenhill High School, but she hadn’t been as impressed as the rest of her school friends. Unquestionably, there had been much to enjoy - Westminster Hall, the Cloisters of St Stephen's, Jewel Tower, the Chapel of St Mary Undercroft – but she just couldn’t get enthused by any of it.
But then, how could it really compare to the things she’d seen over the last twelve months: The Great Palace at Knossos, The Temple of Poseidon, Utahraptors rampaging through Sherwood Forest, and a valley inhabited by a thousand woolly mammoths. No, it wasn’t open to debate: time travelling had definitely made any school trip as exciting as a teabag.
As Big Ben struck two, Becky’s gaze swept the distant rooftops of London. It struck her just how much the view had changed since her previous visit to the city. Of course, that had taken place one hundred and sixty two million years ago, when London was nothing more than a tropical paradise bordered by ocean and populated by the most spectacular creatures to have ever walked the earth. Her reasons, too, for embarking on that particular trip could hardly have been more different. She and her Uncle Percy were there to abandon George Chapman somewhere he could no longer commit the sickening crimes that earned him his nickname, Jack the Ripper.
At that moment, a nauseating feeling swept through her. Thinking about time travel had reminded her of the last few months, months that had been amongst the worst of her life. Her friend, Will Shakelock, had been murdered. Mere words could not express the crushing pain she felt at his loss. Even her fourteenth birthday came and went with no fanfare, no celebrations of any kind. She just wasn’t interested. Nothing mattered anymore, and certainly not party hats and birthday presents. Even then, however, she was only too aware her own grief paled into insignificance beside that of her brother, Joe, who had lost his mentor and best friend.
Will Shakelock had meant the world to him. And he had not been the same since. Sullen most of the time, moping about as though the troubles of the world rested on his shoulders, he was exercising more than ever, building himself up physically, whilst practising his archery and swordsmanship with the discipline of a boxer training for a title fight.
And Becky could appreciate why.
With his dying breath, Will had asked Joe to protect the inhabitants of Bowen Hall, and Joe was clearly determined to carry out that request to the letter. Inevitably perhaps, in doing that his personality had changed. His boyish enthusiasm and boundless sense of fun had been supplanted by an unwavering sense of purpose that belied his years. He barely teased Becky anymore, and never talked about football or gaming. He appeared to have aged by a decade and was constantly on the alert for some unseen peril.
Deep down, Becky knew his intentions were good, but there were times his behaviour was at best embarrassing - at worst annoying in the extreme. She felt his eyes upon her constantly, scrutinising everyone she chatted to as if they might slice off her nose at any given moment. In fact, his desire to protect her had become so suffocating that on several occasions at school she’d half expected him to follow her into the girls’ toilets and stand guard outside her chosen cubicle.
Becky stared out over the Thames. Just then, she sensed movement to her right and a friendly voice found her ears.
‘A penny for them.’
Becky looked over as her teacher, Mister Janus, sat down beside her. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘A penny for your thoughts.’ Mister Janus flashed her a smile.
Becky smiled back. Tall and slender, Mister Janus had a tangled mop of silver hair that crowned an agreeable face. ‘Don’t think they’re worth a penny, sir.’
Mister Janus’s smile widened. ‘Did you enjoy seeing the Houses of Parliament?’
‘It was good.’
Noting her indifferent tone, Mister Janus said, ‘I s’pose it’s not quite as exciting as a trip to Alton Towers to a teenager, is it?’
‘I wouldn’t be fussed with Alton Towers.’
‘And what would you be fussed with?’
Becky wasn’t a
bout to tell him she’d asked Uncle Percy if they could watch the signing of the Declaration of American Independence in 1776. ‘I dunno, but I do like history. I didn’t used to, but I’ve really got into it lately.’
‘Good for you,’ Mister Janus said, leaning back and staring ahead. ‘And there’s no building that has influenced history more than this one, at least in terms of the political judgements made within its walls. Did you know there’s been a Parliament on this very site since 1295?’
‘They told us on the tour.’
‘Ah, I forgot about that.’ Mister Janus chuckled. ‘And every time a tragedy befalls this city, - two terrible fires, a Great Plague, the Blitz, and even a notorious Gunpowder Plot - it always seems to soldier on with its spirit intact.’ He leaned forward so no one else could hear his next words. ‘But between you and me, I can’t really blame Guy Fawkes for trying to blow the place up. Frankly, I don’t have much time for politicians, what about you?’
‘I dunno. I’ve never met one.’
‘Well I have. Lots of them … and believe me when I say that most are just self-serving, corrupt, toadying liars. And prime ministers and presidents – well they’re the worst of the lot. They’ll do and say anything just to protect themselves. As a matter of fact, I’ve always thought the last person who should be a prime minister or president is someone egotistical enough to think they could do the job.’
Becky was startled by Mister Janus’s bluntness. She looked over at him. His eyes looked different than she remembered, his skin pinched and unusually colourless. He didn’t look well. ‘Are you feeling all right, sir?’
‘I’m fine,’ Mister Janus replied. ‘I know I shouldn’t be saying any of this – teachers aren’t supposed to have an opinion on such matters - but as far as I can see the history books have treated poor old Guy Fawkes somewhat unfairly. Surely, blowing up a bigoted King and some fat, bloated Lords isn’t the worst crime he could’ve committed?’
The moment the words left his mouth, a small explosion blasted out a window in the far left corner of the Houses of Parliament. A second explosion rent the air, followed by another. Becky looked on, horrified. More windows shattered, showering glass into the Thames.
Everyone around Becky fell silent. Then the screams came.
It was pandemonium. Adults and children raced away from the devastation, zigzagging in all directions. Policemen and women looked on, helpless and confused. Cars collided with other cars. Sirens wailed. BOOOOOM. The Victoria Tower exploded in a cloud of flame and dust. BOOOOOM. High walls toppled; giant hunks of limestone pounded the ground.
Her eardrums threatening to burst, Becky was frozen to her seat, her eyes flitting from one shocking scene to another.
‘COME ON, BECKY!’ Mister Janus yelled in her ear.
Before Becky knew it, Mister Janus had clasped her hand and was pulling her away from the bedlam. More explosions boomed.
Becky raced beside Mister Janus, her feet struggling to grip the pavement. And then through the crook of her eye she saw him raise his sleeve to reveal what looked like an oversized watch. She gasped. He was wearing a portravella. ‘Y-you’re a time traveller?’
Mister Janus smiled at her. ‘Of course, Rebecca.’ His hand reached up to his face as crimson light poured out of the portravella and weaved up his arm. As his fingers found the base of his throat, he pulled at his skin, which tore away like paper. In one movement, he tugged off a mask to reveal gaunt features Becky recognised immediately. Her blood turned cold.
‘You know very well I’m a time traveller,’ Emerson Drake said, flinging the mask aside. As the light enclosed his body, he gripped Becky’s shoulder. Before she had time to respond, the two of them vanished.
In one thunderous explosion, the Houses of Parliament were no more. The London skyline had changed forever.
Emerson Drake had achieved what Guy Fawkes could not.
Chapter 4
Secrets and Lies
The sudden silence threatened to crush Becky’s skull. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears like a drill, obscuring the sound of birds singing somewhere close by. The view before her had changed. Standing in the shade of a tall tree, she stared at a substantial Edwardian house surrounded by a manicured lawn lined with wooden benches.
The garden was deserted except for a man dressed in a peacock blue dressing gown, paisley pyjamas and slippers. No more than thirty five years of age, he was sitting in a wheelchair beside a pond roofed with flowering lily pads. His eyes were wrapped in a thick bandage and the rest of his face was a patchwork of purple and black bruises.
As her shock faded, Becky turned to Drake and hissed, ‘You animal!’ Tears filled her eyes. ‘You’ve just murdered God knows how many people.’ Her voice trembled. ‘Some of them were probably my friends.’
‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic. Most of your friends were far enough away from the explosion to be safe. And I’m certainly not going to lose sleep if I’ve purged the world of a few self-absorbed politicians. Did you like my Optimo-Mask, by the way? It’s made from hypo silicone and polyursophane graphite and accomplishes the perfect likeness, don’t you think? Mister Janus’ own mother wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.’
‘Where’s the real Mister Janus?’
‘I’m afraid there’s no easy way to - ’
‘You’ve killed him.’
‘Didn’t I once tell you that killing was an essential part of true greatness.’
‘Then maybe I should kill you,’ Becky spat. ‘You do know what I can do, don’t you? I could inflate that evil brain of yours until it pops out of your eye sockets.’ Her voice turned cold. ‘And I certainly wouldn’t lose any sleep over that.’
Drake chuckled. ‘What a colourful image, Rebecca. You do have an adorable imagination. But there are a number of excellent reasons why you don’t really want to harm me. The first, of course, is to do with the welfare of dear old Daddy. I saw him recently, you know?’
Becky fell silent. ‘How is he?’
‘He’s alive and as insufferable as ever. Incarceration really hasn’t improved his manner as one would’ve hoped. However, something tells me you’ll be seeing him soon. If you’re a good girl that is…’
Becky didn’t know what to say. Unable to look at Drake anymore, she scanned the lawn and said, ‘Where am I?’
‘You’re at Gillingham House,’ Drake replied. ‘A rather salubrious private nursing home on the outskirts of Wilmslow.’
‘And why am I here?’
‘I’m taking you on a journey. And every journey has to start somewhere.’
‘The only place you’re taking me is home … right now!’
‘I could,’ Drake sneered, ‘but I think this is one journey you’ll wish to undertake.’
‘Then think again,’ Becky fired back at him. ‘Because you’ll take me home or …’ She hesitated.
Drake laughed. ‘Or what?’
Becky’s gaze locked on Drake’s throat. She concentrated hard. Immediately, a strange sensation swept her skull. ‘Or you’ll regret it.’
At that moment, Drake gave a spluttering cough. His hands shot to his neck, clawing at what appeared to be an invisible noose. Showing no emotion, Becky squeezed harder.
‘Kill me,’ Drake managed, ‘and you won’t learn how you became telekinetic...’
Her anger rising, Becky tightened her grip around his neck. ‘Maybe I don’t care.’
Drake was choking now. ‘T – then do you care about the argument between your daddy and uncle? After all, it was all about you …’
The words sent shockwaves through Becky. More than anything else in the last twelve months, she had been intrigued by an argument between her father and Uncle Percy– one that had resulted in Uncle Percy being ordered never to see her again. She released Drake from her control. ‘What do you know about that?’
Drake doubled over and sucked air into his lungs. Taking a few seconds to compose himself, he said, ‘I know many things, Rebecca. And I can g
ive you many answers - answers to questions you’ll have asked yourself countless times over the last year.’
Becky didn’t reply. Finally, her voice barely audible, she said, ‘What d’you mean it was all about me?’
‘You’ll find out if you come.’
‘Just tell me.’
An obnoxious smirk split Drake’s face. ‘No,’ he replied simply. ‘I really do have to show you. It’s a complex, unsettling tale, and one that I do think should be seen with your own eyes. Frankly, you’d never believe me if I told you. So what do you say: will you join me on a short time trip? I promise it’ll answer every question you have. And after that, I’ll return you to your time, completely unharmed. No strings, no catches.’
Becky’s head was spiralling. ‘You’re only doing this because it’ll harm Uncle Percy, my dad, or me in some way.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I do know that. I’m not an idiot.’
‘I’m certainly aware of that,’ Drake replied. ‘And I’m doing it because I feel you’ve earned the right to know the truth.’
‘You’re a liar.’
‘I’ve told you before,’ Drake replied. ‘I may be many things but a liar is not one of them. No, the truth is I have more faith in you than, it seems, others close to you …just as I had faith that your brother could handle the painful reality of his lineage. I believe you’d rather be told an uncomfortable truth than a placatory lie. And I know that’s true because it’s what I’d want if our roles were reversed. The fact is –’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ’You and I are not as different as you think.’
Becky snorted. ‘I’m nothing like you.’
‘I beg to differ,’ Drake replied. ‘And although, to some extent we’ve become adversaries, we could just as easily have become friends. Furthermore, we still can if you wish … I would consider you my finest Associate.’
